The spillage was light, it barely formed a stain. However, she sought what she desired, an audience. “Father, this curd charged into me and look, my gown.” She wobbled her lower lip productively.
The baron extradited himself from his conversation with the earl and came over. “Hush, my dear. It is nothing—”
“Nothing? I stitched this embroidery myself.” She fussed with the sleeves.
“Which is untouched.”
The page finally had the opportunity to speak. “I am most sorry, my lord. She turned—”
“It’s not my fault,” she snapped.
On the other side of the hall, Geoffrey sighed. “Isn’t she magnificent when she’s cross. Look at those glowing cheeks. They’ve two sweet dimples in them.”
Gervais said nothing. Matilda was not winning her father over, although he failed to admonish her for wrongly blaming the page. She stomped across the hall toward the door leading to the guest chambers. Gervais rose and followed her out.
The spiral stairwell was quiet, and she turned to face him. “Are you stalking me, sir?”
Gervais leaned against the stone wall and crossed his ankles. His finely stitched tunic parted at the knees to reveal his hose and calf-skin boots. “Perhaps.”
She blushed. “I need to change my gown.”
“You made quite a fuss, didn’t you, about it? Was that necessary?”
“The servant—”
“Was doing his job. Yours is to respect those about you, including those that serve you.”
“How dare you.” She gripped her skirts, ready to climb higher.
“I do, as it happens. I’ve something of a reputation for risk taking, although usually on the battlefield. Sir Geoffrey thinks you’re a catch, he’s prepared to chase after you, but not it seems when you misbehave. I, on the other hand, am not so easily overawed by haughty manners.”
She paused. “What do you mean?”
“I would, if you were mine to command, take you upstairs, toss you over my bended knee, and spank your bare behind until you wailed and cried. Then, while I dined, you would kneel on a stool before me, your naked arse on display, until I was satisfied you were remorseful.” He pictured the scene, then quickly dismissed it. He must not tempt himself with unlikely events.
Her cheeks turned crimson. “You... you—”
“Yes, I understand. I know what I am.” He grinned, enjoying the sight of her flushed cheeks betraying her. “Given your nature, I suspect you might spend some time both over my knees and on that stool before you understood the reason for the punishment. As it is, your father will do naught to tame you. Which is a pity. I think you can be taught to be a good wife, given the right motivation. Sir Geoffrey, handsome, youthful, and keen, would quickly find you a handful, and bore you, I fear. Think upon that when he comes to woo you.”
Her hands were shaking, her eyes vivid with rage. “And you, sir, would you court me?”
“I?” He laughed. “Not as Geoffrey might. He will fulfil his needs, but never yours. Sadly, he has not the wit to realise that will be your fate, if you choose him.”
“You’re very sure of yourself,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Life has shown me much. I’ve travelled far and wide, throughout Europe, the Levant, even to the coast of Africa. I have witnessed many ways to win a woman’s heart, many kinds of marriages. Many methods to please.” He decided he’d given her sufficient bait. For now.
He backed away, humming to himself. Why was he teasing her? Did he really intend to take a wife? He’d lovers, a few who’d lingered longer than others, but generally, he preferred to keep his own company. It was a challenge, always, to find someone of the fairer sex who would understand what he desired. What he needed.
Chapter Three
Tilda huffed, and with pouted lips, allowed her maid to lift the soiled gown over her head. She smoothed down the linen shift that she wore beneath it.
“No, not that one. That one.” She pointed at her preferred replacement gown.
Sara, a doe-eyed creature, who had long ago learnt it was best to speak little and agree with her mistress without protest, gathered up the fustian gown and dropped it over Tilda’s outstretched arms and head. The girl laced the back methodically.
Tilda needed the girl’s eyes and ears for another purpose. “Do you know Lord Gervais Baliol?”