“Sire!” Mary exclaimed, blushing a deep rose. She caught her lip and glanced down at the stone floor.
Eleanor’s blood pounded in her ears. Hugh did not want to wed Mary! She almost could not believe her ears.
“I am not an ogre, nor am I a monster, despite what talk you may have heard of me,” Hugh said, with a half-smile. “Truly, I want only to do what is right.”
He looked at Eleanor, gazing into her eyes. Could she stand upright? How long before she fell into a swoon, she wondered helplessly.
“In truth, I am a hard man and trust comes not easily to me, if at all. But,” he continued, “this day and in days past, I have seen what loyalty and trust can bring—for the moment—when it coincides with what seems to be the truth. So, I am willing to put aside my natural instincts in this case. Thus, Lady Eleanor, I must say I am sorry for doubting your word and your servant’s word. I ask your forgiveness.” Now he had said it, Hugh told himself. An actual apology! How many times in his life had he ever apologized? He could not even remember any that he had ever issued.
Eleanor could not move a muscle. Hugh was apologizing? Asking for her forgiveness? She took a deep breath. “Hugh, I accept your apology, of course. You are forgiven, and you are most gracious.” Could she even believe she was calling Hugh gracious? Arrogant, supercilious, condescending Hugh?
“And now, Mary,” Hugh said, looking back at Mary, whose stunned expression mirrored how Eleanor felt, “I must take your leave. I have something to speak of with your sister in private.”
“Yes, of course,” Mary whispered, curtseying again. Without a backward glance, she fled through the antechamber, skirts rustling as she hurried off.
Hugh reached out and took Eleanor’s elbow. “May we speak?” he asked her in a low voice. His fingers seemed to burn through her very sleeve, she thought.
“Yes,” she gulped. “We can go to the buttery.”
“Ah, the buttery,” Hugh said, grinning. “What a delicious thought!”
Eleanor’s cheeks flamed, remembering their earlier embrace, but, without another word, Hugh steered her through the crowd, into the kitchen and through the door into the buttery. When they entered, he slowly closed the door and bolted it. Eleanor stood still, her ears ringing in the sudden silence. The musky, tannic scent of wine aging in casks assaulted her nose, and her heart thudded under her gown. Her palms began to sweat. Why did Hugh have this effect on her?
Hugh turned to look at Eleanor. By his sword, she was lovely! Her dark brown hair tumbled about her face, framing her green eyes with the golden lights in them. That mouth! That rosebud mouth he had so often dreamed of—the soft curve of her neck, her creamy skin only just demurely exposed… First, he had business to attend to, he reminded himself.
“I must speak to you about some business,” Hugh began.
Eleanor’s heart sank. ‘Twas not what she had hoped. ‘Twas only business! She was such a little fool to think he might—might want—might desire her! In embarrassment, she ducked her head. Could he read her mind and know what she had been thinking? She cleared her throat to cover her confusion and dismay and tried to look back up at Hugh, masking her anguish at his words.
Hugh stared at Eleanor. Did she indeed think ‘twas only business? How could she not remember their embrace, here, in this very room—the embrace that had changed the very course of his life, though unbeknownst to him at the time? Her vulnerability, her trust, her loyalty, all those qualities he had ached for, unknowingly, throughout his life, were embodied in this beautiful, enchanting young woman, much as he had tried to resist her. He reached out his hand and lifted her chin.
Eleanor drew in her breath sharply. Looking into the depths of those blue eyes, she thought she would gladly drown in them. Were they never to gaze into hers again? She fought back unshed tears that threatened to sting her eyes.
“’Tis my business with you,” Hugh said, hoarsely, pulling her to him. Their mouths met in a searing kiss. What a vortex she was being drawn into! Was this indeed what all her ladies had been speaking of? ‘Twas like nothing she had ever felt before…
Hugh’s mouth deftly moved from her lips to her neck, grazing the soft flesh with his lips, but then halted at the top of her gown, as he felt her freeze, momentarily.
“Nay, dearest Eleanor,” Hugh said in a low voice, drawing her to him, cradling her head against his chest. “Do not fear. I shall not take advantage of you, until you are my wife.”
“Wife!” Eleanor exclaimed, jerking her head up to look him in the face. Her heart might burst, here, from sheer joy, if what she was hearing was true.
Hugh took his hand and caressed her cheek gently. “’Twas meant to be, I believe,” he said. “King Edward shall give his blessing. I have not met such a one as you, Eleanor,” he admitted. “To me, women were always a faithless lot, but you have proven your fair sex to be not all thus. I will ask King Edward to give me Strathcombe, as a punishment for William’s crimes, but I will claim it also as your wedded husband. That is the business of which I speak.”
Wordless, Eleanor nestled her head against his chest, where she heard his heart thudding almost in time with hers. “Oh, Hugh, I would be so happy,” she whispered. “I cannot—I cannot speak…”
Lifting her face to meet his, their lips joined again, Hugh’s firm mouth pressing insistently on hers. Involuntarily,
