Velvet Bond. Catherine Archer

loath to force her into an alliance she did not want.

      If he felt that Percy was of any real threat to Elizabeth’s happiness or virtue, Stephen would readily take him out and throttle him. But he was not, and Stephen could easily afford to be magnanimous with the lackwit. As long as he didn’t become too irritating. So he would do as his sister asked and say no more.

      He allowed his gaze to wander freely about the room, then froze.

      Elizabeth felt Stephen stiffen beside her as he drew in a sharp breath. Following the direction of his apprehensive gaze, she spied Lady Helen Denfield.

      Lady Helen was an acknowledged beauty, and deservedly so. At thirty-two, she managed to look as though she had not seen a day past seventeen years. There was a fawnlike delicacy about her as she came toward them across the bare stone floor. To heighten the image of youth, she wore her golden-brown hair loose down her back in a shimmering curtain, with only a sheer veil to cover it. Her soft brown eyes viewed the world around her with an expression of wonder, and she smiled timidly at whoever she passed.

      Elizabeth studied this performance with amusement, having to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud. For the pose of timidity was just that, a pose. Lady Helen could be more truly likened to the fox than to the fawn.

      Peeking over at Stephen to gauge his reaction, Elizabeth found her handsome brother tensed as if to do battle. He ran an agitated hand through his dark auburn hair, his forest-green eyes wary. For three days now she had accompanied Stephen when he came to the castle to await a possible summons. It was his duty as one of King Edward’s messengers to make himself available. But that put him into contact with the one he most hoped to avoid, his mistress until very recently, Lady Helen Denfield. The affair had ended the moment he found out that the fair widow had nothing short of marriage on her mind.

      Lady Denfield stopped before them.

      As if sensing some threat to his goddess, Percy leapt up to stand at Elizabeth’s shoulder. It was a clear but unnecessary demonstration of his devotion.

      “Lady Elizabeth.” Helen nodded, without looking at her. The woman’s attention was completely centered on her prey. Though she tried to hide the feral gleam in her eyes as they rested upon Stephen, it was all too obvious.

      “Lord Clayburn.” The greeting sounded like nothing so much as an endearment.

      Stephen ran a large hand over his muscular thighs in their dark green hose. “Lady Denfield.”

      Helen’s eyes followed the path of his hand hungrily.

      Watching the proceedings with interest, Elizabeth was hard-pressed not to laugh aloud.

      How amusing that Stephen should be working so desperately to extricate himself from the affair that a fortnight ago had been his greatest pleasure, Elizabeth thought. Widowed for a year, Helen Denfield had been ripe for the picking. But it was Stephen who would end by being the harvest, did she have her way.

      Elizabeth could see that Lady Helen had no intention of remaining a widow for long, and Stephen had clearly been chosen as the honored bridegroom. As she had been unable to produce an heir during her fifteen-year marriage to Lord Denfield, Helen’s husband’s lands and money had passed to a distant cousin, and she was nearly destitute, living on her meager dower funds. When Stephen began to pursue her, she had put all her not inconsiderable charms to luring him to the bait.

      Not only was Elizabeth’s brother a fine specimen of a man, he also had a large income left to him by their mother. And, to add cream to the strawberries, he had, according to court gossip, brought Helen to fulfillment for the first time.

      If truth be told, Elizabeth had no personal experience in carnal matters, but she did know that the court ladies set much store by prowess in the bedchamber. To Elizabeth, it seemed they made a great deal about naught. She had met no man who stirred even the least bit of feeling in her. And from what she had heard, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was beyond her how one could allow oneself to be made such a fool of over copulating.

      Helen’s gaze took on a desperate expression as she watched Stephen.

      Elizabeth could not imagine prostrating herself the way Helen was now, no matter how much pleasure a man could bring. She nearly succumbed to sympathy for the other woman. Stephen was always one to pursue a female with everything in him. Then, once he had succeeded in his quest, he lost interest, especially when the idea of marriage was broached.

      If Lady Helen had been wiser, she would have allowed Stephen to go on thinking he was the aggressor.

      Elizabeth understood this much about her brother.

      But Stephen was of her blood, and she owed her allegiance to him first. So thinking, Elizabeth hardened her heart and reminded herself that Helen had her own agenda as far as Stephen was concerned. The fact that she had fallen in love with him was incidental.

      At that moment, Elizabeth noted that a hush had fallen over the room. She looked up, surprised to find everyone watching the entrance to the chamber. It was unusual for anyone to cause a stir among this lot, who had seen some of the most important men in the world come and go on a regular basis, and she wondered idly who had arrived.

      At that moment, the crowd parted, and Elizabeth saw him.

      The man was tall and wore his acorn-brown tunic, pourpoint and dark hose casually, seeming completely unconcerned with the way the fabrics hugged his wide shoulders and muscular legs. He had made no effort to garb himself impressively, and thus stood apart like a wolf among lapdogs. Dark brown hair brushed his shoulders, and his equally dark eyes surveyed the splendor before him with indifference. Even as he shifted restlessly, first running a darkly tanned hand through his hair, then clenching that same hand at his side, he moved with an animal sort of grace. He made her think of a dark forest in moonlight, and his expression had a strange haunted quality, as if he were used to being alert for hidden danger.

      The man seemed unaware of the stir he was causing. It was as though his mind were on other matters of greater importance than what he saw before him. He turned to the equally broad-shouldered blond man at his side, who was also dressed in subtle forest shades.

      They seemed of like taste, but Elizabeth hardly noticed the lighter-haired of the two. It was the other one who drew her, though she couldn’t have explained it if given a thousand chances, and so she didn’t try.

      There was something wild about him, wild as the wind is during a storm, wild like the beating of her heart. An oddly pleasant shiver ran down her spine.

      Who was he, and why had she never seen him before?

      Without even thinking, Elizabeth rose and moved toward him. A narrow path parted for her, as if those in her way seemed to sense her need to get closer to this man, to speak with him.

      Elizabeth stopped before him, her gaze taking in the strong features of his face, straight nose, hard, chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. In the pit of her stomach, something fluttered, like a butterfly emerging from its protective sheath.

      He glanced down at her with eyes as dark as burnt umber, then away, dismissing Elizabeth as he scanned the room behind her.

      Piqued, Elizabeth simply stood there, a knot of irritation replacing the excitement in her belly. Never in all her life had any male looked through her that way.

      The man smiled as his gaze came to light on someone behind her. “Clayburn,” he said. Elizabeth closed her eyes, unable to halt the tingling along the back of her neck that hearing his voice brought. The sound was rich, like rough fingers in brown velvet. Then she realized that he had spoken her own surname, and she turned to see her brother standing there just as Stephen answered him.

      “Warwicke. How do you?” Stephen was nodding, his smile one of welcome.

      The man shrugged. “I could be better. You know how I hate coming to court.”

      “Aye,” Stephen agreed. “So what could have brought you to Windsor?”

      Elizabeth could only stare at her brother. He talked as if he and this