No Greater Pleasure Read online

  I am his Handmaiden. I am his comfort. I am what he needs before he knows he needs it, not his bedamned chambermaid!

  Yet Gabriel did not correct his wife, though he had to have known what an insult she’d given to Quilla. “Would you like a brannigan, my lady wife?”

  Saradin giggled, the sound like fae chimes that nonetheless grated on Quilla’s nerves like gravel on a toddler’s knees. “A party! A brannigan! Who shall we invite?”

  “Whomever you like,” replied Gabriel in a genial tone Quilla had never heard from him. It made her turn to look at him. He turned to Allora. “You may go, Allora. I will take care of my lady wife.”

  Allora bobbed into a curtsy. “Yes, my lord.”

  She left the room, and Saradin began chattering about guests and food and room arrangements, while Quilla merely stood by the fire with ashes on her hands.

  After a moment, Quilla left the room as well, for even though he hadn’t said a word, Gabriel had dismissed her as thoroughly as if he’d shouted at her to get out.

  Chapter 7

  Jericho looked like summer with his bright golden hair and eyes the color of a sky untouched by clouds. His ready smile, too, made brighter any room he graced, but he did not smile now. Jericho stared, pensive, out the window of the third-floor parlor, where Quilla had gone to do some mending while the rest of the house laughed belowstairs.

  “Forgive me, my lord Delessan,” she murmured. “I did not know you were here.”

  He looked up. She expected a glib remark. He gave her none, not even a hint of a grin. He gestured toward an empty chair across from him.

  “Don’t leave on my account.”

  Quilla took the seat, grateful for the sunshine. More snow had fallen overnight, but the day had dawned with brightness, and the glare off the white reflected through the windows. She lifted a stocking from her basket, then the needle and thread, and began to sew up a hole in the toe.

  “The ladies here would throw that away and buy another. Not mend it.”

  “I am not one of the ladies here, and I have not the luxury of such waste.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “My brother would buy you another pair of stockings.”

  She looked up at him. “I’m certain he would, my lord Delessan, however, my intent is not to waste your brother’s coin in buying me new stockings when I can easily repair the old.”

  “You’ve used the material I gave you, I see.”

  She touched the skirt of her gown, made from the green fabric. “Yes. Thank you for it.”

  “But not the red.”

  “No, my lord Delessan. Not the red.”

  Jericho’s laugh also reminded her of summer. Of carefree days. “I should be but half offended, then, as you’ve used but half my gift.”

  “You shouldn’t be offended at all.” Quilla made a few tiny stitches, closing the hole. “I may use the red someday.”

  “Will you?” He leaned forward. “I wish you would, Quilla. I wish you’d make a dress of it and wear it.”

  “Do you?” She looked up at him, her fingers pausing in their stitching. “Why?”

  “Do you want me to answer that?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked the question if I did not seek an answer.”

  Jericho passed a hand over his face. “If you were mine, I would not hide you away in a garret room. I wouldn’t dress you in drab, dull clothes that do nothing to show your beauty. I wouldn’t treat you like a—”

  “Like a what?” she asked, amused. “Like a Handmaiden?”

  This silenced him for a moment, and she realized he was not being charming. He was being sincere. Quilla put down her mending.

  “My lord Delessan, there can be no point to this. Stop, now.”

  “Stop what? Being honest?”

  She sighed. “Stop wanting what you can’t have. You only cause yourself grief.”

  “And what about you? Are you not caused grief? I see the way you look at him.”

  She set her jaw. “You see nothing but your own greed reflected.”

  He shook his head and leaned forward, close to her. “No, Quilla. I don’t. I see you look at him, and I see him not looking at you. Not at all. How can he ignore you that way?”

  “ ’Tis not my—”

  “Don’t you ever wish for someone’s arms about you?” Jericho’s voice dipped low. He moved to the edge of his seat, even closer to her, and reached to run a hand down the length of her braid. “Do you never wish for solace of your own?”

  “I—” She got up, her basket forgotten, but he was on his feet as fast as she, and blocking her way.

  “When was the last time anyone did something nice for you?” Jericho gripped her upper arms, his hands warm and strong, holding her in place. He pulled her step by reluctant step, closer, until the heat of his body aligned with hers. He brought his mouth to her ear, whispering, his breath a caress along her neck. “When, Quilla?”

  “My patrons are always—”

  “No. I mean someone who did something nice for you, Quilla Caden, not a Handmaiden to whom they have responsibility. I mean something beyond clothes, or food, or shelter. When was the last time someone pleased you?”

  She shivered. “Let me go.”

  He wasn’t holding her hard enough she couldn’t get away. He wasn’t hurting her. But he was not letting her go. Jericho’s mouth moved again against her ear, and he almost, not quite, nuzzled her neck.

  “Let me go, what?”

  “Please.”

  He chuckled, low, making more hot breath caress her skin. “No, Quilla. Let me go, Jericho. I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear you taste my name on your tongue the way I taste yours whenever I say it.”

  She opened her mouth to protest. She stiffened her body to yank her arms free of his grip. Yet in the end, she did not. Women we begin, and women we shall end. The principle was meant to embody spirituality and humility, but now it held another meaning for her.

  “Have you ever had a lover?”

  “No.”

  He sounded truly sorrowful. “That is a shame, Quilla.”

  “I have never needed one.”

  “Everyone needs someone to love them.” Somehow his grip had loosened, and his hands slid around to her back rather than gripping her arms. His mouth did not move from its place by her ear.

  She tensed, ready to flee, but again something held her back. The truth of his words kept her in place. It was wrong, and she cursed herself for it, but she couldn’t make herself move away from him.

  “Everyone needs someone to hold them, once in a while.” His arms went around her, holding her against him. “Everyone needs someone to care about them. You need it, too. Someone who cares if you laugh or if you cry. Someone who knows how you like your tea, and your dreams, and your favorite color. Tell me you do not want these things, Quilla.”

  Tears burned her eyes, and she closed them. “I cannot, because I would be lying.”

  He nuzzled her neck again, his whisper filling her mind as his scent filled her nostrils and the heat of him flooded her body with warmth. “You offer so much to others, yet you take none of it for yourself.”

  This was wrong. It was disloyal. It was not her purpose and her place, and somehow, she found again the strength to say, “Let me go.”

  “Do as I said, and I will.”

  She licked her lips, her voice aquiver with emotion and yes, she would admit it, desire. Desire for what he’d offered, indirectly. Desire for the promise of something beyond what she had. It would have been easy for her to give it to him, then, and to let him give her what he wanted, but it would still not have been what she wanted.

  “Let me go, Jericho.”

  He sighed and his hands tightened on her once more, but he stepped away. She wiped her eyes with shaking fingers. He ran a hand down her face; she jerked away.

  “I love the sound of my name in your voice.”

  “If you care for me at all, as you claim,” she told him, “you will never b