Velvet Bond by Catherine Archer

blood sing and her heart pound. She’d been so afraid that she had imagined the way she felt when she looked at him.
     
    And for a few moments, Raynor had seemed different, more open than the previous day. He’d looked at her as if seeing her for the very first time, and he hadn’t seemed displeased.
     
    Rot, but she couldn’t think of what she might have said or done to make him change.
     
    She was saved from having to say anything when the door opened to admit Olwyn carrying a heavily laden tray. With shaky legs, Elizabeth moved to the table as Olwyn set the tray down. “Thank you, Olwyn.”
     
    As the other woman left, Elizabeth realized that she could not allow Raynor to see that he had upset her. Obviously she was not to his liking. The best she could do now was to get through the evening without making a complete fool of herself. Keeping her voice and manner carefully polite, Elizabeth turned to Stephen. “We can begin now, if you like.”
     
    The first part of the meal passed in a blur as Elizabeth served them both, then used her eating knife to toy with her food. She barely tasted the bites of roast pork, eels and assorted pastries that she did take, though they had been painstakingly and well prepared.
     
    But as the moments stretched onward, Elizabeth began to grow angry with herself. Whatever Lord Warwicke’s annoyance might be, this silence was fair driving her mad. She would stand no more of it. She was a Clayburn, daughter of a proud and noble line. No man could be allowed to render her so self-conscious.
     
    Elizabeth met his gaze directly as she lifted the pitcher from the table between them. “Would you care for more wine, my lord?”
     
    He looked down at his plate, then nodded, passing her his cup. “My thanks, Lady Clayburn. It is the best I've tasted in some time. It is warm in here, and the wine is refreshing.”
     
    As she filled the vessel, Elizabeth thought about what he had said. The room seemed a trifle cool to her, rather than warm. March’s recent arrival had brought no rise in temperatures. They had kept the window open most of the day to catch the light as they readied the room for the evening, and along with it the cold. Just before Raynor arrived, she’d had Albert light a fire in the hearth to take the chill from the room.
     
    Feeling Raynor’s gaze upon her, she looked up at him and paused. The intensity in his dark eyes rocked her. She felt she was being studied with appreciation, yes, but also with doubt. Her tunic suddenly felt too tight across her breasts, and she shifted restlessly on her cushioned chair.
     
    He was right, the room was quite warm. Her tongue came out to lick at the perspiration that beaded on her upper lip, and his gaze followed. He swallowed, taking a ragged breath as he closed his eyes, releasing Elizabeth from their spell.
     
    She turned away, trying to still her beating heart even as she felt a rush of elation. So he was not completely indifferent to her as he pretended.
     
    That left the question, why was he making the pretense?
     
    Elizabeth didn’t know, but she was through with trying to fathom the answer. The anger that had been directed toward herself a few minutes before now shifted to him. If Raynor Warwicke wanted to keep to himself, that was fine with her, or so she told herself. And she was determined for him to see that it didn’t matter. She would go on with the meal as if he were any other guest, then see him on his way.
     
    But there was a nagging awareness in her that told Elizabeth it would not be so easy as she thought. Why, he had only to look at her and she melted like butter in sunshine.
     
    Elizabeth picked up her own cup and took a long drink of the wine. He was right, it was cool to the tongue, even as it trickled a liquid courage into her veins. If need be, she could surely drink enough wine to get her through the hours in his presence. She had heard it could be of help. She poured herself another cup and drained