His Lady Fair. Margo Maguire

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.”

      “Aye, my lord,” Gyles said as he bowed again to Maria and left the chamber.

      Lord Kirkham stood and came around to Maria’s side of the desk. “So, the ankle is still quite sore today?”

      She nodded ruefully. “I had hoped to be on my way this morn.”

      Nicholas leaned back against his desk and crossed his ankles. “And what exactly is your destination, my lady fair?” he asked.

      Maria hesitated only an instant. “H-home,” she said, knowing perfectly well that he would next ask specifically where home was. She glanced toward the fire to avoid his gaze.

      Lord Kirkham let out a bark of laughter. She glanced up at him and saw bemusement in his eyes. ’Twas a little better than the sarcasm in his tone when he called her his “lady fair.”

      “It has been a long while since a woman has intrigued me so,” he said as he knit his brows and shook his head slightly. “If I ask where ‘home’ is, will you answer me honestly?”

      “In truth, my lord?” she said haughtily. “No.”

      That earned her another bolt of laughter, and Maria bit her lip in consternation. This was not at all how Cecilia would have conducted a conversation with a gentleman at Alderton. Maria’s dauntless cousin would have stood up to the man and said that her destination was not his concern. Then she would have batted her eyes and postured outrageously, dislodging all questions from the poor, unsuspecting suitor’s mind.

      The trouble was Maria did not for a moment believe that Lord Nicholas Hawken was poor or unsuspecting. Nor did she believe she possessed the kind of allure that was second nature to Cecilia. Her cousin was tall and willowy, with beautiful sable hair and lovely brown eyes.

      “I’ll leave you to your secrets then,” Nicholas said as he pulled a low stool next to her. “You are welcome to stay at Kirkham as long as you wish.”

      Maria thought his choice of words strange, but did not dwell on it. She did wonder, however, why he would think she would stay any longer than was necessary for her ankle to heal.

      She contained her astonishment when Lord Kirkham crouched down and picked up her injured foot, placing it gently on the stool. He did not take his hands from her leg, but caressed her through the thin wool of her hose.

      His attention…his bold touch…unnerved her.

      She should not be able to feel his heat so well through her hose, and that heat should not have had the power to make her recall the sensations caused by his hands, his lips, his body, during the previous night.

      “My lord…” Maria said, quite breathlessly.

      “There does not seem to be any swelling,” Nicholas said, ignoring her alarmed tone, “but…’tis quite bruised?”

      She nodded in response.

      One of his hands moved up to cradle her calf, and his eyes met hers. He was seducing her with a mere touch of her leg! “Was nothing else injured?”

      “N-nay, my lord.”

      She’d begun to pull away when Nicholas removed his hand and stood. “Ah, here is the footman with our meal,” he said.

      Maria let out the breath she was holding and marveled that Lord Kirkham had been aware of the footman’s arrival long before she herself had noticed anyone else’s presence.

      She did not doubt that that was the only reason she’d gotten a reprieve from his attentions.

      The footman carried in a tray laden with bread, fruit and mugs of warm cider, which he placed on a low table near Maria.

      Lord Kirkham pulled up a chair and sat next to her.

      “I hope you are hungry,” he said to her as the footman took his leave.

      “Aye,” she replied. “I am. Quite famished.”

      And by the expression on his face, Maria felt as though she’d said something entirely improper.

      The day’s hunt was successful, although Nicholas did not succeed in learning anything useful about the Duke of Sterlyng. Rumor had it that the duke had a secret heir stashed somewhere, but Nick was uninterested in Sterlyng’s personal affairs. It was the affairs of England that concerned him.

      If Sterlyng had any nefarious dealings with the French, he was somehow managing to keep all suspicion away from himself. None of the guests had anything to say about him other than to remark on the folly of searching for his missing offspring after so many years.

      Considering Sterlyng’s wealth and status, it was assumed by all the noblemen present that impostors would begin to seep through the woodwork and try to lay claim to the Sterlyng fortune.

      And so the discussion went, until all the men returned to the keep for refreshments, then to their chambers to rest before the evening’s entertainments. Nicholas paced the floor of his private study on the main floor of the keep.

      ’Twas his favorite room, the office, as his father had called it. Here was the collection of books his grandfather had begun decades before, and to which his father and he had added precious tomes throughout the years. There were various Hawken keepsakes stored here, as well, under lock and key. Business was discussed here with Nick’s steward, and ’twas in this chamber that he reviewed important lawsuits brought by the people of the village.

      Here, in the office, was where he’d barely reined in his desire for the lovely Lady Maria.

      Nicholas