Princess In A Strange New Land. Linda Skye
The noblewoman turned three shades of red, her fingers tight around her fan. She took a step forward.
“Why you little—”
“My, ladies,” John interjected quickly. “Aren’t you all looking particularly lovely tonight?”
He quickly took the offended woman’s hands in his, drawing her away. He caught her in his most suave smile, smirking as she blinked in pleasant surprise.
“Lady,” he said with a conspiratorial wink, “why don’t you fetch our visitor a glass of…spirits?”
The ridiculously dressed noblewoman tittered at this supposed alliance and scuttled away with her skirts swishing. He resisted the urge to sigh, his mind turning, desperately searching for a way to salvage the diplomatic nightmare he’d stepped into.
“My lady Akna,” John continued as he turned, his voice velvety smooth, “your mastery of English is astounding.”
“Why of course,” she replied dryly. “It is a far simpler language than my own tongue.”
And then finally Sir John Frederick laid eyes on Akna, daughter of Tulok of the Inuit. And for once, he was struck speechless. This was not just a Northern princess; no, this was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever laid eyes on. She was tall and willowy as a young sapling, and her long, dark hair gleamed in the candlelight. Her wide, hazel eyes were lit with bright flecks of green and gold and were set above high, refined cheekbones. Small, plump lips were stretched into a sly smirk, and her small, delicate hands rested on the generous swell of her hips. Oh, and that dress…that sealskin dress did absolutely nothing to hide her sweet curves. The edge just grazed her knees, scandalously revealing her perfect calves. John was suddenly very aware of the heat spreading from his loins, and his fingers twitched as they ached to test out the creaminess of that beautiful skin. He inhaled as he imagined sliding his palms up the curve of her legs, past the hem of her dress and up the length of her thighs. What would he find there? he wondered longingly. How he wanted to cup her bottom in his hands, squeeze her tender flesh and push his fingers—
“And it appears I speak English even better than you do,” she commented, interrupting his reverie.
“Apologies, my lady,” John said, flourishing a bow as he recovered. “I am Sir John Frederick, appointed to be your host during your stay.”
“Ah,” she said with a knowing tilt of her head. “The fearless captain. Tell me, Sir Frederick, did you enjoy subjugating our neighbours in the South?”
The other women, who had been completely forgotten up till that point, stifled gasps of horror. But John only smiled, his handsome lips curving appreciatively. He had misjudged this woman, for she was savage indeed—but in wit and beauty.
“You give me too much credit, Lady Akna,” John countered, “I, alone, was not capable of subduing the native warriors. It was the power of the English empire.”
“An empire that can’t seem to produce decent cheese,” sniffed Akna with a raised brow. “What good is an empire that can’t even provide the most basic pleasures?”
His smirk widened, revealing pearl-white teeth. Stepping forward, he boldly took her hand and kissed her knuckles before tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“My lady,” he said as he leaned over her, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “please believe me when I say that I would be delighted to introduce you to all the pleasures of this realm.”
Despite herself, Akna’s heart skipped a beat. He was so tall, so broad and so…close. She could sense the heat radiating from his chest and feel his warm breath as he spoke. Her lashes fluttered of their own accord, and she cursed the man half-heartedly. For here was a man who had started with condescension and yet proceeded to banter with her as an equal, trading insult for insult without true malice. And by the gods of earth, was he ever handsome! Akna had never seen such a man, neither in Labrador nor in England. Though she was tall, he was taller. He had a wide, strong chest and a trim waist, and she could see the bulges of his muscles as he moved. This was no English dandy; no, here was a man’s man, a rough-and-tumble warrior disguised as a courtier. And when he lifted her hand for a kiss, his hooded eyes spoke volumes of sensuality and dark passion. She prayed that he had not noticed the flush that rose from her breast to her chin.
“Shall I give you the grand tour of this civilised mass of people, Lady Akna?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“By all means.”
As he began to lead her to another part of the hall, Akna steeled her heart. She would have to tread carefully with this man, she told herself sternly. For it was obvious that he was not only skilled in the battles of men—he was also adept at waging the war of hearts.
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