by C. J. Archer
"I think so."
He helped her up and she seemed capable of standing without assistance. Nevertheless, he did not want to let her go. Not yet, just in case she suddenly weakened. "Are you sure you have no other injuries?"
"Quite sure. They had only just knocked me off my feet when you arrived." She felt her waist under her cloak and pulled out a girdle with nothing attached. "Blast! They stole my purse!"
"Was there much in it?"
"A few coins."
She was lucky that was all they took. Her earrings and ring were still in place, her ears and finger too. It was common enough for thieves to lop off body parts to retrieve the valuables attached to them.
She sighed and withdrew her hand from his to press it to her temple. "I'm sorry, my lord," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I need a moment to collect myself."
He stood and waited as she dabbed at the corner of her eyes. Should he comfort her? How did one do that? He wasn't used to weeping women. He'd tossed several ladies out of his bed when they began to cling too hard and want more than he could give. None had cried. Nor had he seen his mother cry, but that wasn't surprising. She was tougher than any battle scarred warrior. So Hughe just waited and watched and hoped Lady Slade didn't want more than his presence.
"There," she said with a toss of her head. "I'm composed now. Besides, I should be grateful."
"Grateful?"
"It's not every day a lady is rescued by a knight riding a white horse." She rubbed Charger's nose and his horse nuzzled her hand in approval.
He smiled. "Charger deserves all the credit. He's got a weak spot for damsels in distress."
She laughed. It was good to hear her laugh. She wasn't too upset by the ordeal it seemed. "I'm sure he learned that from his master." Her soft voice whispered over him like a breath of warm air. It was a voice he could listen to for an age and never grow tired of hearing.
He cleared his throat and buried those kinds of thoughts. "Do you have far to go?"
"Lord Slade rented some rooms for us in a house yonder." She nodded toward a shadowy cluster of buildings not far away. Whitehall was located outside the ancient city walls along a main thoroughfare. It was one of the queen's favorite palaces and impressive in its vastness, yet it still wasn't large enough to hold every nobleman who came to visit. It would seem Slade hadn't been allocated rooms and had needed to rent nearby instead. "It's not far."
"Far enough that you shouldn't have been walking there alone."
Her only response was to curtsy. "Thank you again, my lord. I appreciate you coming to my aid."
She walked off. He gathered up Charger's reins and fell into step alongside her. She stopped and stared at him, a question in her eyes.
He shrugged. "You're not going home alone."
"I couldn't possibly ask you to escort me. I'm sure it's an inconvenience—"
"I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it for me. I need the company. Charger isn't much of a talker."
She laughed and even in the darkness he could see how it made her eyes twinkle. Her mouth had the most delicious curve to it when she smiled. "In that case, I shall oblige."
They set off along the road, with its unforgiving gravel surface that must have scraped her as she'd fallen. God's blood, just thinking about the small, gentle lady at the mercy of thugs made his skin crawl. What would have happened if he hadn't intervened?
Bloody Slade had a lot to answer for. Tomorrow, Hughe would let him know what he thought of him. Tonight, he would enjoy a pleasant walk.
"Does Charger often come to the aid of damsels in distress?" she teased.
"All the time. It's vastly annoying. He's forever charging off without a care in the world for me, clinging to the reins and hoping the vagabonds don't think it my fault for interrupting their sport."
"He's very brave."
"Or foolhardy."
"Oh no, definitely brave. I admire him greatly. And look, he doesn't even preen at my praise."
"Ha! He doesn't preen now. Be assured that when he returns to his stable mates, he'll toss his mane and bore them all with the details of how he single-hoofedly fought off ten men the size of giants."
"I don't believe that, sir. He seems like a humble character. Perhaps you're just jealous because he's such a handsome creature. I mean, look at that mane, that tail! Like falling snow."
"Jealous? Me? Ha. Clearly you have not seen my hair, madam." He touched his head to remove his hat but remembered he'd given it to Slade as a joke because he hated the blasted thing. It was hideous in the extreme and he'd worn it far too often of late. Time to get a different hideous hat made. His milliner would be pleased to see him, and collect his money.
"Your hair is very pretty too, my lord," Lady Slade said with mock admiration that had him smiling. "Although it's not nearly as blond as Charger's mane."
"Your attempted flattery comes a little too late. I bow to my horse's superior locks."
"To be fair, he doesn't have quite the conversational skills of yourself. Is he shy perhaps?"
"Only a little hoarse."
She groaned.
"Come now!" he protested. "I'm struggling to keep up with your wit. It was the best I could do on short notice."
She laughed again and he was pleased to see that she seemed to have recovered from her ordeal in remarkable spirits. He admired her fortitude. Few women of his acquaintance would be so resilient.
"I'm sure a gentleman of culture such as yourself could think of something wittier," she said.
"Alas, you must have me confused with someone else, madam. I am neither witty nor do I know anything about culture. I'm rarely in the city. My exposure to culture is limited to village fairs, gambling with friends and hunting. Indeed, those could be considered vices rather than entertainments."
Her smile vanished. Her forehead creased and she pressed her lips together.
"My lady? Have I said something to upset you?"
She shook her head. "No. Of course not. I'm sorry, I was just reminded of something."
Her husband. A gambler, hunter, liar, murderer, cur. Yet if he'd read her reaction correctly, she missed him anyway.
"Would you like to tell me what you were reminded of?" If he wanted to learn more about her circumstances, he was better off going directly to the source instead of relying on court rumors. "Or who?"
She glanced at him briefly before looking away. "My husband. He died two months ago in unusual circumstances."
"Unusual?" As far as the world knew, the last Lord Slade had died in a hunting accident. Lady Slade was supposed to believe that too. Hunting accidents were as common as leaves on the ground in autumn.
"According to the official records, Stephen died while hunting. But I have my doubts."
"Go on."
She shook her head. "No, my lord. I shouldn't have mentioned anything. What's done is done. He's gone. I refuse to dwell on the past and must focus on the future. Besides, why spoil a perfectly companionable walk with talk of murder?"
"Murder?" Bloody hell. She knew something and he needed to find out what so he could reduce the damage.
She put her hands up and shook her head but he insisted.
She relented with a sigh. "Very well. It may be nothing, understand. It's just that Stephen was a good horseman and an excellent hunter." She told Hughe how his position at the back of the group meant someone had to turn around and deliberately aim at him to hit him in the head. One of his friends, no less.
He let out a breath. It was all circumstance and conjecture. She had no real proof. "Is that all?"
She hesitated before nodding. Was she holding something back?
"He was a good man, your husband?" he asked. He might as well put to rest the thoughts troubling him ever since Lady Crewe had suggested the Slades had no money.
"Good enough. He was kind to me and to others. I didn't think I'd miss him so much, but I do."
Kind? That was not the description he'd heard. "He never hurt you?"
&
nbsp; "No."
"Neglected you?"
"I suppose some might think so. He preferred hunting and riding to being stuck in the house, as he put it. Sometimes he and his friends would be gone for days. That arrangement suited us both. I don't call it neglectful at all."
She seemed to be speaking the truth and not trying to couch it in terms favorable to her late husband. Hughe didn't think she loved the man, but she certainly had a soft spot for him.
"Forgive me, my lady, but I can't help noticing…your husband left you poor, didn't he?"
If she thought his question impertinent, she didn't show it. She gave a slight nod. "There was no money left after his debts were paid. The estate also suffered thanks to a scoundrel of a land steward. But the new Lord Slade will set it to rights. He's got more of a head for such things. I am confident in the future of Slade Hall."
"Are you as confident about your own future?"
She shook her head.
"There is nothing for you as the widow?"
"Nothing. Does that shock you?"
"No," he lied. "It happens to the best of men from time to time. I'm sure your brother-in-law will treat you as he ought and see that you're comfortable."
She said nothing for a long time and Hughe had the sinking feeling that he'd guessed correctly. Slade wasn't in the least concerned about his widowed sister-in-law. He wouldn't care if she wed a monster or lived in a barn, as long as it wasn't at his expense.
"My lord," she said, hesitant. "The reason I'm telling you this is because I have a favor to ask."
"Ask it, my lady. I am at your service."
She bit her lip. "I feel a little foolish now that the time has come."
"Ask anyway before you lose your nerve entirely. I find it best to get these things out in the open rather than regret not speaking later."
"Wise words. Well then. My question is, do you know of any gentleman in need of a wife?"
"You being that wife?"
She nodded. "I'm not overly particular. As long as he's kind and doesn't beat his women, then I'll take a gentleman farmer in good standing. Do you know of such a man?"
"I, uh…" He scrubbed a hand through his hair, suddenly lost for words. He had a most unwelcome thought of Lady Slade in bed with a coarse man, his calloused, filthy hands groping at her silky skin.
Bloody hell! What had come over him? He didn't even know if her skin was silky. Just because he'd rescued the lady didn't mean he ought to bed her. She most certainly wasn't lover material. Far too easy to grow attached to. And besides, she didn't seem like the sort to accept the position of mistress, no matter the man or the reward.
"I'm sorry, my lord," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot. It was selfish of me—"
"No! Not at all. Clearly you're not used to how court works. Lords and ladies use each other all the time to get ahead. Not that you're using me!" Christ, his tongue was running away when usually he had it under complete control. "That is to say, I will gladly introduce you to any suitable gentlemen of my acquaintance. Unfortunately, I can't think of any right now."
Sir Harold Featherstone wouldn't do. He lived in the north and it was blasted cold up there. Lord Makepeace recently lost his wife, but he wouldn't suit either. The man had no sense of humor and Lady Slade clearly did. Every other eligible gentlemen in the realm was either too old, too young, too foolhardy, too cruel, infirm or too…something. Lady Slade needed someone who enjoyed life, but did not over indulge. A man who would not only be kind, but would appreciate her wit and intelligence. He ought to know how lucky he was. She was no classic beauty, but her husband must be able to see that her beauty was of a quieter, rarer sort. Unfortunately for her, no such man existed that Hughe knew.
But she had asked him to help and help he would. He may not be able to introduce her to anyone worthy, but he could see to it that she didn't have to endure a moment's more destitution thanks to him. He may have neglected his duty to her by not delivering the money himself, but he could rectify that situation. Tomorrow, he would.
"Thank you, my lord." She stopped and rounded on him, forcing him to stop too. Charger nudged his shoulder in protest. "You've been so kind to me, and after we so rudely cut off your exit tonight too."
He winced. "Was it that obvious that I was trying to escape?"
"A little. Although I'm not sure Slade realized. He's not very good at observing and understanding people."
"But you are?"
Her eyes brightened. Even in the dark he could see the heat flare in them. The desire. He ought to back away. Ought to run and flee. But he did not.
Charger nudged his shoulder again, pushing him forward. She caught him by the arms and his hand flew to her waist. So narrow. Her face was close. That mouth inches from his own. Those eyes stared back at him like deep pools filled with barely disguised passion. It took every ounce of effort to hold back. To not kiss those deliciously plump lips.
Then she leaned closer and pressed her mouth to his. Hesitant. Uncertain. And he was gone. He could not pull away. Didn't want to. He dropped Charger's reins and caught her in his arms, scooping her close, lifting her off her feet. She was light and delicate. A feather to his cloddishness.
She smelled of earth and a floral scent that he couldn't identify, but wanted to wallow in. She tasted like sweet wine and felt as hot as a furnace. He couldn't get enough of her, of her kiss. Couldn't get close enough, not even when he held her against him. She must be able to feel his cock tenting his breeches, but he didn't care. Not when she cupped his face in her hands, turning his mind to mush. This woman…she had unhinged him. He was utterly lost and he did not want to be found.
He became aware of the pounding of hooves and whoops of delight. He knew he ought to pull away, but like a small boy with a favorite toy, he could not set her aside.
"Another conquest, eh Oxley?" The rider chuckled and whooped again. "Run, dear lady. Run for your life before he breaks your heart!"
Hughe set her down on her feet and angled himself between the rider and Lady Slade so that she could not be identified. He broke the kiss, however. The mood had been shattered. Behind him, the hooves thundered away and faded into the distance. They were alone again.
He rubbed the horse's nose as he gathered his wits once more. "My apologies, my lady."
"No need to apologize, my lord." She gave him a sheepish smile with lips swollen by his kisses. "I enjoyed it."
Her good humor tore at his heart. Bloody hell. He shouldn't have done that. What had come over him? He was always so careful, always choosing the right sort of woman to kiss. Lady Slade was most certainly the wrong sort. Far too eligible, too sweet, too…everything!
"I…I don't know what came over me," he said, looking away at the row of houses nearby. He couldn't bear to see the effect his words had on her. Couldn't bear to know if he'd hurt her. "It won't happen again. You can be sure of that."
It was a long time before she answered. So long that he almost looked at her. "Of course it won't," she snapped. "Why would it?"
She was angry. Good. Anger was better than tears and pleas. He should have known a woman like her wouldn't plead. He had another way to fuel her anger further. A way that he fell back on time and again, that had almost become second nature to him. He would be Hughe, Lord Oxley, the foolish, irritating, fop.
"La!" he cried, thrusting out a hip. "I am so pleased that your sensibilities aren't injured, my dear lady. There is nothing worse than injured sensibilities, don't you find?"
"Pardon?"
He waggled his fingers in the air and touched his head. "My hat! Dear lady, you've addled my wits so much that I have left my hat somewhere! I do hope it has not met with foul play. I love that hat. Truly love it."
"You gave your hat to my brother-in-law. Don't you remember?"
He did not look at her. He didn't want to see the confusion in those intelligent, innocent eyes. He'd allowed himself to lower his guard around her, for some reason he couldn't explain. He'd let her
see too much of the real Hughe. It had turned out to be a very stupid mistake.
Cat stared at her rescuer, but he did not look at her. He held his chin high, his nose higher, as he led his horse onward. What had come over him? Had that kiss truly confused him?
That was absurd. It had most certainly been a mind-blowing event, but it shouldn't have completely changed his nature. She'd seen hints of his foppishness at court, but there'd been no sign of it when he'd scared off those thugs. When he'd kissed her, well, he had certainly not been the sort of man who cared more about his hats than the woman in his arms. How odd. And humiliating. Was he putting on these airs so he could avoid talking about that kiss and what it meant?
If so, the man was a coward and not at all the gentleman she thought him to be. It was like she'd been exposed to two completely different people. One intelligent and amusing, kind and brave; the other his opposite in every way. She didn't like this one at all.
"Now, my dear lady, if we're to catch a husband for you, you must follow some simple rules."
She stumbled alongside him, hardly listening. This entire evening had been one strange event after the other, full of extreme lows and highs. She was still reeling from it all and her heart still pounded from the hunger of their kiss. Stephen had never kissed her like that. Never made her knees weak and sent her pulse thudding in her ears. Not ever.
"No more black," he declared. "I know you're in mourning, but it's time to set aside the widow's weeds and sport some color. What do you think of yellow?" He plucked at his bright yellow doublet. "It catches the eye, does it not? And it makes one easy to find in the dark, which is a benefit when there are no candles about."
She let him prattle. He quickly moved on from clothing to jewelry, hair and an account of the virtues of the gentlemen at court. "You mustn't be too fussy," he cautioned. "I know some are aged, and many are fat, but the important thing is a lack of brains. I have it on good authority that a dull-witted husband makes the best sort."
