Lion's Bride - Iris Johansen [56]
“I jest,” he said haltingly. “Have you no humor?”
The pot calling the kettle black, she thought. “You must warn me when you’re being humorous. It happens so rarely, I can’t be expected to recognize it.”
“You laughed with me at the mulberry grove.”
But this was different. This was not a response to a farcical situation but came from within. She had caught another glimpse of that younger Ware, and it had disconcerted her. “And evidently condemned myself to death. It’s not a result that would encourage a person to—” His smile had vanished and she felt a sudden sense of loss. She impulsively stepped forward and touched his arm. When he glanced down at her, she repeated his own words. “I jest. Have you no humor?”
The smile came again, warm, almost sweet. She felt as triumphant as if she had created a magnificent tapestry in a single sitting.
“My apologies,” he said. “I’ve been told it comes rarely.”
She nodded, and her hand dropped from his arm. “And quite rightly.” She preceded him into the castle. “Let’s see how much humor you can draw from those account books.”
“Why are you rubbing your eyes?” Ware asked.
“I’m about to turn blind trying to decipher this scribbling.” She looked up with an accusing frown. “Your fours look like sevens.”
“You’ve been staring at them for six days. You should be accustomed to them by now.” He leaned forward and glanced at the number she was indicating. “It’s a seven. It seems perfectly clear to me.” He frowned. “Well, maybe it’s a four.”
She glowered at him.
“No, it’s definitely a seven,” he amended.
“Even you can’t read it.”
“I’m a knight, not a scholar.” He leaned back in his chair. “Which reminds me, I’ve spent enough time sitting here doing nothing today.”
She picked up the quill and carefully clarified the seven. “You don’t go until I’m finished with this month’s accounts.”
“What a demanding woman you are. You’re fortunate I’m a patient man.” She didn’t rise to the goad, so he pushed a little more. “I’ve been thinking I’ve been too indulgent with you.”
Her head lifted like a falcon sighting prey. “Indulgent?”
He carefully kept his expression impassive. “What other man would sit in this chair these many days watching you struggle and taking your foul abuse? After all, you are only a woman.”
“And you are a dolt who does not even have the sense to speak sweetly to one who does you service. It’s no wonder you chose to be a monk, instead of a husband. No woman would suffer your ugly tongue.”
“Actually, a number of women have found my tongue very pleasing.” He could see she did not understand his hidden meaning. Her manner was so bold that he often forgot she had no carnal knowledge. He decided he had goaded her enough. “But since you have not, I tender my apologies. Perhaps another time.”
She studied him. “You’re teasing me.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” He smiled. “Then I must stop at once and let you return to your work. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can leave this chair.”
“I should abandon this…this monstrosity entirely. I may do it yet.”
“No, you won’t.” He had learned that Thea could not leave undone anything she had started. No matter how distasteful she found the task, she worked until she had mastered it. “We both know that’s not your nature. So get to it so that we may both be freed.”
She sighed and bent her head over the account book. A moment later he realized she had forgotten he was in the room. She would remain in that state until some other annoyance jarred her. He settled back, watching the expressions flit across her face. It was a wonderfully mobile face, brimming with expression, intelligence, and vitality. In the past few days he had made a game of guessing what she was thinking by studying that face.
And God knew that was a change for him, he thought wryly. Expressions had never been what he looked for in a woman. A woman was for coupling, and though he might wish one to enjoy the act, he had not cared if she thought at all.
But he wanted to know what Thea was thinking. Her wit was keen, her temper sharp as