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‘No. I have come to beg a dance from my husband.’
Wolfric almost fell over from surprise. Orla seek him out? Surely not?
‘Heavens, do you need to beg?’ said Fenella, arching one eyebrow in undisguised malice.
Wolfric’s heart clenched for her, so he said, ‘Of course she doesn’t. My Orla never begs for anything.’
‘But Orla does not dance, Wolfric,’ said Fenella. ‘She has always been above such pursuits and is sorely out of practice. If I were you, I would fear for my toes.’ Fenella tittered at her own wit, the smug bitch.
Wolfric turned to Orla. ‘I have been remiss indeed in not paying you attention, dearest. A thousand pardons.’ He turned to Fenella and said with a sneer, ‘Forgive us, newlyweds. We cannot bear to be apart for more than a few moments. You know how it is, being so recently wed yourself. Now please excuse us.’
Unfortunately, Wolfric then had to dance a reel with Orla. He was a good dancer, and Orla’s eyebrows shot up as he whirled her around rather expertly, but even so, she was too flustered to keep her steps.
‘I cannot lie. You truly are a bad dancer, Orla,’ he said, wincing through a crushed toe.
‘Well, you were warned.’
‘Aye, Fenella is not fond of you, is she?’
‘As if I care.’
He frowned. ‘If you do not care for her opinion, why come and beg for a dance? Were you jealous that I was talking to her?’
‘No.’
‘And yet you came to me.’
‘I came to stop you from making a fool of yourself with Fenella. She is a consummate flirt and is leading you by the nose.’
‘Ouch. I do need my toes, you know. And as to her leading me on, I would say it is you doing that.’
‘She has a very large husband, you know,’ said Orla.
Wolfric smirked. ‘No, she does not. She is wed to a weak-kneed old fool in his dotage who I could flatten with one flick of my wrist. Do you think Fenella is seeking diversion from her marital misery while she waits for her decrepit spouse to fall off his perch?’
Orla stopped dancing. ‘Do you want her, Wolfric? If that is so, you have my blessing? Indeed, I hope you suffocate between her awful, pendulous breasts.’
‘Not a bad way to go,’ he replied. ‘I should want her, for she is certainly not shy in encouraging a man’s attentions, yet I find my tastes have changed of late, and Fenella leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.’
‘Taste? What do you mean? Have you had her, Wolfric?’ Orla’s face was now an alarming shade of puce.
‘Not yet. Make me a better offer, and I shall not.’ He put his ear to Orla’s. ‘Come outside with me.’
‘No. I will not beg for your attention, for I do not want it. Go and flirt if you must, but do me the kindness of being discreet about it. This is my cousin’s house, after all.’
‘So you do not care if I pursue other women, as long as I do it quietly, is that it?’
‘I suppose it is.’
‘Well, now I know where I stand, Orla - right back where I started. After all my efforts to be kind and understanding, still, you do not value me.’
‘Kind? Do you mean creeping into my bed to do whatever you feel like, night after night? Is that your idea of kindness, Wolfric?’
He ground his jaw to contain his injured pride. ‘I see I am wasting my time coming to your bed seeking some kind of closeness. I will not do so again, and fear not, I would not embarrass you, seeing as the opinion of all these fools is so important to you, Orla.’
They stood awkwardly, eye to eye, surrounded by swirling, laughing dancers. Despite the spark of anger in her green eyes, Orla had never looked more appealing. Wolfric was riven by a sudden urge to master her, in bed and out of it. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her from the hall.
‘What are you doing?’
