Historical Romance – The Best Of The Year. Кэрол МортимерЧитать онлайн книгу.
so she would not fall.
‘I have you.’ His voice was a rumble in his chest. ‘Don’t worry.’
She closed her eyes, only to see a fantasy she had long forbidden herself.
The picture of herself as an ordinary woman. One who might have a husband, even a lover. If she were that woman, would she choose this man? Surely she was attracted only because he was the one man who had come near enough to touch her.
She raised her eyes, murmuring thanks, and was struck by him all over again.
Tall and straight, yes. That she had known from the first. He was of a similar height to the King or the Prince. Unusual. Few men could look either Edward in the eye. Nicholas stood on equal ground.
With her hands on his arms she could feel the strength that could swing a sword, yet his muscles, like so much about him, seemed hidden, used as a last resort instead of a first. Finely carved lips were a sharp contrast to a nose that looked as if it had lived through more than one battle. Taken together, he was an uneasy mix of diplomat and warrior.
She raised her eyes to meet his, so deep set it was hard to see their colour or read his expression. Too late, she realised he was gazing back at her.
‘What are you looking at?’ he said.
‘Your eyes.’ Too late to lie.
He leaned back, near dropping her, but he did not look away. ‘And your conclusion?’
Heat bloomed on her cheek and crept lower. Could he see her thoughts?
No. Certainly not. And if he were strong enough to hold her gaze, she would not look away. ‘I thought your eyes were brown, but I was wrong. They are...’
She narrowed her gaze. She had never been able to name the colour of his eyes. Green or brown in this light, then grey and gold when she looked again. Certainty elusive as a feather, lifted by the wind just out of reach, as hard to describe as the man himself.
‘Anne? What?’
How long had she gazed into his eyes, as if she were attempting a seduction? ‘I do not know. Just when I am ready to say green or blue, I look again and all has changed.’
Now, a smile in truth. ‘That has been helpful to me when I must bargain.’
Ah, yes. Eyes that seemed to show a glimpse of his soul, but instead, only hid it. ‘What colour do you call them?’ A light and careless question. One that might be asked by a woman who could dance.
He blinked, as if her question surprised him. ‘I cannot see my own eyes. Nor do I gaze at myself in a glass. Why do you want to know?’
Because I want to know everything about you.
For her lady’s sake alone, of course. But she could not say so. Better he think that she played at seduction, lightly, no more serious than the games ladies played with men after dinner in the Hall. Nothing that suggested there was any connection between this and his kiss...
‘Your mother, then. What colour did she call them?’
Pain. Anger. Something more. And then, his gaze took hers again. ‘What colour would you call yours?’
‘Mine?’ She glanced at the looking glass as often as most, she supposed, but never deeply. ‘I don’t study my own eyes.’
‘Well, neither do I.’ The set of his lips told her he would say no more.
She reached for her stick, an excuse to look away. To think. The others had already gathered on the blanket to share bread and cheese, but suddenly, the yards between here and there seemed impossibly long.
She took two steps, three. Then her legs, shaking from a morning’s tight grip on the horse, refused to carry her further and she sank onto the remains of a broken stone wall.
‘Stay,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring something to you.’
Relieved, she allowed him to fetch and carry for her. He returned with bread, cheese and ale. To Anne’s surprise, he sat beside her as she ate.
‘So you’ve been with Lady Joan fifteen years,’ he began.
‘How did you know that?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Because this morning, you said you had not been away from her in so long.’
How could she have been so foolish? She munched on her bite of bread longer than necessary, wondering how to turn the question away. On the blanket, Eustace and Agatha sat side by side, heads close together.
‘So,’ she said, briskly, brushing the crumbs off her fingers, ‘since neither of us can name the colour of our own eyes, you will tell me what colour mine are and I’ll tell you what colour yours are.’
A diversion to keep him from asking questions about the past. She leaned toward him and stared into his eyes, opening hers wide, as if to give him a good look, then made her lashes flutter like bird’s wings.
He tried to look stern, but chuckled instead. ‘I am surprised to hear you sound so light-hearted.’
She had his attention. Now, she must keep it. ‘Oh, come now, Sir Knight. Have you never gazed deeply into a woman’s eyes?’ A question only meant to distract him. Not asked because she cared to know.
He tamed the smile and gazed into her eyes, but with a serious, thoughtful expression that threatened no repeat of kisses. ‘Your eyes are grey. And...green, too.’
Grey. Green. No poesy there.
‘And yours, now. Let me see.’ His eyes were hidden, somehow. Shadowed by a brow and eyelids that looked as if he were perpetually assessing you, so that you could not see him. ‘Yours are the blue-grey of a cloud, hiding the light of the moon.’
He shook his head. ‘I have not seen you so...volage before.’
She felt volage. As light and giddy as Agatha’s laughter, floating on the summer breeze, and she wasn’t sure whether she was acting so because she was away from the life she knew or because she was trying to distract him or because with him she felt...different. ‘Too much fresh air, perhaps. Or perhaps it is...’
You.
She bit her lip against the word.
Meanwhile, there he was. Assessing her with a tilted head, a slight furrow between the strong, straight brows and pursed lips.
She looked away. She lacked any skill with men. She should not have tried to be what she was not. ‘You look as if you are assessing a horse to see if it is worthy of being ridden by a King’s man.’ And then she felt her cheeks heat. Ridden. As a man might ride a maid... ‘I did not mean—’
Worse, now. Suddenly, the cloud over his eyes shifted, as if the moon had been revealed, and she seemed to see clearly what he saw. Him. Her. Together. Looking at her the way she had seen men looking at women they desired. Men had not gazed at her that way.
They had not gazed at her at all.
And though she should not have, she turned back to meet his eyes again, hungry to glimpse that desire, if only for a moment. No, she would not have the bliss of the Prince and her lady, but just this taste...
The clouds returned. ‘Neither did I.’ Cutting off the thought as thoroughly as she had tried to do.
There was something behind the clouds, though. Something sharp and bright and clear that spoke of the distant lands he had travelled. Of sights, sounds, and scents she could not begin to understand.
And would never see.
He rose and held out a hand. ‘Come. We must ride again. I will arrange a harness to hold you, so you can ride more easily.’
* * *
After that, Nicholas kept his distance. He devised a belt and strap of rope and leather to keep her more secure. With that, she and the horse seemed to settle and he no longer