Remington was outraged. “Better both be…now what in the hell did he mean by that?”
“Exactly that,” Gaston entered the room, eyeing the old woman. “Be gone.”
Eudora dropped the rest of her linens and scampered out. Remington faced him, almost hysterical. “Please explain yourself, my lord.”
He slanted her a glance and moved to the wine decanter against the wall. Pouring himself a full cup of wine, he turned to face her calmly.
“I did not send Nicolas to the vault to assault your sister or do her harm,” he said evenly. “My philosophy is simple; the conflicts originally started between Rory and Nicolas, and they will end with Rory and Nicolas. I expect them to make peace with each other before the night is through or I will take matters into my own hands.”
“There are no conflicts,” Remington insisted. “Since when are practical jokes conflicts?”
“They are not– yet,” he said. “Throwing water and sabotaging bathtubs are one thing, but they could quickly escalate into something more sinister. I do not want people of this keep taking sides if someone ‘innocently’ gets hurt.”
She put her hands on her hips irritably. “My sisters have always been like this. ’Tis simply the way they are. I do not think you can change their nature.”
“I am not trying to change their nature, my lady, simply curb it a bit,” he said steadily.
“Are you against fun, then?” she demanded respectfully.
“There is a place for everything,” he answered her, yet gave her no answer at the same time. “Now tell me, what was it you wished to speak to me about?”
Remington studied him a moment before answering. “Rory. I wanted to ask you to release her this day, but I can see that I would be wasting my breath to do so.”
“You will see her tomorrow,” he said. “Was that all?”
“Aye,” she replied. “I am so sorry to have bothered you. And I am so sorry that you had water thrown on you, since you have no sense of humor.”
He looked at her, hearing her taunt. No one taunted him except Arik. “I have a sense of humor, properly placed.”
She raised her eyebrows as if she did not believe him. “As you say, my lord.”
“I do,” he insisted. “But I do not make a fool of myself.”
Her gaze softened somewhat. “I could never imagine the Dark Knight a fool. Any man who would think so is dead now, I am sure.”
“How true,” he dipped his head gallantly to thank her for her confidence. “You are wise as well as beautiful.”
Her smile vanished. His smile vanished, too, as he watched her turn away from him abruptly.
“I will make sure Jasmine and Skye are well aware that you have forbidden them any further pranks,” she said, her manner clipped. “I am sure you have other duties to attend to, my lord, and I will take no more of your time.”
He crossed his arms, observing the stiff back. “What have I said?”
She looked at him, puzzled, but guarded. “I know not what you mean, my lord.”
He studied her intensely. “Aye, you do. You were smiling not a moment ago and now you are angry. What did I say to offend you?”
“Nothing, my lord,” she turned away softly.
He wanted to grab her and turn her to him but he was acutely aware that she would probably turn into a hysterical creature.
“You do not like being told of your beauty,” he said after a moment. “Why not?”
He saw her body twitch convulsively and her hand flew to her mouth. “’Tis…tis not true, I tell you. I am not angry.”
Her voice sounded strangely tight. “Aye, you are. Do not you know how beautiful you are?”
She whirled recklessly to face him, her hand over her mouth and her eyes were brimming with tears. “Do not…would you please leave me alone.”
