“What the hell are you doing in here?” he demanded.
“You told them I was aservant,” she said. “And now the cook thinks me to brown your gravy.”
“I couldn’t very well tell them that you were a wanted fugitive now, could I?” Lucan rejoined, acutely aware of his manhood in the cool chamber.
Effie shrugged and then looked around the well-appointed room appreciatively, her demeanor so calm that one might suppose happening upon naked men wascommon for her.
“My, my,” she said. “I can see why you were in such a rush to leave the peasantry behind.”
Lucan felt justifiably exposed in naught but his skin, but as Effie Annesley didn’t seem at all disturbed by his lack of clothing, he was loathe to scurry to cover himself like some nervous adolescent.
He ignored the idea that he was disappointed that Effie wasn’t interested in looking at his body.
She pushed away from the door to leisurely stroll about the perimeter of the room, taking in the rich hangings and ornate woodwork. Lucan reached for his trousers and sat on the bed to quickly slip them on. By the time he stood again to fasten them around his hips, Effie had reached his end of the chamber and turned at last to face him.
“Finish dressing. You’re taking me to Westminster.”
Lucan couldn’t stop the huff of incredulous laughter. “I beg your pardon?”
“Get. Dressed,” she repeated calmly, with a slight inclination of her head. Lucan noticed her plait was dark—wet—and was leaving a damp patch on her vest. “You wished to bathe and change; you’ve done so. I’ll not play housemaid in your little charade. I’ve come here to retrieve my son.”
Lucan sighed and turned to face the bed while he picked up his shirt. “The king won’t be seeing anyone this late in the day. Better that we arrive first thi—” His words stopped, his arms in both sleeves, the material stretched between his elbows as he felt the point of a blade to the left of his spine.
“Put your goddam shirt on and take me tothe king. Now.”
Lucan turned slowly, deliberately, the point of the blade dragging across his shoulder blade, his biceps, until it was positioned over his heart, and he was looking slightly down into Effie Annesley’ssparkling eyes.
“Upon my honor,” Lucan said gravely. “You don’t want me to do that, Effie.”
“Now, Lucan.”
He moved quickly, twisting the shirt around the hilt of the short sword and yanking, pulling his arms free and sending the linen-wrapped weapon flying across the room. He reached out and grabbed her arm when she went after it, and she immediately ducked and twisted, bringing up a knee toward his groin. Lucan dodged the blow and spun Effie by her arm so that her own fingertips reached up between her shoulder blades. She gave a little cry of pain and so he relented a bit but did not release her.
“Hmm,” he mused near her ear. “Interesting position I find myself in. Would you agree that one is deserved of revenge upon the woman who nearly costhim his foot?”
There was a rap upon the door then, and Stephen entered the chamber with the promisedboots in hand.
“Forgive me, sir,” he said, raising his right hand to shield his eyes while he trotted at a crouch to place the tall footwear on the edge of the carpet. He turned at once and fled, closing the door behind him.
Lucan leaned down toward Effie’s ear again, ignoring the warm smell of her skin that seemed to envelop his head like a cloud. “Don’t ever point a weapon at me again unless you mean to kill mestraight away.”
“Let go—”
“If you do, I will leave you and your son to rot.” He pushed her away from him and then went to retrieve his shirt, tossing the blade to the floor at Effie’s feet. He snapped the folds from the linen and slipped it on. “I’ve enough complications of my own to contend with in London without you mucking things up further for me than youalready have.”
“Oh, mucked things up for you, have I?”
Lucan ignored her goad as he slid his arms into the red velvet and attended to the hammered clasps. “I will take you to Westminster—yes, right now—if only to be rid of you. But know this: if Vivienne Paget and—however unlikely I find it—Caris Hargrave have indeed taken your son to Henry with their claims, should you show up there tonight demanding audience at dinner, he will absolutely have you arrested and imprisoned until he is ready to deal with you. And once he knows where you are, he will be in no hurry. On this you can depend.” He walked past her toward his boots and could feel her gaze burning holes in the velvet. When he had retrieved them and turned, he found she was indeedglaring at him.
He sat in a carved chair todon the boots.
“You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “You don’t have a son…”
Lucan finished the lacings and looked at her from across the rug. He sighed. “You’ll do George far less good locked in a cell there than getting a much-needed night’s rest here. I’ve already sent word to the king of my arrival in London. He’ll be ready for us. Well, me, anyway.”
He could tell the moment when his reasoning reached her by the ever-so-slight fall of her shoulders. Perhaps no one else would have noticed, but to Lucan it was a raised flag of surrender. The light of combativeness behind her eyes went out, like a candle flame snuffed behind a milky pane of glass, and a ridiculous urge to comfort herrose in Lucan.
“Whose house is this?” she asked suddenly.
