had offered his arm to Katherine and had escorted her out of the hall. He knew that Miranda’s look of reproach would rise up and haunt him in the dark of night for years to come. All for the sake of honor. Honor be damned!
And what had he gained for his sacrifice and Miranda’s pain? Absolutely nothing.
Brandon cast a sideways glance at Jack and Katherine, who sat on the cushioned seat below the huge triple-light window of the great hall. Outside, a summer tempest raged, casting jagged streaks of lightning to the earth. Thunder rolled across the soaking fields like cannon fire. The fury of the weather went unnoticed by the pair, who enjoyed a private game of cards. Katherine’s laughter floated over the slash of the rain against the diamond-cut panes of window glass. Jack—the churl—whispered yet another compliment to her, judging from the blush on her cheeks.
This morning, when Brandon had offered his assistance at the mounting block, Katherine had turned to Jack and had given him her hand to help her into her saddle. During that tiresome ride, Katherine insisted on staying by Jack instead of riding next to Brandon, no matter how often Jack obligingly dropped back. When they dismounted to look across a field of ripening hops, ‘twas Jack she asked to help her down. And Jack helped her up again, when ’twas time to return for dinner. Brandon could have been out alone with his falcon for all the good it had done him.
Who was Katherine to be so choosy of her companion? A simpering, giggling, pale-faced ninny, who had not more than an ounce of sense in her brain. When she opened her mouth, which was not often, her speech was that of a girlish maiden and not of a woman brought twice to the marriage bed. No wonder she relied on Miranda so much! Without her steady, intelligent cousin to oversee the running of the household, Bodiam would have been in a state of complete shambles by now. How would Katherine survive without Miranda to help her? How would he?
“’Tis your move, my lord, and has been this past quarter hour.” Miranda nudged his foot with her toe. “Have you gone to sleep, or are you merely trying to find a way of saving your bishop’s pawn?”
Brandon blinked, then pulled himself up straighter in the chair. “Your pardon, mistress. I was woolgathering.”
He avoided looking into the green eyes that sparkled a challenge to him from the other side of the chessboard. He knew, if he gazed into those orbs of flashing fire, he would be lost—all his fine intentions blown out the window. He must maintain his control and his honor. Be courteous but not familiar with Miranda.
Brandon shot another glance at the pair on the window seat. Blast Katherine! She had turned him down as flat as a griddle cake, when he had suggested a game of chess after supper. She had even acted insulted at his offer of his company. She preferred Jack, the grinning ape, who merely shrugged at Brandon, then engaged the lady with his own wit and wiles. What does she think I am---a squawking crow?
“By the stars, Sir John!” Miranda blew a wisp of her auburn hair out of her eyes as she bent over the board. “You have already lost three pawns and a knight to me. What’s one pawn more?”
Brandon sent her a quick glance from under his hooded lids. He drew in a small breath. How utterly delectable she looked with the candlelight playing the wanton with her hair, turning it into a riot of reds and golds. Gritting his teeth, he moved his bishop one place on the diagonal
Miranda’s eyes widened. “By the book! You’ve opened your queen to my attack! In faith, I will not let you take your move back, Sir John. I mean to win this game.” She swooped her castle deep into his side of the board.
’Tis no matter. I am lost to you already, sweet minx. Take my queen, my bishop, my heart. I am a condemned man.
“My mind dwells upon other things,” Brandon murmured. He hardened his voice with a deliberate ruthlessness, then pointedly
And what had he gained for his sacrifice and Miranda’s pain? Absolutely nothing.
Brandon cast a sideways glance at Jack and Katherine, who sat on the cushioned seat below the huge triple-light window of the great hall. Outside, a summer tempest raged, casting jagged streaks of lightning to the earth. Thunder rolled across the soaking fields like cannon fire. The fury of the weather went unnoticed by the pair, who enjoyed a private game of cards. Katherine’s laughter floated over the slash of the rain against the diamond-cut panes of window glass. Jack—the churl—whispered yet another compliment to her, judging from the blush on her cheeks.
This morning, when Brandon had offered his assistance at the mounting block, Katherine had turned to Jack and had given him her hand to help her into her saddle. During that tiresome ride, Katherine insisted on staying by Jack instead of riding next to Brandon, no matter how often Jack obligingly dropped back. When they dismounted to look across a field of ripening hops, ‘twas Jack she asked to help her down. And Jack helped her up again, when ’twas time to return for dinner. Brandon could have been out alone with his falcon for all the good it had done him.
Who was Katherine to be so choosy of her companion? A simpering, giggling, pale-faced ninny, who had not more than an ounce of sense in her brain. When she opened her mouth, which was not often, her speech was that of a girlish maiden and not of a woman brought twice to the marriage bed. No wonder she relied on Miranda so much! Without her steady, intelligent cousin to oversee the running of the household, Bodiam would have been in a state of complete shambles by now. How would Katherine survive without Miranda to help her? How would he?
“’Tis your move, my lord, and has been this past quarter hour.” Miranda nudged his foot with her toe. “Have you gone to sleep, or are you merely trying to find a way of saving your bishop’s pawn?”
Brandon blinked, then pulled himself up straighter in the chair. “Your pardon, mistress. I was woolgathering.”
He avoided looking into the green eyes that sparkled a challenge to him from the other side of the chessboard. He knew, if he gazed into those orbs of flashing fire, he would be lost—all his fine intentions blown out the window. He must maintain his control and his honor. Be courteous but not familiar with Miranda.
Brandon shot another glance at the pair on the window seat. Blast Katherine! She had turned him down as flat as a griddle cake, when he had suggested a game of chess after supper. She had even acted insulted at his offer of his company. She preferred Jack, the grinning ape, who merely shrugged at Brandon, then engaged the lady with his own wit and wiles. What does she think I am---a squawking crow?
“By the stars, Sir John!” Miranda blew a wisp of her auburn hair out of her eyes as she bent over the board. “You have already lost three pawns and a knight to me. What’s one pawn more?”
Brandon sent her a quick glance from under his hooded lids. He drew in a small breath. How utterly delectable she looked with the candlelight playing the wanton with her hair, turning it into a riot of reds and golds. Gritting his teeth, he moved his bishop one place on the diagonal
Miranda’s eyes widened. “By the book! You’ve opened your queen to my attack! In faith, I will not let you take your move back, Sir John. I mean to win this game.” She swooped her castle deep into his side of the board.
’Tis no matter. I am lost to you already, sweet minx. Take my queen, my bishop, my heart. I am a condemned man.
“My mind dwells upon other things,” Brandon murmured. He hardened his voice with a deliberate ruthlessness, then pointedly
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