Chapter Five #7
He nodded, satisfied. The day outside was advancing and he had much to do, although he was reluctant to leave Dustin. He was enjoying this time very much.
“I do apologize, my lady, but I have pressing duties that I must attend to,” he said.
She nodded quickly. “I understand, my lord.”
With a final, perhaps warm, look, he moved for the door. When he opened it, Caesar dashed in and bolted right for the bed. He watched the cat for a moment, noticing that Dustin was cooing to the beast as if it were a baby. Her profile was feminine and lovely, he thought.
“Though you be my wife, it seems strange to call you my lady,” he remarked, his hand on the door latch. “ ’Tis proper, of course, but every man I ever knew called his wife by her name, or nickname,” he gave a sort of shrug and began to close the door. “‘My lady’ is so formal.”
“My lord,” she called out after him and he stopped, sticking his head into the room. She was almost smiling. “If….if you were to call me by a nickname, what would it be?”
He looked thoughtful. “Do you have one already?”
“Nay,” she replied. “My mother always called me by my name, or dear father always called me Dustin Mary Catherine.”
He made a face. “Too long,” he said firmly, then looked at her. A small smile played on his lips. “What would you have me call you, should you ever give me permission to do so?”
He swore she blushed when she looked away and lifted her shoulders a little. “I have no preference, my lord,” she said.
He smiled and started to close the door again when he heard her make a little sound, and he put his head back into the room again. “What is it?”
She looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent and shook her head. “Nothing, my lord.”
The door swung open wide and he filled it with his huge frame, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I do not believe you. You were going to tell me something.”
She blushed to the roots of her hair and sat on the bed, not looking at him.
He wasn’t going to leave and she was embarrassed, yet at the same time, she felt strangely brave and comfortable with him.
“Well,” he had asked, after all. Lord, her mouth was threatening to run over with all sorts of crazy thoughts.
“I….the night my mother died, you called me by a name. Do you remember it?” she said very softly.
He came into the room and sat next to her on the bed, their thighs touching. He was so large and warm and she could feel the heat he radiated.
“I confess, I do not,” he said softly as well. “What was it?”
She took a deep breath for courage. “You called me ‘sweetheart.’”
He smiled vaguely. “Is that what you want me to call you? It fits.”
Very embarrassed at her forward nature, she looked away from him. “I wasn’t saying that I wanted you to call me that, but I remembered that you called me ‘sweetheart’ and well, no one had ever called me that. I have never been called anything at all but my name.”
He was touched by her honesty, her naiveté. Through all of the screaming and pain that night, she remembered a word of kindness and it had stayed with her.
“Then I will ask you now,” he said. “May I have your permission to call you ‘sweetheart?’”
She nodded and he grinned wider, thinking her embarrassment to be charming. “And then, may I also have your permission to call you ‘Dustin?’”
She nodded and whispered, “Yes.” He dipped his head down so he could see the side of her lowered face. “And may I also have your permission to call you ‘Lady de Lohr?’”
Her head snapped to him, thinking he was teasing her but seeing he was entirely serious. “That is my name, is it not?”
“Aye, it is, but David said you hated it,” he replied. “If you do not want me to call you that, then I will not.”
She shrugged, not really giving him an answer and he did not pursue it. Instead, she turned the tables.
“What may I call you?” she asked.
They were sitting quite close together, their faces not far from one another. He could smell her roses, and the faint odor of the mint balm he had applied to her. Her skin was flawless.
“When you feel comfortable enough, you may call me ‘Christopher’ or ‘Chris,’” he said quietly. “Call me whatever you wish, Dustin. I will answer.”
He saw color creeping back into her cheeks again and she tore her gaze away from him. “Thank you, my lord.”
With a faint chuckle at her restraint, he rose from the bed and went to the door again. “I will see you at the nooning meal, then,” he said.
Recovering her badly dissolved composure, she rose as well. “Very well, my lord,” she replied. “By the way, I will be going into the village this morning to see how Rebecca is coming along on my dresses.”
“Not without an escort, my lady,” he said firmly. “Do not leave before seeking out myself or David. Do I have your word on that?”
“Aye,” she answered, looking at him. “Will you go with me?”
“If my schedule allows,” he answered. “Until then, my lady.”
He closed the door and was gone, leaving her standing in the middle of the room with the most peculiar warm sensation she had ever experienced, a wonderful languid feeling she could not have described if she had tried.