FIRST IMPRESSIONS
“Well, come on, man! Do I look like I wish to be soaked by this awful rainfall?”
Fraser Moreau, the count of Remy from his father's side, Lord of Carnoch from his mother's, swore as the slow, fumbling groom took his horse and led it into the stables.
He shook himself, letting the rain run down his auburn hair and onto his cloak. “What must a man do to stay dry here?”
The groom gave him a sorrowful but mute stare and carried on with his business, rubbing his horse dry.
Fraser sighed. “Well, what can I expect?” he muttered under his breath. Dragged across the countryside from his comfortable estate in Remy, he had only agreed to come because of an old friend – Francis, the count of Annecy. He was the only man Fraser had ever met whose parentage was the same as his. It made a fierce bond between them. Now, Francis had wed.
And my! What a bonny woman. Fraser had seen her once, at the wedding, and looked forward to getting to know his friend's wife as a person. Francis was utterly besotted with her, which made him think she had both a fine character as well as considerable beauty.
Only for them would I even think of making such an extra effort. He sighed and looked around, searching the cobbled courtyard for somewhere, anywhere, to remain dry.
“The hall's that way, milord,” the groom said gloomily.
Fraser glared at him. “Thanks,” he spat. He turned away and headed into the courtyard.
He followed the steps up to the hall's entrance and found himself in a small, darkened hallway, shaking off the rain from his own cloak, stamping his feet. “Hello?” he called.
“Milord,” a soft, somewhat-affronted man said from the region of his elbow. “The lady Bernadette awaits upstairs.”
“Ah.” Fraser drew himself upright and passed the man his cloak. “I'll go up immediately. If you would announce my presence to the lady Bernadette?”
The man – Fraser guessed him to be a steward or retainer – looked pained, but agreed. “Of course, my lord. Follow me.”
Fraser clumped up the wooden stairwell behind him to the second floor. He knew he was leaving pools of water on the lady's floor with every stamp of his booted feet, but felt there wasn't much he could do to prevent that.
If she doesn't like it, it's her fault for having incompetent stable-staff.
He followed the steward along the hallway and stopped when the man raised a hand. Fraser was surprised and a little offended by the peremptory gesture, but stood his ground.
“The count of Remy, milady,”
Fraser sucked in a breath as the woman's voice called out, “Send him in.”
A medium-pitched voice, it had a rounded, warm sound. However, it was not in the least unsure. This voice crackled with authority. It sent a stab of warmth through his belly.
I wonder what she looks like, this notorious lady?
Lady Bernadette was well known in the region. Even as far north as his own landholdings, people had heard the story of an upstart lady's companion who had by dint of merit become a landholder in her own right.
She has no title, no high birth...yet here she is.
With servants and a fortress and people to make him wait, dripping and cold, in the hallway while she bade him enter.
The thought should have offended him – he was, after all, a landed noble in his own right – but it didn't.
He could barely wait to have first sight of her.
“My lord, the lady of Evreux.”
Fraser stared.
A medium-tall woman, she wore a dark velvet dress and stood in shadow. He could see her hair – a rich brown with coppery highlights – and the paleness of her skin. His loins responded as his eyes traveled to her full bust. Then he dragged up his gaze.
He found himself looking into a pair of hard, black-shadowed eyes.
“My lord count,” her voice said softly. Her brow quirked up, as if she were assessing him every bit as much as he assessed her. Unlike his own, hers seemed a less happy conclusion. She did not smile.
“My lady,” he said stiffly. He rankled a bit at her title – she was no lady, whereas he came from a pedigree so old no one had written it all down – but he said it.
“You have traveled far,” she said softly. “You must be tired. Come. Sit awhile here. I'll call for refreshments.”
“Yes, that would be nice,” he said.
They both spoke in measured tones, yet somehow the air was cold. It felt as if they were sizing up for some storm, some big confrontation between them.
Why?
“I trust you had a pleasant journey?” she asked. “And, if not, that our hospitality will make up the deficit.”
He chuckled and waited for her to sit down. When she didn't, he remained standing uncomfortably. “It was pleasant,” he said, “though I found your staff somewhat reluctant.”
“Reluctant?” She reached for a beaker on a countertop and poured from it a rich red fluid. She handed him a goblet, then took one herself. “What mean you, sir?”
He sighed. “I was left in the rain for a few minutes, drenched and cold, while your grooms fussed about.”
The lady Bernadette showed a vague shift of expression, though her dark eyes remained aloof. “My grooms are kept busy, but they do their best for me,” she said coolly.
“Mayhap for you,” he said, chuckling. He lowered himself onto the settee opposite where she had sunk down graciously. He found it hard to look elsewhere. She was very beautiful.
“My grooms do their best for anyone who is polite,” she said. She raised her glass to her lips and took a drink. When she opened them again, her expression was challenging.
“I am not rude,” he said, starting to feel a little rattled by her. He followed her example, lifting the glass to his lips. It proved to contain a berry cordial. He could taste redcurrants and blackberries. He closed his eyes and sighed appreciatively.
“You like it?”
“Mm. Most refreshing,” he acknowledged. It was excellent, but it felt as if he would make too great a concession by telling her that. He swallowed.
“I made it from my own recipe,” she said.
He laughed and almost choked.
“What?” she asked. Her voice was level, but her eyes held his and were twinned flint.
“My lady, forgive me,” he said, reining in his amusement. “But a lady would not know aught of such things. You...should not mention these inconsistencies.”
Her stare was hard and cool. “I do not hide what I was, nor what I am,” she said softly. “And my grooms were right. You are insolent, sir.”
He stared at her. His jaw fell and he forced himself to master his expression, closing his mouth, which had fallen open with incredulity. She couldn't have offended him more had she slapped him. He laughed, albeit without mirth. “You are candid, milady.”
Her stony eyes met his. “If candor is difficult to stomach, you might consider changing your own ways, lest they be candidly remarked upon again.”
This was too much. He set aside the glass and leaned forward. “You think you can talk to me any manner you like,” he said angrily. “Well, I will have you know, Miss LeBlanc, that is not the way I see it.”
“I will let you know, sir,” she said coolly. “That you stay on my hospitality. You can exit into the rain if you would prefer. However, the road to the nearest inn is long. I think it would be better to maintain cordiality. And keep dry.”
He laughed aloud. “What in Heaven..?” Here he was, embroiled in a battle in which he was fast losing ground. How had this happened? “Very well, milady,” he said tightly. “I can see you are overwrought. I will retire now.”
“Good,” she said baldly. “I'll see to it that Durand has your luggage set out tomorrow morning? I expect you'd like to depart early.”
“What!” He chuckled. This was too much! She was throwing him out? “How can you...”
“I reserve the right to entertain guests I welcome,” she said. “I do not welcome insolent, rude guests. Have a good rest, milord. And safe travels further.”
With that, she set her glass aside with a click and stood. He watched, astonished, as she stood and walked, straight-backed and gracious, out of the hall.
He stared after her in astonishment.
Well! In all my born days, I never...
He whistled through his teeth in sheer amazement. How did that just happen?
“I have no idea,” he said aloud. He shook his head.
He stood a moment later, feeling his back stiffen after sitting still in rain dampened clothes in cold air. However, his heart thumped faster and he warmed up as he walked.
Well I never! This woman is incorrigible! Rude, upstart, callous...
And easily the most beautiful person he had ever seen.
Not able to stop grinning despite his pains to be remote, the count walked to his bedchamber: He might as well enjoy it while he had it, for tomorrow he would be moving on again – he had to.