Magdalene sternly resisted the impulse to look away and wondered if he had read something in her face. She thought she had controlled her expression, but at this moment, despite reminding herself of danger, her last statement was a flat lie. She did not want to lie to Bell, but it was all the safety she could offer him and herself.
“Believe me or not,” she insisted, “what I say is true. As I told the bishop this morning, one sin that hardly ever touches any whore is the sin of lust. Some begin because they enjoy the work and then lose their taste for it. But whoring was never my choice. I assure you, now that I do not need to spread my legs or starve, I cannot be tempted.”
The smile disappeared. That last crudity disgusted him, as she intended.
“You must have given poor recompense for what you were paid when you did practice your trade,” Bell said nastily.
“Certainly I could never offer what Ella does.” Magdalene could not help laughing. “That is why so many men come back to her again and again, even though her conversation must leave much to be desired.” Then pride pricked her and before she thought, she added, “I had clients enough, however, so I suppose if my enthusiasm for futtering was less, I offered pleasures of other kinds.”
“But you will not offer them to me?”
“No.” A flat, unadorned statement.
Magdalene braced herself, but Bell was smiling again. He should have been more furious over that flat refusal than he had been when she first misunderstood his question about how much she charged, but he looked pleased. Magdalene did not understand his attitude at all. It was as if he wanted her to refuse him. But if that were so…no, she had no time to think out so complicated a notion. He had begun to laugh and she decided to temporize.
“Not now, anyway. You may say that you are already being accused of lying to protect us, but I have the feeling that you are a very poor liar. Now if you are asked whether you have enjoyed any of our favors and you say ‘no,’ there will be no shift of your eyes, no color in your face, no twitch of hand or shoulder to betray unease.”
“Nonsense,” he replied, grinning. “I will show even more signs of distress because of my unfulfilled desire whereas, having sated myself, I would show only disgust.”
Magdalene raised her brows. “You offer disgust of me as a temptation to satisfy your desire?”
“Not disgust of you. Of myself for having yielded to weakness.” He chuckled softly. “But I do not believe I would feel that. I am not at all sure it is a weakness to desire you. In fact, I think that takes courage near to foolhardiness.”
Before she could control her reaction, Magdalene’s eyes had dropped. Furious with herself, she raised them at once, but she knew Bell had seen her response to his flattery. She stared at him defiantly.
“Do not dignify it with such a description. To desire me is simply stupid, not bravely foolhardy.”
As he was about to reply, another door opened. This time two pairs of footsteps went down the corridor toward the back door. Bell glanced over his shoulder and saw that the light beyond the oiled parchment covering the window was dimmer. He frowned, considering whether he wanted to ask to share their evening meal and decided not to provide more fuel to any burning suspicions about his relationship with Magdalene and her women. He got to his feet, then leaned forward and touched her face.
“I will yield to you insofar as to go now—taking, as an excuse for coming, that list of clients you said you had written out for me, but do not believe I have yielded altogether.”
Chapter Ten
22 April 1139
Prior’s House, St. Mary Overy Priory
Magdalene woke smiling on Saturday morning. She lay abed for a few moments considering her good spirits. There were some reasons. Both Sabina’s and Letice’s clients had not only been their usual pleasant selves, but had innocently cleared themselves of being involved in Baldassare’s death. The master leatherworker had been at a guild function on Wednesday night until nearly midnight, and the mercer had arrived in London only on Thursday with a cartload of fleeces for his factor. And neither man knew Baldassare. Magdalene had taken pleasure in noting these facts and drawing a line through their names on a copy of the list she had given Bell.
The name first brought a smile back to her lips and then made her bite them. She could not deny that she was sorry she had to refuse him. She had been celibate for a long time and was not really as indifferent to the delights of a good futtering as she pretended. No, she could not, she must not, accept him. But to turn him away….
She did not need to do that yet, Magdalene told herself. He had already accepted the fact that she could afford no relationship with the man investigating the murder. Until she and her women were cleared of Baldassare’s death, she could put him off. Later, if she could convince him that he could not own her, that she could and would take other men…he would not need to know that he was the only one.