But tonight had shown him that he was a fool to think he could shame her by having her perform intimate services and not pay a price for it himself. He could have if she had continued to feel only shame—but she had become aroused instead, though she tried so hard not to show it, and her wanting him had sent him over the edge. Still, he had resisted her siren’s call and sent her away. Yet she had continued to prey on his mind—and body.
That should have enraged him, that she could still make him want her so powerfully. Verily, it did infuriate him, for ’twas no different from his lack of control when she had had him in her power. And hehadfought the overwhelming urge to go and fetch her back to him tonight. But once it had occurred to him that her very status now gave him all the excuse he needed to have her again, he lost the fight.
He leaned over to look at her now. She was pretending sleep, hoping to avoid any further attention from him. He smiled to himself. He had not expected to find her so amusing. Her spirit, her attempts to defy him, were ridiculously funny. Most of the time she truly feared him, but at other times she was too angry to, and he found he enjoyed her anger much more than her fear, which made not much sense to him.
Nor did her daring in deliberately trying to prick his anger make much sense, considering the seriousness of her position. He had not bothered to undress her or himself, merely tossing her skirt up as he had warned her he could do. But he had also told her he did not want her willingness, yet hearing her beg him to take her had been sweet indeed, appeasing the anger she had sought.
Her skirt was still hiked up to her hips. He brought his hand to rest on her bare flank and watched her hold her breath. But she did not open her eyes, still pretending sleep. Another little defiance he chose to let pass for the moment.
His mood was certainly strange, despising her for what she had done to him, but enjoying too much having her in his power. And this urge to touch her when he was well sated—that increased his disgruntlement.
He removed his hand from her with a frown, deciding that her presence had to be responsible for his strange mood. At least that he could rectify, and right quickly.
“Be gone, wench. My use of you does not include sharing my bed more than I already have. I did not like sleeping on a hard pallet these last three nights.”
“I am overcome with sympathy,” she retorted as she rolled off the mattress to the floor and headed straight for the door.
Her sarcasm was too blatant to amuse him. “Remember my soft bed when you sleep on your own hard pallet,” he called after her.
She turned to give him a tight little smile. “Your bed has already been forgotten—except for me to know a stone slab would be preferable to it.”
“Such was not your attitude when you were begging me to take you.”
Her face went scarlet at the reminder. Good. That would teach her to be a little wiser in her taunts. But he forgot about that the moment he noticed her bare feet.
“Come back here, Rowena.” Her face went from red to white, making him snap, “I am in no mood to carry you back to your bed because you were forgetful in bringing your shoes along.”
“Meforgetful? I had had no intention of leaving the weaving room. You wake me in the middle of the night and expect me to be fully dressed?”
“You were not sleeping. But regardless, now you must sleep here after all, until I can have your shoes fetched in the morn.”
“I will not catch cold, I swear I will not.”
“Do you mean to stand there and argue with me, wench?” he demanded.
She lowered her head. “No,” she said so softly he barely heard.
“Then get you back in this bed now.”
He said no more while she came forward at a snail’s pace, tempting his patience, his temper, his good intentions. But by the time she had reached the bed, he was annoyed enough to add, “Remove that chemise first. I do not care to be chafed by it do I roll toward you in my sleep.”
Her head snapped up to show him she was not cowed, as he had thought. She had been trying to hide her fury from him. She gave up the pretense now to yank the chemise over her head and throw it to the floor. That demonstration of pique was merely amusing. The redness on her skin from the coarse wool was what kept him annoyed.
Damned delicate skin. He had just made one exception by permitting her to share his bed to safeguard her health, and here was another he felt compelled to make for her.
He did not like having his revenge undermined by incidentals, but still he made a mental note to tell Enid to fetch the soft linen shift that Rowena had come with, mayhap her own chemise, too, when she brought the shoes in the morn. But this had best be the last allowance that must be made because of her size, gender, or softness, or the wench would begin to think he was not serious in his dislike of her.
To ensure that she did not think so now, he let his eyes roam over her nakedness and said, “’Tis pleasant indeed, teaching you your place.”
“Which is beneath your feet?” she snapped.
He began to remove his own clothes, but spared her a brittle smile before replying. “If I so wish it. Now get under the covers. I do not care to hear another word from you this night.” Or see any more of that luscious body she did not even attempt to shield from him now.
For once she quickly did as bidden, but when he joined her moments later after dousing the candles, and turned toward her merely to find a comfortable position, she cried out, “I cannot endure your touch again. I will go mad!”
He was tempted to disprove those words. Instead he said, “Be quiet. I am too tired to force you again—no matter how much you might beg for it.” But perversely, he now put an arm around her and drew her into the curve of his body.
“I will not be able to sleep like this,” she gritted out.
