promised her in a voice that was gentle. “You mustn’t eat too quickly, or you’ll become ill.”
His hand lifted from hers and he poured out two goblets of ale. He broke the bread himself, handing her a piece. She was still staring at him. He grinned and leaned against the wall, resting one foot idly upon the bench, his hand dangling nonchalantly over a knee. “I didn’t mean that you couldn’t eat,” he told her, a little amused.
Ondine kept her eyes warily on him while she bit into the bread. He seemed well aware of her nervous perusal of him and quite entertained by it. His smile was almost genuine as white teeth flashed against his candle-shadowed features. He suddenly had the look of a very rakish demon, a man casually aware of his effect upon women—upon her in particular—and totally amused by it.
“Where is Jake?” Ondine inquired between bites of bread.
“He is my servant, not my property. His free time is his own.”
Ondine tried to sip her ale with an element of delicacy, but she was too thirsty, and she drained half the goblet.
Somewhat surprised, he filled it for her again.
She sighed with the sudden flooding warmth of the ale. She determined to disconcert him as he did her.
“You do not consider your servants property, sir?”
“No man can be owned. To think so is folly.”
“And what of a wife?”
“Ah, well, that’s rather different, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
“I dare say,” he replied slowly, drawing a finger about the rim of his chalice. His head was bowed now, not quite close to hers. The candle flame seemed to grow larger, and the room became quite hot.
“Yes, I dare say. A wife, you see, swears a vow of loyalty.”
“Servants can be loyal.”
“Aye, but a servant who fulfills his duty owes no more.”
“And a wife?”
“Ah, but a wife should not tire of her … duty, should she?”
“Depending on what those duties be,” Ondine replied coolly.
“None so difficult, I should think. For what one may call duty, one who has spirit would call pleasure, wouldn’t you say?”
Where did this lead? she wondered, a dizziness sweeping through her. She had drained her ale far too quickly. She was his wife; they spoke as if he mused on someone else. Her fingers trembled as she made a display of nonchalance, pecking at the bread again. It had lost its delicious flavor; it seemed thick in her throat.
“What is owed to one is owed to the other, is it not?” she said serenely. What did it matter what words they exchanged? She would not stay with him long enough to discover the meaning of his taunting wordplay.
He seemed to tire of his game, sighed, and sat back, reflective as he drank his ale. “I think I should tell you something of the manor. We’ve another night on the road, yet if we travel hard, we will come to North Lambria by the second eve.” He broke off. The tavern lad was back with a platter filled high with beef and new spring potatoes. Warwick dismissed him, preferring to mound a pewter plate for Ondine himself, going lightly with the food. He laughed at her expression and reminded her, “I’ve no wish to be mean with food, girl. Yet k seems it’s been long since you’ve known regular substance, and I’ ve no mind for a sickly hindrance.”
Sickly hindrance!
He didn’t seem at all inclined to eat himself, and again he leaned against the wall, casually resting that elbow on his knee as he spoke. “Mathilda keeps the house, so you will have no difficulty with its management. If you’ve questions, come to me. The servants you will meet, and Jake you already know. Clinton is in charge of the grounds, the tenants, and the stables. And there is my brother, Justin. He resides at the manor, so you will see him frequently.”
The roast beef was delicious. It was ecstasy to Ondine’s palate, so much so that she gave his words little attention. After all, they did, in truth, mean nothing to her.
She was, in fact, so involved with her food that she did
His hand lifted from hers and he poured out two goblets of ale. He broke the bread himself, handing her a piece. She was still staring at him. He grinned and leaned against the wall, resting one foot idly upon the bench, his hand dangling nonchalantly over a knee. “I didn’t mean that you couldn’t eat,” he told her, a little amused.
Ondine kept her eyes warily on him while she bit into the bread. He seemed well aware of her nervous perusal of him and quite entertained by it. His smile was almost genuine as white teeth flashed against his candle-shadowed features. He suddenly had the look of a very rakish demon, a man casually aware of his effect upon women—upon her in particular—and totally amused by it.
“Where is Jake?” Ondine inquired between bites of bread.
“He is my servant, not my property. His free time is his own.”
Ondine tried to sip her ale with an element of delicacy, but she was too thirsty, and she drained half the goblet.
Somewhat surprised, he filled it for her again.
She sighed with the sudden flooding warmth of the ale. She determined to disconcert him as he did her.
“You do not consider your servants property, sir?”
“No man can be owned. To think so is folly.”
“And what of a wife?”
“Ah, well, that’s rather different, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
“I dare say,” he replied slowly, drawing a finger about the rim of his chalice. His head was bowed now, not quite close to hers. The candle flame seemed to grow larger, and the room became quite hot.
“Yes, I dare say. A wife, you see, swears a vow of loyalty.”
“Servants can be loyal.”
“Aye, but a servant who fulfills his duty owes no more.”
“And a wife?”
“Ah, but a wife should not tire of her … duty, should she?”
“Depending on what those duties be,” Ondine replied coolly.
“None so difficult, I should think. For what one may call duty, one who has spirit would call pleasure, wouldn’t you say?”
Where did this lead? she wondered, a dizziness sweeping through her. She had drained her ale far too quickly. She was his wife; they spoke as if he mused on someone else. Her fingers trembled as she made a display of nonchalance, pecking at the bread again. It had lost its delicious flavor; it seemed thick in her throat.
“What is owed to one is owed to the other, is it not?” she said serenely. What did it matter what words they exchanged? She would not stay with him long enough to discover the meaning of his taunting wordplay.
He seemed to tire of his game, sighed, and sat back, reflective as he drank his ale. “I think I should tell you something of the manor. We’ve another night on the road, yet if we travel hard, we will come to North Lambria by the second eve.” He broke off. The tavern lad was back with a platter filled high with beef and new spring potatoes. Warwick dismissed him, preferring to mound a pewter plate for Ondine himself, going lightly with the food. He laughed at her expression and reminded her, “I’ve no wish to be mean with food, girl. Yet k seems it’s been long since you’ve known regular substance, and I’ ve no mind for a sickly hindrance.”
Sickly hindrance!
He didn’t seem at all inclined to eat himself, and again he leaned against the wall, casually resting that elbow on his knee as he spoke. “Mathilda keeps the house, so you will have no difficulty with its management. If you’ve questions, come to me. The servants you will meet, and Jake you already know. Clinton is in charge of the grounds, the tenants, and the stables. And there is my brother, Justin. He resides at the manor, so you will see him frequently.”
The roast beef was delicious. It was ecstasy to Ondine’s palate, so much so that she gave his words little attention. After all, they did, in truth, mean nothing to her.
She was, in fact, so involved with her food that she did
Similar Books
