His Lady Fair. Margo Maguire

guests while playing the debauched nobleman.

      Lady Maria had his full attention.

      He gave a moment’s thought to the clothes he’d put at her disposal—clothes that would have belonged to Edmund’s wife, had his brother married Alyce.

      Lady Alyce had been a charming girl, the daughter of a neighboring earl. Yet Nicholas could not recall that she had ever looked as well in deep blue as Lady Maria did. Or that Alyce had ever filled out a gown as enticingly. He could not think of Alyce as anything other than the child who’d grown into the young lady Edmund had loved.

      Nick certainly could not have imagined Alyce in the wispy gown that had slipped from Maria’s shoulders the night before as he carried her to her bed.

      He shuddered with the memory of that moment.

      And tried to think of a way to keep his preoccupation with Lady Maria at bay.

      Chapter Eight

      Aggie placed the last bone hairpin in Maria’s coif and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “I doubt Lord Kirkham has ever seen one as lovely as yourself, my lady,” she said. “’Tis no wonder he wishes to sup with you alone.”

      Maria blushed in dismay. “I have no intention of joining Lord Kirkham in the solar, Aggie,” she said. He stirred her too deeply for comfort. ’Twas best she keep away from him for the duration of her stay at Kirkham, which she hoped would not be more than another day.

      “But Lady Maria,” Aggie protested, “his lordship specifically requested that—”

      “He has important guests here,” Maria interrupted. “There is no need for Lord Kirkham to cater to me….”

      Aggie remained silent for once, and Maria appreciated it. She needed to think more about getting to Rock-bury, and less about Nicholas Hawken.

      The marquis had deftly turned her over to Sir Roger and Tessa Malloy, Kirkham’s steward and his wife. Maria thought he’d done it to keep her out of the way of his other guests. In truth, she did not mind. Tessa Malloy was a friendly, talkative soul, so much so that Maria did not have to explain herself or her reasons for being at Kirkham. She’d passed the afternoon pleasantly with the older couple, learning about Kirkham and the villages in the district.

      She’d also discovered the location of Rockbury.

      Her mother’s estate had been mentioned only in passing, but Maria’s casual questioning gained her the information she needed. Rockbury was merely a day’s ride from Kirkham. She should be able to hobble out to the stable and get her horse. And she knew she could ride.

      The only question was whether she could mount and dismount. Maria hoped that by morning her ankle would support her.

      “I’ll just have Cook prepare a tray for you here in your room, my lady,” Aggie finally said, “if that’s what you prefer.”

      “Thank you,” Maria replied. “I do.”

      She stood and, supported by her crutch, made her way to the window that overlooked the garden where she and Nicholas had walked that morning. He’d left her soon after their morning meal, and Maria had been grateful for the reprieve. The man never let up with his seductive overtures.

      She had nearly succumbed.

      “Tell me about Staffordshire, Aggie,” Maria said now. She knew she needed to take the east road from Kirkham to get to Rockbury, but more information about the district would be welcome. She did not ask specifically about Rockbury, preferring to keep her interest in the estate to herself. Since she did not know how her situation would work out there, she was hesitant to mention any of her plans…or hopes.

      Eventually, Aggie left Maria alone.

      Dusk began to fall, and Maria lit the lamps in her room to ward off the gloom. She was unaccustomed to so much inactivity and found herself growing restless. With her ankle still so tender, she was a virtual prisoner, since she could not walk very far, even with the help of the crutch.

      Music began to play in the great hall, and Maria assumed Lord Kirkham would be occupied again, drinking and feasting with his guests. She did not know what pastime they’d enjoyed all afternoon, but most of the guests had been away from the castle while she had visited with the steward and his wife.

      Voices drew Maria to her chamber window, and she hobbled over to look. A couple of men and a woman wandered out into the garden. The lady’s laughter filled the air, though the men’s voices remained low and in-discernible. Then one of the men laughed and the three strolled away, out of Maria’s sight.

      Leaning on her crutch, she went back to her chair by the fire and sat down. It was going to be a long, dull night.

      The games were afoot. Lord Lofton and Viscount Sheffield played drunkenly at swords on the upper landing of the hall. Music played while several men danced with the loose women who’d been hired for the purpose. Men gambled with dice at one end of the large room, and raucous laughter broke out in the other.

      In one quiet alcove, the wench on Nicholas’s lap wiggled suggestively and batted her lashes at him. She reached across him, brushing her breasts against his arm, and picked up her mug from the table next to them. She took a long draught of ale, then touched her tongue to her lips, implying all the wicked things she would be willing to do for him…for a price.

      He wasn’t interested.

      Awareness of his disinterest appalled him. The wench was as willing as any woman could be, and he was a fool not to take advantage of her enthusiasm.

      Nick tried to tell himself his distraction was due to the lack of news about Sterlyng. He had pursued all avenues of information available to him at Kirkham. He’d subtly questioned all his guests about the Duke of Sterlyng and his friend Carrington, who’d supposedly gone off to Italy just as England’s most pleasant season was upon them. Nicholas had subtly questioned his guests about every nobleman who was known to have financial or other dealings with the Orléanist faction.

      But he had learned nothing, beyond the rumors that had been rife about the duke’s missing heir.

      Perhaps that was the connection. Nicholas would have to determine who the mother of this supposed heir was…a Frenchwoman, perhaps? If that were the case, and heaven knew Sterlyng had spent sufficient time in France with Bedford, was it not possible that he’d taken a French mistress and sired a bastard on her? The dauphin himself was rumored to be illegitimate….

      Since Sterlyng left no other heir, he might be strongly tied to this offspring.

      ’Twas worth investigating, though by no means would the duke be exonerated if this theory turned out not to be true. The letter to the Duke of Aleno¸n, affixed with Sterlyng’s official seal, was incriminating in and of itself.

      One thing was certain—there was no more Nicholas could do tonight. He could pass the time as he would, with no thought to England or the men serving the king’s cause in France.

      Which brought his attention back to the lusty harlot in his arms. Her eyes were a deep, liquid brown and oh, so seductive. Her gown was cut low, all the better to display her ample charms. ’Twould take very little to coax the lass up to his chamber in the south tower.

      Right next to the one occupied by Lady Maria.

      Nicholas stood, easing the woman off his lap. “My lord?” she asked.

      Nick frowned as he found himself without an explanation for what he would do now, or why.

      After he’d returned from the hunt, Maria had told him—through her maid—that she was resting and did not care to be disturbed. Then she’d declined his invitation to dine with him in the solar, making her aversion to him clear.

      He had no good reason to allow the woman to preoccupy his every waking thought.

      He grinned wickedly at the woman before him. She possessed a coarse beauty