"Are you crying?" Gabriel asked, sure he hadn’t witnessed so much emotion on their group's staunchest rake.
Henrique brushed his eyes with the sleeve of his impeccable coat. "Bite your tongue. My eyes... They are sensitive today, that's all." Henrique exhaled. "What the hell... I always loved our Pedro, and it turns out I'm partial to the Englishman too. He might be a grumbler and a wife thief, but he has a good heart."
Chapter 43
Thedayhadlonglit the sky when Anne had scraped enough of the plaster to allow the window a shuddering slide. The bedroom was on the second floor, but a sturdy cork oak, its branches stretching to brush against the windowsill, would deliver her safely to the ground. And then to Pedro.
Footsteps sounded outside the bedroom. Anne clutched the porcelain shard in her hand and closed the drapery. Slowly, she backed away from the window, her heart beating so painfully fast she feared it might burst.
The door opened. She caught a flash of a green uniform and then the youthful, serious countenance of the boy who trampled Pedro's begonias. She clamped her mouth shut so as not to laugh like a raving lunatic.
"Good morning, Miss Maxwell." He bowed as if she wasn't a prisoner and he wasn't an accomplice in the crime.
Still, his politeness brought a sheen of normalcy to her predicament, and Anne inclined her head.
"My lord Ulrich sends this with his compliments." He produced an ivory gown made of sheer lace. "He desires you to wear it for your breakfast with him."
Anne smoothed her own dress, eyeing the boy askance. "I thought you worked for the king."
He flushed and glanced away. "We all lie when the need is upon us."
Her eyes flicked to the window, and she wrung her hands. A few more minutes alone, and she could open it. "Very well. I will require privacy to change clothes."
"You will dress with the help of Angelina."
He clapped his hands, and a scrawny maid entered the bedchamber. She curtsied clumsily. Her black hair covered the right side of her face. Anne cringed at the sight of the ugly star-shaped gash on the other woman's cheek. No man could be so evil. Still, her body mocked her feeble attempts to rationalize her fears.
"Please, Ega. Your name is Ega, no? I'm sure you are better than this." Anne glanced at the other woman. "Help us escape."
"You best forget any foolishness. There is no escaping Ulrich." The boy's gaze was sad, and she couldn't avoid a glimmer of sympathy.
"Please hear me.” Anne linked her hands in front of her chest. “You don’t need to do anything. All I ask is that you leave for five minutes. I will—"
"If you... If you please Ulrich, he will not hurt you." His face flushed a terrible shade of red, making the scar on his neck stand out in high contrast.
Anne lifted her chin. "Pleasure and hurt shouldn’t be uttered in the same sentence."
He grabbed her hand, and panic settled into his features. "Please, Miss Maxwell, don’t act foolishly. He will make you regret it. I promise he will."
Anne sat in front of Ulrich. Only the dining table separated her from his lascivious looks. He wore a goldenrobe de chambre, and his dishabille heightened her sense of discomfort. She knew she should converse with him—if anything, to extend this meal and avoid whatever he had planned for after—but her mouth would not cooperate.
Anne's eyes went to the table knife, and quickly gazed away, praying Ulrich had not gleaned her intentions. Why had he placed a sharp knife so close? A coincidence? Or did he toy with her?
Ulrich passed his hand over his slick hair as he gnawed a hunk of beef. "The Portuguese bullfight is a superior sport. A man who believes otherwise is a wimp. SpanishToradais a mockery to ourCorrida de Touros."
Light from the gaudy candelabra gleamed over her knife's blade. The clock struck the hour. A trickle of perspiration descended between her breasts, and Anne pressed her napkin to her lips. "Is there a difference?"
Ulrich hacked at his meat, and the blade slid through it like butter. "Imagine the scene in your lovely head. You are sitting at thesombra—”
“Sombra?”
He snapped his fingers. “The shade, of course. Do you think I would buy cheap tickets for my new pet? Thematadorenters the arena, riding his steed. The bull's rage is at a fever pitch. Bull blades pierce its back, and blood leaves red streaks over his black coat. The crowd goes wild. The beast attacks. Thematadorgallops to deliver the killing blow…"
Anne flinched.
"What, no stomach for the sport?" He shoved a raw piece of meat in his mouth and chewed.
"I fail to see the pleasure in hurting animals."
