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“Did I not tell you to quit the chores?” he asked with a thunderous scowl on him.
“Yes, my lord.” But her expression showed the least meekness a woman might ever display.
Her wide, unconcerned eyes held his directly, and instead of feeling furious, a rush of something too close to arousal crossed his guts. He inhaled deeply, trying to abate the anger and slow his body’s cravings.
The footman came in holding a bottle of wine, and his presence curbed Edmund’s temper.
“I know we are understaffed, but I said I will correct the situation,” he amended as he stood from the table and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Which is undoubtedly good news.” Her low voice did not help, trickling down his ears as a chant inducing bad intentions.
“So, Lady Otilia, I invite you to join me for dinner.” He pointed at the nearest chair to his right.
She did not move. The damned chit did not twitch a single muscle of that delectable silhouette of hers. Even her irreducible glare continued to be fixed on him. “I thank you, my lord, but I must decline.” Her mouth sketched a small smile only to remind him of how it felt that day eight years ago.
He produced a bland grin himself. As if he had always been a paragon of civilised behaviour, when, in fact, he was the least civilised individual of his species at this precise instant. “I insist,” he all but growled.
She gave signs of understanding it for the command it was. At this, her glare widened on him with so much pent up wrath she might incinerate him on the spot. There was fire under the iceberg after all.
Never had he wanted to singe to ashes more than now.
He reciprocated her glare with one of his own. Their combat here would set the tone of their future interaction, and he had not the least intention of yielding an inch to her.
But the woman still stood immovable on the spot as if she did not owe obedience to the lord of the manor. As if she was the leader and authority in this place. As if he intruded in her kingdom. Yes, kingdom, because the siren behaved like nothing less than a queen certain of her rights and unwilling to compromise them.
As if eight years never existed for all the effect she kindled in him.
That fire under her icy exterior contaminated him, ignited him. It burned low in his body, mingling arousal and vexation in one hazy combination close to bursting. Delicious images of how he wanted to scorch in it paraded in his mind unbidden and uncensored. Even more so than during his not-in-the-least-bit relaxing bath.
The footman got ahead of himself and set another place for dinner, vanishing through the door.
All the time, Edmund and Otilia battled, holding their ground like two generals in a decisive war.
He would stay here all night if need be. They could engage in their territorial skirmish for as long as it took.
Edmund did not remember the last time he felt so alive. With his senses wholly engaged in this moment, he had no thought for the past or the future, for the high matters or the low. His entire being focused on her and her stubbornness. Her beauty.
The woman would turn the head of a monk.
Her black clad curves stirred a slight inch, her hands fisted by her side. Her delicate nostrils flared with a sharp inhale. She broke eye contact, but vehemence still painted her face in grim lines.
In clipped movements, she neared the chair, gathered her skirts and sat ramrod straight.
The victory did not exhilarate him. In fact, he might be the one who lost their small skirmish. For as she took away her apron, it left the bodice of her black dress bare to his feasting eyes. “Better,” he said too low, too hoarse, sitting down before anyone realised what she did to him.
She did not move; did not speak. She did not even look at him. Her hands folded on her lap, eyes fixed ahead, she shut him out like no one in his life had done before.
It did not feel good.
“Why all this stubbornness?”
As her head turned to him, her cold eyes met his. “I am not related to you. It is not proper.”
“Pretend you are my guest,” he suggested, though she had been a daughter to his cousin.
After he rang, the footman reappeared to serve the soup and the wine. As he left, the silence did not break even with the silverware. She ate in complete silence.
“You have been running the household in these last months,” he started.
