Page 29 of Gambling with the Earl
A beat passed. “I believe your mother to be correct,” he said quietly.
This was madness. To what end was he trying to prolong their conversation? She was his serving maid. He should dismiss her back below stairs. But once she had gone, he would be alone once again. Just him and his demons.
She swallowed, as if she too were aware of the rare closeness this moment had provided for them. “If my singing brought some respite from the pain of your injury, then I am glad of it.”
He nodded curtly, reluctant even now to acknowledge that moment of vulnerability. She had seen him wracked with pain, barely able to stand. He had heard her sing. In this, they had shown one another glimpses of their true selves.
“Will you sing for me again?” he asked quickly, before he could think better of it. “With your true voice.”
A glimmer of uncertainty passed over her green eyes. “Is that all you want from me?”
Another upfront question which startled him anew.
“Of course.” He gave the assurance readily. He was not his uncle. He wouldn’t impose himself on a servant, no matter how drawn he felt to this particular maid. He only wanted to sit for a moment and enjoy the unparalleled beauty of her singing.
True to his inner musings he withdrew from the fireplace and sat back in the chair.
She watched him quietly for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, then she settled her cap more securely, lifted her chin and began to sing.
At once he was seized by the richness of the melody. Kitty’s voice soared through the quiet room, a force of pure, unfiltered beauty and power. He was unfamiliar with the words, yetsome jumped out at him, pulling him into those recesses of memory he was most fearful of exploring. She sang of hope and loss and love, and Guy found himself forced to remember his little brother. The joy of his laughter and the bitterness of his unnecessary passing. He was taken back to nights spent in the chilling cold of the battlefield, scanning the faces of the dead for friends. And simultaneously, to sources of unexpected happiness. The rosy dawn of a sunrise. Birdsong over a babbling brook. The warming glow of comradery.
When she finished, he found his eyes were wet with unshed tears. Tears he hastily blinked back. Kitty’s song had left his emotions exposed. He longed for contact from another human soul. For the first time, he felt an urge to unburden himself. To vocalise his loneliness, his pain and his fears that he may never make it back to the service of the king.
His eyes met hers across the short distance of the room. He saw a faint flush rising to her porcelain cheeks and her chest rise and fall with a heightened heartbeat. Her womanly curves drew his attention. Such a generous bosom narrowing to a waist he could surely span with his hands.
Her lips parted. Lips that he could imagine pressing to his own. Confusion clouded her brow.
“Did my song not please you, my lord?”
How could he answer? Her song had wrung the life from him.
“It was very pleasant,” he answered hoarsely. And he kicked himself for the anxiety coursing through her beautiful eyes. She had expected approval and he had provided none. She was still young enough to feel the sting of rejection.
He rubbed at his temple. She was young. And she was under his employ.
And he was not his uncle.
“Thank you, Kitty.”
“You are most welcome, my lord.”
As she bobbed into another small obeisance, he almost waved his hand and told her not to bother.
This woman, whoever she was, was no servant.
She went about the castle like a chambermaid yet she sang like an angel and spoke like a noblewoman. She was an enigma still. More so now than ever.
He rubbed at his temples again, weary with this ceaseless internal debate. How wonderful it would be to trust without first searching beneath the surface of things.
“Is there anything else, my lord?”
He glanced up to meet her level gaze. How could he question the motives of one so modest and lovely, with a voice surely gifted from above?
“Nothing else, Kitty. You may retire for the evening.”
Did disappointment flash across her even features? Disappointment which he found mirrored in his own heart. Their stolen evening of irreverent gaiety was at an end.
She walked towards the doorway. In another moment she would be gone.
