“Then I would thank you for being so thoughtful,” she said. “You have been a chivalrous and kind escort and I thank you very much for your foresight in all matters. And I am very sorry that I called you simple back at Hyde House; it is clear that you are not a simple man at all.”
He almost looked embarrassed; he chewed his lip briefly, displaying the deep dimples that carved through his cheeks like canyons. The brilliant blue eyes never left her. After a moment, he turned back to the chair where the pile of clothes lay and dug into the very bottom of the chair. There was a small bag there that she had missed; he picked it up and tossed it to her.
“More items from the merchant that I thought you might need,” he said quietly. “Soap, a comb, some hair things,” he made funny jabbing gestures at his head, “and some manner of cosmetics. I do not know what they are; the merchant told me that women in Paris use them so I told him just to include them.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him before pulling open the bag and digging inside; there was indeed sweet-smelling soap, a tortoise shell comb, several decorative hair pins, two glass phials of perfumed oil, an ointment for softening the skin and a tiny alabaster pot of red ointment for the lips. Very feminine, foolish things, but she was deeply grateful. And deeply touched. With a twinkle in her eye, she sought his gaze.
“I cannot possibly thank you enough,” she said sincerely. “It was very thoughtful and very sweet of you to procure all of this for me.”
He dipped his head. “A genuine pleasure, my lady. Now I shall wait outside while you dress.” He pointed at her. “You’re still running about in that sheet.”
She grinned, shrugging her shoulders in agreement. “Rhys,” she said hesitantly. “I am truly sorry if I upset you with talk of your wife earlier. Please believe me when I say that I did not mean to. You have been very kind to me and I would do nothing to intentionally upset you.”
His gaze lingered on her. “I know, my lady.”
“Then you are not upset with me?”
“It is of no matter, my lady.”
“But it is to me,” she insisted. “Your feelings matter very much and I am truly sorry.”
He almost dismissed her again; they could both see it coming. But after a moment, he simply shook his head. “It is kind of you to be concerned for my feelings. But I truly have none in the matter. And you did not upset me.”
She wasn’t quite sure it was the truth but she let it go. Rhys’ attention lingered on her a moment longer before he quit the room, moving out into the night that now seemed to be clearing. Even after the door softly shut, she stood there, her thoughts lingering on the massive bear of a man who had been both very cold and very kind to her. The paradox was baffling. But those thoughts vanished in favor of thoughts of her new garments, and within little time she was clad in a new shift, the red pantalets, the woolen hose and the soft yellow lamb’s wool surcoat that hugged every curve of her delicious torso.
She pinned her considerable mane into a neat bun at the nape of her neck and wrapped herself up in the new bleached woolen cloak, a magnificent garment that was lined with gray rabbit. She also pulled on the gloves. Wrapped in her new clothes, she felt so warm, so cozy, that the heat invited sleep and before she realized it, she was back on the bed. Her intention had been to doze until Rhys came back for her, but she quickly fell into a deep sleep as the sun began to rise. For the first time in a day, she was at peace.
The next sensation that infiltrated her sleep-hazed mind was that of a hand being clamped over her mouth.
CHAPTER FOUR
“’Tis me, my lovely.”
Elizabeau heard the softly uttered words and, naturally, being awakened out of a sound sleep, screamed in fright. She lashed out a fist, catching whoever it was in the neck and she could hear the man sputtering as she leapt up from the bed. Dawn was breaking and her chamber was still dark, so she could not see the man in her room but she could hear him gasping for air.
“Raina!” the man was stumbling around, knocking over a small table near the hearth. “What’s wrong with you, woman?”
Elizabeau threw open the door just as Rhys was opening it. He pushed her out of the way, barreling into the room with both swords drawn. Elizabeau tripped over her own feet and ended up on her knees over by the chair where Rhys had sat the majority of the night. As she watched in astonishment, Rhys bore down on the man still struggling to stand with his feet tangled in the table. With the door open, more light filled the room and made clear the inhabitants. The man with his feet stuck in the table looked up at Rhys with his weapons drawn and screamed like a woman.