Forbidden Lord

by Helen Dickson

  William raised a sceptical brow. ‘If you believe I was the one responsible for betraying him and his fellow conspirators, if I am such a cold-hearted villain, then how do you know I won’t balk at killing you also?’

  Eleanor met his eyes without flinching, then dropped her gaze to the sword at his side. ‘I don’t,’ she said calmly, her anger beginning to diminish, ‘but I am so desperate to leave this place that I will take that risk. I would travel alone, which is what I intended anyway, but York is a long way and it is almost impossible for a woman to travel without an escort.’

  ‘So you claim I owe you some recompense and think to collect. And what do you think will happen when your stepfather discovers you have fled? He will hunt you down, that’s certain. Besides, I am in a hurry. I cannot afford to have a woman hold me back.’

  Eleanor eyed him with scorn. ‘You can afford anything you like if you wish to,’ she said coldly.

  ‘The way I see it, what you need is a male escort to lend you protection and a certain respectability. Whilst I can give you both, I grant you, you will be a hindrance to me.’

  ‘But you go to my uncle at Hollymead. You say you wish to thank him for petitioning the Queen on your behalf to have your property restored to you. That is your business—but would you be comfortable on your journey knowing I would be close on your heels?’

  William wanted to tell her to forget it, but he was strongly attracted by the delicate pride in this young woman’s bearing. There was also something about her stance, a vulnerable part of her behind the stubborn facade, that ignited a spark of sympathy. ‘It would seem you have the measure of me, Mistress Collingwood. And your stepfather?’

  Eleanor moved to stand closer still to lend strength to her words. ‘My stepfather is the weight of my problem. He knows nothing of this. It concerns only me. If he should find out what I intend doing, he will draw and quarter me for sure. It’s imperative that I leave. I beg your discretion.’

  William peered at her. Her flesh gleamed rich and warm and his head was filled with the delicious scent of her. Something quickened that had lain dormant for a long time. It was a good feeling, but he did not intend nourishing it lest it weakened him.

  Eleanor stood still, feeling suffocated by his nearness. He watched every line of her face as he considered her request, every fleeting expression. Nothing escaped those bright eyes. It pricked sorely that she had to wait, and had the cause been less dire she would have stormed off in disgust.

  ‘Earlier you spoke of my mother with kindness and I believed you to be sincere. Is this not the least you can do for her daughter? I promise you I will give you no trouble,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘You won’t even know I’m there.’

  The silver eyes glinted and William’s white teeth flashed as he laughed mockingly, thinking she would be hard to ignore at any time. ‘Not so haughty when you want something, are you, Mistress Collingwood? Not so proud to seek my protection—and my company, I would like to think.’

  She stiffened. ‘Your protection will do, sir. You can keep your company to yourself.’

  ‘What you ask is both reckless and foolhardy—and I would be a fool to agree to your request.’

  ‘Believe me, it is costing me a great deal to ask this of you. I am perfectly serious.’

  ‘I know you are. And if I refuse to take you?’

  ‘Then I shall go by myself—which I had planned to do anyway—tonight. I have everything prepared.’

  His expression became serious. ‘So, you are that desperate.’

  ‘I am.’ Her eyes hardened and her small chin tightened. ‘The years I have been at Fryston Hall have been like a lifetime. Everything that I had was lost to me, and while ever Mary Tudor remained on the throne my name was attainted by treason. Now Mary is dead, everything is different. I am a pauper here in my stepfather’s house, so I may just as well be a pauper in my uncle’s house. I will go back to Hollymead, even if I do have to depend on Uncle John’s charity when I get there.’

  ‘And be humbled?’

  ‘Yes, that too. Yet I am still a Collingwood and very much my father’s daughter. I would rather be dead than live here a moment longer. Now more than ever I have to escape this monstrous place—and the monster within it. You don’t understand what it’s like. I only ask that you believe me.’

  ‘I understand more than you realise. I know what it’s like to be a prisoner and in fear of your life,’ he said in a low voice, something dark and sinister belying his words that was not lost on Eleanor. ‘Are you not afraid of Atwood?’

  ‘I am afraid of no one.’ Her clenched fists, flushed cheeks and the brilliance of her eyes told William so. ‘He keeps everyone under his control. He destroyed my mother’s pride, her confidence and all belief in herself. I am willful; because of this he treats me with a firmer discipline than he does his own daughter—and he will not be satisfied until he has replaced my mother with me. I hate him and I will leave here with or without your help.’

  William drew a deep breath and by extreme effort of will replied casually, ‘There is much to consider.’

  Eleanor felt a wave of desperation as she strove for control and to calm her mounting fears that he would refuse her request. ‘Normally I would not ask for your help for any reason whatsoever.’ Damn him, she thought, her temper rolling over restlessly. He was enjoying every moment of her discomfort, of having her plead with him. ‘Well? Make up your mind,’ she retorted sharply. ‘Will you take me?’

  William had already made up his mind to let her travel with them. Despite his earlier resolution not to give a damn what her problems were, he was a little unnerved by Atwood’s treatment of her and the threat he posed. He had no wish to be the cause of her stepfather ill treating her. Eleanor Collingwood looked harmless enough, but she’d be trouble, he just knew it. She needed protecting, he decided—and it was the least he could do for Edgar and Marian Collingwood, to see their daughter safe.

  With surprise Eleanor was conscious that he was studying her with a different interest. His expression remained unreadable, and yet she felt the air between them reaching to her, drawing her towards him by some irresistible force. For all her aversion to him, there was an indefinable quality about him that communicated itself to her.

  As he cocked an eye at her, his smile broadened, his face lighting up with such radiance that Eleanor was startled. Hope sprang into her heart. ‘Do you agree to let me travel with you?’

  He laughed and there was a devilish glint in his eyes. ‘Common sense tells me you spell trouble, a heap of it, but knowing how furious Atwood will be when he finds you gone will be worth it. There will be no company of horse and standard bearer, but you can ride with us. We are staying at the White Swan. We’ll wait for you—but don’t delay. I want to be on the road by sun up. We also travel light.’

  Eleanor was so overwhelmed she suppressed the urge to twirl around with relief. Meeting his eyes, in the depth of her wretchedness she felt a small spasm of warmth and gratitude. She did not know this man or even why he was at war with her stepfather, but he had agreed to give her his protection.

  ‘So do I. I will be there—and I won’t hinder you.’

  She watched him leave before returning to the festivities. Lord William Marston had preyed on her mind for a long time; now she had seen him and spoken to him she was uncomfortable. For some inexplicable reason there was something about him that got under her skin and she was not looking forward to the journey to York with him and his fearsome companion, but anything was preferable to travelling alone—and worse, to remaining at Fryston Hall.

  With her women laughing and fussing round her as they stripped off her wedding gown and prepared her for her marriage bed, Catherine turned and her eyes sought out Eleanor as a flimsy nightgown was pulled over her head. Irately she shooed her ladies away and, standing straight as a spear, her shoulders drawn back and her eyes gleaming in a rigid white face, she confronted her stepsister.

  ‘Well, Eleanor, what a turn ou
t this is.’

  Warned by something in her voice, Eleanor was instantly on her guard. There was a spark of malice in Catherine’s eyes, and something else that Eleanor couldn’t decipher.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about, so don’t pretend you don’t. William appeared to be very interested in you. I saw him look at you as if you were a kingdom he planned to conquer.’

  ‘Don’t be dramatic, Catherine,’ Eleanor reproached, trying to remain calm, going to the bed and beginning to turn the violet-scented sheets back. Catherine’s voice reminded her of a sulky child.

  ‘Dramatic? He barely noticed me. I am well and truly heartlessly discarded in his eyes and now he hankers after my stepsister. But you will not have him, Eleanor. I will not let you.’

  Catherine was in full spate and was clearly going to brook no argument. Eleanor stared at the demented, venomous woman and did not know her. Such malevolence sparked in her eyes that Eleanor involuntarily shivered. Why, she thought, she looks just like her father. Why had she not seen it before? Disturbed by her behaviour, Eleanor stared at her, unable to believe what Catherine was saying.

  ‘Please don’t say such things,’ she flared, angry and indignant. It was most unlike Catherine, but then tonight some perversity had her in its grip. ‘You know full well how much I detest William Marston and why.’

  Stark emotion darkened Catherine’s eyes. How could she tell anyone how she had felt when William appeared—on her wedding day of all days—that the mere sight of him had stirred all the old feelings of want and need and desire for this man, the man she would have married, and how angry she was to find herself married to another not of her choosing. Cheated! That was how she now felt, cheated. Vicious rage welled up within her when she remembered the way he had looked at Eleanor, the interest and admiration that had kindled in his eyes. It was not to be borne.

  ‘William is a man with a man’s appetites, Eleanor—some of them base. I did not like the way you claimed his attention. You were brazen, speaking out as you did. You made him notice you.’

  Eleanor raised her brows and bit back a sharp retort. She did not want to be at odds with Catherine over this. She would soon be gone from this dark house, and for now her only weapon against Catherine was her pride. But how she wished things could have been different between them. Somehow she forced a smile to her lips.

  ‘Come, Catherine,’ she said gently, taking her hand and leading her to the toilette table, sitting her down and beginning to brush her hair, which always had a soothing effect on her. ‘We’ll speak no more of Lord Marston. He’s of no consequence.’

  ‘How easy that is for you to say. Doing so is another matter entirely.’

  Closing her eyes, Catherine gave herself up to the soothing brush strokes. Strangely, when she considered the moment when she had first become aware of William’s presence, her gaze had been drawn to his servant. Over the top of her goblet her narrowed eyes had focused on the shaggy-haired giant. As if he had felt her eyes on him, he had met her gaze head-on. His look had been bold, rude, without the respect she was entitled to as Frederick Atwood’s daughter and Henry Wheeler’s wife. But there had also been admiration in his insolent stare and she enjoyed being able to wield that kind of power over a man—any man, including that uncouth, unkempt giant.

  ‘You are Lady Wheeler,’ Eleanor said softly, ‘married to one of the wealthiest merchants in London. He is a good man who will make you a good husband, and you must try and take pride in that, for you cannot go back to being Catherine Atwood. The day when you would have married William Marston is gone. Put him from your mind, Catherine, otherwise it will eat away at you and you will become embittered. This is your wedding night and your husband is impatient for your ladies to put you to bed and be gone.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you’re right—and thank goodness Henry agreed to forgo the bedding ritual and I don’t have to suffer the indignity of having an audience to watch us consummate our marriage. But wherever William has been these past three years, whatever his desires, it was wrong of him to treat me so abominably.’

  This was the first time Eleanor had heard Catherine utter angry, reproachful words against William Marston. Catherine had hoped for loyalty and some degree of affection from him, but she had received neither. The man truly was a monster, and she had willingly placed herself in his hands for the time it would take them to reach Hollymead.

  Eleanor could not control the apprehension in her heart, or her sense of dark foreboding, when, just before dawn when the house still slept, with her heart racing, carrying her bag and her father’s sword, she made her way down the long cold stairway at the back of the house. Servants were sleeping all over the place. The upper servants had their own rooms while the lower servants bedded down more indiscriminately on landings, in the scullery, the hall, anywhere.

  Intending to leave by the kitchen, slipping inside she glanced around the candle-lit interior. Two young scullions were curled up under blankets on the kitchen floor. Having washed all the silver and pewter plates and wooden trenchers from the banquet, exhausted, they had fallen to sleep, warmed by the dying embers of the fire in the great hearth of the big arched fireplace.

  She was about to cross to the door to the outer yard between the buttery and the brewhouse when a man’s hand came from behind her and clamped itself round her upper arm. She spun round.

  ‘Well, well, well. Now where do you think you’re creeping off to at this hour?’ Sir Richard’s hard eyes raked over her, taking in her male attire, her leather bag in one hand and the sword in the other, ticking off each damning piece of evidence against her.

  Eleanor quailed. He knew! Somehow he had found out, and she was experienced enough to realise she would be foolish to pretend otherwise. Tiny shards of fear pricked her spine while a coldness congealed in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘So, you’re running away, Mistress Collingwood,’ he said smoothly, ‘sneaking away like a thief before cock crow to meet Lord Marston. Did you think when he mentioned he was going north that I wouldn’t know what was in your head—that you’re so desperate to get away from here that you’d forget he was the one responsible for sending your father to the block? I may have vacated my chair, but I heard every word Marston said. So did my uncle, and I believe if you don’t leave now you will have him to contend with.’

  Taken off guard by the hectoring tone, Eleanor felt her heart almost ceased to beat. She was aware of the power of the man the voice belonged to, could feel it closing around her like the sharp metal teeth of an animal trap.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten. I’ll never forget,’ Eleanor replied, breathing deep with anger as she pulled herself together, ‘and you’re right, I am so desperate to get away from here, from my stepfather and his warped mind, that I’d do anything to achieve that—even if it means swallowing my pride and resentment and asking Lord Marston to help me. Yes, I hate him, but I hate my stepfather more.’

  ‘I know you do—I always thought so—and you’d do well to fear him if you know what’s good for you. But how long will it be before you fall for that arrogant lord like any other smitten virgin? ’Tis true he’s a handsome devil, but to those who know him he’s a cold one. A man can see it in his eyes.’

  Eleanor remembered the vibrancy of those crystal-clear orbs, filled with an intensity that no one could deny, and they had been anything but cold.

  ‘Did Marston agree to take you with him when you asked him so prettily?’ Sir Richard laughed low in his throat. ‘It’s as well I returned to my seat as he was leaving. I was watching you, knowing I would only have to bide my time before you tried to sneak away.’

  Driven by self-preservation and a determination to escape, Eleanor stepped away from him. ‘What’s it to you, Sir Richard? I am leaving this place. Do not try to stop me.’

  ‘I have no intention of stopping you, Mistress Collingwood, in fact it’s in my own interest that you go—I’d even go so far as to encourage it, since you get in the way of what I want. Although no ma
tter how brave you feel, you cannot escape my uncle, you know.’

  ‘You’re damn right she can’t,’ came a low, angry voice behind Sir Richard.

  Suddenly a dishevelled Frederick Atwood stumbled towards Eleanor and grasped her arm, causing her to drop her possessions. She didn’t know what warped conceits made this man what he was, but she knew that the rebuff she had given him two nights ago must have festered in his head. ‘Damn your eyes! You let me go,’ she flared.

  ‘Never—you, a lass who fancies herself stronger than me and shows it. Well, permit me to tell you something,’ he hissed, thrusting his face close to hers, his breath reeking of stale ale and his cocksure smile having acquired a malevolent twist. ‘I’m a man who doesn’t hold on being put down by a girl—although I’ll admit that’s part of your charm that attracts me.’

  Even though Frederick was still affected by the immense quantities of liquor he had consumed at the wedding feast, and angered by the knowledge that she was sneaking away from Fryston Hall, his lustful cravings were sharpened by the sight of her shapely figure outlined in male attire.

  Writhing this way and that, Eleanor managed to wrench herself away from him. His face flushed crimson as his rage showed white around his hard, glittering eyes. He followed her as she danced this way and that to avoid his hands, big, grasping hands.

  ‘Stay away from me,’ she warned, incensed, throwing a ladle at him—it sailed over his shoulder and clattered on the stone floor at an amused Sir Richard’s feet. Her stepfather advanced on her and she heaved a crock off the table. It hit the floor in front of him and exploded in a shower of pot and flour. ‘You’re a pitiful excuse for a man, Frederick Atwood. You revolt and disgust me and I want none of you.’

  ‘Such cruelty, Eleanor, such ingratitude. Have I not given you my protection and a home? I gave a service and I never give anything without a service being rendered in return.’

  His arrogance fuelled Eleanor’s fury. ‘Have you no honour, no decency? Have you no shame? For shame it would bring Catherine if she knew her lecherous father was lusting after her stepsister.’