Once a Bride by Shari Anton Page A

My stomach rebels at the smell of eel, so I thought it wise to leave before my affliction became apparent.”
    “Then why serve eel?”
    “Simon told me the earl is partial to it.”
    So she’d served a dish she couldn’t tolerate as a placating gesture toward Kenworth, who Roland knew considered the grand meal no more than his due.
    “A wasted gesture, I fear. The only thing that will appease the earl is Sir John’s capture. Unless you can serve your father up on a platter, no amount of eel, no matter how well prepared, will improve Kenworth’s humor.”
    “So I am beginning to understand.” She glanced down at her clasped hands, where one thumb brushed restlessly over the other. “What will happen to my father should he be captured?”
    Roland took a fortifying breath. She’d heard all this before. Nothing had changed.
    “He will be taken to Westminster for trial.”
    “Will he? Or will Kenworth decide to administer immediate justice?” The last word came out harshly, echoing his own reservations about Kenworth’s intentions. “Simon tells me my father is accused of conspiring with the Scots. I refuse to believe it. Father approves of the king. He thought Edward’s handling of the latest uprising most admirable. This charge of treason defies sense. Whoever accuses my father is gravely mistaken.”
    Spoken like a loyal daughter, and Roland grudgingly gave her credit for her constancy.
    “Truly, I know not who brought the matter to the king’s attention. I know only that Edward is in possession of a missive which indicates Sir John’s guilt.”
    “Have you seen this missive?”
    “Nay, only told of its existence. By the king. If it is any comfort”—and he had no idea why he thought offering comfort was necessary, nor did he have reason to think she’d accept it from him—“Edward is hard-pressed to believe Sir John a traitor. ’Twould be best if your father states his defense directly to the king as quickly as possible.”
    She mulled that over for a moment. “Then if you were asked, you would advise my father to hie to the king?”
    “I would.” Something in the tone and way of her question pricked at him. “Eloise, do you know where your father is? Can you send him that advice?”
    She gave a disgruntled laugh. “I wish I had such knowledge and could pass along your counsel.” She tossed a hand in the air. “Verily, I suspect Kenworth will not allow my father the chance to give his defense.”
    “You cannot know that for sure.”
    “Nay, I do not. There is so much I do not know, except that my father is gone, Kenworth is bent on his capture, and
you
are now in charge of Lelleford. All three are beyond reason and understanding.”
    Her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes misted, and damn if he didn’t feel a responding tremor in his innards, which he quickly squelched. She indulged in self-pity, ’twas all, an emotion he couldn’t abide.
    “Perhaps you become overset because you remind yourself of your plight so forcefully.”
    “I am
not
overset!”
    With that she spun around and strode over to close the window shutters. One stuck open, and after she struggled with it to no avail, he reluctantly went to her aid.
    A mistake. He’d forgotten how he’d battled throughout supper to ignore the tang of Eloise’s scent. How much willpower he expended to keep from drifting toward her in an effort to identify what spice or pungent flower emitted so keen yet pleasing a fragrance.
    With a sharp, effective rap the shutter closed.
    He should move away, except his feet refused to move.
    Eloise looked up at him with moist eyes, reflecting her own befuddlement. She didn’t move either, simply stood still and silent in his shadow, too close and far too vibrant and tempting.
    Eloise’s appeal drew male reaction as if iron to lode-stone, and Roland cursed the part of his body that swelled in perfectly understandable male response to an enticing female. The response might be natural, but succumbing