Read Online Midnight Eyes by Sarah Brophy - Free Book Online

up and helped her up the steps of the dais.
    Then she ignored him; ignored them all.
    She now sat stiffly in her chair, her hands held tightly in her lap, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. She had remained unmoving when the sumptuous food had been brought into the hall. When the grunts and murmurs of satisfaction filled the large chambers she seemed to draw into herself more tightly.
    Robert could almost physically feel the strength of will radiating from the woman, as she deliberately made no attempt to sample the aromatic food just in front of her, but to look at her she seemed entirely unmoved. It was as though she had been turned into a very beautiful statue, as if she was denying herself out of existence—and that was what angered Robert so much.
    Robert didn’t want a lady made of stone and willpower; he wanted the blood-hot woman he had kissed that morning. He needed her to be real. He would make her real, he thought with a small, grim smile of determination. Casually he leaned toward her.
    “You do know that the food tastes even better than it smells, don’t you?” he asked with a lip-smacking, satisfied noise. “In fact the food is amongst the best I have ever tasted.”
    “I’m sure it is,” she said stiffly.
    “Then why don’t you try some? You might surprise yourself and actually enjoy it.” He lifted a fragrant morsel from his plate and placed it near her face. He dropped his voice suggestively. “But if it’s not the enjoying that you like, if you find your pleasure in pain and denial, well, then, as your husband I’m sure I can accommodate you.”
    “I’m sure you can,” Imogen said through clenched teeth, “but I’m not abstaining for my own personal pleasure. I can’t see where the meal is to eat it.” She lowered her eyes and drew in a deep breath, wincing slightly as she was once more assaulted by the scents rising from the feast. “I haven’t eaten in front of anyone since the…accident. It’s not a pretty sight and I can’t say I have any desire to make a spectacle of myself in front of the whole district solely for your own perverse amusement.”
    Robert’s languid cynicism died. He felt a flush of shame heat his face as he realized just how great a mistake he had made.
    He hadn’t meant the dinner to be a torture. The hollow feeling of failure opened in his gut. She now not only thought of him as part of Roger’s plan, but also as the oaf who had brought her into a roomful of food to starve.
    “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” he said quietly, trying unsuccessfully to hide his embarrassment.
    She shrugged her shoulders with a seeming carelessness, her hands clasping more tightly in her lap. “I didn’t see the point.”
    “The point,” Robert said with careful slowness, “would have been that you wouldn’t have had to sit there like a martyr, starving at your own wedding feast, if you had mentioned it to me.”
    He picked up his own empty plate and began refilling it with the most tempting delicacies and he reached over and filled his goblet with wine. With economical, deliberate movements he carefully loaded a spoon with roast boar and brought it to her lips, trying not to notice the way they seemed to glow rose-red in the candlelight. “Open your mouth, Imogen,” he said huskily, and was unable to stop himself leaning a little closer so that he could bathe himself in the perfume from her hair.
    “No…” she started to stay but he took advantage of the moment and shoved the spoon into her open mouth. He couldn’t help but be smugly pleased that he had left her with only two options. She could either spit out the tasty meat and draw attention to herself, or she could eat it.
    Robert watched with amusement as she began militantly chewing the meat, grinding it with her teeth as if it was her enemy, swallowing it with exaggerated grimaces.
    “I won’t be treated like a child.” Her voice quivered with irritation and outraged dignity. “It’s