Page 114 of A Most Forgettable Girl

She did so, panting and sobbing and clutching the edge of the tub for dear life. The water churned around them, slopping over the sides. “J-James,” she moaned brokenly.

“Don’t stop,” he rasped, his hips now moving furiously beneath her own. She whined as it all grew too much, tightening her thighs about him, her inner muscles, and throwing back her head.

James shouted aloud, surging forward to press a hot, breathless kiss to her throat. Feeling the scrape of his teeth there, she exploded in a shower of stars and felt him join her with a ragged groan of deep satisfaction.

38

It was two days later as Gunnilde hurried along the corridor from her final fitting with Signor Castellar that she ran full tilt into the solid form of a burly knight. He reached out to steady her, and Gunnilde recoiled as though bitten by a snake, for it was Sir Ned.

“Oh! Your pardon—” she blurted, seeing the stricken look on his face. Forcing herself to take a steadying breath, she plastered an insincere smile to her face. “That was my fault entirely, do forgive me.”

“Gunnilde—” He faltered, addressing her quite incorrectly. Where once such familiarity would have gladdened her, she now felt herself bristle. “Can we not—?”

She met the look of anguished appeal in his eyes with one of cool politeness. “There is something I can help you with, Sir Edward?” she enquired.

He sighed and scrubbed his eyes. He did look tired, she noticed without much sympathy. “I—that is, could I beg the favor of a few moments speech with you, Lady Wycliffe?” he asked with an attempt to match her own politeness.

She inclined her head. “There appears to be no one else around at present,” she said, glancing about them at the empty corridor. “I trust this spot is a convenient one.”

Sir Ned hesitated, throwing a harried glance down the corridor. “Not for long I’ll warrant,” he answered with dissatisfaction. “This palace is crawling with courtiers.”

“And I am one of them,” she answered in clipped tones. “Perhaps you could come to the point. I am on my way to meet friends and have little time to spare this morn.”

His face fell. “You must know why I—with how much regret I think of—” He threw another look of appeal her way. “I am not good at this.”

“I cannot possibly comment on that, not knowing what ‘this’ is.”

“An apology, of course!” he burst out.

“Is it?” She crossed her arms. “Traditionally an apology begins quite differently to your own effort.” Seeing his look of blank incomprehension, she started tapping one foot against the flagstone floor. Really, no wonder the Queen thought knights dissatisfactory, she reflected; they certainly had their shortcomings.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted at last, the phrase finally dawning on him. “You must surely know that.”

“Must I?” Gunnilde mused. “Oh, you mean because Mistress Fern explained your current predicament.”

He turned bright red. “Oh, I just I bet she did, the little wretch. But no, that is not what I meant,” he said vehemently. “My current predicament has naught to do with the fact that I bitterly regretted my words that day, as soon as I saw they had wounded you.”

Gunnilde narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, did you indeed?”

“I did. They have haunted me, and don’t just mean because of, well, you know, the curse,” he said, scratching the back of his neck and looking uncomfortable. “Long before that, I felt quite sick to think of what I said. Those words drift into my mind at the most inconvenient of times and make my whole body itch with shame at their remembrance. I only wish to gods that I could scrub them from my own memory and yours.”

He looked so shamefaced that Gunnilde found to her surprise that she believed him. “I must confess I had not the smallest expectation that you would feel thus,” she said frankly. “I expected you to shove it to the back of your mind, and little think of it again until the awkwardness of our next encounter.”

“Then you thought wrong! I swear to you, I felt this sense of scalding shame even before that hag’s curse. I felt like the worst kind of... It is not my habit to... I had no idea you would overhear any of it!” he concluded incoherently. “I only wish you would believe me.”

Gunnilde gazed at his miserable expression and gave a nod. “Oh, very well,” she said.

A look of hope dawned on Ned Bevan’s face. “You mean it?” he asked in a choked voice. “You really mean it?”

She nodded again. “Just try and be more considerate of the feelings of others in future,” she said curtly.

“I can promise you that with confidence, for I have learned my lesson,” he said, his words coming out in a relieved rush. “I’ve felt like the worst kind of knave ever since you whipped back that curtain and put me in my place. That took real fortitude to do that, you know. I’ve thought of it often since then with”—he hesitated—“much regret. You were so forthright, and I behaved like a complete whoreson.”

He winced, though whether at his own language or his previous conduct she was not sure. “Then I was too cowardly to speak to you for days afterward, avoiding you,” he admitted, swallowing. “And when I finally mustered the courage to face you, I found you’d run off to court and felt even worse!”

“You must really have suffered!” Gunnilde said blandly.

He flashed her an uncertain look. “No, I did not mean—! That is—” He took a deep breath. “Will you accept my sincerest apology, Lady Wycliffe? I swear I extend it in a truly chastened spirit. In truth, I’ve never felt so bad about anything before in my life. Not even when I knocked my first cousin’s two front teeth out.”