Velvet Bond Read Free

gown. The sides were slashed wide to show off the black tunic beneath, which fitted her narrow waist and gently curving breast and hips most becomingly. The sleeves of the tunic were fashionably wide and embroidered with a pattern of musical instruments in gold and scarlet threads. She ran her hand over her gold veil and found it to be securely in place.
     
    No, it was not her attire that had caused Warwicke to look through her as if she had no more substance than the contents of an empty cup.
     
    In her twenty years upon this earth, never had she been so summarily dismissed. He had completely failed to acknowledge her. Even her brother seemed to have forgotten her presence. And after she had come to the castle to help him.
     
    But what made the insult doubly hard to take was the fact that never had she reacted to any man the way she had to Warwicke.
     
    A deep flush stained her cheeks as she recalled her actions. Elizabeth had felt drawn to the man by some force outside herself, going to him without even pausing for thought. And had, in doing so, made a complete and utter fool of herself.
     
    Surreptitiously she looked around the room, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to her. Now that Warwicke had left with her brother, they seemed to have gone back to their own interests. Even Percy was busily fixing the string on his lute.
     
    Then her gaze came to rest on Lady Helen, who was standing close by, with cruel amusement in her eyes.
     
    Elizabeth flushed, but forced herself to raise her head high. She would not allow the other woman to think she had been bested.
     
    Lady Helen smiled thinly. “He cuts quite a figure, does he not?”
     
    Raising finely arched brows high, Elizabeth asked, “Who?”
     
    But the other woman was clearly not fooled. “Why, my Lord Warwicke. I felt certain that you took particular notice of him, Elizabeth.”
     
    She shrugged with as much indifference as she could summon. “Nay. I took no particular note of the man. He is my brother’s friend, as I'm sure you heard.”
     
    “Oh, methinks there was more to it than that,” Helen countered.
     
    The spite in Helen Denfield’s voice was discomfiting, even though Elizabeth sensed the cause behind it. She was not so simpleminded that she was unaware of the fact that most folk thought her beautiful. It was not her fault that her looks drew so much attention, but they had made her more than a few enemies. There were many who would be happy to hear of her embarrassment. Elizabeth was a very private individual and did not care for the idea that idle court gossip would be turned her way. This was one of the reasons she and Stephen had a house in the village instead of residing at the castle itself. If she did not do something to silence Helen now, her encounter with Lord Warwicke would likely have become an affair by nightfall. Court gossips never hesitated to embellish a story beyond recognition.
     
    But Helen Denfield had her own vulnerability, in the form of Stephen, and Elizabeth wasn’t above reminding her of this.
     
    Helen did not know her well enough, and so could not know Elizabeth would never actually spread tales. But Elizabeth was aware that most people were apt to judge others by themselves, and so Helen would likely believe otherwise. The widow would surely hold her tongue, if she thought Stephen’s sister might talk about her affair with him. Rumor of the liaison would not aid her in her quest for a husband.
     
    Elizabeth said, “My dear Lady Helen, I'm most certain you misunderstood. After all, you seem too much fixed on the things my brother does and says to take note of aught else.”
     
    Lady Denfield gasped, and raised her hand as if to slap Elizabeth. Then, as the younger woman continued to return her stare, the widow seemed to realize that her genteel pose would not be served by such an act. Helen turned and fled the room.
     
    Elizabeth arched a brow, watching as the brown-haired beauty lifted a