To Seduce a Sinner (Legend of the Four Soldiers #2)(68)

Vale was on the man, hitting him savagely and silently. He was barefoot and wearing only his breeches. He took the man by the hair and slammed his face into the floorboards. Blood splattered.

Two of the drunkards blinked at the sudden violence, but the third swung forward. Before he could reach Vale, he was grabbed from behind by Mr. Pynch and hauled into the hallway. A thud shook the wall, and one of the small horse paintings fell. Vale rose from the still man on the floor and advanced on the other two men. Melisande bit back a cry. They might be drunk, but it was two against one. Mr. Pynch still fought the other man in the hall.

One tried to smile. “Jess a bit o’ fun.”

Vale hit him in the face. The man spun from the force of the blow and went down like a felled tree. Turning to the last man, who was trying to back away, Vale took him by the coat, turned him about, and ran him headfirst into the wall. The other horse painting fell. Mouse attacked the frame.

Mr. Pynch appeared in the doorway.

Vale looked up from where he stood panting over the last fallen man. “Everything settled out there?”

Mr. Pynch nodded. His left eye was reddened and beginning to swell. “I’ve roused the footmen. They’ll spend the rest of the night in the corridor to prevent further incidents.”

“What about Bob?” Vale demanded. “He was supposed to be outside my wife’s door.”

“I’ll find out what happened,” Mr. Pynch said.

“See that you do,” Vale snapped. “Tell the others to get this rubbish out of here.”

“My lord.” Pynch disappeared back into the hallway.

Vale finally looked at Melisande. His face was savage, a cut on his cheek leaking blood. “Are you all right, my lady wife?”

She nodded.

But he turned and slammed his fist into the wall. “I promised you this wouldn’t happen.”

“Jasper—”

“Goddamnit!” He kicked one of the fallen louts.

“Jasper—”

Mr. Pynch returned at that moment with the other menservants. They dragged the louts from the room, none of the men daring to even glance at her. Melisande still sat up in her bed, the sheets drawn to her chin. Bob appeared, white-faced and stricken and trying to explain that he’d been ill. Vale turned his back on the footman and clenched his fists. She saw Mr. Pynch jerk his chin to the footman, silently telling him to leave the room. Poor Bob slunk away again.

And then her room was clear. The servants left and only Vale remained, pacing the room like a caged lion. Mouse gave a last bark at the door and jumped on the bed to receive his praise. Melisande stroked his soft, smooth ears as she watched her husband shove a chair against the door. The frame sor.e hwas splintered near the lock and wouldn’t close properly.

Melisande watched him for a moment, then sighed and climbed from the bed. She padded barefoot to the table, poured a glass of wine, and held it out to him.

He came and took the glass from her hand without a word and tossed back half the wine.

She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That he’d had the foresight to post a guard and when that had failed, he’d arrived in time. But she knew that nothing she said would stop him from berating himself. Perhaps in the morning she could talk about it, but not now.

After a while, he swallowed the rest of the wine and put the glass carefully down as if it might shatter. “Go back to bed, dearest heart. I’ll stay here with you the remainder of the night.”

He settled in one of the chairs by the fire as she got back into bed. It was only a straight-backed wooden chair, which couldn’t be terribly comfortable, but he stretched out his long legs and folded his arms across his chest.

Melisande watched him sadly for a while, wishing he would sleep with her, and then she closed her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t sleep again tonight, but if she lay awake, it would worry him, so she feigned slumber. After a bit, she heard a low murmur at the door and the scrape of a chair. Vale moved about nearly silently, and then all was quiet again.

Melisande cracked her eyelids. Her husband lay in a corner on a kind of pallet. Very similar, in fact, to the one that had been in his dressing room. He was on his side, his back to the wall. She watched him for a bit until his breathing grew slow and even. Then she waited some more.

When she could wait no longer, she crept from the bed and tiptoed to the pallet. She stood for a moment, watching him sleep on his crude bed; then she stepped over him. She’d meant to squeeze by him and ease down between him and the wall, but the moment she set her foot by him, his hand shot out and grabbed her ankle.

Vale looked up at her, his blue-green eyes nearly black in the darkness. “Go back to bed.”

Very carefully, she knelt beside him. “No.”

He released her ankle. “Melisande—”

She ignored his pleading tone, lifting the blanket covering him and lying down behind his back.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

“Hush.” She lay facing his strong, broad back. Slowly she smoothed her hand over his rigid side and inched forward until she hugged against him. She inhaled his scent, rising with the heat of his body. He was warm and comforting, and she gave a little sigh, her face nuzzling his wide shoulders. He’d been stiff at first, but now he relaxed, as if conceding the moment to her. She smiled. All her life she’d slept alone. Now she did not.