But he had made an oath to show himself, and so here he was.
He did not plan on staying long.
Nay, he would make his appearance, keeping as controlled and reserved as possible in the face of what he suspected would be temptation greater than any he had experienced thus far. And then he would flee.
He was not ashamed to admit it. It was what he had to do. Either that or he would end up giving in to the wicked thoughts that had been winding through his mind for the past four days…ideas for all the tantalizing forms of love-play that he could engage in with Alissende, without breaking their agreement to leave their union unconsummated.
What made all of this even more difficult to swallow was the knowledge that what he faced right now was his own fault. He’d realized it far too late of course, but he was not so daft that he couldn’t see the truth. He had begun the wicked teasing that had made Alissende turn temptress on him, and now he could not change it back. That he had decided to swear off such conduct from here on out held no bearing, he knew; he had already unleashed the siren within her, coaxing her into the open with the lure of his own blasted desires.
Unfortunately, standing here in the hallway like a dolt for the rest of the evening wasn’t going to accomplish anything.
Clenching his jaw and offering up a silent plea for the strength he needed to get through whatever seductive torment Alissende had planned for him on the other side of this portal, Damien took the remaining two steps to the door. He lifted the latch-string and pulled open the heavy wooden slab. Just a bit. Golden light spilled from the crack, but it was not wide enough for him to see aught inside the room.
With a final, longing glance back into the safer gloom of the hallway, Damien gripped the edge of the wood, yanked it open the rest of the way, and strode into the bedchamber. And then he came to a skidding halt. He heard the door thud shut behind him, but he could not seem to move forward, as his mind struggled to come to terms with the sight that greeted him.
Alissende was leaning over a sturdy-looking worktable that he had never noticed here before, wearing what in all kindness could only be calledserviceablegarments, with her beautiful hair completely concealed in a vast wimple of some dark fabric. Almost completely, he amended. One silky tendril had escaped the confines of the headdress to curl down her cheek in an artless, rather appealing manner.
Regardless, as a whole she looked as opposite the seductive enchantress she had appeared to be this afternoon as a sleek mare might look next to a peasant’s workhorse. There were sheets of vellum, inkhorns, and quills spread across the entire tabletop, and she was shuffling a few of the pages aside, apparently to make room for something. She seemed not to notice him standing there. Or if she did, she did not seem particularly concerned about it.
“What the devil is all this?”
Damien finally found his voice, though he still did not move from his position.
She looked up at him for only an instant before she was back at whatever was engaging her attention so fully. “Why are you still standing near the door, Damien? Come over here and let us begin.”
That set his jaw even tighter. He would not be ordered about, damn it. Nor would he be treated like an errant schoolboy…or at least what he imagined an errant schoolboy must feel like, having never actually been the pupil of any scholarly master in his life.
“Begin what?” he asked, when he was good and ready. He leaned back against the doorjamb, making sure to appear nonchalant, so that she would know he intended to stay there for just as long as he wished.
“Your instruction, of course,” Alissende answered.
“Instruction?”
By the time he realized that he had just echoed her words again, surely not sounding very bright in the process, it was too late, and he had to make due with looking as indifferent as possible as he continued to lean against the door.
Gazing at him, nonplussed, Alissende finally ceased what she was doing for long enough to straighten up and plant her hands on her hips. “I told you I wished to repay you for the defensive training you have been providing me, and so that is what I’ve arranged to do. Beginning tonight, I am going to teach you to read and write.”
“What?”
That got him moving. Shoving away from the door, he stalked toward her, coming to a stop on the side of the table opposite her. Then he simply glared, shifting his gaze from her unbearably serene face down to the pile of—ofwritingthings, by God. This was unacceptable. It was damned disconcerting, in fact. Just looking at all those scholarly implements made him feel inept. He was built for war, damn it. For grasping sword hilts and spear grips, not quill pens.
Narrowing his eyes, he sliced his gaze up to her again. She continued to stare at him in cool tranquility, appearing not the least intimidated.
“What ever gave you the idea that I wished to learn to read and write?” he clipped at last, accentuating each word.
She folded her arms across what he assumed to be her chest. “What ever gave you the idea that I wished to learn the art of defending myself?”
“Thatwas a necessity,” he snapped. “For your own protection against Hugh or any other man who would try to overpower you.”
“This is a necessity too. For you.”
“It is not even remotely the same.”
“It is, in that it is just as important, and what you learn will remain with you for the entire of your lifetime.”
“I have managed for the whole of my lifewithoutthe ability to read or write, and I see no reason to alter that now.”
She graced him with a tolerant look. “Are you not the lord of this castle”—she paused for one pointed beat—“at least for these remaining months of our agreement?”
