Page 24 of Gambling with the Earl
“I wouldn’t know, my lord.” It was hot in here. Too hot. She felt a flush rising through the wool of her dress up her neck and a log crackled in the grate as if to mock her plight.
“How did you pass your time in your minor manor at Belford?”
She clutched her hands together until the blood left her fingers. “I’m unsure of your meaning.”
“In the evenings.” He rose from his desk and walked towards her like a wolf approaching its prey. “How did you pass your time in the evenings, when all your work was done?”
Was he going to come all the way over to her? He was so tall, his shoulders so broad, that he made her feel small and insignificant. A chambermaid to be trifled with.
Kitty lifted her chin. “A servant’s work is never done, my lord.”
She spoke with all the authority of her mother’s daughter and as soon as the words left her lips, she recognised her mistake. But the earl’s expression did not change.
“Much like a knight,” he suggested, pausing by the fireplace and glancing down into the flickering flames. “All the more reason to seek pleasure in our rare moments of repose.”
The sun passed from behind a cloud, illuminating him with renewed colour. Kitty noticed a flash of sorrow in his eyes. His face, she realised, was quite beautiful. His thick eyelashes curved upwards and a faint covering of dark stubble served to emphasise his jutting cheek bones. So he was a knight. Her mind reeled with this new knowledge. The image did not sit with her old views of the Earl of Rossfarne, but it chimed well with the man keen to protect her from a lecherous guest.
His injury must have been caused in battle. Her eyes widened as she made the connection. Not a drunken brawl or a spat over a woman. An honest battle fought under the king.
“You served King Edward?” she asked, the words leaving her mouth before she could think better of them.
His dark eyebrows lifted a notch. “For many years.”
She bit down on her lip. That had been another mistake. Servants didn’t ask questions. It would be best to lower her gaze and simply wait to hear his reasons for summoning her.
She was safe, surely, with a knight of the realm?
He had served the king for many years. But how many, she wondered? The earl was older than she, that much was evident. How much older? The depths of his gaze suggested a type of wisdom only acquired with age, yet his hair was as back as night,not streaked with grey. Thirty, she guessed. He could not be less, for men of more tender years rarely had such formidable bearing.
Silence, thick and heavy, enveloped them. Kitty began to feel drowsy with heat from the fire. A fire that was surely unnecessary this far into spring? She longed to relax in the overstuffed chair which sat invitingly just feet away. For all her hard work at Shoreston Manor, she realised now that she had never truly understood what it was to be a servant.
Kitty gave herself a little shake to banish the weariness and found the earl gazing directly at her. His head was lifted with all his usual authority, but his eyes were curious, questioning. She could withstand his customary ferocity, but not this quiet consideration. It made her feel false and deceitful.
What would happen if she simply told the earl the truth about who she was and why she was here?
As if reading her mind, he straightened up, impressing upon her again the sheer size of him. His dark blue tunic clung to his powerful shoulders and once she had noticed, she found it hard to look away. She recalled how she had paused on the beach and pictured his muscular calves wrapped around the belly of his horse and a blush rose to her cheeks. He stood before her, clad in riding breeches which underlined every bulging muscle in his long legs. He was a giant of a man. A warrior. What manner of opponent had managed to fell him?
“It is customary, I believe, for a man in my position to be offered entertainment.”
His statement jolted her, and her lips parted in surprise. “I know little of such things.”
“No?” His eyebrows raised, questioning her or mocking her? She couldn’t decide. “Have you never heard of musicians, jesters?”
Relief washed through her. Kitty’s mother had often recounted tales of brightly-lit occasions at Answick Castle, when the duke and his family were diverted by the likes of musicians and jesters. For a moment she had feared the earl might list out other, more scandalous forms of entertainment. Her mind twitched again to the low-cut dresses in the wooden chests, and her pulse sped up.
He was still waiting for her answer. “I believe I have, my lord.”
Her words pleased him. He looked at her closely, capturing her in his dark eyes. “Do you sing, Kitty?”
Her heart seemed to stop. “Sing?”
“Sing,” he confirmed mildly.
Kitty loved to sing. Since she was a small child, she had burst into a song at a moment’s notice. At Shoreston, she sang while she rolled out pastry and beat the rugs, but since arriving in Rossfarne Castle she had deliberately stayed quiet.
Except for that one time, here in the solar. Had he heard her? Dread pooled in her insides.
“I don’t, my lord,” she answered firmly, despite the sting of heat in her cheeks. Ladies sang in parlours to appreciative gentlefolk, but she was sure that servants did not.
