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of had managed to satisfy him. She would find a way to pacify his palate, and in pleasing him—
    It suddenly occurred to her that while he was her main concern, there would undoubtedly be other people to please as well. His lady wife, for instance. Strange that Sir Axel and Sir Greeve had neglected to mention their lady. How could they forget so important a point in describing her new home?
    She swallowed against the tightness that returned to her throat.
    What kind of woman would be unlucky enough to be wedded to a powerful, hungry beast of a man who found the world just too smelly to bear?

Chapter Seven
    The day wore on and the cart swayed, pitched, and bounced along the road south, past burgeoning fields of grain and fattening flocks of sheep, through orchards redolent with the fragrance of plum and apple blossoms, and between fields sown with turnips, cabbages, squash, and melons. The count was nowhere to be seen when they stopped, midday, to water the horses and stretch their legs. But as the sun began to lower, he appeared and directed them off the road to a site he had selected for the night’s camp … within sight of a village.
    There he ordered a sizeable fire built and metal rods tented above it to hold an iron pot. Nearby he had his squire unroll a leather pouch of knives, fire forks, and ladles and a chest of basic spices of the type carried by noblemen in hunting parties or on military campaign. Shortly, a rider arrived on a donkey fitted with panniers containing loaves of bread and a sack of provisions. Several of the men who had disappeared across nearby fields and into the woods near their camp returned with rabbits, which they laid in a pile beside the fire.
    Julia had watched those preparations and the speculative looks aimed at her with mounting dread. When the count himself strode over, she knew what he would say before he opened his mouth.
    “My men have provided the game and the fire. It’s time for you to prove your worth and produce something edible for us.”
    “I beg your pardon, milord, but producing something truly edible under such crude circumstances would require nothing less than magic.” She folded her arms and raised her chin. “And I am not a practitioner of the magical arts.”
    Her refusal clearly caught him off guard. He came alive, growing across her field of vision.
    “Indeed?” His eyes narrowed. “I was given to understand that the convent’s cook had learned a hot and spicy bit of magic from some gypsies.”
    “Really, Your Lordship.” She looked positively scandalized. “How would I have encountered gypsies while living and working in a convent?”
    His features tightened.
    “You’ve been acquired at great cost to cook for me.” He pointed to the preparations. “Pick up the knife and the game and do so.”
    “I am an artisan. A tempter of palates. A mistress of culinary secrets.” She swept the makeshift campfire with a look of disdain. “Not a rabbit singer who works by the side of the road.”
    His fists were clenched at his sides as he leaned over her, adding the considerable persuasion of his physical power to his argument.
    “You are my cook,” he ground out. “I am ordering you to
cook.”
    She raised her gaze to his and thought she must have lost her wits. He was big and forceful and right now was overpowering her senses and rattling her teeth in their sockets. Then through her rising panic, inspiration struck.
    “I will comply with your order, milord”—her gaze focused on that band of metal that clamped his nose together—“if you will agree to remove the band from your nose and smell what you are eating.”
    His shoulders swelled like rising bread.
    “I’ll do nothing of the sort. Who do you think you are, to lay down terms and conditions to me?”
    “Your head cook, milord. You must be willing to trust me with your senses as well as your health and well-being. If you do not trust me to cook agreeably for you here—this humble fare—then