Page 61 of A Knight’s Vengeance

He smiled. “Now, you were saying?”

Pointing to her bliaut, Elizabeth said, “I do not understand why Veronique was so generous.”

“Veronique? Ah, of course. She will miss such a bliaut from her wardrobe.”

Elizabeth frowned. Mischief gleamed in his eyes, but she did not understand why. “’Tis a fine bliaut, sewn from quality wool. The chemise is silk rather than linen.” She glanced at the logs snapping in the hearth, and her voice lowered. “I am surprised she would lend me such garments after...”

“After her scorn this afternoon,” he provided.

Elizabeth shifted in her chair and pulled the gown’s hem over her slippered toes. “Aye.”

“Do not let the matter trouble you.” Geoffrey reached over and picked up the stoneware jug. “Wine?”

“Nay, thank you.” One mug of wine already tingled inside her, and she must not dull her wits. Yet, he had already poured a goblet full and offered it to her. As she took the vessel, her fingers brushed his, but he did not seem to notice.

She curled her fingers against her skirt and sipped. The wine tasted sweet, far nicer than what she drank earlier. She took a large sip. Before she remembered to caution herself, she had downed half. Geoffrey watched her over the rim of his goblet, but looked away when a log fell and sparks flew up like tiny, dancing butterflies.

The fire’s warmth lulled. Soothed. An odd, companionable silence settled. Beneath lowered lashes, she stole a glance at Geoffrey. Her gaze traveled over his legs outlined by the snug-fitting hose. Horn buttons lined his shirt, and the cloth stretched taut over his wide chest. His muscled physique, sculpted and honed to peak efficiency, revealed his skill as a battle hardened fighter.

A formidable opponent for her father.

Her belly clenched. She sipped more wine, and her gaze shifted up to Geoffrey’s angular profile. A day’s growth of beard darkened his jaw. Warmth coiled up inside her. He might be a seasoned warrior, but his stubbled jaw proved he was still just a man, formed of flesh and blood. She wondered how his skin would feel beneath her fingertips.

“You are quiet tonight.” Geoffrey’s voice cut into her musings like a knife through soft cheese.

Elizabeth found his intent gaze upon her. She looked down into the liquid ruby depths of her wine and fought a blush. “I-I was thinking.”

“I see.” His tone held a trace of humor. Had he noticed her study of him?

“I want to know why you brought me here,” she blurted, wishing her voice did not waver. “’Tis not usual for a betrothed lady to meet a man alone in his private quarters.” She met his gaze. “I will know your intentions, milord. If you will not answer me, then I wish to return to my chamber.”

Geoffrey’s fingers tightened around his goblet’s stem. A smile flickered across his lips. “You missed the evening meal. I thought you might like something to eat.”

Glancing at the food on the table, she said, “That is all?”

He laughed, a rough, dangerous sound. “Not all.”

Elizabeth rose to her feet. “Why, then, did you summon me here?” She banged the vessel on the table. Wine sloshed over the rim and stained the pristine white linen ... and the room swam before her eyes.

“Oh!” She made a frantic grab for the table, and touched Geoffrey’s arm.

“The chair is behind you,” he said, his voice near her ear. He stood in front of her, she realized through a dizzy blur. As he leaned close and eased her back down to sitting, his earthy, masculine smell filled her nostrils. His prickly jaw grazed her brow. She tried to sit up straight and regain her poise, but her head reeled in a perplexing manner.

“Too much wine,” she moaned.

Geoffrey pushed the plate of honeyed figs into her hands. “Here. Eat. You drank on an empty stomach. ’Tis no wonder the floor moves under your feet.”

“Sorry.” She hated how pathetic she sounded.

He grunted at her apology and sat down. She picked up a fig and bit into it, and found the combination of sweetness and spice delicious. Honey drizzled down her chin. She brushed it away with sticky fingers until Geoffrey sighed and pressed a linen napkin into her hand. Within moments, she finished the plate, and he handed her a bowl of gingered custard and a spoon.

He did not indulge himself, but watched her devour the food. He seemed fascinated. She meant to challenge his stare and the wry grin tugging at his mouth, but first, she would satisfy her hunger. The creamy custard, a little overcooked, dissolved on her tongue and she scooped more onto the spoon, taking care to run it along the bowl’s edge to glean every sweet bit.

When she had almost finished, he rubbed his thumb over his mouth. “I suppose I do owe you an explanation.”

Elizabeth swallowed her mouthful. Thank God, her head had almost stopped whirling.

“I wanted to satisfy my curiosity.”