Nicholas read on to the end of the missive, where the “maid” suggested that she would destroy Bedford’s forces if he did not withdraw from France. “Do we know anything more?”
“Bedford knows nothing…just that she has recently been at Chiens with the dauphin.”
“This is confirmed?”
Gloucester nodded.
“She is no mere camp follower…?” Nicholas suggested, hoping that there was no more value to the letter than the ink and vellum used to compose it. Morale was poor among the English troops. A soldier-maiden with a mission from God could have the power to decimate them.
“Nay. ’Tis much more serious than that.”
Nicholas could see that Gloucester was worried. Though the man was never the most astute politician, he had a fine intellect and was not easily duped. Nor was his brother, the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France. If they were both taking this missive seriously, then so would Nicholas.
“Shall I take this to Sterlyng?” Nicholas asked. It would give him the opportunity to see the duke’s reaction to the letter, and perhaps gain some insight into the duke’s treachery.
“I was hoping you would,” Gloucester replied just as a clap of thunder rattled the windows. “The weather is rather too formidable for me tonight.”
A footman at the gracious home in Bridewell Lane answered the door and let him inside, out of the rain. Nicholas could hear voices coming from deep within the house as he awaited word from Sterlyng.
When the footman returned, he took Nick’s cloak and led him to the gathering in the main room of the house, a great hall of sorts, with a huge hearth and fireplace, and high ceilings. Several people sat companionably in the warmth of the room.
Nicholas was chagrined to note that Bexhill was among them. Maria sat on a settle to his left—far too close, to Nick’s way of thinking.
He had not seen her in a week, though he’d refused to dwell on how long it had been since he’d touched her. She was beautiful tonight, wearing a gown similar to one he’d have chosen for her at Kirkham. The russet color set off her honey-dipped hair to perfection. It fit her enticing form closely, and the low cut of the bodice showed her assets perhaps a little too well, Nick thought.
His fingers ached to touch her.”
“Kirkham,” Sterlyng said cordially as he came to his feet, “to what do we owe the honor?”
Nick dragged his eyes away from Maria and looked at her father. “Business, I’m afraid, your grace.”
Sterlyng nodded. “You all know Kirkham?” he asked. “Maria? You mentioned a short visit to the marquis’s estate?”
“Yes, Father,” Maria replied quietly. A faint blush touched her cheeks. “We’re acquainted.”
“Well then,” Sterlyng said as he began to usher Nicholas from the room. “If you’ll excuse us…”
She should never have worn this gown.
Relieved to be called to the table for supper, Maria used the moment to pull a black silk shawl over her shoulders. She made sure she covered everything from her neck down. Her cousin Cecilia may have worn gowns like this, but Maria had felt too exposed from the moment Alisia had laced her into the bodice of the fashionable houppelande.
While the gentlemen had not quite leered at her, their assessing glances made her terribly uncomfortable. Worse was Nicholas’s reaction. When he arrived, she’d felt positively naked.
She sagged with relief when her father led him out of the hall and into his study. It was too difficult to be in the same room with him and not be subject to his overpowering presence. She had enough trouble keeping him out of her thoughts when he wasn’t even there.
She led the guests into the dining hall, where a large table was set to accommodate their party. Minstrels were already playing their instruments, and servants were carrying in trays of food and pouring wine. Maria busied herself with her duties as hostess, seeing that everyone had what they needed. Then she took her seat.
Talk revolved around the royal tournament of peace that would be held at week’s end, as well as the London Fair, which had started that morning. Rain had put a damper on the fair, but had not shut down the stalls. Jests were made about the London merchants who would turn a profit, rain or shine.
When Maria’s father returned with Nicholas alongside him and called for another place to be set, she locked her eyes on the Earl of Bexhill and tried to appear as if he had her rapt attention with his talk of lances and spears, jousts and other contests.
Nicholas smiled. Though Sterlyng’s reaction to the letter had told him nothing, the evening would not be wasted. He’d made an impression on the duke—a favorable one—and now he was to dine with Sterlyng and his daughter, along with all their guests.
Unfortunately, Maria was still sitting next to Bexhill.
Nick had seen the color drain from her face when it became clear that he would stay to supper, and he’d heard her sharp intake of breath when he took the vacant seat next to her. No doubt she had expected her father to sit beside her.
“Lady Maria,” he said, “you are most gracious to permit me to join your party.” Then he leaned slightly toward her and spoke so that no one else could hear. “You are beautiful tonight, love….”
She picked up her goblet and drank deeply, then turned to Bexhill, who spoke loudly and earnestly about his prowess on the fields of battle in Aquitaine.
Maria kept her eyes on the pompous oaf, eating up his words rather than the food in her trencher.
“My lady fair,” Nicholas whispered, pulling furtively at her shawl. “If you would let this scrap of silk slip but an inch, I would be that much closer to heaven with the sight of your pearly skin.”
He watched the muscles of her delicate throat work as she swallowed. Then she sidled as far away from him as she could, short of landing on Bexhill’s lap.
To Nick’s delight, Maria lost control of her shawl and it fell. He reached down to pick it up, just as she did. “Your décolletage inflames me, love,” he said when their heads met. “Would that I could touch you—”
She snapped back to her upright position and turned her wholehearted attention to the meal in front of her, ignoring Nicholas as he draped the silk shawl around her shoulders.
Her skin was flushed in the candlelight, though Nicholas believed he was the only one who noticed. Her body trembled, though he could not tell if it was from arousal or anger.
He knew that for himself, however, it was definitely from arousal.
Chapter Fourteen
Two days passed before Nicholas saw her again. He had gone to the house in Bridewell Lane the day before, but had been told that the lady was out.
Which was pure blather.
The house was being watched, and Nicholas knew all the comings and goings of the occupants. He knew full well that it had been Maria’s choice not to see him.
“My lord,” Henric Tournay said, entering Nicholas’s chamber at Westminster with a stack of letters. The secretary’s lean form was impeccably groomed, as always, though there was naught he could ever do to improve his sallow features. “Sir Roger sent word from Kirkham that Lord Sheffield has sufficiently recovered to return to his own estate in York.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” Nicholas had been reluctant to leave him at Castle Kirkham, injured and ailing. But he’d had no choice—not if he intended to pursue Maria. And deal with Sterlyng.
“These letters arrived for you, my lord,” Tournay continued, “and I need your signature on this.”
Absently, Nick placed the vellum sheaves on his desk and went to the window. The morning had dawned fine and sunny, and he had yet to figure a way to see Maria. His motivation for seeking her out had become muddled in his mind. He told himself repeatedly he had only one purpose, and that was to gain access to her father.
“My lord?”
He turned absently to find that Tournay was still there.
“Hmm?”
“Your signature.”
“Ah, yes…” he said, returnin
g to the desk. He dipped a quill in ink and sifted through the documents he had dropped on his desk just moments before. He quickly read the document, then signed and handed it to the secretary.
“Locate Sir Gyles and send him to me, Tournay,” he said.
“I believe he is here at Westminster, my lord,” the secretary replied.
“Excellent,” Nick said. “I’d like to see him as soon as possible.”
When Tournay left, Nicholas turned to his correspondence. Most of it contained the usual: reports from his estates, an invitation to a feast at Fleet Castle and…
Nick took a deep breath, then slid into his chair to study the last sheaf of vellum. It was a letter, folded inside a cover sheet that was addressed to him.
The inner letter had Sterlyng’s name on it. The message was terse. “Many thanks,” it said. “Your numbers were correct. It is clear now where the maid will be of most use.” It was signed with a flourish, “J.”
Bits of blue wax had collected within the outer wrapping—part of the seal, no doubt, but Nick could not discern its origin.
He rose from his chair and went quickly to the door. “Tournay!” he called.
The secretary was already a fair distance from Nicholas’s chambers, but he turned and walked back, his wan features unperturbed. “Yes, my lord?”
Nick stepped back into the chamber and closed the door behind Tournay. “Who delivered this?” he asked.
Tournay shook his head as he looked at the parchment in Nicholas’s hand. “I do not know, my lord,” he said. “’Twas under the door when I arrived this morning.”
“Did you not think it strange to find it there?”
Tournay shrugged. “Not particularly, my lord,” he replied. “Early missives are often slid under the doors of their intended recipients.”
Nicholas supposed that was true, though he wished for an easier answer to the puzzle of “J.” Who was “J,” and who had intercepted this message, only to see that it reached Nicholas’s hands?
Nicholas did not doubt the veracity of the letter, because of its reference to “the maid.” Clearly, someone knew Nick was aware of Sterlyng’s unlawful transfer of information to France, and was willing to assist in exposing him as a traitor.
Did it matter who this person was? As long as the evidence held up, why should Nicholas care who’d sent it?
Because it was too easy.
Sterlyng had seemed genuinely puzzled by the letter from “the maid” to the king. If he’d known of her, and if the dauphin was using this maiden to boost the morale of his armies, wouldn’t Sterlyng have known?
“My lord?” Sir Gyles said as he tapped on the door, then poked his head into Nicholas’s chamber. “You wish to see me?”
“I do,” he said. “Tournay, see if you can discover who was responsible for delivering that message.”
The secretary nodded, then quit the room, leaving Nicholas alone with Gyles.
“Any odd activity at Bridewell Lane?” Nicholas asked, still disturbed by what he’d read in the intercepted letter. Someone was very anxious for Nick to condemn Sterlyng. Nick wondered why the informant did not make himself known.
“Nay, my lord,” Gyles replied. “Just the usual comings and goings of the servants. Lady Maria stayed in all yesterday—’twas raining most of the day, if you recall—but this morn, she went out with Bexhill to Dunstan Fair.”
Nick’s jaw dropped, but he quickly recovered. “Bexhill!”
“Aye, my lord,” Gyles said. “The earl arrived early, and escorted the lady and her companion—Lady Alisia Preston—to the fair.”
Nick could hardly credit Maria having the poor judgment to leave the house with that dolt, Bexhill. He was naught but a blowhard, a boasting flap-dragon who could not keep from regaling everyone near and far with his exploits in France. Bexhill considered himself a knight without equal, and no doubt wanted to convince Maria he was beyond compare.
After all, Maria was as fine a catch as any noblefwoman in the kingdom. To wed the daughter of a duke, a very wealthy, infinitely well respected duke of the realm, would be quite an accomplishment for Bexhill.
And ’twould happen only over Nick’s dead body.
The fair in London was very different from any of the country fairs Maria had attended. Here in the city there were so many more goods to buy, foods to sample, entertainments to enjoy. Not only did she have her own coin to spend, but a suitor who was more than willing to spend his own on her!
Bexhill was a bit full of himself, but Maria did not mind his chatter. He was a decent enough companion. She felt quite like a princess, dressed in her new finery, with the handsome earl as her escort.
Of course, Alisia Preston had come along, and soon a number of Maria’s new acquaintances had joined their party as well. Bexhill did not seem to mind that he had competition for Maria’s attentions, but maintained a supreme confidence that he was superior to all her other suitors.
Alisia took Maria’s arm and pulled her into a stall in which various bolts of cloth were artfully displayed. “’Twould be wise to ‘manage’ Bexhill a bit, Maria,” she said when they were beyond the earl’s range of hearing.
“What do you mean?” Maria asked.
“The earl has the two of you all but betrothed in his own mind,” Alisia explained as she ran her hands over a bolt of dyed linen.
Maria’s eyes went wide and her mouth gaped open. “He could not possibly…I’ve given him no reason….”
“Oh, Maria…you are so young….”
“But I’m not,” she protested. “I am fully twen—”
“In terms of experience, my dear.”
Maria blushed then. “Oh.” She was certainly more experienced than Alisia ever knew. But the woman was correct in some ways. Maria was ridiculously naive—having allowed herself to be duped and seduced by that reprobate, Nicholas Hawken. “What would you have me do?”
“Merely divide your attention among the others,” Alisia said. “Do not give the earl any more confidence in your regard for him than is absolutely necessary.”
A small frown furrowed Maria’s brow as she considered Alisia’s advice. “I think I understand,” she said.
“Make him suffer a bit,” Alisia added. “’Tis good for a man to feel he has fought for his lady-love.”
Maria pondered Alisia’s words. To be sure, this was a mistake she had made with Nicholas. She had never given him a moment’s pause, but had been readily available to him. She had succumbed to his seductive charm and had never questioned his intentions. What a fool she had been.
And still she missed him. She had every intention of accepting other suitors, but none attracted her with the same audacity as Nicholas Hawken. Lecher and scoundrel he might be, but Maria still cared for him.
“Wrap this bolt of silk for me,” a familiar masculine voice said. “And have it delivered to Lady Maria’s residence.”
Maria turned and saw Nicholas watching her with a hunger that he did not bother to disguise. Behind him, Sir Gyles paid for a roll of the finest, sheerest silk Maria had ever seen.
“My lord,” Alisia protested, flushing deeply. “’Tis most improper for you to make such a purchase for Lady Maria. Why, one might mistake your—”
“What’s this?” Bexhill’s voice boomed. “Kirkham!”
“In the flesh,” Nicholas said, bowing with a flourish, though ’twas by no means a friendly gesture.
“Looking for a fresh conquest to debauch?” Bexhill growled, ignoring Maria’s gasp.
“Of course not, Bexhill, though ’tis clear you must have grown tired of your own vanity and come in search of an appreciative audience.”
Maria was dismayed by the two men, who were behaving more like a couple of bull boars about to charge than two noblemen out to pass a pleasant morning at the fair. She turned and stormed out of the stall, leaving the two glaring at each other.
Maria took the arm of another suitor and strolled down a few stalls, though she could still hear Nicholas
and Bexhill taunting each other.
“A sweet for a sweet lady?” Maria’s escort asked as they stepped up to a baker’s display.
“Thank you, no,” Maria said, turning away from the sweet-smelling goods. Her stomach churned. The queasiness worsened as she listened to Lord Bexhill argue with Nicholas about his prowess in battle. Maria doubted whether she’d ever heard anything so ridiculous in her life.
Then Bexhill challenged Nicholas to joust against him in the coming tournament.
“’Twill be my pleasure to best you in battle, Bexhill,” Nicholas said. He did not appear the indolent nobleman now. His gray eyes were furious, and Maria had never seen his color so high or his expression so angry.
“Idle threats from a tottering wastrel,” Bexhill replied, standing toe to toe with Nicholas.
A crowd began to gather to watch the two noblemen spar with one another. Alisia tried to lead Maria away as Sir Gyles finally intervened and managed to turn Nicholas away from Bexhill.
Maria felt the blood drain from her head, becoming slightly faint as the two men argued. Nicholas was by far the more powerful, but ’twas possible she was biased. She knew his body intimately—each muscle and tendon, every sensitive inch of him.
Even so, she worried that he would be injured if he jousted against Lord Bexhill. She had heard the earl’s stories of his prowess on the battlefield, yet she knew nothing of Nicholas’s military skills. All she’d heard of Nicholas were stories of a debauched nobleman, a dissipated rogue who wasted his life and his resources in the pursuit of pleasure.
What if Nicholas could not handle a sword or spear? What would happen then?
“’Tis time we returned home, Lady Maria,” Alisia said, her voice betraying concern for Maria’s well-being. Maria realized she must appear ill, or at least ill at ease.
She went with Alisia without resistance.
When they arrived at home in Bridewell Lane, Sterlyng had not yet returned from Westminster. Maria was aware that some dire event had occurred of late, but her father did not speak of his concerns to her. He did not want to worry her with England’s affairs.
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