Читать книгу Hers To Command - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

AS A COOL AUTUMN BREEZE carrying the scent of rain blew across the hedgerows, Henry studied his companions and contemplated this rather odd turn of events. It wasn’t every day he awakened to find himself being scrutinized by unknown ladies, but as he’d told them, it wasn’t the first time he’d discovered women in his bedchamber, either. Women had been chasing after him since he was fourteen years old, which meant that the flattery and pleasure of such encounters was far from fresh, or even entertaining anymore. He had been far more annoyed than happy to discover two ladies examining him, especially after another nearly sleepless night.

However, he’d also meant it when he’d said he would have considered bedding the beautiful Lady Giselle. Indeed, he had never seen a woman more lovely. She had perfect features, pale skin with a hint of a blush on her cheeks, and lustrous blond hair. She wore a fine mantle of wode-dyed, dark blue wool, held together by a broach of silver. Her gown was fine, too, of deep blue damask and belted with a supple leather girdle. Her veil was made of soft white silk that floated about her round cheeks, and she had stood with her blond head bowed, her eyes demurely downcast, as modest as a nun in a cloistered convent.

Her sister, on the other hand…she was something completely different. She wasn’t pretty, especially when her face was pinched with anger and disapproval, and she had been much more plainly attired. She had been as strong as a young man, too, at least judging by the blow she’d struck when he mistakenly—very mistakenly—grabbed her hand. Was it any wonder he’d thought her a serving wench?

Then she’d acted as if he’d burst in on them. Her nut-brown eyes had fairly snapped with displeasure, and her full lips thinned to near invisibility.

In spite of his annoyance, which he took chivalrous pains to hide after he’d seen Lady Giselle, there’d been a moment when Lady Mathilde glared at him that he recalled bold women made the best lovers, for they were never shy to tell him what they liked, or to ask for his preferences.

Once he learned Lady Mathilde was of noble birth and the beauty’s sister, however, he quickly turned his attention back to Lady Giselle. He became mindful of the sorry state of his purse, his lack of an estate and his age. He was not so young that he hadn’t started to think of marrying and starting a family, especially with the example of his brother and sister, as well as his friend Merrick, to illustrate the joys of domesticity. Years of traveling from place to place, of being always a guest, had lost their luster, too.

His brother would surely counsel him to woo and wed Lady Giselle if he could. She was rich, she was young, she was beautiful—what was lacking? Well, one thing, but at the moment, it didn’t seem like much of a hurdle. Henry had vowed he would be in love with his bride when he wed.

His smile grew as he watched Lady Giselle’s slender body swaying in the saddle. It would surely be an easy thing to fall in love with such a beauty, and he was not without some confidence that he could arouse a similar feeling within her. He had his looks and years of experience with women on his side, and to win the love of such a woman, who would bring lands and wealth as her dowry, was surely worth whatever effort it might take.

And if he won the fair Giselle, Nicholas would finally have to say something good about his younger brother. Nor would he be able to accuse Henry of leading a wastrel existence anymore.

So why not begin the wooing? Henry thought, spurring Apollo to a slightly quicker pace until he was between the ladies.

“Have we much farther to go?” he asked Lady Giselle, giving her his most charming smile. “I’m not sure how long the rain will hold off.”

“Not far now,” Lady Mathilde answered, while her sister nudged her horse forward to ride beside Cerdic.

Whether that was due to her modesty or not, Henry was slightly disgruntled at being so obviously left behind to ride beside Lady Mathilde.

That lady immediately fastened her inquisitive brown eyes onto him and asked, “Why do you hate Roald?”

God save him, she was as bold and blunt as her sister was shy and maidenly.

“You need have no fear of offending my delicate sensibilities, Sir Henry,” she said when he didn’t answer right away. “I can believe anything of Roald.”

Despite her curiosity and her confidence that his reason wouldn’t upset her, the explanation was not a tale he cared to share with a woman. “Surely any man of honor would dislike him.”

She didn’t bat an eye or look away. “He can be charming and sly, and he has more influence at court than we will ever have. Perhaps, if you don’t hate him as much as I think, you may decide it is not worth the risk to offend him. You may even decide you should help him.”

It was an insult to even imply that he was capable of such duplicitous behavior. “I’ve said that I’ll help you, so I will—and even if I hadn’t, Roald will make no overtures to me, nor would I accept them if he did. He hates me as much as I hate him.”

“I must assume, then, you quarreled. Over a wager? Over a woman?”

God’s wounds, she made him sound like a confederate who’d gotten in a bit of a tiff. “I would certainly never wager with Roald and his cronies. For one thing, they probably cheat.”

She slid him a glance that was both shrewd and appraising, but in a complimentary way. “A woman, then?”

That was close to the truth, and yet their animosity sprang from a far different cause than she surely imagined.

Rather than endure her interrogation and who knew what other implications she might come up with, he decided to tell her the truth, if not in complete detail. “When we were both at court, I came upon him trying to force himself on a serving girl.”

As always, the bile rose in his throat as he remembered the poor girl’s terrified face, and a girl she was. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old, but he would spare even this bold, prying lady that unsettling information. “I made him let her go at the point of my sword, so Roald has no love for me.”

At first he thought he saw grim satisfaction on the lady’s features, but it was quickly replaced by a piercing, searching gaze that was as uncomfortable as his brother’s. “When did this happen?”

“Two years ago.”

“He was not charged with trying to rape her?”

Henry winced inwardly at the harsh, if accurate, word. It was disconcerting to hear a lady speak so directly of such an act. “No.”

“So although you caught him in the process of committing a crime, you let him go?”

Henry flushed, feeling a twinge of guilt at her accusation, although he’d told himself that night, and ever after, that he had done nothing to feel guilty about when he had allowed Roald to leave. “You didn’t see the girl, my lady, or hear her sobs and pleas not to call the guard. She was sure no one would take her word over Roald’s, and that Roald would say she led him on, and then her reputation would be ruined. I could not disagree, so yes, I let him go.”

The lady tilted her inquisitive head with its pointed little chin. “Many noblemen would not interfere at all, believing a servant’s body theirs by right, whether she was willing or not.”

“I don’t,” he answered with firm honestly. “I would never take a woman against her will, whether high born or low, and I have never made a woman cry out in pain and anguish, or left her bruised and bleeding.”

Lady Mathilde looked ahead at Cerdic and her sister, and he regretted speaking with such force. He should have remembered that, no matter her appearance or her manner, she was still a lady.

“That girl was fortunate you were there to help her,” Lady Mathilde said quietly, and with sincerity and compassion—a hint of gentleness and sympathy that was rather unexpected, and not unpleasant.

Inspired to be pleasant in return, Henry nodded at Cerdic at the head of the cortege. The fellow had a sword at his side and a rather fearsome battle ax strapped to his back. The shaft of his ax had to be four feet long and the head looked sharp enough to split hairs. “It’s rather unusual to see an Englishman in a position of such responsibility and trust.”

In truth, he couldn’t think of any Norman nobleman he knew who would give an Englishman that much responsibility, or consider one a friend. It had been nearly two hundred years since the Conquest, but old enmities died hard.

“Cerdic’s family was royal before the Normans came,” she replied.

She obviously admired the fellow. Henry wondered just how much, and if that extended to being on intimate terms. Not that it mattered. He had no interest in the bold and brazen Lady Mathilde. “You’re from Provence, aren’t you?” he asked, commenting on her accent.

“Yes, we were born there and lived there for most of our childhood.”

Just like the queen Henry detested, the woman he believed was spurring his countrymen to rebellion with her selfish advancement of her own family.

“The same as Queen Eleanor,” he remarked, wondering how she’d react to that.

Lady Mathilde looked as if she disliked the queen as much as he did. “If what Papa said about her family is true, it is a pity for England she is married to the king.”

That was interesting. “What did your father say about her family?”

“That the only thing they produced was beautiful women, and the only intelligence they showed was in arranging marriages.”

That was so close to the mark, Henry had to laugh. Then, because he was Henry, he smoothly said, “The queen’s family isn’t the only one capable of producing beautiful women.”

Lady Mathilde frowned.

Clearly, he had erred. Obviously, this lady would never be impressed with flattery or, perhaps, reminders that her sister was beautiful while she was not.

“My father didn’t like Normans, either,” she declared. “He said they always wanted to make war and didn’t appreciate music or art.”

He had upset her with his comment, and since he was well aware of what it was like to be compared to a sibling and found lacking, he didn’t take offense at her umbrage.

Her observation was also unfortunately true, at least in his case. He had little appreciation for art or music, except a clever, ribald ditty. Yet never before had he been made to feel that was a failing. “Someone has to defend the kingdom,” he noted.

“William was defending England when he invaded it? I must have been seriously misinformed.”

He would have found her remarks more amusing if she didn’t look so smugly superior. “Well, sometimes we get carried away—and sometimes, such men are necessary to defend estates.”

A blush colored her smooth cheeks, nearly overwhelming the few freckles on her nose.

“I meant no offense, Sir Knight,” she said after a moment, and looking not nearly so well pleased, “and I do not necessarily share my father’s views about the Normans. He did admire some things about your countrymen—Magna Carta, for instance, and how it set a limit on the king’s power. That is why Papa gave up all claim to his French estates to his elder brother, Roald’s father, in exchange for Ecclesford. Then Papa discovered that the English court is not very different from that of France. He was sorely disappointed.”

Henry couldn’t disagree. Noblemen were men first, and noble second, so they brought their ambition, greed, desires and needs to court with them.

“So Papa retired to Ecclesford and never went near the royal court again.”

That would explain why he’d never seen either of the ladies there, or even heard of them.

“And that is why we have no noble friends to call upon, you see, or I would not have to ask a stranger for his help.”

He suddenly felt like a lout for being annoyed with her, or anything she said. She and her sister were ladies in need of his aid, and that should be all that concerned him.

Maybe this would be a good time to do as Nicholas was always telling him, and keep his mouth shut.

Doing just that, he rode in silence beside Lady Mathilde, listening to the soldiers behind them laughing and talking. God’s wounds, they sounded more like men on a hunt than soldiers.

The man who’d trained him and his friends in the arts of war would never have tolerated such a lack of discipline. Henry could just imagine the things Sir Leonard de Brissy would say if he were here, and the curses that would accompany his comments.

“Ecclesford is on the other side of this wood,” Lady Mathilde remarked after they’d gone another mile or so, and the wind had started to rise. It tugged at the edges of the ladies’cloaks, and sent brown and yellow leaves swirling down the rutted, muddy road.

Henry noticed that the clouds were darker, too. He hoped the rain wouldn’t start before they arrived at Ecclesford. Chivalrous knight or not, he didn’t want to get soaked to the skin.

THE RAIN didn’t hold off and Henry was soaked to the skin before they reached Ecclesford Castle. He could barely see where he was going though the downpour, although he did note that the fortress had a dry moat that encircled it, except for the road leading to the large wooden gate, and only one outer wall. It was certainly not the most well-fortified castle he had ever encountered.

Once in the cobblestone courtyard, everyone hastened to dismount. Covering their heads with their arms, stableboys ran out to help with the horses. The animals snorted and refooted, their iron-shod hooves clattering on the cobblestones and adding to the din. The soldiers, grumbling about the weather, splashed heedlessly through puddles.

In the midst of the clamor, Lady Mathilde’s voice came clear and strong. “Follow me to the hall, Sir Henry,” she commanded as she headed toward a building directly across the yard.

He required no urging. Indeed, it was all he could do not to grab her arm to hurry her along.

It wasn’t just that his clothes and hair were getting wet; it was the smell of wet stone—a potent and vivid reminder of those long hours in that cold, damp dungeon when he feared he would be dragged out and executed at any moment. That scent made him relive the beatings and, worse than any physical blow, the sickening realization that the man to whom he had sworn an oath of loyalty and brotherhood did not trust him.

Once out of the driving rain, Henry handed his soaking cloak to a servant who appeared beside him, then shook himself like a dog, as if that could rid him of not just the damp, but the unhappy memories, too.

In a way, it worked, and as the fear and dismay dwindled, he straightened and took in his surroundings while Lady Mathilde bustled off, saying something about a chamber and some food.

The hall itself was small, although comfortably furnished with benches, stools and even chairs upon a raised dais at one end. The well-scrubbed tops of large trestle tables that would be set up for meals leaned against the walls, along with their bases. Bright tapestries depicting scenes of hunting and ladies in a garden lined the wall behind the dais to keep out the chill of the stone walls. There were metal sconces for torches along the walls, and great smoke and age-darkened oaken beams held up the slate roof.

Best of all, though, was the large fire burning in the central hearth. Henry went there at once and, sighing, held out his hands to the welcome warmth. They had put in wood from an apple tree, and the scent mingled with that of wet wool, damp linen and the moist rushes below his feet.

Meanwhile, Lady Mathilde flitted about giving orders like a general in the midst of battle. Lady Giselle disappeared up some curved stairs that led, he assumed, to bedchambers and dry clothes. Cerdic and the rest of the sodden escort came in and arranged themselves on the opposite side of the fire. Each and every one of them cast hostile glances at Henry as they shuffled their feet and jockeyed for a place closest to the heat.

Henry ignored them. He was used to scrutiny, whether speculative or hostile.

Once or twice a pretty and particularly buxom serving woman wearing a gown that seemed molded to her full-figured body passed by. She made no secret of her interest in Henry, surreptitiously and coyly smiling at him.

Henry was used to this, too, and he supposed she would come to his bed if he so desired. He didn’t so desire. First, it had never been his way, despite what many assumed, to fall into bed with any young woman who happened to catch his eye. Secondly, he had already discovered the few times he’d bedded a woman since his days in the dungeon that not only did making love not inspire sleep, it actually made him more wakeful. And last, but not least, he doubted the lovely and modest Lady Giselle would be inclined to accept him as a worthy suitor if he was bedding one of her servants right under her very nose.

As for any wayward fancies concerning Lady Mathilde and such activity, they were surely borne of fatigue and the unusual events of this strange day. To be sure, she was a bold and spirited woman, but not at all the sort he preferred. She was too audacious for his taste. While he was here, he would stay as far away from her as possible.

Lady Giselle appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Now she wore a gown of soft blue velvet that matched the color of her eyes. Her white, virginal veil was shot through with matching blue threads and held in place by a thin coronet made of intricately twisted gold. The long cuffs of her gown were embroidered with gold and emerald-green threads, the green matching the silken lining of the garment. A slender gilded girdle sat upon her hips.

She was the epitome of beauty, and as she paused on the bottom step, as uncertain as a fawn, he thought that he would surely be a fool not to woo and hope to wed her.

“Would you care to change your clothes?” Lady Mathilde asked, startling him out of his reverie.

He looked down to find her at his elbow, and with a disturbingly astute expression on her face. If someone were to tell him she possessed the ability to read his mind, he’d be inclined to believe it.

“There is a chamber ready for you now,” she added.

He was aware of Lady Giselle gliding toward the hearth and decided he wasn’t that wet anymore. “No, thank you, my lady. I’m quite comfortable.”

Lady Mathilde’s pursed lips revealed her reaction to that little lie—and then her eyes lit up like a bonfire on Midsummer’s Eve.

“Father Thomas!” she cried, brushing past Henry and rushing toward a middle-aged priest who’d just entered the hall.

Maybe Lady Mathilde hoped to be a nun.

If that was so, he doubted any convent, or any Mother Superior who expected docile novices, was quite ready for her.

Instead of continuing toward the hearth, and to Henry’s chagrin, Lady Giselle seated herself on one of the chairs on the dais. He contemplated leaving the fire to join her, but Lady Mathilde was coming toward him, leading the priest like a proud mother hen with a single chick. The priest followed serenely in her wake, a gentle smile on his pleasant face topped with a graying fringe of hair and a bald pate.

“Sir Henry, this is Father Thomas, the chaplain of Ecclesford, although he refuses to live here,” she said, relaxed and happy, her eyes dancing with delight.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d started to giggle. She looked so different, it was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d confronted him not so long ago.

It suddenly seemed rather a pity she wasn’t a serving wench, and one who would welcome the chance to spend a night in his bed.

God save him, he must be more exhausted than he knew.

Father Thomas smiled at Henry with beatific apology. “I fear Lady Mathilde will never forgive me for preferring to live among the villagers,” he said, his accent marking him as a well-educated man who’d probably been the younger son of a noble household in the south of France. He shrugged his shoulders with elegant grace. “They need me more.”

“More than soldiers?” Henry asked genially. He instinctively admired men of cloth—at least, most of them. “I would think soldiers are more prone to sin.”

The priest’s patient eyes seemed to reveal a knowledge of the world few worldly men possessed. “All men are tempted, my son. At least a soldier knows he will be housed and fed. The poor in the village have no such security, although the ladies of Ecclesford are more generous than most.” He sighed. “But it is as our Lord tells us, the poor will always be with us, and their lives are difficult.”

Although Henry wasn’t ignorant of the lives of the poor, rarely did the fate of such people intrude upon his life. Standing before the kindly, soft-spoken priest, he suddenly felt rather ashamed that it should be so.

“Father Thomas says there has been no word or sign from Roald,” Lady Mathilde said. “The more days that pass and we do not see him, the more I hope he has accepted my father’s desire.”

Her words and her smile made Henry think of a very different kind of desire, one that had nothing to do with her late parent. His mind instantly conjured the image of the bold, lively Lady Mathilde in his bed beneath him, smiling that smile, laughing, then sighing with pleasure as he loved her.

“Now it is time to eat,” Lady Mathilde announced, forcibly returning him to the here and now where he was hungry and still slightly damp. “Sir Henry, you may take my father’s chair. Giselle, you will sit to his right, Father Thomas to his left.”

Like soldiers under her command, they all dutifully took their places, Lady Giselle keeping her eyes demurely lowered and never once looking his way.

As the meal progressed, Henry ignored the lively Lady Mathilde on the other side of Father Thomas and instead tried to amuse, entertain and impress the beautiful Lady Giselle. During the first course of fresh bread, butter and a dish composed of turbot cooked in a sauce of leeks and saffron, he told his best, most amusing stories of some of the people he’d met at court.

She never smiled. Not once.

When a fine frumenty of beef cooked with onions, parsley and sage followed, he spoke of the tournaments he’d been in, and the knights he’d defeated. He told her some tales of his friends, Merrick, the lord of Tregellas and Sir Ranulf, now the garrison commander there. She made appropriate gasps and exclamations of dismay as he described the combat, but with a detachment that spoke of mere polite attention. As a pudding of eggs, cream, bread crumbs and ground meat, spiced with pepper and something more exotic that he couldn’t quite name, was set before them, he tried telling her about his sister and her exciting elopement with a Scot.

That finally got a reaction from Lady Giselle. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. “To put her family through such fear and near disgrace,” she murmured. “It must have been so difficult for you.”

“Well, I wasn’t there at the time,” he admitted, delighted he’d finally gotten some kind of rejoinder from her.

But then Lady Giselle lapsed back into silence, causing Henry to subdue a disgruntled sigh. Never had he been met with less interest.

This did not bode well.

Maybe he should see if that buxom serving wench was as friendly as she seemed, even though he knew a tumble wouldn’t guarantee him a good night’s sleep. On the other hand, it might clear his mind of these ridiculous fancies featuring Lady Mathilde that persisted in dancing about the edge of his mind even as he spoke to Lady Giselle.

As the last of the baked fruit was cleared away, Lady Giselle pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “If you will excuse me,” she said quietly, her gaze on her sister and Father Thomas, and without so much as a glance in his direction, “I shall retire early tonight.”

“It’s been a tiring day,” Lady Mathilde agreed, although she herself didn’t seem the least fatigued.

“Thank you for this fine meal, my lady,” the priest said as he, too, rose. “If you will excuse me, I will take the leavings to distribute to those who wait at the gate.”

“Certainly, Father,” Lady Mathilde said. “It has been a pleasure, as always, and if there is more I can do, you have but to ask.”

“Thank you, my lady, and God’s blessing upon you and all who dwell herein.”

Father Thomas turned to Henry, who had likewise gotten to his feet. “Thank you, my son, for coming to the aid of these ladies in their hour of need,” he said, his warm expression like a benediction. “God will surely bless you for your generosity.”

Considering that his reasons were not entirely selfless, Henry couldn’t quite meet the priest’s friendly gaze. “It is my honor, Father.”

After the priest left the dais, Henry decided he might as well retire. “I should sleep, too, my lady.” Or try to. “It’s been a long and rather unusual day.”

A rush light in her hand, that pretty maidservant appeared at once, as if she’d been waiting for just this moment. “I’ll light his way, my lady.”

Lady Mathilde reached for the rush light. “You should help in the kitchen, Faiga. I shall show Sir Henry to his chamber. If you will follow me, Sir Henry.”

She briskly set off for the curved staircase, leaving Henry to trail after her as the priest had. While Henry obediently complied, he was more amused than annoyed by her proprietary attitude. Perhaps she thought Faiga required protection from the handsome young guest, although he doubted Faiga would agree. Or maybe she thought Faiga had been too forward.

Whatever Lady Mathilde thought about the servant or her behavior, Faiga slid from Henry’s mind as they went up the steps. Instead, he found himself hard pressed not to stare at Lady Mathilde’s rather attractive backside, her slim hips and rounded buttocks swaying with every step. He smiled as he thought of her happiness when she introduced him to the priest, and the way she accepted the clergyman’s preference to live among those most in need.

When they reached the second floor, Lady Mathilde stopped at the first door. “This will be your chamber while you are here. It was my father’s, so it is the largest. I hope it’s to your liking.”

Her tone made it clear she was sure he would.

“Considering some of the places I’ve had to lay my head,” he honestly replied, “I’m sure it will be.”

She made no answer as she opened the door and preceded him inside. The flickering light of the rush illuminated the large chamber, although the corners were still in shadow. A bed dominated the room, its curtains dark and thick, probably made of heavy velvet. A table with a silver ewer and basin and clean linen stood beside the door, and a chair and trestle table were near the window, where the sunlight would fall upon the surface during the day. He could smell the scent of lavender, either from the bedding or the lump of soap by the basin. Wherever it came from, it was welcome, reminding him of more pleasant times before he had been accused of treason and betrayal.

Outside, rain lashed against the walls and the wind moaned about the battlements. He didn’t envy the men on watch tonight, provided there were men on watch. Given what he’d already observed, he wouldn’t be surprised to discover that they deserted their posts in bad weather.

Lady Mathilde lit the thick yellow beeswax candle in the holder there. Another larger stand with several thinner candles stood in the corner.

For a moment, he thought her hands trembled, but she tucked them in the cuffs of her simple gown before he could be sure.

Why should her hands shake? Surely she wasn’t afraid of him.

“Your baggage,” she said, nodding at a familiar bundle in the corner near the bed.

“Thank you,” he replied with a reassuring smile. “This room is most comfortable.”

He thought she might go then, but she didn’t move.

Why not? What was she waiting for, especially if she was uncomfortable in his presence? And surely it was unseemly for her to linger here, alone with him.

Unless what she was feeling was not fear, but something else that could make a woman quiver. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one having lustful thoughts. “Is there something more you wish of me, my lady?” he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral in case he was wrong.

Her gaze met his, steady and determined. “I should warn you, Sir Henry, that if you think to seduce my sister, you should think again.”

He was so shocked, he actually took a step back. Seduction was not his aim, but perhaps marriage, if he and the lady suited, yet Lady Mathilde made him sound like some kind of disgusting scoundrel. “My lady, I play the game of seduction only with those willing to be seduced,” he replied. “If a woman isn’t interested, I don’t pursue her, no matter how beautiful she may be.”

“I am not blind, Sir Henry,” Lady Mathilde replied, crossing her arms over her breasts. “I watched you trying to charm her. And I do not say mere seduction is your plan. After all, Giselle is an heiress, and the man who marries her will be rich.”

His pride urged him to refute that mercenary motive, but since he honestly couldn’t, he didn’t. “Do you forbid me to speak to her?”

Lady Mathilde gave him a pitying look, as if she thought him stupid but was too polite to say so. “Not at all. You have offered to help us against Roald, and you are our guest.”

“Yet you accuse me of plotting to seduce your younger sister.”

“Not plotting, precisely. Hoping to marry her for her dowry, perhaps, and so I seek to save you a useless effort. Giselle may be beautiful, but she is not a fool. I assure you, she will not succumb to any honeyed words or meaningless promises. And Giselle is not the younger sister. I am.”

Given Lady Mathilde’s command of the household, he had assumed she must be the eldest. She certainly behaved as if she were.

Recovering as quickly as he could, he said, “If I were to make an offer for your sister, it would be because I love her. I have promised myself I will be in love with my bride when I wed.”

Lady Mathilde’s expression betrayed her skepticism.

“Believe it or not as you will,” he said with a shrug, “but I would have a marriage such as that of my brother and my sister, who care deeply for their spouses. They are very happy together. Why should I settle for less?”

Lady Mathilde’s shrewd eyes narrowed as she studied him. “You seem to be a most unusual nobleman.”

“As you seem to be a most unusual lady.”

Even he could not have said whether he meant that for a compliment or not, but it was the truth. “I’m impressed with your concern for your sister,” he added as he strolled toward her, and that, at least, was true.

Lady Mathilde backed away as if she were afraid. Of him? That was ridiculous—he had given her no reason to believe he would be dangerous to her.

“Giselle’s husband will be the lord of Ecclesford. I must protect her from handsome, charming men who seek only to enrich themselves.”

He regarded her quizzically. “If she is the elder, can she not look after herself?”

The woman before him flushed, but didn’t look away. Her mouth was half-parted, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. She swayed forward a bit—enough to encourage him to think she was feeling the same pull of desire and curiosity.

Responding to that urge, he put his hands on her shoulders and started to draw her closer. With her came the scent of lavender.

She gasped and in that same instance, her eyes were suddenly alive with what could only be fear as she twisted from his light grasp. “Don’t touch me!”

Shocked by the force of her reaction, he spread his arms wide. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You were going to kiss me!” she accused, as if his kiss would kill her.

Not every woman he met was attracted to him, and he was not so vain as to expect that they would be. On the other hand, never before had he been to feel as if he were somehow unsavory, and his pride was pricked. She had been tempted to kiss him, and he would prove it.

“I thought you wanted me to kiss you,” he said, his voice low and sultry, his tone one that had encouraged many a woman to express her passionate desires.

The look she gave him! It was a wonder it didn’t strike him dead. “I did not, you base, vile, lustful rogue!”

The heat of a blush—something he hadn’t felt in years—flooded his face. Embarrassed, his pride stung, he drew himself up like the knight he was. “If you would rather I leave Ecclesford, you have only to say so.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to agree, but in the next, she shook her head, her cheeks as red as his scarlet hauberk. “Forgive me, Sir Henry,” she said, twisting the cuff of her gown in her slender fingers. “I am sometimes too quick to anger.”

Suddenly he realized exactly what her reaction reminded him of. She was like a horse that had been beaten and shied away from any person who came near it. No doubt some stupid lout had been too forward and too rough with her—a selfish youth or overeager suitor. The fool had surely gotten no further than a kiss, for a woman like Lady Mathilde wouldn’t hesitate to fight off any unwelcome advances. It was unfortunate, but the damage had been done.

His annoyance fled, replaced with regret. “No, my lady, it is I who should be forgiven for presuming too much,” he replied with a courteous bow. “I assure you, it will not happen again.”

“Good,” she murmured.

Then, keeping as much distance as possible between them, as if the very thought of touching him was repugnant to her, she sidled toward the door. “I give you good night, Sir Henry.”

“Good night, my lady,” he muttered as she closed the door behind her.

He moved the large, lit candle to the table beside the bed. He might have been a fool to come here, despite their need. Nicholas would probably say so, even taking the presence of the lovely Lady Giselle into account.

Ah well, this wouldn’t be the first time his brother would think him less than wise, he thought as he started to disrobe, and Lady Giselle wasn’t completely out of his grasp.

Yet.

AFTER SHE LEFT Sir Henry, Mathilde paused on the steps and leaned back against the curved wall, her hands clasped to her breast, her heart racing, her blood throbbing, her breathing ragged. Why had she lingered? Why hadn’t she simply told him not to pursue Giselle and left the chamber at once?

Because he was handsome and friendly and charming. Because she had both feared and hoped that he would kiss her. Because she was weak and lustful, and he aroused a desire in her so overwhelming, she felt almost helpless to resist, in spite of the chiding of her conscience.

At least now one thing was very clear: she must never be alone with the handsome Sir Henry again.