David sighed, stood up, and walked to the window. She could see the tension in his back. How broad his shoulders were. Not huge, like those of some knights, but graceful and powerful. His posture was not just erect; it was perfect, straight yet flexible, like a blade of the finest steel. She imagined him with his shirt off. The palms of her hands tingled at the thought of stroking his shoulders.
"Did you not want to take him into your bed?" His voice was cold.
She thought back to her night with Simon. During those hours when she had been Sophia Orfali, she had been disappointed when Simon insisted that he would not touch her. But Sophia Orfali had to accept his judgment.
Earlier, she had wanted to take Simon to bed as a kind of revenge on David for letting Rachel be used by the Tartar. But last night she had let Simon decide what they would do. When she was with Simon, she was what Simon wanted her to be.
Is that what I am, a woman who becomes whatever the man she is with wishes?
She expelled her breath in a short, sharp sigh.
"I wanted to do whatever was necessary. If it had been necessary to make love to him, I would have done it."
She shut her eyes momentarily. Her head spun. Now, with David here, she wanted David, not Simon. And she hated herself for wanting him, when he saw her as no more than a useful object, as Manfred had.
If only Alexis had lived. These loves I feel for men, for Manfred, for Simon, for David. I cannot help myself, and it betrays me. It divides me against myself. And they do not return my love.
And yet, she was sure David did care for her, perhaps even loved her, though he would never admit it. Why else this jealous questioning?