Read Online Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance) by Anna Markland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anna Markland
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warmed to the notion.
He scratched his head. What if she didn’t agree?
Of course she’d consent. She was a servant. She’d have no choice
He stalked to the wine and drained his goblet as a knock sounded. He wiped his mouth, his throat suddenly dry as dust. He couldn’t, shouldn’t do this. He didn’t want a woman who had no choice. But he did want Elayne—so badly it had him cross-eyed.
His hand shaking, h e refilled the empty goblet. “Entrez!”
She entered, smiling weakly, the playd covering her hair completely. His hopes plummeted. Could she have contrived to look more like a nun? He wanted to whip off the covering and sift his fingers through the glorious red curls.
She hovered near the door.
He held out a goblet. “Wine?”
He wondered if perhaps he too was ailing after the strenuous exercise. His voice sounded hoarse, and what had become of Alexandre de Montbryce, polished nobleman, host extraordinaire?
She looked at him uncertainly, then walked towards him.
There was something about this woman’s bearing. He supposed even a peasant who’d spent her life in a royal castle would learn to walk with nobility.
Yet she had an assurance about her, a confidence rarely found in servants. Perhaps Scots were different from Normans. They survived in a harsher land.
She always smelled clean, unlike most peasants he came into contact with. Indeed there were many noblewomen of his acquaintance who didn’t smell as sweet as Elayne.
She accepted the goblet. “ Merci, milord . You took me unawares. In Scotland servants do not drink wine with their Masters. I suppose I must get used to doing things differently here.”
Alex wasn’t sure if her remarks were intended to take his attention away from the tremor in her hand, or was she flirting with him?
His hopes soared.
~~~
ELAYNE SIPPED DEMURELY when Alexandre gave leave. She must make him believe she was unused to the taste. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed fine wine, she wanted to guzzle it down like a peasant, but that would slow her thinking and she had to keep her wits about her.
The wine was fruity, and of such high quality she almost forsook her mission. She must leave this chamber with her pride intact, having charmed Alexandre de Montbryce into believing she wanted him, but couldn’t consent to being his mistress.
It wasn’t a lie. She did want him, with an intensity that alarmed her. She could lose herself and forget all her trials and tribulations in his blue eyes, his strong arms.
He motioned her to one of two chairs by the fire. He sat in the other, staring at her. It struck her suddenly that he was as nervous as she. “You wanted to speak to me, milord ?”
He cleared his throat, lifting one foot to rest his ankle atop his knee. It drew her attention to his powerful thighs—and beyond to the bulge at his groin. She inhaled deeply and looked away.
“Er, oui ,” he replied, uncrossing his legs and straightening his back. “It’s about your position.”
She stared into the dark liquid . “My position is nursemaid to Henry and Claricia. My duty is to take care of them in this foreign land.”
He rose abruptly to fetch a decanter. “More wine?” he asked.
She shook her head, taking another sip. “Still a lot left. I’m not used to wine.”
He arched his brows and put his goblet on the tray. To her consternation, he dropped to one knee, his hands on the arms of her chair.
“ Milord ,” she protested as a wave of heat crashed over her.
He took her goblet and placed it beside her chair. “Do you like it?”
His nearness?
The clean male scent of him?
His long fingers, so close?
The sound of his deep, husky voice?
She must have looked like a frightened doe.
“The wine,” he said.
“Oh, the wine. Yes. Yes. I liked it. Fruity. Very good quality.”
He tilted his head to one side, a bemused smile twitching his lips. “How can you speak of quality if you are not used to drinking it?”
She wanted to put her
He scratched his head. What if she didn’t agree?
Of course she’d consent. She was a servant. She’d have no choice
He stalked to the wine and drained his goblet as a knock sounded. He wiped his mouth, his throat suddenly dry as dust. He couldn’t, shouldn’t do this. He didn’t want a woman who had no choice. But he did want Elayne—so badly it had him cross-eyed.
His hand shaking, h e refilled the empty goblet. “Entrez!”
She entered, smiling weakly, the playd covering her hair completely. His hopes plummeted. Could she have contrived to look more like a nun? He wanted to whip off the covering and sift his fingers through the glorious red curls.
She hovered near the door.
He held out a goblet. “Wine?”
He wondered if perhaps he too was ailing after the strenuous exercise. His voice sounded hoarse, and what had become of Alexandre de Montbryce, polished nobleman, host extraordinaire?
She looked at him uncertainly, then walked towards him.
There was something about this woman’s bearing. He supposed even a peasant who’d spent her life in a royal castle would learn to walk with nobility.
Yet she had an assurance about her, a confidence rarely found in servants. Perhaps Scots were different from Normans. They survived in a harsher land.
She always smelled clean, unlike most peasants he came into contact with. Indeed there were many noblewomen of his acquaintance who didn’t smell as sweet as Elayne.
She accepted the goblet. “ Merci, milord . You took me unawares. In Scotland servants do not drink wine with their Masters. I suppose I must get used to doing things differently here.”
Alex wasn’t sure if her remarks were intended to take his attention away from the tremor in her hand, or was she flirting with him?
His hopes soared.
~~~
ELAYNE SIPPED DEMURELY when Alexandre gave leave. She must make him believe she was unused to the taste. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed fine wine, she wanted to guzzle it down like a peasant, but that would slow her thinking and she had to keep her wits about her.
The wine was fruity, and of such high quality she almost forsook her mission. She must leave this chamber with her pride intact, having charmed Alexandre de Montbryce into believing she wanted him, but couldn’t consent to being his mistress.
It wasn’t a lie. She did want him, with an intensity that alarmed her. She could lose herself and forget all her trials and tribulations in his blue eyes, his strong arms.
He motioned her to one of two chairs by the fire. He sat in the other, staring at her. It struck her suddenly that he was as nervous as she. “You wanted to speak to me, milord ?”
He cleared his throat, lifting one foot to rest his ankle atop his knee. It drew her attention to his powerful thighs—and beyond to the bulge at his groin. She inhaled deeply and looked away.
“Er, oui ,” he replied, uncrossing his legs and straightening his back. “It’s about your position.”
She stared into the dark liquid . “My position is nursemaid to Henry and Claricia. My duty is to take care of them in this foreign land.”
He rose abruptly to fetch a decanter. “More wine?” he asked.
She shook her head, taking another sip. “Still a lot left. I’m not used to wine.”
He arched his brows and put his goblet on the tray. To her consternation, he dropped to one knee, his hands on the arms of her chair.
“ Milord ,” she protested as a wave of heat crashed over her.
He took her goblet and placed it beside her chair. “Do you like it?”
His nearness?
The clean male scent of him?
His long fingers, so close?
The sound of his deep, husky voice?
She must have looked like a frightened doe.
“The wine,” he said.
“Oh, the wine. Yes. Yes. I liked it. Fruity. Very good quality.”
He tilted his head to one side, a bemused smile twitching his lips. “How can you speak of quality if you are not used to drinking it?”
She wanted to put her
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