My Lord's Desire. Margaret Moore

heard, probably a few bastards, as well.”

      “If the son resembles his father, I can understand why women would be eager to go to his bed,” Adelaide mused aloud, thinking of Lord Armand’s smile and bewitching brown eyes.

      Eloise nodded at the courtiers playing bowls. “The other unmarried noblemen aren’t going to be happy that Lord Armand has returned.”

      “He has no wife then?”

      Eloise shook her head.

      Adelaide tried not to be pleased, or relieved, by that knowledge. After all, marriage was something to be avoided, unless she wanted to be subject to a man’s whims and commands, and treated as less important than his dogs or his horses. She would have no man beating her for birthing “useless” girls instead of sons.

      And if he were handsome and had a voice that seemed to promise pleasures that were surely sinful, he would surely never be faithful.

      “Maybe John will give him a well-dowered wife as a reward for his loyalty and suffering,” Eloise suggested. “Then he could use the dowry to ransom his brother. Maybe that’s why he’s come to court.”

      “Perhaps,” Adelaide agreed, glad she’d been implying that her family was relatively poor by dressing simply. The only jewelry she wore was her mother’s crucifix. It was old, and although made of gold and emeralds, it was a modest piece compared to the jewellery other ladies of the court flaunted.

      “Oh, how unfortunate!” Lady Hildegard cried as Lord Richard rolled his ball and missed. “The ground must be uneven, or I’m sure you would have won.”

      “Too bad, Richard. You nearly had me,” Sir Francis de Farnby, the winner of the game, said with self-satisfied triumph. He was more attractive than Lord Richard, with fair hair, broad shoulders and a narrow waist; however, like Lord Richard, he was well aware of his personal attributes and his family’s wealth and prestige. He was the sort of man who expected everyone to be as impressed with him as he was with himself.

      Adelaide stifled a frown as he sauntered toward them.

      “Ah, my lady, I feared the fairies had captured you and taken you for their own this morning,” he said when he reached them, ignoring Eloise. “You seemed to vanish into thin air.”

      It was all Adelaide could do not to roll her eyes and tell him she would vanish from his sight right now if she possessed the power. “No doubt you missed Lady Eloise, too. Are we not fortunate she’s feeling better?”

      Francis glanced at Eloise, who gave him the sort of benevolent smile she reserved for very small children and very stupid adults.

      “Yes, of course,” he said, turning back to Adelaide, and quite oblivious to Eloise’s lack of admiration. “Where did you go? I searched high and low for you. I nearly called out the guard.”

      “I went to the stable.”

      “If you wished to ride out, my lady, you had but to ask. I would gladly have accompanied you.”

      No doubt he would have tried to get her off her horse, the better to seduce her, too.

      “I wasn’t dressed for riding and that wasn’t my purpose,” she replied. “I find the company of horses soothing.”

      The kittens had been an unexpected source of amusement, and as for the arrival of Lord Armand de Boisbaston…

      “I doubt the horses appreciate your exquisite beauty and grace as much as I,” Francis said, his tone softly flattering and his expression adoring.

      Oh, God save her from fawning, foolish—

      “By all the devils above and below, if it isn’t Sir Francis de Farnby,” a slightly raspy, familiar male voice declared nearby.

      Adelaide’s face heated with an unstoppable blush as Lord Armand de Boisbaston strolled toward them, followed by Randall FitzOsbourne.

      Lord Armand had divested himself of his cloak, surcoat and mail. He now wore a plain leather tunic with a glossy black sheen, a white shirt beneath it laced at the neck, as well as black woollen breeches and the worn boots free of mud. His belt was wide, likewise of leather, and his scabbard and broadsword hung at his side.

      Between his clothes and his hair, he looked more like a barbarian than ever, or a man who saw no need to adorn himself with fine garments to make an impression.

      The courtiers who’d been discussing the game fell silent, and Eloise didn’t seem to know where to look.

      “You appear surprised to see me, Francis,” Lord Armand said as he came to a halt beside Adelaide. “I’m delighted to see you looking so well, but then, when one is far from battle, one is more inclined to keep one’s health. Won’t you introduce me to these two lovely ladies?”

      His gaze flicked toward Adelaide and although he gave no outward sign of recognition, a sense of familiarity, even of intimate acquaintance, sent a frisson of warmth and excitement through her—an unwelcome sensation. After all, she was no desperate woman eager for a man’s approval. She would rather that he hate her, or at least dislike her.

      “This is Lady Eloise de Venery and Lady Adelaide D’Averette,” Francis said through thinned lips. “My ladies, may I present Lord Armand de Boisbaston, whose vanity and presumption are apparently undiminished by his recent incarceration, and despite surrendering the castle he was charged to defend.” He looked pointedly at Adelaide. “I would caution you, my lady, to beware this man’s honeyed tongue.”

      How dare Francis mock a man who’d risked his life for his king when he’d never done anything more dangerous than participate in a tournament? “He doesn’t seem to be speaking very sweetly of you, my lord,” she very sweetly noted.

      A furrow appeared between Francis’s brows as if he was displeased, or perhaps confused by her response. “That’s because I’m not a beautiful lady. Armand de Boisbaston’s reputation, however, is well-known.”

      “Indeed it is,” Randall FitzOsburne declared, the words bursting out as if he would explode if he didn’t speak. “He’s the best and bravest knight in England!”

      “You flatter me too much, Randall,” Lord Armand protested with a smile that had nothing of modesty about it. “William Marshal is the best and bravest knight in England, and Europe, too. If I could claim but a portion of his skill and honor, I’d consider myself fortunate.”

      “Honor?” Francis scoffed. “I believe you left that in Normandy.”

      Anger flared in Lord Armand’s brown eyes. “At least I had it once to lose.”

      “Do you insult me, my lord?” Francis demanded.

      Didn’t Francis notice the ire in the tightness of the man’s features? Adelaide wondered. The little line of anger between the slanting brows? Did he really want to come to blows with this man?

      “I merely made an observation based on your reference to my sojourn in Normandy,” Lord Armand coolly replied, the tone of his voice at odds with his obvious rage. “I cannot be responsible for how you interpret it. You seem to have developed a rather thin skin since I’ve been away, Francis. Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time at court.”

      “While you seem to have forgotten how to dress for it. My servants are better attired than you. Have you not even a knife with which to trim that unkempt mop of hair?”

      “Since I was forced to give nearly all that I possess to regain my freedom after fighting for the king, I have no finer clothes to wear. As for my hair…”

      Lord Armand glanced first at Adelaide, then smiled at Eloise. “Do I look so very awful?”

      Eloise blushed and lowered her eyes, and shook her head.

      He turned next to Adelaide. “What about you, my lady? Would you say my hair looks like an unkempt mop?”

      Adelaide reminded