Page 32 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
So when Tsumiko wrinkled her nose at the beets, he knew that the polite response would have been to banish the vegetable from the table. Instead, he added another spoonful to her plate.
She stared at the addition, a small wrinkle between her eyebrows, the barest of pouts on her lips. A laughably childish response. But then she lifted a candid gaze. “Are you going to make me eat my vegetables?”
“Is that what you want?”
Tsumiko asked, “Would it make you feel better?”
“Immeasurably.”
So the girl speared a chunk of the roasted vegetable and chewed it with obvious distaste, immediately reaching for her water glass.
Argent watched her choke down the double portion. And hedidfeel better. Perhaps because for the first time in his long and sordid history, one of his mistresses had chosen to join him in his misery.
“You could have asked me to take it away,” he murmured. Argent set a ramekin of pudding before her, as if she had earned a reward.
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“For my own good. Sister Magdalene was always telling me to eat my vegetables.” Tsumiko slid a little lower in her chair. “I might be homesick.”
Argent pondered the risks of speaking out. Tsumiko wasn’t using him,refusedto use him. Most of the time, she followed Michael’s lead—careful remarks, open-ended statements, suggestions that left Argent with a choice. Only in haste, when she spoke without consideration, did she use words that bound him. And even then, her demands had been inconsequential things.
“If you will pardon my saying so, mistress,” he said, hitting a congenial tone Michael would have applauded. “I have had quite enough of your petulance.”
Color rose in her cheeks, but she didn’t look angry. Only chastised.
“You do not have what you want, a sad state of existence. Icanempathize.” Argent blithely continued, “If you wish to further bemoan your fate, you will find a better audience in Sansa, or even Michael. But if you are hoping for an alternative, I cannot oblige … unless ….”
He paused for dramatic effect, and she peered up at him, as if awaiting his command. A nice turnabout, even if it couldn’t last.
“Unless?” she whispered.
“Unless youtell mewhat you want.”
TWENTY
Trappings of Gentility
“Tell … you?” Tsumiko edged backward in her chair. What game was Argent playing now? He might be her slave, but he couldn’t grant wishes. Especially impossible ones. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”
“Foolish girl.” He loomed nearer. “Did no one tell you that Amaranthine can smell a lie?”
Why should she tell him the ache she carried? Why leave herself vulnerable to mockery? After all, her wants werenothingcompared to his captivity.
“Come, mistress. Confess.” Argent lowered himself to one knee and dropped the false smile. He narrowed his eyes and said, “I doubt you are capable of anything reprehensible. What paltry thing are you afraid to ask for?”
“Why do you care?”
“I do not.”
“Then why are you asking?”
His eyebrows arched. “Blackmail.”
A weak bubble of laughter ended in a sigh. “I don’t have any secrets you can hold over my head.”
“A word from me, and you will eat beets for a month.”
