Page 27 of Gambling with the Earl
Kitty shuffled through the door and closed it softly behind her, reluctance apparent in her every movement. She wore a clean white apron with every bit of her hair swept up beneath a snugly fitting cap. Her reddened hands were neatly folded and her eyes downcast. She bobbed a slight nod and stood with her shoulders hunched forwards, so different to the graceful, upright posture she usually displayed. Then, nothing. She kept her back pressed to the wall and studied the floor as if searching for a lost jewel.
At the sight of her, something inside him cracked. His anger evaporated like a puff of smoke in the presence of her quiet composure.
She didn’t speak up like she had before. Her lips pressed together as if she would keep any words inside her by force. He’d drawn attention to her waywardness, he realised. And now she would stay silent and obedient before him, like any other member of his household staff.
Damnation. That was not what he wanted.
“You have come,” he said at last.
“As you requested, my lord.”
“Come forwards,” he beckoned irritably. “Stand before the fireplace.”
She walked readily enough to take her position while he in turn lowered himself into an armchair. His long fingers beat a drum-like rhythm on the arm but aside from that, the room was as still as it had ever been. Even the flickering flames in the grate seemed to pause.
“Well,” he barked. “What are we waiting for?”
Her green eyes widened almost imperceptibly but she kept her gaze focused on the rush-covered floor.
“I am awaiting further instruction.”
Frustration swelled within him but at the same moment, he recognised the flash of backbone he’d been hoping for. She was toying with him, like a canny knight leading troops into a trap.
He settled more comfortably into the chair. Two could play at that game.
“Your instructions are to sing for me, if you please, Kitty.”
“But I do not know how, my lord.” Her voice was without expression. She could have been reciting a line written for her.
He twirled his signet ring, beginning to enjoy himself. “Let’s start with a tune from your childhood,” he suggested. “Mayhap something your mother sang to you?”
He wasn’t expecting his casual proposition to have such a profound effect. Immediately her head lifted, and a surge of defiance flashed through her delicate features.
“My mother?” she repeated. “How do you know that my mother could sing?”
“Merely a guess on my part.” He met her gaze levelly. What was she hiding? “All mothers sing to their children, do they not?” He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle in ashow of casual indifference. His mother had never sung, neither to Guy nor Angus. Although he liked to believe the coolness displayed by his parents was the exception rather than the norm.
Kitty’s face closed off again. “’Twas a long time ago. I can’t remember the words.”
He recalled the soaring melodies the girl before him had sung just a few nights ago and once more quelled his impatience. She was like a wealthy baron, lying and misleading to jostle for favour with the king. Her calm confidence was somehow unsettling him, as if he was the visitor in her chamber. He ran a hand beneath the loose collar of his tunic, wishing he had not positioned them both so close to the fire. “Why don’t we forget about the words for now? Just hum the tune.”
She looked as if she might question him once more, but then began to hum some unidentifiable tune, just as he had requested. The noise coming from her was toneless and grating, one moment deep and the other painfully high. He was at first surprised and then entertained. Rather than speaking up and interrupting her flow, he simply sat and waited for her to draw the performance to a close.
“Well now, Kitty, how did you enjoy that?” he asked once she had abruptly fallen silent.
She opened her arms, her face a mask of innocence. “I don’t know, my lord.”
“It was delightful,” he announced, relishing her look of surprise. It took all his self-control not to crack a smile.
“Really?” She was like a deer caught in the path of a huntsman’s bow.
“I should like to hear it again.” He leaned forwards with his elbows on his breeches and looked up at her expectantly.
Her mouth tightened. “I am no minstrel, my lord.” Her voice was low and full of the authority he’d come to associate with this enigmatic maid.
“I should think not.” He pretended to think for a moment, running a hand through his unruly dark hair. “I have seen many a minstrel perform for the king, and not one was as pretty as you.”
She started back as if his words had burned her, and he knew a moment’s regret. But the game was afoot and he would not be outplayed.
