My Lady's Favor. Joanne Rock

bed. This was not the chamber the countess had briefly shared with Jacques, but the smaller, private quarters she had been appointed upon her arrival a fortnight ago.

      “You should be abed, as well.” He worked his way around the room, pinching candles as he went. “It is almost dawn.”

      “I have been worried. I was denied entry into the guest tower, let alone the earl’s solar. I wanted most urgently to speak in my own behalf—”

      “Denied entry?” Conon hovered over a candle, focusing on Elysia for the first time since entering. Her hair hung in a shimmering black mass down her back, rumpled and out of place. She had the delicious look of a woman who had just rolled out of bed—an enticing contrast to her usual stiff posture and cool reserve.

      Her eyes, however, were sunken and dark; her skin pale. She seemed to shiver right through the pile of blankets that covered her.

      “Who denied you entry?”

      “Sir Huntley.” Her tone conveyed her distaste for the man. They agreed on one thing, anyway.

      “Huntley is an arrogant son of a—”

      “I know.” She put her hand up as if to ward off his forthcoming curse. “He is a vulgar man, and my words with him topped off an already horrifying day.” Voice breaking, she crumpled to the bench by the fire. “Please excuse me, sir, if I am not myself.”

      For a long moment, she did not speak. Seeming to collect herself, she fixed him with her gaze, chin high and proud in spite of her nearness to the breaking point. Un-shed tears glittered in her eyes, refusing to fall.

      A wave of pity tempered by admiration washed over Conon, surprising him with its force. Perhaps there was more to this woman than he had anticipated.

      “But I have to know.” She took a deep breath, as if frightened of his response to her words. “What did you discuss with the earl? What is to be my fate?”

      His pity dissolved when he recalled the discussion with Arundel. “You mean how much of Vannes will you walk away with?”

      All signs of weakness vanished from Elysia’s expression as she stood, though she kept the blanket wrapped about her. Conon tried not to remember how unsettling it had felt to view her with nothing but bedclothes to cover her earlier tonight.

      “Nay, sir.” Her voice cold and controlled, she sounded at odds with her vulnerable appearance. “I am not concerned with the Vannes fortune, but with my person. Because you are a man, you cannot possibly understand the frustrations of being unable to control the most basic decisions of your life.”

      “As a man who stands a good chance to be disinherited, chère, I can tell you exactly how frustrating it is to have no control over your life. And to be undermined and outmaneuvered by a woman is especially insulting.” Crossing the room to stand toe to toe with her, he willed her to be intimidated.

      Stubbornly she stood her ground, though she was forced to look up at him. “How could my marriage possibly disinherit you? Do I look like a successful candidate for Count of Vannes?”

      “Nay, lady, you do not.” She looked more like a petulant child in need of sleep, but he was not cruel enough to say that.

      Some surge of protectiveness moved Conon to tuck a stray strand of her midnight hair behind one ear. The dark, rumpled locks felt as soft as they looked. Softer. He recalled the impetuous kiss he had given her earlier that day. Her skin had been warm and smooth, too. Now, she stiffened at his touch, though she did not pull away.

      “However, you might carry the future count within your womb. If that is the case, you have dispossessed me of much.”

      “No.” Stepping back from him, she walked toward the fire and gazed in its heated depths. “That will not be the case. I am certain of it.”

      “You cannot be sure, Countess.” He forced her new title past his lips. “That is why the earl and I thought it best you remain here until such time it may be proven one way or another.”

      Her gaze flew to his, revealing a depth of vulnerability Conon would not have thought her capable of, before returning to the safety of the fire.

      “As you will,” she responded with quiet assurance, indicating no hint of the anxiety he had seen in her countenance. “Yet I am certain I will carry no babe. Am I free to leave once that is…established?”

      She spoke with such quiet conviction, Conon wondered about the events of her sordid wedding night. Of course the blood on the sheets told the story anyhow, but the countess spoke as confidently as if she knew no heir would result.

      “Aye. You may leave.” With the deed to Grandmère’s dower lands as a prize for her virginal sacrifice.

      Perhaps one day she would allow him to buy it back from her. Surely she would exchange a fortune for a plot full of memories.

      His gaze flitted over the countess’s rumpled hair and pink cheeks. Despite her more approachable disheveled state, Conon could not imagine the stiff-necked Elysia Rougemont knew anything of love or sentiment.

      “And if that is the case,” Conon continued, backing toward the door, “your time in France will have been more brief than either of us could have imagined.”

      By month’s end, he could well possess the security he had longed craved, but he would never see the fair lady again.

       Chapter Four

       S he had lied.

      The knowledge ate away at Elysia long after Conon’s departure, keeping her awake into the morning hours. Although she’d never actually told a lie, her failure to correct the popular misconception that her marriage had been consummated was as good as an outright falsehood.

      Brooding as she stared into the cold ashes of her bedroom hearth, she regretted her continued silence. She had every intention of revealing the truth to the earl last night when she went to meet with him and Conon.

      But she hadn’t been allowed to see them.

      Although unaccustomed to such treatment, Elysia knew such was most women’s lot. At Nevering, she had ruled the keep. Even while her brother lived, Elysia had been the one to oversee the linen trade and issue orders. How galling to go from a position of importance—one which she enjoyed immensely—to being treated with open disrespect.

      Recalling Huntley’s rude treatment the previous evening riled her all over again. She had assumed the earl instructed Huntley to keep her out of their private meeting, though Conon seemed genuinely surprised when she mentioned she had been denied entry. Perhaps it was only the earl who wanted her kept in the dark.

      In her anger, she decided if the earl did not want to share his plans for her, she would not bother to confide the truth to him. This morning, when she had calmed down and realized she had a moral obligation to tell him the truth no matter if she had to fight Huntley to do it, she discovered Arundel had already departed.

      Since first light she had paced the floor, fearing for her soul with so grave a sin to hang upon it. She thought, too, of Conon and his fear that an heir would usurp his fortune. But how could she tell him the truth? The matter was most delicate.

      She would have to live with his anger for another couple of weeks until it was proven she would not bear the next Count of Vannes. Surely, once she displayed no signs of being enceinte, she would be allowed to go home. She would simply confide the truth to her overlord when she saw him once again.

      Who would it hurt if she kept the truth to herself at this point? After all, she would take nothing from Conon’s inheritance except a small dower property, and that could be returned to him as soon as she spoke with her overlord. It wasn’t as if she would be dragging the French estate home on horseback. Besides, Conon had an enormous estate to live in now, so he wouldn’t miss the deed to a minor keep for a few weeks.

      Somewhat appeased by her plan, Elysia donned her old gardening kirtle to work among the flowers she’d