If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she saw a light of humor in those icy depths.
“And my father told me the king said anything done to me would be done to him. Is that not correct, milord?”
“It is.”
“Then I ask you, would you expect his royal majesty to sleep in this hovel of a room?”
Draven didn’t know what surprised him most. That she had the temerity to stand up to him or that she made such sense with her arguments. In truth, he knew his home was nothing more than a fetid sty to be endured. His life revolved around war, not country life.
He had never been able to stand Ravenswood and would gladly be gone from here forever, or see the donjon fall down in disrepair. ‘Twas only his duty to the king that kept him here. Ravenswood was one of the corner pieces of the kingdom. Strategically placed between the north and the south, it needed someone loyal to the king to maintain it.
Even so, he couldn’t very well expect a well-born lady to suffer in his home. Such things had been his father’s specialty, not his. “Very well, milady. I shall give notice to my steward to approve any changes you wish to make.”
“Does that include a housekeeper?”
“If it is necessary....”
“It is.”
Draven nodded and did his best to ignore the sweet floral scent of her flaxen hair. If memory served, ‘twas honeysuckle. It had been more years than he could count since he last stood this close to a lady, but one thing he was sure of, no other woman had ever made him feel so unsure of himself.
Nor long so much to reach out and touch the creamy softness of her cheeks.
There was something about Lady Emily that reached out to him in a most unsettling way.
Indeed, he could barely stand here and not lean over to capture her lips with his own. Would they be as sweet and soft as they appeared?
His need to know bordered close to desperate.
“I leave it in your hands,” he said quietly as he tried not to notice the fact that the top of her head reached just below his chin. She was a tall woman, and a perfect size for his body. A body that was currently on fire and aching to possess hers.
By St. Peter’s toes, he had to get away from her. Anon.
Even now all he could do was think of the bed that waited just a few feet away from them. A bed he’d seldom used, but one he wanted desperately to take advantage of while he had her in his room.
Aye, if he closed his eyes, he could easily see himself laying her down on that bed, and sampling for himself the wealth of her skin, the taste of her flesh.
“I shall send Edmond to see to you.” He turned to leave while he still could.
She reached out and touched his arm.
Draven froze at her hesitant touch. Such gentleness was unknown to him and few if any ever touched him physically unless it was a deliberate act to wound him in some fashion.
He couldn’t speak as he glanced down at the tiny feminine hand resting innocently on his forearm. Those fingers, so long, slender, and gracefully tapered. Her nails well-manicured. It was all he could do not to take them in his hand, lift them to his lips and sample the pads of them.
Did she have any idea how such a careless caress scorched him inside and out?
“Forgive me for my brashness, milord. I’m not normally so outspoken.”
He lifted his gaze from her hand to those dark green eyes of hers that reminded him of a perfect summer day. “Your father described you as the gentlest maid ever born.”
A becoming shade of pink stained her cheeks, making him wonder how soft her flesh might be. What it would be like to brush his lips against her high cheekbones and long eyelashes.
Not that he would ever find out. Women such as this were exactly what his father had warned him of. They carried death with them, and he would never lose control of himself. Never surrender his body to the urges that were blistering his loins even as he stood before her.
“My father often exaggerates my virtues, milord.”
“But he didn’t exaggerate your beauty,” he whispered.
