“It must be due to those peculiar eyes.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“His eyes – one’s pale blue, almost silver, and the other’s dark brown. “
“Sounds hideous.”
“I suppose it should be. Could be. On someone else maybe it would be.
But on him it’s just… Believe me, you won’t be able to stop staring at him. And you know what they say…” Lady Beatrice’s voice trailed off seductively, and Lady Theresa leaned closer.
“What? What do they say?”
“That he’s the best. That he’s a Master. A master at making love.”
“Dear God,” Theresa breathed. She was unmarried, a virgin, and really oughtn’t to be listening to this sort of thing. But the whole court was buzzing, gossip about the Earl of Brixton rampant, wild, careening through the castle like a runaway horse and cart. She had only arrived a few hours ago, and was already fascinated by this man she had yet to lay eyes on. A master at making love! “Tell me more.”
Lady Beatrice shifted importantly in her seat. “Well, as soon as you meet him – I mean, if you even stop to exchange pleasantries in a hallway – you’ll feel it. It’s as if he were a lodestone, and women tiny slivers of iron.”
“Oooh!” Theresa couldn’t wait, and broke her stare at Beatrice’s face to quickly scan the crowd below their table. He should be easy to spot – taller than any man at court but the king, someone had told her, and with a handsome head of golden blond hair.
“I don’t see him.”