Lion's Bride - Iris Johansen [15]
“I will send Tasza.” Jasmine called after him, “She always pleases you.”
He did not demand pleasure. He wanted only relief from the lust aroused by Thea of Dimas.
And to forget that tiny, relentless flame burning on the third mountain.
Thea paused at the bottom of the stone steps, gazing hesitantly at the arched opening leading to the hall. She had heard voices and the sound of a lyre only minutes before, but now there was silence. It was close to midnight; he might have retired to his chamber for the night. Perhaps she would have to wait until morning. Relief poured through her.
The scrape of a chair on stone floor. He was still in there.
Disappointment flooded her as she realized she had no excuse to avoid the confrontation. It was probably for the best; she shouldn’t wait. It had already taken her too long to brace herself for this meeting.
She drew a deep breath and strode across the foyer into the hall. She stopped short, her eyes widening in shock.
Ware was sprawled indolently in a high-backed chair before the huge fireplace, a goblet in his hand.
He was naked.
He lifted his goblet to her. “Good evening, Thea of Dimas.” His words were a little slurred. “How kind of you to join us.”
Naked and drunk.
“Send her away.”
Thea’s gaze flew to the hearth. His chair half blocked her view of the sheepskin pallet spread before the fire, but she could glimpse a shapely bare leg.
“Now, Tasza, you must not be unwelcoming. It’s partially due to her that you’re here tonight.” He waved a hand. “Come and have a goblet of wine. Tasza will play for you. She’s very accomplished on the lyre.” He smiled down at the woman. “But it’s not her primary skill.”
“I don’t want to play for her. Send her away.”
He frowned. “You’re being rude. It does not please me.”
“I don’t wish to hear her,” Thea said quickly. She should not have come. It was clear what was transpiring in this room. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, wine, and musk. Yet she could not leave without accomplishing her purpose. “I came to speak to you.”
“I’m not sure I can speak. I seem to be having a slight difficulty. Are you sure you’d not prefer another form of communication?”
“No!” Tasza jumped to her feet. She, too, was without clothes and very beautiful. She was in her middle twenties, with smooth golden skin, and long dark hair half veiling large, voluptuous breasts. “Send her away, my lord.”
“You’re beginning to annoy me, Tasza.” Ware waved a slightly unsteady hand. “If you cannot be courteous, then you’ll be absent. Go to your quarters.”
“But, my lord—” She stopped, glowered at Thea, and marched from the room.
“You should not have sent her away.” Thea moistened her lips. “I didn’t come here to pleasure you.”
“No? Pity.” He lifted the goblet to his lips. “No matter. I’m not sure I could perform at the moment anyway. I’ve already indulged myself a number of times tonight, and I’m a little drunk.”
“More than a little.”
“Sometimes it eases me.” He drank deep. “Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I require”—his gaze went to the door through which Tasza had disappeared—“other means.”
She felt a sudden flare of anger. “A woman should not be used for such a purpose. It’s cruel and—”
“Did she seem to be suffering?”
“Because she knows no better than to lie down and spread her legs for you is no reason for you to rut with her.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You have a tongue like an asp. It’s good that I’m drunk; it mellows the sting.”
It mellows the sting.
Her last qualm about being here vanished at his words. If wine mellowed and removed that hard edge, perhaps this would be the best possible time to talk with him. It might be possible for her to wrest a promise from him he would not give if sober. “Are you too drunk to listen and understand?”
His gaze went to the window overlooking the mountains. “I never let myself get that drunk.”