Page 34 of Wed By Proxy

Guy set about his ablutions as Mathilde took a spill from the fireplace and lit candles on the table. Noting she was still bundled up in blankets he frowned.

“The room should soon warm up,” he said as he dried himself with a cloth.

“Oh yes,” she agreed absently, and starting pouring wine into a goblet.

“No wine for me,” he said hastily, and she poured him ale instead.

Rob came in with a dish of vegetables and set them down next to Prudence’s pie. “I think that’s everything,” he said, scratching his neck.

“It looks ample,” Mathilde said with a quick smile.

“Shout for me if you need anything, but I’m going to fetch the hens in now,” he said over his shoulder as he departed.

Prudence entered with a dish of breads, cheese and butter which she set down gingerly on the table. “If that’s everything, then I’ll take myself down to the kitchen fire, my lady,” she said with a small curtsey. “I mean to turn my hand to some of the alterations we made this afternoon.”

“Of course, but pray do not strain your eyes,” Mathilde bade her. “Candlelight is not always the best for needlework.”

Glancing up, Guy was surprised to see the maid smile at Mathilde as she closed the door behind her. “Prudence seems quite changed from the crosspatch of a week ago,” he commented as he crossed the room and sat himself down at the table.

“Indeed, she grows more agreeable by the day,” Mathilde concurred. “She is proving most invaluable.”

He mulled on this a moment, as Mathilde cut into the pie. The only conclusion he could draw was that her mistress’s winning manners had won Prudence over.

“Is this a large enough slice?” Mathilde asked him, looking up. He nodded, and she loaded up his plate. Guy watched her covertly as she selected him the largest of the roasted root vegetables. She judged his appetite fairly accurately he recognized, with a flicker of surprise. Though at this precise moment, it wasn’t really for food. He took the plate she handed to him, and set it down in front of him. She passed him a cup of ale and raised her own goblet of wine. “To a hearty meal, in good company,” she said a little self-consciously, as though she had never made a toast before.

Guy lifted his own cup in acknowledgement and then took a tentative sip before remembering it was from his own stores. Knowing he would not grow sotted on ale, he relaxed back in his chair.

“Have you had a pleasant day, my lord?” she asked politely, as Guy wondered at the fact he found it so charming to be in this intimate setting with her, exchanging small talk. Maybe it was the novelty, he pondered. Otherwise, he could not account for it.

“Aye,” he rumbled, then remembered his manners. “Have you?”

She made haste to swallow her mouthful of pie in order to answer him. “Oh yes,” she said, and reached for a napkin. Rather than dabbing her mouth with it, she fanned her face. “I can definitely feel the warmth of the blaze now,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“Maybe you should take off your blanket?” Guy suggested, seeing her cheeks were quite rosy now. A pained look crossed Mathilde’s face.

“Er, yes,” she agreed. “I will presently.” Reaching for her wine cup, she took another swig.

He wished she was not still so skittish around him. Should he say something about the previous night? He didn’t want to shatter the pleasant mood by mentioning his boorishness.

“This gravy is very flavorsome,” he commented instead, and he was just kicking himself for his own blandness, when Mathilde rewarded him with a grateful look.

“Isn’t it?” she said with a pleased smile.

Gods, she was pretty. He stared at her a moment like lovesick swain. She had left off a veil again today, and her waving hair framed her face, reminding him of a stained glass window he had seen once at the cathedral at Great Naunton. He could not remember the subject, doubtless some saint or ethereal figure. Then, biting her lip, she shrugged off her blanket and all thoughts of divine beauty fled. Guy’s jaw dropped. Holy hells! He stared like a fool at her exposed shoulders and décolletage. The scarlet gown seemed barely to cover her nipples. Was she even wearing a shift underneath it? He swallowed and reached for his ale with a hand that shook.

“Is that one of your new gowns?” he asked in a croak. No wonder she said they all needed alteration! They were scarcely decent! He could feel his eyes starting from his head.

“Yes,” she answered breathily. “Do you like it?”

Guy could not answer for a moment. His head pounded. His throat was dry. Unbidden, the image of her perfect, high breasts rose in his head, when she had afforded him a glimpse of them that very morning. Her little nipples had been a dusky pink. He gulped a mouthful of ale.

“There’s not much to it,” he answered raspily. Her face fell. He was a fucking idiot.

“Oh, well…” Her words trailed off. “At court some ladies wear their necklines like this,” she said self-consciously. She placed a hand across the swell of her breasts, and Guy made an involuntary sound of protest in his throat. She looked up quickly. “Perhaps if I was wearing a necklace it would look a little more acceptable,” she ventured. “I can—”

“No!” he objected, when she started to rise from her seat.

She turned slightly. “I don’t have any jewelry with me, but perhaps a scarf—”