"Do you mean to tell me," the tone of her voice sets his teeth on edge but he keeps his eyes locked on her face. The bed sheet fell away from her naked shoulders when her maid had fled the tent and she made no effort then or in the long minutes since to cover her nudity. It was damned indecent and he would be hard pressed to maintain his anger if not for the self righteous incredulity painting her features.
"Do you mean to say that you men honestly believe that a woman has no desires at all? You, who has shared my bed only long enough to get me in whelp twice? Two springs I've had with you, two springs in seven years." she pushes a stray lock of hair back from her face and her breasts bob into view. Her pale chest looks dewy and her nipples are soft and shameless in the hot French summer, as if to emphasize her complete serenity. He works his jaw to steady his voice before he answers but she needs no clue to tell her he is mortified.
"Wh- whether a woman has desires or not she is expected to keep them decently in check, madame." he flings the ironic pet name at her like an insult. The surge of anger that follows has her on her feet before she has time to think so she crosses the room and pours them each a measure of his beloved scotch whiskey. The nape of his neck reddens and she can practically see his skin crawl at the thought of her completely exposed in the bright glow of sunshine through silk. As if to mock him, she hands him the drink from behind. Thank god, when she drops back onto the pallet, a down mattress finer than most merchant's wives have in their bedchamber, she has on a dressing robe. He downs the whiskey and continues,
"Particularly in the middle of the day, in a tent, while half the nobility of England makes merry and jousts on the other side of the silk!"
"Making merry, of course! Well what were we doing then? I certainly didn't mean to joust today." she may look like an especially beautiful English lass with those light laughing eyes, but her bold nose, and full lips never let him forget that she was born French and only became English when Calais did.His wife, bearer of his heirs, a french whore in truth. His cock gives a twitch.
"No one was looking for me anyway. I pled exhaustion and retired to my tent after we had tea on the green. I have been faithful to you. I have never known any man but you, who has tumbled a wench every time I bled or bred since I was a maid of fourteen!" her challenge shames him. Of course he's had whores and mistresses with bastards, but he was foolish enough to believe she was ignorant or invulnerable, which the glisten of tears in her eyes said she was not. He falters slightly.
