Josephine did not meet his gaze. “Yes, I need a maid.”
He pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “There is no need for you to be jealous,” he assured her, and leaned down to kiss her lightly.
“She is a pretty creature.”
“I had not noticed,” Etienne lied. “Gabriella Frechette means nothing to me. You seem to be seeing jealousy everywhere.”
An obviously relieved Josephine flashed him a brilliant smile. “Since I have no maid for the time being, Etienne,” she murmured huskily, presenting her back to him, “will you help me with my gown?”
Etienne went to stand behind her, untying the laces below her pale, smooth neck, a thoughtful frown on his face.
He should be extremely happy. He was rich, powerful and respected, and he had done it all on his own, with no help from influential friends or family. He had achieved every one of his cherished ambitions: wealth, fame and power. More, he had fulfilled the destiny his mother had always claimed for him, the destiny the death of his father before he was born had seemed to circumvent. He was very happy.
“Thank you, Etienne,” Josephine whispered. “I can finish by myself.”
“As you wish.” He went to the bed and began to pull off his boots, recalling for a moment the astounded look on Gabriella’s face when he had requested her assistance. Clearly she had expected him to drag her onto the bed and overpower her, and he marveled at the defiant pride she maintained in the presence of such a belief.
She really was unlike any woman he had ever met. It was a pity the circumstances of their lives were as they were.
As he straightened and looked at Josephine while she brushed her hair, her body wrapped in a velvet robe, an overwhelming feeling of loneliness swamped him. Theirs was little more than a business arrangement. He did not love her, and he was quite certain she did not love him.
Which was of no consequence. They were pleased with each other, and understood the boundaries of their relationship. If he was lacking anything, it was only a son and heir, and that was not important. He had worked and fought not to acquire goods to bequeath to some unknown offspring who might squander them away, but for himself alone.
With renewed resolution to put the late earl’s daughter from his thoughts, he went to stand behind Josephine. He took the brush from her hand and set it down, then ran his fingers through the golden cascade. She sighed and leaned back against him, the contact increasing his arousal.
His hands slipped down her slender neck to her shoulders, and into the bodice of her gown toward her breasts. Gently he caressed her, her nipples pebbling beneath his palms, until she moaned with unabashed pleasure.
He removed his hands and she rose without speaking, turning toward him, a gleam of unmistakable lust in her limpid green eyes as she brushed her fingers over his hardened manhood.
As he closed his eyes, he was determined to lose himself in the delight of Josephine’s talent, to enjoy her exquisite body and to marvel at her particular skills.
Gabriella was surely a virgin.
Etienne pulled Josephine impatiently into his arms and pushed his tongue between her lips tinted with red wine while he gripped her buttocks and pressed her to him. This was the woman who shared his body and his bed. He would think of no other.
With a low moan, Josephine responded, her hips moving seductively and her expert fingers caressing the muscles of his back. Her tongue flicked against his nipples, adding to the exquisite sensations.
“I was indeed a fool to be jealous,” she murmured as she arched against him.
“Yes, you were,” Etienne replied, kissing her passionately and effectively stopping any additional discussion. He had no wish to further examine the state of his emotions, and he knew of one very good way to quiet his thoughts.
Chapter Four
Perched precariously on her haunches on the bank of the river where the townsfolk did their washing, Gabriella lifted the wet, heavy tunic and began to wring it out. It was an arduous process, complicated by the sheer size and weight of the garment, as well as the fact that her freezing hands ached with the unfamiliar task. Cold water ran down her arms, dampening her bodice and soaking her skirt so that it clung to her uncomfortably.
A group of women from the town were doing their laundry a short distance away, occasionally glancing at her so woefully that Gabriella wanted to scream that she had done nothing wrong, that the baron had not attacked her, that she did not need or want their pity or their sorrowful looks. What she wanted was their friendship, or some sense that she had not erred in doing whatever was necessary to remain here.
She let her gaze pass over them down the river toward the mill. A group of laborers were busy there, replacing the grindstone, or so Guido had said, and the huge wheel was still. The cook had been delighted to tell her about it, for apparently he had been complaining to her father for weeks about the quality of flour and blaming it on the old and worn grindstone. It seemed the baron, on his first full day as master of the estate, had seen that for himself, among other things, and given orders that it was to be replaced immediately. Several of the outbuildings were to be rethatched, more hay had been purchased for the livestock that would be allowed to overwinter, and the castle stores were to be replenished, albeit not with the luxurious foodstuffs the earl had preferred, but more common fare such as peas and lentils.
Word had also flown through the castle that the baron was asking about poaching. The baron possessed the right of infangenethef, to punish poachers caught within the bounds of his estate, and woe betide the man who would be judged by him!
Although her father had also been granted that right, he had turned a blind eye to poaching, claiming the peasants worked better with a full stomach. She didn’t doubt his wisdom; however, in the case of a man like Osric, who had been brought before her father three times for the offense and who was yet the hayward, she wondered if he had been too kind.
Her father had also been indifferent when it came to collecting the gersum, which was the fee a man would pay for taking possession of a tenancy, as well as the tenants’ tax, and the heriot, the payment to the lord of the best beast a villein possessed on his death.
The baron would certainly demand everything that was his due. He had even gone into tenants’ byres and outbuildings personally, seeking livestock not registered on the estate lists.
Gabriella cursed softly as the hem of the weighty, wet tunic dragged in the mud. Whoever would have guessed simply washing one garment could be so difficult? She had not, and had refused Alda’s offer of assistance. Now she felt an increased respect for the castle maidservants. Nevertheless, she had been given this job to do, and she would do it with the same thoroughness that the baron was giving to the running of his estate.
In truth, she welcomed the chance to wash the garment. All night, it had laid at the end of her bed, a constant reminder of her confrontation with the baron, and the frightening moment he had removed it. The sooner she washed it and returned it to the bedchamber, the better.
Getting a good grip on the tunic, she pressed her teeth together tightly as she wrung another portion with all her strength. If only this was the baron’s neck she held and not his clothes…
“My lady!”
She looked over her shoulder as Chalfront approached. He ran his hand over his jowls nervously and looked about him as if he expected some disaster to befall him. However, he often wore that expression, and he had escaped unscathed thus far, so she turned back to her work. “What do you want?” she asked, hearing him stop behind her.
“I… I wanted to say that I’m glad he didn’t hurt you,” the man said.
“You’ve said it, so you may leave me alone.”
“Gabriella!” he protested, squatting down beside her.
How much she wanted to tell him that he had no right to call her by her first name, except that she was now merely a servant and he outranked her. That realization was nearly as galling as anything the baron had said or done. “What are yo
u doing here?” she demanded.
“I must speak with you!” he whined. “I’ve been looking for you since dawn.”
She glanced at the curious women. She wanted nothing at all to do with Robert Chalfront and she writhed inwardly at the thought of being linked to him in any way.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
“I am too busy to take any notice of your whereabouts,” she said, her tone cold and brusque in her desperation for him to be gone.
“I want to make sure the baron hasn’t…doesn’t… mistreat you.”
“What?” she cried, disbelief in her voice and expression as she straightened with the wet tunic in her hands. “And what would you do if he had?” she asked. “Heaven forbid that you should criticize your new master, for anything he might do!”
“I would!”
“As you did last night when he ordered me to his bedchamber?” She raised her voice as much for the benefit of the listening women as to lend force to her words. “He did not harm me in any way. He only gave me this to wash.” She thrust the black garment out like a dagger in the hands of an assassin. “And I have done so. Now go away, Robert, and let me finish my work. Won’t the baron need you to wipe his lips or pull out his chair?”
He grabbed her arm. “You must and shall listen to me!” he cried, a flash of anger in his usually cowlike eyes.
“Take your hand off me,” she said fiercely.
“You are not the mistress of this estate anymore, Gabriella,” he proclaimed desperately, his grip tightening, “and you will listen to what I have to say. I want you to pay attention to me. Me! For once in your life!”
She had never seen Robert like this before, and he almost frightened her. Unsure what to do, she forced herself to remain calm. “You are hurting me.”
He became instantly contrite, again the helpless child. “Why won’t you marry me?” he asked mournfully. “I could pay your debt and you would never have to wash a thing!”
“I don’t love you. I could never love you,” she said firmly. She could not believe that he didn’t understand. His unreasonable persistence was beyond annoying. She had certainly made her feelings, or lack thereof, known the first time he had proposed—and the second and the third and every time after that.
“But why?”
She clasped the wet tunic to her chest. “For the last time, Robert, I will never marry you. I would sooner marry the Baron DeGuerre than you!” she replied, citing the most outrageous example she could think of.
Which seemed to be the appropriate means to pierce Chalfront’s self-delusion. The hopeful light went out of his eyes, and although she didn’t enjoy seeing it, she couldn’t help feeling relieved.
Then he sighed and said, “You needn’t have put me in danger with your false accusations.”
“False accusations?”
“The baron does not trust me, and there is no reason he should not.”
“You led my father into ruin and worried him into an early grave!” she charged.
“Do you still believe that?” he asked incredulously.” I did everything I could to help him—but he wouldn’t listen! Why, I even used my own money to try to pay his final debts!”
He had told her that before, when he had first broached the subject of marriage to her. At the time, she had thought he was saying so only to make her consider his suit. Yet now, when he finally appeared to comprehend that he had nothing to gain, he still maintained what had seemed to her to be impossible, and there was a ring of truth in his words that she found hard to deny. “Why would you do that?” she demanded in a low voice, aware that the women’s eyes were still upon them.
“For you,” he said softly, looking at her with pleading eyes like a lonesome dog. “To know that I was helping you by doing so, so that I might have one kind word from you.”
“You… you should have asked my father to raise the rents!” she said.
“I love you, Gabriella! I would do anything for you, for even one kind word from you. I had hoped you would be grateful—”
“Well, well, well, what touching scene is this?”
Gabriella and Robert moved quickly apart as Philippe de Varenne strolled toward them. With his sleek black hair, dark garments and narrow eyes, he reminded Gabriella of a hawk before the falconer let it fly after its prey. She clutched the damp tunic more tightly to her chest. Chalfront, pale and panting, looked as if he were seriously contemplating running away as fast as his legs would carry him.
“What business have you accosting the maidservants, Chalfront?” de Varenne demanded scornfully.
“Sir, I… I…” Chalfront stammered helplessly.
“None, I think, beyond trying to seduce her, eh?”
Gabriella had never wanted to slap a man’s face so much in her life. No, not even the baron’s, for he had not looked at her with such bold, lustful impertinence, even when he held her fast in his arms.
“My…lord! Sir! You misunderstand!” Chalfront spluttered.
“He was not trying to seduce me,” Gabriella said firmly.
“No? It certainly looked as if he were up to something. I suggest you run along, Chalfront. I believe the baron is looking for you.”
Chalfront’s glance darted from Philippe de Varenne to Gabriella, then back to Philippe before he bobbed his head and hurried away.
“If he troubles you, you should let me know,” Philippe said condescendingly.
In truth, this man troubled her far more than Chalfront ever would or could. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have work to do.”
“So I see,” Philippe replied, grabbing the tunic from her and holding it out. “He has made you a washerwoman?”
She didn’t answer as she shivered from the dampness of her bodice.
He ran his gaze over her and suddenly she realized that her wet clothes clung to her skin and her nipples had puckered with the cold. She hugged herself, as much to shield her body from his lascivious stare as for warmth. “If you will excuse me, sir,” she said again through clenched teeth.
“Of course, pretty Gabriella.” He held out the garment so that she had to reach for it. She took hold of it, but he would not release it. Instead, he tugged hard, so that she was pulled against his chest. Before she could respond to his impertinent action, he stepped away and started to chuckle smugly. “I must have you do my laundry, too.”
“Philippe!” The baron’s voice rumbled toward them from the drawbridge. She had been so intent first on Chalfront and then Philippe de Varenne that she had not seen the baron approach. He was mounted on his black stallion and accompanied by Sir George, as well as a small armed troop. As always, the baron was dressed in black and wearing no jewelry. His cloak was thrown back over his shoulder, revealing his muscular chest, and his sword brushed against his thigh.
Sir George wore a bright cloak of robin’s egg blue lined with scarlet. His tunic was also red, trimmed with gold, and his hose was blue. He gave her a warm and sympathetic smile, which did little to assuage her embarrassment.
“Adieu, Gabriella,” Philippe said with a parting leer before he sauntered toward his lord, who watched them with an impassive face.
Gabriella, clutching the wet garment again to her chest, glared past Philippe to the man who was responsible for putting her in a position to have to endure Philippe de Varenne’s rudeness, then turned on her heel and marched away.
Two days later, Etienne sat in the solar and rubbed his aching temples as he stared at the pile of documents spread out on the table before him. He was attempting to wade through the last of the lists, charters, receipts and records that pertained to his new estate. He would be a happy man when his steward was able to leave his other estate to come here and take charge of the accounts himself.
It was not just that the late earl had been an overgenerous, lax superintendent and that the bailiff had felt it necessary to record every ha’penny spent or received; reading itself taxed Etienne’s patience, since he was far from skilled at it. He had learned to re
ad when he was a grown man, out of necessity rather than desire, and he would far sooner spend his days in the lists facing the couched lances of aggressive knights than studying these cramped letters and figures.
He had spent several more hours in the past few days examining lists of tenants’ goods and accounts, supervising the arrival and purchase of necessary food and furnishings, as well as riding through the estate looking for livestock conveniently left off such lists, and finding several, all obviously the best beasts their masters owned. He had seen to the repair of the mill and the granary, for it seemed that the late earl, so particular about his castle, had been much less so about other buildings on his estate. He had realized that poaching was going to be a problem, for his men had found several traps and snares in the estate woods. They had no clue who had set them, or if they were the work of one man or a gang. Whoever was breaking the law, when they were caught, they would rue the day they tried to do so on his estate.
Outside, a heavy rain fell, which meant all of his men were cooped up inside instead of out in the woods hunting or practicing their fighting skills in the nearby meadow or the large courtyard. He could discern their voices coming from the great hall. Philippe was teasing Seldon about a rather plump serving wench that Seldon fancied. If Philippe wasn’t careful, he would wind up with a broken nose. It would serve him right, Etienne thought coldly, and might cure the fellow of some of his vanity.
Again Etienne remembered Gabriella and Philippe on the riverbank. How angry she had been, and justifiably so, and how attractive, with her thick, curling hair and blushing cheeks, her gleaming brown eyes and defiant stance, holding his tunic against her perfect breasts. For a moment, he had envied his tunic.
He wondered what Philippe had said to her, although that wasn’t so very difficult to guess. Her response was rather obvious, too. However, the baron didn’t doubt that he could control the young man for some time yet, and hoped that de Varenne’s ambition would soon lead him elsewhere.
The Baron's Quest Page 5