Читать книгу My Lord's Desire - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 11

ADELAIDE was too shocked to resist as he held her in his warrior’s arms and his lips moved over hers with confidence, as well as desire. His embrace set her blood alight with excitement and powerful longing. Other men had tried to kiss her, and their fumbling, clumsy attempts had been repellent. But this…this was as different as the sun from the moon, night from day. This was…delightful. Exciting. Wonderful.

She wrapped her arms around him, instinctively returning his kiss with equal fervor—until she heard Lady Jane’s gasp, followed by the swish of a woman’s skirts and her swiftly retreating footsteps.

Appalled by her own shameful conduct, as well as his, Adelaide pushed Armand away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Kissing you,” he replied with aggravating calm. “If people think I’m wooing you, no one will wonder if we want to be alone.”

He made it sound as if he’d done nothing very much at all, although he most certainly had. “Did you give any thought at all to my reputation when you came up with that astonishing plan?”

“In truth, my lady, no,” he said, and he still did not look sorry. “I was thinking I needed a way to be alone with you, just as you said, and that way came to mind.” He had the gall to smile. “Was it as terrible as all that?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “How dare you do such a thing? How could you put me in such a position? For months I’ve walked a narrow path among the men of this court, and then you come here and in one day destroy my reputation.”

“Not destroyed, surely,” he protested. “After all, it was just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss to you, perhaps, but it’s different for a woman, as you should know.” She straightened her slightly askew cap. “I take it you aren’t often at court, or you’d appreciate how even the most innocent encounter can soon be exaggerated by gossip and rumor.”

All trace of appeasement disappeared from his features. “You aren’t the only one who’ll pay a price, my lady. I came here to find a wealthy bride. I can’t do that if the court believes I’m in hot pursuit of you.”

“If your hasty act has thwarted your plans, you have only yourself to blame,” she replied. “You should have considered the ramifications of your actions before you kissed me.”

“Well, I didn’t—and it’s too late now. We’re both just going to have to make the best of this.”

“Easy enough for you to say,” she charged, shoving her hands into the long cuffs of her gown. “You’re not a woman whose life can be ruined by rumor and gossip.”

“I’ve had to deal with rumor and gossip since I surrendered Marchant,” he replied, his left hand gripping the hilt of his sword. “And shouldn’t our own lives be of little consequence when the peace of the kingdom’s at stake? The important thing is to find out who’s planning to murder the archbishop and the earl, not to protect our reputations.”

He had her there, and because he did, she had little choice but to agree to the role he had assigned her.

“I don’t want a rebellion any more than you do,” she snapped with frustration and anger. “Therefore I shall go along with your plan until we can discover the identity of the conspirators—but only until then.”

With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the garden.

THAT NIGHT, after the tables had been cleared and taken down so that the courtiers could dance, Armand took another drink of wine and watched Lady Adelaide clap hands with a dark, bearded knight. She’d already danced with three other men. Apparently her attempt to find the conspirators involved flirting with every single male at court.

God help him, what had possessed him to kiss her? It had been a stupid, impulsive decision—if one could consider giving in to his overwhelming desire a decision.

His explanation had come after, although that hadn’t been totally impromptu. He had been thinking of ways a man and a woman could be seen talking together, and wooing came to mind. Then he’d noticed Lady Jane.

“What’s the matter?” Randall inquired solicitously. “Is your knee troubling you?”

Armand stopped watching the vivacious, beautiful Adelaide who kissed with such heart-stopping passion, and turned to his companion. “Yes,” he replied, for that was partially the truth. His knee did hurt.

Meanwhile, Adelaide trotted past them, the bearded man’s arm around her slender waist.

She’d made him forget everything and everyone while they kissed, including Bayard. Damn the woman—and damn that black-haired knave dancing with her. “Who’s that with Lady Adelaide? I don’t recall seeing him at court before.”

“That’s Sir Oliver de Leslille. Most of his family’s estates are in Ireland. I must say I’m rather surprised Lady Adelaide accepted his invitation. She’s never danced with him before.”

Randall’s wistful gaze drifted toward the minstrels, and the young lady sitting near them.

“Why don’t you go talk to Lady Eloise?” Armand suggested, taking his mind from his own troubles for a moment. “She’s all by herself and would surely welcome an intelligent conversation.”

Randall blushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“You know a lot about music. Talk about that.”

A stubborn set came to Randall’s lips. “Why don’t you ask her to dance? You have before.”

“I give you my solemn word that although Lady Eloise seems a very sweet and charming young woman, I only asked her to dance to avoid dancing with Lady Hildegard,” Armand sincerely replied.

Randall appeared to struggle between relief and annoyance. “You used her to get away from Hildegard?”

“Wouldn’t you? And it should comfort you to know Lady Eloise wasn’t happy to be asked, either. I’m sure she would have preferred to refuse, but she didn’t want to offend me.”

Randall smiled, and as he got up to go, Lady Mary came sidling up to them.

“I hear you were a very naughty boy this afternoon, my lord,” she said, addressing Armand as Randall beat a hasty retreat.

Armand forced himself to smile, although obviously Adelaide had been right to worry about rumor and gossip. It was also true that his reputation had suffered since the surrender of Marchant, but to judge by Lady Mary’s bright, eager eyes, that shouldn’t affect his chances for an advantageous marriage. “Was I?”

Lady Mary waggled a long, bony finger at him. “Sneaking out of the hall like that and depriving the ladies of your company.”

She must not have heard about the kiss. “I was overwhelmed by all the beauty and clever conversation.”

Lady Mary looked as if she didn’t believe him, as well she should not, but he continued to smile nonetheless.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“To see my horse.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. He had gone to the stable, although much earlier in the day, to feed and water and brush the nag. The poor creature had been so pleased to see him, he’d felt guilty for not coming sooner. Afterward, he’d encountered Hildegard and escaped her as soon as he could—only to be forced to take refuge in that hut with Lady Adelaide. Which had been a different sort of torment.

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about your horse,” Lady Mary said. “Very mean-spirited and prone to biting.”

“Not if he’s shown the proper respect and affection.”

Lady Mary lowered her voice and slid him a glance that managed to be both brazen and coy. “Like his master?”

“I don’t bite.”

“Pity,” she murmured, her eyes glowing with seductive interest.

No doubt she hoped to arouse him, or at least encourage him. Unfortunately for Lady Mary, after that kiss with Adelaide, she could strip naked and he wouldn’t care.

What the devil was wrong with him? He had come here to get the ransom for Bayard, and by God, he would. “Would you care to dance, Lady Mary?”

When she eagerly assented, Armand led her toward the other dancers in the center of the hall with a smile fixed upon his face, but a look akin to martyrdom in his eyes.

LATER THAT NIGHT, Adelaide made her way up the curved stairs toward her bedchamber in the east wing of the castle apartments. She hadn’t been this exhausted since the day her father had died, still cursing God and her poor dead mother for not giving him sons.

How many men had she danced with tonight? Fifteen? Twenty? And none of them had sounded like those men in the garden.

Normally, she rarely danced, for she felt on display when she did, and she wanted to avoid raising the ire or jealousy of the other ladies.

Tonight, she hadn’t even refused Sir Oliver’s invitation, although his dark-eyed scrutiny always made her uneasy, and his voice was nothing like those they’d overheard. It was too deep, and he had an Irish accent—his inheritance from his mother, he’d said.

Of course, accents could be feigned, and perhaps the conspirators had somehow disguised their voices in the garden, or later in the hall.

Why would they do that, unless they’d feared being overheard? And which, then, were their natural voices—those in the garden or the hall?

It was also possible that the plotters were not even nobles. Servants crossed the garden to get from the courtiers’ apartments to the hall all the time; no one would look askance at a small group of servants talking together for a moment.

As for Armand’s impertinent, improper, unwelcome kiss, his reason for it was plausible, and yet…

A sound echoed in the narrow stairwell—a soft, slight scraping, as if something had rubbed against the step or wall, like a heel or the edge of a scabbard.

Adelaide quickened her pace, hurrying to reach the guest chambers where she could expect to find servants waiting for their masters and mistresses to retire, including the maidservant the steward had assigned her.

She missed her footing on one of the low, worn steps and fell on her hands and knees. A strong hand grabbed her arm and started to pull her up.

Panicking, she swung hard and hit a face.

Armand de Boisbaston’s face.

“God’s teeth!” he growled, putting a hand to his cheek.

“You scared me!” she exclaimed, her heart beating like a startled bird’s wings. “I thought you might be one of the assassins.”

“If I was,” he said through clenched teeth, “it might be because you aroused my suspicions with your behavior in the hall tonight. I gather it’s not usually your habit to converse with every male in the hall, or dance with any man who asks, but you were certainly the merry gadabout tonight. You couldn’t have drawn more attention to yourself if you tried.”

Adelaide didn’t appreciate his criticism and raised her chin. “I thought time was of the essence, so I talked to as many men as I could. Are you truly distressed to think I put myself at risk, or are you upset because a mere woman might prove to be more useful in such a matter than a mighty warrior?”

“I’m upset because you deliberately put yourself in danger.”

“If I can prevent a battle for the throne, then I’ll put myself in danger. And where was all this noble concern for me when you kissed me and risked my reputation?

“What have you done to determine who is plotting against the archbishop and William Marshal, my lord, except talk to Randall FitzOsbourne and dance with Lady Mary? Have you already determined, as I have, that it was most likely not any of the noblemen in the hall this evening that we heard? Have you, too, concluded that it must be a high-ranking servant, clerk or soldier to speak with such an accent and yet not be in attendance on the king?”

“I’ve not been idle,” he impatiently replied. “I spoke with Godwin, one of the soldiers here, and he told me three men left Ludgershall before the evening meal—a clerk from Salisbury with a message for the bishop, a steward from a castle belonging to Sir Francis de Farnby, and a tailor from London who’d brought some samples of cloth for the queen.”

“I hardly think a London tailor could be the perpetrator of such a plot.”

“If he was a tailor,” Armand shot back.

That gave her a moment’s pause before she continued just as defiantly. “Perhaps the conspirators are not gone, and since they may still be here, we should continue to look for them, in any way we can.”

“I will not allow you to put yourself in jeopardy.”

She wasn’t going to let him, or any man, intimidate her, or tell her what to do. “You have no right to rule me, my lord, so I don’t need your permission, your protection, your approval or your help to do what I must do. Now, if I have your gracious leave, I am going to bed, and tomorrow, I may very well discover I have to speak to several of the king’s clerks. That, I will do, whether I have your permission or not.”

She swept her skirts behind her and continued up the stairs, determined to prove to Armand de Boisbaston that she was no flighty, foolish woman overwhelmed by his looks, his kiss or his masculine arrogance.

While pretending to fall in love with him because he had made that necessary.

ARMAND GLARED after Adelaide a moment, then turned and marched back down the steps to the hall. God’s blood, of all the high-handed, stubborn women! She was precisely the sort of female he would never marry!

He was so angry and engrossed in silently denouncing Adelaide, he didn’t see the shadow that shifted in the flickering torchlight when he left the stairwell.

Or the person who made it.