Northumbria.”
Since she had earlier perceived him to be a man who would think himself irresistible to all women, she did not bother to deflate him by saying that she was hardly likely to have forgotten the one responsible for her captivity. She also refused to blush or simper in apparent confusion. “I did not mean to do so, sire,” she said. She regarded him steadily, a disconcerting trick, she had learned, that sometimes put overbold men at a disadvantage.
Not Cedric of Valmey. “Then, perhaps, madam, you accuse me.”
She knew that it was wiser to preserve a respectful silence than to respond.
Valmey sighed with a smile. “Perhaps you know that I led the attack on Castle Norham. It is natural for you to hold it against me, but in sooth, it could have been any knight present who did the deed.” He waved the topic away and continued, still overly solicitous. “Because I wish to give you a much better impression of me, I have come forward with the rest to offer my congratulations to you.”
“I thank you.”
“And to complain,” he continued with a sly, sensuous, teasing smile, “that Simon of Beresford received two remarkable honors today.”
Gwyneth looked at him questioningly.
“The second remarkable honor being, of course, the fact that he is to marry you.”
“And the first?” she demanded.
“He has received the earldom of Northumbria, in addition to your hand and your land,” Valmey informed her.
Gwyneth lowered her lashes. Beresford had not mentioned the earldom, and neither had Adela. Was Valmey telling her this now to suggest that an additional honor had been necessary to overcome Beresford’s obvious reluctance to the marriage? Or was it, rather, that Valmey was jealous, since the land should have been his by right of conquest? She replied, “It seems a proper honor to bestow on him, under the circumstances.”
“Under the circumstances,” Valmey repeated.
“What circumstances?” asked a voice at Gwyneth’s side. She turned to find Geoffrey of Senlis standing there. “But let me guess!” he said.
Gwyneth greeted him and said, “We were just discussing the appointment of Simon of Beresford as Earl of Northumbria.”
Senlis bowed. “An excellent appointment,” he said approvingly, “and unlooked-for on Beresford’s part, I can assure you!” He gazed frankly at Gwyneth as he continued, “Simon has never sought honors.”
Gwyneth perceived the merest hint of tension in Cedric of Valmey and wondered whether Senlis’s comment was less for her benefit and rather more for Valmey’s. “You mean that he is modest,” she said.
“I mean that, too,” Senlis said, his eyes twinkling.
Gwyneth riposted, “I refuse to credit, sire, that as Simon of Beresford’s friend, you are suggesting he is unambitious.”
Senlis laughed. “I did not mean that, my lady!” he disclaimed instantly, stepping back and putting his hand over his heart.
Cedric of Valmey smiled at the good-natured raillery, but the smile did not reach his eyes. When he murmured his excuses, Senlis said affably, but with an undercurrent of challenge, “What, Valmey, you are leaving us?”
With equal affability and challenge, Valmey replied, “I shall return when I may have Gwyneth of Northumbria to myself.”
Gwyneth supposed that she was to feel flattered, but she did not. She had no doubt that Cedric of Valmey was a rat, and not just because of his sacking of Castle Norham. He was a handsome rat, but a rat all the same. She turned to Senlis. He was handsome, too. But he was not, she thought as she looked into his fine eyes, a rat. She felt a kind of relief in his presence that she had not experienced since coming to the Tower. Perhaps it was his blue eyes and blond hair, which made him seem so very familiar to her. For the second time that day, she thought how much easier her life would be if
he
had been the chosen bridegroom.
He extended his arm. She laid her fingertips lightly upon it. He invited her
Since she had earlier perceived him to be a man who would think himself irresistible to all women, she did not bother to deflate him by saying that she was hardly likely to have forgotten the one responsible for her captivity. She also refused to blush or simper in apparent confusion. “I did not mean to do so, sire,” she said. She regarded him steadily, a disconcerting trick, she had learned, that sometimes put overbold men at a disadvantage.
Not Cedric of Valmey. “Then, perhaps, madam, you accuse me.”
She knew that it was wiser to preserve a respectful silence than to respond.
Valmey sighed with a smile. “Perhaps you know that I led the attack on Castle Norham. It is natural for you to hold it against me, but in sooth, it could have been any knight present who did the deed.” He waved the topic away and continued, still overly solicitous. “Because I wish to give you a much better impression of me, I have come forward with the rest to offer my congratulations to you.”
“I thank you.”
“And to complain,” he continued with a sly, sensuous, teasing smile, “that Simon of Beresford received two remarkable honors today.”
Gwyneth looked at him questioningly.
“The second remarkable honor being, of course, the fact that he is to marry you.”
“And the first?” she demanded.
“He has received the earldom of Northumbria, in addition to your hand and your land,” Valmey informed her.
Gwyneth lowered her lashes. Beresford had not mentioned the earldom, and neither had Adela. Was Valmey telling her this now to suggest that an additional honor had been necessary to overcome Beresford’s obvious reluctance to the marriage? Or was it, rather, that Valmey was jealous, since the land should have been his by right of conquest? She replied, “It seems a proper honor to bestow on him, under the circumstances.”
“Under the circumstances,” Valmey repeated.
“What circumstances?” asked a voice at Gwyneth’s side. She turned to find Geoffrey of Senlis standing there. “But let me guess!” he said.
Gwyneth greeted him and said, “We were just discussing the appointment of Simon of Beresford as Earl of Northumbria.”
Senlis bowed. “An excellent appointment,” he said approvingly, “and unlooked-for on Beresford’s part, I can assure you!” He gazed frankly at Gwyneth as he continued, “Simon has never sought honors.”
Gwyneth perceived the merest hint of tension in Cedric of Valmey and wondered whether Senlis’s comment was less for her benefit and rather more for Valmey’s. “You mean that he is modest,” she said.
“I mean that, too,” Senlis said, his eyes twinkling.
Gwyneth riposted, “I refuse to credit, sire, that as Simon of Beresford’s friend, you are suggesting he is unambitious.”
Senlis laughed. “I did not mean that, my lady!” he disclaimed instantly, stepping back and putting his hand over his heart.
Cedric of Valmey smiled at the good-natured raillery, but the smile did not reach his eyes. When he murmured his excuses, Senlis said affably, but with an undercurrent of challenge, “What, Valmey, you are leaving us?”
With equal affability and challenge, Valmey replied, “I shall return when I may have Gwyneth of Northumbria to myself.”
Gwyneth supposed that she was to feel flattered, but she did not. She had no doubt that Cedric of Valmey was a rat, and not just because of his sacking of Castle Norham. He was a handsome rat, but a rat all the same. She turned to Senlis. He was handsome, too. But he was not, she thought as she looked into his fine eyes, a rat. She felt a kind of relief in his presence that she had not experienced since coming to the Tower. Perhaps it was his blue eyes and blond hair, which made him seem so very familiar to her. For the second time that day, she thought how much easier her life would be if
he
had been the chosen bridegroom.
He extended his arm. She laid her fingertips lightly upon it. He invited her
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