His Lady Fair - Margo Maguire

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Fooling a couple of young maids was one thing. Keeping up her charade before Lord Kirkham and his companions was far different.

      “There, my lady,” the maid with the gowns said, “you have your choice between the green and the orange. Both suit your coloring.”

      To Ria, the two gowns could not be described in such simple terms. The green one was finely made of velvet, and as deep a color as the forest at dusk, with lovely white fur trim around the neckline and hips. The orange looked more like a shaft of iron turned to rust. Its neckline was cut in a dramatic square, with tiny balls of gold sewn along the edge, and a golden girdle to match. Contrasting yellow silk was set into the flowing sleeves and train.

      “I prefer the orange,” said a deep, male voice.

      Ria whirled to see that Kirkham had come in and was standing only a few paces from her. She did not know how he had entered without her hearing, though admittedly, her attention had been completely engaged by the beautiful gowns.

      “Leave us,” he said to the maids.

      Ria opened her mouth to protest, but the two maids hurried to do his bidding while Lord Kirkham held her eyes. She felt naked, wearing only the thin chainsil. It left her neck and shoulders bare, as well as a goodly portion of her bosom—much more than was appropriate or comfortable in the presence of this man…this stranger.

      As he came closer, she raised her hands instinctively to cover the exposed expanse of flesh. She would have taken a step backward, but knew her ankle would not support her.

      “You were lovely lying on the ground with your hair in disarray, your clothes wet with dew,” he said. “But now, my lady fair, you take my breath away.”

      Chapter Five

      He should not have been so stunned by her transformation. She was the same maiden he’d accosted on the road, but now, with her hair artfully arranged and her shoulders bare, he was able to fully appreciate the fine bones of her face and neck, the creamy purity of her skin.

      Lady Maria was exquisite.

      “My lord,” she said. She raised her chin and glared at him peremptorily, but he heard the slight tremor in her voice. He made her nervous.

      He smiled and inclined his head as she tried to subtly cover her décolletage. To his great satisfaction, she was only partially successful.

      “My own p-preference was…for the green,” she said, her lovely eyes engaging his own. “But since you like the orange…” She picked up the gown and held it over her bare skin.

      Nicholas paused a moment before replying. Lady Maria presented an odd mix of sophistication and naiveté. While she seemed to flirt and dally with him, he sensed a subtle unease in her demeanor. For the first time in many a year, Nick was unsure how to proceed.

      Rather than moving forward to touch her, and perhaps steal a kiss to begin his seduction, he watched as she moved enticingly, holding the rich russet gown over her nakedness. Light and shadows played off her flawless skin, and Nick felt his muscles tense, his pulse rise. He was a master at seduction, yet felt he was the one being seduced.

      ’Twas not at all unpleasant.

      Ria did not know what to do next.

      The marquis stood looking at her, devouring her with his eyes, yet made no move to indicate what he expected from her. Perhaps that was to her advantage, she thought. She might be able to keep charge of the situation if she stayed one step ahead of him.

      She moistened her lips and turned slightly away from Lord Kirkham, unwilling to display any more of herself than she had already. She was vastly uncomfortable, standing unclothed before him. It had been pure inspiration to take the gown and hold it in front of herself, interfering with his blatant perusal of her form.

      But what now? She could not very well toss Lord Kirkham out of one of his own chambers. Could she?

      “My lord,” she said, tipping her head regally. “You very graciously provided maids to help me dress. If you would be so good as to call them back…?”

      Lord Kirkham shrugged casually. “We won’t need them.”

      Somehow Ria managed to refrain from gasping in shock. Surely he did not mean to dress her.

      “On the contrary, my lord,” she said, surprising herself with her audacity. She tipped up her chin and attempted to look down her nose at him. “I will need the maids.”

      He smiled.

      “Please summon them on your way out,” she added as she put one hand on Lord Kirkham’s shoulder and turned him. Then she gave him a gentle shove toward the door.

      When he was just outside, he turned to look back at her, his visage dark and frightening. Ria felt a slight palpitation of her heart and wondered if she had made a dangerous mistake.

      Then he smiled tightly and turned away.

      She closed the door and leaned against it, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

      Quickly, before Lord Kirkham changed his mind, Ria hobbled back to the bed and struggled to pull on the gown. She got caught up in the sleeves and neckline, but one of the maids arrived just in time to rescue her before her coif was ruined.

      “Oh, my lady,” the young woman said, hurrying into the chamber, “here, let me help you with that!”

      Ria allowed the maid to pull the gown over her head and then help her with the buttons and laces. She was anxious to be fully dressed, lest the dark lord pay her another visit.

      She did not know what to make of him. One moment he was surly and out of sorts, the next he was seductive and overly familiar. Was this the kind of behavior noblewomen were forced to endure from their men? Ria was unsure, her only experience with noblemen being her observations of the guests at Alderton.

      She only knew that his effect on her was a powerful one, the likes of which she’d never experienced before.

      She sensed that he was a dangerous man. Lord Kirkham was not dangerous in the same way that Geoffrey and Thomas threatened her…nay, the danger was much more subtle, and a far greater threat to her well-being.

      Nicholas had no stomach for the game tonight. He sat quietly at the long table in the center of his hall and observed his peers as they indulged in their vices.

      He surveyed his realm. His realm! Ha!

      Kirkham. The title and estate he’d never thought would be his. The irony of his situation never escaped him. ’Twas only through Nick’s own folly that Edmund had been killed, making Nicholas marquis.

      Nick damned himself once again for the callowness of his youth and his unwavering belief that he and Edmund were invincible. ’Twas his own reckless desire for adventure and fame that had driven him to join King Henry’s troops in France, and coerce Edmund into going along for the glory. Little had he known he’d leave his elder brother in an unmarked grave, buried deep under French soil.

      Nicholas hadn’t had the heart to return home right away…to his father, who had been devastated by news of Edmund’s death, nor to Edmund’s betrothed, the daughter of a neighboring earl. Nay, he’d wandered over Europe, punishing himself for Edmund’s death until he’d been able to stay away no longer.

      And when he’d returned to Kirkham, his father was dead. ’Twas one more regret to add to his list.

      Naught had changed here since he was a lad. Kirkham’s hall looked just the same, except for the company, of course.

      Ale flowed freely. Men tossed dice and played at cards. Bawdy songs were played and drunken voices chimed in sporadically. There were willing wenches aplenty in the hall, and Nicholas was certain there were more in various nooks and crannies throughout the castle. But none were so interesting as the one in residence in the south tower.

      Maria. Of Staffordshire.

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