a shot of molten heat burst through her.
Shocked by his scorching touch, Ria shoved him away with all her strength. She suspected he allowed her to do so, but nevertheless took advantage of the distance.
Sitting up quickly, she drew her legs under her. It was a moment before she was able to catch enough breath to speak. “M-my horse, my lord,” she said stiffly, summoning the nerve to brazenly look him in the eyes. “If you would be k-kind enough to help me remount, I will be on my way….”
Nicholas did not move. He had never been one to force himself on a woman, but this one was different. He knew she’d been affected by his touch. Even now her voice was breathless, husky. There was confusion in her eyes.
Bits of dried grass laced her hair, and the deep blue silk of her gown was damp in places. She had the look of a woman who’d been well pleasured, though they’d not come close to what could have been.
Nick could not believe he’d lost his touch. He’d have this girl writhing beneath him again. Soon.
Her form pleased him; her soft curves had fit him perfectly before her sudden attack of conscience forced her to push him away. He’d have liked to remove the ugly shawl she had tied around her shoulders, to see what lay beneath, but hadn’t had time to manage it.
Contrary to his usual inclinations, Nicholas was curious about her. He wondered what had brought her to his lands, mounted on a broken-down mare, without a saddle or any other baggage. As far as he could see, she had only the clothes on her back and a golden locket hanging on a delicate chain about her neck. Was she some nobleman’s discarded mistress, or an innocent maid, somehow lost, perhaps separated from her guardian?
He smiled a little to himself. Clearly, she had nowhere to go. He would keep her with him.
“No,” he finally replied.
The young woman’s eyes widened as her brows lowered. “Sir,” she said, pushing up onto her knees. “My lord…”
“You will accompany me to Kirkham,” he said, “where someone will tend to your injured ankle.”
“But I—”
“I insist,” he said, with a tight smile that did not reach his frosty eyes. “After all, ’twas my fault you were thrown from your horse. ’Tis only fair that I offer you the hospitality of my home.”
Nicholas stood and assisted her to her feet, even as he noted the surprise in her eyes. She had not realized that he was the lord of Kirkham. Supporting her weak side, he helped her step up to a jutting rock, then lifted her onto her horse.
“No saddle?” he asked as he mounted his own gray roan.
Ria shook her head as she considered making a run for it. Unfortunately, though, she was lost and needed guidance if she was ever to find Rockbury. She’d been riding for two days…two very long days without food or shelter. Two days of wondering when Geoffrey Morley would catch up with her.
She was not certain she wanted to tell Lord Kirkham who she was, or where she was headed….
“Come with me,” he said, his voice warm and inviting. “The hour grows late and Castle Kirkham is just ahead. I’ll see that you get that ankle bound and have a hot meal before you continue on your journey.”
Ria had learned that it was better to say too little rather than too much, so she kept silent as they rode. She certainly had no objection to helping herself to a meal at Kirkham, and perhaps along the way she could discover Rockbury’s location from one of Kirkham’s servants.
She straightened her posture and assumed a haughty air so that Kirkham would not think her such an innocent miss, easily flattered and seduced. Far better to pose as a woman of sophistication so that this handsome and worldly nobleman would not attempt to take further advantage of her.
Nicholas made no pretense of watching the road. He let his eyes wander over the maid who rode alongside him, fascinated as much by the questions she presented as her comely form. Her speech was usually as refined as that of any noblewoman, yet she met his eyes with a challenge and the kind of defiance not often seen in young women of his class. Her clothing was torn and ill-fitting, though it was made of as fine a material as he’d ever seen. Her sun-kissed hair was magnificent, and her features delicate and alluring. But her hands were reddened and chafed.
She was not an expert equestrian, but she chose to ride without a saddle. The horse she rode posed questions, too. Her mare was far from being prime horse-flesh, but Nicholas knew of no villein who could afford even the poorest horse.
Had she stolen this hapless mare?
“I am Nicholas Hawken,” he said. “Marquis of Kirkham.”
The young woman kept her eyes on the road ahead. Nicholas watched her profile, unable to take his gaze from her throat as she swallowed before speaking. “How do you do, my lord?” she said.
Nicholas smiled. She did not intend to give her name.
“’Tis my estate upon which you trespass.”
“I do most heartily beg your pardon, my lord,” she said lightly. “’Twas not my intention to infringe upon private property.”
“Of course not,” he said, watching, fascinated, as she secured the ugly woolen shawl over the neck of her gown. It was a crime to cover such smooth and enticing skin with that coarse brown wool. “You have yet to speak your name, my lady fair.”
Again she rode on quietly, taking in the scenery around her. Nicholas knew she was procrastinating, and wondered why she hesitated to give her name. Was she running from her family? Wanted by a sheriff somewhere, perhaps?
“My name is…Maria. Of S-Staffordshire.”
“Ahh…” Now he was getting somewhere, though the manner in which she spoke the name led him to suspect she’d made it up. “No surname?”
“N-nay, my lord,” she replied, as if it were commonplace for a young maid of quality to be traveling about the countryside unescorted, riding bareback on an old nag, wearing ruined clothes and having no name other than “Maria of Staffordshire.”
He would send inquiries to the nearby estates when he had her settled at Kirkham.
Chapter Four
Lord Kirkham had noticed the rough skin of her hands, so Ria tried to keep them hidden as Kirkham’s secretary bound her ankle in the privacy of a well-appointed chamber near the chapel. ’Twas a comfortable room with long mullioned windows facing out over a quaint courtyard full of statuary and early greenery.
The secretary, Henric Tournay, was a young man scarcely older than Ria, she thought, with pale hair and even paler skin. His deep brown eyes were set starkly into the light backdrop of his complexion. All his features, in combination, gave him the appearance of being startled, at all times.
His hands were as white and clammy as the underbelly of a fish, and his touch repelled her. Still, he was trying to help, so she kept her unease to herself.
“’Tis bruised nearly to the toes, my lady,” Tournay said as he wrapped Ria’s foot and ankle. “You must stay off it for a few days.”
“But that is impossible,” Ria said. She glanced out the window and saw that it was nearly dusk. Daylight would be gone within the hour. “I must be on my way. On the morrow at the latest.”
Tournay raised his nearly nonexistent brows and shrugged. “’Tis for you to decide, my lady. But Lord Kirkham—”
A burst of laughter in Kirkham’s distant hall interrupted the man. Other male voices joined in, along with spurts of music. Instruments began to play, and voices joined in song, then all dissolved into discord and gave way to raucous laughter, only to be repeated again.
Ria bit her lower lip. How would she get out of Castle Kirkham without encountering the lord’s