Lady Anne's Dangerous Man

CHAPTER FOUR

All The Bed's A Stage

The door flew back on its leather hinges with a force to knock out window panes, and Black Ben advanced to the bed and leaned his drunken red face over it, his wig askew, his close-set eyes darting everywhere.

"I owe ye apologies, John," Ben's voice boomed. "I doubted ye were the man to bed this icy wench."

John Gilbert lifted his mouth from Anne's, a smirk on it. "As you see, Ben, you underestimate my ability to fire her blood."

"She has a bawd's way then?"

Anne was just catching her breath, and trying to squirm from under John when he pressed his body full against hers, and kissed her again. Then he ran his tongue over his lips, tasting, frowning. "Perhaps, in time, Ben, but I doubt she'll ever have the skill for a man of your parts."

Black Ben didn't look so sure. He was trying to lift the covers.

"Why, Ben," John said with an easy smile, "I'm surprised that a brave gentleman of the highroads would disturb a fellow larcenist about to spill his passion."

"Then with a kiss from yon wench I'll be gone. Surely ye can spare old Ben a single kiss, John Gilbert."

"Only if the lady chooses."

Anne could hardly believe what she heard. Not only was John Gilbert stretched atop her, kissing her with no pretense at playacting, but he would not fight this blackguard for her honor. She was so angered that her arms seemed languid and sapless, incapable of any defense. But as Black Ben's dark face closed on hers, anger demolished revulsion, her hand grasped her knife, and she brought the point to Ben's throat in one swift motion.

Ben reared back with a roar, his hand pulling at his sword hilt.

John spoke in a low, clear voice. "Ben, think well before you spend your rage on this ninny albeit a judge's daughter under my protection. I would be obliged to kill you, or if I died instead, the sheriff would hunt you down no matter what share of the spoils you offered him. The whole of English justice would thirst for your blood."

Ben hesitated, then pushed his sword back into its leather. "Ye be right, smart John, but I be not like to forget this night or this bawd." He gave her a last leer and stamped out the door, closing it behind him with taunting softness.

"Are you mad? Get off me, sir," she hissed.

"Gladly," he whispered, rolling to one side, but putting his finger to his lips. "Quiet. Ben's lurking about the cottage."

She shuddered, suddenly, but for more than her close call. The memory of John Gilbert's body was as disturbing as the real thing, making her reaction to his perfidy even more bitter. "You would have allowed that horrible man to kiss me."

"Better a kiss than a dozen dead men, especially if one of them were me. Who, then, would befriend you and your bad temper, lady?"

She despised him even more when he made sense. "You are no gallant, sir."

"You're not going to weep, are you?" he whispered, frowning.

"You'll never have that pleasure," she said, but she was gulping tears as she denied them.

"Good," he said, "because I must ask you for yet another display of your considerable pique, my lady."

"I will do anything if you will leave my bed, sir."

"I would, and nimbly, too, but I cannot just yet, and further you must help me convince Ben that you are truly my woman in all ways."

"You go too far, sir!"