A reprieve? She could fill his trencher and be gone?
She wasted no time in leaning forward to reach the nearest platter—and felt Warrick’s hand come to her leg, then press between her thighs. She sat back so fast, her head cracked his chin. They both winced, but then he chuckled.
“Think you none of the viands will tempt me, then?”
Rowena groaned inwardly. There was no way she could win this game he had instigated, but she did not think he would simply let her leave his lap did she try. If she could bear his touch for a few moments, he might grow tired of the game and recall that he was sitting here to eat, not to amuse himself with his newest plaything.
She leaned forward to try and fill his trencher again. But his other hand groped beneath her skirts until he found a bare thigh, and she felt a wave of heat that had naught to do with embarrassment. Suddenly she was horrified that he might be able to bring her to the state he had last eventide, right there with hundreds of eyes avidly watching.
Pride be damned, she curled toward him and whispered at his neck, “Please.”
“Truly do I like that word on your lips,” he replied, a wealth of satisfaction in his tone.
’Twas a blatant reminder, at long last, of the begging that had so shamed her, but at the moment she was not embarrassed by it. She was too embarrassed by what he was doing now.
But he had more to say. “Mayhap now you will tell me what caused you to smile before?”
Rowena’s eyes flared wide. Was all this because she had perplexed him with that damn smile? Did he have to get even for being confounded by her? The thought infuriated her, and anger made her forget her embarrassment, forget even that other ears than his would hear her answer.
Answer him she did, with another smile, waiting only until he took a swallow of his ale. “I was merely thinking of your display of jealousy this noontide, my lord.”
He choked, his response coming out as a wheezing rasp. “Jealousy!”
She leaned back so he could see that she gave his reply thoughtful consideration. “Mayhap possessiveness would more aptly describe it. I understand now that you feel I am only yours to use and abuse, that no other should have that privilege.”
Warrick scowled at Sheldon, whose shoulders were shaking in mirth, evidently because he had heard those words. Then Warrick turned his scowl on Rowena, and she had no more than a moment to wish she had not chosen so public a place to get a little even with him.
“I make certain that you are kept available to see to my own whims, and you see this as possessiveness?” he growled low. “’Twould not bother me to throw you to my men and watch as they have you—as long as I am not in the mood to have you myself. Need I prove this to you?”
’Twas one of those threats that, by merely saying it, he would be forced to carry out did she not make immediate amends. Her anger increased, but that did not stop her from throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tight.
“Do not, I beseech you,” she said by his ear, then softer, her lips touching his earlobe, “I want only to shareyourbed, know onlyyourtouch.”
She felt a shiver run through him just before he pushed her off his lap. She noticed his flush as she straightened; then her eyes collided with his and she felt seared by their molten heat.
“Get you below and have your meal, then come to my chamber.”
“You want a bath, my lord?”
“I want to find you in my bed, wench, where we will ascertain if you bespoke the truth.”
Chapter 29
Rowena was never going to live it down. She was certain the whispers about that awful scene in the hall would follow her until the end of her days, across shires, across countries, wherever she went—if she ever left Fulkhurst. But what did Lord Vengeance care? No one would be whispering about him. ’Twas naught for a nobleman to make sport with one of his serfs in his own hall. Who would gainsay him, after all?
She abhorred the thought of returning to face her most recent shame. ’Twas deplorable that there was no way to reach Warrick’s solar from the kitchen, without passing through the full length of the hall. But when Rowena returned after her long-drawn-out meal, there were no whispers about her that she could tell. In truth, the men did not look her way at all, and those women who did happen to notice her glanced quickly away.
Had she been wallowing in mortification for naught, then? she wondered in confusion. Or had no one noticed her sitting on Warrick’s lap except those at his table? But she was ignored from that direction also, except by Warrick. He watched her now, but in a distracted manner, since he was deep in discussion with his friend, Sheldon.
She was perplexed, and liked it not.Hewas the one who was supposed to be confounded, not she. But there was an easy enough way to find out if something unusual had happened in the short time she had been belowstairs, something that made the women, even those lazy weavers who had disdained her instruction that afternoon, seem almost fearful now when they saw her.
She saw the young girl, Emma, who had come to fetch her when Sir Sheldon had arrived, and stopped by her table. Only vaguely did she note that the girl sat alone.
“Emma, may I presume upon your good nature to ask what has occurred here that I missed when I went below?”
“Naught has happened since the fine entertainment you gave us.”
“I see,” Rowena replied stiffly and turned to leave, disappointed, since the girl had seemed friendly earlier.
