Charles remained frozen in her seat, though her needles knit and purled with even speed. She feared Lord Wellesley was displeased.
“Well, don’t just sit there, girl, come finish the game,” he grumbled. “How long have you been staring at Cuthbert’s attempts and biting your tongue, I wonder?”
She gulped but put down her knitting to take the steward’s still-warm seat. “Forgive me, my lord. It is easy to let one’s mind wander when one’s hands are otherwise engaged.”
“Hmph.” He motioned to the board. “Your move.”
She executed it with ease.
Wells countered.
Yet her next move left him visibly agape, and she could not bring herself to speak the words expected, fearing reprisal if she should.
“My, my.” He shook his head, leaning back to stare at her. “Youdosurprise.”
Charles lowered her head. “My lord, I wished only to help Cuthbert save face, as you have beaten him roundly these past three nights and I thought it a little much for him to bear more?—”
He let out a choked laugh, shaking his head. “Youwished spareCuthbert’spride? You, who deride the man near daily?” He bit his lip against more laughter. “Oh you must hate to see me win. I should think this is less about Cuthbert than it is about me, miss.”
“Not everything is about you, sir.” She instantly regretted her words.
His eyes bored into her. “No, it isn’t, is it?”
She refused to meet his gaze. “I’ll not interfere again, my lord, you’ve my word.”
“Your word, eh?” When she dared a glance those same eyes narrowed at her. “And just what is your word worth, Charles? Worth more than Cuthbert’s? A man I’d trust with my life,haveentrusted?”
“My word is as good as any man’s, my lord.”
“As good as John’s I think not.”
“And why should a woman’s word hold less weight than a man’s?”
For a moment their eyes locked on one another, his lordship’s stare inscrutable, until Charles decided to ask what had long now bothered her; she may as well anger him more.
“For that matter, why do you allow your steward and servants to insult the Duchy with rank impudence, my lord, when it is clear you are not yet Duke?”
Wellesley’s lips tightened. “I need not answer either brash question.” He scowled. “But because I do not wish either brought up again,ever,” he stressed, “I will answer you this once. Only once.”
Charles gulped.
“My men know I am less than eager to become the next Duke.” He grimaced. “For reasons that do not concern you.” His eyes flashed. “When we arrived at the Abbey they believed it time I got used to the idea, given my father’s ailing health, and so took to addressing me as His Grace.”
He’d flinched upon saying the title aloud, emboldening her to probe further. “But that does not explain whyyousuffer their abuse, sir, only whytheydo it.”
“Yes, Charles.” He spoke through his teeth. “Yet that is all I will say on the subject.” He inhaled, nostrils flaring once more. “Men as faithful as mine, as steadfast as Cuthbert, will always have my respect, regardless of insult.”
She was still shocked that a future Peer of the Realm should so lower himself before such ruffians. “I see,” she said, not really seeing at all. “Yet a woman who dares address you as Your Grace is . . .”
“Women cannot be trusted, Charles.”
She let out a hiss of hot air as fresh rage bubbled inside her—with nowhere to go.
***
Wells watched her stick out her chin at him. It aroused him, that pert little chin of hers, and he was pleased he’d managed to provoke her. “Now be a good girl and come sit on my lap, that I might pet you a while before I take you to bed. I’ve a mind tofinally debauch you tonight, as punishment for your ruining my game.”
The way she bit her lip, glowering at him, aroused him only more.
