Ariane’s eyebrows lifted. “How so? I no longer run this household. I can hardly be held to blame if things go awry. You are lord here now, as you have told me countless times.”
“And you have pitted your people against me, do not deny it!”
“I shall not attempt to, my lord. You would not believe me, in any case.”
“No, I would not.” His gaze, cold and vividly gold, held hers. “It will fall to you to clean the armor that your accomplices sought to ruin. And you will speak to your former people once more to demand that they cease their tricks.”
“Or what, my lord?”
Her calm was infuriating. Ranulf clenched his fists to repress the urge to shake her. “I warn you, wench, I am at the end of my patience. One more incident of subversion and I will punish the lot of them, without regard to justice! The officers of the household will be thrown in the dungeon. The freemen, I will cast out to starve. The serfs will be sent to the fields, where they may apply their backs to pulling a plow in place of oxen. The guilty will suffer with the innocent.”
Ariane winced inwardly at his threat, yet she met his furious gaze with an innocent look of serenity.
“I will speak to them, my lord. But I cannot promise complete success. The people of Claredon are not sheep, to blindly offer loyalty to a new lord. It must be earned.” She smiled archly. “And waging war againstme is not the way to go about it. Doubtless they would accept you more readily if you allowed me to run the household once more.”
His heavy brows snapped together. “God’s splendor! Do you think I am fool enough to trust you with such authority?”
“I think you would be a fool not to trust me.”
Ranulf seared her with a blazing look. Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. She could see the rigid muscles flex in Ranulf’s jaw.
Slowly, without speaking, he moved toward her, closing the distance between them, till he stood directly in front of her, his nearness intimidating.
Ariane raised her chin, defiantly meeting his smoldering gaze. She refused to cower before him, although her heart had begun hammering like a drum. His next command startled her entirely.
“I would see you without your clothing. Remove it.”
“What?” She stared at him in disbelief, her composure suddenly shaken.
“Are you deaf, sweeting? I said I wish to see you. Take the garment away.”
When she remained frozen, Ranulf smiled tauntingly. “A slave has no need for modesty. And”—his gaze raked her boldly—“I much doubt you possess any charms I have not viewed before. I’ve seen any number of naked females . . . including you.”
“Then why must you see me again?” Ariane demanded breathlessly.
“Because I wish it.”
He meant to prove his power over her
, Ariane realized, grinding her teeth. And there was little she could do to prevent him.
With stubborn determination, she lifted her chin regally, feigning indifference. She would not let him see her mortification.
Proudly, Ariane did as she was bid and let the tunic fall away. To her acute dismay, she felt Ranulf’s heated gaze scrutinizing her body, measuring, touching her intimately. Moving slowly over every inch of her, studying her as he would a slave. It was strangely, inexplicably arousing.
It was even more arousing to Ranulf. He sucked in his breath at the sight of Ariane naked and vulnerable before him, letting his gaze caress the high, sweet mounds of her breasts . . . the narrow waist and flaring hips . . . lingering on the thatch of red-gold curls between her thighs . . . her long, slim legs . . . He knew he should leave at once, before his iron control slipped irrevocably, and yet he could not bring himself to take the first step.
He looked his fill, drinking in every nuance and detail of her exquisite form. She was a woman made for a man, her breasts tipped by delicate, rosebud nipples, her hips deliciously rounded, her thighs long and smooth. His own body tautened with hunger. He wanted to touch her ivory marble skin, to revel in her silky softness, to suckle those inviting nipples, to taste her woman’s essence. He yearned to have her naked beneath him, the slick heat of her sheath enveloping him as he rode her, her legs wrapped around his waist while she writhed in ecstasy. . . .
Realizing where his urges were leading him, Ranulf cursed silently at himself. It enraged him that the deceitful wench could make him want her so powerfully.
Ariane shivered as the tense silence drew out. Ranulf’s regard was always like scorching embers, but now it seemed to burn everywhere it touched.
“My lord? . . .” she said breathlessly, ashamed at the weakness in her voice.
Ranulf’s voice, when he replied, was low and husky and intense. “Your form is pleasing to look upon. I wonder that you do not use it to court my favor.”
She stiffened at his insulting implication, and abruptly drew the woolen tunic back up to cover herself. “I am not a strumpet, any more than I am your slave.”