A Lady's Charade (Medieval Romance Novel) (9 page)

Then he raked his hand through his hair. Her gaze was drawn to the dark curls that came down to touch just above his shoulders. A man’s hair shouldn’t be so silky. His hair reminded her of a dark spicy tea she’d had in France, tangy, exotic, black. A stray lock fell over his forehead. His tanned skin glowed even in the dim light of day. Was he tan all over?

Lord Hardwyck’s silver gaze came her way and their eyes locked. She couldn’t look away or escape the sense that he could see inside her soul. His handsome face radiated with energy and power. Masculine, chiseled features. His jaw was strong and square, with a slight dimple in the chin. A nose that spoke of generations upon generations of noble blood. Chloe couldn’t help but notice it must not have been broken yet in battle, or else had healed perfectly. Full wide lips teased her imagination. Her belly burned with the need to have those lips brand her.

His hot gaze raked up and down her form, and although his expression remained stony, his desire hit her hard. Again, she felt exposed, like he could see every inch of her, in and out. He examined her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and with each inch his eyes roved, her body heated, flushed. Her knees grew weak, her thighs clenched together.

He would be a fearsome opponent. Her nerves were on fire, yet a chill caused gooseflesh to cover her skin. She clutched Maude’s arm unconsciously for balance.

“They’re an impressive sight are they not?” Maude asked, patting Chloe’s hand.

Impressive wasn’t the word she would have used. It was overwhelming, astounding, and simply magnificent. Her father’s men-at-arms were pitiable compared to these warriors. Especially, Lord Hardwyck. No wonder they had run off at the sight of these knights on their doorstep. Somehow it seemed unfair that a man with such a barbaric attitude could be so breathtaking to behold.

Satan works in mysterious ways…

“Yes, they are,” was all she managed in answer. She would have to go straight to confessional and receive her penance for the sinful thoughts racing through her mind. She bowed her head, not willing to look up and let Maude or any bystanders see how their lord affected her. Then she realized, they were all bowed in awe of their master, and she had become a true commoner among the people. Anger sliced through her at not being able to stare this man in the eye and challenge him then and there.

Her breath caught in her throat at how close she had been to truly seeing his violent side at South Hearth. She was easily able to regain her balance, but kept her eyes lowered, not wanting him to see the rage simmering underneath.

You are mine!
If she could turn back time, she would tell him exactly where to shove his arrogant words. She would have no problem with boldly staring. She would have relished it, daring the man to come forward and speak to her. But not here. She could not encourage anyone in this strange and dangerous place. Here she would need to appear meek and do Lord Hardwyck’s bidding. But she’d make sure to sneak in a few tricks to get back at him. Thinking on her little acts of revenge calmed some of the anger boiling within her.

He gave orders to the man at his side, and strode toward Chloe and Maude. The people working and milling about took steps back from him as he passed. They had a mixed look of fear and awe on their faces, similar to the one she was now trying to conceal. Was he as fierce with his people as he was with his enemies?

Maude encouraged Chloe to curtsy to the Lord. As she did so, her back ramrod straight as she’d been taught, she raised her eyes slightly and gazed at him through her lashes. He stopped in front of her, his eyes fixed to her curtsied form. As he studied her, the heat of his gaze burned right through her. She swallowed hard, and tried to take even breaths.

She kept her curtsy low, continuing to gaze on him through her lashes. The tingling in her spine wrapped its way around her body and settled in the pit of her stomach. This sensation of yearning was new to her. What she hungered for, she couldn’t pinpoint, but it was a little scary and exhilarating at the same time. She liked the feel of his eyes on her, and again chastised herself for the feelings he stirred within her. She shouldn’t feel as she did; not with who he was to her, and it certainly wasn’t proper for a lady. Even if she revealed who she was, she couldn’t give herself over to him. Like a smack to her cheek, she remembered just how dirty and unkempt she looked, and knew he was probably only staring in disgust. And it was all his doing…

Ashamed and angry, Chloe pulled herself slightly away from Maude and rose from her curtsey. She was the daughter of powerful baron! Her mother the cousin of a queen! Why should she cower before this man? But she realized that pride wouldn’t help her now.

“Good day,
peasant
,” he said bowing his head to her slightly.

She looked up from her place to be sure he was speaking to her. Indeed he was, and his eyes sparked with cynicism. He towered over her, and she herself was not a short woman. He must be well over six feet tall, for it seemed he was a good twelve inches taller than she. The townsfolk watched their lord, their faces filled with curiosity as to why he just spoke to a commoner, a commoner they didn’t recognize. Maude nudged her, and Chloe slowly stood straight.

“Good day, my lord,” she whispered so softly it was nearly inaudible.

“Thank you, Maude. You are dismissed,” he ordered gently to the older woman.

Maude, without so much as a goodbye to Chloe, scurried away. She felt the vacant spot next to her keenly, and a moment of panic flew through her. She wasn’t close to the woman by any means, but still felt the loss of her company immeasurably. Perhaps it was that the older woman offered some sort of buffer against this man who stole her breath away, just as surely as he’d stolen her life.

“Did you find Maude’s home hospitable?” he asked, still looking down at her, his eyes narrowed.

He stared at her with a dark intensity. What was he thinking? Did he suspect who she was? That was impossible of course, since he’d only seen her from a distance at South Hearth, and she didn’t look at all like she did at the present moment. Perhaps, he was just curious to see if she had been treated well.

“Yes, very. Thank you,” she whispered again.

He said nothing in return, just stared at her a few moments longer. Chloe didn’t know how to take it. She was unnerved and forced herself not to shift on her feet. Did he expect her to say more? His concern for her welfare was either obligatory or he was genuinely interested. But it raised so many questions that jumbled in her mind. She bit the inside of her cheek to slow her thought process. Was it possible, he suspected who she was? She had to stop thinking that he knew. The more she thought about it, the more she might reveal. She had to protect herself. Oh, it was no use. Her mind was going into overdrive. She needed to get away from him, and soon.

With sheer force of will, Chloe was able to put the fears niggling her brain aside, when she glanced at him again. Her body spoke to her of a longing she didn’t know or understand. Her thoughts teased and tempted her in the forbidden recesses of her mind. Never before had she been so drawn to a man. Attraction, intense and violent had taken over. She wanted him for herself, despite how much she hated him. Where were these feelings coming from? She was so confused. Only a day before she had been a mere innocent lady on a treacherous journey—tossed from her surroundings, her maid killed, attacked by knights and a brigand, and had met her enemy face to face. Then the moment she saw him walk out of the keep, she felt different, like a woman.

She played back in her mind the vision of him as he sat strong, astride his massive horse when he’d saved her from the drunk villain. The look of his long muscular legs as they gripped the side of the horse’s body. The way his bulky arm held her in his grasp. The shape of his hand and the length of his fingers as he gripped the reins. His fingertips had brushed the sides of her breasts. Her nipples hardened anew. She dared not look at him now as she was sure their jutted peaks were calling his gaze at this moment. And, oh! Just thinking of him staring at her nipples caused them to harden further still, until they raged and poked at her ragged kirtle.

Why did this man have the power to affect her so? She’d spoken with Highlanders, Lowlanders, French courtiers, all of them schooled in wooing, and yet none of them had wreaked havoc with her senses like the Dragon. No, the few she’d interacted with did not compare to this man, this lord. They certainly didn’t evoke a fraction of this response from her. She had never seen a knight as glorious as he. All of her parent’s men-at-arms seemed either too old or puny, all of them vile. However, this wasn’t just any knight, he was a lord, a warrior, a sensual demon.

“Come with me.” He turned on his powerful legs and headed back for the keep.

“
Sanglier!
” she muttered under her breath as she followed.

“What was that?” he asked without turning around.

Oh, no!
He’d heard her? “Pardon, my lord?” she played the fool, biting her lip, hoping he would let it drop. She’d have to curb her temper and hope he hadn’t heard her call him a wild boar…

Lord Hardwyck didn’t respond but just kept walking up the large stone steps.

She couldn’t wait to get her hands on a dirty mattress… She’d take him down a notch from the pedestal he placed himself on.

The stairs to the keep were wide and high, at least fifteen steps. At the top of the steps was a large landing. When the lord opened the doors, two gargantuan Irish wolfhounds bounded out to greet their master. She took a step back, her hands tightly clasped in front of her, as they eyed her warily. Lord Hardwyck said something to them under his breath and the dogs obediently went down the steps past her, into the courtyard. Once through the entryway, there were steep spiral stairs leading down on the left, and to her right another set leading up. Chloe followed the powerful lord up the pair of steps straight ahead, entering into the great hall.

Servants swept the floors, another lay down fresh rushes, and yet another put wood on the grand fire. There were two long wooden tables along the right and left walls, each lined with benches. At the head of the right table was a single wooden chair. She assumed Lord of Hardwyck most likely ate there, as there was no trestle table or dais for the lord. Lord Hardwyck ate with his people?

Chloe guessed the hall could seat at least one-hundred fifty people for a meal—and there was still room for a few hundred more if needed. By the fire were two large throne-like chairs. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting various battle scenes, and one large one with the dragon crest that she’d seen on his shield. The ceiling arched in an intricate pattern with thick wooden beams, and hanging from them were several chandeliers, years of wax drip dried on their edges.

At the back of the room was another large set of double doors that a man in the room discreetly ushered the servants toward. The servants looked at her questioningly, a few with hostility showing in their faces. Once he had everyone out, the man walked through himself and shut the door behind him. He must be the steward.

The hall smelled like a well used home. Hints of spice, wax, fire smoke, wood, food and leather permeated the air.

Lord Hardwyck walked past the large fire and sat at the head of one of the long wooden tables, gesturing for her to sit beside him.

Chloe took the seat with trepidation. Why was he asking her to sit beside him? She was a servant, and should stand, head bowed, in front of him. She chewed the inside of her cheek and forced her stomach to stop twisting and turning in somersaults.

“What brings you to Hardwyck?” he asked casually. She kept her eyes lowered, but could feel a pull from his gaze to look up.

She was sorry when she did. His steel grey eyes bored into hers with such an intensity she shuddered. His eyebrow lifted in her direction, causing heat to rise from her chest, up her neck and settled in two hot pools on her cheeks.

Suppressing her embarrassment at her predicament—for no noblewoman should be where she was—she repeated the story she had given him the day before.

“You are from Scotland?”

“Yes. We came here many years ago,” she lied. “My parents were in search of better work. With all the warring between clans and—” She gulped, closed her eyes for a moment, disbelieving what she was about to utter.

“With all of that going on in their great country, they thought perhaps England would be a good place to come.” She embellished her story in hopes to inflate his head and turn the subject away from her past. With his brow furrowed, and his lips pressed together, it didn’t look quite like he accepted her story.

She had a sudden desire to reach and touch the corner of his mouth, sweep her finger over his lips and see if they were soft or hard.

“How is it, Chloe, that if you are from a small village near Edinburgh, that you have a French accent?”

God’s breath!
Lord Hardwyck was not as simple as the townsfolk, and she should have known that well. She nearly choked on her breath, and words did not come to the surface.

“I could see if you were a well-bred young lady, perhaps you might have had a chance to spend some time in the French court, but you are not a well-bred lady, you are a lowly peasant. Lowly peasants do not visit court, they barely visit the magistrate of their local village. What say you to this?”