He examined them closely and ran a thumb over the palm of her right hand, making her tingle with awareness. He was so close she could smell him—earth, sweat, leather, and man.
“I am, in a way,” Janice replied, giving herself a mental shake. “I do whatever needs to be done to keep things running smoothly.”
She was lying with her head on the back of the couch, her eyes closed, lips parted.
Bernard knew he could have stolen a kiss before she could stop him, but he was afraid of the result of such an action. He would not have been surprised if she had struck him. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, resisting the urge to kiss it.
Janice opened her eyes as the pressure of his hand left hers. She felt quite bereft without his touch.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “That feels much better.”
He smiled at her, a tender smile that made her throb with desire. They were sitting so close to each other, and all the time there was a pulsing, unseen current of desire between them. All he had to do was reach out his hand…
Janice shook her head to dispel the daydream. Nothing was going to happen. She would not allow it to, no matter how much she wanted it.
Bernard watched Janice for a moment, wondering what she was thinking. He doubted he would be sitting in her presence now if she knew the contents of his thoughts. Her very nearness was causing him to stiffen. He had to distract both of them.
“Forgive me for saying so, mistress,” he said thoughtfully, “but you and your brothers are not close, are you? In fact, you seem to dislike each other.” He raised a questioning eyebrow.
Janice let out a cynical laugh. “Ours is a very complicated relationship,” she replied. “I love them because they are my brothers, and I would not like to see any harm come to them, but if they were not my brothers, I would hate them.”
7
Bernard looked at her for a moment, torn between horror, amusement, and pity. He had seen how the brothers behaved and could not blame Janice for her feelings of dislike and embarrassment, but hate? His face must have displayed his emotions, for Janice groaned and looked away from him.
“Have I shocked you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Bernard replied truthfully. “Hate is a strong emotion, but I understand what you mean.” Then he smiled and changed the subject. “How is your hand?”
“Fine,” she replied, flexing it. “Your massage must have helped. It does not hurt me anymore.”
“Do you think you could do someone any damage with that hand?” he asked. A smile was twitching his lips.
She frowned. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?” She was genuinely puzzled. “Do you mean could I hit someone?”
Bernard stood up, grinning at her. “Would you like to know how to defend yourself against a man?” he asked.
“Yes, but which weapon would I use?” Janice was intrigued, especially when Bernard held up both his fists, which resembled clubs.
“The ones at the ends of your arms,” he answered, watching her face as it changed to a mask of astonishment.
She gasped. “But look at the size of your hands compared to mine. I would never stand a chance.” She clenched her hands and held them up, comparing them to his. It was like holding up grapes next to apples.
He stood up and reached over to pull her up. “Not many men are as big as I am,” he admitted. “But then, not many men expect a woman to be able to defend herself. It is not only brute force that matters. Surprise is a great weapon. Let me show you.”
At first, Janice was very reluctant, but then the experience became fascinating. Janice had never realized that throwing a good punch with a lot of power behind it involved the use of her whole body, from her feet to her shoulders, elbows, and hands. Bernard did not hit her but allowed her to hit him, but she had the feeling that she had struck a good blow with only every tenth hit or thereabouts.
When they sat down again, she was laughing, flustered and happy, until Bernard said, “Will your guests not be missing you?”
Her guests! Janice had been having such a good time she had forgotten about them! Yet why did she not feel guilty? She knew why. No one in the great hall cared a jot whether she was there or not. She might as well have been invisible for all the notice that most of them had taken of her. She felt her anger surge back again.
“I doubt my guests have even noticed that I am gone,” she told him, as calmly as she could even as she was swallowing down the bitterness inside her. “They will all be drunk by now.”
She noticed that Bernard looked much more comfortable now. In fact, his eyelids were beginning to look distinctly droopy.
“You must go to bed, Bernard,” she ordered, standing up.
He smiled at her. “Indeed. William will be here soon. He hates big gatherings, and he always leaves as early as he can. Thank you for looking after me.”