was any place in the world so comfortable and safe as where she was, but all too soon, Esau got to his feet.
“I’ll leave you two, then.”
She started to protest, but Jude touched her gently on her shoulder. He signed with one hand, “Let him go. He have you every night. Tonight, only us.”
She watched Esau pull on his trousers and his shirt, though he did not bother to button either. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Once he had gone, Jude helped Honoria to her feet and back into her robe. He dressed quickly and they went to his bedroom, not hers.
She had never been in the room Jude slept in. It was an alien, fascinating place, and once she crossed the threshold she felt a thrill of the forbidden. Even though she had taken him into her body, even though she had made love to another man in front of him, it felt almost too intimate to be there, in the space that had been strictly taboo to her as she’d grown up.
There was a desk covered with stacks of books and papers, all neat and tidy but cluttered at the same time. The hearth was smaller, and the bed too. There were no tall posts here, though the bedstead itself had ornately carved lions’ feet clutching the globes that settled into the rug. For a servant—tutor or not, Jude was most certainly employed by the family and not a friend of—it was an uncommonly nice room, and at least not some dreary attic cell.
“Surprise,” she signed, gesturing about the walls. “Big.”
Jude’s very serious face erupted into a grin, a true, unguarded smile the likes of which she had seen only very rarely. Usually when he wasn’t aware of her presence. He came to her across the length of the room, meeting her at the foot of his bed, much more narrow than hers. She wondered for a moment if he had brought her here to have her all to himself, if he feared Esau would intrude in her own chambers.
She wouldn’t think of Esau now, when Jude held her in his arms as if in one of her girlish dreams. There was nothing innocent about this waking fantasy, though. She opened her mouth beneath Jude’s, gripped with not only passion but a fear that the moment might not be real.
He pulled back and stroked her hair away from her face. “You not go to France,” he signed, then lifted one of her hands in his to kiss her palm. Her skin tingled beneath his lips.
“No,” she agreed. “I not go.”
Chapter Eight
Esau sat at the dining table, jumping at every noise the house made. His tea had gone cold, his porridge sat untouched. He wondered if Jude woke her with kisses or if he had gone awkwardly to his own bed, as Esau had done. He didn’t know which he would prefer.
Hadn’t this been what he’d wanted? He leaned his elbows on the table and propped his nose on his clasped fists. Jude wouldn’t let Honoria go now, not if he thought he owed her something for her honor. The man could have been Gallahad, out of one of those poncy stories about Camelot.
He smiled at the memory of his mother’s voice, rough from whiskey, telling him all about the gentle knights of the Round Table. He wondered what kind of stories Honoria would tell her children with Jude. Certainly nothing about parlor floors and hired men. In a few years, she would likely have forgotten all about him. Though he supposed that was all right, it did leave a bitter taste in his mouth to think of it. He might have liked to be remembered by at least one pretty girl. None of the whores he’d ever had would remember him, nor the women he’d had for free, but he didn’t remember all of them, either.
He wouldn’t ever forget Honoria, though. He’d known her a few days and already she was etched indelibly on his mind. He could scrub his skin raw and he’d still remember the feel of her. He could pour hot lead up his nose and he’d still smell her. And all of the times she’d looked at him with that hunger in her eyes, no, he wouldn’t forget those.
The door scraped open and he almost stood, but Jude
“I’ll leave you two, then.”
She started to protest, but Jude touched her gently on her shoulder. He signed with one hand, “Let him go. He have you every night. Tonight, only us.”
She watched Esau pull on his trousers and his shirt, though he did not bother to button either. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Once he had gone, Jude helped Honoria to her feet and back into her robe. He dressed quickly and they went to his bedroom, not hers.
She had never been in the room Jude slept in. It was an alien, fascinating place, and once she crossed the threshold she felt a thrill of the forbidden. Even though she had taken him into her body, even though she had made love to another man in front of him, it felt almost too intimate to be there, in the space that had been strictly taboo to her as she’d grown up.
There was a desk covered with stacks of books and papers, all neat and tidy but cluttered at the same time. The hearth was smaller, and the bed too. There were no tall posts here, though the bedstead itself had ornately carved lions’ feet clutching the globes that settled into the rug. For a servant—tutor or not, Jude was most certainly employed by the family and not a friend of—it was an uncommonly nice room, and at least not some dreary attic cell.
“Surprise,” she signed, gesturing about the walls. “Big.”
Jude’s very serious face erupted into a grin, a true, unguarded smile the likes of which she had seen only very rarely. Usually when he wasn’t aware of her presence. He came to her across the length of the room, meeting her at the foot of his bed, much more narrow than hers. She wondered for a moment if he had brought her here to have her all to himself, if he feared Esau would intrude in her own chambers.
She wouldn’t think of Esau now, when Jude held her in his arms as if in one of her girlish dreams. There was nothing innocent about this waking fantasy, though. She opened her mouth beneath Jude’s, gripped with not only passion but a fear that the moment might not be real.
He pulled back and stroked her hair away from her face. “You not go to France,” he signed, then lifted one of her hands in his to kiss her palm. Her skin tingled beneath his lips.
“No,” she agreed. “I not go.”
Chapter Eight
Esau sat at the dining table, jumping at every noise the house made. His tea had gone cold, his porridge sat untouched. He wondered if Jude woke her with kisses or if he had gone awkwardly to his own bed, as Esau had done. He didn’t know which he would prefer.
Hadn’t this been what he’d wanted? He leaned his elbows on the table and propped his nose on his clasped fists. Jude wouldn’t let Honoria go now, not if he thought he owed her something for her honor. The man could have been Gallahad, out of one of those poncy stories about Camelot.
He smiled at the memory of his mother’s voice, rough from whiskey, telling him all about the gentle knights of the Round Table. He wondered what kind of stories Honoria would tell her children with Jude. Certainly nothing about parlor floors and hired men. In a few years, she would likely have forgotten all about him. Though he supposed that was all right, it did leave a bitter taste in his mouth to think of it. He might have liked to be remembered by at least one pretty girl. None of the whores he’d ever had would remember him, nor the women he’d had for free, but he didn’t remember all of them, either.
He wouldn’t ever forget Honoria, though. He’d known her a few days and already she was etched indelibly on his mind. He could scrub his skin raw and he’d still remember the feel of her. He could pour hot lead up his nose and he’d still smell her. And all of the times she’d looked at him with that hunger in her eyes, no, he wouldn’t forget those.
The door scraped open and he almost stood, but Jude
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