Leigh, Tamara (24 page)

He pushed the journal toward her. "You will find naught."

"Because you cannot yourself?"

His color deepened. "You are welcome to try."

Juliana leaned the broom against the table's edge and lowered herself into the chair beside Blase. She flipped through the pages to the last balancing of the books and began summing Mergot's income. A half hour later, she was no nearer to solving the mystery. She pushed the journal aside, reaching for the journal of expenditures.

"It is not there," Blase said.

"Perhaps." A short while later, she returned to the first journal and found what she looked for. She stood and pushed the books in front of Blase. "There 'tis." She tapped the entry. "You have posted income as an expenditure."

He leaned forward. When he looked up, a sheepish smile turned his lips. "So I have." He chuckled, reminding her of Father Hermanus. "Gabriel would do well not to underestimate you, Lady Ju—Isolde."

His words reminded her of the dagger. Gabriel
would
do well not to underestimate her, but she prayed he would.

"I thank you," Blase said.

She peered at him through the hair escaping her braid. Though she didn't wish to like this man who wore the robes of a priest for his own benefit, some of her anger dissolved.

He reached up and swept the hair from her eyes. "You are a shameful mess, Lady Isolde."

Juliana smoothed her hair back, glancing at her soiled gown. "What think you your brother would say if he came upon me now?"

His eyebrows soared. "I do not wish to ponder it."

Nor did she. She tried to hold back the grin teasing her mouth, but it came forth.

Blase laughed, and she had to join him.

The scene that greeted Gabriel when he strode into the hall was so unexpected it drew him to a halt. Juliana leaned over Blase, a smile curving her mouth as Blase laughed at something they shared. What?

Although Gabriel would admit to none the emotion clenching his gut, he knew it was jealousy. He was thankful when it was quick to pass into anger. What had Juliana to smile about? What spell had she cast over Blase? He looked to the servants, of which there seemed an overabundance. Their attention was also on the high table.

Forgetting he had returned to the donjon to change out of his drenched clothing, he strode forward. "Something amuses you, brother? Lady Isolde?"

Faces reflecting surprise, they turned their gazes to him.

Only as Gabriel drew near did he notice Juliana's disheveled state. Her gown was soiled, her hair barely confined, and there was dirt upon her cheek. He ascended the dais.

Blase broke the silence. "Lady Isolde has assisted me in finding an error in the books."

What did Juliana know of such matters? Though her training would have included some instruction in reading and writing, it was the idea of love upon which her mother had fixed. When had she learned accounting, and for what reason, when Bernart did not require it of his wife?

Juliana reached for the broom that leaned against the table. "I shall return to cleaning."

Of course. It accounted for her appearance. "You will not."

She stilled. "For what reason?"

He put his palms to the table. "Lest you forget, you are a lady."

"Am I? Considering what you believe of me, I am surprised you acknowledge it."

He leaned forward, speaking low so that none beyond her and Blase might hear. "I assure you, I speak only of that which noble birth affords you."

She pressed her lips together.

Gabriel looked to his brother. "You allowed this?"

Blase shrugged a shoulder. "There seemed no harm in it."

"No harm? She is not a servant!"

Blase swept his gaze over Gabriel. "Nor are you, my
lord,
but look at you."

Though the rain had washed away much of the evidence of Gabriel's work, enough remained to tell of that which would have been more fittingly performed by a laborer.

"Was it you who set the servants to cleaning the hall?" Gabriel asked.

" 'Twas I," Juliana answered for Blase.

Gabriel clenched his jaw. As if she were the lady of Mergot, Juliana ordered the servants. As if a servant, she worked alongside them. He met her defiant gaze. "No more." He looked back at his brother. "We will speak of this later."

Blase sighed.

"Attend to your grooming," Gabriel ordered Juliana, and turned away.

Heavy with resentment, she watched his long strides carry him across the hall.

"And I thought 'twas only the child he wanted," Blase murmured as his brother disappeared up the stairs.

Juliana looked around. "What speak you of?"

He motioned for the servants to resume their duties, then turned a smile on her. "That was jealousy, my lady. Though my brother professes to despise you, it seems he feels otherwise."

She shook her head. "You are mistaken."

"I am not. If he sends you away when the babe is born, he will not do so easily."

Wouldn't he? "Do you believe that, then you do not know the man I know. There is none more full of hate than Gabriel De Vere."

"Not even Bernart Kinthorpe?"

His question jolted her. What did he know of Bernart? Surely only what Gabriel told him. Juliana put her chin up. "Methinks I like you better when you affect to be a priest."

Blase was amused. "But I am a priest, my lady. From my own mouth did I speak the vows that doomed me to life in the church." He heaved a sigh. "Still, 'tis not as if the vows were spoken from my heart. But God knows that."

"Thus you believe yourself absolved of the sins you have committed in the name of God?"

The sparkle in his eyes extinguished. "End of truce, eh?"

Was that what they'd enjoyed these past hours? Juliana felt a pang of regret. Blase
had
allowed her to direct the servants, accepted her offer to assist in finding the error in the books, and defended her to Gabriel. She sighed and shook her head. "Forgive me. 'Tis Gabriel who deserves my anger."

Blase stared at her for a moment before speaking. "Then a truce it is."

She was relieved. "A truce. Now I must needs rest until the evening meal."

"Do not forget to tend to your grooming," he reminded her of Gabriel's command.

She almost smiled. She picked up the broom, walked around the table, and stepped from the dais.

Instantly Lissant was at her side. "My lady—"

"Here." Juliana passed the broom to her. "Finish clearing the rushes before the dais; then come to me."

The maid nodded.

Only when Juliana began her ascent of the stairs did she realize how hard she'd labored. Her muscles ached, especially those of her hips and lower back. Doubtless she would feel it even more come the morrow.

She stepped from the stairs into the corridor. No sooner did she put a hand to the door of her chamber than a rustling alerted her to another's presence. She looked to the lord's solar and saw the door was ajar.

Her bitter exchange with Gabriel returned to her. He wished her to behave as a titled lady, though only to the extent that she be idle in the confines of his donjon. Little freedom, no respect. Anger surging anew, she traversed the corridor, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

Clad in naught but braies and hose that clung damply to his loins and legs, Gabriel stood over the chest at the foot of a very large bed.

Juliana's pulse quickened.
Retreat,
her mind warned.
Withdraw ere he notices you.
Though she wanted to obey, her eyes held her where she stood. There was no spare flesh on Gabriel, his arms, chest, and abdomen defined by the light and dark of converging muscles. Just as she remembered him.

She should not be here. She took a step back.

"Rather brazen of you to come to my chamber," Gabriel said, continuing to search the chest. "But then, that ought not to surprise me." He removed a tunic and turned.

She averted her gaze and, in so doing, noticed that the lord's solar was absent the lavish trappings of her own chamber. "I but wish to speak with you," she said.

"That is all?"

What did he think? That she came to him as she had done those nights at Tremoral? Of course, it was hardly proper for a lady to enter the chamber of a man to whom she was not wed, but her mistake could not be undone.

Juliana braved his gaze. "For no other reason."

He dropped the tunic atop the chest and advanced on her. "Then speak."

She drew a deep breath. "I am not accustomed to being idle. If you will not allow me to direct your servants in making your hall more habitable, how would you have me spend my time?"

He halted before her. "As a lady spends her time—with sewing and the like."

"You think that is all a lady does?"

" 'Tis all your mother trained you for. That and the art of love, of course."

At which she had failed... How she wished Gabriel would cover himself, that he would not stand so near. He made the simple act of breathing difficult. "Doubtless it will surprise you," she said, "but I kept Bernart's household and tended to his accounting."

Gabriel leaned his weight against the door frame. "Be it so, I will not have you acting the lady of Mergot."

She shook her head. "Are you so blind you do not see the state of your hall? 'Tis hardly fit for humans."

"The least of my concerns. Once the castle walls are strong again, the hall will be seen to."

"But it can be seen to now! You have the servants. All you require is someone to direct them."

"In time, Juliana."

"And till then, how many of your people will fall ill? Surely you know spoilage breeds sickness and disease?"

He considered her. "If 'tis so great a concern, Blase can oversee the servants."

" 'Tis woman's work, not that of a man who would prefer to be out-of-doors swinging a sword." She took a step toward him. "Allow me this, Gabriel."

His eyes narrowed. "What gain for you?"

" 'Twill make my days pass more quickly." What she said was true—had naught to do with the meat dagger in her hose that she hoped would
end
her days at Mergot.

"I see," he said. "Then you are eager to birth the child and surrender it."

The thought of her babe being torn from her arms sent unexpected tears pouring into her eyes. She looked down. "Of course not, but in that I've no say, have I?"

Gabriel lifted her chin, looking into her eyes. "Will it truly pain you to give up the child? Or are these tears for having failed to secure your place at Tremoral?"

She jerked her chin out of his hold. "What does this child matter to you? 'Tis no different from the dozen or more bastards you have doubtless scattered between here and England."

His brow lowered. "You know better than that, Juliana."

She opened her mouth to argue, but what he said was true. Never could she forget what she'd done to gain his seed.

"The child is mine," Gabriel said. "When 'tis born, I will be father to it."

"Then will your revenge be complete? Will you be satisfied?"

"I shall."

She stared at his hard-set face. There was no reaching Gabriel De Vere. No getting past that black heart of his. Still, something prompted her to try. "Do you know what pain is?" she asked softly.

His laughter was humorless. "I assure you, 'tis something with which I have a firm acquaintance."

Was it his treacherous mother to whom he referred— his loss of Wyverly? "Pain is living in fear of you these past months," Juliana continued. "Knowing you would return to take my child. Knowing you would hurt me. That is pain. Every moment of every day its vicious breath is at my neck."

A muscle in his jaw spasmed. " 'Tis pain you brought upon yourself."

"Did I?" She shook her head. "Like all men you prefer to think the worst of women than look beyond their perceived sins. Did you once consider that I might have had no choice in what I did?" No sooner did she speak than she wished she could snatch the words back. She had said more than she should have. But it mattered not. Gabriel heard only what he wanted to hear.

"What is it you wish to tell me?" he surprised her by saying.

It was as if some part of him longed to believe her innocent of wrongdoing. As if he had feelings for her, as Blase said. But as much as she yearned to defend herself, she could not. As long as Bernart held Alaiz, his secret was safe. "Naught," she said.

His hands fell to her shoulders. "If there is something you have to say, speak."

His touch was achingly familiar. "I cannot."

"Why?"

"I... cannot."

"You can."

She shook her head.

He stared at her, then pulled her against him. "Do you remember our last night together, Juliana?"

Though her body awakened to the feel of him, she put her hands to his chest and tried to push away. "Please, Gabriel. I should not be here."

"Do you remember?" Upon her upturned face, his breath quickened; against her breasts, his chest rose and fell; in the cradle of her thighs, his manhood stirred. Dear God, he did want her. Though he had denied it in the kitchens a sennight past, he wished to lay her back and have her as he'd had her all those months ago.

He lowered his head and lightly brushed his mouth across hers. "Do you remember this?"

She shuddered.

"I do," he said. "Every time I look at you, I remember the sweetness of your lips." Then his mouth covered hers.

She was drowning. Though she ought to struggle against these feelings, she was going under.

Gabriel lifted his head. "Then I remember your treachery."

She surfaced. Though it was loathing she expected to look upon, something else grooved his face. Pain? Regret? Could it be Blase was right? That he could not so easily take her child from her? "You do not hate me, do you, Gabriel?"

He released her, pushing a hand through his damp hair. "As God is my witness, I want to."

He looked so tortured, so different from the avenging man who'd brought her to Mergot. "But you do not hate me."

He swung away. "Go, Juliana. Go before I do something we shall both regret."

Nor did she hate him. The opposite, in fact. But those were emotions she dared not dwell on. She laid a beseeching hand to his arm. "Release me. Allow me to return to Tremoral."