What would possess a woman to remain after that?
A new sensation tore through Etienne, one he had not felt in years upon years. He was suddenly ashamed that he had tried to humiliate this bold and fiercely proud woman.
He quickly subdued his reaction. Obviously she was not easily humbled, nor did she fully appreciate how precarious her new position was.
His gaze flashed around the hall. The other servants were guarded and watchful, but clearly just as proud of their former lord’s daughter’s defiance as she surely was of herself.
Philippe de Varenne was watching her, too, with a greedy look in his snake’s eyes and a hungry smile on his thin lips. Even the usually jovial George was eyeing the wench with serious speculation.
Fortunately, Donald Bouchard could be counted on not to — but the young man was staring at Gabriella Frechette as if an angel were serving his dinner! The only man who seemed oblivious to Gabriella’s presence was Seldon, who gave all his attention to his food.
Etienne’s scrutiny returned to the provocative movement of Gabriella Frechette’s shapely hips. Was it deliberately done or was it simply a gift of nature? Either way, if she stayed, she was going to cause trouble.
This situation could not continue. She must be made to leave before his men started quarreling over her and the other servants began to believe they could defy him with impunity.
“Gabriella!” he called, his voice slightly louder than usual.
She turned and walked toward him, a questioning look in her eyes, her dark, shapely brows lifted just a little, her pale, smooth cheeks tinged with a hint of a blush.
He could not go back on his ultimatum. That would be a sign of weakness that he simply would not permit. When he considered the state of his men, it occurred to him that she might be engaging in a different sort of battle, one that started with covert rebellion.
The little fool! He had seen campaigns of many kinds, including those waged by women, and he knew different attacks and defenses. He always got what he wanted. She should have heard enough about him to know that.
What did he want from her? To caress that shapely body? To crush those ruby lips against his own? To have her yield, willingly, fervently, with all the passion of her hate turned to burning desire...
His glance darted to Josephine, who was wiping her rosebud lips daintily with a napkin. God’s wounds, he must be going to mad to even think of kissing this wench when he had Josephine de Chaney to share his bed. What kind of spell was this dispossessed noblewoman beginning to exert over him?
Gabriella halted, her full lips pulled into a thin line of strength and she bowed her head in acknowledgment.
He must and would control this estate, this castle, this hall and most of all, this woman. “Fill my goblet,” he ordered.
Gabriella did as she was told, trying not to look at Baron DeGuerre’s lean, handsome face illuminated by the many flambeaux set in sconces in the walls Despite her self-confidence in the kitchen, she had dreaded meeting him again, and with good reason. His pale blue eyes were so intimidating in their inscrutability! The man was like a statue, betraying nothing of his feelings. Indeed, it was as if he were not quite human, but some kind of supernatural warrior put on earth to remind others that they were weak, frail vessels of humanity.
While she bent to fill his goblet with hands that must tremble, he moved not at all.
No, not a statue, she thought as she poured his wine slowly to avoid a spill. He was more like a cat sitting before a mouse’s hole. She was aware of the others in the hall, but all her attention was focused on the man in front of her although she did not look directly at his face.
She had already seen enough of it. The baron’s features, lean and battle-hardened, presided over by his cold, unrevealing eyes, might have belonged to a martyr. She doubted even being burned at the stake would make the man flinch. But he was no holy man. It was not hard to envision the baron’s slender, strong fingers, grasping the goblet before her, around a man’s throat, squeezing the breath from his body.
Gabriella forced herself to concentrate on her task so that she could finish and be gone, away from his intense eyes and unreadable face.
At last the baron moved, to lean back leisurely in his straight-backed chair with a motion of sinuous grace.
She tipped the vessel of wine up and backed away. Before she could leave, however, the baron smiled slowly, slyly, seductively, and said, “Go to my bedchamber.”
“Etienne!” Josephine de Chaney gasped. Suspicion and pain appeared in her lovely green eyes, her reaction giving Gabriella a confirmation she did not want.
“Being a servant is new to you, so this once I will repeat myself,” he said deliberately, ignoring his mistress. “Go to my bedchamber.”
Gabriella could only stare at him, shocked, aghast and horrified. Surely he didn‘t—couldn’t—mean it! She felt as if she had been stripped naked in front of everyone. A wave of hot shame washed over her as she hoped against hope that he would rescind his order. She may be no more than a servant now, but she was a free woman. If he took her against her will, it would be rape. He would be committing a crime. She would go to... whom? Who would stand up for her against the powerful Baron DeGuerre, favorite of the king, the terror of tournaments, a man who had once fought for ten straight hours simply to win a bag of silver coins?
While he continued to regard her with those implacable blue eyes, she began to understand that she had engaged an enemy whose power and influence she had never fully considered.
But she had power and strength on her side, too. He would be a criminal if he touched her, and all would know it. And if he thought it necessary to stoop to such tactics, who had the upper hand then?
With her back as straight as an arrow’s shaft, her carriage as regal as any queen, Gabriella turned and headed toward the wide staircase leading upward, toward the north tower and the bedchamber.
“Well, well, well, what are we to make of that?” Philippe de Varenne asked, gesturing with his head toward Gabriella as she disappeared inside the tower and those assembled in the hall broke the silence with a flurry of murmurs and whispers.
Sir George de Gramercie, usually so quick with a witty remark, could only raise his shapely, patrician brows and shake his head.
“I mean, I think we can all understand his intentions,” Philippe went on before taking a large gulp of his wine. “I know what I’d do if I had a wench like that at my service.”
“He’s not going to hurt her,” Donald said, both shocked and defensive.
“Oh, no, I never said he would hurt her,” Philippe replied with a wink. “I’d give a purse of gold to know what Josephine is thinking at this particular moment.”
The men glanced at her. Both the baron and Josephine de Chaney were eating as if nothing at all unusual had happened, which was very far from the truth.
“She’ll never question him,” George said with absolute certainty. “She’s far too clever for that.”
“Which makes her the perfect mistress, eh?” Philippe noted. “That and
