“YOUR Grace,” said Slater, bowing in his awkward way, his greatcoat flapping around him.
“Ye gods, Slater,” William said snappishly, “can’t you find a better coat? You look like a giant crow.”
Slater grinned, showing his yellow teeth. “Aye, me lord, if you like.” He held out a grimy palm.
William gave a short, humorless bark of laughter. “I’ve paid you enough,” he said.
“Could have had my company last night, me lord,” Slater said, retracting his hand and stuffing it into one of the capacious pockets of the offending coat.
“What are you talking about?” William said offhandedly. He was in the midst of dressing, buttoning his embroidered vest over a full-sleeved white shirt. He had that damned Council to attend today, when he would rather have had a lie-in.
“No need to go out alone,” Slater said, his eyelids drooping suggestively. “’Twas past midnight when you returned.”
“I don’t need a nursemaid,” William said.
“Protection, then, mayhap?”
“No.” William shrugged into his coat and tugged at the vest. It was getting harder to disguise his changing body. He let his hand linger on his chest, beneath the lapel of his jacket. The swelling there had doubled with the doubling of his dose. It had never been his intention, nor his desire, but it would be worth it, he told himself. It would all be worth it.
He turned to the mirror and surveyed himself. If he kept his jacket pulled close, no one would be able to tell. He eyed his smooth jaw and touched one eyebrow with a long, slender finger. His eyebrows, like his hair, were pale as snow. Not like Larkyn Hamley. She was raven-dark, like the wings of her little stallion.
The thought of her made him tremble with renewed fury. The bloody brat stood in that window staring down at him, bold as brass. She thought he couldn’t touch her now, he supposed. Thought she and her horse—the horse that should have been his—she thought they were safe from him now. He would like to have Slater procure her, just once. Give him an hour alone with her, and he’d wipe that insolent look off her pretty face.
He could have gotten to her last night, if it weren’t for that damned dog. Maybe, he thought now, as he smoothed his hair into its queue, and took his quirt from its hook, maybe he could have Slater take care of that bloody oc-hound. One slash of a good sharp knife…waste of a dog, he supposed. But it would be one less obstacle between him and the brat.
He smiled to himself as he went down the stairs and out to where his brown gelding was saddled and waiting. There could be no better way to pay Philippa Winter back for her insolence than to get his hands on the Hamley brat, do her a little serious damage. If he took care of Larkyn Hamley, and thereby stalled Philippa’s interfering in his affairs, he wouldn’t have to worry anymore about what Pamella might say.
The thought filled him with frantic energy. He snatched the reins from his stable-boy and swung himself up into the saddle, wrenching his gelding’s head around and applying his spurs. The gelding grunted and burst into a teeth-jarring gallop. William yanked him again to settle him down, then felt a moment’s remorse. It wasn’t the horse’s fault that the rest of the world caused him such irritation. He reined the gelding back, giving Slater a chance to catch up with him on his ugly pony.
They set out for the Council Rotunda at a trot, Slater bouncing from side to side in his saddle. William passed the time imagining Pamella and Philippa, both weeping, Larkyn Hamley’s small body bruised and broken. A thrill surged through him, a spasm of delight that was purely physical. Oh, yes, he told himself. Oh, yes. Now that would satisfy.