Page 47 of A Knight’s Vengeance

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. She and Mildred were to be separated? “But⁠—”

“Sit,” de Lanceau growled.

Elizabeth curled her fingers over the carved chair back and thanked the saints that the furniture came between them. “Milord, I insist. Mildred is my lady-in-waiting.” In a deliberate gesture of humility, Elizabeth met his gaze, then let her lashes flutter down. She doubted the rogue had a decent bone in his body, but she would try and appeal to his honor. “Mildred has been in my family’s service for years. She is like a mother to me. ’Tis right that we dine together.”

“Is it?” His tone was cold. “I agreed she would share a meal at this table. I did not agree you would sit beside one another.” He signaled for Mildred and Dominic to pass.

Elizabeth glared at him. “You thoughtless⁠—”

His hand snaked out, seized her wrist, and pulled her down into her chair. Cursing, Elizabeth struggled to rise.

His palm pressed upon her thigh. She froze.

The warmth of his hand permeated the thin gown. His fingers shifted, a mock caress. She recoiled as though stabbed with a knife.

He grinned like a hawk ready to devour its cornered prey. “Now, where were we?” He brought more stew to her lips.

“I am no longer hungry.”

“Nay?” He did not sound at all surprised, and his tone resonated with amusement. “Since you have finished, you will serve me.”

“I think not.”

“’Tis common courtesy,” he said and tossed bread into his mouth. When she crossed her arms and refused to obey, his fingers skimmed over her hip.

Elizabeth stiffened. How shameful, that he would caress her in such a way, and for all to see. His lazy smile proved he knew just how wrong his actions were. “Remove your hand.”

“You did not say please.” With his tongue, he plucked a dripping morsel from the dagger’s tip. “Were you not taught to be polite, when you learned your ladylike duties?”

“My ladylike duties,” she said between clenched teeth, “did not include entertaining rogues.”

He grinned as he chewed, his teeth a slash of dazzling white. With his dark hair tangled around the shoulders of his white shirt, he looked wild. Predatory. Wicked. “Entertaining?” His tongue rolled over the word with such sensual appreciation, tremors raked through her. “What delightful possibilities.”

He had twisted her words to imply far more than she had intended. Elizabeth’s hands shook. She must destroy his deliberate misconception. Now. Or he might test her mettle in front of the entire hall.

“You mistook my meaning, milord,” she said.

“I wished you to return the noble courtesy I showed to you, and you refused.” His gaze locked with hers in frosty challenge. “You may despise me, but I am still due a measure of respect.”

An unspoken message flashed in his eyes. She would not get her bath, unless he was satisfied.

Elizabeth grabbed the closest piece of bread and jammed it into the stew. Respect? He had not earned it, not when he took pleasure in provoking her anger, humiliating her, and denying her the slightest privileges.

For all he had done to her, she should dump the trencher’s contents in his lap.

For one exquisite moment, she thought she might. Yet, if she did, he would refuse the bath. She forced her anger to cool. Soon, the meal would be finished.

Geoffrey’s fingers lifted from her thigh and brushed the back of her wrist. The pressure on her skin was gentle, but she did not mistake the warning.

“I do not like mangled bread.”

Looking down, Elizabeth saw the bread was indeed becoming the same consistency as the gravy. She frowned, annoyed he had chastised her, but when she looked up, a grin curved his lips.

Wrenching her hand free, she thrust the bread in his face. He took the bite, but with agonizing slowness. His gaze never left hers as he ran his hot, slick tongue over the tips of her fingers and sucked the morsel into his mouth.

She shuddered. “I hate you.” The words slipped out before she willed them.

“Of that, I have no doubt. More bread, milady.”