The Bride Of Spring. Catherine Archer

romantic bent.

      He focused his attention on Edward, who looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. The king smiled. “Have you considered coming to live at court, Benedict? We can make use of such a diplomatic mind as yours.”

      Benedict shook his head. “I am much too occupied with running my estates, your majesty. I will leave the life of diplomacy to those who seek it.”

      Edward smiled again, this time ruefully, and pulled on the tasseled cord beside the dais. Immediately the steward entered, through a door partially hidden behind the throne. “Your majesty?”

      Edward addressed him. “Fetch me a clerk.”

      The man bowed and left as Edward rose and moved toward the table near the window. He poured wine from a gold pitcher into two ruby-colored glasses, then turned to hand one to Benedict. “Just out of curiosity, am I prepared to be generous toward Alister Harcourt?”

      Benedict smiled for the first time. “Oh, reasonably so, my lord, reasonably so.” He raised his glass to drink.

      Raine had heard every word as the clerk came and then went again, though she could see nothing from behind the heavy drapery. The more she heard, the more she wished to learn about Benedict Ainsworth, wished to see him. Yet she dared not risk looking out from her hiding place, for as the men talked she had begun to realize that she had indeed risked much in secluding herself in order to overhear the private conversation of a king.

      Few would believe that she had done this in order to discover all she could about a man she did not even know, even if she could explain her reasons to them. Yet Raine did not wish to worry about the possibility of being found out. All she had heard of Benedict Ainsworth had made her even more intrigued by him. He seemed a good, decent man, willing to give up his own property and money to protect the reputation of his brother’s wife and her child.

      As Raine listened to Benedict give the specifics of what he was willing to offer, she was again moved by his care for his family. If only she had a man to look after her in that way, someone like Ainsworth! Things might have been different for her if only there had been someone who felt a family affiliation to herself and William.

      But there was only Denley, and he cared nothing for them. Of that she was sure. He pretended a great interest in herself, but Raine knew of his longtime mistress, of their children.

      He kept them openly at his own home. Raine was somewhat surprised that he would not expect her to have had word of them. Perhaps he simply gave it no thought whatsoever. Many men kept both a mistress and a wife, though not nearly so openly.

      If Raine were ever to marry a man with the intention of actually living with him, she would never allow herself to be so blatantly dishonored. If she were not required to wed for the sake of protecting William and his lands she would…Her thoughts trailed down a list of qualities she would desire in a man.

      He would favor her with a modicum of respect.

      He would be kind.

      He would have his own wealth and thus would not wish to take what was William’s.

      He would behave with honor.

      He would understand the meaning of family.

      Again she found herself becoming aware of the two men’s voices. She could not help noting that Benedict Ainsworth’s seemed somehow deeper and richer than the king’s. At the same moment she realized that they sounded closer than before.

      Obviously the men were coming toward her. She strained to see through the dense velvet. If only she could give face to the voice she heard! Surely they were too intent on their conversation to pay her any heed. Moving ever so carefully, she peeked out from behind the curtain.

      And realized that the two men had moved even nearer than she had imagined and were standing mere feet from her. The heaviness of the drape had muffled the sound of their voices and made them seem farther away. She quickly drew back, but not before she had glimpsed the face of Benedict Ainsworth. It was an arresting face, with kindness, warmth and firmness of character displayed in the smooth wide brow and the slight lines around his eyes. It was also a handsome face, with its pleasantly modeled and strong features, including a regal, straight nose and a pair of intense eyes of a startlingly deep cobalt-blue. Those direct and compelling eyes were surrounded by thick black lashes the same color as his raven hair.

      Raine’s heart felt like a throbbing drum in her chest, even though she was sure they had not seen her, for neither had been looking in her direction.

      Under no circumstances did she wish to be caught. Again she asked herself who would believe that she had hidden herself here for the reasons she had. Even if they would, she would not wish to admit her motives to either Edward or Ainsworth himself.

      At the thought of Benedict Ainsworth, another image of that pleasing face flashed though her mind. In spite of the risk, she felt a compelling desire to look at him again, to see if she had only imagined such an attractive visage.

      Benedict and Edward looked up at the same moment as the steward appeared in the door once more. “Your grace, an envoy has arrived with a reply to your message to France. I have taken him to a private chamber as you requested me to do upon his arrival.”

      Edward was very suddenly a king again as he replied, “I come.”

      He nodded to Benedict, who bowed deeply even as Edward left the chamber. The steward, taking care to pretend that he was not watching Benedict, moved to tidy the glasses they had used.

      Benedict turned to go. He was finished here, for the moment at any rate. Edward had voiced surprise at Benedict’s generosity in the keep and monies he would provide to Harcourt’s brother, but he had given his approval to the transfer of goods.

      It was as Benedict swung around to go out the far door that he noted the presence of two small, dark green slippers just visible beneath the edge of the scarlet drapery. The fact that the intruder was female seemed apparent and kept him from being overconcerned. Yet he grew very still, and a pensive frown creased his brow even as he saw a pale face surrounded by a cloud of auburn hair appear at the edge of the drape. A pair of golden eyes widened in horror as they met his own.

      The face was definitely that of a woman. And an extremely pretty one. Surprised, Benedict started toward her without thinking.

      The steward chose that moment to turn back to Benedict. He spoke with just the proper degree of deference, though it seemed obvious that he would prefer for Benedict to be on his way. “Is there something wrong, my lord?”

      Benedict halted, his gaze searching the female’s eyes, now filled with panic.

      “My lord?” The steward spoke again, more insistently.

      Her gaze darkened with pleading even as her hands came up to cover her pink lips. For a moment as he looked into those eyes Benedict felt as if he had fallen into a vat of liquid gold that swirled around him as he floated effortlessly in its warmth.

      Something, an urge he could not name, made him close his lips on the words that would expose her position. Instead he cast the mysterious female a warning glance. Her face disappeared behind the curtain again as he turned to the steward. “Nay, I was just leaving. I was wondering if you might tell me where my horse will have been stabled?” Benedict knew it was a poor excuse. Never would he allow the stallion to be stabled without knowing the exact conditions, but the steward was not aware of this.

      Benedict waited as the servant moved to join him at the door. He knew the woman could not escape from her hiding place until the steward left the chamber. Still, Benedict did not know why he would aid the unknown woman; he simply could not seem to do otherwise.

      The man nodded, saying, “As you will, my lord,” and led him from the room. Although he had a nearly overwhelming urge to do so, Benedict did not look back over his shoulder for fear of giving her away.

      Her heart pounding like a drum in her chest, Raine escaped from behind the curtain as soon as the men were gone. Why had she given in to the urge to look at Benedict Ainsworth one more