Guy paused halfway through the door. “She had a delivery from the tailor then?”
“Aye, my lord. Gowns and shifts and cloaks aplenty,” Robin assured him.
“And none of it fits?”
“Not to her liking,” Robin shrugged.
Guy supposed he should not be surprised. After all, a provincial tailor from Wickhamford would likely not be up to all the latest fashions. “The stable looks good,” he said, eyeing the boy. “You’ve been busy.”
Robin nodded. “Oh, I know how to take care of horses,” he said sagely. “As a squire, it’s part of my duties. Fowls however,” he said with a frown. “Are another matter.”
“What’s amiss with them?” Guy asked.
“One nearly got carried off last night,” Robin said darkly. “Did you hear nothing?” At Guy’s startled denial, Rob nodded his head. “Mabel woke me, but it seems the rest of the house slept on through the racket,” he stroked the tabby, and Guy deduced she was Mabel. “I opened my window and heard a terrible squawking and flapping. There was a fox. He’d got over the fence and was trying to prize the basket open.”
“They are cunning,” Guy agreed, remembering his own dream of a couple of nights ago with sudden clarity. He had been the fox. Mathilde, the little unprotected hen. “If he’d got in the basket, I doubt he would have stopped at one.”
“I threw a bowl down at him,” Robin confessed. “A blue one that was on my shelf. It smashed all to pieces. I hope it wasn’t valuable.” Guy shrugged. “I thought I’d raise the whole house! In any event, the fox ran off and I fetched the hens in for the rest of the night.”
“Fetched them in?”
Robin nodded. “They slept in there,” he said nodding toward the buttery. Prudence didn’t half make a fuss about it this morning,” he grumbled. “But most folk in the country live under the same roof as their livestock,” he said plaintively. “So she had no cause to take on so. I daresay she’d have been mad as fire to wake up to the prospect of no eggs!” He pointed to the paper he was so busy over. “I’m designing them a new home,” he explained. “But until I’ve built it, they’ll have to sleep in here of a night.”
Guy murmured some agreement which seemed to appease the boy, then started up the stairs in search of Mathilde. Outside the door, he paused a moment, hearing Prudence’s scandalized voice.
“Oh, you’ve cut that ever so low, my lady!” she protested. “T’isn’t decent, indeed t’isn’t!”
“Oh, well,” Mathilde answered airily. “I daresay it is a little low, but I shall only wear it at home, when entertaining my husband so it shan’t signify overmuch.”
Guy gave a soft knock on the door, and then opened it. Mathilde sat on a sofa with a gown of scarlet across her lap and a needle and thread in her hand. “My lord!” she said in startled accents, as if he was the last person she had anticipated seeing. All around her were strewn various garments and on the floor at her feet lay many scraps of multi-colors. It looked as though she had taken her shears to practically every item of her new wardrobe. He blinked.
Prudence was crouched with a mouthful of pins nearby. She also had a guilty, surprised look on her face, as if she had been caught doing something she oughtn’t. She spat out the pins and quickly gathered them up. “I’ll go and fetch some refreshment,” she said hurriedly jumping to her feet and scurrying from the room.
Guy watched the door close behind her with bemusement, and then turned back to Mathilde, who seemed to be trying to stuff the scarlet dress behind a cushion.
“The — uh — garments I ordered were not to your liking?” he asked awkwardly, as he came further into the room.
“Oh no! It wasn’t that! The fabrics were just lovely and the trimmings very tasteful,” she assured him tactfully.
“Then…?” he rose an eyebrow, as his gaze swept over the devastation surrounding her.
“’Tis only that as a married woman,” she stressed. “I would wish to have them cut in a style with a little more sophistication.”
“I see.”
“You do not mind?” she asked anxiously.
“No,” he said, rounding the nearest chair and dropping into it. “They are yours to do with as you please.”
She smiled nervously. “Thank you.” He opened his mouth to try and apologize for the manner in which he had left her that morning, but she forestalled him. “Did Rob tell you about the chickens?” she asked.
“He did.”
“And to think,” she marveled. “We none of us heard a thing!”
Guy nodded, clearing his throat. “It is surprising it never woke any of us,” he agreed.
Mathilde nodded. “Will you have your supper with us this evening?” she asked brightly.
“Aye.”
She fixed an intent look on him. “You did not bring Temur or Waldon with you?”
He shook his head. “Mathilde, about this morning…” he started hesitantly.
“I think I might just change for dinner,” she blurted, leaping up from her seat. Seizing the scarlet dress, she practically fled from the room.
Guy was just wondering if he had seriously offended her when the door opened again and Prudence appeared with a jug of ale and some plum juice. She set down the tray and immediately started gathering up the scraps of discarded fabric which littered the floor.
“It will just be you and my mistress for supper,” she said briskly. “Master Robin means to eat downstairs and finish his plans for the hen house.”
“I see,” he glanced over at the log pile. “I’ll go down and fetch more wood in.” He felt far too ill at ease to just sit there idle.
“Thank you kindly, milord,” Prudence surprised him by actually looking grateful for once. “It will give me chance to set all this to rights,” she said glancing round at all the pinned gowns and garments that were littered over the backs of chairs.
He nodded and made his way downstairs, where he found Robin frowning over his sketches. His cat sat on the low footstool in front of the fire now, washing her face.
“Where did you find the cat?” Guy asked. He didn’t remember seeing one at the lodge before.
“She followed us back from Helga’s hovel,” Robin said absently. “I wonder if a hinged roof would work better?” The last was muttered, almost to himself.
“Old Helga?” Guy asked sharply. How strange. He had only thought of the old crone for the first time in years a few days ago, and here was mention of her again.
“Aye, we stumbled on her cottage while walking in the woods,” Robin answered, his mind clearly elsewhere.
“She still lives close by then,” Guy muttered to himself, as he passed out into the garden and picked up the axe to start chopping up the logs. The little cat followed him outside and watched him awhile, before growing bored, and jumping up onto the window ledge, mewing for Robin’s attention. The boy soon hurried to let her back in.
He cast an anxious look up at the darkening sky. “I’ll have to get the hens in before ere long,” he observed. Guy glanced over at the hens, who looked none the worse for their recent ordeal. “I told Prudie you agreed they could sleep in the buttery until their new house was ready,” Robin said furtively, glancing back over his shoulder. “So if she says anything to you…” Guy grunted as he swung the axe. Robin took this as agreement, and headed back inside with a satisfied nod.
As soon as he had a sizeable pile, Guy gathered an armful and took it inside. First he stacked up a good pile next to the kitchen fire where Robin and Prudence would be sitting this evening. Then he carried up armfuls to the sitting and the dining room, unsure where Mathilde envisaged them spending the majority of their time. He knew which room he wanted her to entertain him in, but it wasn’t either of those. Hesitating a moment, he fetched another armful up and tapped on the bedroom door.
“One moment!” he heard hurried footfalls and then the slamming of a trunk. “Come in.”
Guy opened the door and found Mathidle swathed in a woolen mantle. “Are
you cold?” he asked in concern.
“N-no, I was just, trying on my new shifts,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “They are rather thin, so …”
“I’ll light the fire in here,” said Guy with a frown. “And get it warmed up for you.”
“Thank you,” she said and hovered nearby while he laid the wood. “Do you, er, do you think it might be as well to have a small table set up in here for us to eat our supper?” she asked breathlessly. “As it will only be the two of us. It seems foolish to have so many fires lit in the house…” Her words trailed off.
Guy shot a look at her. She was practically wringing her hands. Why was she so anxious? The unpleasant thought occurred to him that it might be down to him. He was just worrying that it could be due to his behavior the night before, when her words finally registered with him.
“That would be most agreeable to me,” he admitted gruffly, as it sank in, that she actually wanted him in her bedchamber with her. A warmth spread throughout his body and he relaxed slightly. He couldn’t have been so very terrible a bedfellow, he thought with relief. Not if she was willing to have him in there with her again, so soon after.
He was just coaxing a flame, when Prudence and Robin carried in a small round table and two chairs, setting them down before the fireplace. Mathilde flitted around it, placing down knives and spoons as Robin carried up the dishes and Prudence fetched him water to wash.
Guy set about his ablutions as Mathilde took a spill from the fireplace and lit candles on the table. Noting she was still bundled up in blankets he frowned.
“The room should soon warm up,” he said as he dried himself with a cloth.
“Oh yes,” she agreed absently, and starting pouring wine into a goblet.
“No wine for me,” he said hastily, and she poured him ale instead.
Rob came in with a dish of vegetables and set them down next to Prudence’s pie. “I think that’s everything,” he said, scratching his neck.
“It looks ample,” Mathilde said with a quick smile.
“Shout for me if you need anything, but I’m going to fetch the hens in now,” he said over his shoulder as he departed.
Prudence entered with a dish of breads, cheese and butter which she set down gingerly on the table. “If that’s everything, then I’ll take myself down to the kitchen fire, my lady,” she said with a small curtsey. “I mean to turn my hand to some of the alterations we made this afternoon.”
“Of course, but pray do not strain your eyes,” Mathilde bade her. “Candlelight is not always the best for needlework.”
Glancing up, Guy was surprised to see the maid smile at Mathilde as she closed the door behind her. “Prudence seems quite changed from the crosspatch of a week ago,” he commented as he crossed the room and sat himself down at the table.
“Indeed, she grows more agreeable by the day,” Mathilde concurred. “She is proving most invaluable.”
He mulled on this a moment, as Mathilde cut into the pie. The only conclusion he could draw was that her mistress’s winning manners had won Prudence over.
“Is this a large enough slice?” Mathilde asked him, looking up. He nodded, and she loaded up his plate. Guy watched her covertly as she selected him the largest of the roasted root vegetables. She judged his appetite fairly accurately he recognized, with a flicker of surprise. Though at this precise moment, it wasn’t really for food. He took the plate she handed to him, and set it down in front of him. She passed him a cup of ale and raised her own goblet of wine. “To a hearty meal, in good company,” she said a little self-consciously, as though she had never made a toast before.
Guy lifted his own cup in acknowledgement and then took a tentative sip before remembering it was from his own stores. Knowing he would not grow sotted on ale, he relaxed back in his chair.
“Have you had a pleasant day, my lord?” she asked politely, as Guy wondered at the fact he found it so charming to be in this intimate setting with her, exchanging small talk. Maybe it was the novelty, he pondered. Otherwise, he could not account for it.
“Aye,” he rumbled, then remembered his manners. “Have you?”
She made haste to swallow her mouthful of pie in order to answer him. “Oh yes,” she said, and reached for a napkin. Rather than dabbing her mouth with it, she fanned her face. “I can definitely feel the warmth of the blaze now,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“Maybe you should take off your blanket?” Guy suggested, seeing her cheeks were quite rosy now. A pained look crossed Mathilde’s face.
“Er, yes,” she agreed. “I will presently.” Reaching for her wine cup, she took another swig.
He wished she was not still so skittish around him. Should he say something about the previous night? He didn’t want to shatter the pleasant mood by mentioning his boorishness.
“This gravy is very flavorsome,” he commented instead, and he was just kicking himself for his own blandness, when Mathilde rewarded him with a grateful look.
“Isn’t it?” she said with a pleased smile.
Gods, she was pretty. He stared at her a moment like lovesick swain. She had left off a veil again today, and her waving hair framed her face, reminding him of a stained glass window he had seen once at the cathedral at Great Naunton. He could not remember the subject, doubtless some saint or ethereal figure. Then, biting her lip, she shrugged off her blanket and all thoughts of divine beauty fled. Guy’s jaw dropped. Holy hells! He stared like a fool at her exposed shoulders and décolletage. The scarlet gown seemed barely to cover her nipples. Was she even wearing a shift underneath it? He swallowed and reached for his ale with a hand that shook.
“Is that one of your new gowns?” he asked in a croak. No wonder she said they all needed alteration! They were scarcely decent! He could feel his eyes starting from his head.
“Yes,” she answered breathily. “Do you like it?”
Guy could not answer for a moment. His head pounded. His throat was dry. Unbidden, the image of her perfect, high breasts rose in his head, when she had afforded him a glimpse of them that very morning. Her little nipples had been a dusky pink. He gulped a mouthful of ale.
“There’s not much to it,” he answered raspily. Her face fell. He was a fucking idiot.
“Oh, well…” Her words trailed off. “At court some ladies wear their necklines like this,” she said self-consciously. She placed a hand across the swell of her breasts, and Guy made an involuntary sound of protest in his throat. She looked up quickly. “Perhaps if I was wearing a necklace it would look a little more acceptable,” she ventured. “I can—”
“No!” he objected, when she started to rise from her seat.
She turned slightly. “I don’t have any jewelry with me, but perhaps a scarf—”
“Don’t cover up on my account,” he said gruffly, and almost swore. She sank back into her seat, staring fixedly down at her plate. He closed his eyes briefly as his mind raced with how to make reparation for his ineptness. He was so badly rattled at this point that he could only think of honesty. “You’re very beautiful,” he said abruptly. “I’m just not used to such company. In truth, I’m overwhelmed by it.”
She gasped and looked up at that, their gazes clashing. Whatever she saw in his eyes seemed to embolden her, for she squared her shoulders and smiled again, her dimples flashing at him from her cheeks. Gods, that smile. He felt dazzled and befuddled by it. He longed to kiss that mouth, those pretty lips right now. He had never wanted anything so badly before in his life. She would taste of wine and sweet, sweet woman, he just knew it. He’d never craved sweet before. He’d never had sweet. He couldn’t remember now what kind of women he’d squandered his youth chasing, but they had been the wrong sort. They had never made him feel like this, such savage longing and need.
He glanced down at his half-consumed plate with a frown. He didn’t want food. How the hells, was he even going to get through this meal? He had no earthly clue. Suddenly she gave a squeak, and jumped up out of her seat.
“What is—?” he didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before she dropped down into his lap. He drew a shocked breath.
“Oh Guy,” she trembled almost violently in his lap. “I—I think I saw a mouse.”
He stared at her uncomprehendingly. Her words barely registered. He just knew her sweet, fragrant, practically naked little body was pressed against his, her hands resting lightly on his chest, her flowerlike face turned up to his. He gazed at her lips, just inches from his. He needed a taste. Just a swift, fleeting taste. She would not refuse him, a starving man. She was far too kind.
With a moan, he pressed his lips to hers, his hands landing on her waist and gripping her there, convulsively. She gave a muffled sound of surprise, but then surged forward with an enthusiasm that stole all breath from his body. Her arms wound around his neck and she clasped him to her with a willingness that made his mind go blank. When his brain stuttered to a start again, moments later, he found they were both still melded together, their lips sealed in a kiss such as childhood sweethearts might share. He felt himself quiver, though how such an innocent kiss could fire up his blood to this extent, he knew not at all!
Her lips were so soft, it made his insides turn over. Her eyes drifted shut and she sighed against his lips. He felt himself tense. She liked this. She wanted more of this. In that case, he needed to steel himself to give it to her. No matter how much he hungered to deepen their kiss, to swipe an arm across the table, clearing it of its fare, and throw her down on it and devour her instead! Instinctively he knew she was not ready for that. She would be scared by his desire if she knew how it raged inside him. He needed to reign it in, and take it slow.
She shifted on his lap, and he winced. He had been hard since she shrugged off her damn blanket, but he needed to put her needs first. He was damned lucky she was even letting his clumsy hands touch her precious little body. He forced himself to relax his grip on her waist, then cursed when his hands shifted down to trace the flare of her hips as if they had a will of their own. Abruptly he wrenched back his head to draw a ragged breath. She gazed up at him, through half closed eyelids.
Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1) Page 14