“You’ll surely join me?” She glanced at him as she lifted the ewer, pouring two measures of wine. When he didn’t move to accept her offering, she set his chalice on the table. Her gaze locking on his, she took a long, slow sip of the strong Rhenish wine.
“I think no’.” Sorley frowned and pushed away from the door. “Drinking my wine is no’ telling me why you’re here, seeking a man to—” He snapped his mouth shut, his scowl deepening when he was unable to finish the fool sentence.
He did start pacing, taking care not to stride too near to her and the cloud of disturbingly enchanting rose perfume that wafted about her.
“Not any man.” She touched the chalice to her lips, sipping slowly, provocatively. “I wish your aid, no one else’s.”
“Any man could perform such a deed.” Sorley glared at her.
“Could, I certainly agree. But would they? I believe not.” She set down the wine chalice. “Most men at court would decline out of respect for my father. Those of less noble birth would refuse because they’d fear the repercussions. My sire is a scholar, not a fighting man, but he employs a garrison of formidable warriors.”
“I see.” Sorley did, and her explanation riled him unreasonably. “You chose me because I’m known no’ to stand in awe of my betters. And”—he couldn’t keep the anger from his voice—“because it’s rumored I’m wild and crazed enough to fear no man.
“Lastly, for the reason you already stated.” He crossed to the table and tossed back the wine he’d refused. Setting down the empty chalice, he deliberately let his gaze slide over her from head to toe. “Everyone at court is aware of my appetite for comely women.”
“Your appreciation of ladies was a consideration.” She held his gaze, not flinching.
“I said women, no’ ladies. There is a difference.”
“I know that very well.”
Sorley studied her with narrowed eyes. “Yet you wish to explore why that is so?”
“Would I be here otherwise?” She angled her head, her gaze as sharp as his. “I think not.”
“I say you dinnae ken what you’re asking.” His temper fraying, Sorley stepped closer and braced his arms on either side of her. He splayed his hands against the wall so she was caught between him and a colorful unicorn tapestry. “Sweet lass, I am no’ a weak-wristed, embroidered tunic–wearing courtier. A passionless man who likely beds his wife beneath the coverlet, all candles snuffed. If you had even the slightest idea of what it’s like to couple with a man like me, you’d run screaming from this room.”
Her chin came up. “I never scream. Nor do I cry. Not even when I wish I could.”
On her words, Sorley felt like an arse.
But his pride cut deeper.
So he leaned in, wishing his every breath wasn’t laced with her intoxicating rose scent. He touched his lips to the curve of her neck, nipped lightly. “I could make you cry out in pleasure, Lady Mirabelle.
“A pity I have no desire to do so.” He stepped back, folded his arms. “I learned long ago that dallying with highborn lasses brings naught but grief.”
Rather than color with indignation and sail from his room as he’d expected her to do, she simply lifted her hands to the jeweled clasp of her cloak and undid the pin so that her mantle fell open to reveal the outrageously provocative gown she wore beneath.
Surely designed to singe a man’s eyes, the raiment’s rich, emerald silk clung to her every dip and curve. Threads of deep bronze were woven into the fabric, an intricate pattern that glittered in the firelight. Her glossy red-gold hair shone to equal advantage, annoyingly lustrous against the jeweled tones of her dress. Worse, her bodice dipped low, offering tantalizing glimpses of her creamy skin and full, round breasts. A braided belt of golden cord circled her slim waist, the tasseled ends dangling suggestively near a very feminine place Sorley did not want to notice. More gold glittered along the delicate border edging the top of the gown, drawing his attention back to her lush bosom.
She looked like a living flame.
And damn if he didn’t feel a powerful urge to be burned to a crisp.
Instead, he frowned, ignoring the heat spearing straight to the swelling hardness he was sure she could see.
Secretly, he now hoped she did.
He was that angry.
For truth, he could see the top crescents of her nipples! They were a lovely pink and puckered, peeking up above her bodice’s gold-edged border.
“I’ll no’ deny you’re lovely, my lady.” He could hardly speak. “Though along with erroneous judgment, I suspect your hearing is no’ what it should be. I told you I am no’ the man to fulfill your request.”