Through The Leaded Glass Page 10

  At least in theory.

  One that was shot to hell when he stormed to his feet beside her.

  “Isobel.”

  And called out another woman’s name. Joy. She was really batting a thousand these days.

  Then Kate saw the woman entering the hall.

  Ah. Isobel. And of course, she was beautiful.

  He probably wouldn’t curse when he’d slammed her up against a wall.

  “Your Isobel?” Kate couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “Kate, mind your words. She’s not mine.” Alex’s voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “Nor have I asked for her.”

  “But you had that intention, did you not, Alexander?” The woman in question swept up to them with an air of regal self-importance, fluttering a fan and looking down her nose at everyone at the table with slate blue eyes in a perfect English “peaches and cream” complexion. Her coloring was enhanced by the beautiful blue dress strung with ropes of pearls and the matching headdress. She even had a beauty mark by her mouth.

  Definitely not the wall-slamming type. For that, Kate had to smile. The woman looked way too tightly wound—as was proven with her clipped speech and impeccable manners. Well, if you called showing up in a former fiancé’s house unannounced impeccable.

  “Come, darling.” Isobel extended her hand to Alex, and Kate could see where that voice might be a detriment. It grated like swords on a chalkboard. “Let us forget this nonsense.”

  Alex gripped the table. “Lady Marston, may I present my betrothed, Lady Katherine Lawton.”

  Isobel didn’t even glance her way. “Alexander—”

  Alex drew Kate to her feet. “Come, my lady. It appears our guest wishes a private audience.”

  This ought to be interesting.

  Alex led them to a corridor beyond the hall. Isobel smoothed a hand over her headdress, pointedly ignoring Kate. “Honestly, Alexander, you mustn’t allow a misunderstanding to disrupt our marriage plans.” She dropped her fan onto a small table and brushed an invisible speck from her sleeve as if it were the most important thing in her world and the conversation with Alex simply a nuisance.

  “Isobel, marriage was never promised between us.”

  Huh? Alex had made it seem like it was a done deal.

  “Oh, Alexander, come now. Everyone knows of it. Who else would either one of us marry? You have need of a wife, I a husband, our lands adjoin… Everyone thinks so.”

  The court of common opinion was a novel way to get engaged. Though not out of the ordinary; it was the reason Kate now found herself in that same predicament.

  “Everyone but me perhaps,” Alex said. “Especially since I am betrothed to Kate.”

  “Oh, pish. I’m certain if you make a large donation to her convent the girl will be allowed to return. I won’t hold this rashness against you.” Isobel looked up. “But you are a knave for parading this woman about the village with your ring after you have all but asked me to wed you.”

  Kate tapped her shoe. If she could find the damn window, she could get out of here before Alex turned the woman away entirely. Apparently, Isobel did want him enough to be second best, so who was Kate to wonder why? Alex was a decent catch, if one liked the whole, I-am-the-master-and-you-will-do-my-bidding thing.

  And, of course, wall episodes.

  She shivered. She’d liked that wall episode, dammit.

  She tugged on Alex’s sleeve. “Maybe you should listen to her,” she whispered. “You’re still going to have to marry someone when I leave. Maybe—”

  Alex glared at her. “Enough, Kate,” he whispered. “I can’t make a promise to Isobel when I am promised to you. If you recall, our betrothal came about to find the thief—that’s more important than securing her as a wife.” He turned to Isobel. “Isobel, I never ‘all but asked’ you to wed. You go too far. I’ll not be threatened by any woman. You’ll do well to remember that. Nor will I do ‘what everyone knows’ simply because you desire it.”

  “But… the king. He gave you dispensation—”

  “To pick a woman of my choosing.”

  Isobel finally looked at Kate. “You… I will not… This is…” Isobel yanked her fan off the table, fluttering it like a butterfly gone crazed. “The king shall hear about this. He desires our lands aligned. To spurn me is to deny his wishes. You can’t do this, Alexander.”

  “Lower your voice, Isobel. I don’t care to have my honor questioned before my people. Henry granted me my choice. Whatever beliefs you have of an arrangement between us are your own. I chose Kate. I suggest you recognize it, for this scene is not well done of you.”

  “But if it’s not you, the king will send me to Wexham.” She stilled her fluttering fan, its stillness highlighting her concern as clearly as the tears in her eyes.

  And, of course, she looked beautiful all teary-eyed.

  Kate wanted to hate her, but couldn’t. The woman’s life was dictated by the times in which she lived and, for that, Kate had to feel sorry for her.

  “I can’t do it, Alexander, I simply can’t. The man is a fiend. All three wives—three—have met with mishaps. You must honor my wishes in this, for you don’t understand—”

  “Ah, ‘tis the fair Lady Marston, come to bless us with drama.” Nick ran into the corridor from the great hall, stopping when the three of them turned his way. “What say you, my lady? Haven’t you had enough accolades today? I’d regale you with more if our earlier conversations aren’t enough.”

  Isobel threw her fan at him. “You, sirrah, have no permission to speak to me in such a manner.” She waved her hand, her voice tight. “Begone.”

  It sounded like a Shakespearean tragedy. Or comedy. Kate had a hard time deciding which, but the undercurrents zinging between the three of them kept her from laughing. As did the news of this Wexham guy. He and King Richard seemed to get pretty lucky with “mishaps” for those in their way. And then, of course, there was the next king to look forward to. Followed by Bloody Mary.

  Yeah, she needed to go home. Everyone would be better off if she did.

  “Now, now, my lady.” Nick swaggered toward Isobel with a cocky grin and his hand across his heart. “You do me irreparable harm when you reject me in such a manner. Come heal my bruised and battered soul. Let us adjourn so that I may beg your forgiveness for any offense I have given.”

  “Your very presence offends me, sir.” She turned her back, only to be spun around to face him when he reached her.

  Nick kept the smile on his face, but Kate could read the hardness in his eyes from where she stood.

  “Think, Isobel,” he growled. “If you wish to leave the hall with even a semblance of pride, take my offer and I’ll whisk you away from this humiliation.”

  Thank goodness intelligence won out. Isobel dropped her shoulders, looked at Kate, then Alex, one tear tracking down her cheek, and straightened her shoulders. “Very well, Lord Caversham, you may make amends.”

  A look passed between Nick and Alex as they passed.

  ***

  “What’s the story with you and Nick?”

  Alex had to lean toward Kate to hear her whisper when they were back at the table. He took a long swallow of his ale. “Story?”

  “Yes. I’d think you marrying the woman he loves would be motive enough to be your thief.”

  Alex choked. “Isobel? Nick?”

  “You didn’t know? God, men can be so obtuse sometimes,” she muttered. “Yes, Isobel. He’s trailing after her like a lovesick puppy. And you, his best friend, were planning to marry her. Makes sense he’d be p-o’d at you. Ergo, he could be the one.”

  Alex gripped his knife and speared a piece of duck. Nick loved Isobel? Kate had lost her senses—although Nick had grown quiet over the last few weeks whenever he’d mentioned the betrothal.

  But Nick wouldn’t steal his ring. They were friends. Had been for years. No, Kate had to be wrong, for surely Nick would have said something if he’d wanted Isobel.

  Some
one stormed through the entrance to the hall. “Shelton!”

  God’s blood. Another mess he did not want to deal with. He’d have to double the guards on his hall from now on.

  “Who’s that?” Kate asked.

  “Farley.”

  “You go too far, Shelton.” Farley strode to the where he and Kate sat, and planted his hands on the table. “The king shall learn of this. And then you’ll pay.”

  Alex clenched the hilt of his knife. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of, Farley, but I’d suggest you leave these premises with your threats before I give my men permission to tear you apart.” He speared a poached pear, wishing it were Farley’s head instead. He should have killed him in the lists so he’d be free of Farley’s complaints and ever-present challenges.

  “Your friendship with Henry will not serve you now.” Farley pulled Alex’s trencher away.

  Silence enveloped the room.

  Alex stabbed his knife into the table and stood. “You wish to die, Simon? I know of no other reason for you to storm my home, threaten me, and steal from my table.” He pulled the trencher back. “That was not wise. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

  “What was not wise, Alex, was to steal from me.”

  “You accuse me of it at every match. I won the joust. Accept that and leave my home.” He sat back in his chair. The man really was a nuisance. Next time he’d kill him.

  “Not that, Shelton. This.” Farley pulled a jeweled necklace from his sack.

  Alex had never seen it before. “How can I have stolen that if you hold it in your hands? Leave on your own accord, Farley, before you no longer can.”

  Proving he had less smarts than one of the hounds, Farley took a step closer. “It was stolen from Calista by a man wearing your colors. He threatened her life for it.”

  “But, again, you have it.” Even more tiresome than Farley’s claims of thievery was the man’s mistress. Calista sought him out at any opportunity, the same as she’d done with Frederick, who, for once, had shown some restraint.

  “That’s because I found it, Shelton. Staked to a tree. With this.” Farley flourished a piece of parchment from his coat.

  Alex ripped it from his grasp. This was no ploy by a bored and avaricious woman. This was serious.

  This parchment had been with the Shelton ring—and had been in its hiding place yesterday morning. Of that, Alex was certain, for he’d checked each item. “Where did you get this? Don’t tell me it was with the necklace. This is a deed.”

  Farley smiled. “I know. To the land one of your forefathers took from my family. This is my proof.”

  Alex tapped the deed against his lips. “Or mine.”

  “What?”

  “How is it, Simon, that you came by this deed? It was hidden with other Shelton papers. One might call you the thief.”

  “You accuse me? How dare—”

  “I dare because I am in the right. And if you wish to keep your head, I suggest you tell me exactly how you found and removed that deed from my private papers.”

  “Removed—?You’re mad!” Farley lunged for the deed.

  Alex held it out of his reach. “No. I’m angry. How did you breach my security? How did you know where it’d be?”

  Farley’s face reddened as he drew his knife. Kate, smart lady, slid her chair to the side.

  “I didn’t steal it, Shelton. I’d never debase myself to go skulking around your castle like a dog after its master’s leavings. You planted it with the necklace you stole to mock me. To prove you could. I demand satisfaction.”

  “Why would I do that? I already had the deed and have no need of jewels. You’re mad to think I’d bother.” Alex moved the blade aside with one finger. “Put your weapon away. There are more daggers aimed at you at this moment than you can count. Unless you wish to leave spouting your life’s blood, I suggest you sheath your weapon.” Though Alex wouldn’t mind if he didn’t—it’d be the perfect excuse to end this rivalry for good.

  “The king shall learn of this.” Farley, finally exhibited some intelligence, lowered his blade.

  “Do your best. Henry won’t believe it even if I were to give you back the deed. Which I won’t. It was forfeit to my father in a joust victory.” He rolled the deed and put it in the purse at his waist. “Now, I’ll allow you two minutes to leave my hall. After that, you and your men shall be fair game. My men are aching for a fight.”

  Farley sheathed the knife. “The king will see you for who you are, Shelton. A thief and a liar. Your days as his loyal minion are numbered.” He flipped his cloak over his shoulder and strode from the room as if the hounds of Hell were after him.

  If Farley had anything to do with the thefts at Shelton, Alex would ensure they would be.

  He sent four men after Farley, then waved the musicians to begin.

  “There’s your thief, Alex.” Kate leaned over the table. “All you need to do is turn him in to the king.”

  “Unfortunately, Kate, I need more proof these papers to accuse him. If Farley keeps to his story of finding them nailed to a tree, Henry won’t condemn a loyal man on hearsay. However, if more papers were to be found in his possession—” He stood. If other papers were stolen and then found with Farley, the pendulum of guilt would swing that way. Alex stalked around the table.

  “Where are you going?” Kate asked.

  “To see what else is missing. Nothing but the ring had been removed yesterday.”

  Kate pushed back from the table. “Well, let’s go see.”

  “No, Kate. You remain here.” He did not need the image of Kate in his chambers to torment him as the memory of their last kiss did.

  Besides, no one, not even his future countess, could know where the earldom’s documents were kept.

  Even though it appeared someone already did.

  Chapter Eight

  “You may leave now.”

  Nick ignored Isobel’s command and took her cloak from her. God’s blood, the woman’s will was stronger than an oak, her mouth sharper than his sword.

  And he loved all of it. All of her.

  But her ridiculous idea of marrying Alex—especially now—annoyed him, though she wouldn’t be Isobel if she didn’t annoy him. It was so enjoyable to return the favor. And the fight that invariably followed…

  Ah, how he loved Isobel after a fight.

  Her feet tapped sharply on the floor as she stalked away from him. He watched her go for a bit, enjoying the enticing sway of her dress.

  She knew he watched. She always threw back her shoulders in that manner when he watched.

  “Issy.”

  She paused, then quickly resumed her pace.

  “Issy.” A bit louder.

  “Don’t call me that!” she hissed, spinning around, her hair fanning behind her. Just as it did on his pillow.

  “Then don’t walk away from me when I want to speak to you.”

  “You presume too much, Lord Caversham.” She tilted her chin, eyeing him down her long, delectable nose as he walked over to her.

  He hid his smile. She tried so hard to keep their titles between them, to deny what was between them. Except in bed.

  Then bed was where he would convince her.

  “What I presume, Lady Marston—”he circled around her, his shoulders brushing hers—”is that, as the only man in your bed during this past year, I will continue to be.”

  “Alex will.”

  “End this, Issy. Unless Alex can find the gypsies or what Kate is searching for, he is no longer an option. As the king and the people now know.” Her rose-scented skin teased him. He closed his eyes and inhaled, wanting to burrow into the hollow of her neck all night long.

  He planned to.

  “Then I will be betrothed to Wexham.”

  The despair in her voice washed away his swagger. For all her bravado, Issy was deathly afraid of Wexham. He couldn’t blame her. The man had buried three wives and more daughters within the last dozen years. All “mishaps” a
s Issy had said, with nothing proven against him. Marriageable women were afraid of Wexham, but after Alex, he was the man with the largest holding and highest rents. Rents that would well serve this new king.

  “Or you could come to me.” He whispered his lips along her jaw. “Come for me.”

  Issy groaned when he reached her ear. She always did.

  “Nicholas,” she breathed, just as he’d expected.

  He tilted her chin up, seeing the tears in her eyes. They moved him. As always. He was a pawn to her tears.

  He kissed her lips, fanning his fingers along her cheekbones, pushing the headdress off so he could trail through her silken fall of hair. He felt the shudders go through her and she clenched his arms with small, graceful fingers that could bring such pleasure to his naked body.

  “Nicholas, make me forget,” she whispered against his lips, then offered him the long expanse of her smooth throat.

  “No, Issy, I’ll help you remember,” he growled against the pulse in her neck. “I’ll make you remember how you burn for me, how I yearn for you. How good it can be between us.” His fingers remembered her as he skimmed them over her bodice, resting lightly against those sweet peaks that hardened beneath the fabric.

  Her breath hitched and he smiled. It was always like this, would always be like this. He swept her into his arms like a bride, and strode up the stairs to her chamber.

  “Nicholas… Dalfour… the servants…”

  “Hush, Issy. There’s no one else. No one but you and me. You should realize that by now.”

  Her chamber door yielded to his boot as easily as she yielded to his kisses. He kicked it behind him as Issy slid down his body in a way designed to torture him. She was tiny, but held the power to move him more assuredly than any cannon in the king’s artillery. Her kisses, quick and demanding against his throat, the tiny gasps beneath them, only fueled his desire more.

  He held her face, staring into those blue eyes. Eyes he wanted to see every day for the rest of his life. “There’s no hurry, Issy. We’ve all night. Let’s savor it.”