v1.0
May 2007
Velvet Angel
Jude Deveraux
"Now, Let's Get You
Out of This Dress."
Elizabeth jerked away from him, her eyes hostile. "I am more
comfortable in my clothes, thank you."
"All right, have your own way." Miles turned and began to undress
while Elizabeth fled to the protection of her bed.
"What would it take to make you love a man?" he murmured.
"I don't think I could," she replied honestly.
"I'm beginning to think I want to test that. Goodnight, my fragile
angel."
contents
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This book is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents relating to
nonhistorical figures are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance of such nonhistorical incidents, places, or figures to actual events or locales or persons
living or dead is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New Y ork, NY
10020
Copyright © 1983 by Deveraux Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form
whatsoever.
ISBN: 0-67 1-7 397 3-5
First Pocket Books printing December 1983
Printed in the U.S.A.
To Joan Schulhafer, who started as my
publicist and became my friend. Thank
you for all the love and laughter, and
most of all, for all you taught me.
Chapter 1
^ »
The South of England
August 1502
Elizabeth Chatworth stood on the very edge of the steep cliff, gazing
toward the sea of tall barley grasses. Below her, seemingly tiny men walked
with scythes on their shoulders, a few rode horses and one drove a team of
oxen.
But Elizabeth didn't really see the men because her chin was held too
high and it was locked into place so rigidly that nothing was going to
bring it down. A warm gust of wind tried to force her away from the edge
but she braced her legs and refused to move. If what had already
happened to her today and now what she faced did not sway her, no mere
wind was going to break her stance.
Her green eyes were dry but her throat was swollen shut with a lump of
anger and unshed tears. A muscle in her jaw flexed and unflexed as she
breathed deeply, trying to control her pounding heart.
Another gust of wind blew her tangled mass of honey blonde hair away
from her back and, unbeknownst to Elizabeth, one last pearl disentangled
itself and slid down the torn, dirty red silk of her dress. The finery she'd
worn to her friend's wedding was now shredded beyond repair, her hair
loose and flowing, her cheek smudged-and her hands were crudely tied
behind her back.
Elizabeth lifted her eyes toward heaven, unblinking at the bright
daylight. All her life, she'd had her looks referred to as angelic and never
had she looked so delicate, so serene, so much like a celestial being as she
did now with her heavy hair swirling about her like some silken cloak, her
ragged gown giving her the look of a Christian martyr.
But the farthest thoughts from Elizabeth's mind were ones of sweetness
-or of forgiving.
"I will fight to the death," she murmured skyward, her eyes darkening
to the color of an emerald on a moonlit night. "No man will best me. No
man will make me submit to his will."
"Pleadin' with the Lord, are you?" came the voice of her captor from
beside her.
Slowly, as if she had all the time in the world, Elizabeth turned to the
man, and the coldness in her eyes made him take a step backward. He was
a braggart like the hideous man he served, Pagnell of Waldenham, but this
underling was a coward when his master wasn't present.
John gave a nervous cough, then boldly stepped forward and grabbed
Elizabeth's upper arm. "You may think you're the great lady but for now
I'm your master."
She looked him squarely in the eyes, showing none of the pain he was
causing her-after all she'd had more than enough physical and mental
pain in her life. "You will never be anyone's master," she said calmly.
For a moment John's hand released its pressure on her arm, but the
next second he pulled her forward and pushed her roughly.
Elizabeth nearly lost balance, but by a supreme concentration she
managed to stay upright and began to walk forward.
"Every man is any woman's master," John was saying from behind her.
"Women like you just haven't realized it yet. All it'll take is one good man
slamming away on top of you and you'll learn who's your master. And from