My Lord's Desire. Margaret Moore

frowned, but mercifully didn’t command her to stay. “Very well. We hope that you’ll be feeling better tomorrow.”

      Adelaide bowed her head and said no more as she left the dais. Sensing the eyes of the other courtiers upon her, she knew they were wondering if she’d already shared the king’s bed. She had heard that wagers had been made, and those who believed the king hadn’t yet succeeded had placed bets on when he would.

      Despite the secret anguish that speculation brought her, she held her head high and her lithesome back was as straight as a barge pole. She was Lady Adelaide D’Averette, and she would never willingly submit to any man’s domination.

      Not even the king’s.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      “SO I DECIDED to use the excuse of an aching head to take my leave of the king,” Adelaide said as she strolled beside Eloise in the garden after breaking the fast the next morning.

      The day was warm and sunny, with a light breeze that stirred the leaves of the vines and made the red and white roses nod. In a lovely light blue gown trimmed with delicately embroidered green leaves and with her blue silken veil floating about her face, Eloise looked like the very spirit of summer. Adelaide was more plainly dressed, as befitted her supposed lack of fortune, in a gown of russet wool, with only a simple leather girdle around her waist.

      “I also told Sir Oliver I was feeling a little ill this morning when he asked me if I was joining the hunt,” she said.

      “I’m so relieved most of the court went,” Eloise replied. “It’s so much more peaceful and quiet when they’re hunting.”

      By silent mutual agreement, they went into one of the many little alcoves and sat upon a wooden bench.

      “Did you speak to Randall FitzOsbourne last night?” Adelaide asked.

      Eloise flushed and studied the white rose bushes around them. “No, I didn’t get the chance.”

      “Eloise…!”

      “I was going to,” her friend protested, clasping her hands in her lap, “but before I could, Lord Armand asked me to join him in a round dance. It would have been rude to say no, and when we finished, Randall was gone.”

      Eloise frowned and spoke with uncharacteristic bitterness. “I should have retired when you did. Lord Armand only asked me to dance because Lady Hildegard was marching toward him with a most determined look in her eye. He didn’t want to dance with her so he asked me instead.”

      A sudden, silly surge of disappointment pricked Adelaide as she wondered if that was really true. She didn’t doubt that Lord Armand wanted to avoid the predatory Hildegard, but she could also believe he had an additional reason for asking Eloise to be his partner. Eloise, however, was so modest and unassuming, she was probably quite blind to a man’s genuine interest.

      “Even if Hildegard was bearing down on him like an attacking knight, he didn’t have to ask you to dance,” Adelaide pointed out.

      “I wish he hadn’t. He never said a word to me the entire time. And I’m quite sure asking me to dance doesn’t mean he likes me that way. After he danced with me, he asked Jane. The poor thing was so flustered, she forgot the steps and ran into Hildegard, who said something that made her burst into tears. I don’t know what Lord Armand said to Hildegard after that, but I don’t think she’ll be chasing after him again. She’ll have to content herself with Lord Richard, if she can, and I wouldn’t be overly confident of that, either, if I were her. You should have seen the way he looked at you when you left the hall last night.”

      Adelaide frowned and said with all sincerity, “I truly hope John doesn’t make me marry Richard. Why, he’ll be more concerned about his boots than he’ll ever be about his wife.”

      Eloise started to laugh in agreement, then glanced up at the sun above the nearest tower.

      “Oh, saints preserve us, it’s nearly the noon,” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Marguerite should have returned with my clean shifts by now. Pardon me, Adelaide, but I must see if they’re all right. The last time she did the washing, two of them were torn.”

      With that, Eloise gathered up her skirts and rushed away toward the garden gate without waiting for Adelaide to say another word.

      Adelaide watched her go with a bit of relief. She hated talking about marriage. Such conversations inevitably reminded her of her parents’ unhappy union. Her father had been a harsh, overbearing tyrant who was often in his cups, and her mother had been frail and delicate, too weak to defend herself or her children when he was in a rage. As long as Adelaide could remember, her mother had been sick in body and sick with fear.

      She would never forget the shock she’d felt the day she’d dared to come between them. For the first time, she’d seen a grudging admiration in her father’s eyes, and he’d never again laid a hand on her, or her mother and sisters, if she was nearby.

      That day she had learned that strength need not be physical, that resolve and boldness could be strengths, too.

      She’d also realized that both her parents were weak. If her father had not the law and the dictates of society to bolster his rule, and if her mother had had the determination to stand up to him, their lives might have been very different.

      Approaching footsteps interrupted her unhappy thoughts. The gait was uneven, as if the person limped, like Randall FitzOsbourne.

      Eloise was so shy, she might never speak to him, even though it was obvious she liked him very much. If Eloise wanted to marry—and she did as eagerly as Adelaide did not—Randall FitzOsburne was better than many a husband would be.

      Prepared to do whatever she could to help her friend be happy, Adelaide left the alcove—and discovered Lord Armand de Boisbaston walking down the garden path.

      As startled as she, he came to a halt a few feet away. Then he crossed his arms and leaned his weight on his left leg as he stared at her with those brown, gold-flecked eyes.

      She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I thought I heard somebody limp—I thought you were Randall FitzOsbourne.”

      “Obviously, I’m not.”

      She felt an almost physical pain at his brusque response, although it was no more than she deserved after what she’d said to him yesterday.

      She simply couldn’t let him continue to think she was insolent and rude. “I’m sorry if I insulted you yesterday, my lord,” she said. “I was impertinent and I wouldn’t be surprised if you never wanted to speak to me again.”

      Lord Armand’s brows rose.

      “I doubt I can truly appreciate what you’ve endured. I should have accorded you the respect to which you’re entitled, and I deeply regret what I said.”

      His body relaxed and a smile dawned upon his handsome face. She was pleased to see it, even if it sent another unwelcome thrill throbbing through her.

      “In light of your apology, my lady,” he said, “I’ll tell you why I haven’t cut my hair.”

      He gestured at the nearby bench and although it was rather hidden from the path, she answered his silent request and sat upon it.

      He joined her and explained. “I want my appearance to remind the king that things have changed since I went to Normandy, that myself and others paid a heavy price for trying to hold his lands there. I don’t want him to be able to delude himself that everything is as it was before.”

      “Now I’m even more sorry for what I said.”

      “Dwell no more upon it, my lady,” Lord Armand replied, his answer like a warm blanket on a cold day. “It’s forgotten.”

      Then his lips lifted in a devilish little grin and his eyes shone with merriment. “Although the notion of painting my face blue and leaping out at Francis in the