Chapter 22
“Miss, isn’t this far enough?”
The nanny was beside herself with anxiety. Her heart pounded, afraid that at any moment some door would be flung open.
Godiva looked like a painting. The way her head bent sorrowfully, the faint line of her jaw glimpsed through golden strands, her reddened lips, her lowered violet eyes—she was as beautiful as a maiden goddess from some ancient myth.
Beneath the sun, she seemed like a portrait afloat upon a quiet sea. Calm on the surface, yet deep below lay a heavy sorrow.
Creak.
A sudden sound split the stillness. Both Godiva and the nanny turned toward it. High above, the blazing sun struck their eyes head-on. The fierce light traced along Godiva’s cheek, slid over the gentle curve of her b****t, and drifted into the faint shadows below.
Click.
A window opened a narrow crack.
“Oh heavens!”
The nanny cried out. Godiva froze like a statue.
“Miss!”
The nanny hurriedly tried to cover her mistress with her own cloak. But her trembling hands fumbled, and the soft fabric kept slipping down.
“You insolent wretch! Close that window at once!”
The nanny shouted, but her voice seemed distant to Godiva. Her ears rang dully; her fingers and toes felt cold. She stared with unfocused eyes at the men standing at the second-floor window of the King’s Head Inn.
“M-Madam….”
It was Greg Barber.
“Oh dear, my hand slipped. I only meant to open it a little….”
Though he had done it deliberately, the tailor Tom added the excuse with a smirk.
“Good day, Madam. I am Tom Tailor, tailor of the King’s Head Inn.”
Brazen as ever, Tom continued speaking as if Godiva’s pale distress did not exist. Beside him, Greg stood frozen, stunned.
“Shameless dogs! Close that window and get inside! How dare you!”
The nanny raged, but Tom only grinned.
“On such a beautiful day, what brings Madam to this street?”
Tom Tailor, notorious rake of Coventry. The nanny’s tongue dried in fear of what he might say next.
“Ah, yes. Greg, did you hear?”
Though Tom nudged him, Greg could not respond. With Lady Godiva so near, his heart pounded wildly; reason had long fled.
“Enough nonsense—shut the window! If the lord hears of this, your head will roll!”
The nanny’s face burned like coal. She pointed furiously into the air, spit flying—but there was little else she could do.
“Ah, you mean that order?”
In that instant, Godiva turned pale.
“Guildmaster Brown did ask us not to leave our homes for your sake, Madam.”
Tom prattled on. As he spoke, he began to piece things together—Lady Godiva, for all her innocence, seemed not to know much of what had happened.
“The castle’s messengers said that anyone found wandering the streets at noon would lose his head. Quite inconvenient for all of us.”
“You scoundrel! Close that mouth!”
The nanny shouted again, but Tom merely stroked his sideburns.
“And yet, here we are—only the beautiful Madam and her noisy attendant in sight.”
Whatever Tom said, Greg barely heard. He saw only Lady Godiva—angelic, trembling—and felt that tremor as if it were his own.
“Madam, one thing I wonder.”
“Miss, let us go. That man is Coventry’s worst libertine. You need not stand here before someone so base—”
The nanny tried to cut him off. But Tom Tailor was not one to retreat quietly. He leaned further out the window with a grin.
“If no one sees you, who will prove that you rode naked through Coventry at noon for the sake of common folk like us?”
Silence fell. The question was vile. Godiva’s lips drained of color.
Only then did Greg come to his senses and seize Tom by the collar.
Discussion
0 CommentsReactions
No comments yet.