His Lady Fair

If only the actual evidence of treachery, a letter to the Duke of Alen

n, had not been lost.

For years Nick had played the lecherous drunkard, a superficial sot who cared for nothing beyond his next diversion. His recklessness and dissipation were renowned, and understood to be his reaction to losing his brother in France.

Not even his secretary suspected the truth.

’Twas the perfect ploy for gleaning information that could be used to further the English cause in France, and bring about a swift end to the interminable war. More than any other motive, Nicholas was committed to his purpose of reducing the number of Englishmen who perished in the French wars each year.

No more should have to die like Edmund.

While it was true that Nicholas still felt tremendous guilt for his brother’s death, in reality his wild and wicked reputation had been carefully cultivated in order to allay any suspicions of him. While he went on his supposed drunken binges with his waterfront cronies, he was well able to cull information for the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France.

In short, he was Bedford’s spy, and his missions had been both dangerous as well as amusing at times.

Over the past few months, however, sensitive information had repeatedly been diverted to the French dauphin in Chinon, information that had already had detrimental effects on a few small skirmishes. Whoever was channeling this information had to be stopped, or England’s interests in France would be seriously compromised.

Nick looked down at the vellum in his hand. As impossible as it was to believe, the letter implicated John Burton, Duke of Sterlyng, as the traitor who had sent secret information to Jean, Duke of Alen

n, regarding the numbers and status of English troops at Orléans.

How could that be? Nicholas wondered. Sterlyng’s reputation was beyond reproach. The man’s family lines went back to the Conqueror! He’d been a trusted advisor of King Henry V, as well as of Henry’s father. Even now, the duke was part of the council that would rule England until Henry VI reached his majority.

And he was the Duke of Bedford’s closest friend and advisor. With the disintegrating situation in France, Sterlyng’s treason would be a terrible blow to Bedford and all the knights fighting for the English cause.

Nicholas threw the missive into the fire and clasped his hands behind his back. He’d invited a couple of dozen noblemen from London in order to ferret out their secrets. When the wine flowed and the wenches were willing, Nick often learned what he needed to know, with his pigeon never the wiser.

Now he wondered if there was any point in continuing this party.

Yes, he thought. He must do all that he could to verify the charges he’d just read. One intercepted letter bearing a fragment of Sterlyng’s ducal seal was not adequate proof of treason. Before he could accuse John Burton of such a heinous crime, the case against him had to be ironclad.

Nicholas would continue with the party as planned. Most of his guests traveled in Sterlyng’s circles, and one of them might know something. Nick took a swig of ale and swished it around in his mouth. Then he spat it out in the basin next to his bed. He only had to appear the drunkard. ’Twould never do to be caught truly incapacitated.

He left his chamber, intent upon the activity in the great hall, and gave a passing thought to the woman he’d brought home. He wondered how she fared, and considered summoning Tournay for a report. Then he decided to see for himself. Those glorious eyes alone were worth a short delay of his mission below.

Besides, her chamber was adjacent to his own. ’Twould not make much of a detour to see to her.

’Twas odd for Ria to watch her hair taking shape into a stylish coiffure. She who had never before seen her entire face in a mirror observed closely as one of the maids finished pinning the elaborate braids in place. Ria could hardly believe it was truly her own reflection she saw before her.

While one maid helped her remove Cecilia’s gown, the other searched through the trunks and discovered a delicate chemise made of fine chainsil, as well as two beautiful gowns, which she laid out on the bed.

Ria did not believe she was dressing for any particular reason, for Lord Kirkham had not mentioned anything about joining the party in the hall. And she was grateful. She had no interest in testing her playacting abilities on so large an audience. Fooling a couple of young maids was one thing. Keeping up her charade before Lord Kirkham and his companions was far different.

“There, my lady,” the maid with the gowns said, “you have your choice between the green and the orange. Both suit your coloring.”

To Ria, the two gowns could not be described in such simple terms. The green one was finely made of velvet, and as deep a color as the forest at dusk, with lovely white fur trim around the neckline and hips. The orange looked more like a shaft of iron turned to rust. Its neckline was cut in a dramatic square, with tiny balls of gold sewn along the edge, and a golden girdle to match. Contrasting yellow silk was set into the flowing sleeves and train.

“I prefer the orange,” said a deep, male voice.

Ria whirled to see that Kirkham had come in and was standing only a few paces from her. She did not know how he had entered without her hearing, though admittedly, her attention had been completely engaged by the beautiful gowns.

“Leave us,” he said to the maids.

Ria opened her mouth to protest, but the two maids hurried to do his bidding while Lord Kirkham held her eyes. She felt naked, wearing only the thin chainsil. It left her neck and shoulders bare, as well as a goodly portion of her bosom—much more than was appropriate or comfortable in the presence of this man…this stranger.

As he came closer, she raised her hands instinctively to cover the exposed expanse of flesh. She would have taken a step backward, but knew her ankle would not support her.

“You were lovely lying on the ground with your hair in disarray, your clothes wet with dew,” he said. “But now, my lady fair, you take my breath away.”

Chapter Five

He should not have been so stunned by her transformation. She was the same maiden he’d accosted on the road, but now, with her hair artfully arranged and her shoulders bare, he was able to fully appreciate the fine bones of her face and neck, the creamy purity of her skin.

Lady Maria was exquisite.

“My lord,” she said. She raised her chin and glared at him peremptorily, but he heard the slight tremor in her voice. He made her nervous.

He smiled and inclined his head as she tried to subtly cover her décolletage. To his great satisfaction, she was only partially successful.

“My own p-preference was…for the green,” she said, her lovely eyes engaging his own. “But since you like the orange…” She picked up the gown and held it over her bare skin.

Nicholas paused a moment before replying. Lady Maria presented an odd mix of sophistication and naiveté. While she seemed to flirt and dally with him, he sensed a subtle unease in her demeanor. For the first time in many a year, Nick was unsure how to proceed.

Rather than moving forward to touch her, and perhaps steal a kiss to begin his seduction, he watched as she moved enticingly, holding the rich russet gown over her nakedness. Light and shadows played off her flawless skin, and Nick felt his muscles tense, his pulse rise. He was a master at seduction, yet felt he was the one being seduced.

’Twas not at all unpleasant.

Ria did not know what to do next.

The marquis stood looking at her, devouring her with his eyes, yet made no move to indicate what he expected from her. Perhaps that was to her advantage, she thought. She might be able to keep charge of the situation if she stayed one step ahead of him.

She moistened her lips and turned slightly away from Lord Kirkham, unwilling to display any more of herself than she had already. She was vastly uncomfortable, standing unclothed before him. It had been pure inspiration to take the gown and hold it in front of herself, interfering with his blatant perusal of her form.

But what now? She could not very well toss Lord Kirkham out of one of his own chambers. Could she?

“My lord,” she said, tipping her head regally. “You very graciously provided maids to help me dress. If you would be so good as to call them back…?”

Lord Kirkham shrugged casually. “We won’t need them.”

Somehow Ria managed to refrain from gasping in shock. Surely he did not mean to dress her.

“On the contrary, my lord,” she said, surprising herself with her audacity. She tipped up her chin and attempted to look down her nose at him. “I will need the maids.”

He smiled.

“Please summon them on your way out,” she added as she put one hand on Lord Kirkham’s shoulder and turned him. Then she gave him a gentle shove toward the door.

When he was just outside, he turned to look back at her, his visage dark and frightening. Ria felt a slight palpitation of her heart and wondered if she had made a dangerous mistake.

Then he smiled tightly and turned away.

She closed the door and leaned against it, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Quickly, before Lord Kirkham changed his mind, Ria hobbled back to the bed and struggled to pull on the gown. She got caught up in the sleeves and neckline, but one of the maids arrived just in time to rescue her before her coif was ruined.

“Oh, my lady,” the young woman said, hurrying into the chamber, “here, let me help you with that!”

Ria allowed the maid to pull the gown over her head and then help her with the buttons and laces. She was anxious to be fully dressed, lest the dark lord pay her another visit.

She did not know what to make of him. One moment he was surly and out of sorts, the next he was seductive and overly familiar. Was this the kind of behavior noblewomen were forced to endure from their men? Ria was unsure, her only experience with noblemen being her observations of the guests at Alderton.

She only knew that his effect on her was a powerful one, the likes of which she’d never experienced before.

She sensed that he was a dangerous man. Lord Kirkham was not dangerous in the same way that Geoffrey and Thomas threatened her…nay, the danger was much more subtle, and a far greater threat to her well-being.

Nicholas had no stomach for the game tonight. He sat quietly at the long table in the center of his hall and observed his peers as they indulged in their vices.

He surveyed his realm. His realm! Ha!

Kirkham. The title and estate he’d never thought would be his. The irony of his situation never escaped him. ’Twas only through Nick’s own folly that Edmund had been killed, making Nicholas marquis.

Nick damned himself once again for the callowness of his youth and his unwavering belief that he and Edmund were invincible. ’Twas his own reckless desire for adventure and fame that had driven him to join King Henry’s troops in France, and coerce Edmund into going along for the glory. Little had he known he’d leave his elder brother in an unmarked grave, buried deep under French soil.

Nicholas hadn’t had the heart to return home right away…to his father, who had been devastated by news of Edmund’s death, nor to Edmund’s betrothed, the daughter of a neighboring earl. Nay, he’d wandered over Europe, punishing himself for Edmund’s death until he’d been able to stay away no longer.

And when he’d returned to Kirkham, his father was dead. ’Twas one more regret to add to his list.

Naught had changed here since he was a lad. Kirkham’s hall looked just the same, except for the company, of course.

Ale flowed freely. Men tossed dice and played at cards. Bawdy songs were played and drunken voices chimed in sporadically. There were willing wenches aplenty in the hall, and Nicholas was certain there were more in various nooks and crannies throughout the castle. But none were so interesting as the one in residence in the south tower.

Maria. Of Staffordshire.

Maria with the fascinating eyes.

He was now achingly familiar with some of her other attributes, and regretted his decision to leave her for the time being. It had been nigh on impossible to turn away from those seductive curves that she’d barely managed to hide behind the russet gown.

Enough had been left uncovered to whet his appetite.

Nicholas took a gulp of mulled wine. ’Twas no matter now. He’d made his decision and he would let it stand. He would not intrude upon Lady Maria tonight. Better to let her rest her ankle overnight and let it heal some before he seduced her. Besides wanting her willing, he’d also like her able.

Harry, Lord Lofton, sat down next to Nicholas and reached for one of the pitchers of ale on the table. He poured himself a cup.

“Not interested in dice tonight, Kirkham?” Nick’s guest asked with a sly gleam in his eye.

“I rather prefer the minstrels’ songs at the moment,” he replied lazily. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs to their full length, crossing his ankles indolently atop the table.

“You wouldn’t be thinking of visiting a mysterious lady abovestairs, would you now?”

Nick raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Most assuredly, the thought had crossed his mind repeatedly, though he was working to dissuade himself from that notion. He’d like nothing better than to see her in that russet gown…and then see her out of it again.

“What do you hear of Carrington these days?” Nicholas asked, changing the subject. The Earl of Carrington was a close friend of the Duke of Sterlyng, and news of him could very well shed light on Sterlyng’s activities.

“Gone to the Continent,” Harry replied. “Bexhill mentioned that Carrington’s taken ’is wife and daughters to Italy for a month or two.”

Nicholas preferred never to take the word of the Earl of Bexhill, a pompous London sot, and had difficulty believing it now. Despite rumors to the contrary, Nick knew that Carrington was not on close terms with his wife, who usually remained at their country estate while the earl lived in London. The man’s departure with his family bore closer scrutiny, regardless of what that fool Bexhill might have said.

“What’s in Italy?” Nicholas asked, taking another sip of wine. He made it appear quite the generous gulp.

“The weather,” Harry replied. “Bexhill said that Carrington’s countess suffers from…aah, but you’ve diverted me from a more interesting topic.” Harry grinned wickedly. “The lady you’ve stashed in your tower.”

“The woman is not your concern.”

“Ah, but Kirkham,” Harry cajoled, “if you’re not interested, then what say you let me—”

Nicholas swung his feet down from the table. “The lady is under my protection,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “And as long as she remains so, I—”

“Want her for yourself, s’that it?” Harry asked drunkenly.

“Do you not see another female here to interest you?” Nicholas asked, reining in his temper. Lofton had to be the most thick-skulled of all the wastrels known to Nick, but he often had access to information that Nicholas might otherwise miss. “The fairest and most willing young maids in all of Staffordshire are under Kirkham’s roof tonight.”

“Ah, but the one you shroud in mystery is not—”

“Mystery?” Nicholas scoffed.

“You never allowed any of us to see her, did you?”

“Certainly not,” Nick said indignantly. “Throw an innocent maiden to the wolves? I think not.”

Hal laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve sprouted a conscience, Kirkham. I say she’s fair game.”

“But then, you’re an ass, Lofton.”

Hal barked out another laugh and furrowed his brow as he looked at his host speculatively. “That I am, Kirkham,” he said. “That I am.”

Chapter Six

Ria awoke chilled.

She sat up in her bed, disoriented for a moment in the dark chamber. Then she remembered where she was.

The thin gown she wore was little use against the cold, and Ria now wished she’d found something more substantial to wear to bed. Instead, she’d been enamored of a lovely white silk chemise with tiny sleeves and delicate embroidery along the neckline. There was no drawstring at the neck to close it, and it gaped, slipping off one shoulder, adding to her chill. Ria pulled it up, only to have the other side slide down.

The castle was quiet now, without the sounds of revelry that had accompanied her drifting off to sleep. In fact, ’twas surprising she’d been able to sleep at all, with all the voices and music and laughter floating up to her from the hall.

The draught given her by one of the maids must have aided her in falling asleep, Ria thought as she swung her legs out of the bed. She stepped down gingerly and half hopped to the hearth, taking care not to put weight on her injured ankle.

Ria would have made it but for the low stool standing in her path. Invisible in the dark, it tripped her up as she neared the fire. She fell hard, letting out a yelp and pulling a chair down with her.

She was not seriously injured, but couldn’t help groaning as she sat up. She must have roused everyone in the castle with all the clatter.

Just as she feared, there was a sudden spate of voices outside her door. Embarrassed to have made such a disturbance, Ria started to pull herself up just as the door opened.

“Return to your beds,” Lord Kirkham said to those who had gathered outside Ria’s chamber. His back was to her, but she sighed, knowing she would soon have to face him in all her clumsy splendor. When he turned, she saw that he carried a lamp.

And he was only partially dressed.

She clambered awkwardly to her feet as he closed the door behind him. On the tip of Ria’s tongue was an apology for the disturbance she’d caused, but she suddenly remembered who she was pretending to be. A woman of noble birth. A lady who would not think twice about rousing an entire household if there was something she needed.

Nor would she quake at the sight of a half-dressed man coming to her aid. She was the daughter of a duchess, after all. The sight of a brawny chest with an intriguing mat of dark hair sprinkled across it meant naught to her. Nor was she particularly moved by the sight of his powerful legs, clad in hose and braes that were scandalously exposed by his lack of tunic.

Not at all.

She wiped her clammy hands on her gown and stood up, determined to play the noblewoman.

“Have a care, Lady Maria,” Kirkham said as he approached her. “Else you’ll fall again. Are you hurt?”

“Nay, my lord,” Ria replied lightly. “Only my pride.”

“Mmm,” he said, setting the lamp on a low table near the bed. “Your pride is likely to be sporting a few new bruises on the morrow.”

Ria bristled at the unmistakable sound of humor in his voice. After all, it was at her expense, and she did not appreciate bearing the brunt of his ridicule.

“Let me help you.”

Before she could react, he lifted her in his muscular arms and carried her away from the hearth.

Kirkham’s scent pervaded her senses. He did not smell of strong drink. Nay, his scent was warm and masculine, and altogether too appealing. Alluring, somehow. Ria had never before experienced the kind of longing he aroused with a mere touch, and she remembered thinking him a dangerous man.

This was the danger.

The candle in the lamp flickered, and shadows played over Kirkham’s face. Ria could not read the expressions crossing his visage, but his eyes held a dark intensity as he carried her to the bed.

Instead of placing her on the mattress, he let her feet slide to the floor, her body slipping down the length of his own, like a caress. The heat of his chest burned through the thin silk of her chemise, and she knew he felt it, too, when he glanced down.

Ria’s eyes followed Lord Kirkham’s, and she saw that they were skin to skin. Somehow, between falling and being rescued, the neck of the overlarge chemise had become askew. Steeling herself to keep from reacting like a naive bumpkin, Ria raised her chin and blinked.

Nicholas felt he might burst. Surely the woman knew what she was doing to him. She had only to feel the evidence of his arousal to know how this contact of her body against his affected him.

The naked tips of her breasts brushed against his chest, setting his skin on fire. Her breath caught, sending a tremor of fierce desire through him. She wanted him as wildly as he wanted her.

His lips touched the madly beating pulse in her neck as she tipped her head back to give him better access. Her skin tasted faintly of flowers, soft and feminine. He kept one hand on her back to keep her clamped to him, while his other hand cupped her shoulder, then touched the delicate bones of her throat. Softly, seductively, he moved it to the fullness of her breast, where he caressed her and made her whimper with need.

He found her mouth then, and absorbed the small noises she made, sounds that only inflamed him further. He soothed her trembling with his kisses, and slid one hand down to her buttocks. Pulling her ever closer, he moved against her in a rhythm that clearly demonstrated his intent.

His tongue boldly sought hers, and their mouths engaged in an intimate match that set his senses reeling.

Her responses to him gave an impression of shyness and innocence, yet he remembered the seductive expression in her eyes, the calculated shrug of her shoulders…the enticing gown that barely cloaked her lush attributes.

No one who looked like Lady Maria could still be chaste.

As soon as her ankle healed—

God’s teeth, what was he doing? The woman was injured due to his lack of caution, and now he was making love to her before her injury healed. She likely had new bruises from her most recent fall, as well.

“Maria…” he whispered, breaking off the kiss.

She looked up at him, those amazing amber eyes glazed with arousal. He could have her now; he knew that without a doubt. But he wanted her full participation. And that was not likely to happen until her body was intact, without bumps or bruises.

There would be another night. A full night, hours and hours together, when her stamina would be reduced neither by pain nor by an inconvenient draught of valerian to ease it.

He wanted her fully awake when she succumbed to him.

Morning dawned, bright and sunny.

Maria lay quietly in her bed and listened to the bird-song outside her window. All else was quiet at Kirkham.

Except for the thundering of her heart. She did not know what had come over her during the night when she had nearly allowed Lord Kirkham to bed her. Nor did she understand why he had stopped his seduction.

She was grateful that Nicholas’s advances had not progressed too far while she was under the influence of the drug she’d drunk earlier in the evening. Yet his departure from her chamber had caused a terrible longing that persisted through her dreams and even upon awakening this morning.

She’d never experienced anything like what he’d shown her last night. Never an inkling of what a man’s touch could do.

But not just any man, Ria suspected. Only the hands and lips of Nicholas Hawken would ever have the power to excite her that way.

She shivered with the chill of morning and glanced about her room. This was how it would be to arise in her own chamber at Rockbury, she thought, in a deliberate attempt to remove Lord Nicholas Hawken from her mind.

With sunlight bursting through the windows, a soft bed with adequate quilts—mayhap even a curtain—to ensure ample warmth, and fresh rushes on the floor, she would have more than she’d ever known in her life. Peace. Comfort. Contentment. A place—a home—where she belonged.