“I never said horrid. I believe what I said is that you have an appalling lack of manners.”
“Then you have answered your own question as to why I have never married.”
“You realize that you have condemned yourself.”
“I would rather be myself than pretend to be someone I am not. Woe to any man who cannot accept me as I am.”
He stared into her eyes with that strange hypnotic sensation that Toby had experienced once before. She could feel his warm breath on her face. Just as quickly as he grabbed her, he released her. Toby caught herself before she fell, like a fool, on the table. Shaken, she resumed her seat.
Tate collected his own seat. He took a long drink of wine because he needed it. There were too many strange thoughts floating about in his mind regarding the woman across the table. Angry with himself, he focused on his reason for speaking with her.
“I will expect you to show us the herd at dawn,” he said. “I have much to do tomorrow and do not want to be held up at Cartingdon.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Can you give me an estimate of the worth of the sheep?”
Her brow furrowed as she struggled to focus on his question, not the heat from his stare. “The top of the market would be six silver florens a head. The wool will sell for twice that for a bale. In all, I would estimate you could gain a thousand gold marks for the entire herd when everything is sold. Leeds would be the best market. They have a huge export industry.”
It was a pleasing number. Tate gazed at her a few moments longer before nodding his head. “I thank you, mistress. I know you are anxious to get about your duties so that you may retire.”
“I will make sure a meal is prepared and sent with you on your journey tomorrow.”
“That is kind of you.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Contrary to what you apparently believe of me, I do have moments of kindness and obedience, my lord.”
He gave her no indication of what he thought of her comment. Toby begged his leave and stood up, feeling his eyes on her, wondering why it disturbed her so. She was to the door when she heard his voice again, soft yet commanding.
“Hold, mistress.”
She stopped. By the time she turned, he was already standing behind her. His steps had been so silent and swift that she had never heard him approach. Toby’s breath caught in her throat as he reached for her neck; for a moment, she thought he was going to throttle her and put an end to her atrocious behavior. Given their first meeting, she probably deserved it. But his hands forewent her throat and grasped her shoulders instead, turning her so that she was once again facing away from him. She felt a warm finger brush the upper part of her shoulder, as gently as a butterfly’s wing. It was more than an improper touch and she should have scolded him. Instead, she couldn’t stop the shudder that ran down her spine.
“What is this?” he asked quietly.
She was still trying to catch her breath, but she craned her neck around and was barely able to see the angry red welt left by her mother’s bowl. Two choices raced through her head; either the truth or a plausible lie. She settled for both.
“I was in my mother’s room and accidentally bumped my shoulder,” she said.
Tate’s face was expressionless. “You should be more cautious.”
“I know. I am clumsy at times.”
He didn’t reply, but there was something in his gaze that suggested he did not believe her. Later, when she climbed into bed beside the sleeping Ailsa, visions of Tate Crewys de Lara danced in her head.
CHAPTER THREE
At dawn itwas dark, foggy and wet. Toby rose after a weary night of light sleeping and donned a garment of heavy gray wool with a matching cape. It was an elegant dress meant for travel and she wore layers of soft woolen undergarments to guard against the freezing temperatures. She was still struggling to awaken as her servant brushed and plaited her long hair, catching it up in a heavy net so that it would not get wet in the disagreeable weather.
The corridor was dark as she tiptoed towards the stairs. It smelt of soot. Her father would be up soon in spite of his usual night-long drinking binge, but her mother would sleep until noon. As she passed her mother’s door, she heard the recognizable groaning. Feeling the familiar anxiety rise in her chest, anxiety she had felt since childhood, she paused and the groaning ceased. But the moment she tried to move again, her mother called out. How she wished she could simply keep walking. Resigned, Toby went into her room.
It was nearly pitch black, stinking to the rafters of feces. Toby knew her mother had soiled herself and she called softly for her mother’s servant, an older woman who was deaf in one ear. The woman woke from her pallet in the corner of the room and went to get some water at Toby’s request.
Judith was loud and miserable. “So you would leave me here to rot, would you? Where are you going?”
“I am going to conduct father’s business.”
“You are running away!”
