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of Master Fairley?”

      She was about to agree that she was until she understood by the hard gleam in his eyes that he thought her reason for doing so was quite unacceptable. Her cheeks flamed and she went hot with embarrassment and anger that he might have so little regard for her sense of propriety.

      “How dare you question me!” she snapped impatiently and turned to hasten towards the door again in order to make her escape, but he caught her by the arm again and pulled her towards him roughly.

      “I have every reason to do so since I have made myself responsible for your safety.”

      “No one asked you to,” she flared back.

      The room was, of course, deserted and she was aware that her voice had risen and that she might well have awakened someone upstairs who might come to discover what was causing a disturbance in the night. The room seemed chilly and she turned towards the fire where the embers had been banked down but a residual warmth was still being given out. Despite the day’s summer warmth, it had been kindled to allow mulled ale and spiced wine to be produced for travellers and customers who requested it. She realised suddenly that she was quite alone with this man she regarded as an enemy and knew that her shivers were caused by something other than the chilliness of the summer night.

      Tiredly she said, “Allow me, sir, to return to my chamber now. I am wearied.”

      “Not too wearied to be wandering about. I will allow you to go, mistress, when you provide me with a suitable explanation for this wanton behaviour.”

      “It does not concern you. I do not have to answer to you, sir.”

      He did not favour that remark with an answer, but released her arm and stood dominatingly before her, feet apart, arms folded.

      His very attitude and the fact that he had dispensed with the courtesy of affording her her proper title but had addressed her as “mistress”, rather than “my lady”, fired her to anger once more.

      “If you must have an explanation, yes, I was, indeed, looking for Peter.”

      “Why?”

      The single word was uttered without any courteous preamble.

      “As I have said, it is of no concern of yours. I—I—” She flailed about in her mind for an acceptable reason. She dared not give him the true one. “I—I simply wanted to talk with him—about the problems of the journey and—and did not wish to alarm my mother.”

      “You are sure you have no other reason for not alarming your mother?” The question was disconcertingly blunt, so much so that she gasped aloud.

      “Are you suggesting—?”

      “I am suggesting nothing. The facts seem plain enough. You get up in the middle of the night, half undressed, in order to see your father’s squire. It requires little more speculation on my part.”

      In sudden fury she lashed out at his cheek, but he caught her hand before it could do damage and held it in a punishing grip, so that she cried out in pain. “Little hell cat,” he murmured softly and deliberately.

      She struggled to free herself. His grasp was delivering real pain and she knew there would be bruises to show for it in the morning. He released her at last and she stumbled backwards.

      “How dare you!” she stuttered, very close to tears. “How dare you imply that Peter and I would—” Her breath ended in a splutter of unutterable rage. “Why, Peter, unlike you, is the soul of honour. He is totally devoted to our interests and discreet and my father trusts him with all our lives…”

      “I do not doubt that, mistress,” he said grimly, “but can he trust him with his daughter’s honour? Last evening, as I recall, you were supposedly out looking for him then because you said he was late returning to you and you were worried about him.”

      “That was the truth,” she retorted, sparks flying from her lovely blue-green eyes. “Perhaps you would like to question my concern for his welfare and put that down to a dishonourable reason. I imagine you are less concerned about the welfare of your own retainers.”

      He was silent for a while, not rising to her taunt, watching the angry rise and fall of her breasts, the looseness of her unfastened gown more than normally revealing. Once more he marvelled at her loveliness, so exquisitely formed, like a faery sprite, more beautiful than he had remembered her mother to have been when she had captivated his boy’s heart so long ago. He felt an ungovernable anger. Philippa Telford might look like a child, but she most certainly was not. He had the evidence of that before his eyes. She was radiantly lovely, enough to seduce the whole of the male population within the Duchess Margaret’s court, he thought, yet she was here in search of her father’s squire, a man surely too old and unworthy to be her lover. Was he judging her too harshly? Was she really innocent at heart, simply anxious to talk with the man, as she had said, about the difficulties of the journey ahead? Unaccountably he found himself wanting to believe her. She was so young—sixteen, seventeen perhaps—and he believed her parents had kept her well chaperoned. Yet, the thought came to him that, beautiful as she was and well born, she had not concealed how poverty-stricken they were in exile in Burgundy. She must be fully aware of how difficult it was going to be for her father to provide her with a suitable husband. How galling that must be to her…

      He sighed heavily. In her present mood he was going to find it hard to convince her that this rash behaviour was indiscreet, if not downright dangerous.

      “Lady Philippa, you know, I am sure, that this is a difficult and dangerous time for your mother and you. It behoves you to be circumspect.” He lifted a hand imperiously as she made to interrupt him. “No, hear me out. I cannot imagine why you should wish to seek out your father’s squire at this hour of the night, but there must be no more of these escapades. Do you hear me?”

      “I hear you,” she grated through clenched teeth. “I would like to know just why you were sleeping outside our door rather than in the common chamber where you said you would be.”

      “I have already explained. I regard myself as your protector,” he returned mildly. “Though the wars are over, the times are still troubled. King’s men are everywhere and soldiers, off duty, can pose problems for vulnerable women. I am sure that I do not have to explain that to you.”

      “Are you our protector or our jailer?” she said stonily and his eyes opened wide and darkened to obsidian.

      Hastily she added, somewhat lamely, “I meant that—I do not understand why you should appoint yourself our guardian.”

      He shrugged. “Perhaps because Fate or the Virgin cast you both before me as being in need. Is that not a good enough reason, mistress?”

      Haughtily she shook her glorious hair, which lay unbound in heavy red-gold waves upon her shoulders. He felt an irresistible desire to pull her towards him and run his fingers through it. What was she doing, he thought savagely, appearing before a man in the night like that? Had she no sense of decorum? Didn’t she realise what temptations she could arouse in men? He took himself firmly in hand. She was young, vulnerable, and under his protection. He must hold himself in check.

      “I am not sure,” she said icily, “whether either my mother or I are gladdened that fate decided to take such a hand in our affairs. Now, sir, will you please stand aside and allow me to return to my mother?”

      He nodded slowly and stepped aside from the door so that she might move towards it unhindered. He could not allow himself to touch her, not again.

      He said a trifle hoarsely, “Certainly, Lady Philippa, but be assured that I shall resume my post outside your door the moment you are settled inside.”

      She did not deign to reply, but sulkily moved past him and mounted the stairs back to their chamber.

      He followed and settled himself, seated with his back to their door. He was bewitched as if she had thrown faery dust before his eyes and taken possession of his very soul. How could this have happened to him and so suddenly? Not only was

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