a cloth, and set it aside before she was able to inspect it. The warning look in his eyes disallowed question or comment.
She blinked and forced her attention back to the task of inspecting him. If she was to slay him, she did not want to think of him as anything other than a beast, and small silver lockets made him all too human.
She traced a finger along his shoulder. Ne’er in her life had she seen a man such as he. He was wider even than she had imagined. While other men might enhance the width and thickness of their arms and shoulders with pads and fabric, he had no need.
The sheer manliness of his body made her want to run her hands along the sinewy texture of his muscles, just to verify that he was, indeed, human, and could be killed. Dueling thoughts of repulsion and fascination ripped through her.
She counted the thin scars on his biceps. Four crisscrossed the muscle on one side and seven on the other. Proof of the many battles he’d fought.
And likely won.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she realized she would have to be very, very cautious. His fingers likely could snap her spine in half like a brittle twig. She’d only have one chance with l’occhio del diavolo and she prayed its aim would indeed have the eye of the devil.
A thin layer of perspiration covered his tan skin making his shoulders look glossy, as if they had been highly polished with a cloth.
Standing in front of him, she tried to imagine where his heart was. No movement on his chest indicated its beating. Mayhap he had no heart at all.
His face was stony and unreadable, but his eyes were like glittering waves on the blue ocean as he gazed at her. “Kneel and remove my boots.”
She smarted at his tone, and sank to her knees.
Hate swelled in her heart. He was the most vile, loathsome blackheart she’d ever known. For certes, undressing him was part of her punishment for slapping him in the chapel. Get your enjoyment from this, devil. Tonight will be the last time you command me. She narrowed her eyes at him, but held her tongue.
Mentally, she counted the hours until sunset when the signal would be sent. When that time came, she wanted him as vulnerable as possible. Even wearing only half a suit of armor, he looked capable of killing a man in cold blood.
Or a woman.
She suppressed a shudder, remembering what her sister had told her about the lad who spilled ale on his paltock.
From her position on the floor, he looked even taller than before. Grasping his large black boots by the heels, she pulled off one then the other.
The muscles in his legs were enormous—like Grecian pillars. The chain mail gave little clinks and the mattress creaked as he stood and indicated for her to remove his chausses and the metal codpiece that protected his privates.
“I do not think I should,” she started. Her mouth felt dry as sand and her heart raced as she speculated what he looked like beneath the metal protector. She had some knowledge of the shape of a man’s sex—she’d bathed with her twin brother Nathan when they were children: ’twas like a stubby sausage.
She stood abruptly, not wanting to let on about her curiosity. Her inquisitiveness was something her father oft railed about. And it was evil itself to even want to look at a man she hated so much.
“You should remove the rest yourself. You have no need for my assistance.”
“’Tis part of what I require of you, wife. I have called for water, next you will bathe me. As a proper wife would.”
Bathe him?
She swallowed. Was it her imagination or did the codpiece move slightly of its own accord?
Spellbound, she stared at it to see if it would move again.
It did!
Of all the devilish things!
Mayhap her paintings had not been accurate at all if a man’s member was thick enough to move a piece of metal with its swelling. She’d based her miniatures on what she could remember of her brother when they had been mere children.
But this…this was interesting. Perhaps she could paint it when she safely reached Italy.
Her gaze flicked to her art supplies stacked neatly in the trunk. In a safe cleft beneath the floor planks under her desk, a half-finished work depicting a naked gladiator was hidden along with a number of other unfinished or inferior paintings. Montgomery had been correct that artists sometimes hid their work.
That gladiator piece was the first one she’d been so bold as to do a complete frontal view of a male figure. Unsure of the exact size and color of a man’s member, she had not finished it. It did not seem right to paint a vague sausage-shape as she had done with her other erotic art.
At once the thought of having Montgomery unclad was more than simply making him easier to kill. Doing so would allow her to finish the painting with an edge of realism. That would, for certes, allow her to study with her brother’s tutors when she reached Italy.
Emboldened by the thought, she untied the strings holding the codpiece and lifted it away. A large bulge lay beneath it, straining against the chain mail chausses. Eager now, she slid these down his legs until he was clad only in his hose.
She skimmed her hands over the ties, slowly undid the stays and peeled them down his long, long legs. The crisp hair on his thighs prickled against her palms. She felt hot, dizzy. And completely curious.
Without allowing herself time to think, she pulled the strings on his brais and let them slide to the floor.
She gasped as his member sprang loose. ’Twas so much larger than she’d expected. Much different than the ones she’d painted. It bobbed in the air seeming to defy the laws of nature that pulled things downward. Not like a flabby sausage a’tall!
Amazed, she stared at it and as she did, it seemed to grow even longer.
Hell’s fires. All her paintings had been wrong! She’d painted men’s members afore, but they looked nothing like this. She’d gotten the color wrong. And it had a slight purplish tint at the end and a very interesting vein that bulged down the length.
Reaching out, she touched it with one finger.
Her new husband hissed and she lurched. Straightening, she looked up at him.
She’d been so entranced by the size and sturdiness of his body, she’d ignored Montgomery the man.
He gazed down on her, his intense cobalt eyes blazing. His dark brows drew together in an enigmatic scowl that made her wonder what he was thinking.
Shivers raced down her spine. The dagger felt hard and steely betwixt her breasts.
“I’ve never had a woman inspect me like a prized stallion.”
She stepped back to put some distance between them, and composed her face. “I was not.”
Montgomery chuckled, the sound throaty and warm.
She felt her cheeks heat, and tore her gaze away
