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of them brought before the court.
    “Quality horseflesh,” he said as she came within several feet of where he sat. “That animal must have cost a pretty bit.”
    “No need to fret, my lord. The money did not come from your coffers.” Her bottom lip jutted out petulantly. “I traded for him. You see, the horse has an aversion to men. He tends to throw off any male who tries to ride him. The man who owned Titus was glad to be rid of him.”
    “What on earth did you trade? Or, perhaps, I know.” Her beautiful big eyes blinked at him innocently. He allowed himself a greedy survey of her delicious body. After all, she was his wife, and he intended to have her before he had her put in shackles. Or, perhaps, he would try that in reverse order. Thanks to her scheme, he was legally free to do as he pleased with her.

    The innocent façade vanished. Anger now sparked in the depths of her green eyes. “Would you like to hear what I had to do to get that horse?” She stepped closer, and,
    with enticing slowness, inched up her dress revealing her half-boots and then her knee—
    high silk stockings. The hem soon skimmed the tops of her long, perfect legs. She straddled the end of the marble bench, her spread knees nearly touching his. The soft fabric of her dress pooled between her bared thighs, keeping her cunt hidden from him, but his breath quickened nonetheless.
    She leaned closer and locked gazes with him. He felt a physical wreck.
    “Well?” she said in a soft, provocative voice. He barely heard her through the pounding in his ears.
    “Hmmm?” he asked, his mind racing with sinful thoughts. “Would you like to hear about my trade with the plowmen?”
    Hell’s fire, she was a shameless little doxy. “Indeed.” His gaze raked over her wantonly positioned body before returning to her face.
    “It was a simple arrangement. They were hired to scythe the field. Every night for a week I would ride to their camp. The fire would be blazing.” Her delicate fingers unbuttoned the top two buttons of her pastel blue dress, and fanned her exposed cleavage. “It would feel very hot against my skin.”
    It was all Ryder could do to keep from reaching forward to grab her hips, lift her onto his lap and grind her against his throbbing cock.
    “The men would sit around the campfire passing around a jug of ale. The fair-haired one with the big capable hands would be playing a slow, melancholy tune on the fiddle. I always came clad in a thin shift with nothing at all beneath. After a little ale, I would let the shift slide off my shoulders and down my body until it puddled at my feet. And there I would stand, surrounded by all these men, utterly naked.” She paused and looked at him for a long, breath-stealing moment.
    “One of the men would carry me to the back of a wagon filled with soft bedding.”
    Ryder found himself looking at the front of her dress, wondering how quickly he could rip it open and have her completely nude. He wanted to devour every inch of her.
    “Shall I continue, Lord Blackwood?” she asked in a sultry tone.
    Ryder swallowed hard. “If you’d like,” he finally managed to say, his voice sounding rough to his ears. His cock was aching with need, and she hadn’t even touched him.

    “There I would lie atop the quilts, slightly drunk and completely vulnerable. The men would pitch rocks to see who would have me first. I was always glad when Thomas won because his hands were so talented. He would rub me with a sweet-scented, warm oil—”
    He sat up straight. “What kind of a plowman has a stock of scented oil on hand?”
    She stared at him as though annoyed with the interruption. “Thomas used it for his raw, callused hands. Truth be told, the oil really didn’t soften them much. They were still excitingly rough.” She made a move to button up her bodice. “If I’m boring you.”
    “Actually, I’m highly entertained.” He marveled at the evenness of his tone. His cock was so entertained that if