Lady Of The Knight
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She wanted to scream the tent down. “Haint ever been a lady and haint ever been served!”
The frustrating lord nodded as if she had spoken a grain of pure wisdom. “Then Jeremy will serve only me and you can watch me eat.” With his free hand, he snapped his fingers. The squire lifted the roasted chicken out of Rosie’s reach, carved several large portions and heaped half of it on his master’s plate.
Her lower lip quivered. “Ye said I could eat if I sat like ye wanted me to and if I said grace,” she muttered. “Ye are no better than any other deceiving man even if ye do wear finer clothes.”
He caressed her hand. The action warmed her despite her anger. “If a lady desires to partake of a meal, she is served,” he repeated with the tenacity of a billy goat.
Rosie swallowed her last shred of pride. “So serve me then.”
Sir Andrew smiled, then leaned over his mound of food. His lips brushed against the back of her hand. Rosie inhaled sharply at the contact. Her pulse quickened. She felt she might swoon. With a gentle squeeze, he released her. She hid her hand in her lap. Her skin burned with the imprint of his lips. When she glanced at him, she was startled to see a smoldering intensity darken the hazel of his eyes. Then the raw look disappeared and his usual smile returned.
Rosie was only dimly aware that Jeremy had spoken to her. Having no idea what he had asked, she merely nodded. All the while she stared at her host as if she had never seen him before. What spell had he cast upon her with such a simple gesture that it made her forget her hunger—except for more of his touch?
Sir Andrew’s mouth twitched. “Eat your supper, my dear,” he suggested in a husky whisper.
The poor girl gasped when she looked down at her plate. Jeremy had piled it high with the other half of the roasted capon, a wedge of cold mutton pie, a large slice of soft white cheese over which he had spooned the honey-mustard sauce and a side dish of spiced peaches. Rosie lost the disturbing pallor in her face as she fell to eating with both hands. The capon’s lemon glaze ran down her bare arms to nearly her elbow before she stopped its journey with a quick lick of her dainty pink tongue.
Andrew opened his mouth to instruct her in the proper use of her untouched napkin and the pearl-handled fork that lay by her plate. Then he checked himself. Plainly, the child was starving. Etiquette lessons could wait. He cursed himself for teasing her. He should have realized that the whoremaster would not have wasted his own coin to feed his wenches when there were rich gentlemen like Andrew to do it for him.
He drained the smooth claret and beckoned his squire to refill his goblet. Had the evening turned intensely hot or was it the wild creature opposite him that made the air seem thick with tension and his clothing uncomfortably tight around his tender parts? He had no idea what had prompted him to kiss Rosie’s hand, nor did he understand why the experience now made him feel like a callow youth green-sick with his first love. Andrew was too jaded for such childish feelings. He had kissed a hundred ladies in his day and few of them had ever made his heart leap into his throat or his blood pound against his temples. Obviously his discomfort was due to the headiness of the French wine and the close perfumed air inside the pavilion.
Rosie looked up from her feast, her complexion now as rosy as her name. She licked her fingers clean of the honey-mustard sauce. “Is there something amiss with your food?”
Andrew merely shook his head. How could he tell her that her fresh-washed beauty had stolen his appetite for food? She fully expected him to rape her at any moment. His honest admission would only confirm her worst fears.
He dipped a sliver of capon into its sauce and ate it before answering. “Your presence has given me much food for thought, sweetheart. And, in truth, I ate overwell at dinner today.”
She cast him a shrewd look. “Methinks I spy disapproval all over your face, my lord. What have I done wrong now?”
He shifted in his chair while he strove to think of some acceptable answer. This chit was too clever by half if she could read his expression so well on such short acquaintance.
He cleared his throat. “A lady eats with small mouthfuls so that her cheeks are not puffed out like a squirrel at nutting time.” He sipped his wine and expanded on this safer theme. “Ladies do not pounce upon their food as if it would disappear before they could taste it, nor do they discourse with their mouths full.”
Rosie swallowed her spiced peach. Then she remarked in a low tone, “Ladies and their gentlemen know there will always be another dinner for them to enjoy. Poor folk do not. Tis the difference between yourself and me.” She picked up the capon’s wing. “And haint ever seen so much food in one place afore, so pardon my appetite.”
He inclined his head to her. “Your philosophy smacks of the Greco-Roman—eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die.”
Rosie furrowed her delicate brows, then looked over her shoulder at the grinning squire. “Does Sir Andrew always speak with such a mickle mouthful of words like that?” she asked Jeremy.
The boy attempted to look solemn as he nodded.
Rosie returned her gaze to Andrew. Her green eyes sparkled in the candle’s light. “Methinks you are happier to dine on your speech than your food, my lord, so can I have your cheese?”
He stared at her for a moment, then he burst out laughing. “You will be ill if you eat too much rich food all at once.”
She twirled her fork. “Haint ever,” she remarked as she skewered the cheese on his plate.
Rosie could not remember ever eating to the point of bursting. When Jeremy offered her a selection of thin sugar wafers she waved him away, just as she had observed Sir Andrew do. She sat back in her chair and patted her full tummy with the satisfaction of an overly fed kitten. She closed her eyes with a sigh of contentment. Surely this was how the angels in heaven felt all the time.
Sir Andrew snapped his fingers. “Wake up. We have work to do.”
Rosie winced inwardly. Now was the moment of reckoning. She steeled herself for the coming battle. At least, he had fed her well. She would always be grateful for that. She opened her eyes slowly. “My lord?” She hoped her voice did not sound as nervous as she felt.
Sir Andrew produced a silver coin from his clothing and tossed to his squire. “Clear away these dishes and yourself, my boy. The lady and I have a need for some privacy.”
Jeremy caught the money with one hand. He winked at Rosie when he removed her silver plate. “He’s a kind man,” he told her in an undertone. “So do not disappoint him. Be generous with your favors.”
Rosie glared at the boy. “Ye mind your business and leave me to mind mine,” she whispered back.
Sir Andrew took a long drink of his wine, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. He smiled at her as he did so. Rosie’s heart tumbled over. She felt like a rabbit caught in a velvet trap. To hide her unease, she picked up her own untouched napkin, shook out its artful folding and followed Sir Andrew’s example. His smile broadened as he watched her.