Sir Geoffrey drew his head back. ‘You are impertinent, cousin. A lady would be horrified at the mere suggestion. And as for me spin-’ He broke off, shaking his head. Clearly the thought of him spinning was too demeaning to mention.
Rosamund stifled a giggle. The image of her lord using a drop spindle was simply ludicrous, and it went some way to dispel the resentment she felt at the callous way he had treated her.
‘Infernal cheek,’ Sir Geoffrey muttered, scowling at Oliver. ‘So much for gratitude. And to think I had plans for you. Damned if I don’t change my mind.’
He reached for the door latch, but Oliver was out of bed in a trice. ‘Cousin?’ His voice was eager. ‘You have plans for me?’
Baron Geoffrey lifted his eyes – Oliver topped him by a hand-span. ‘Aye, I have plans for you. After you have proved yourself.’
‘Naturally.’ Oliver smiled.
Rosamund hugged the bedcovers and knew herself forgotten. She sighed. That was a man for you. She had thought – hoped – that Oliver might have a fondness for her. Sight of him now merely proved that his heart was set purely on his advancement. Look at him – so desperate for promotion that he must stand naked before his lord, grinning like a fool. A wave of desolation swept over her.
She reminded herself that she was married to Alfwold. It didn’t help, she felt just as miserable. Oliver had warned her not to expect anything. He’d told her he didn’t want a clinging vine. He’d even told her he couldn’t love her.
Her gaze roamed hungrily over him. He was perfectly formed. She ached simply looking at him. The ache intensified as Oliver pushed back the lock of hair which was always falling out of place. So tall, and not an ounce of fat on him. Sir Geoffrey looked squat and flabby beside him.
It was strange to think that she had cradled Oliver’s dark head on her breast. A wave of regret swept through her. It wasn’t simply that she was losing a fine lover. Oliver had ensured that their loving had been on equal terms – she’d been given a tantalising glimpse of what life might be like if they lived in a world where men and women respected each other.
Rosamund wasn’t naïve, she’d been fortunate to have been locked in with Oliver. Another man might have taken her without compunction. But not Oliver.
Oliver reached for his chausses. ‘You would help advance a bastard, mon seigneur?’
Sir Geoffrey snorted. ‘Why not? My name is proof that your mother was not the first to bear a child out of wedlock. But you will have to earn your knighthood.’
Oliver bowed. ‘I will serve you as faithfully as I can.’
Baron Geoffrey’s lips curved and he glanced at Rosamund. ‘There’s no need to take things to extremes, I don’t expect complete fidelity.’
‘My lord?’
Sir Geoffrey went on looking at her and Rosamund found she was holding her breath.
‘I’ve a wife for you, Oliver,’ Sir Geoffrey said. ‘If you want your knighthood, you must marry her.’
‘Marry Rosamund?’ Oliver’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s impossible, she’s already wed and even if she weren’t, she’s a peas-’
Rosamund glared. How could he?
‘No, no, you misunderstand,’ Sir Geoffrey said, hastily. ‘There’s noble blood in your veins, I wouldn’t beggar you with the miller’s daughter.’
‘Sir Geoffrey!’ Rosamund’s chest heaved, she couldn’t keep quiet a moment longer. Oliver’s cousin might be her lord, but he was being insufferable. They were both being insufferable. ‘You may consider me a low-born wench who’s only fit for bedding, but at least I have manners. A beggar wouldn’t speak in so rude and churlish a manner.’
Sir Geoffrey’s mouth went white at the edges. Blinded by fury, Rosamund rushed on, unaware that with each word her accent was becoming more and more marked. ‘I wouldn’t dream of speaking so disparagingly about someone! If being noble entitles you to be so arrogant, then I tell you I’m proud to be a simple miller’s daughter.’ She sat very straight. ‘And hear this, my lord, I’d never soil myself with the likes of you.’
Sir Geoffrey sucked in a breath. ‘Would you not?’
As he bit the words out, Rosamund realised the enormity of her error. Sir Geoffrey was her lord and he couldn’t permit the miller’s daughter to undermine his authority in front of his squire. At the least, he’d want to teach her a lesson. When his eyes fastened on her mouth, she closed her eyes.
Merciful heavens, no!
Moistening his lips, Sir Geoffrey reached for her.
Oliver cleared his throat and stepped between his lord and the bed. ‘What on earth did she say? Cousin, I vow at times your tenants are completely incomprehensible.’ He placed a friendly hand on Sir Geoffrey’s shoulder. ‘It will take time for me to become used to this northern dialect.’