Read Online Lady Merry's Dashing Champion by Jeane Westin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeane Westin
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her with his hand over his heart, his eyes seeming to see inside her. "I commend your teacher, my lady."
She smiled slightly, her mouth hesitant, wondering who this man was behind the high-court manners. Would he demand his marital rights this very night, taking her with all abandon? Perhaps where she sat? On the floor? Oh, surely in the bed.
Meriel held tight to the chair arms. She shivered again, preparing herself to be wife to him. Hey, well, duty is duty!
Meriel took a very deep breath, but let it go quickly when she realized that her bosom had risen to a degree that she doubted Lady Felice could accomplish. She had noticed in the Tower that the countess was not endowed to the same degree as a humble orphan girl. Women do notice such things. And unless she was mistaken, the earl had noticed, as well, and was staring.
The majordomo knocked and entered, bowing. "Your lordship, I have an urgent message from"—he bowed again and said to the floor—"reminding you of an appointment."
Giles nodded, pushing away regret he did not want to explore. "Your pardon, Felice, I must leave you."
She said nothing, fearing she'd revealed too much already, but she guessed he went to another woman. She could do nothing to stop him.
He bent to kiss her hand, which she gave up to him as if it were the most natural of things. The lips that touched her skin were firm as she'd expected. And hot as she had hoped.
Still she had not anticipated the swelling warmth that enveloped her. She jerked her hand away to save herself from the very un-Lady Felice behavior of leaping upon him and winding her legs about his torso.
The earl stepped back and the firelight lit one side of his handsome face, leaving the other side in shadow. His voice was low and rough. "I don't know what game you play, Felice, and I have no desire to discover it. If you think to charm me, spare yourself the effort. You cannot put new wine into an old bottle." Then he was gone in an instant, and the ma-jordomo bowed to her and closed the door softly.
Immediately upon the door closing, Meriel thought of a perfect riposte. That may be true of new wine, sir, but I am a new woman. Hey, well, why do just the right words always seem to come too late?
The next minutes Meriel passed in cursing Lady Felice, then Chiffinch and, with a hasty look around and in a softer voice, the king. God would have been next on her list if she had not quickly quaffed another glass of brandywine. She did not need blaspheming to add to her list of crimes: being born a bastard, educating herself above her station and, finally, agreeing to this monstrous spying madness.
She had been forced to betray her master, Sir Edward, and now she was betraying the earl. His lordship. Giles. Her husband. All because her face resembled that of a traitor countess. How she wished she had been born with a wart as big as a goose egg on the tip of her chin!
"My lady?"
One of the maids was standing at her elbow.
"Does my lady wish to remove her traveling clothes? I have her favorite robe de chambre, if my lady expects ..."
"Inform the majordomo to admit no one. I will to bed at once." Meriel stood, a bit dizzy from too much brandy, and drew on the imperious visage of Lady Felice. She found it fit her well when she had need.
Two maids washed her hands, arms and feet in rosewater, while she berated them for using water not near warmed enough. Hey, well, that's what a countess would do!
Another servant brushed her hair until she shivered with delight. Meriel could not help but enjoy receiving attentions she had once only given. Although service to king and country and escaping prison and death should be compensation enough for spying and impersonation, a few luxuries made it somewhat more worth living every minute on the precipice of discovery.
After dressing in the heavy silken robe, she was given a bowl of mulled spiced Spanish wine and some figs from the queen's own tree rubbed with a sugar loaf. Her head whirled
She smiled slightly, her mouth hesitant, wondering who this man was behind the high-court manners. Would he demand his marital rights this very night, taking her with all abandon? Perhaps where she sat? On the floor? Oh, surely in the bed.
Meriel held tight to the chair arms. She shivered again, preparing herself to be wife to him. Hey, well, duty is duty!
Meriel took a very deep breath, but let it go quickly when she realized that her bosom had risen to a degree that she doubted Lady Felice could accomplish. She had noticed in the Tower that the countess was not endowed to the same degree as a humble orphan girl. Women do notice such things. And unless she was mistaken, the earl had noticed, as well, and was staring.
The majordomo knocked and entered, bowing. "Your lordship, I have an urgent message from"—he bowed again and said to the floor—"reminding you of an appointment."
Giles nodded, pushing away regret he did not want to explore. "Your pardon, Felice, I must leave you."
She said nothing, fearing she'd revealed too much already, but she guessed he went to another woman. She could do nothing to stop him.
He bent to kiss her hand, which she gave up to him as if it were the most natural of things. The lips that touched her skin were firm as she'd expected. And hot as she had hoped.
Still she had not anticipated the swelling warmth that enveloped her. She jerked her hand away to save herself from the very un-Lady Felice behavior of leaping upon him and winding her legs about his torso.
The earl stepped back and the firelight lit one side of his handsome face, leaving the other side in shadow. His voice was low and rough. "I don't know what game you play, Felice, and I have no desire to discover it. If you think to charm me, spare yourself the effort. You cannot put new wine into an old bottle." Then he was gone in an instant, and the ma-jordomo bowed to her and closed the door softly.
Immediately upon the door closing, Meriel thought of a perfect riposte. That may be true of new wine, sir, but I am a new woman. Hey, well, why do just the right words always seem to come too late?
The next minutes Meriel passed in cursing Lady Felice, then Chiffinch and, with a hasty look around and in a softer voice, the king. God would have been next on her list if she had not quickly quaffed another glass of brandywine. She did not need blaspheming to add to her list of crimes: being born a bastard, educating herself above her station and, finally, agreeing to this monstrous spying madness.
She had been forced to betray her master, Sir Edward, and now she was betraying the earl. His lordship. Giles. Her husband. All because her face resembled that of a traitor countess. How she wished she had been born with a wart as big as a goose egg on the tip of her chin!
"My lady?"
One of the maids was standing at her elbow.
"Does my lady wish to remove her traveling clothes? I have her favorite robe de chambre, if my lady expects ..."
"Inform the majordomo to admit no one. I will to bed at once." Meriel stood, a bit dizzy from too much brandy, and drew on the imperious visage of Lady Felice. She found it fit her well when she had need.
Two maids washed her hands, arms and feet in rosewater, while she berated them for using water not near warmed enough. Hey, well, that's what a countess would do!
Another servant brushed her hair until she shivered with delight. Meriel could not help but enjoy receiving attentions she had once only given. Although service to king and country and escaping prison and death should be compensation enough for spying and impersonation, a few luxuries made it somewhat more worth living every minute on the precipice of discovery.
After dressing in the heavy silken robe, she was given a bowl of mulled spiced Spanish wine and some figs from the queen's own tree rubbed with a sugar loaf. Her head whirled
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