“Speak to me of your daughter,” he said.
And now something surely flickered across her face. Far more than dismay. Not quite fear. “Already I have told she has her father’s eyes, and you must know she is nine years aged. What more need be told? And why?”
He did not try to maintain his smile. “The why is obvious. Until I can wed her away, she shall occupy my home. Regardless of whether I am present, she will affect the workings of my household.”
“Then no more need be told,” Laura said. “Neither my daughter nor I will occupy your home. I shall wed another.”
“Ever you say, but two days hence, I will take you from here. As for what I would know of…Clarice, her appearance matters not. What matters is her disposition. Is she of a compliant nature and well-behaved, or willful and in need of correction?”
She was glad she had allowed him to draw her into conversation—at least, this one. She would be making more of the truth than it was and not clarifying that much of the difficulty was a result of Maude’s passing, but if he could be dissuaded from his pursuit…
For Queen Eleanor and to better gauge his reaction, Laura angled her body toward his. “Compliant? Hmm. Well-behaved?” She shrugged a shoulder. “She can be. Oft is. But her—” She closed her mouth against naming Maude Clarice’s grandmother.
“Her?” Lothaire prompted.
She moistened her lips, touched a hand to her chest. “Her mother has been lax and spoiled her. Though she is quite mature for her nine years, sometimes I know not what to do with her, especially when she is in a mood to disrupt the household.”
There was promise in the narrowing of Lothaire’s lids, but then he laughed. It was at her expense, but she drank it in as the lines of his face eased save those that expressed joy around the eyes and mouth.
Before her was the young man she had taught how to smile often and laugh well. So glad was she to see him that were they alone she might fling her arms around him and weep over their lost years.
When he sobered, his lips remained curved, and she had to avert her gaze lest he think her captivated. It was the queen who came to her regard. Lothaire’s laughter having drawn Eleanor’s attention, her eyes were all approval, and something told Laura that were she nearer her sovereign, she would glimpse wonder there as well.
No man laughed like Lothaire—providing the laughter was genuine. The sound swelled from depths one would not guess he possessed, so quiet and controlled did he normally present. And so wonderfully forceful was his laughter, Laura was certain it could enter all in its hearing and make even the bitterest soul smile.
“Keep doing that,” he said.
She returned his beloved face to focus. “What?”
“Smiling.” He glanced toward the high table. “It pleases the queen.”
Laura was smiling, in the next instant was not.
Lothaire’s mouth also eased. “I have not done that in a long time,” he said, “but you amuse me.”
“How did I accomplish so great a feat?”
“Your belief the prospect of an uncontrollable child will discourage what cannot be discouraged. More, how still you wet your lips and your voice deepens when you seek to convince me of the improbable.”
Then he had also been revisiting their past.
“Though of course, whereas now you seek to deceive, then you sought to tease.”
She momentarily closed her eyes. When she opened them, she beseeched, “If ever you truly felt for me—”
“I did, Laura,” he said gruffly. “Did.”
His familiar use of her name made tears flood her eyes, but she did not look away. “Then do not do this to us, Lothaire. Leave me to another so those memories are not sullied.”
His jaw shifted. “They have long been sullied. You fool yourself to think otherwise.”
She longed to flee the hall, let the unwounded laugh and judge her as harshly as dared those with sins of their own, but she held against all stuffed inside that wanted out.
A huff of bitter laughter parted her lips, and she thought, So this is how it feels to be fully awake.
Lothaire sighed. “I should not have said that, but this cuckold seems determined to cede ground gained with you and the queen. Certes, I must be vigilant in keeping him locked away these next two days.”
Laura looked to Eleanor. Where approval had shone was its opposite. And she did not doubt it was directed at her.
Wishing she did not disappoint the one who had answered her appeal for aid, who believed she knew what was best for her relation, Laura determined to present as passably agreeable.
She turned back to Lothaire, but before she could summon idle conversation, he said, “The queen told me of Lady Maude’s passing. My condolences. I know how close you were.”
Her heart’s ache revived, she said, “She is greatly missed.”
“A terrible loss, especially for her son.”
Now her heart jolted. Her distress must have shone, for he frowned and asked, “How is Simon?”
She could not maintain his gaze. “He is dead.”
After a long moment, he said, “I am sorry.”
“’Twas a long time ago.”
“In battle?”
“It happened whilst in service to his lord.” It was true, though there had been no honor in the manner of his death. Hoping to leave Simon D’Arci be, she swept her eyes around the hall and was grateful Lord Gadot handed her a distraction. As with each time she looked upon his handsome face these past days, she winced. Here was something safe over which Lothaire and she could converse.
“Poor Lord Gadot. You noticed his face?” She shook her head. “He says never again will he accept a challenge to mount an untamed horse whilst he has too much drink in him.”
Lothaire laughed again, almost as sincerely. “So that is what he told you.”
She blinked. “You know different?”
He lowered his goblet and reached a hand to her. “I assure you, my lady, the mounting of a horse was not what earned him a beaten face.”
She stared at scabbed and abraded knuckles. Did he speak true? The incident had happened the day Lothaire appeared before her in the garden, and she had not noticed the injury to his hand in all the days since. But then, she avoided looking close upon him.
She swept her gaze to his. “Why?” she said, then caught her breath. “As I seek to discourage you, you seek to discourage him—to frighten him away.”
She thought he might laugh again, but he smiled. “Were he truly a rival, I might.” He raised his goblet.
“Then?” she pressed.
“You would not believe me. So tell, with whom are you to watch the play this eve?”
“Lord Gadot.”
“Then you may ask of him the truth about his cuts and bruises and, I believe, a very loose tooth.”
Laura made a sound of disgust, reached for her own goblet.
“Food would benefit you more, my lady.” Once again, his breath warmed her jaw and wandered downward.
“I eat when I have an appetite, Lord Soames. At the moment, I am without one.”
He considered her, then drew back.
It was another hour before she joined Lord Gadot. And time and again, she sought evidence of that loose tooth.
Chapter 7