He shook his head faintly. “I know your husband, Remington. He’s an unscrupulous bastard, but I had no idea just how foul the man was.”
She shrugged, unwinding her legs and rising. “He’s in the Tower now and hopefully he shall rot there. I’d sooner kill myself than allow him back into my life. Back into Dane’s life.”
“Dane seems remarkably unaffected by all of this,” Gaston murmured.
Remington nodded firmly. “He’s been spared the brunt of it, thank God. Guy never actually went after him, but Dane had to witness what his father did to us. He is most protective of me, as you have seen.”
“He’s a good boy,” Gaston agreed. “He shall make a fine knight.”
Remington hugged herself, rubbing her arms against the chill of the room now that the sun had set. “What about your boy, my lord? How old is he?”
Gaston rose from the bed with a grunt. “Trenton is eight years old, tall and well-built. And smart.”
“Like his father, I am sure,” Remington said. “And your wife? What is her name?”
His warm exterior deteriorated rapidly. “Mari-Elle. And I do not speak of her.”
Remington was shocked at the reprimand. She instantly lowered her gaze uncertainly. “Then I apologize, my lord. I meant no harm.”
He wiped his hand across his face, letting out a harsh sigh to regain his composure. “Of course you did not. It’s just that…well; do not speak of my wife. I prefer to imagine that she does not exist.”
Remington was deeply curious but banked herself. She did not want to provoke the man on an obviously sore subject. “As I prefer to imagine that my husband does not exist. Mayhap they can slip into non-existence together and we can be rid of them.”
She was smiling faintly, an innocent remark and nothing more. But he was acutely aware of how true he would like that to be, not simply to be rid of Mari-Elle, but so that he and Remington could become…friends. He wanted Remington for a friend.
“Too bad they did not marry each other,” he grinned back.
Remington laughed softly and he was enchanted by the white, straight teeth and bow-shaped mouth. She was absolutely stunning when she smiled.
He had a tremendous amount of work to attend to, but he was reluctant to leave. He liked talking to Remington; he liked the way she made him feel. And he liked the way she smiled.
“I suppose I must go now,” he said, but he was not moving for the door. Instead, he was moving for Remington and she was watching him openly. The fear was gone.
“I have ordered roast mutton and venison for supper,” she said. “I hope it is to your liking.”
“You eat a lot of mutton, do not you?” he asked, jesting with her. “Can I expect a fleece pie for dessert?”
She smiled broadly, her dimples deep. “Sheep is the primary crop of Yorkshire and we eat everything but the coat, my lord. But I will order you up a fleece piece if that is your wish.”
He studied her a moment, his gaze softening. “My wish is for you to call me Gaston in private,” he said.
She looked surprised, but recovered. “I would be honored, my lo…. Gaston.”
He gave her a lop-sided grin. “It will become easier with practice. I shall see you in the dining hall, then.”
He moved for the door, leaving her feeling breathless and warm. She had no idea why.
“Can’t I call you the Dark Knight?” she asked, still jesting with the light mood.
“No,” he said flatly as he reached the door. “I do not like that title.”
“You do not?” she was genuinely surprised. “But everyone calls you that.”
“Edward started it, and I hated it even then,” Gaston said, his hand on the latch. “But there is naught I could do against our king.”
She cocked her head at him. “Can I call you the Devil, then? Or Satan’s Spawn? Or Fruit of Lucifer’s Loins?”
He raised a black eyebrow. “Call me those things and I shall take you over my knee. I am none of them.”
