No Greater Pleasure by Megan Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

mind.
    “It’s only simplebread,” Quilla explained, lifting the pan with the help of a thick towel. “Really no trouble at all.”
    Delessan’s mouth turned down, but he sat in his chair, smoothing his fingers over the throw. “And what’s this? And that?”
    He pointed to the kettle and cup she’d filled with tea.
    “I thought the blanket might look nice. The kettle and cups I found in the storage closet downstairs. The others were in disgraceful repair. I thought you deserved better, but these were the best to be had.”
    She’d been slicing the simplebread and arranging the thick, fragrant slices on a plate, not looking at him. When she looked up, she met his eyes. He was staring, lips parted. When her gaze met his, he closed his mouth, thinning the lips.
    “Think you I cannot provide my own repairs to my chair? Replace my own kettle when it needs replacing?”
    Quilla handed him the plate. “Think you can? Certainly. Think you would? Nay, else you’d have done so. ’Tis my duty to provide you with what you need, my lord, so you don’t need to ask for it. I saw the kettle was imperfect, and thought to replace it, but if you prefer the old one, I will bring it back.”
    He held up the plate of simplebread, smelling it. “No. The new one is fine.”
    She waited, watching while he took a bite of the firm, fresh bread. Then she handed him a napkin. He wiped his lips free of crumbs. “I’m surprised you didn’t offer to wipe my mouth for me.”
    “You didn’t care for me washing your hands,” she pointed out matter-of-factly. “I would not assume you’d care to have me wipe your mouth.”
    That look again, as though she’d grown an extra eye. Quilla kept her expression serene as she swept the hearth clean, aware of his scrutiny. When she looked up again, he was still staring.
    “How might I serve you?”
    He looked momentarily startled. “I will arrange for you to have access to a credit account of your own. You will use it to purchase anything you think this room needs. And anything you need beyond what I’ve already given you.”
    Quilla inclined her head in acknowledgment of his generosity. “Thank you.”
    “In the afternoons, when I wish not to be disturbed, you will have time to go to the market, if you wish. Otherwise, tell Florentine or Bertram what it is you wish to order and they will arrange for the craftsman to come.”
    “Thank you.”
    He nodded abruptly and set the plate aside with only crumbs left upon it, then got up from his chair. “I don’t have all day to stand about chattering, Handmaiden.”
    He pushed past her and headed for his worktable. Behind him, as she tidied up the remains of his breakfast, Quilla smiled.
     
     
     
    I heard screaming in the night. This has been the third time.” Quilla watched Florentine roll out the thin dough, pat it with some flour, then cut it into strips and hang the finished noodles over the rack to dry.
    Florentine looked up at her. “You didn’t. You was dreaming.”
    “I wasn’t dreaming, Florentine.”
    “You might as well have been, for all the gossip you’ll pry from my lips.”
    Quilla smiled and handed the cook another ball of soft dough. “I wouldn’t dream of forcing you into telling tales. I’m merely telling you what I heard.”
    Florentine pausing in the rolling to give Quilla a narrow glare. “I thought Handmaidens was supposed to be respectful. You’ve got sassiness in every bone, you have.”
    Quilla laughed. “Handmaidens are trained to provide subservience of manner and provision. We are not required to be cowering mice. You can respect someone and still tease them, and likewise, treat a person with the utmost outward appearance of solicitude while inside you mock them.”
    “Either way, you’re sassy.” Florentine gestured at the young woman who’d just entered the kitchen. “You! Watch where you’re stepping, you’ll drag flour all over the place!”
    The young woman sniffed and lifted the hem of her