Читать книгу His Lady Fair - Margo Maguire - Страница 12

He should not have been so stunned by her transformation. She was the same maiden he’d accosted on the road, but now, with her hair artfully arranged and her shoulders bare, he was able to fully appreciate the fine bones of her face and neck, the creamy purity of her skin.

Lady Maria was exquisite.

“My lord,” she said. She raised her chin and glared at him peremptorily, but he heard the slight tremor in her voice. He made her nervous.

He smiled and inclined his head as she tried to subtly cover her décolletage. To his great satisfaction, she was only partially successful.

“My own p-preference was…for the green,” she said, her lovely eyes engaging his own. “But since you like the orange…” She picked up the gown and held it over her bare skin.

Nicholas paused a moment before replying. Lady Maria presented an odd mix of sophistication and naiveté. While she seemed to flirt and dally with him, he sensed a subtle unease in her demeanor. For the first time in many a year, Nick was unsure how to proceed.

Rather than moving forward to touch her, and perhaps steal a kiss to begin his seduction, he watched as she moved enticingly, holding the rich russet gown over her nakedness. Light and shadows played off her flawless skin, and Nick felt his muscles tense, his pulse rise. He was a master at seduction, yet felt he was the one being seduced.

’Twas not at all unpleasant.

Ria did not know what to do next.

The marquis stood looking at her, devouring her with his eyes, yet made no move to indicate what he expected from her. Perhaps that was to her advantage, she thought. She might be able to keep charge of the situation if she stayed one step ahead of him.

She moistened her lips and turned slightly away from Lord Kirkham, unwilling to display any more of herself than she had already. She was vastly uncomfortable, standing unclothed before him. It had been pure inspiration to take the gown and hold it in front of herself, interfering with his blatant perusal of her form.

But what now? She could not very well toss Lord Kirkham out of one of his own chambers. Could she?

“My lord,” she said, tipping her head regally. “You very graciously provided maids to help me dress. If you would be so good as to call them back…?”

Lord Kirkham shrugged casually. “We won’t need them.”

Somehow Ria managed to refrain from gasping in shock. Surely he did not mean to dress her.

“On the contrary, my lord,” she said, surprising herself with her audacity. She tipped up her chin and attempted to look down her nose at him. “I will need the maids.”

He smiled.

“Please summon them on your way out,” she added as she put one hand on Lord Kirkham’s shoulder and turned him. Then she gave him a gentle shove toward the door.

When he was just outside, he turned to look back at her, his visage dark and frightening. Ria felt a slight palpitation of her heart and wondered if she had made a dangerous mistake.

Then he smiled tightly and turned away.

She closed the door and leaned against it, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Quickly, before Lord Kirkham changed his mind, Ria hobbled back to the bed and struggled to pull on the gown. She got caught up in the sleeves and neckline, but one of the maids arrived just in time to rescue her before her coif was ruined.

“Oh, my lady,” the young woman said, hurrying into the chamber, “here, let me help you with that!”

Ria allowed the maid to pull the gown over her head and then help her with the buttons and laces. She was anxious to be fully dressed, lest the dark lord pay her another visit.

She did not know what to make of him. One moment he was surly and out of sorts, the next he was seductive and overly familiar. Was this the kind of behavior noblewomen were forced to endure from their men? Ria was unsure, her only experience with noblemen being her observations of the guests at Alderton.

She only knew that his effect on her was a powerful one, the likes of which she’d never experienced before.

She sensed that he was a dangerous man. Lord Kirkham was not dangerous in the same way that Geoffrey and Thomas threatened her…nay, the danger was much more subtle, and a far greater threat to her well-being.

Nicholas had no stomach for the game tonight. He sat quietly at the long table in the center of his hall and observed his peers as they indulged in their vices.

He surveyed his realm. His realm! Ha!

Kirkham. The title and estate he’d never thought would be his. The irony of his situation never escaped him. ’Twas only through Nick’s own folly that Edmund had been killed, making Nicholas marquis.

Nick damned himself once again for the callowness of his youth and his unwavering belief that he and Edmund were invincible. ’Twas his own reckless desire for adventure and fame that had driven him to join King Henry’s troops in France, and coerce Edmund into going along for the glory. Little had he known he’d leave his elder brother in an unmarked grave, buried deep under French soil.

Nicholas hadn’t had the heart to return home right away…to his father, who had been devastated by news of Edmund’s death, nor to Edmund’s betrothed, the daughter of a neighboring earl. Nay, he’d wandered over Europe, punishing himself for Edmund’s death until he’d been able to stay away no longer.

And when he’d returned to Kirkham, his father was dead. ’Twas one more regret to add to his list.

Naught had changed here since he was a lad. Kirkham’s hall looked just the same, except for the company, of course.

Ale flowed freely. Men tossed dice and played at cards. Bawdy songs were played and drunken voices chimed in sporadically. There were willing wenches aplenty in the hall, and Nicholas was certain there were more in various nooks and crannies throughout the castle. But none were so interesting as the one in residence in the south tower.

Maria. Of Staffordshire.

Maria with the fascinating eyes.

He was now achingly familiar with some of her other attributes, and regretted his decision to leave her for the time being. It had been nigh on impossible to turn away from those seductive curves that she’d barely managed to hide behind the russet gown.

Enough had been left uncovered to whet his appetite.

Nicholas took a gulp of mulled wine. ’Twas no matter now. He’d made his decision and he would let it stand. He would not intrude upon Lady Maria tonight. Better to let her rest her ankle overnight and let it heal some before he seduced her. Besides wanting her willing, he’d also like her able.

Harry, Lord Lofton, sat down next to Nicholas and reached for one of the pitchers of ale on the table. He poured himself a cup.

“Not interested in dice tonight, Kirkham?” Nick’s guest asked with a sly gleam in his eye.

“I rather prefer the minstrels’ songs at the moment,” he replied lazily. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs to their full length, crossing his ankles indolently atop the table.

“You wouldn’t be thinking of visiting a mysterious lady abovestairs, would you now?”

Nick raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Most assuredly, the thought had crossed his mind repeatedly, though he was working to dissuade himself from that notion. He’d like nothing better than to see her in that russet gown…and then see her out of it again.

“What do you hear of Carrington these days?” Nicholas asked, changing the subject. The Earl of Carrington was a close friend of the Duke of Sterlyng, and news of him could very well shed light on Sterlyng’s activities.

“Gone to the Continent,” Harry replied. “Bexhill mentioned that Carrington’s taken ’is wife and daughters to Italy for a month or two.”

Nicholas preferred never to take the word of the Earl of Bexhill, a pompous London sot, and had difficulty believing it now. Despite rumors to the contrary, Nick knew that Carrington was not on close terms with his wife, who usually remained at their country estate while the earl lived in London. The man’s departure with his family bore closer scrutiny, regardless of what that fool Bexhill might have said.

“What’s in Italy?” Nicholas asked, taking another sip of wine. He made it appear quite the generous gulp.

“The weather,” Harry replied. “Bexhill said that Carrington’s countess suffers from…aah, but you’ve diverted me from a more interesting topic.” Harry grinned wickedly. “The lady you’ve stashed in your tower.”

“The woman is not your concern.”

“Ah, but Kirkham,” Harry cajoled, “if you’re not interested, then what say you let me—”

Nicholas swung his feet down from the table. “The lady is under my protection,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “And as long as she remains so, I—”

“Want her for yourself, s’that it?” Harry asked drunkenly.

“Do you not see another female here to interest you?” Nicholas asked, reining in his temper. Lofton had to be the most thick-skulled of all the wastrels known to Nick, but he often had access to information that Nicholas might otherwise miss. “The fairest and most willing young maids in all of Staffordshire are under Kirkham’s roof tonight.”

“Ah, but the one you shroud in mystery is not—”

“Mystery?” Nicholas scoffed.

“You never allowed any of us to see her, did you?”

“Certainly not,” Nick said indignantly. “Throw an innocent maiden to the wolves? I think not.”

Hal laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve sprouted a conscience, Kirkham. I say she’s fair game.”

“But then, you’re an ass, Lofton.”

Hal barked out another laugh and furrowed his brow as he looked at his host speculatively. “That I am, Kirkham,” he said. “That I am.”