Nicholas turned out both hands in mock frustration. “Ah, but since there is no whip here, I—”
“On the contrary,” Lady Eleanor said. “I took the liberty of sending one of my young men for your whip. ’Tis here.”
Maria did not think any of Lady Eleanor’s guests took note of Nicholas’s irritation with her announcement, but she saw his lips quirk in a certain way, and his brow descend. She knew he had had enough of being Eleanor’s spectacle.
Yet Maria was intrigued. Before the incident when Nicholas had rescued her and her father on the way home from Fleet Castle, she had never heard of the whip being used as a weapon.
The crowd made noises of approval as Nicholas took the whip from the page and followed Lady Eleanor to the riverbank, where targets had been set up. “Do not scowl so, Kirkham,” Lady Eleanor chided. “This will be amusing for all of us.”
Maria stood aside as Nicholas unwound the whip and eyed the targets. Colorful bottles had been set on low tables, forming small towers.
“The object is for you to remove the top bottle without disturbing the rest.”
It appeared to Maria as if Nicholas was thoroughly bored with the prospect of demonstrating his skill, but every spectator seemed to hold his breath. With utter finesse, he held the base of the whip in one hand, then slid the length of leather through his other hand before he struck.
His sudden movement was quick and agile. With a snap, the topmost bottle was gone! Maria could hardly believe her eyes.
In rapid succession, he snapped the whip again and again, and each target bottle was tossed from its tower, never disturbing the rest. No wonder the thieves on the road from Fleet had been outmaneuvered, Maria thought. They had likely been taken completely by surprise by Nicholas’s tactics.
Applause rang out. Nicholas handed the whip to the attendant and removed himself from the center of attention.
This was easy to do, since Lady Eleanor had moved on to her next diversion. In the meantime, Nicholas headed toward the place where he’d dropped his tunic. Maria followed, fascinated—in spite of herself—with his expertise.
“Was this how you stopped the highwaymen on the road from Fleet Castle?” she asked him. Her father had said she should ask him about his whip, but she had forgotten all about that.
He nodded and pulled on his tunic.
“’Tis a strange weapon, is it not?” she asked, walking beside him as he laced his clothes.
“Somewhat.”
“Where did you learn such a thing?”
“In Italy,” he said, “years ago.”
“After your service in France?” she asked.
He looked at her sharply, then took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm as if it belonged there, but had somehow slipped out. “What do you know of my service in France?” he asked.
“Nothing really,” she replied. Alisia had mentioned it, as well as his brother’s death, but Maria did not want to speak of these things. She did not want to know anything more of him, or to care about his losses, his sorrows. “Lady Alisia once mentioned that you served under King Henry in France. When she saw how worried I—er…” She fumbled, unwilling to betray her feelings.
Now he looked curiously at her blushing face. “And why would you be worried, my lady fair?”
“’Twas the tournament, if you must know,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I took no enjoyment in those contests against Lord Bexhill.”
He laughed. “And here I thought you were a blood-thirsty wench!”
“Whatever would give you such an idea, Nicholas?” she said with exasperation. “I have never—”
He took her arm again and suppressed a smile. “Nay, you are merely the feistiest woman I’ve ever known.”
Maria bristled, fully aware that his words were anything but complimentary.
When they rejoined Lady Eleanor’s party, a carriage was waiting. One of the servants approached Nicholas. “My lord,” he said, “the carriage you ordered has arrived.”
“Thank you,” he said as the music and festivities continued around them.
“Lady Maria,” Eleanor said, “you must give due appreciation to your champion.”
Maria frowned. “My cham—?”
“Lord Kirkham, of course!” she said, laughing. “You had such difficulty on the water, he sent to London for a carriage.”
Maria turned and threw a puzzled glance in his direction.
“Indeed, you may return to Westminster by boat if you prefer,” he said in jest. “But if you are inclined to suffer my presence awhile longer, I will take you to Southwark, then across London Bridge, and back to Bridewell Lane.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lord Bexhill was exonerated from any wrongdoing at the tournament, claiming that the goring of Kirkham’s horse had been accidental. He made a public apology to Nicholas, nonetheless. Even so, Maria eliminated him from her collection of suitors. She could not help but feel his actions at the tournament had been underhanded, no matter what the official conclusion was.
Still, several likely suitors continued to court her. Most were young, comely and well connected. And they did not seem to be deterred by her advanced age.
Nicholas had not reappeared at her door after escorting her home the day of the river trip, nor had Maria expected him to do so. No doubt he was too busy skulking in dark corners, looking for enemies where there were none.
Maria did not change her mind about keeping Nicholas’s suspicions to herself. For her father to learn that the Duke of Bedford did not trust him would be too damaging a blow. Maria would spare him that. She knew Nicholas’s suspicions and accusations were unfounded, and regardless of his request that she stay out of it, she intended to discover the truth, by whatever means necessary.
It rankled, knowing that he thought badly of her father.
Yet why she should care was a mystery to her. His actions and words should have effectively eliminated any feelings she had for him, but alas, they had not. He’d been so solicitous the other day when the boat ride had made her so ill, as well as being fascinating and attractive. He had nearly managed to seduce her again.
Then he’d deliberately toyed with every available woman at Lady Eleanor’s outing, flirting outrageously and playing the cocky rogue.
Maria wondered if her body would always betray her when he was near. He had some strange power over her, and she did not know how to combat it.
Worse yet, she did not know if she truly wanted to combat it. None of her suitors roused her passions the way Nicholas did. Not one could make her tremble with merely a touch of his hand. None of them ever stole kisses that took her breath away.
By the third morning after the river trip, when Maria was ill again, and for no good reason, she began to have suspicions as to the cause of her nausea.
She carried Nicholas Hawken’s child. It had been weeks since she’d lain with him at Kirkham, and it would be weeks still before the pregnancy showed. But to Maria’s dismay, she realized she had become pregnant with the lord’s bastard, just as might happen to any common serving girl.
The blood rushed from her head at the discovery, and she sat down on her bed, putting her head down on her knees. She fought the urge to weep, for weeping would serve no purpose. Rather, she had to decide upon a course of action, one that would assure that she brought no dishonor to her father’s name.
Maria took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Though her pregnancy was a problem, ’twas not a complete catastrophe. At least it did not have to be. When she stopped trembling, she examined what courses were open to her.
A nunnery would not have her, certainly not while she was with child. She could not run away, not after she and her father had just found each other, nor could she remain a spinster and bear her child out of wedlock.
She considered her final option. There were plenty of suitors from whom to choose. Only a few were actually distasteful—most were pleasant enough young men who did not think of her as a provincial
bumpkin. Any one of them would do.
She would choose one, and marry.
“My lord.” Sir Gyles entered Nicholas’s chamber at Westminster, ushering in a cloak-clad man. “Here is the fellow we nabbed carrying the message.”
Nick stood near the window. The weather was bleak, with rain coming down in torrents. He stepped over to his desk, leaned against its edge and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Where were you headed with this letter?” Nicholas asked the man who stood dripping rainwater on his chamber floor.
“To a ship in the ’arbor,” the fellow replied belligerently. He was a scruffy, small-boned fellow, with dingy brown hair and teeth to match. He was none too clean, either. He kept his eyes downcast and fingered his hat as he stood before Nicholas. ’Twas clear he intended to give no more information than absolutely necessary.
“And the name of the ship?”
“’Ey, now,” the man said. “I weren’t doin’ nothin’ wrong. Just carryin’ a message—”
“What was the name of the ship?” Nicholas insisted quietly. In spite of his civil tone, the messenger could not possibly mistake the seriousness of the question. He was being questioned by a lord of the realm, and could not help but know what the consequences of lying would be.
“The Santa Clara,” he finally said.
Nicholas looked over at Sir Gyles with a question in his eyes. “I’ve already sent a man to check on it,” the knight replied.
“Who gave you the letter?” Nicholas asked, holding the folded white vellum in his hand.
“A man…outside the ’all,” the messenger said haltingly. “Give me tuppence to see it reached the Santa Clara.”
“What did this man look like?” Nicholas asked. “How was he dressed?”
“’Twere rainin’, m’lord,” the man said. “An’ he wore hisself a heavy cloak, with ’is ’ood up. I couldn’t rightly see him.”
Nick exchanged a glance with Gyles.
“Was he tall or short? Stout? Lean?”
The man shook his head. “’E was about regular, I’d say. Not too big, not too small.”
Nick sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “What about his speech?” he prodded. “Did you note anything unusual about the way the man spoke?”
The messenger shrugged and shook his head. “Nay, m’lord. ’Tweren’t nuthin’ unusual about it. Sounded like you.”
“But he handed you this letter right outside the hall…in plain sight.”
“Aye, m’lord,” the man replied. “That ’e did.”
The vision of a man’s face flashed through Nick’s mind. He’d seen this other fellow several times outside the hall of late, but his presence had not seemed suspicious.
Until now.
Could he have been sent to keep watch at Westminster and stir up what mischief he could? It seemed likely.
Nicholas did not doubt that he had been meant to discover this man with the letter. Whoever was responsible for setting up this little drama in the rain had succeeded in distracting him for a time. He felt certain that had been the purpose of this exercise.
But from whom or from what had he been distracted?
“Were you to meet someone at the Santa Clara?”
“Nae, m’lord,” he said grudgingly. “Just go to the ship and stand on the quay and someone would be down to take the letter from me.”
Nicholas seriously doubted they’d discover a ship called the Santa Clara in the harbor, but he did not keep Sir Gyles from sending someone to investigate.
Nicholas flipped sixpence to the fellow, who caught it handily. “If you see the man who set you upon this errand again, or if you even think you recognize him…come to me.”
The man’s dull eyes lit up at the sight of so much coin. “Aye, m’lord, that I will!”
Gyles led the man out while Nicholas examined the intercepted letter once more.
Though the wax was thicker than expected, the seal seemed to be Sterlyng’s, but Nicholas could not be certain. The letter J was drawn on the opposite side of the seal. The text of the message was short: “As predicted, Commons against any new tax. England will be hard-pressed to raise the funds Bedford needs to pay the armies.” There was no signature.
Who had sent this missive? And how had he gotten Sterlyng’s seal? Was it counterfeit or real? Nicholas looked at the wax more closely. If this seal was a replica of the one Sterlyng used, then the forger had done excellent work.
The message was unimportant and not exactly secret. Anyone with connections to Parliament had to know that the men who made up England’s governing body were against an increase in taxes to raise money for Bedford. This fact alone lent weight to Nick’s argument that it was all a ruse, intended only to keep him distracted from the real villain, and to keep his suspicions on the Duke of Sterlyng.
Nick had a man watching Sterlyng’s house, and knew that the duke had not left his residence since late yesterday morning, when he’d returned home from Westminster. Yet servants had come and gone several times. Any one of them could have carried the letter.
But Nicholas did not really believe that was the case.
He paced the length of his office and waited for Sir Gyles to return. He was now certain there was no point in continuing to watch Sterlyng’s house, unless he stopped every servant who came and went.
Unfortunately, there was also no reason to keep watch at Westminster, since there was always so much foot traffic over the paths here. Nick knew he would never learn anything of substance from watching who entered and exited.
He had men watching the ships at the docks, too, though he now believed that was nearly useless. Ships entered the harbor, and seamen frequented the taverns and brothels along the waterfront and down Cock Lane. ’Twould be no hardship to receive or deliver a letter that had changed hands several times before reaching its destination.
If he pulled Sir Gyles’s men from their points of observation, ’twould become obvious that Nicholas was aware of his enemy’s ruse, however. The traitor would also realize that Nicholas knew his own ploy for gleaning information—acting the profligate nobleman—had also been discovered.
He sat down abruptly. If ’twas known that he was not really the dissolute rogue everyone thought him, he would be useless as Bedford’s spy. He frowned at the thought, and should have been disturbed by it, but he was not.
His reaction surprised him.
’Twas actually a relief to think he might finally give up his pretense. It did not usually wear on him—except when he was at Kirkham and had to subject Sir Roger and his wife to his antics. Or when Mattie Tailor heard the rumors of his dissipation….
And Maria Burton. She believed the worst of him. Both that he was a villain who had used her to entrap her father, and that he was a dissolute womanizer. He smiled. Mayhap Maria would now consider—He stopped short. What did he want Maria Burton to consider?
Himself as a serious suitor?
God’s teeth, yes.
The notion of seriously courting Maria had been dancing at the back of his mind for a long time. Mayhap it had been ever since their encounter at Fleet Castle. She was beautiful and sensuous and responsive. She melted every time he touched her. She charmed him with the boldness of her spirit, as well as the kindness of her heart.
He had not been able to keep himself away from her, even though she’d demanded it.
Rain pelted the window, but provided no distraction as he thought of how Maria felt in his arms. There was no other woman who could delight him and exasperate him the way Maria Burton could do.
And she was about to choose a husband.
This was something Nicholas would not allow. There was no question in Nick’s mind: Maria Burton was his. He intended to do whatever was necessary to make it impossible for her to choose anyone but him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The rain lasted all day, making Maria more pensive and restless than ever.
Knowledge of her pregnancy with Nich
olas’s child filled her with joy one moment, then threw her into the depths of despair the next. She debated whether to confide in Alisia, but finally decided against it. Alisia was so loyal to Maria’s father, she would feel compelled to tell him, and Maria was not ready for that.
Better to choose a husband and wed hastily, rather than cause her father undue turmoil. After an appropriate length of time, she would inform her father that she was with child and…
She sighed as she paced the floor. ’Twas Nicholas’s child. Was it not his right to know when his son or daughter was born? Could she, in good conscience, keep the knowledge from him?
Maria stopped in her tracks. Certainly she could, she decided, wringing her hands and resuming her pacing. Nicholas had never shown any interest in gaining a wife or family. His conquests were legendary among the noble classes in London, and Maria knew he would likely see this new turn of events as a burden.
Contrary to what Alisia thought, the only aspect of Nicholas Hawken that did not meet the eye was that he was deceitful and underhanded. He engaged in clandestine activities gauged to harass and molest the most innocent of noblemen, such as her father.
Which led to Maria’s other problem. How would she prove the duke innocent? Nicholas had forbidden her to act in this matter, but Maria had not changed her mind about learning whatever she could.
Her subtle questions had so far yielded nothing, and at this point, she was unsure how to proceed. She thought perhaps Lord Bexhill would have information—or at least connections—but she’d refused any contact with him after the debacle on the tournament field. She wondered if there was any way to change that.
Bexhill was a high-placed nobleman. He would have information, and would be aware of all that occurred at Westminster, would he not? She could ask him if anyone ever followed her father, or had access to his chambers at Westminster. Determined to have the earl invited to their home again, Maria went looking for her father. She ventured into his study, only to find Henric Tournay there.
“Oh!” Maria said, startled.
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