it, as well, before deigning to speak to Raynor again.
Taking a deep breath, she began politely. “My brother tells me you are leaving tomorrow for Warwicke Castle.”
He gave her one of those long, enigmatic looks. “Yes.” Then he turned back to his plate.
Elizabeth took another sip of her wine. She was growing quite relaxed, her arms and legs pleasantly heavy. It was beginning to matter less and less that Raynor was rude and distant. In fact, she was feeling almost amused by the whole situation. What Raynor needed was to allow himself to loosen up just a bit. He might benefit from a few glasses of wine himself.
Arching a fine black brow, she lifted the pitcher in offering. “Would you care for more?”
He barely nodded, handing her the cup. Elizabeth filled it for him.
“My thanks,” he told her, taking a long pull before setting it down next to his dish.
At least he was being polite now, she thought, settling back in her chair, her own cup in her hand. She sipped at the wine, no longer caring to make the pretense of eating.
He glanced over at her, frowning as if she had done something to irritate him in some way. “You aren’t eating.”
“Nay,” she replied languidly. Her own gaze went to his plate, and she saw that for all his studied concentration, Raynor had managed to eat very little of his own dinner. She laughed huskily. “My lord Warwicke, it appears you are not hungry, either.”
With an angry grunt, he pushed the dish aside. “I am not.”
She drained her cup, then watched as Raynor did the same, her eyes never leaving his. This time it was he who leaned forward to refill the vessels, without speaking.
He took another drink of his own wine, his gaze fixing on the tapestry behind her. His lean profile was hard, but undeniably handsome in the glow of the fire, leaving her with a desire to run her hand over the strongly etched jaw. Despite his best efforts, there was an air of loneliness about him that even his confidence and self-possession could not disguise. From somewhere inside her came the thought that this strong man needed someone to share the weight of his troubles. And even though it was obvious that that someone was not her, she couldn’t help wishing he had given her a chance to at least know him better.
Suddenly Elizabeth found herself speaking. It was as if she couldn’t halt her wayward tongue. “You would not have come here tonight, knowing Stephen was gone?”
He turned to her, his brows knit in surprise at her frankness. He took a long pull of his wine before answering. “Nay, I would not have come.”
Even though she had known the answer, Elizabeth felt an unbidden twinge of chagrin. She couldn’t keep herself from replying with the first thing that popped into her mind. “I am really not so very wicked.”
His grimace belied his polite answer. “Of that I am most certain, Lady Elizabeth.”
She laughed. The words were so blatantly at odds with his expression. “Methinks you do not answer truthfully, my lord. What do you hold against me?” She raised her arms wide, then lowered them, feeling recklessly daring for talking so openly. “Am I not pleasing to you? Do I bring to mind some long-despised woman from your past?”
His gaze moved over her with slow deliberation, his eyes dark with some undefined emotion that made her pulse quicken. His voice was husky as he spoke. “You are most pleasing to me, Elizabeth Clayburn. And you remind me of no one I have known in my entire life. In fact, I find you too pleasing.”
Elizabeth knew a moment’s elation before he went on, his tone grown cool.
“But therein lies my problem. You are a noblewoman, and thus can be nothing to me. I want no complication in my life such as you would bring. I have troubles enough to keep me till the end of my days. Why would I willingly bring more upon myself? I know your type. You gently bred damsels
Taking a deep breath, she began politely. “My brother tells me you are leaving tomorrow for Warwicke Castle.”
He gave her one of those long, enigmatic looks. “Yes.” Then he turned back to his plate.
Elizabeth took another sip of her wine. She was growing quite relaxed, her arms and legs pleasantly heavy. It was beginning to matter less and less that Raynor was rude and distant. In fact, she was feeling almost amused by the whole situation. What Raynor needed was to allow himself to loosen up just a bit. He might benefit from a few glasses of wine himself.
Arching a fine black brow, she lifted the pitcher in offering. “Would you care for more?”
He barely nodded, handing her the cup. Elizabeth filled it for him.
“My thanks,” he told her, taking a long pull before setting it down next to his dish.
At least he was being polite now, she thought, settling back in her chair, her own cup in her hand. She sipped at the wine, no longer caring to make the pretense of eating.
He glanced over at her, frowning as if she had done something to irritate him in some way. “You aren’t eating.”
“Nay,” she replied languidly. Her own gaze went to his plate, and she saw that for all his studied concentration, Raynor had managed to eat very little of his own dinner. She laughed huskily. “My lord Warwicke, it appears you are not hungry, either.”
With an angry grunt, he pushed the dish aside. “I am not.”
She drained her cup, then watched as Raynor did the same, her eyes never leaving his. This time it was he who leaned forward to refill the vessels, without speaking.
He took another drink of his own wine, his gaze fixing on the tapestry behind her. His lean profile was hard, but undeniably handsome in the glow of the fire, leaving her with a desire to run her hand over the strongly etched jaw. Despite his best efforts, there was an air of loneliness about him that even his confidence and self-possession could not disguise. From somewhere inside her came the thought that this strong man needed someone to share the weight of his troubles. And even though it was obvious that that someone was not her, she couldn’t help wishing he had given her a chance to at least know him better.
Suddenly Elizabeth found herself speaking. It was as if she couldn’t halt her wayward tongue. “You would not have come here tonight, knowing Stephen was gone?”
He turned to her, his brows knit in surprise at her frankness. He took a long pull of his wine before answering. “Nay, I would not have come.”
Even though she had known the answer, Elizabeth felt an unbidden twinge of chagrin. She couldn’t keep herself from replying with the first thing that popped into her mind. “I am really not so very wicked.”
His grimace belied his polite answer. “Of that I am most certain, Lady Elizabeth.”
She laughed. The words were so blatantly at odds with his expression. “Methinks you do not answer truthfully, my lord. What do you hold against me?” She raised her arms wide, then lowered them, feeling recklessly daring for talking so openly. “Am I not pleasing to you? Do I bring to mind some long-despised woman from your past?”
His gaze moved over her with slow deliberation, his eyes dark with some undefined emotion that made her pulse quicken. His voice was husky as he spoke. “You are most pleasing to me, Elizabeth Clayburn. And you remind me of no one I have known in my entire life. In fact, I find you too pleasing.”
Elizabeth knew a moment’s elation before he went on, his tone grown cool.
“But therein lies my problem. You are a noblewoman, and thus can be nothing to me. I want no complication in my life such as you would bring. I have troubles enough to keep me till the end of my days. Why would I willingly bring more upon myself? I know your type. You gently bred damsels
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