she communicated by word, glance, or flush met with a strange reaction in the way his blood flowed through his veins. He could not fathom why, for his dislike for women of high self-regard was thorough and unchangeable, and the Lady Ariel de Glare undoubtedly held herself in the highest regard possible. Perhaps it was the image burned into his mind’s eye of her spinning and jousting half-naked in the torchlight of the armoury. The demure wimple could not erase the memory of flame-red hair swirling around her shoulders in a fiery cloud. Nor could the modest, almost drab tunic blunt the recollection of firm, upthrust breasts and coltishly long legs hidden beneath.
Eduard arched a brow and Ariel frowned.
The way he was looking at her … why … it was almost as if he could see clear through the brown cendon of her tunic, through the sheer linen of her blanchet to her bare flesh.
Their eyes met without warning and in the taut, vibrating silence that followed, a fresh welter of heat flushed through Ariel’s veins, prickling pink and warm into her cheeks.
“You have a bold manner, sirrah,” she said in a furious underbreath. “And a tongue that wants disciplining when in the company of your betters.”
“My … betters?” The smokey gray eyes scanned the room and his grin widened. “You mean, of course, that I should be seated below the salt with the other bastards in the hall?”
“Such arrangements are not unheard of,” she replied primly.
“Whereas the practice of seating petulant children on the dais … is little unusual.”
Ariel drew a deep breath. This was too much. He was pushing too far. Something—the loud snap of a bone clenched between the jaws of a nearby wolfhound—cracked the last shreds of her composure, but her hand had no sooner started on its upward intent to slash the grin off FitzRandwulf’s face, when it was caught and held in an ironlike grip.
“You tried that once and failed miserably, my lady,” he warned quietly. “I would not recommend you attempt it again … not unless you crave the thorough embarrassment of finding yourself flat on your backside.”
Two bright, hot spots of colour appeared high on her cheeks. “Do you dare threaten to strike me? Have you no shame whatsoever?”
“Not when it comes to dealing with women who pout and taunt and repeatedly disdain sincere attempts to apologize,” he said evenly. “A simple misunderstanding occurred this afternoon. You were found somewhere you should not have been, touching things you should not have touched. Even so, I made certain assumptions I should not have made and reacted in a manner which obviously caused offence. Thus, I would say we were both in error to some extent.”
“And do you now expect me to apologize to you?”
Eduard’s penetrating gaze held hers for several moments longer before sliding down to where his fingers were slowly relaxing from around her wrist. “Wringing an apology from you was not my intention, demoiselle. I regret you did not enjoy your meal or the company with whom you shared it. With luck, however, the experience will not have to be repeated … for either of us.”
He offered a curt, mocking bow and walked away to join an animated conversation Lord Henry was having with Sparrow. The heat ebbed and flowed in Ariel’s cheeks and she massaged her wrist with a hand that trembled visibly. Lout. Buffoon. Bastard! How dare he speak to her like that. How dare he presume to lecture her on the rules of polite behavior.
“Lady Ariel …?”
She spun around, her face set for further battle. “What is it?”
Dafydd ap Iorwerth flinched an involuntary step back. He and Sedrick had been seated with the other knights, close to the dais as befitting their status, but too far to have joined any conversations. He had witnessed the hostilities between Ariel and FitzRandwulf, and had thought to offer himself as a diversion.
“F-forgive me for disturbing you, my lady. I only thought to inquire if you enjoyed your meal.”
The deep green sparks in Ariel’s eyes flared. “Enjoyed it? It is a wonder my belly has not soured beyond redemption. And the air … it is so stifling, I can barely breathe.”
“If the air is close, my lady,” he suggested eagerly, “perhaps you would care for a walk in the garden? I have been told of Lady Servanne’s success with winter roses.”
Just like a Welshman, she thought angrily. Or any man for that matter, thinking to placate her with a walk in the