"Christopher Stasheff - Warlocks Heirs 01 - M'Lady Witch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stasheff Christopher)

Alain paced the solar, fretting and chafing. What could be keeping Cordelia so long? His sunny mood was beginning to cloud over, exposing the
nervousness underneath. He was remembering that he was proposing a liaison that would last twice as long as he had already lived, and was
beginning to wonder if he really wanted that. Still, his lieges, sovereigns, and parents had told him he should wed, so he would.


He consoled himself with the thought that Cordelia had no doubt rushed to dress in her finest and arrange her hair. It wasn't at all necessary, he
assured himself-but it was flattering.


So he was jolted to his boot-soles when she bustled into the room, unannounced and without ceremony, in a stained white work-apron and blue
broadcloth dress, her hair disordered and her face smudged. He stared in shock as she curtsied, then managed to force a smile. He didn't know which
was worse-the annoyance that rippled over her face as she looked up at him, or her distracted air, as though she had something more important on
her mind. More important than him!


"Your Highness," she said. "How good of you to come."


Alain stared. "Highness?" What way was that to greet an old friend, a companion of childhood? But the shock gave way to a cold wave of
calculation that was new to him, though quite welcome under the circumstances-the emphasis on his exalted station would make her even more
aware of the honor he was doing her. "Milady Cordelia." He forced a smile.


Cordelia saw, and withheld another momentary surge of anger. Not bad enough that he had let himself show his dismay at her appearance-now he
had the gall to go chilly on her! But she could play that game, too. She gave him a smile of her own, making it very obvious that she was forcing it,
and gestured to an hourglass-shaped chair. "Will you sit, my Prince?"


"I thank you, milady." Alain sat and, since they were being formal, gestured to another chair. "I pray you, sit by me."


"You are too kind," Cordelia said with withering sarcasm, but took the chair that he offered her in her own solar-or her own mother's, at least. "To
what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden visit, Prince Alain?"


Alain was surprised to feel relief at her use of his name. He decided to unbend a bit himself. "To the beauty of your face and the lightness of your
form, Lady Cordelia." He had rehearsed that line several times on his way from his parents' castle, but the effect was somewhat marred by his
choking on the words as he gazed at her smudges and stains.


Inwardly, Cordelia was fuming. How dare he praise her appearance when she knew she looked like last week's wet wash? "My thanks, Alain-but
you had little need to journey so far to so little purpose."


"The purpose was scarcely small," he returned gallantly, "for you are fair as a summer's day." He said it without choking, this time. "Indeed, 'tis
your beauty and sweetness that have minded me to honor you."