A FRESH ENCOUNTER
Bernadette woke from restless dreams. She stared up at the ceiling, and then slid briskly out of bed.
Breakfast. Then check the storehouses. Then the cottages.
She planned a busy day as she dressed, trying studiously to avoid thoughts of her current guest. That was difficult. He occupied her thoughts.
“Amelia?” she called her maid.
“Yes, milady?”
“Could you fix my hair? Something simple. I just want it to stay up in the wind outside.”
Amelia, a young woman of perhaps twenty, giggled. “Yes, milady.”
Bernadette sat down and let the younger woman do her work. As she did so, she moodily stared into the mirror. It showed a strong face with high cheeks, a straight nose and those black eyes with their full lids.
I suppose I'm quite imposing, she thought stiffly. Mayhap I scared him.
She chuckled grimly to herself. Why did she care so?
With any luck, he'd gone.
She didn't want to consider the fact that this man may have captivated her thoughts. The more she thought about him, the more she noted that there was something a little different. He was faintly reminiscent of the man her mistress had wed: that same mix of forcefulness and ruggedness. Could he be half-Scottish, like Lord Francis? She was excited to find out more about him.
Stop it! she chided herself. “Amelia?” she called.
“Yes?”
“Is breakfast in the solar already?” Usually an early riser, Bernadette sometimes had to wait while the servants set out a meal for her.
“It is, milady. What with the guest, we thought we'd better prepare in advance and...” She trailed off as Bernadette's expression darkened.
“He’s still here?”
“He's about, milady,” Amelia said softly.
“Ah.”
Bernadette felt a bit riled. How dare he wake early and poke about her home? What did he expect to find here? She felt as if he were a customs-man, inspecting a warehouse for contraband supplies.
“Well,” she added to Amelia, “in that case, I'll go to breakfast now. Thank you for your help,” she added – a habit from when she had dressed Claudine's own hair – and smiled. “It looks very nice.”
“Oh! Thank you, milady.” Amelia dimpled and curtsied, as she always did whenever Bernadette complimented her work.
Bernadette gave her a smile and walked out briskly. As she headed along the passageway, her cheery feelings evaporated quickly. She felt moody and offended. How dare that fellow snoop about in her house!
If he's up at breakfast I'll have words with him, she thought moodily.
She stalked into the solar. “Oh.”
The table was set for two, but one place had already been used. She took a seat at the other, feeling a little disappointed. So he really had gone.
She was surprised that instead of relieved, she felt surprised. And a little wistful.
For all his rudeness, he was a good sparring opponent.
It was rare that Bernadette had someone with whom she could unleash her more willful, dominant side. Always gentle and a little distant with her staff, she was loving with Claudine and doting with her daughter.
And it's not as if I have many visitors down here.
Annoying and offensive, Fraser Moreau had nonetheless been novel argument-fodder.
Bernadette smiled at Blanchard, her footman, who had come in and was tidying up the breakfast table. “Our guest left already?”
Blanchard shrugged. “I do not know, milady. Certainly he was awake earlier, and he dined. Where he has gone, I don't know...” He trailed off, gesturing expansively.
“He must have left,” Bernadette mused. Partly satisfied, she nonetheless thought she would miss him. She reached for a roll and buttered it lightly, taking a slice of cheese to go with it. As she ate, she planned her day.
Kitchens. Cottages. Check that the back field is being used for my horse.
Bernadette loved Slate-shadow, her horse. She had taken a large portion of her new-conferred wealth, but she had never fallen in love with anyone as instantly as she had with that horse. She wanted to make sure she was well-cared for.
“Right,” she said to the empty solar as she stood. “Off to work.”
Always rigorous in all she did, Bernadette had never relaxed, even after the estate was conferred on her. She found she had to keep herself busy, and the management of an estate was certainly highly-demanding. With her able steward, Benlieu, to help her, she kept it all running smoothly.
I suppose he would find that too amusing, she thought angrily. He couldn't have chosen a more well-aimed insult than the one about her cordial. Still fuming, Bernadette headed down into the kitchens.
Work did not cool her temper and by ten of the clock, she was still angry. The cottages were in good repair, the storehouse stocked and all the plans made for the next week, at least as far as the cook knew.
“I'm going for a walk.”
Bernadette wrapped a dark cloak over her long, ocher-brown dress and headed into the countryside. As she walked across the field, she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her. She tensed.
“My lady!”
It cannot be. She closed her eyes, a mix of elation and annoyance thrilling her blood. “Yes?”
The count smiled at her, a straight, thin-lipped smile. This close, she could appreciate how strikingly-handsome he was. Handsome and annoying. She resisted the urge to leave.
An equally strong one compelled her to stay, especially when he started to talk.
“My lady. Forgive me if I interrupted your morning jaunt. May I ask you to help me? Point out the way from here? I am afraid I don't know where the road to Crecy is.”
Bernadette closed her eyes. “See that?” she said, opening them and pointing straight ahead, a little toward the left.
“You mean the path there?” he inquired affably.
“The road. Yes.”
“That's that road?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.”
That dried their conversation.
Bernadette turned away. “Sir?”
“Yes, milady?”
She closed her eyes. Next time he called her that, ironic and scornful, she would have to hold her hands to stop one of them from slapping him. “You are going to Crecy later?”
He nodded. “I was lost, forgive me.”
“Fine,” she said. Strangely, thinking about his leaving made her heart go faster, though it was with a strange discomfort and not joy.
“Milady?” he said again. She ignited.
“Stop calling me that when we both know you scorn me,” she said angrily. “Bernadette will do, since you seem to think me little better than a kitchen maid.”
His eyes widened. “Why say that, milady?”
“Because you said so yourself.”
“When?”
“Yesterday,” she said. How was it possible that everything out of this man angered her so?
He looked aghast. “When did I so yesterday?” he asked.
“When you said....you...never mind,” she sighed, desultorily. “If you insult me and forget immediately, there's no reason to talk further.” She turned quickly away, heart thumping.
To her horror, a hand shot out and grabbed hers. She froze. “Unhand me, sir,” she said in a tight, cold voice.
“I shan't, milady,” he said.
His grip tightened and Bernadette found herself drawn inextricably closer forward. She was surprised, but she was not frightened. Her heart was pounding, but it was not all anger. Or fear. It was anticipation. “You will,” she said tightly. “Why hold me so?”
“Because I wish to see you closer,” he said roughly.
Bernadette looked into his eyes defiantly.
He leaned forward and as his mouth touched hers, she felt a thrill that was part anger, part elation.
His tongue slid into her mouth and Bernadette felt herself draw breath as he held her against him, her heart pounding where he crushed her against that hard, muscled chest. She tensed and looked up into his eyes defiantly. “Let me go,” she said.
Her voice was hard, commanding.
He sighed. “Very well, milady. As you wish.”
“I do.”
He released her and they stared at each other. His breath was as tumultuous as hers, both chests heaving.
Bernadette turned and stalked away.
He did not follow her.
She turned her steps back toward the house, heart thumping. “Of all the rude, shocking, offensive...”
She had not run out of words by the time she reached the door. However, even though she called him all the names she could think of, and some she'd heard only in passing tavern doors, she'd not managed to cool the skipping heartbeat.
I hate him, she told herself.
In her heart, she knew it was not hatred that she felt. She had despised Lord Lucas, her friend's uncle. She had not been sorry to see him leave their lives.
However, when she went into her home, shut the door and leaned against it, trying to still her breath, calming herself to tranquility, she knew that she would be very sorry to see the back of Lord Fraser, count of Remy.