Tournay appeared just as startled by Maria, but quickly composed himself and stood, greeting her. “Good day, my lady. I—I await your father.”
“I expected to see him here.”
“Someone went for him, I b-believe.” His eyes darted around her, past the door.
“Is there something with which I might help you?” she asked as stepped fully into the room.
Tournay shook his head. “I—I have a message f-from Lord Kirkham, and it, er, requires a response.”
“Ah…” she said. “We have not seen Lord Kirkham in several days.”
“I trust your sire has seen him in the House of Lords, my lady,” Tournay remarked.
“I am certain you are correct,” Maria said, taking a seat. Tournay seemed flushed, perhaps with fever. And he was perspiring, though ’twas not overly warm in her father’s study. Maria wondered what ailed the man, for he had always seemed so well composed. “Are you unwell, Master Tournay?” she inquired.
“Nay, I…well, yes, I admit I am a bit under the weather,” he said nervously.
At that moment, the duke entered his study, and Maria did not pursue the conversation. She watched as Tournay handed her father a letter. He read it, then penned a reply, sealed it and handed it back to Nicholas’s secretary with hardly a word passing between the two.
Then Tournay took his leave and was gone.
“Father,” Maria said, returning to her original purpose, “I wonder if you might invite Bexhill—along with a few others—to dine with us tomorrow?”
The Duke of Sterlyng sat back in his chair and studied her. For the first time, Maria felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She was deceiving him—if only by omission—and it did not settle well.
“You must know it pains me to say you nay,” Sterlyng said, “but Bexhill lost my trust with his antics at the tourney.”
Maria swallowed. “But, Father, he—”
“He acted in a most unchivalrous manner,” he said, “and even though he was exonerated from guilt, I will never trust the man again. Not in my home, certainly not with my daughter.”
“Oh.”
“Let it rest, Maria,” the duke said. “We are well rid of Lord Bexhill.”
There was naught Maria could say. There were no arguments to give. She had heard that the earl had been exonerated only because Gloucester needed his continued support in the House of Lords. The duke could not afford to alienate the man, even though he was guilty of the grossest transgression.
Her father was right in banning Bexhill from his home. The earl was a toad.
Still, Maria needed to find a source of information. She did not want to tell her father of Nicholas’s suspicions and accusations. She knew the pain it would cause him to know that Bedford did not trust him—especially after all the hard work and long hours he spent working for Bedford’s causes.
She would not push her father to invite Bexhill. In truth, Maria did not know if even she could stand to have the errant lord near. Nay, she would glean what information she could from other powerful lords who would be welcome in their home.
Sterlyng leaned forward and folded his hands together. “Maria…have you developed any particular…attachment for Bexhill?”
“Nay, Father!” she said, startled by his question. ’Twas the last thing she had expected him to ask. “’Tis only that—that Lord Bexhill was always so…er, quick-witted and jolly. His presence seemed to enliven a party.”
Sterlyng nodded. “Quite true, but I’d rather forgo the man’s company for now. Perhaps in time he will vindicate himself with a few good deeds.” Deep lines bracketed the duke’s mouth. “But I will be honest with you and say that I could not abide him as a son-in-law.”
“As you wish, Father.”
“Tell me, Daughter,” Sterlyng continued, “is there no young man who has yet caught your interest?”
“C-caught my interest?”
“As a bridegroom,” Sterlyng said. “You know I would see you well married, child, but not before you have found the man who best suits you, and certainly not before you are ready to wed.”
“Father…I…”
“I will not rush you, Maria,” Sterlyng said. “I would have you make your own choice when it is time for you to wed.”
“Yes, Father.”
Sterlyng ran a hand across his mouth and jaw. “When your mother and I married, ’twas without the consent of her family. I loved her more than words can describe, and she cared deeply for me. Our match had naught to do with estates or dynasties. We chose each other, Maria.”
She touched her mother’s locket and knew that her parents had had a treasure in each other, something that did not often occur.
“It is that kind of choice that I wish to afford you.”
“I understand, Father,” Maria said quietly. The custom was that young women of her station would have a husband chosen for them, and their own feelings in the matter would have naught to do with the decision.
Her father wanted her to love the man she wed, to have the kind of affection and caring that he’d shared with her mother.
“Is there no…” He sat back and frowned. “Have you met no young man here in London who has struck your fancy?”
Maria felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She would not think of Nicholas Hawken. The marquis was absolutely not a candidate for marriage, even if she did carry his child. Nay, the man had baldly accused her father of treason, and was even now working toward uncovering some evidence against him.
She’d been mistaken in thinking she loved him. She would not love him.
There were plenty of other young men from whom to choose—men who did not believe the worst of her father. Men who would be faithful and true.
“N-nay, Father,” she stammered, giving a slight shake of her head.
“Well, perhaps in time you’ll meet the one for you.” Sterlyng stood suddenly. “I agree that we should entertain tomorrow evening,” he said. “I’ll ask Alisia to plan for a party of…what? Say, fifteen? Twenty?”
“Whatever you think, Father,” Maria said. She tried to sound bright and interested, but had difficulty garnering much enthusiasm. Her attention was torn—between finding a husband and discovering who her father’s enemy was.
And there was some urgency to both questions.
Maria had thought Bexhill would be her best source of information, but now that her father had banned him from their house, she would have to look elsewhere.
She could only hope that somehow she would be able to gain information from one of the gentlemen who attended their soiree the following night. She would do anything to prove Nicholas Hawken wrong.
“Is there no one in particular you’d like me to invite?” Sterlyng gently chided. “No one has piqued your interest, child?”
“Nay, Father,” she said hastily, kneeling next to his chair and placing her hands in his. “’Tis not that I am uninterested. Merely that the changes in my life have come about so swiftly. I’ve only just found you…I do not care to marry and go away from you so soon.”
Sterlyng gave her a quick hug and smiled. “It does my old heart good to hear you say it, Maria. But do not wait too long.” He stood, then, tucking her arm in his, he turned to walk her out of the study. “The years pass by, and suddenly you are old and alone. I would not wish that future for you.”
“Nay, Father,” Maria said, her heart contracting at the thought of his painful losses so many years ago. “I will marry.”
“There you are!” Alisia said as she encountered Maria and her father coming out of his study.
“Ah…just the lady we wanted to see,” Sterlyng said.
Maria had difficulty sleeping that night. She could not forget the wistful tone in her father’s voice as he’d spoken of her mother.
She ached for the losses he had suffered in his life, first losing his wife, then his infant child. She knew he’d loved Sarah Morley passionately, and that her death had shattered him. True enough, he’d put himself back together over t
he years, but there was an innate sadness that she sensed in him still.
Maria knew that he’d grieved over the loss of his child, but he especially missed his love, Sarah. How awful to live without the one person who had the power to make the sun shine, or the moon rise, in his heart.
’Twas fortunate she did not feel so strongly about Nicholas. There was nothing so special about him, not that half smile he gave when he found her amusing, not the care with which he touched her.
He was a knave of the very worst kind—a flirt who made love to any woman foolish enough to let him. Caring, commitment, responsibility—these had no part of Nicholas Hawken’s life.
The night was warm, and Maria climbed out of bed. She padded barefoot to the window and sat on the cushioned seat, resting her arms on the sill, gazing out at the night sky.
She was embarrassed to think how naive and foolish she’d been all those weeks ago when she’d met Nicholas. Imagine thinking he would want to take her to wife, when he knew naught of her besides her given name. She suppressed a sad laugh when she thought of that. She’d been a serving girl named Ria when she’d met him. Certainly not a well-bred, potential wife.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped ridiculous tears from her eyes. She had naught to weep about. She had a father who loved her and had given her the security of his name and his home. She had Alisia, too, who cared for her like a sister. And suitors? She had rooms full of them, and soon one would become her husband.
She had no need of Nicholas Hawken.
Preparations for the party Maria had suggested went on all the following day. Since the weather had turned fair, Lady Alisia decided to move the festivities out-of-doors. Tables were set up in the Sterlyng courtyard and lanterns hung along the rails to illuminate the space. Minstrels were hired to provide music for the guests, and there would be dancing, games and countless other amusements.
’Twas all overwhelming to Maria, who had thought only of having a few visitors whom she could subtly question regarding Nicholas’s accusations. Now she was faced with the prospect of having to entertain fifty guests. Her attentions would be so divided, ’twould be a miracle if she learned anything useful.
But she might gain a prospective husband.
That was something she could not put off much longer. Soon the pregnancy would begin to show, and Maria knew she needed to be wed before that happened.
“’Twould behoove you to rest awhile, Maria,” Alisia said, bustling her charge up the stairs and into her chamber. “If I’m not mistaken, the evening will prove to be a long one, and we cannot have you looking peaked.”
Maria allowed herself to be cosseted. After her difficulty sleeping the night before, it felt good to have Alisia remove the pins from her hair and comb it until it crackled. Alisia’s gentle kindness did much to soothe her frayed nerves.
“Much has happened to you these last few weeks, my lief,” Alisia said affectionately. “’Tis only natural for you to feel unsettled…restless, mayhap.”
“Nay, Alisia,” Maria said. “I feel more settled than I’ve ever felt in my life. Here, with you and Father, I have finally found my home, my place in the world.”
“Aye, ’tis good to hear you say it, Maria,” Alisia murmured as she gently combed through the golden masses of Maria’s hair, “and ’tis truly wonderful for your father to have you here, but I want you to know…”
Maria looked up and caught Alisia’s gaze in the mirror. “Yes?”
“…if aught troubles you, you have only to come to me, and between us, we can work it out.”
Maria swallowed. Alisia knew! The truth of it was in her eyes. She was too polite to come out and say it, but now that Maria thought of it, Alisia had to know of Maria’s frequent bouts of illness…and her lack of menses. How foolish she had been, thinking her condition had been hidden from all. ’Twas likely that everyone in the household had their suspicions.
She could only hope her father did not yet know.
“Thank you, Alisia,” Maria whispered shakily. She wondered if Alisia realized Nicholas Hawken was the father of her child, but was unprepared to speak of it now. “I will be fine once I rest awhile.”
Maria had not yet seen him.
Nicholas leaned one shoulder against an open archway and observed as she went from one guest to another on her father’s arm. He wondered how she would react when her eyes finally lit on him.
He’d likely be fortunate to get out of Bridewell Lane with his ears still attached.
She sparkled. Nay, she glowed with a light that emanated from within.
Nick’s mouth went dry as he watched her smile, then laugh, then tip her head just so. Her hands were delicate, expressive. And he could only think of how they’d touched him, so intimately, so lovingly.
He’d seen her last eve, leaning out the window of her bedchamber, watching the moon as it rose. She had not seen him, for he’d stood in the shadows below, pondering whether or not to breach her chamber—and her ire—again.
He had just decided against it when he’d seen that she was weeping, and he’d nearly lost his resolve to leave her alone. He knew he was the one who had caused her pain—’twas his suspicions of her father’s integrity that saddened her.
He’d known she would not want to see him.
Nicholas had promised himself he’d stay away from her until his task was accomplished and he had vindicated her father. But when Sterlyng had invited him to this spring fete at his home, he’d been unable to refuse. He needed to see her. If there’d been any way possible, he would have touched her again. He would have kissed her into oblivion, caressed her and made her come apart in his arms once more.
He would show her without a doubt to whom she belonged.
“Kirkham!” The friendly voice was accompanied by an unwelcome slap on the back. “Looking a bit down in the mouth. Drink up, man!”
“Thanks,” Nick said dryly as the young man, Viscount Wardale, shoved a mug of ale into his hand and gave him an elbow in the ribs. He’d never liked Wardale, though the viscount frequently hung about the fringes of Nicholas’s circle. He’d never really become part of the group that provided Nicholas with his deceptive front, and Nick now knew why. The man was as irritating as a thistle.
“Word is the duke’s allowing his daughter to choose her own husband,” Wardale said. “Ha! What I wouldn’t give to lay hands on that one! Even without the estate and the dowry.” When he made a rude sound by snapping his cheek with his teeth, Nicholas considered dragging the man to the river and dumping him in.
“I would not recommend it, Wardale,” he said through clenched teeth. “Touch her and you and I will meet at St. James’s with swords at dawn.” Without a thought to Wardale’s reaction, he slammed down his mug and stalked off to yet another arched door frame, where he propped himself and watched as Maria fascinated all the young suitors who wanted her wealth…and her body.
What was wrong with Sterlyng? Nick wondered as he speared his fingers through his hair. That he would allow Maria to become fair game among all these—these buffoons?
Nicholas could not abide the idea of Wardale—or any of these others—with his hands on her. Nick surveyed Sterlyng’s courtyard, sizing up every one of the unmarried men present. Not one was worthy of her.
Viscount Rudney seemed to be dominating Maria’s attentions this evening. He was an honorable man, a good-natured sort, Nick thought, without any vices that Nicholas had ever been able to discover in the course of his work. Maria could do worse than to choose him.
Though Rudney’s color was a bit sallow for Nicholas’s liking, and his tastes a mite bland, he would make a decent husband, Nick supposed. He didn’t imagine Maria would be put off by the man’s delicate hands, or the light down of his beard. The viscount would likely install her at his country estate in Wessex and—
Nick slammed the palm of one hand against a post and turned away from the crowd. He could not continue here, watching her move from one suitor to the next. Decidin
g there was no sense in prolonging this agony, he turned to leave.
As he made his way toward one of the courtyard gates, he turned back for one last look and saw Lady Alisia slipping gracefully through the crowd toward him.
“My lord,” she said, “how lovely to see you. Have you eaten?”
Nicholas looked past Alisia to the platters of meat and puddings, fruits and cheese, that were set out on the trestle tables. He had no appetite for food this night. His only hunger was for the golden-haired lady who would shun him if she knew of his presence.
“Nay, Lady Alisia,” he finally replied, “I came only to pay my respects to the duke and his daughter.”
“But you have not done so, my lord.”
Nicholas’s expression darkened, but he said nothing. He stood quietly with Lady Alisia for another moment, listening to the minstrels and the light chatter going on all ’round them, while his frustration grew.
“You care for her, my lord,” Alisia said, looking inquisitively at him, “do you not?”
Nicholas’s throat closed. It did not matter what he felt for Maria Burton. She was beyond his reach. She would never have him, not when she believed he had merely used her to get to her father. Not when she thought he was a bastard ruthless enough to unjustly accuse her father of treason.
Nick knew he could not pursue her until that matter was closed and the villain exposed. Until then, he would have to continue in his role as the wicked Marquis of Kirkham. In the meantime, Maria would likely choose another man.
“Of course I care for her, my lady,” he said, forcing a lightness to his tone. “She is lovely…a credit to her father.”
“And would you consider—”
He laughed and backed away in the true style of a bachelor unwilling to be caught. “Do not think to ensnare me in a feminine trap, Lady Alisia. More determined mothers have tried…and failed.”
He did not notice Alisia’s speculative expression as he turned away and unlatched the gate.
“My lord.”
Nicholas nearly groaned aloud. He had not moved fast enough.
“She cares for you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You are mistaken, my lady,” he said tightly. “She wants naught to do with me.”
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