Page 93 of The Favourite

“Well,” he said, “then clearly ‘tis time for me to visit the cordwainer.” When she made no reply, he added dryly, “It is really not hard to be kind to someone who does my every bidding, now is it?”

Jane watched him in silence. “You order the barrel of elderflower wine every month for Robert, do you not? I have noticed neither you nor anyone else cares for it.”

He shrugged. “It will grow very boring if you are now determined to ascribe me with every virtue,” he drawled.

Seeing this for what it was, a diversionary tactic, Jane ignored him and instead ran through an inventory in her mind. The cake-like loaves of wastel bread which no one else favored. They too must be for Robert. It made perfect sense. Ayleth had been quite wrong to accuse him of eating his master’s fare. Those things had been specifically purchased with the old man in mind.

Noticing Alisander was watching her out of the corner of his eye, she roused herself to respond. “I will endeavor not to bore you too much, my lord,” she said without heat.

His brows snapped down over his eyes. “Don’t talk like that,” he said shortly. “As if you could bore me.”

“You talked like that first,” she pointed out. “You said—”

“I know what I said. I was being facetious.” A strange expression passed over his face. “I don’t think you could bore me, Jane,” he said. “Even if you tried.”

For a moment, she stared. Then she forced herself to rally. “My lord,” she said briskly, “you have yawned your way through my every recital for the Queen these past two years!”

“Your recitation is execrable,” he said with a shudder.

“You see!”

“It does not bore me; it pains me. You should not be allowed to read poetry. Your lack of expression when you speak the words and the infuriating way you murder the rhythm—”

“Oh, be quiet!” she interrupted him. “No one else ever complains about my recitation but you!”

He laughed, then looked suddenly thoughtful. “Wait, I have it. Next time we fuck, I shall make you recite The Splendor and the Glory and see if I cannot get you to speak the words with some feeling.”

Jane felt her color rise. “I shall do no such thing!” His words had felt like a blow. Part of her wanted to withdraw, to leave the room. The other part of her wanted to tell him how she felt. Tears sprang embarrassingly to her eyes. She took a deep breath. “Please do not use such—such base language, Alisander. At least, not when you speak to me in everyday life. She averted her face. “It makes me feel”—she paused, searching for the right word—“worthless.” Her throat closed on the word, and she could not look at him.

Hearing a rustling, she looked up to find him out of his chair and pulling her up out of hers into his arms. “That was not my intention, Jane,” he said against her hair, his hand sliding up and down her back in a strangely soothing gesture.

“I know,” she answered in a small voice, and he did not speak for several heartbeats, just carried on stroking her back and holding her. It was strangely pleasant to be held by him this way in the dimly lit room. She rather wondered that she should find it so. Even as recently as a month ago, she would never have believed such a thing. Resting her head on his shoulder, she listened to the crackle of the fire and let herself be comforted.

“We both know I like teasing you, Jane,” he said softly, “but worthless is the last thing I would ever want you to feel.” Jane closed her eyes, and all was quiet for a while. Then he spoke again. “You said in everyday life,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Does that mean colorful language is not so offensive to you, elsewhere?”

Instead of answering straight away, she considered. “It did not affect me that way—when you used it as an exclamation,” she admitted in muffled tones, “in the bedchamber.”

“Well, I am certainly glad to hear that,” he said, and she could hear the amusement running through his words. “And I should probably tell you, that despite your dreadful recitation, I still vastly prefer your oration above anyone else’s.”

She tipped her head back at this to look at him. “I don’t see how that can be so, in light of how painful you find it.”

“Strange, is it not?” he agreed, and oh gods, she could hear in his voice that he was somewhat baffled by it himself. “There is a sort of pleasure in the pain because it is your voice.” Jane stared at him, and he shrugged. “Probably not worth dwelling on,” he said dismissively. “We all have our little foibles.”

“Er, yes,” Jane agreed in a stifled voice. His words had left her strangely breathless, as though they were poised on the edge of something. She would almost believe he had made some sort of declaration, or confession to her if it was not for his off-hand manner and calm expression.

Could he, in fact, care for her? The thought had occurred to her a few times now. The problem was, he was so flippant and insincere, that she would be a fool to take his caressing words as anything more than flummery. Whichever way she looked at it, she was out of her depth to an almost hopeless degree.

“Shall we to bed?” he asked in a lightly conversational tone. Jane could do no more than meekly nod by this point. As though picking up on her temporary weakness, he scooped her up into his arms. “My poor Jane,” he murmured as he carried her through to their bedchamber. “So lacking in pursuits that you have nothing better to do with your time than to count my shoes.”

She could tell he was laughing at her, but she found she did not care. “You should heartily pity me,” she said instead and watched his lips twitch.

“Oh, I do. It is outrageous that your husband keeps you cooped up in these rooms, a virtual prisoner.” He laid her down on the bed and stood looking down at her, his eyes glinting. “I can see why though,” he said. “I’d be tempted to do the same if you were mine.”

“I am yours,” she answered without thinking, and the spark in his eyes became a blaze.

“Are you, Jane?” he asked, and she hesitated, unsure what she was committing herself to.

He had been playing again, she realized belatedly. He was being Alisander de Balon, her lover right now and not her husband at all. Likely, he had been about to make more jokes about tying her to the bed with ropes of jewels, then she had muddied the waters by being a slow-wit. She could kick herself. “I did not—”