But now that he had seen her, he knew he could no longer concentrate on Emma, so he dismissed her with the admonishment to wait until after he was gone on the morrow to make her request of Rowena. Thusly he would not have to order Rowena’s duties lessened; they would be so with his absence. And hopefully when he returned from killing d’Ambray, she would have developed a routine of working with Emma that he could then allow to continue.
No sooner had Emma left than Rowena reappeared and headed toward him with a pitcher of ale in one hand and a tankard to receive it in the other. She was managing to surprise him again with her willingness to serve him without being summoned to. Or did she feel she needed to do some amends-making? Aye, ’twas likely that, and rightly so. God’s blood, the wench had bitten him without a thought to how he would react. And it had been no small nibble either. The muscle that she had sunk her teeth into was still sore. Her daring—he admired, damned if he did not. But she was not to know that. She…
…came to a sudden halt halfway to the hearth, her attention gone elsewhere. Warrick turned to see what had distracted her, but ’twas no more than Beatrix entering the hall with a servant in tow. Yet when he looked at Rowena again, she appeared stricken for a moment, then resigned; then even that she shook off. He glanced at Beatrix again, frowning, unable to see what had caused Rowena to react that way. And then he noticed the cerulean-blue bliaut his daughter was wearing, a gown much too fancy for one of such tender years, nor what he was accustomed to seeing her wear. ’Twas deeply cut in front, designed mayhap to display a special chemise underneath, though the chemise Beatrix wore with it was unremarkable, obviously not a match to the outer gown.
He made the connection, but wished he had not. The bliaut was Rowena’s, cut down to fit the smaller frame of his daughter. But where was the pleasure he had thought he would feel when he had first decided to give Rowena’s clothes away to trample her pride and self-worth? He was uncomfortable with what he did feel instead. The gesture had worked. She was actually hurt to see her clothes on another. And now he had the urge to rip the gown off Beatrix and hand it back to Rowena—which, of course, he could not do.
Devil be damned, he liked not these things she made him feel. More guilt now, and ’twas becoming annoying that such an unfamiliar feeling was getting in the way of what had been a perfectly plotted revenge. Which was why he snapped at Rowena when she finally reached him.
“I am sorely displeased with you, wench.”
Her eyes flared slightly before she replied briskly, “So I can see, my lord. You wear your emotions most eloquently as usual.”
His scowl got a little darker as he pointed out, “Yet you do not tremble before me.”
She shrugged, setting the ale down on the table next to him instead of offering it, as she’d intended. “You point out frequently how stupid I am.”
“Or very clever,” he said sourly.
She laughed at that. “As you wish, my lord. I am adaptable.”
“We shall see how adaptable you are after we discuss your most recent transgressions of the morn. Mayhap you thought I wouldst forget your behavior before the Lady Isabella. Youbitme, wench.”
Rowena made a valiant effort to conceal her grin, but failed. “Did I?”
“You know very well you did. You also disobeyed me.”
That had a more serious sound to it, so she quipped, “And a good thing, too.Youmight have wanted the lady to find me in your bed, but I would have been quite embarrassed by it.”
“That matters not—”
“I see,” she cut in stiffly, her amusement gone completely. “Then I am to assume that humiliation is no longer to be used as a means to punish me, merely will it be mine now to experience at any time.”
“Do not put words—”
She stopped him yet again. “Nay. I understand perfectly.”
She whipped around to leave him, but he caught her long single braid as it swung past his face. He pulled it slowly until she was forced to bend over, their heads nearly touching.
“Indignation is misplaced in a serf,” he said in soft warning. “Did you forget you are my serf?”
She waited a half-breath before she whispered back, “Never would I forget that I am yours, my lord.”
Her sapphire eyes held such sensual promise as they met his that, coupled with her words, Warrick’s manhood warmed and swelled in full appreciation. He wondered if she did it apurpose—or if she even knew what effect she had on him. Were they alone, she would find out quickly enough.
He released her braid, needing distance between them before he made a fool of himself by carrying her straightaway to his bed. But she did not move back as he expected, and her fingers lightly touched the back of his hand in what was clearly a caress.
“May I ask a boon, my lord?”
He stiffened, recalling how Celia had always waited until he was so hot to have her that he could deny her naught. Even so, he said, “Ask.”
She leaned even closer to whisper by his ear, “You have made it my duty, but what I want is to explore your body at my leisure—as I did before. Will you lie down for me without chains to bind you and let me touch you as I would like?”
Words failed him. Of all the things she could have asked for, including her release, never would he have thought her request would be to pleasure him. He was going to make a fool of himself after all, because he wanted her so badly now, he was about to explode with it.
He started to stand, but her hand came to his shoulder and she added, “Forsooth, I did not mean now, but later, when you decide you want me again.”
“Wench, think you you can say such to me and I can then wait to—”
