LITMIR.BIZ

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his duty to the king. But he had no wish to appear rude, and thus asked me to attend you until his arrival. He felt it would be wrong to call off the meal, when he will not be so very long.” She gave a nervous laugh as she moved to stand before the fire, her slender body bathed in its warm light. “Stephen mentioned that you were returning to Warwicke on the morrow and said he would not miss this chance to see you before you go. My brother is ever like this. His friends have always been of great importance to him. Is that not so, Olwyn?” Elizabeth looked to her companion.

      The other woman cleared her throat, her gaze fixed on her mistress’s face. “Oh, aye, my lord Warwicke. Sir Stephen spoke exactly thus.” With that, she swung around and left the room.

      Elizabeth turned back to him with another one of those sweet smiles. “You see. All is well.”

      Raynor watched her, mesmerized by the strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder to end in a curl on her right breast. He tried to think clearly. Certainly Stephen had set great store in his friendships as boy. It could be so now. Mayhap Stephen did trust him to be alone with his sister.

      Dragging his wayward gaze from that gently rounded breast, Raynor determined to be worthy of that trust.

      Elizabeth Clayburn was trouble. More lovely and compelling than any woman he had ever met.

      There was no way around the matter though. Raynor must fight this strange attraction. He could not, would not, become involved with her, or any other woman who would expect more than he was willing to give.

      It was this that helped Raynor to come to his senses. He could eat this meal with her and go on his way, for her good, as well as his.

      He turned to her then, his eyes refusing to see the lovely vision of her. With silent precision, he raised a wall between himself and the golden glow of her warmth. She was a woman, nothing more, nothing less.

      Elizabeth felt the change in him immediately. It wasn’t that he said or did anything that let her know, it was simply that he turned to stone. One moment his eyes were alive on her, the next there was nothing.

      Confusion made her hesitate as she looked up at him, the words she had been going to say gone from her mind.

      When Raynor first arrived, she hadn’t been able to contain her happiness at seeing him again. It was just as before, that same crazed rush of awareness that made her blood sing and her heart pound. She’d been so afraid that she had imagined the way she felt when she looked at him.

      And for a few moments, Raynor had seemed different, more open than the previous day. He’d looked at her as if seeing her for the very first time, and he hadn’t seemed displeased.

      Rot, but she couldn’t think of what she might have said or done to make him change.

      She was saved from having to say anything when the door opened to admit Olwyn carrying a heavily laden tray. With shaky legs, Elizabeth moved to the table as Olwyn set the tray down. “Thank you, Olwyn.”

      As the other woman left, Elizabeth realized that she could not allow Raynor to see that he had upset her. Obviously she was not to his liking. The best she could do now was to get through the evening without making a complete fool of herself. Keeping her voice and manner carefully polite, Elizabeth turned to Stephen. “We can begin now, if you like.”

      The first part of the meal passed in a blur as Elizabeth served them both, then used her eating knife to toy with her food. She barely tasted the bites of roast pork, eels and assorted pastries that she did take, though they had been painstakingly and well prepared.

      But as the moments stretched onward, Elizabeth began to grow angry with herself. Whatever Lord Warwicke’s annoyance might be, this silence was fair driving her mad. She would stand no more of it. She was a Clayburn, daughter of a proud and noble line. No man could be allowed to render her so self-conscious.

      Elizabeth met his gaze directly as she lifted the pitcher from the table between them. “Would you care for more wine, my lord?”

      He looked down at his plate, then nodded, passing her his cup. “My thanks, Lady Clayburn. It is the best I've tasted in some time. It is warm in here, and the wine is refreshing.”

      As she filled the vessel, Elizabeth thought about what he had said. The room seemed a trifle cool to her, rather than warm. March’s recent arrival had brought no rise in temperatures. They had kept the window open most of the day to catch the light as they readied the room for the evening, and along with it the cold. Just before Raynor arrived, she’d had Albert light a fire in the hearth to take the chill from the room.

      Feeling Raynor’s gaze upon her, she looked up at him and paused. The intensity in his dark eyes rocked her. She felt she was being studied with appreciation, yes, but also with doubt. Her tunic suddenly felt too tight across her breasts, and she shifted restlessly on her cushioned chair.

      He was right, the room was quite warm. Her tongue came out to lick at the perspiration that beaded on her upper lip, and his gaze followed. He swallowed, taking a ragged breath as he closed his eyes, releasing Elizabeth from their spell.

      She turned away, trying to still her beating heart even as she felt a rush of elation. So he was not completely indifferent to her as he pretended.

      That left the question, why was he making the pretense?

      Elizabeth didn’t know, but she was through with trying to fathom the answer. The anger that had been directed toward herself a few minutes before now shifted to him. If Raynor Warwicke wanted to keep to himself, that was fine with her, or so she told herself. And she was determined for him to see that it didn’t matter. She would go on with the meal as if he were any other guest, then see him on his way.

      But there was a nagging awareness in her that told Elizabeth it would not be so easy as she thought. Why, he had only to look at her and she melted like butter in sunshine.

      Elizabeth picked up her own cup and took a long drink of the wine. He was right, it was cool to the tongue, even as it trickled a liquid courage into her veins. If need be, she could surely drink enough wine to get her through the hours in his presence. She had heard it could be of help. She poured herself another cup and drained it, as well, before deigning to speak to Raynor again.

      Taking a deep breath, she began politely. “My brother tells me you are leaving tomorrow for Warwicke Castle.”

      He gave her one of those long, enigmatic looks. “Yes.” Then he turned back to his plate.

      Elizabeth took another sip of her wine. She was growing quite relaxed, her arms and legs pleasantly heavy. It was beginning to matter less and less that Raynor was rude and distant. In fact, she was feeling almost amused by the whole situation. What Raynor needed was to allow himself to loosen up just a bit. He might benefit from a few glasses of wine himself.

      Arching a fine black brow, she lifted the pitcher in offering. “Would you care for more?”

      He barely nodded, handing her the cup. Elizabeth filled it for him.

      “My thanks,” he told her, taking a long pull before setting it down next to his dish.

      At least he was being polite now, she thought, settling back in her chair, her own cup in her hand. She sipped at the wine, no longer caring to make the pretense of eating.

      He glanced over at her, frowning as if she had done something to irritate him in some way. “You aren’t eating.”

      “Nay,” she replied languidly. Her own gaze went to his plate, and she saw that for all his studied concentration, Raynor had managed to eat very little of his own dinner. She laughed huskily. “My lord Warwicke, it appears you are not hungry, either.”

      With an angry grunt, he pushed the dish aside. “I am not.”

      She drained her cup, then watched as Raynor did the same, her eyes never leaving his. This time it was he who leaned forward to refill the vessels, without speaking.

      He took another drink of his own wine, his gaze fixing on the tapestry behind her. His

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