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Authors: Linda Needham
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must be red as new clover.
"I—" His hand was larger than her memory of it and startlingly heated, holding hers fast against his knee. "What are you doing here, sir?"
"I was sleeping." He released her hand abruptly, and she pulled away, her fingers blithely tingling, wanting more, telling other limbs and locations about his wonderful touch. "At least, attempting to. What do you want?"
Seeing the glint of lamplight on his moist mouth, she nearly forgot why she'd come: to tame the man.
Their rules of engagement.
"First of all, sir, I want to know what the devil this apparatus is." Her resolve renewed, she tugged lightly on the rope and set a cascade of bells ringing above their heads. "Bells?"
"A caparison bridle." He lowered the chair sharply, brushed bits of wood from his hauberk, then stood up in reluctant courtesy, as though every muscle in his body were already cramped from sleeping folded into the chair.
"A caparison bridle, tied to the end of a rope? Whatever for?" He seemed even taller, standing among the hatchwork of the thick wooden rafters that supported the portcullis and the roof—overpowering, with the restrained gentleness of an appeased bear.
"That I might know when someone is at your gate, my lady." He bowed slightly and her heart took a long, skimming leap toward the remarkable man.
"You did this for me? Fashioned a welcoming bell?"
One of his brows arched wryly, along with the corner of his smile. "An alarm, madam."
Ha! A compromise, my dear steward. But she wouldn't say that aloud. Let him think that he'd bested her in his quiet sedition. The gate would be opened to anyone who wanted to enter the castle, one way or the other.
"Whatever your reasons, sir, it was clever and obliging, and I thank you for it." There—a compliment where it was due.
He shrugged off her gratitude, and her wariness of his motives rose precipitously. "Nothing more than my dutiful effort to guard and increase your property, madam. To defend your rights and franchises. To be prudent, faithful, and profitable."
"I am much obliged to you, sir." And hugely suspicious, that he'd so thoroughly conceived his steward's creed in such a short time.
The blackguard. Trying to carol dance around her, while he kept his own ways.
"I am, after all, your steward, my lady."
"Aye, sir, and not my husband—"
He went utterly still, and her innocent bit of humor thudded to the floor between them like a block of limestone pushed from the cliff tower.
"No, madam, I'm not." The flat echo of silence followed, like a door slammed on an argument.
So—her steward was entirely humorless on the subject of marriage, and not exactly given to flattery, blast the man.
"I didn't mean to offend, Nicholas." She smiled, meaning none of it if he was going to be that stoneheaded. "I merely wanted you to know how grateful I am that you're my steward."
"Are you?"
"Yes—" dammit, she wanted to add. "I'm glad that you persisted when I put you off so squarely. I didn't want to turn you out of my home, though we did step off on the wrong foot."
He leaned toward her. "Much more than a foot, my lady."
"Indeed." There went her thoughts again, completely distracted by his gaze. "You were my best and only choice all along—short of giving up altogether, which I will never do."
"You've made that patently clear." Pronounced like another judgment on her sanity and a sacrifice to his patience.
"Let me make this just as clear: though I'll consider your warnings and your advice and your guidance with great care before I make any decision, you must understand that my word will reign here in all matters. And you must abide by it."
"Fine." Too quickly said.
"So you agree to this very basic rule?"
"Yes." That was said a breath too late for her to believe him completely.
He looked suddenly weary and irritable, as though he had a long, regretful journey ahead of him, and Eleanor felt oddly responsible for disturbing his lonely peace. After all, Faulkhurst had
"I—" His hand was larger than her memory of it and startlingly heated, holding hers fast against his knee. "What are you doing here, sir?"
"I was sleeping." He released her hand abruptly, and she pulled away, her fingers blithely tingling, wanting more, telling other limbs and locations about his wonderful touch. "At least, attempting to. What do you want?"
Seeing the glint of lamplight on his moist mouth, she nearly forgot why she'd come: to tame the man.
Their rules of engagement.
"First of all, sir, I want to know what the devil this apparatus is." Her resolve renewed, she tugged lightly on the rope and set a cascade of bells ringing above their heads. "Bells?"
"A caparison bridle." He lowered the chair sharply, brushed bits of wood from his hauberk, then stood up in reluctant courtesy, as though every muscle in his body were already cramped from sleeping folded into the chair.
"A caparison bridle, tied to the end of a rope? Whatever for?" He seemed even taller, standing among the hatchwork of the thick wooden rafters that supported the portcullis and the roof—overpowering, with the restrained gentleness of an appeased bear.
"That I might know when someone is at your gate, my lady." He bowed slightly and her heart took a long, skimming leap toward the remarkable man.
"You did this for me? Fashioned a welcoming bell?"
One of his brows arched wryly, along with the corner of his smile. "An alarm, madam."
Ha! A compromise, my dear steward. But she wouldn't say that aloud. Let him think that he'd bested her in his quiet sedition. The gate would be opened to anyone who wanted to enter the castle, one way or the other.
"Whatever your reasons, sir, it was clever and obliging, and I thank you for it." There—a compliment where it was due.
He shrugged off her gratitude, and her wariness of his motives rose precipitously. "Nothing more than my dutiful effort to guard and increase your property, madam. To defend your rights and franchises. To be prudent, faithful, and profitable."
"I am much obliged to you, sir." And hugely suspicious, that he'd so thoroughly conceived his steward's creed in such a short time.
The blackguard. Trying to carol dance around her, while he kept his own ways.
"I am, after all, your steward, my lady."
"Aye, sir, and not my husband—"
He went utterly still, and her innocent bit of humor thudded to the floor between them like a block of limestone pushed from the cliff tower.
"No, madam, I'm not." The flat echo of silence followed, like a door slammed on an argument.
So—her steward was entirely humorless on the subject of marriage, and not exactly given to flattery, blast the man.
"I didn't mean to offend, Nicholas." She smiled, meaning none of it if he was going to be that stoneheaded. "I merely wanted you to know how grateful I am that you're my steward."
"Are you?"
"Yes—" dammit, she wanted to add. "I'm glad that you persisted when I put you off so squarely. I didn't want to turn you out of my home, though we did step off on the wrong foot."
He leaned toward her. "Much more than a foot, my lady."
"Indeed." There went her thoughts again, completely distracted by his gaze. "You were my best and only choice all along—short of giving up altogether, which I will never do."
"You've made that patently clear." Pronounced like another judgment on her sanity and a sacrifice to his patience.
"Let me make this just as clear: though I'll consider your warnings and your advice and your guidance with great care before I make any decision, you must understand that my word will reign here in all matters. And you must abide by it."
"Fine." Too quickly said.
"So you agree to this very basic rule?"
"Yes." That was said a breath too late for her to believe him completely.
He looked suddenly weary and irritable, as though he had a long, regretful journey ahead of him, and Eleanor felt oddly responsible for disturbing his lonely peace. After all, Faulkhurst had
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