But this is a different place now, he reminded himself again. It must be different.

He turned to find her standing at the edge of the firelight, only a few steps inside the chamber. The sight of her sent a jolt of alarm through him – fear and anger, a kind of panic racing through his veins.

She wore a thin green robe over thin white linen, silk slippers on her feet and her hair uncovered in a soft cloud about her shoulders. There was yet a shyness about her, a timidity that he had never seen before that actually made her seem small. She was the very picture of a soft and pliable bride.

It should have stirred his lust, called forth his hunger for her. But it did not.

The firelight cast shadows in the hollows of her throat. He could see nothing but the delicate curve of her collarbone, the pulse beating there. Did she not see, could she not feel how exposed she was?

She gave a little shrug, utterly uncharacteristic of her. “Surely there will be work in plenty for the household, without I tell them remove a tree so that I may better my view.”

He thought he might weep with dismay, or roar with rage, that she should be so soft and calm and womanly. But he could do neither, and so he answered with an ordinary rancor.

“Their work will ne’er be done, if their lady be so poor as to cringe before her servants.” Her eyes widened in surprise at the criticism for only a moment, her frown just beginning to deepen as he continued, “But what know you of being a lady?”

He was walking toward her now, a forceful impulse driving him, the same as he had felt when she stood alone before Edward and his court. Spots of color rose to her cheeks, a spark of anger in her look that filled him with satisfaction.

“I was trained from girlhood to be Lady of Morency.”

Her chin came up, her shoulders back, all of her soft lines becoming harder as he came nearer.

“Aye, and that girlhood was lost to your playing at manhood. Will your men-at-arms put down their swords and take up the needle, then?”

He had meant to mock with a laugh, but he could only think of her with her men, of her clad in armor with a weapon at her side. Where was her mail? What was her defense in this wicked place? If he chose now to reach for her, for that slim and fragile bone that lay exposed at the base of her neck – how could she protect herself?