The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(50)

“Look at me.”

She lifted her head. Her eyes were puffy and red. Her chin quivered. A pang went through him and he clenched his teeth. She had made a fool of him.

“I would never marry you.” He infused as much coldness into his voice as possible. “I just declared my intention to marry you in front of all those people . . . You deceived me.”

“I had no choice. I—”

“You had no choice but to pretend to be someone you were not? You came here pretending to be Lady Dorothea. But you are only a servant. This is true, is it not?”

“Yes, my lord.”

She bowed her head, clasping her hands in front of her. “I am sorry. I do not expect you to understand. I must seem despicable.”

Why wasn’t she defending herself? Expressing those strong opinions of hers?

His insides twisted to think he had fallen for a servant, just like his brother, whom he had so criticized for the very same thing.

“Why did you do it? Did you want to humiliate me? Was that Lord Plimmwald’s plan? Did he send you to make a fool of me in front of half the country’s noblemen?”

“No, he did not—that is, he did send me, but he was not trying to—”

“Why did he send you?”

“He wanted you to help us. He was afraid of Geitbart—the duke—taking over Plimmwald. He did not want to offend you. And the real Lady Dorothea could not come.”

He gritted his teeth. He was a fool to even listen to her at all. Heat exploded in his head. He’d confessed to everyone there tonight—half the noblemen in this part of the empire—that he wanted to marry a servant girl.

He should ask her more questions, demand to know every detail, but he was losing his grip on his temper. He imagined yelling at her, shaking her. If she were one of his guards, he’d send her immediately to be punished—locked in the dungeon. Listening to her explanation for why she had deliberately deceived him would cause him to do something he would regret. Still, he could not allow himself to soften, and to add fuel to the fire inside, he had one question for her.

“What would you receive if you succeeded in tricking me?”

She met his eye, her head rising. “I asked Lord Plimmwald for a dowry so I could marry.”

“And whom did you want to marry?” Was there someone at home, a servant boy she was in love with? He clenched his walking stick so hard it dug into his palm.

“I had no one particular in mind, if that is what you are asking.”

“But you wanted to marry.”

“Yes. I wanted a husband who would love me.” Defiance was in her eyes, but there was a slight tremor in her voice, and her jaw twitched, as if she was clenching her teeth.

“So you did all this—risking my wrath, risking that I would find out you were not a rightful earl’s daughter—all for a dowry so you could marry well?”

She tilted her chin up. “I also asked for a goose and a side of pork every month for my family.”

He turned his back on her and ran his hand through his hair. To think that she would ask for such a thing, for a basic provision of food for her family . . . or perhaps she was lying again.

He could not allow himself to feel sympathy for her. He must keep his wits about him.

He must not be like his brother.

“I might have married you. I might have made you my wife, thinking you were Lady Dorothea. What kind of fool do I look like in front of every powerful noble . . . All this, after I condemned my brother for sleeping with a maidservant.”

Why could he not have chosen some other woman? Why Avelina? But he knew why. It was because she had seemed good and kind and had expressed her thoughts without any false pride or pretense. He had admired her forthrightness and her compassion. And although he had never thought a wife with strong opinions was a good thing, he actually found he liked her opinions—or at least admired her for having them. He wanted to get to know her, to know everything that was in her heart. He wanted to marry her and, surprising even himself, to love her. Yet . . . she had deceived him.

“I was not trying to make you choose me.”

He turned around to face her again. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her lips were pursed.

“I would not have let you marry me, thinking I was Lady Dorothea. I would have told you the truth.”

“You wanted me to marry Lady Magdalen.” He expelled a breath, suddenly realizing the truth. “I thought you were only being modest, frightened by my attention.” He had hoped, deep down, she felt the same way about him, that she was just as drawn to him as he was to her. But he had deluded himself.

She looked at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. “I could not marry you. Of course I wanted you to marry Mag—Lady Magdalen. She is kind and noble and she needed a powerful husband like you, since her father died and there is no one to defend her castle.”

That sounded logical, at least. And it was just as logical for him to send her away and never think of her again. Just as logical for him to choose someone else to marry.

“Go to your bedchamber. Do not come down to the Great Hall. I do not wish to see you again.”

He turned and stalked out of the room and down the corridor—and felt as if he’d just been punched in the gut.



In her bedchamber, Avelina sat on the floor by her door, listening for Magdalen to walk by on her way to her room. After a few minutes she heard footsteps. Avelina jumped to her feet and yanked open the door, but it was only a kitchen servant, bringing her a tray of food.