Lord of Deception, стр. 11
Either the fellow was clever, or extremely stupid. “I’ve just come from church. The sermon was about the sins of the flesh. Do you understand me now?”
He still looked utterly baffled. Infuriated, she tilted her chin at him. “I know you and Kate have both remained behind because you are lovers.”
Chapter Ten
There was a soft sliding noise, followed by several gentle thuds. Kit looked down, confused, as his handful of roses cascaded to the floor. What? He and Kate lovers? He’d rather bed a gorse bush than that vain Jezebel. Sinking to his knees, he began gathering up the fallen blooms, wondering how in Christendom Alys had come up with such a laughable idea.
As soon as he felt he’d composed himself, he said, “If you have any mercy in your soul, my lady, you’ll allow me to defend myself.”
“I will hear you.” She sounded breathless, and her cheeks were rosy. Delightfully so. He cleared his throat. “I know my place—I’ve never striven to rise out of it. But if I did, ’twould be through merit, not by tumbling my employer. Whatever Mistress Aspinall has said to you, she must have reasons for. But believe me, her truth is not the same as mine.”
He risked meeting her gaze for a moment. There was a storm in those blue-grey eyes, and the color in her cheeks deepened. To his surprise, she knelt beside him to help gather the fallen roses.
“Kate likes to jest.” Alys no longer sounded aggrieved. “She also likes a wager, and made one concerning you.”
“I know. I was to appear to kiss her, so that she could win her bet. If my mistress wishes to wager, how can I gainsay her?” It was an effort keeping up the image of a faithful servant when he wanted to take his accuser by the shoulders and express his total outrage at her suggestion. “But I swear by all I hold holy, I am not your cousin’s lover, nor do I ever intend to be. A mere gardener such as me? It would be the utmost folly.”
There was a tremor in Alys’ fingers, and she abandoned the roses and stood. “If that is true, you may forget this conversation. Now, I shall look to my cousin to see if she improves.” She rose, lifted the latch of Mistress Aspinall’s door, and pushed.
The door refused to budge. Kit sat back on his heels and watched Alys peer through the keyhole. “The key’s in the lock on the other side. Odd.”
He shrugged. “If she has a bad head, she won’t want to be disturbed.”
Alys gazed at him, and he forgot to look away. The flush had subsided, but she was worrying at her lip, drawing his eyes to her mouth. Were he not a mere servant, he’d have received an apology by now—her guilt and embarrassment were palpable.
“I will aid you with those.” She crouched again to scoop up the last of the roses, then yelped.
“Lady, have you pricked yourself? Let me see.” He shuffled closer, crushing roses beneath his knees, and took her hand. “There’s a thorn broken off in your finger, but I think I can fetch it out.” He stood, helped her up, and maneuvered her to the window where he applied himself to the task of removing the thorn. Her breath stirred his hair as she watched him work, coming fast and rapid, just like his own.
When the thorn came out, he flicked it away. “With your permission, I should suck on the wound, to make sure there is no poison within.”
She stared at him, her lips half-parted. “That… that won’t be necessary.”
He licked at the small bead of blood. “It’s best to keep it clean.” Wrapping his hand around her finger, he squeezed. “It will cease bleeding in a moment. I can bring you some salve from my hut if ’tis your will.” Forgetting propriety, forgetting he was just Kit the undergardener, he pressed her hand against his chest.
Startled blue-grey eyes locked with his own. How dark her hair was, as black as a raven’s wing, but with a delightful wave that framed her oval face. Her skin was as pale as marble, unblemished save for the remaining color in her cheeks. The sensation of her small hand trapped inside his sent a surge of desire through his body. All he had to do was pull her closer and bend his head…
A faint clicking sound shocked him into stillness. The key had been turned in Kate Aspinall’s door, but it didn’t open. God be thanked! What would Kate have seen? A lustful servant leering at Alys Barchard, greedily eyeing that delectable mouth. He could have lost everything in that unguarded moment.
Wrapping the undamaged roses in his kerchief, he presented them to Alys. “You may as well have these, my lady—have a care not to prick yourself again. I’ll clear away the rest.”
She stared at him, then seized the roses and hurried back towards the stairs.
Kit followed in her wake, saw her disappear into her chamber, and decided it was best to head back to the garden. The crushed roses missed the compost heap by a clear yard, he left the hut door swinging open on its hinges and neglected to remove his boots. Sitting on the three-legged stool, which was his only piece of furniture, he unclenched his fist and grimaced at the ruddy stains gilding his fingers.
Alys’ blood. It sent a shudder through him. For all he knew, the woman was an enemy of the queen he’d sworn to protect. No—how could he believe it of so sweet, so charming a lady? He pressed his palm over his heart for a moment, then curled it into a fist and slammed it mercilessly against the wall of the hut.
If he didn’t come to his senses this