“I will.”
“Very well.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her sweetly, his lips lingering on her cheeks before pulling away completely. “I will return in a while.”
Cheeks flushed with the power of his kisses, Devereux could only nod. He winked at her as he left the chamber. She stood there long after he was gone, going over their conversation, the encounter in general. Thoughts of the man made her feel giddy and warm, growing worse by the moment. And something additionally odd was occurring; thoughts of him seemed to suck every other idea out of her head. She found that didn’t want to think of anything other than him.
But she forced herself to move, to focus on something other than his beautiful hazel eyes or amazing physique. She retreated back into the privy chamber where the tub still sat, the water now cool, and the cowhide that had cushioned their lovemaking lay. She stared at the hide a moment, a chill running through her as she thought of his hands on her body. It was still somewhat embarrassing to have such sexual thoughts, being a lady who had led a relatively sheltered life, but they were not unpleasant thoughts. She knew she could come to like them.
Pulling up a small stool, she sat next to the vizier and flipped her head over, running her fingers through her hair in front of the heat. As she did, her mind began to wander again to the massive knight who was her husband. She couldn’t seem to get him off of her mind.
She didn’t try.
CHAPTER NINE
The evening mealwas the first introduction into what kind of man Davyss de Winter was, at least prior to his marriage and pledges of faithfulness. It was during this meal that Devereux began to see what Lady Katharine had meant about the numerous women in her son’s life. It started with the serving wenches.
Seated next to her husband in the center of a very large table in Wintercroft’s enormous great hall on the first, windowless floor of the structure, Devereux was dressed in a beautiful yellow surcoat with gold embellishment. Her hair was braided over one shoulder and she looked positively angelic; Davyss’ reaction when he had first seen her and his constant attentiveness told her that he appreciated the effort she put forth in dressing. She was truly enjoying his company when the parade of serving wenches started.
She didn’t notice it at first; she simply thought the servants were bringing the meal. Every time Davyss would take just a few sips of wine, a woman would immediately fill his glass. She noticed one of them at one point as she bent over her husband’s left hand with a pitcher. All she could see were white breasts, spilling out over the top of a leather girdle. The woman brushed them against Davyss’ arm as she poured his wine. Shocked, Devereux looked at her husband’s face; he was focused on his meal.
Although they were surrounded with his knights and their wives, Davyss seemed to have eyes only for Devereux. He made sure her cup was always full by the same wenches who were sointent to seduce him and he also made sure she had the first serving of everything. He was attentive and sweet in spite of the parade of whores who were vying for his attention.
Lady Frances was sitting on Devereux’s right hand. The woman hadn’t said a word all evening, instead, sitting silently with her meal and responding to her husband on occasion. But Frances noticed the steady flow of serving wenches challenging Devereux for her husband’s attention; that was a normal occurrence at Wintercroft. She was frankly curious how Lady de Winter was going to handle the situation and unsure how to feel about it. At some point, she caught Devereux’s eye when a particularly busty wench brushed against Davyss. Devereux smiled weakly.
“The meal is lovely,” she said. “Who is responsible?”
Frances was pleasant. “Lucy and I share the duties, Lady de Winter. However, now that you have arrived, you are in charge. We shall defer everything to you.”
Devereux nodded faintly, studying the attractive woman; Nik, seated next to his wife, seemed more interested in the men around them. Frances sat quietly while her husband carried on a lively conversation with others. When Davyss turned to Hugh, seated on his left, Devereux took the opportunity to speak further with Frances. She felt sorry for the woman.
“How long have you and Sir Nikolas been married, my lady?” she asked politely.
Frances swallowed the bite in her mouth. “Three years, my lady,” she replied. “We were married in London but I have lived at Wintercroft since.”
Devereux’s brow furrowed slightly. “He does not provide you with your own home?”
Frances looked both surprised and distressed by the question. “He serves Davyss de Winter, my lady,” she saidquietly. “I live where he lives, and right now, he lives with Sir Davyss.”
Devereux was afraid she had upset the woman. “I did not mean to offend you,” she said quickly. “I simply meant…to ask if you have a home of your own to attend to. I should not like to keep you from your home or family.”
Frances shook her head. “My home is here. I hope this does not disturb you, Lady de Winter.”
“Of course not,” Devereux replied, thinking it would be wise to change the subject. “I want to thank you again for preparing a bath for me today. It was most thoughtful of you.”
“It was our pleasure, my lady.”
The conversation died a bit but Devereux tried to keep it going. “What do you do for entertainment?” she asked as she pulled apart a soft white piece of bread. “Do you draw?”
“I do.”
“I am sure you are very good at it.”
Frances smiled weakly, the first such gesture from the woman. She seemed rather quiet and sad. “I try, but I believe I am better at sewing.”
“Truly?” Devereux pretended to be very interested. “Perhaps you will show me some of your work.”
Frances seemed pleased by the request and nodded graciously. Lucy, far down the table on the other side of her husband, seemed upset that she was not included in the conversation that was clearly going on between Lady de Winter and Frances. When Devereux caught a glimpse of her sad young face, she caught the woman’s attention and motioned her over. Lucy leapt up and raced to the women, even when Philip demanded to know why she was leaving him. He was more interested in his ale and manly conversation, anyway, which Lucy promptly reminded him. The men around Philip snorted.
As Lucy drew near, she tripped over a hovering serving wench in her haste. The woman was intending on pouring more wine into Davyss’ cup but ended up spilling it on Frances’ surcoat instead, prompting Devereux to shoot to her feet in outrage. She jabbed a finger at the wench, at her end of patience with all of these loose women hanging about and creating a nuisance.
