had been at his mercy in that small shadowed room downstairs. Besides, she knew desire when she saw it in a man's eyes and heard it in his voice, and he had displayed only a certain cold anger mixed with contempt. She could not imagine that hard face ever softening under the impetus of tenderness for a woman, she thought wryly, or those brilliant eyes of his glowing with anything other than mockery. And to her amazement she felt herself catch her breath on a little sigh.
Pulling herself together, she turned away, and stared in consternation as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Was this really Joanna Leighton, this bedraggled-looking creature with the matted hair and swollen eyelids? It made her fears of the past few moments seem ludicrous. No man would want her like this, least of all a haughty Renaissance lord.
She gave a little groan as she studied herself. She wanted a shower to wash the lingering traces of salt from her body, and restore her hair to its usual gleaming beauty. She owed it to herself to confront her jailer on her own terms, she told herself resolutely. No wonder he had treated her with such contemptuous arrogance, but she would make him see that she was someone to be reckoned with.
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