Page 81 of A Most Forgettable Girl

His brows snapped together. “With whom?”

“You remember, Cuthbert mentioned her at supper. Sir Ned has been consulting her about his ailment. He said she had visited Sir Ned here in his rooms.”

James frowned, not caring to be associated with anyone connected with Sir Ned Bevan. “I do not want—”

“I could easily ask Cuthbert to bring her to along to us next time she visits him,” she cut in eagerly. “Please, James?” She turned a look of entreaty upon him that he felt entirely powerless to withstand.

“Oh, very well,” he conceded with ill grace. “If it will put your mind at rest.”

“It will, thank you,” she said, turning in his arms and embracing him warmly.

He closed his arms about her at once, dragging her closer. His libidinous body perked right back up at finding the object of his desire in such gratifying proximity to him once again. Gunnilde made a stifled noise of protest as he kissed her neck.

“James, you need to lie quietly now for the rest of the night,” she tutted.

“I feel entirely spry now. Remarkably so.”

“I am not risking it!” she said, loosening his grip on her waist. “Not until we have consulted with Sir Ned’s witch.”

James scowled. “Don’t call her that. It makes me want nothing to do with the woman.”

“I do not know her given name,” she pointed out sensibly. She settled on her side, facing away from him as he crowded against her back.

“Gunnilde...”

“Good night, James,” she said firmly. “Think calming thoughts, please.”

She could definitely feel his hardness against her buttocks. Sliding a hand over her hip, he sighed. The evening had not ended perfectly, though it had definitely scaled those heights earlier.

He could not really complain though, not when he was free to wrap himself about Gunnilde’s pleasing form in the dark under the covers.

26

“Gunnilde told us what you were about last night, Wycliffe. Why don’t you tell us all about it?”

James froze and turned to look at his brother-in-law. Hal could not possibly have said what he thought he had just said.

“Aye,” Kit agreed cheerfully. “Gunnilde says you’ve the makings of a fine ballad maker and she’s every faith in you.”

James relaxed. Oh that. “Where is she anyway?” he asked, glancing about the sitting room. Hal, Kit, Cuthbert, and Hadrian Kellingford were sat up to the table feasting on heaped dishes of roasted fish and toasted bread which they were slathering in butter. James’s stomach rumbled. He walked over to the table and sat down on the bench next to Kit, who moved up to make him room and passed him a plate and a knife.

“Neville’s taken her over to meet the Ashdowns,” Cuthbert explained, swallowing a mouthful of bread. He nudged the platter of roast fish closer to James. “She was feeling left out, not having met them yet.”

“Oh.” James helped himself to a large piece of bread and covered it generously with butter. For the life of him, he could not understand everyone’s preoccupation with the Ashdowns. Still, if anyone was to perform that office, it should have been him, not his brother.

“Gunnilde told us all about her plans for you to become a famous ballad writer,” Hal reiterated. “So come on then, don’t leave us in suspense. Tell us about this ballad. I’m fond of a ballad myself so I’m a pretty fair judge,” he said modestly.

James paused. “Er...” Four expectant faces turned toward him. “It’s true, Gunnilde would like me to take up writing ballads,” he admitted, scooping up some fish. “But in truth I do not think I am suited to the writing of such things. I’m far better at writing music than words.”

“A few words shouldn’t trouble you!” Hal scoffed. “We can help you, can’t we, lads?” Cuthbert and Hadrian made noises of agreement.

“Right willingly,” said Kit, who was apparently in a good mood today. “What is your hero’s name?”

James cast about him without inspiration. “He should be false rather than sweet” was the only thing that sprang to mind.

“How about...False Billiam,” Kit ventured.

“False Billiam?” Hal echoed, nodding his head. “Not bad. Has a sort of ring to it. He sounds a disreputable sort. Now, who’s he courting?” He rubbed his hands together. “It has to be Fair someone. Mayhap Fair Eliza.”