His Lady Fair. Margo Maguire
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Название: His Lady Fair
Автор: Margo Maguire
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
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In one quiet alcove, the wench on Nicholas’s lap wiggled suggestively and batted her lashes at him. She reached across him, brushing her breasts against his arm, and picked up her mug from the table next to them. She took a long draught of ale, then touched her tongue to her lips, implying all the wicked things she would be willing to do for him…for a price.
He wasn’t interested.
Awareness of his disinterest appalled him. The wench was as willing as any woman could be, and he was a fool not to take advantage of her enthusiasm.
Nick tried to tell himself his distraction was due to the lack of news about Sterlyng. He had pursued all avenues of information available to him at Kirkham. He’d subtly questioned all his guests about the Duke of Sterlyng and his friend Carrington, who’d supposedly gone off to Italy just as England’s most pleasant season was upon them. Nicholas had subtly questioned his guests about every nobleman who was known to have financial or other dealings with the Orléanist faction.
But he had learned nothing, beyond the rumors that had been rife about the duke’s missing heir.
Perhaps that was the connection. Nicholas would have to determine who the mother of this supposed heir was…a Frenchwoman, perhaps? If that were the case, and heaven knew Sterlyng had spent sufficient time in France with Bedford, was it not possible that he’d taken a French mistress and sired a bastard on her? The dauphin himself was rumored to be illegitimate….
Since Sterlyng left no other heir, he might be strongly tied to this offspring.
’Twas worth investigating, though by no means would the duke be exonerated if this theory turned out not to be true. The letter to the Duke of Aleno¸n, affixed with Sterlyng’s official seal, was incriminating in and of itself.
One thing was certain—there was no more Nicholas could do tonight. He could pass the time as he would, with no thought to England or the men serving the king’s cause in France.
Which brought his attention back to the lusty harlot in his arms. Her eyes were a deep, liquid brown and oh, so seductive. Her gown was cut low, all the better to display her ample charms. ’Twould take very little to coax the lass up to his chamber in the south tower.
Right next to the one occupied by Lady Maria.
Nicholas stood, easing the woman off his lap. “My lord?” she asked.
Nick frowned as he found himself without an explanation for what he would do now, or why.
After he’d returned from the hunt, Maria had told him—through her maid—that she was resting and did not care to be disturbed. Then she’d declined his invitation to dine with him in the solar, making her aversion to him clear.
He had no good reason to allow the woman to preoccupy his every waking thought.
He grinned wickedly at the woman before him. She possessed a coarse beauty that would serve him well enough. One long night with this one in his bed would give him respite from his political speculations, and mayhap even dispel his fixation on Lady Maria. He took the wench’s shoulders in his hands and dragged her to him, planting his lips on hers.
She speared his mouth with her tongue and grabbed his buttocks, grinding her pelvis against him. She pivoted, dragging him with her, and pushed him onto the chair he’d just vacated. Then she sat on him again, only this time she straddled his hips with her legs.
“Lord Nicky…” she whined. She wriggled against him, pressing her hips to his loins. She took one of his hands and placed it on her breast, startling him when he realized he hadn’t put it there himself.
He doubled his effort to seduce her, though she clearly required no wooing. Unaccountably irritated with himself, and with her, Nicholas rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled her gown down in order to have better access to her bountiful flesh.
But he was pitifully unaffected by the wanton, willing female sprawled across what were usually his most sensitive parts.
Nicholas felt smothered by her. She smelled of onions and…of something else he couldn’t quite determine. ’Twas not the pleasantest of aromas, though.
She moaned into his mouth and detached herself enough to whisper a suggestion that they find a private place where she could show him a few tricks she knew with her tongue.
Again Nicholas was remarkably unmoved by her proposition. In truth, he thought that if she wriggled against him once more, or tried to shove her tongue any farther down his throat, he would be compelled to dump her off his lap without ceremony.
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