“’Tis naught, my dear,” Gloucester said cautiously. “Only fair strange that while Kirkham has come to the tourney wearing cuir-bouilli, Bexhill wears plate…with spikes. And after three rounds, ’tis only Kirkham’s horse that’s gone down.”
Maria looked into her father’s eyes, asking for clarification.
“Could be some form of deceit,” he said, though he was puzzled. Maria knew that her father thought Bexhill beyond reproach, and would have trouble believing ill of him.
“But, Father—”
“Hush, Daughter,” Sterlyng said, giving her the reassurance of his arm ’round her shoulders. Maria was too preoccupied with the events on the field to notice his speculative glance. “The lords’ squires will deal with the situation.”
She breathed more easily when Nicholas stood away from the fray, apparently unharmed, but her anxiety was renewed as the two knights unsheathed their swords.
Maria jumped as the swords clashed, but Sterlyng steadied her. “They are made of whalebone,” he said, “and unlikely to cause lethal damage.”
Maria had her doubts. With the way the two men struck at each other, she could easily believe that one would be hurt. Close to tears, she knew that even had Nicholas not worn her veil next to his heart, she would still have championed him. Her own heart was at peril with all she felt for him, but she could not distance herself from Nicholas.
She winced with every blow he took, and suppressed the urge to scream at them to stop this demented contest. Men! There was no purpose to this exercise, and Maria could only imagine the injuries they would suffer, even if there were no lethal blows.
“Your grace…” The page spoke quietly to Gloucester. Maria did not hear what was said, but Gloucester turned and spoke to a knight who stood nearby.
“What is it, Father?” she asked.
Sterlyng shrugged. “The page must have noted some irregularity and…look,” he said, nodding toward the combatants on the field. “Kirkham has dealt the end blow.”
Maria saw that Nicholas had, indeed, bested Bexhill, and the earl was lying supine beneath Nicholas’s sword. “What now?”
Two knights entered the field on foot. One assisted Bexhill to his feet and the other went to Nicholas’s side. Without delay, they escorted the two combatants away.
“’Tis finished,” Gloucester said angrily. “I will not allow such trickery to be employed in the royal tourneys.”
“Trickery?”
“My page suspects that Kirkham’s horse was gored by Bexhill’s armor…mayhap his lance. He could not be certain, and Bexhill denies any wrongdoing. Insists that whatever happened was inadvertent.”
The nausea hit Maria so suddenly, she had to sit down.
Chapter Eighteen
“Are you all right, Maria?” Eleanor asked. “Would you care for a sip of—”
Maria knew she must look ghastly if Lady Eleanor had noticed. She shook her head and pressed her fingers to her lips. “Nay,” she whispered. “Give me but a moment.”
“I declare the Marquis of Kirkham the winner of this tourney,” Gloucester announced to the crowd. “The battle by ax is waived and Kirkham will receive the prize.”
He showed the golden medallion that would be awarded to Kirkham, but Maria could hardly draw her attention to it. She was just relieved that Nicholas had not been maimed, or badly wounded.
“May we go home now, Father?” she asked.
Finally admitting to himself that he’d fought only for Maria, Nicholas swallowed bitter disappointment that she was not at her seat when Gloucester awarded him the prize. He’d wanted nothing more than to accept it, only to turn and present it to his lady fair.
Why he wanted to do such a thing…He shook his head. There was naught but confusion when he thought of Lady Maria Burton.
Ah well, ’twas no matter that she had left the tourney before its end, he thought as he lowered himself into a tub of hot water. He was to be Sterlyng’s guest tonight and would see Maria when they supped. There he would give her the prize Gloucester had presented to him, a golden medallion inset with rubies. Then he would see if she could remain indifferent to him.
He soaked his bruised body and smiled. At least one purpose had been served today. Bexhill had been exposed as the fraud he was. Though he’d denied any intentional wrongdoing, most everyone believed the earl had gored Nick’s horse with a spike—an inexcusable offense during a tourney of peace, which was intended to be a mere show of skill, not a battle to the death.
And Maria would know what a lout Bexhill was.
Nicholas lifted the white silk veil that lay upon a table near the tub. The piece had been cut from the bolt he’d sent her and its significance was not lost on him. She’d had it made into a veil within a day or two of receiving it.
He held it close to his nose and mouth and inhaled, drawing in Maria’s fragrance. ’Twas only a piece of silk, but it had been worn close to her skin. Not once had he considered returning it to her.
He concluded they’d had too little time together. That was why his mind was fixated on her and the intensity of the relations between them. One more night with her…nay, a trifling couple of hours…
His body hardened as he imagined her here, in this tub with him. Mayhap she would sit astride him with her marvelous hair flowing about her shoulders, her luscious breasts tantalizing him, her lips moist and tender.
Maria’s interaction with him at Fleet Castle had nearly been his undoing. Never had he known anyone so exquisitely sensitive to his touch, so ingenuous in her response to him. She’d said it was a mistake that night, and had started to tell him he didn’t want her.
She couldn’t possibly be more wrong. He wanted her the way a starving man wanted food.
More.
He climbed out of the tub and scrubbed himself dry as he reined in his fantasy. This was not the time to engage in fanciful dreams about Maria Burton. He had an important job to do.
French troops had moved into position near Orléans. They now had a champion, the maiden Jehann. And as unlikely as she seemed, this “soldier-maiden” posed an actual threat to the English troops positioned there.
’Twas imperative that Nicholas discover the identity of the high-placed traitor, and stop the flow of sensitive information to France. If he failed to do his part, even more Englishmen would die in battle.
He considered confiding in Sterlyng, but decided instead to maintain the fiction that Sterlyng was the one suspected of the treason. That way, whoever was planting evidence was likely to continue doing so, and was also more likely to be caught. Then there would be no more messages to the dauphin’s forces, telling them about numbers of troops, and food supplies, and morale. There would be no one to interpret the sentiments of the English people or Parliament with regard to the wars in France, or how Bedford’s financial resources would change.
As Nicholas dressed, he considered ways to entrap the French informer. And he nearly succeeded in eliminating thoughts of his lovely Maria from his mind.
Maria slept part of the afternoon, tossing and turning with dreams of the tournament, and bloodshed that had never actually occurred. She dreamed all sorts of horrors, most of them having to do with Nicholas, swords and lances, and when she awoke, she was unsettled. She felt mentally, as well as physically, disoriented.
Besides all else, the cooking smells of fowl and fish that wafted through the house made her queasy. Looking for an escape, she and Alisia left the house and walked down to the riverside, where pleasure boats were available for hire, and young men wooed their ladies amidst the willows on the lawn overlooking the water.
“’Tis lovely here,” Maria said to Alisia.
The lady nodded. “Your father said the tournament upset you.”
Maria shrugged. “Seeing grown men going at each other with weapons was disturbing.”
“I understand Lord Kirkham won.”
“Aye. Lord Bexhill was no match against him.”
“That is interesting,”
Alisia remarked. “One never hears of Lord Kirkham’s battle prowess, but I know he served in France under King Henry’s command years ago.”
“He did?”
Alisia nodded. “His brother was killed while fighting by his side. ’Tis said Kirkham never recovered from the loss.”
“I can well imagine,” Maria said as they walked on.
“The king released him from service, but Kirkham did not return to England, as I recall,” Alisia continued, remembering facts and rumor as she spoke. “’Twas thought that he blamed himself for his brother’s death, and that he was unable to face his father after that.”
It pained Maria to think of his sorrow.
“He eventually returned to England after his father’s death,” Alisia said. “And became marquis.”
They reached the river’s edge and walked in silence for a time. “Why do you suppose Ni—Lord Kirkham is so…”
“Disreputable?”
Maria nodded.
They strolled on for a moment before Alisia spoke. “I do not believe he is quite so bad as he wants society to think,” she said quietly.
Maria stopped.
“Nay?”
Alisia kept walking. She shook her head and waited for Maria to catch up. “Nay. I sense too much principle, too much honor under the surface. Look at the deference with which he treats your father. Surely that is not feigned.”
“Nay, Alisia,” Maria said with enthusiasm. “And at Kirkham, he was so considerate of his old nursemaid. And of the old couple who manage his estates. My aunt and cousins at Alderton never showed any such consideration of their tenants.”
“I believe there is much more to Kirkham than meets the eye,” Alicia said, carefully observing Maria’s reaction to her words.
Maria watched her feet as she walked, and weighed Alisia’s words. Life had been so simple before. She had never had to scrutinize motivations, though with Nicholas, she’d had no choice but to conclude that his sole purpose was to entice her into his bed again. She knew his reputation. Even if she hadn’t been warned away from him here in London, she had learned at Kirkham that he was a most unvirtuous host.
Nevertheless, Maria admitted that Alisia might be correct. ’Twas possible there was more going on between them than pure lust.
She dared not hope.
“Father says that large ships sail into London Harbor with goods from all over the world.”
Alisia accepted the change of subject with a slight nod of her head. It seemed that there was more she would have said on the subject of Nicholas Hawken, but she let it pass. “Aye. They do,” she replied brusquely. “And you’d best stay away from that part of the river. There’s nary a rougher place on earth than the harbor waterfront.”
Maria frowned. “Why?” she asked. “What makes it so dangerous?”
Alisia sniffed. “The worst sorts of men will be found there. Taverns and…low women. Harlots. They indulge in all sorts of vices. Too much drink, and fights…Every now and again you’ll hear of some dark goings-on down there. Someone beaten, another one knifed….”
“Well, I’ll never have reason to go to the harbor.”
“See that you don’t,” Alisia said. “Maria…?”
“Hmm?” Maria replied absently as she gazed at the water. The day was uncommonly sunny and pleasant, and she relished the warmth of the afternoon sun on her skin. ’Twas a welcome diversion from her preoccupation with Nicholas Hawken, the unscrupulous lord who might not be as bad as he seemed.
“Look!” she said, pointing at the water. Two boats sped by, each with two young men at the oars. “They’re racing!”
“Aye, that they are,” Alisia remarked. She never asked Maria the question that had been on the tip of her tongue only a few minutes before.
Preparations for the evening’s company were in full swing by the time they returned to the house, and Maria went to her room to dress for the soiree.
Alone now, she found that visions of her earlier dreams plagued her once again. She saw Nicholas, bruised and bloody, and Lord Bexhill’s face contorted in an evil grin. She did not know how the man could live with himself after what he’d done during the tourney. What kind of knight would ever think to injure another contestant’s horse? How had he thought he’d get away with it? The man must not have one bone of integrity in him.
Daylight was fading, but Maria did not bother to light a lamp just yet. She removed the plain gown she’d worn for walking, and sat down on a cushioned bench, wearing only the thin silk chemise, which whispered softly against her skin. She pulled the fine bone pins from her hair and began to brush the mass.
Her discussion with Alisia as they’d walked by the river had made thoughts of Nicholas only more confusing. Maria closed her eyes and sighed, his face clearly visible in her mind. What a scoundrel he was, she thought. A comely, inconstant, remarkable knave, and she would do well to remember that.
Yet with very little effort, Maria could almost feel his hands upon her shoulders, his lips on hers. His scent would remind her of the spicy soap he used and—
A noise at the window shook her out of her reverie. She turned to look, and saw the man of her thoughts brazenly climbing through the open casement.
“Nicholas!”
“Hush,” he said, quickly coming to her side and covering her mouth with one hand. “Don’t scream.”
She shook her head and pulled his hand away. “You should not be here! Why—”
He interrupted her words with a kiss, a long, searing kiss that made Maria’s knees feel as if they were made of butter. “I would see you alone, my lady fair,” he whispered. “And I knew it would not happen unless I…” His eyes bored into hers, then grazed the rest of her features. “Ah, my lady fair, you are so very lovely. My silken gift becomes you. ’Tis just as I imagined it.” Then his mouth devoured hers again, and his hands slipped under the straps of her chemise, lowering the garment.
Maria could offer no resistance. As disreputable as he was, she could not keep from loving him, from taking pleasure in his touch. She trembled when his hands drifted down, teasing every sensitive part of her, until he cupped her breasts in his hands.
“Nicholas…” she breathed. “You are unharmed? Bexhill did not hurt—”
“Nay, lady fair,” Nick said. “You may examine every inch of me if you must.”
He bent and laved one nipple with his tongue, then sucked the entire bud into his mouth. She grabbed his dark hair and held his head in place while she reveled in the sensations that shot through her.
Heat pooled low, in her very center. Pressure built in her most private place. Suddenly, the same intense sensations she’d experienced in the garden at Fleet were upon her. Every muscle flexed, then her entire being dissolved into a state of pure pleasure. Euphoria took hold as each nerve awoke and hummed with joy.
With her thoughts in a haze, Maria belatedly realized she would have fallen had Nicholas not caught her and carried her to the bed.
Her chemise had slipped off entirely, and she lay naked upon the quilt, with Nicholas over her, his talented hands and lips still wreaking havoc upon her body. She should not allow this. She should send him away. “Nicholas…” she moaned, unable to put any sensible words together.
“Hush, love,” he said as he kissed both breasts, then the flesh at her waist. His hands skimmed down her legs, and likewise, his lips followed a downward path. Hot breath tickled her navel, then his mouth was teasing and nipping her most sensitive flesh.
She pulled at his hair. “Nicholas, you must not!”
“Ah, but I must,” he said, kissing her softly again. “I have dreamed of nothing but this…making love to you…since you ran from me at Kirkham.”
“And I must run again,” she murmured, even as she moaned with pleasure. “You are wholly unsuitable for me, Nicholas. I must find a proper husband and…oh!” She shuddered with pleasure.
“Speak no more of proper husbands,” he said. “Feel what happens when I touch you.”
>
She could do nothing but feel. He had turned her into a creature of the moment, a wild woman, hungry for his touch. Rational thought was an impossibility when he seduced her this way, as he well knew.
The shadows in the room deepened. Maria could scarcely see Nicholas’s features as she writhed under him, entirely at his mercy. ’Twas not right, she knew, to allow him such liberties. Soon she would go belowstairs and entertain her father’s guests, some of whom were perfectly respectable prospective husbands.
Nicholas would be there, as well, she thought with chagrin. How would she face him after this…this interlude?
A sharp knock sounded at the door. “My lady?”
“A moment, please!” Maria said in dismay.
“I’ve come to help you with your laces, and your hair,” the maid said.
“I’m not ready,” she called. “Please give me a few moments….”
“Aye, ma’am,” the maid said. “If you’ll just pull the bell cord, I’ll return when you want me.”
Maria swung her legs off the bed and jerked her discarded chemise in front of her.
Nick looked at her predatorily, but rose to his feet. “You hide nothing from me, my lady fair.”
Maria was afraid that was all too true. “Nicholas!” she rasped in dismay. How had she allowed this seduction to take place? She should have pushed him back out the window before he’d even climbed all the way in.
“I will take my leave now,” he said, kissing her quickly, “but I’ll return.”
“Nay, Nicholas!” Maria whispered. “You must not!”
He winked, then turned and climbed out the window.
Chapter Nineteen
Supper would have been deathly dull had it not been for Nicholas’s presence. He made the room come alive with his personality, his jests, his knowledge of the workings of Westminster and all who toiled within.
Everyone seemed fascinated by him, especially, Maria noted, the ladies of the party.
That alone was enough to sour Maria’s mood, as well as her memory of the moments Nick had spent seducing her in her own chamber. How dare he invade her privacy and treat her like a common harlot? She was not one of his loose women, to be so used and then discarded.
His Lady Fair Page 15