“You should lie down and rest so you are in good form tonight,” Alisia said. “Every young nobleman for a hundred miles will be at Fleet Castle this eve. ’Twill be a prime opportunity for you to size up prospective husbands.”
Maria groaned inwardly, but said nothing. She merely climbed the stairs to her chamber and lay down on her bed, falling instantly into a deep, restful sleep.
Nicholas could not believe he’d made such an ass of himself. Brawling in public with Bexhill, of all things! The man was a useless popinjay, with a vastly inflated notion of his own worth.
But to argue with him outside a Flemish cloth stall at the Dunstan Fair…that was utter foolishness. Now Nick was committed to jousting with the man, in full view of the child king and all his councillors and advisors, as well as half the London population, both noble and common, who would come out to view the royal tourney.
And in the meantime, he had a traitor to catch and expose.
Henric Tournay could not find any indication of who had left the incriminating letter under Nicholas’s door, and Nick was as puzzled as ever regarding the source of that information.
He had been invited to attend a fete at Fleet Castle that evening, and had planned to avoid it. Now, however, it seemed a more prudent decision to go. Perhaps he would be able to discover further information about Carrington’s supposed trip to Italy, as well as the activities of a few other noblemen with access to his office at Westminster.
He knew that Maria would likely attend the festivities at Fleet Castle tonight, and anticipated seeing her again. ’Twas reason enough to travel all the way out to Fleet in spite of the threatening rain. He hadn’t been able to get near her at the fair that morning, her companion having bustled her away from the site of his altercation with Bexhill.
But he had sent the bolt of silk to her in Bridewell Lane.
He smiled when he imagined her expression upon receiving it. True, ’twas a completely inappropriate gift for a man to give a woman who wasn’t his wife. The fabric could only be used for the most intimate of garments.
He grinned wickedly. His reputation as a scoundrel was secure, and Maria…Maria would not be able to avoid remembering how intimately he knew her.
Chapter Fifteen
The heavy, low-hanging clouds passed without a drop of rain, and the evening at Fleet Castle progressed grandly. The food was sumptuous, the music splendid and the dancing lively. Many young gentlemen joined in the dance, and every one of them had an opportunity to touch hands with Maria—if only for a moment as they passed on to the next step, the next lady.
’Twas more exciting than anything Maria had ever experienced. She laughed and enjoyed herself under her father’s watchful eye, engaging in lighthearted teasing and flirting all evening.
Until she saw Nicholas Hawken among the throng.
She could never keep her wits about her when he was nearby, and Maria had come to Fleet Castle with every intention of practicing her newly learned strategies on Lord Bexhill.
Bexhill was a man worthy of being a woman’s suitor. Blond and handsome, he was charming and thoughtful. He never took undue liberties with her person, but always treated her with respect and deference.
He never created a fire within her.
But that was moot, Maria thought with a slight shrug of her shoulders. She doubted anyone would ever have the same effect on her as Nicholas had, and she did not expect it. Her father wanted her to choose a husband soon, and she would do so. ’Twas only necessary to attend a few of these fetes, where she could meet acceptable young men of her father’s acquaintance, and choose one from among them.
Bexhill was as likely a husband as any. Gossip was rife that he had decided to take a wife, and he was now surrounded by a horde of young ladies, many of whom had been nudged into the lord’s circle by their mothers. Maria vowed never to appear quite so desperate for a man. Alisia’s advice was sound, she thought. She was not going to fall too easily into matrimony with Bexhill, even though he was the most likely candidate.
Nay, as the music played on and the processional continued before her, Maria knew there were other likely young men to choose from. Or none at all.
Mayhap she would wait a time before committing to marriage. She was not that old and there was still time before ’twould be too late for her. After all, she’d only just found her father, and they were still getting to know one another. Why should she hasten into marriage?
She stood next to a pleasant young man, Lord Westby, heir to an earldom in Kent. He was handsome and kind, though a little too eager to please. There was no challenge in him, no boldness of spirit. She thought it might come with age, but he could not compare to…
Maria gave herself a mental kick. She could not allow herself to compare every young man to Nicholas Hawken. He was not the husband for her, as she well knew. Everyone spoke of him in negative terms. He was a scoundrel, a charming rascal, a—
Maria’s heart sped up and her skin heated when a deep masculine voice whispered in her ear, “One day, someone will compose a dance that allows a man to stay with his lady fair until the music ends.” ’Twas not necessary for Maria to turn to know that Nicholas was standing behind her, teasing her sensitive flesh with his warm breath.
In sheer dismay, she realized that his scent, the sound of his voice, his touch, were etched forever on her soul.
But she would not allow the past to dictate her future.
Studiously ignoring him, she took hold of Westby’s arm. “’Tis quite close, is it not, my lord?” she asked sweetly, looking up into the young man’s eyes. “Shall we stroll in the garden for a bit?”
Nicholas watched them leave, cynically wishing he had a napkin with which to wipe the drool from Westby’s chin. How could Maria lead the lad on so? She was no more interested in him than she was in the tapestry hanging above the fireplace.
Nick shoved his fingers through his hair, unaware and uncaring of what an unkempt ruffian it made him appear. If Westby so much as touched her…
Nicholas turned to a nearby table and picked up a mug of ale, downing half in one gulp. Whoever Maria involved herself with was not his concern, and he would do well to remember it. ’Twas her father who was his target, and Maria merely the means to reach him.
But rather than locating Sterlyng, Nick finished the rest of his ale and sauntered out to the garden. Night had fallen, but the hosts had lit torches to illuminate the path. Several couples and a few groups had taken advantage of the reprieve from rain, and were enjoying the fresh air out-of-doors.
It took but a moment for Nick to locate Maria.
She and Westby had not wandered far, but stood on the path, looking north, where a storm was lighting up the sky. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the smell of rain was still on the air. When Westby put his hand at Maria’s waist, Nicholas wasted no time, descending the steps by twos, quickly bypassing all who stood between him and Maria.
“Westby,” he said when he reached them. “How fortunate to find you here. The Duke of Gloucester has been asking for you.”
“G-Gloucester?” young Westby stuttered. “Asking for me?”
“He did not say why, but asked for you personally.”
Westby was clearly torn between his duty to Lady Maria and his desire to see what the king’s uncle could possibly want of him.
“You’d best go on, Westby,” Nicholas said. “I’ll see that the lady is returned to the hall unharmed.”
“Thank you, Kirkham,” the young lord said, even as he started up the path toward the castle. “I will repay you for your service when I can.”
And then he was gone.
“‘Twas unkind of you, Nicholas,” Maria said.
“Nay, the lad will never know what happened.”
“How so?”
“Gloucester and Lady Eleanor left Fleet only a few minutes ago. Westby will assume the duke was in a hurry to go, and could not wait.” Nick was glad the weather was warm enough that Maria had left her damnable
shawl inside. Her shoulders and neck were bare, as well as a goodly expanse of skin above the squared neckline. She was exquisite, and he could barely restrain himself from touching her.
“Will the storm come south, do you think, my lord?” she asked, looking up at the sky.
Right now, Nicholas could not have cared less whether or not they would have rain. “Mayhap,” he said anyway. “You came to Fleet in a closed carriage, did you not?”
“Of course. My father is always well prepared.”
“Except for misplacing a daughter at birth,” he said, and immediately regretted it. He’d heard the incredible story of Sterlyng’s lost daughter: how the duke had been in London at the time of Maria’s birth, and that he’d been informed of his wife and newborn daughter’s deaths by a letter from his stepmother. Word was that Sterlyng had been so overcome with grief that he hadn’t returned to Sterlyng Castle until weeks later, during which time the infant’s demented nurse had carried her to Alderton.
Nicholas could not fathom the enormity of Sterlyng’s loss. For twenty-two years, he’d believed his daughter dead, only to learn recently from his devious stepmother, on her deathbed, that she had lied about the child.
Maria stepped away from him.
He took her arm. “I am sorry, Maria,” he said. “’Twas ignorant of me to say such a thing.”
She raised her chin and looked back at the sky, while he studied her lovely profile.
“’Tis beautiful, is it not?”
“Aye,” he breathed, not taking his eyes from the vision she presented.
“You cannot understand how it is for him…for my father,” she said quietly. “All those years he grieved for my mother and me…all those years alone.”
Nicholas’s brows quirked once. She thought of her father’s pain, but what of her own? Had she not been kept by her aunt in the meanest of circumstances, treated worse than the lowest scullery maid?
’Twas remarkable that Maria never even considered her own losses. “Walk with me, my lady fair.”
She turned then and looked at him warily. Finally, she put her hand upon his and agreed to go with him. “But not far, Nicholas.”
Nick did not know what he was doing out there just then, when he should have been inside, questioning friends of the Countess of Carrington, whose health had suddenly driven her and her husband to Italy. He needed to discover the truth of the ailment that had her spending the season on the Continent with her husband. Nick knew he could charm the ladies into talking, but he did not have the heart for it now.
He wanted nothing more than to spend a few uninterrupted moments with Maria. Alone.
God’s bones, she was exquisite. He could not keep himself from recalling every feminine inch of her, the way she’d responded to his every touch, or the depth of her passion when he’d spent himself inside her.
His body clenched.
And then he realized she was trembling. Surely she was not cold. Were her tremors from fear, or an acute awareness of him?
“Maria,” he said, moving to position himself in front of her.
Looking at him warily, she took a step back.
Nicholas did not let her retreat. He approached until her back was against a hedge that was not yet full of spring greenery. Finally, she could go no farther without being skewered by a branch. Nicholas took her shoulders in his hands and looked down at her.
“This is a m-mistake, Nicholas,” she said. “You do not want—”
He lowered his head and swiftly covered her reluctant lips with his own eager mouth.
She could not hide her reaction to him. With exquisite satisfaction, he moved his mouth over hers, tasting her desire. Heat throbbed through him. He pulled her close, pressing her soft curves against his hard length. He heard a groan from somewhere, but when her arms slid around his neck he lost all ability to think.
Her fingers sent shivers of delight through his body as they teased the hair at his nape. He had no awareness of their surroundings, no sense of time. He was entirely in her thrall, and he would have it no other way.
Abruptly, he broke the kiss, took her hand and led her farther down the path. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but they ignored it as Maria nearly ran to keep up with his long strides.
He pulled her behind a gardener’s shed and pressed his kisses upon her again, even more hungrily this time. “I think of you wearing naught but the silk I bought for you,” he said, tasting her ear, her jaw. “So sheer…your body enticingly visible, yet hidden from me.”
One hand tantalized the plump flesh above the neckline of her gown, the other drew her hips to his own. He pressed their bodies together, even as he tried to relieve the intensity of sensations. “Would that I could suckle you…”
She suddenly went stiff and shuddered. Her breath came out in a high-pitched huff, and he realized she had reached her peak. She was incredible. He held her trembling body, trailing kisses from her throat to her breasts.
He looked ’round. There must be a place where he could make love to her in private. He would not risk exposing her to anyone who happened by.
Maria was drowning.
She could not think or breathe, but merely feel. Her memory of Nicholas’s power over her had not been inaccurate. His touch was all too potent for her to deal with. Clearly, he wanted nothing more than a few moments pleasure with her behind a shed in a castle garden.
She could not let that be.
Pushing away from him, she quickly gathered up her skirts and hurried down the path, breathlessly and on wobbly legs. She would find her father and get him to leave Fleet Castle immediately. She could not spend another moment here in Nicholas’s presence.
“You are quiet, my dear,” Sterlyng said as they rode through the dark on the road toward London. Random flashes of lightning and the rumble of distant thunder occasionally disturbed the night. “Did you not enjoy yourself at Fleet?”
“Oh yes, Father, ’twas a lovely time,” she replied. “I was just weary and—and ready to return home.”
The duke nodded, accepting his daughter’s explanation. There had been many suppers at home and late evening entertainments that Sterlyng had wanted his daughter to attend. It was as if he wanted to make up for twenty-two years of deprivation in a few weeks, when Maria would have been content to spend quiet time with him alone.
She could not fault her father, though. She’d been convinced that ’twould be best to marry soon, and he was doing everything in his power to introduce her to as many eligible young men as was feasible. He couldn’t possibly know how little these men interested her. She’d never given him reason to understand the turmoil Nicholas caused in her, or the depth of her feelings for that scoundrel.
If only he hadn’t shown such generosity and kindness to others when they were at Kirkham. If only she could believe he was truly a knave to his very core.
But he was not. And Maria knew it, even if she refused to acknowledge it.
The carriage suddenly jolted and Maria was thrown off the seat, onto the floor. As her father helped her up, the carriage began to move faster, bumping erratically down the path. Men’s voices pierced the night. Strange, crude voices, of men who were not part of their guard.
Maria was frightened. Who but outlaws would accost them on the road in this manner? What would keep them from killing her father once they had what they wanted?
“Hold on to the strap,” Sterlyng said as he leaned toward the window. He pulled up the flap and looked out. Maria held on as they jostled down the road, but could not see much in the faint glow of the carriage lamps outside.
“Damnation!”
The voices outside rose angrily as the carriage came to a halt.
“What is it, Father?”
“Robbers,” he said as he checked his weapons. His sword was sheathed at his side, and he carried a small knife inside his tunic. “The guards will deal with them.”
Maria was unconscious of wringing her hands as the sounds of battle raged outside, but full
y felt the fear that rumbled through her. How many guards traveled with them? What if they were unable to keep the villains out? What if the thieves managed to get past the guards and attacked her father? What would—
The door to the carriage was suddenly thrown open and a man lunged partway inside, grabbing Maria and pulling her out. She could hear her father protesting, but the thief used Maria to shield himself. Sterlyng could not get to him without injuring his daughter. Men were lying on the ground about her, and several masked robbers continued to fight on horseback.
Sterlyng drew his sword and joined the battle as the thief dragged Maria away. Even more terrified now than before, she sent silent prayers to heaven for their delivery from harm. She worried that her father might be injured, or even killed, over a few valuables that meant nothing to her!
The thief yanked her gold necklace and locket from her, tearing the skin at her neck. He wrenched the rings from her fingers, then started pulling at the gems in her hair. At the same time, Maria struggled, trying to remove her jewelry in order to give it to him, but the man seemed to have a dozen hands. She could not make him understand that she was not trying to escape him, but would willingly give him all that she had in her possession, even her mother’s locket, if he would spare her father’s life.
Amidst the chaos, racing hoofbeats approached, and as the confusion increased, Maria despaired. The thieves had reinforcements, and their horrible clash on this isolated patch of road was about to worsen.
A strange cracking sound suddenly pierced the night.
“Yeow!” the man holding Maria cried. He let go of her and grabbed at his neck.
In a panic, Maria scrambled away. With only one small carriage lantern still alight, she could see little of what was going on, but the sound of clashing swords was all around her. She was trapped where she stood, and could only hope that her father’s guards would somehow win the day.
Nicholas Hawken’s voice shouted curt orders in the darkness.
Nicholas Hawken? Maria thought her mind must be playing tricks on her. She had been praying for a miraculous rescue, but knew ’twas impossible for Nicholas to be right behind them on the road. She’d fled from him in the garden and then she and her father had left Fleet Castle. Nicholas would still be…
His Lady Fair Page 12
