Maria shook her head. She did not know where Nicholas had gone after she’d run from him. It now seemed likely that he’d said his farewells right after she and her father had done so.
She let out a scream as one of the thieves grabbed her wrist and started to pull her from her spot of relative safety. She dug in her heels and fought him, but before she had to put up much resistance, she heard that odd crack again, and the man screamed and fell.
Nicholas was beside her then, lifting her off her feet, carrying her back into the carriage.
Her father was not inside.
“Stay here,” Nicholas said, and then he was gone.
Maria waited an interminable length of time, listening to the swordplay, the cracking and the other sounds of battle that went along with it. She was filled with fear for her father, for Nicholas, even for the Sterlyng guards, who were risking their lives for her safety.
Suddenly, all was quiet.
In trepidation, Maria lifted the window shade slightly and strained her eyes to see what was going on. Her father stood at the edge of the darkness, next to Nicholas, while the guards subdued the last of blackguards who had attacked them.
She could not tell what her father and Nicholas were saying, only heard them murmuring in low voices. Then Nicholas disappeared into the darkness and Sterlyng returned to the carriage.
“Are you all right, Maria?” he asked, lighting the lamp in order to see her better.
“Yes, Father,” she replied. She was badly shaken, her flesh was raw and scraped in places and her clothing was a mess. “I am unharmed.”
“Thanks to Kirkham,” Sterlyng said. He frowned. “I may have misjudged the man.”
“How so?”
Sterlyng shook his head and gazed absently toward the window. “I’d thought him nothing more than an undisciplined wastrel since his brother’s death,” he said. “Never believed him capable of behaving responsibly…certainly not heroically.”
“He did rescue us, didn’t he, Father?”
“Without a doubt,” Sterlyng replied. “I’ve never seen a man use a whip quite the way Kirkham did.”
“A whip?”
Sterlyng shifted and refocused his gaze on Maria. “Yes. A whip. You can ask him about it on the morrow.”
Maria gave her father a questioning look.
“Aye,” he said. “Kirkham has asked to call on you. I gave my consent. He will arrive at noon.”
Chapter Sixteen
Maria’s tumultuous emotions caused her to be ill the following morning. If she’d had but a moment between bouts with the basin, she’d have sent someone to find Nicholas and tell him she was too ill to receive him.
But she felt better later, and broke her fast as usual, with Alisia Preston. She did not take note of Alisia’s curiously assessing glances, but ate her meal, taking care not to upset her sensitive stomach.
She took her usual morning ride at Westminster, and felt refreshed and optimistic as long as she did not have to think about seeing Nicholas later in the day.
How could she face him? She had practically melted in his arms in the garden at Fleet Castle last night, and was now mortified by her wanton response to him. Nicholas had to know what he’d done to her. He could not possibly misconstrue his power over her. He knew as well as she that she could not trust herself when he was near.
In fact, the scoundrel was probably counting on it.
Maria took comfort in the knowledge that her father planned to be at home when Nicholas called. He felt so strongly indebted to Kirkham for his intervention on the road the previous night that he planned to cut short his appointments at Westminster and return home early.
The duke’s presence meant that Maria would not have to be alone with Nicholas. With her father there, she could manage the conversation, keeping it centered on her new experiences in London and the attack on the road.
She would make certain to avoid any discussion of Fleet Castle and all that had occurred there.
The attack on Sterlyng’s carriage had been fortuitous for Nicholas. He had left Fleet Castle in a red haze of frustration, thanks to Maria Burton. He’d been anxious to return to his house in London when he and his escort had happened upon Sterlyng’s ambushed carriage. The end result of the incident was that the duke trusted and respected him—at least a bit. Nicholas now had access to the duke’s household, and he was sure he’d be able to maintain Sterlyng’s good opinion of him.
Nick refused to dwell upon the possibility that Maria might have been seriously injured during the attack, though her image haunted him and woke him repeatedly throughout the night. To his dismay, he found himself yearning for her presence there in his bed, close enough that he could wrap his body around hers, hold her and convince himself that she was safe.
Which was absurd. He took women to bed for one reason, and it had nothing to do with their safety.
Still, he could not forget that she’d been in serious peril. Thoughts of Maria in danger plagued him. Those thieves had been harrying riders along the northern roads for weeks, and two men had already been killed during an attack. It was sheer luck that Nicholas and his men had been close on Sterlyng’s trail when the scoundrels set upon them.
Nicholas assured himself that Maria’s terrified scream would have pierced any man to the core, not just him. She had no special power over him, other than the fact that she was the one woman who could fall apart in his arms with barely a touch.
He would never forget the taste of her, or the sounds she made when he kissed the hollow of her neck or touched the tips of her breasts. The mere scent of her skin made him mad with desire.
But as her suitor, he would never be allowed to be alone with her. Never kiss her or taste her, never make love to her again. Since Nicholas had no intention of marrying her, she would wed someone like Bexhill, he supposed, though his jaw ached from tension at the mere thought of it.
In a quite fundamental way, Maria belonged to him. She had given her innocence to him, entrusted him with—
Nay, this was a path along which Nick did not wish to travel. His purpose in courting Maria was merely to gain entry to the Sterlyng household. Evidence of the duke’s treason would be locked somewhere within, and ’twas Nick’s sworn duty to find it.
When morning came, he rode to Sterlyng’s house, dismounted and handed his horse over to a waiting groom. The front door was opened by the lady of the house, who greeted him politely, if distantly.
“His grace has not yet returned from Westminster, my lord,” Alisia said, as she ushered Nicholas inside. “Lady Maria will join you for refreshments while we await the duke.”
It seemed an eternity before Maria appeared. When she finally entered the main hall, she was dressed in a gown that hugged her figure closely, except for its loose, graceful bag sleeves that fit snugly at the wrists. The gown’s color was that of burgundy wine, and it was trimmed in a rich cloth that reminded Nicholas of fresh cream.
As did Maria’s complexion. ’Twas too pale. He knew he should have ascertained her well-being himself last eve. Instead, he’d been so pleased to receive the duke’s invitation to call upon Maria that he’d allowed Sterlyng to assure him that he would see to his daughter.
Mayhap Nicholas would have slept better if he’d seen for himself that she was all right. Mayhap those menacing dreams would not have harried and tormented him all night.
He stood and bowed, grasping Maria’s hand, then took note as a fresh blush stained her cheeks. At least that was more healthy-looking than her previous pallor.
“Good day, my lord,” she said as he touched his lips to her hand. She quickly tried to withdraw it from his grasp. Too quickly. Suspicious now, he looked at her hand, then pushed up her cuff, only to expose darkly bruised and abraded skin at her wrist.
“You were injured last night,” he said, looking over every inch of her. “Your wrists…” he pushed back her veil to examine the skin there. “Your neck! My lady, your father assured me you were unharmed—�
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“And I am, my lord,” she protested, tugging her hand away and taking a seat near the fire. “’Tis nothing. I—”
“These injuries are not ‘nothing,”’ he said, crouching next to her knees. He took her hand, rubbed one thumb over the soft skin of her wrist and felt the pulse racing there. “I would never have left you if I’d known you’d been hurt.”
Emotion flashed in her eyes. “Nicholas, these are naught but—”
A discreet clearing of a throat reminded them that Lady Alisia was still in the room, though they’d both forgotten her.
Nicholas wanted to throttle the woman. Could she not find something to do, someplace to go?
He locked his teeth together. Clearly, this audience was to be conducted in the most formal fashion, yet his body was coiled with tension. He wanted Maria. If there had been any possible way to get away with it, he’d have taken her hand and hauled her to a private place where he could kiss every inch of her. Soothe every bruise. Make her moan with the pleasure of his touch. “I trust you slept well after your mishap on the road last night,” he said tightly.
Maria gave a little smile and replied all too formally, “Yes, my lord, thank you for asking.”
“His grace should be home soon,” Lady Alisia said. “Please, my lord, take a seat and finish your wine. We will dine as soon as the duke arrives.”
Nick picked up his goblet and stood by the fire. There were circles under Maria’s eyes, and he knew she lied. She had not slept well, in spite of her assurances otherwise. How could she sleep when she’d been bruised and battered so?
“These are the extent of your injuries, my lady?” he asked, strangely incapable of letting the topic go. Again he thought he should have been there to hold her all night as she slept, and soothe away the hurts that disturbed her. Had they lain together, Nicholas’s sleep might have been cloaked in her soft scent, and the press of her body against his would have sweetened his slumber indescribably.
He believed his own presence would have done the same for Maria.
“Aye, my lord. ’Tis naught but a few scrapes where the brigand held my arms, and where he tore the chain from my neck…” Then she turned the subject from herself. “I understand you and your men helped our escort in rounding up the ruffians and delivering them to London.”
He shrugged. A few wisps of her hair had escaped her veil. They teased her nape, and the sensitive skin below her ear. Would that he had leave to touch her there, and wind the errant locks around his finger. He would press his nose into her hair and inhale her soft scent, nuzzle her skin before turning his attention elsewhere.
“…and recovered the stolen valuables for us.”
“’Twas naught,” he said, though for a moment, ’twas difficult to find his voice.
“But my life, my lord…I did fear for it, and you arrived in a most timely fashion. I thank you now, as I did not have the opportunity to do so last eve.”
She was gracious, and studiously distant—except for that one instant when she’d called him by his given name, and he’d seen that flash of fire in her eyes. She might have become the proper duke’s daughter, but Nicholas knew what lay beneath her controlled exterior.
And God help him, though he knew ’twould be best not to dwell upon the intimacies they’d shared, nor the ones he’d like to share, he could not keep from doing so.
He reached inside his tunic and pulled out Maria’s locket.
“My lord!” she cried when she saw her precious keepsake. She pressed it to her breast. “You retrieved my locket!”
“’Twas a simple thing.”
“Nay, Nicholas,” she said. “’Tis all I have of my mother, and I was sorry to lose it.”
He’d known she treasured the locket, which was why he’d taken it to a goldsmith early that morn and had the broken links repaired. His collar grew tight as he watched her cradle the gold piece to her breast, and he could only wish his own hand was nestled there.
’Twas fortunate indeed when a footman opened the door and the duke entered. It forced Nicholas’s concentration back to the issue at hand, which was merely to improve the duke’s opinion of him, and begin to gain his trust.
It had naught to do with lockets and broken links.
“Kirkham,” Sterlyng said, extending a hand to his guest. “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”
“I only just arrived, your grace,” he said.
“Lord Kirkham has just been lamenting Maria’s injuries,” Lady Alisia murmured.
“Ah,” the duke said as he leaned over to kiss his daughter’s temple. “She assures me they are minor. Shall we dine?”
Nicholas returned to his house at dusk in a completely frustrated state. He’d never had a moment alone in Sterlyng’s home, so he’d had no opportunity to search through the duke’s things. And he had a new reason for searching.
He did not believe Sterlyng was the traitor.
Nick had spent merely one afternoon with the duke and he could see that Sterlyng was a man of integrity and honor. ’Twas possible that his grace was a master at subterfuge, but Nicholas doubted it. He could not imagine the duke undermining England’s interests in France. Nor would he betray his very good friends the Dukes of Gloucester and Bedford.
Still, the duke’s seal had been found on an incriminating letter, and a letter from the mysterious “J” had been addressed to Sterlyng. There had to be some connection between Sterlyng and the traitor, if they, in fact, were not the same.
There was one other question that plagued Nicholas. Who knew that he would be interested in the duke’s correspondence? Why would someone see to it that the letter from “J” was slipped under Nicholas’s door?
He stepped into his study and sat down. A few ugly suspicions wound through his mind as he dropped his gloves on his desk and shuffled through the day’s correspondence without really seeing anything.
For the first time that he could recall, his deceitfulness bothered him. He did not like lying to Maria about his reasons for spending time with her. After all the lies he’d had to tell over the years, all his double-dealing chicanery, everything about this matter left him with a sour taste.
He doubted Maria would ever speak to him again after she learned of his deception and his shameless use of her to get to her father. She would wonder if anything he’d said or done for her had been purely or honorably motivated.
Should he care?
“God’s breath!” he muttered to himself, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. He was well and truly in a muddle now, with little choice but to move forward.
“Tournay!” he called.
“Yes, my lord,” the secretary said as he entered the chamber.
“Send someone down to the docks and find a ship with a cargo of fresh flowers,” he said. “I want an armful of yellow roses sent to Lady Maria Burton.”
“Roses, my lord?” Tournay asked. “’Twill be costly, sir, if any can be found.”
“Cost does not concern me,” Nicholas replied. He knew Tournay was ready to return to his own rooms, but felt no guilt keeping him later than usual. After all, he paid the man well to be at his beck and call. “Spend whatever is necessary. And while you’re about it, find Sir Gyles. He and I have a tournament strategy to work out.”
Maria rode through the park at Westminster the next morning with her groom following a discreet distance behind, as was her habit. She’d never known such freedom.
She enjoyed her rides since she’d had some lessons and now knew the proper technique for riding sidesaddle. She took quiet pride in her groom’s observation that she had a natural ability on horseback.
The sky had cleared. The air was fresh here at Westminster, and the earth smelled wonderful after a light morning rain. The early blossoms were out, but nothing could compare to the bushels of yellow roses she’d received from Nicholas.
She was confused and torn by his gesture, coming so soon after the yards of silk that his secretary had personally delivered, and the
indecent way he’d behaved with her in the garden at Fleet Castle.
Alisia had been scandalized by such a personal—nay, intimate—gift. No man with honorable intentions would ever have sent such a thing to a lady, and Alisia made certain that Maria understood that fact.
Maria had not needed to be told. She knew the kind of man Nicholas Hawken was, and what he expected from a woman. ’Twas certainly not marriage, though in truth, she did not think he intended to be insulting with his attentions. Wicked, perhaps, but never rude.
He would seduce her out of her clothes again if he could, and make love to her until she had no will of her own. Nicholas would want nothing more—or less—than a passionate interlude of reckless, intense coupling.
Yet he’d sent her roses. The most beautiful, delicate roses she’d ever seen. Maria had been astonished by the color, assuming all roses were red or pink like the ones in Alderton’s gardens.
And she’d been touched beyond all reason that he’d gone to such effort to find her such an exotic gift.
Still puzzling over his generous gesture, Maria cantered along the meadow path on the eastern edge of Westminster. She did not think she would ever understand Nicholas. One moment he was heroic and noble, and the next he was a taunting, beguiling, unprincipled scoundrel.
And Maria’s heart nearly stood still when she saw him sitting astride his horse at the edge of the woods before her. He sat so tall and straight, his shoulders broad, his hair gleaming darkly in the morning sunshine.
To her credit, she did not alter her gait, but rode confidently toward him, as if his presence on her path meant naught to her. Again she looked to Cecilia’s example, and remembered Alisia’s advice, too. She was ready for him. He would never again corner her as he’d done at Fleet Castle.
“Good morn, my lady fair,” he said when she reached him. He turned his mount and fell into step next to her, riding at an easy trot.
His Lady Fair Page 13
