taking the crutch from her anyway, and then tucking her arm in his.
Maria did not know how to protest this familiarity and still maintain her semblance of a noble demeanor. She let it go, and hobbled alongside him. “Nay, my lord.”
“Then you will do so with me,” he said.
“But I—”
“No one will be up and about for hours,” he said. “’Twill give us an opportunity to become better acquainted.”
“I thought we became rather more acquainted than we should last night, my lord,” Maria said, then wished she had bitten her tongue. Oh, why had she said such a thing?
“Nowhere near as well acquainted as we will be, my lady,” he said, clearly amused by her discomfiture.
His remark caused a slight hitch in her step, but Maria could think of no retort. She kept silent as she limped beside him. She could feel the warmth of his upper arm against the side of her breast, even though she’d worn a heavy velvet gown.
She pulled away slightly and walked on, ignoring the vaguely devilish smile that quirked Lord Kirkham’s lips.
They entered the keep through a wooden door that opened into the gardens, and went into the richly appointed room where Henric Tournay had bound her ankle the night before. Sir Gyles was there ahead of them, looking big and burly in his gray hauberk with his sword sheathed at his side.
“Good morn, my lord,” he said, then turned to give a slight bow to Maria. “My lady.”
All this deference was so strange. Ria—nay, Maria, as she had to think of herself—did not know how she would ever become used to it.
Nicholas ushered her to a soft chair near a large oaken desk. A fire flickered cozily in the fireplace, making the room warm and comfortable. “You will rest more easily here than in the great hall,” he said. “’Tis cavernous and cold when there are only a few occupants.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said warily. Lord Kirkham’s eyes raked over her appreciatively, and Maria felt less than covered by the modest gown she’d chosen to wear. She was glad of Sir Gyles’s presence, but caught a disapproving look in his eye before he had a chance to mask it. She wondered if he disapproved of her or of something Lord Kirkham had done.
Uneasy with both men, Maria sank back in the chair and closed her fingers around the locket, which hung from its long chain about her neck.
“Gyles,” Nicholas said as he sat down at the massive desk. Maria watched him take a sheet of clean vellum, then dip a tapered quill into ink. He filled the page with a thick, bold script. “I should like you to take a few men and ride to London with this message.” He remained silent until he finished writing his missive, sanded it, then folded and sealed it. He handed it to Sir Gyles.
Maria’s eyes followed Lord Kirkham’s hands, strong and powerful, their backs dusted with dark hair. Hands that had touched her more intimately than they should.
“Shall I await a reply?” Gyles asked.
“Nay, ’twill not be necessary,” Nicholas replied as Gyles turned to leave. “And you need not hurry back to Kirkham. Return at your leisure.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“By the way, Gyles…my lady has not yet broken her fast. Nor have I.” Nicholas glanced at Maria, and she felt his smoldering look all the way to her toes. “Before you leave, send a footman to the kitchen for a meal…to be served here.”
“Aye, my lord,” Gyles said as he bowed again to Maria and left the chamber.
Lord Kirkham stood and came around to Maria’s side of the desk. “So, the ankle is still quite sore today?”
She nodded ruefully. “I had hoped to be on my way this morn.”
Nicholas leaned back against his desk and crossed his ankles. “And what exactly is your destination, my lady fair?” he asked.
Maria hesitated only an instant. “H-home,” she said, knowing perfectly well that he would next ask specifically where home was. She glanced toward the fire to avoid his gaze.
Lord Kirkham let out a bark of laughter. She glanced up at him and saw bemusement in his eyes. ’Twas a little better than the sarcasm in his tone when he called her his “lady fair.”
“It has been a long while since a woman has intrigued me so,” he said as he knit his brows and shook his head slightly. “If I ask where ‘home’ is, will you answer me honestly?”
“In truth, my lord?” she said haughtily. “No.”
That earned her another bolt of laughter, and Maria bit her lip in consternation. This was not at all how Cecilia would have conducted a conversation with a gentleman at Alderton. Maria’s dauntless cousin would have stood up to the man and said that her destination was not his concern. Then she would have batted her eyes and postured outrageously, dislodging all questions from the poor, unsuspecting suitor’s mind.
The trouble was Maria did not for a moment believe that Lord Nicholas Hawken was poor or unsuspecting. Nor did she believe she possessed the kind of allure that was second nature to Cecilia. Her cousin was tall and willowy, with beautiful sable hair and lovely brown eyes.
“I’ll leave you to your secrets then,” Nicholas said as he pulled a low stool next to her. “You are welcome to stay at Kirkham as long as you wish.”
Maria thought his choice of words strange, but did not dwell on it. She did wonder, however, why he would think she would stay any longer than was necessary for her ankle to heal.
She contained her astonishment when Lord Kirkham crouched down and picked up her injured foot, placing it gently on the stool. He did not take his hands from her leg, but caressed her through the thin wool of her hose.
His attention…his bold touch…unnerved her.
She should not be able to feel his heat so well through her hose, and that heat should not have had the power to make her recall the sensations caused by his hands, his lips, his body, during the previous night.
“My lord…” Maria said, quite breathlessly.
“There does not seem to be any swelling,” Nicholas said, ignoring her alarmed tone, “but…’tis quite bruised?”
She nodded in response.
One of his hands moved up to cradle her calf, and his eyes met hers. He was seducing her with a mere touch of her leg! “Was nothing else injured?”
“N-nay, my lord.”
She’d begun to pull away when Nicholas removed his hand and stood. “Ah, here is the footman with our meal,” he said.
Maria let out the breath she was holding and marveled that Lord Kirkham had been aware of the footman’s arrival long before she herself had noticed anyone else’s presence.
She did not doubt that that was the only reason she’d gotten a reprieve from his attentions.
The footman carried in a tray laden with bread, fruit and mugs of warm cider, which he placed on a low table near Maria.
Lord Kirkham pulled up a chair and sat next to her.
“I hope you are hungry,” he said to her as the footman took his leave.
“Aye,” she replied. “I am. Quite famished.”
And by the expression on his face, Maria felt as though she’d said something entirely improper.
The day’s hunt was successful, although Nicholas did not succeed in learning anything useful about the Duke of Sterlyng. Rumor had it that the duke had a secret heir stashed somewhere, but Nick was uninterested in Sterlyng’s personal affairs. It was the affairs of England that concerned him.
If Sterlyng had any nefarious dealings with the French, he was somehow