“Is there a problem?” Magnus said, making his presence known. His teeth gnashed together; apparently they were too busy to notice him.
Helen turned at the sound of his voice and let out a gasp. A gasp that he very nearly echoed.
Jesus!He’d taken hammer blows across the chest that had packed less of a wallop.
All he could see were two delicious mounds of creamy white flesh rising above a tight square bodice.
He’d never realized how big…
He’d never imagined how perfect…
How could he? The gowns she usually wore were fashionable, as befitting a lady of her station, but never more than well-made afterthoughts. This gown hugged every inch of her body, revealing curves he hadn’t known existed.
But he knew now. He knew their exact shape and size. He knew that if he cupped her breasts to bring them to his mouth, the soft flesh would spill over his big palms. He knew the depth of the sweet crevice between them and that her nipples rose in delicate little points not half an inch from the edge of the fabric.
And he knew all this because the pink silk gown did very little to hide any part of her.
The watering in his mouth went dry. Suddenly, the reason for Munro’s anger became crystal clear.
A vein Magnus didn’t know he had started to throb by his temple.Not yours, he reminded himself. But damn it, if she was, he’d take her to their room and rip the blasted thing in two.
Only the suspicion that the dress was calculated to elicit just that kind of reaction kept him in control. “I’ll take it,” he said. “I was on my way to see the king anyway.”
“That isn’t necessary—” Munro started to say.
“I insist,” Magnus said, an edge of steel in his voice. “The king isn’t seeing visitors.”
Munro didn’t miss the slight. His smile was tight. “Of course.” He handed over the tray.
But on one subject he and Munro could agree. Neither man wanted anyone seeing Helen like this, and for reasons of their own they didn’t want her to know it. “Munro is right,” he said. “Perhaps you should go to your chamber and rest.”And change that blasted dress.
Averting his eyes from danger, he kept his gaze firmly on her face and saw the small furrow appear between her pixie brows. Thin and delicately arched, the velvety, dark-brown wisps framing her eyes held only a hint of auburn.
“I’m not tired. I assure you I’ve had plenty of sleep.” She looked back and forth between them as if sensing something else at play. “I will rest later this afternoon.AfterI have seen to the king and the midday meal.”
Magnus’s jaw tightened, as did Munro’s. Giving them no opportunity to object further, she lifted the skirts of her indecent gown and flounced up the stairs. Magnus exchanged a look with Munro and stomped up behind her.
It was going to be a very long meal.
Twelve
“More ale, Your Grace?”
“Aye, thank you, Lady Helen,” the king said eagerly.
Helen bent over the reclining king to pour the ale into the goblet. The king smiled appreciatively, and she turned to the expressionless man beside him. Holding the jug to her chest in blatant offering, she asked, “Magnus?”
“Nay.” She thought his voice snapped, but then he added pleasantly, “Thank you.”
She looked for any sign that he’d noticed the gown or the swell of flesh threatening to slide out every time she leaned forward, but his face remained perfectly impassive. Her brother was right—she could be naked and he probably wouldn’t notice. The dress had been a foolish waste of time. She’d felt a little nervous donning it—it revealed far more of her bosom than she’d ever shown before—but apparently there had been nothing to worry about. She might have been wearing a monk’s robe for all the notice Magnus took of it.
Or of her.
She was tempted to dump the blasted pitcher of ale on his head. He might notice that!
Mouth pursed, she set the jug back down on the tray. Picking up a plate, she inhaled the rich, buttery perfume. But the deep breath she intended to take was cut short by the tightening of fabric across her chest. Lud, the silly dress was too tight to even take a deep breath!
“Tarts?” she said, holding the plate out.
