“I see,” Felice said, moving the sponge over his massive chest. Her finger tingled at the touch of him. “Lean forward, my lord, and I will wash your back.”
Graelam did as she bid. “Aye,” he continued, “I will journey with Maurice to Belleterre. He wishes me to spend some time there.”
Did he imagine her sucking in her breath? He said with great untruth, “I wish to see his daughter, Kassia. I have been told that she is a beautiful girl.”
The sponge halted a moment on his back. “Kassia,” Felice said, “is a sweet child, though my brother spoils her shamefully. Once she is wed to Geoffrey, I fear I will have to teach her many things. As for her looks”—he could feel her shrugging—“she resembles her mother, so of course my poor Maurice is somewhat prejudiced. Only passable, one would say. Now, my lord, lean back and I will wash your hair.”
Graelam knew he should mind his own business, but her confident assumption that Maurice’s daughter was to wed her son aroused his curiosity. He had gotten the distinct impression that Maurice would send his daughter to a convent before he would allow such a thing. But then, his thoughts continued, had Maurice died, Kassia would be at the mercy of her aunt.
He leaned his head back and reveled in her fingers rubbing soap into his scalp. Though it was none of his business, he said nonetheless, “I did not realize that Geoffrey was a suitor for Kassia’s hand.”
“Oh,” Felice said, “Maurice will come about. He has this odd dislike for his own nephew, but ’twill pass. After all, Geoffrey is his heir.”
She rinsed his hair and bade him to rise.
“Heir?” Graelam asked, aware of the sponge descending slowly over his belly. “I would have thought that his daughter is his heir.”
Her hand paused, and he felt her fingers softly tangling in the thick black hair of his groin. His manhood swelled.
“How magnificent you are, my lord,” Felice said, and to Graelam’s surprise, she giggled like a young girl.
“The air is cool, my lady,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I would wish to be done.”
“Certainly, my lord,” Felice agreed, but she continued her assault on his body, touching and exploring every inch of him.
“Should you not see to your brother’s comfort?” Graelam asked, an edge of desperation to his voice. He was not made of stone, but the thought of bedding this woman left all but his eager manhood cold.
“My brother,” Felice said dryly, “is likely enjoying the . . . services of Glenna. I will fetch you one of my son’s bedrobes, my lord.”
Graelam took the cloth from her and dried himself, relieved that finally she had left him in peace. It was in his mind to relieve himself to prevent further unwanted reactions from his body, but she returned too quickly, a rich burgundy velvet robe in her hands.
“I fear, my lord,” she said in a clipped, almost angry voice, “that my brother is demanding that you come to him.” She ran her tongue over her lips, hoping to entice him, but his attention was on the robe.
Graelam smiled at her, a slow, seductive smile that made her knees tremble. “Perhaps,” he said softly, “if Maurice is not with this Glenna, I could enjoy her services.”
It was cruel and he knew it, but he refused to spend the night half-awake, waiting for her to crawl into bed beside him.
Two spots of color rose to prominence on her cheeks and she wheeled about and left the chamber.
Graelam walked quickly down the stairs into the hall, still wearing Geoffrey’s bedrobe. He heard Maurice’s mocking voice: “You did not tell me, dear sister, where my nephew is. Does he take no interest in his home?”
“I do not know where Geoffrey is!” Felice snapped, watching him tear the chicken meat off a bone with his strong teeth. Damn him, she thought enviously. Just last week she had lost another tooth, this one dangerously close to the front of her mouth.
; She saw Graelam approach and felt fury course through her. She had offered herself to him, and he had refused her. She touched her fingers unconsciously to her jaw, feeling the slack flesh, and winced. Soon he would be comparing her to Kassia.
Maurice smiled, his mouth full of chicken meat, and motioned Graelam to join him.
“Did my lord Graelam tell you, Felice, that he would be spending some days with Kassia and me at Belleterre?”
She heard the malicious tone, but forced herself to smile, albeit frigidly.
“Aye,” she said. “Geoffrey rode to Belleterre but a few days past. It seems that Kassia was most pleased to see him.”
Maurice howled with laughter, a piece of bread flying from his mouth. “Kassia,” he said, “is her father’s daughter. Her pleasure in her cousin’s company can only reflect her sire’s pleasure in his nephew’s company, and that, my dear sister, is nil!”
“You, Maurice, are merely jealous that you have a worthless girl! Geoffrey is a warrior and is rising in favor with the duke.”