His Lady Fair. Margo Maguire

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СКАЧАТЬ vague memories of Tilda calling her Maria, and shortening the name fondly.

      Ria pulled off her woolen shawl and let the rich, silk gown slip from her shoulders. Glancing up, she saw a clear reflection of herself for the first time in her life.

      What a mess she was!

      ’Twould take more skill than she had to give herself the refined appearance of a noblewoman.

      A noise at the door disrupted Ria’s thoughts, and two maids entered the room. One held a tray laden with food and drink. The other carried an armful of things, including a hairbrush and various other items used in a lady’s toilette.

      They both curtsied and set down their burdens. Piqued by the intrusion, Ria wondered if anyone at Castle Kirkham waited for leave to enter before barging in, but her annoyance was assuaged by the pleasant smiles and obliging manner of the two women. She knew her annoyance was misplaced.

      “Lord Kirkham said you would have some trouble getting around,” the short one said.

      “So he sent us to help,” the other added.

      Nicholas Hawken paced the length of his chamber, dangling a folded missive from one hand. Tournay had handed him the letter, which had arrived a few hours before his own return to Kirkham, and the accusations stated therein were compelling.

      If only the actual evidence of treachery, a letter to the Duke of Alen

n, had not been lost.

      For years Nick had played the lecherous drunkard, a superficial sot who cared for nothing beyond his next diversion. His recklessness and dissipation were renowned, and understood to be his reaction to losing his brother in France.

      Not even his secretary suspected the truth.

      ’Twas the perfect ploy for gleaning information that could be used to further the English cause in France, and bring about a swift end to the interminable war. More than any other motive, Nicholas was committed to his purpose of reducing the number of Englishmen who perished in the French wars each year.

      No more should have to die like Edmund.

      While it was true that Nicholas still felt tremendous guilt for his brother’s death, in reality his wild and wicked reputation had been carefully cultivated in order to allay any suspicions of him. While he went on his supposed drunken binges with his waterfront cronies, he was well able to cull information for the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France.

      In short, he was Bedford’s spy, and his missions had been both dangerous as well as amusing at times.

      Over the past few months, however, sensitive information had repeatedly been diverted to the French dauphin in Chinon, information that had already had detrimental effects on a few small skirmishes. Whoever was channeling this information had to be stopped, or England’s interests in France would be seriously compromised.

      Nick looked down at the vellum in his hand. As impossible as it was to believe, the letter implicated John Burton, Duke of Sterlyng, as the traitor who had sent secret information to Jean, Duke of Alen

n, regarding the numbers and status of English troops at Orléans.

      How could that be? Nicholas wondered. Sterlyng’s reputation was beyond reproach. The man’s family lines went back to the Conqueror! He’d been a trusted advisor of King Henry V, as well as of Henry’s father. Even now, the duke was part of the council that would rule England until Henry VI reached his majority.

      And he was the Duke of Bedford’s closest friend and advisor. With the disintegrating situation in France, Sterlyng’s treason would be a terrible blow to Bedford and all the knights fighting for the English cause.

      Nicholas threw the missive into the fire and clasped his hands behind his back. He’d invited a couple of dozen noblemen from London in order to ferret out their secrets. When the wine flowed and the wenches were willing, Nick often learned what he needed to know, with his pigeon never the wiser.

      Now he wondered if there was any point in continuing this party.

      Yes, he thought. He must do all that he could to verify the charges he’d just read. One intercepted letter bearing a fragment of Sterlyng’s ducal seal was not adequate proof of treason. Before he could accuse John Burton of such a heinous crime, the case against him had to be ironclad.

      Nicholas would continue with the party as planned. Most of his guests traveled in Sterlyng’s circles, and one of them might know something. Nick took a swig of ale and swished it around in his mouth. Then he spat it out in the basin next to his bed. He only had to appear the drunkard. ’Twould never do to be caught truly incapacitated.

      He left his chamber, intent upon the activity in the great hall, and gave a passing thought to the woman he’d brought home. He wondered how she fared, and considered summoning Tournay for a report. Then he decided to see for himself. Those glorious eyes alone were worth a short delay of his mission below.

      Besides, her chamber was adjacent to his own. ’Twould not make much of a detour to see to her.

      ’Twas odd for Ria to watch her hair taking shape into a stylish coiffure. She who had never before seen her entire face in a mirror observed closely as one of the maids finished pinning the elaborate braids in place. Ria could hardly believe it was truly her own reflection she saw before her.

      While one maid helped her remove Cecilia’s gown, the other searched through the trunks and discovered a delicate chemise made of fine chainsil, as well as two beautiful gowns, which she laid out on the bed.

      Ria did not believe she was dressing for any particular reason, for Lord Kirkham had not mentioned anything about joining the party in the hall. And she was grateful. She had no interest in testing her playacting abilities on so large an audience. 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, СКАЧАТЬ