Page 75 of An Inconvenient Vow

His shoulder shrugged irritably, and he let out an irritated huff.

Sabina sighed and steeled herself to drag her body out of bed to wash between her legs. The moment her feet hit the floor, he turned to look back over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Just to wash.” She gestured to her lower half.

“Oh.” He lay his head back down on the pillow bearer and Sabina lifted her shift and used the tepid water from the jug for her ablutions. Jeffree cleared his throat. “Do women always do that?” he asked after a moment’s heavy pause.

Sabina looked up. “Wash?”

“No! I mean…” He hesitated. “Prepare themselves as you did.”

“Oh, I see. Well”—she thought about it a moment—“I suppose it depends on whether the man wishes to play an active role in readying her or not.”

This seemed to strike him into silence and Sabina wondered if she had shocked him with the idea of his fingers between her legs. Feeling herself grow flushed at the thought, she ducked her head and dabbed her thighs with a drying cloth.

“Should you like that?” Jeffree asked in a gruff voice.

Sabina straightened up. “Only if you wanted to,” she answered lightly. “I know where I like to be touched so it seems more efficient for me to just do it.” She made her way back to the bed, blowing out the bedside candle before clambering under the sheets.

She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard Jeffree’s voice beside her. Her eyes blinked back open again. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I should like to do it,” he repeated testily.

“Oh. Well, mayhap next time,” she suggested sleepily and let her heavy eyelids droop until they closed.

16

“I wonder how the older nuns feel having to address Meliora as Reverend Mother,” Sabina mused as they broke their fast the next day.

Jeffree regarded her moodily across the rough-hewn table. They were sat outside the inn they had hit upon to eat their noon-day meal. The sun was shining and the sky was blue and they had now put a good four hours between themselves and Fulford Abbey. Why the hells was she raising the specter of his former betrothed between them now?

Picking up on his unspoken dissatisfaction, she added, “I was just thinking it must feel strange addressing someone as that when you are old enough to be their grandmother.”

“It is a title,” Jeffree pointed out irritably. “Nothing more.” She relapsed into silence and he heard himself ask grudgingly, “Why are we still speaking of her anyway?”

“The thought just occurred to me.” Sabina shrugged. “I suppose her parents must have used her dowry to buy her such an important rank.”

He eyed her impatiently. “Doubtless,” he said shortly. He had more important things to think about right now. He had realized that under her unbecoming apparel, Sabina Burrell was a siren. Mayhap that was why she had to dress so unassumingly, to keep away the hordes of men who would fall at her feet as willing victims.

He wanted to fall at her feet himself. Then kiss all the way up to those plump thighs and beyond. His thoughts halted. He gave his head a small shake. The oddest thoughts kept popping into his head these days.

He wanted to kiss her mound. He wanted to kiss her pretty round breasts. He was almost sure respectable men did not fill their heads with such thoughts. This way led to a life of self-indulgence and ruination. He knew that full well, but still, he did not think it would stop him from wanting those things. He feared he was already a lost cause.

Sabina fiddled with her napkin, as though mustering the courage to frame the question she really wanted to ask. “Will you visit the convent again next year do you suppose?” she asked and met his gaze squarely. Jeffree had just opened his mouth on a sharp retort when she plunged recklessly on. “If so, I shall expect to be at your side, as is my rightful place.”

Her words robbed him of all speech, giving him the oddest sensation. Was she jealous then? He felt oddly gratified by the thought, though of course, she should trust him more. “No,” he answered before noticing the expectant look on her face.

“No, you will not visit or no, I may not accompany you?” she asked, squaring her shoulders as though about to sail into battle.

“No, I will not be visiting the convent again,” he said quickly before she seized hold of the wrong end of the stick.

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Well, I cannot pretend I am not relieved. I realize it has become something of a tradition for you to make the journey, but—”

“There are other charities just as worthy,” he interrupted her, “and I think they have done well enough from my coffers over the years. Though”—he frowned—“I would not call it a tradition for me to travel there. I have only visited on one occasion prior to this and that only because I was in the area.”

Sabina exhaled softly. “Thank you for explaining,” she said, lowering her gaze to her plate which now contained naught but breadcrumbs.