Eternally Bound (Thistles & Roses) (7 page)

“Perhaps. Why should you ask?”

“I might be jealous. You are such a talented dancer.”

A laugh escaped her that sounded throaty even to her. Ever since meeting Lord Bedford, a new side of herself she barely recognized had been let loose, and it didn’t appear she’d be able to rein this woman back in.

“I am hardly accomplished compared to some of the other women present, such as the Talbot sisters. And you needn’t be jealous. You’ve a few admirers yourself. They were fairly drooling over you as you passed them at the turn.”

“The Talbot sisters are well versed in dancing. But, you see, I’d rather dance with you.” He gave her a sideways glance. His eyes roved from hers all the way down to her toes, sending a hot jolt skating over her flesh.

Where was her fan? She was supposed to have tied it with a ribbon to her wrist, but her wrist was empty.

“I feel suddenly hot,” she admitted, then looked for an escape. “’Tis stifling in here.”

“Should I take you outside for a breath of fresh air?”

In the gardens? To be alone? She almost fainted at the excitement that thought brought. “I’m not entirely certain the queen or Mistress Hyde would approve of that.”

“Do you mean to say we may find ourselves betrothed before dawn?” He teased her, the lilt in his voice said so, but the way he looked at her…

If she was hot before, now she felt scorched by his regard.

Max glanced away—her very sanity depended on it. The last time she’d mentioned marriage he’d practically drawn his sword on her. Why did he have to go and ruin a perfectly good evening with talk of marriage again? And with his passionate stares?

Max cleared her throat. “I think that’s a topic we’ve tired of, don’t you, my lord?”

Sebastien leaned closer and spoke in a hushed tone. “I’m not certain we discussed it more than to say I’d not gain back what was mine unless I agreed to marriage. To you.”

This time the heat that coursed through her was anything but liquid and delicious. She was suddenly spitting mad.

“Lord Bedford, you offend me with your talk. The relics are not yours. They belong to my father and, by way of my dowry, me and my future husband.” She hoped he took the hint that he was not to be that intended man.

His eyes blazed fury. “Precisely.”

Max narrowed her eyes. “You keep saying relics, and yet I only saw you trying to pilfer the Gladius. What other relic do you claim ownership to?”

“The ring.”

“The ring?” She had forgotten, once again, about the ring her father had alluded to.

He nodded. “The poesy ring belonged to my mother. ’Tis now a part of your dowry.”

“You choose to marry for a sword and a ring?”

His resolute nod made her blood run cold.

Lord help her, he wanted her to be his wife—and that she could not allow. She’d not be ill-wanted baggage that came along with his prize.

Chapter Eight

“WHAT is it you find so offensive about me?”

Lady Maxwell’s question caught Sebastien off-guard. Everything about her struck him unaware. When the two of them were alone, she seemed willing to shun society’s edicts on behavior and be herself. Normally, Sebastien would have been impressed with a woman who knew who she was and didn’t mind showing it. But he was too stunned by her question and how to go about answering her to appreciate that attribute.

“I do not find you offensive in the least. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Of all the… What possessed him to admit such to her?

The lady took a step back, her striking blue eyes widening and the circle forming on her plump, pink lips enough to make him draw in a breath. He wanted to kiss her. To cover her mouth with his and taste all she had to offer.

He was doomed.

“Then why…” She chewed her lip and looked away, a fresh wave of red kissing her cheeks.

They stood to the side of the room, sipping their wine, enough away from the crush that not every word could be discerned, but not far enough that they weren’t beginning to draw attention.

Sebastien drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I have forgotten myself, Lady Maxwell. I have been most ungentlemanly since we first met. I do not mean to say the sword and ring are the only reason I would marry. There is no excuse for the offense I have caused, other than I have been away from court for quite some time and seem to have lost my manners along the way.”

“Where have you been?” She sipped her wine and gazed at him over the rim of her cup with curious eyes, just as glad as he was for the change in subject.

“Before my father passed, I spent my days as a royal envoy, traveling to various foreign courts for the queen.”

She raised a saucy brow. “But you said a moment ago you’d been away from court for far too long.”

Sebastien grinned, not wanting to give too much away. He’d been an envoy for the queen, but his line of work had not exactly involved engaging in social interaction. “Right you are. I spent most of my time in negotiations rather than flirtations.”

A smile touched her lips and she ducked her head to gaze at the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes once more. “Why have you returned?”

“My father passed away a fortnight ago. The queen recalled me to court to accept my new title as Earl of Bedford. There is much to do with my estates, but also my mother needs me.”

A flash of sentiment came into her eyes. “She is ill.”

“How did you know that?”

She nodded toward one of the ladies dancing. “Mary told me. She said your mother served the queen but had taken ill. I do hope she recovers soon.”

Sebastien gave a curt nod, not wanting to discuss his mother’s health. “Her absence is one of the reasons you were chosen to be a maid of honor to Her Majesty.”

“Oh…” Lady Maxwell sipped delicately at her wine and eyed the table filled with cheese and fruit a few feet away.

“Are you hungry, my lady?”

“No.” She pressed her free hand to her flat belly. “I couldn’t even if I was.”

He nodded. “My mother never ate while dressed for court either. ’Tis a wonder the lot of you ladies do not drift away on the wind.”

She laughed. “I have thought the same thing myself. But I’ve been assured by Mary and Elizabeth that they always have a tray brought up to eat before going to bed after a banquet.”

“Then I shall rest assured you are filled later.”

“I’d rather be at home,” she mumbled.

Sebastien couldn’t help the shocked, “What?” that escaped him.

Again, the lady looked at him, worry in her gaze. “’Tis nothing.”

Still nearly sputtering from her admission, he said, “I heard you say something and I’m quite certain it was that you’d rather not be here at all.”

Lady Maxwell ducked her head. “’Tis the truth and I am so sorry to admit it. But this is not the life I’ve wanted.”

Not the life she wanted? What lady didn’t want to be a courtier, to serve her queen? In one afternoon, Sebastien had lifted her from the wallpaper in the Presence Chamber to a prominent place within the queen’s court.

She took a hasty sip of wine and stepped an inch closer to him. “I don’t know why I feel I can confess this to you, but from the moment we met, you struck me as a man who doesn’t put much stock in frivolity. My father is very pleased for the position in which I now see myself, but I… I’d rather be on a grand adventure, or at home with my books and paints.”

Either the woman was extremely privy to his inner thoughts, or he’d finally met someone who shared the same aspirations as he did. “Alas, you have dreams that do not fall within what a lady should want: to be a sensation at court, to marry well and to bear many children.”

Lady Maxwell glanced up at him with a sheepish smile. “And now you know the truth about me.”

He touched her elbow, then yanked his fingers back. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“More than anyone else. I’ve never confessed that much. Certainly not to my father.” She cupped her reddened cheek. “I’ve said too much. Must be the wine. The queen will have me tossed from court.”

Sebastien chuckled. “I find you vastly amusing, Lady Maxwell. A paradox to all these jewel-covered ninnies.”

She frowned—and even that was pretty. “I do not want to be the target of a joke, sir.”

Again, he risked touching her, pressing his hand for just a moment on the small of her back. “You are quite far from that.”

Her head cocked, she asked, “Then why do you find humor in my state?”

A smiled curved his mouth. “’Tis not humor per se, rather a breath of fresh air.”

“Humph.” She pursed her lips. He watched her take another sip, her eyes roving over the crowded hall. “I have only one week to choose.”

“Choose?”

“Mm-hmm. My father has given me one week to decide on a husband.”

Why did she tell him that? Why did it make his stomach clench? He didn’t want to marry. After settling his father’s affairs and seeing that a competent steward was in place at each of his estates and a secretary hired to manage them all, he intended to go abroad once more. He still had much work to do in the foreign courts. Marriage would hamper him in his exploits. He couldn’t allow that. He wasn’t ready to be tied down in London. And yet, he found himself pushed into a corner. Without the relics, his mother’s sanity was at stake. But the only way to gain them was to marry Lady Maxwell. And it didn’t seem she was too keen on the idea of marriage either. Miserable they’d be.

Sebastien lowered his voice, willing to confess to this woman a part of himself he’d not shared with even the queen. “I need those relics. They have been a part of my family for as long as anyone can recall.”

“Why are they so important?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You could say it’s a matter of life and death.”

She studied him with an intelligent scrutiny that set him on edge, though she didn’t ask him to elaborate. “After our… introduction at Thornton House, I looked at the sword. There is an inscription on it that I tried to decipher, but I confess my Latin is not so accomplished.”

The relics had been passed down through his family for centuries and had crossed several borders. ’Twould seem that the legend behind them and the curse might actually be true, though he’d been skeptical of it. The Rayne family lines had experienced centuries of bad luck, and yet they’d maintained their fortune and titles. Perhaps in his family’s case it was only that to be separated would bring madness. Maybe early death. He shuddered. “The Theodosia legend.”

A whimsical smile touched her lips. “Yes. I do recall the word Theodosia. The other words seem so sad and yet, so… tender. I wish I could read it all.”

“As do many a man who’s seen it.”

“Do you know what it says?”

He shook his head.

“Well, I want to try to decipher it and then I will show you.”

“The ring belongs to my mother,” he admitted. “She desperately wants it back. Do you know where your father keeps it?”

Lady Maxwell glanced back up at him, stunning in her beauty and compassion. “I do not. Probably in his treasury where he keeps most of his priceless relics. If I had the authority to give it to you, I would. But, alas, I am powerless save for one thing, and that one thing you aren’t truly willing to accept—despite your threats.” She shrugged, broke eye contact and breathed a heavy sigh.

Sebastien ground his teeth. “I assure you, I am entirely set on it. We shall marry.”

Lady Maxwell swiveled her gaze back toward him, a look of horror on her face. “As I said, I have one week to decide, and trust me in this, Lord Bedford, you are the last on the list.”

She stormed away, leaving him open-mouthed and seething. Last on the list?

Who did she think she was? He’d been the one to get her the position at court in which she now found herself. The relics had been stolen from his family, now both in her father’s possession. They were rightfully his! She’d be lucky to marry him. An earl as husband for a baron’s daughter ’twas more than most ladies could hope for, and yet she refused him.

A soft laugh sounded behind him. Sebastien turned to see Queen Elizabeth standing just two feet away, her guards behind her.

“Did you forget our dance?” she asked.

Sebastien ducked into a low bow. “Never, Your Majesty.”

She waved her hand in the air for the volte and the musicians struck up the elegant tones. He took her in his arms, feeling the frailness of her bones beneath her voluminous gown.

“We could not help but overhear part of your conversation with our new maid of honor.”

He bit his tongue, wishing to speak of anything but the imp who’d just shunned him.

“She’s a beauty with a lot of spirit. ’Tis no wonder you want to marry her.”

“Spirit is one way of putting it. And I’d not say want, but rather must.”

The queen laughed again, a throaty musical sound that brought heads swiveling in their direction.

“I am pleased to amuse you, my queen,” Sebastien said.

“We are always amused by the interactions of others.”

“I am honored to serve my sovereign.”

“You are one of the best envoys we have at court, Lord Bedford.”

“My thanks for your kindness.”

“We hate to lose you, as you’ve been instrumental in gaining foreign intelligence. But perhaps it is time you put your efforts into other matters.”

Though he didn’t like the sound of that at all, he said, “As it pleases you, Your Highness.”

“Have you heard the phrase you can catch more flies with honey?”

“Indeed I have, madam.”

“’Tis the same with catching a wife. We’ve had it tried on us many times. And we do love sweets.”

“I’m not sure I follow, Majesty.”

She rolled her eyes and stroked his shoulder gently. “Oh, posh, stop with the Majesties and Your Highnesses. While we dance, I want to be a lady.”

“As you wish.” Sebastien tucked her closer.

“Oh, you are a flirt. What I mean is, if you want the lady to agree to be your wife, then you must be sweet to her. Woo her. And in case you’re wondering, you do have my permission.”

“My thanks. But I am not certain I can woo Lady Maxwell. She seems to be of a singular mind not to be wooed.”

“What makes you think that?”

“She does not want to marry.”

“I understand the sentiment. I can order her to if you wish. ’Twould be the least I could do in return for the information you’ve provided me from France.”

“Not just yet.” Sebastien grinned, meeting the scheming eyes of his sovereign. “You know how I adore a challenge.”

“Good. ’Tis settled then. Once you are wedded and bedded, I shall have Cecil provide you with your next assignment abroad. But as of now, your duty is to successfully court and wed Lady Maxwell.”

“I am your most humble and loyal servant.”

The music slowed to a halt and Sebastien led the queen back to her chair. She situated herself and smiled. “We’ve not been this merry in months, Lord Bedford, and we have you to recognize for it.”

He bowed low. “’Tis the same for me, Majesty. I endeavor to meet your challenge in due haste.”

She laughed. “That amuses us much.”

Sebastien grinned and then backed away, wondering what in the world she could find amusing in his vow to quickly procure Lady Maxwell as his bride.

He scanned the crowd of courtiers for the lady in question and found her in the center of the hall, dancing with the Earl of Devon. A wash of jealousy threaded through him, hitting hard in the gut. Devon was a womanizer, beloved much by the ladies at court eagerly sharing his bed. In fact, Sebastien had had a number of run-ins with the man over the years—first the stealing of his own mistress and then the near seduction of Sebastien’s younger sister. She’d nearly been ruined. Of all the men to dance with Lady Maxwell, Devon was the one he would have wanted her to stay away from the most.

As he stared hotly in their direction, Lady Maxwell’s gaze caught on his, and a grin hitched the side of her lips. ’Twas not possible that she’d chosen Devon precisely because the craven was the very last lord with whom Sebastien would ever want to see her dance. Anger clawed at his ribs. Nay, indeed it was not
she
who would have sought out Devon, but rather the other way around.