Margo Maguire - His Lady Fair

He wondered how she’d managed to walk all this way unaided.

Unless her ankle was better…?

“Come now, poor kitty,” she said, unaware of Nicholas’s quiet approach behind her. She raised one hand invitingly toward the tree, and Nick hoped the kitten wouldn’t give her a nasty scratch. “I do not want you to fall. Where is your mama?”

The kitten finally relented and moved tentatively, stretching its paws and taking one step toward Maria. She reached up and allowed the kitten to come to her. When it was close enough, Maria took it gently in her hands and cuddled it to her breast.

Nicholas stopped to observe the sensuous stroking of Maria’s small hands over the tawny fur of the cat. A stab of desire, as fierce as any he’d ever known, shot through him as he watched.

He regained some semblance of self-possession and approached her, taking care not to startle her.

“I daresay I wouldn’t mind your hands doing that to me, my lady fair,” he said. To his delight, she blushed sweetly and allowed the kitten to drop to the ground and scamper away. Then she reached awkwardly for the crutch that was propped against the tree.

“My lord,” she said. “You should not say such things.”

“No?” he asked, moving closer. He lifted her chin with one finger and looked into her eyes. “Your little friend shed his fur all over you.” Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he gently began to brush away the cat hair from the velvet bodice.

He knew he was out of order, touching her this way, but when she trembled at his touch, he could not seem to help himself. He did not want to help himself.

Again he was unsure of her reaction to him, though he remembered how she’d felt against him during the night. Soft. Lush. Inviting. His palms itched to have her naked beneath them again, with her breasts tightening in response to his caress.

His body screamed with the urgency to touch her, and he wanted her more in that moment than he could remember ever wanting anyone.

She suddenly moved her crutch and stepped away, breaking all physical contact with him. She turned and surveyed the area between herself and the garden wall.

“This part of the garden is unusual,” Ria said once she was able to trust her voice. It had never occurred to her that Lord Kirkham would be out wandering the garden while he had so many guests to attend to. And somehow he’d done it again—managed to disconcert her with his eyes, and a mere brush of his hand. “I’ve never seen vines that grow so thick….”

Nicholas cleared his throat. “My brother and I used to hide here,” he said as he approached her again. He looked dark and cross, and more dangerous than ever. Maria could not keep herself from envisioning his naked chest, broad and muscular, with its spattering of dark hair and flat brown nipples. She hoped he did not notice her unease.

“We had a particularly nasty tutor,” he continued, his voice low and intimate, “who liked nothing better than to thrash us whenever we slipped away from our lessons.”

“And your parents allowed this thrashing?”

He shrugged. “I suppose your parents coddled you?”

Maria averted her eyes so he would not be able to read the truth in them. “Of course.”

She jumped a bit when he lifted her locket from its resting place against her breast.

“This is an interesting piece,” he remarked, gazing intently into her eyes again. The back of his hand rested against her heart, and Maria was certain he could feel it racing. “What secrets does it hold?”

“None of any interest to you, my lord,” Ria said, whisking it out of his hand and moving away. “’Twas my mother’s.” She knew she should not be alone with him here in the garden, since he’d proved himself anything but trustworthy. She could not trust herself when she was alone with him, either.

“Where did you get the crutch?” he asked as he followed.

“Aggie…your maid gave it to me,” Maria replied. “Her younger brother is lame and he outgrew this crutch.”

“It looks awkward,” Nicholas said. “Take my arm instead.”

“This will do, my lord,” Maria said. She did not want to touch him, nor could she allow him to touch her again. The experience was all too disturbing.

She only wanted her ankle to heal enough for her to leave Kirkham and head for Rockbury. The sooner she knew whether or not she was Maria Burton, the better.

“Have you broken your fast?” he asked, taking the crutch from her anyway, and then tucking her arm in his.

Maria did not know how to protest this familiarity and still maintain her semblance of a noble demeanor. She let it go, and hobbled alongside him. “Nay, my lord.”

“Then you will do so with me,” he said.

“But I—”

“No one will be up and about for hours,” he said. “’Twill give us an opportunity to become better acquainted.”

“I thought we became rather more acquainted than we should last night, my lord,” Maria said, then wished she had bitten her tongue. Oh, why had she said such a thing?

“Nowhere near as well acquainted as we will be, my lady,” he said, clearly amused by her discomfiture.

His remark caused a slight hitch in her step, but Maria could think of no retort. She kept silent as she limped beside him. She could feel the warmth of his upper arm against the side of her breast, even though she’d worn a heavy velvet gown.

She pulled away slightly and walked on, ignoring the vaguely devilish smile that quirked Lord Kirkham’s lips.

They entered the keep through a wooden door that opened into the gardens, and went into the richly appointed room where Henric Tournay had bound her ankle the night before. Sir Gyles was there ahead of them, looking big and burly in his gray hauberk with his sword sheathed at his side.

“Good morn, my lord,” he said, then turned to give a slight bow to Maria. “My lady.”

All this deference was so strange. Ria—nay, Maria, as she had to think of herself—did not know how she would ever become used to it.

Nicholas ushered her to a soft chair near a large oaken desk. A fire flickered cozily in the fireplace, making the room warm and comfortable. “You will rest more easily here than in the great hall,” he said. “’Tis cavernous and cold when there are only a few occupants.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said warily. Lord Kirkham’s eyes raked over her appreciatively, and Maria felt less than covered by the modest gown she’d chosen to wear. She was glad of Sir Gyles’s presence, but caught a disapproving look in his eye before he had a chance to mask it. She wondered if he disapproved of her or of something Lord Kirkham had done.

Uneasy with both men, Maria sank back in the chair and closed her fingers around the locket, which hung from its long chain about her neck.

“Gyles,” Nicholas said as he sat down at the massive desk. Maria watched him take a sheet of clean vellum, then dip a tapered quill into ink. He filled the page with a thick, bold script. “I should like you to take a few men and ride to London with this message.” He remained silent until he finished writing his missive, sanded it, then folded and sealed it. He handed it to Sir Gyles.

Maria’s eyes followed Lord Kirkham’s hands, strong and powerful, their backs dusted with dark hair. Hands that had touched her more intimately than they should.

“Shall I await a reply?” Gyles asked.

“Nay, ’twill not be necessary,” Nicholas replied as Gyles turned to leave. “And you need not hurry back to Kirkham. Return at your leisure.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“By the way, Gyles…my lady has not yet broken her fast. Nor have I.” Nicholas glanced at Maria, and she felt his smoldering look all the way to her toes. “Before you leave, send a footman to the kitchen for a meal…to be served here.”