The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (28 page)

He bowed formally before her. Aware of the eyes upon them, she executed a hasty and self-conscious curtsey.

“My lady, I would like to speak to you. In private, if you will.”

Joan searched his face for an explanation but came up empty.

“What is the meaning of this, Seton?” Sir Henry interrupted angrily. “You most certainly will not.”

Suddenly Joan realized the king himself had come to stand beside Alex. Edward had the oddest smile on his face as he addressed Sir Henry. “The lad will say his piece,” the king said with a wink in her direction. Edward had always been kind to her the few times their paths had crossed in the past—guilt perhaps over what his father had done to her mother and what he’d done to her in declaring her illegitimate—but still the playfulness surprised her. “Come, Sir Henry,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. He was the king, after all, even if many in his realm wished otherwise. “I feel as if I’ve been riding across the deserts of Outremer and need some wine to quench my thirst. We shall talk.”

Unable to object, Sir Henry followed the king, looking back occasionally at Alex and Joan.

But she wasn’t paying attention to Sir Henry. All she could see was Alex. He was dusty and more tired than she’d ever seen him, yet there was a hard edge to his gaze that she’d never seen before. Steel, she realized. That was it. He had the look of determination in his eyes of a man who would not be gainsaid.

“What is this about, Alex?” But she feared she knew.

He didn’t say anything but held out his hand.

She hesitated, feeling as if something momentous was about to occur. That if she put her hand in his, she wouldn’t get it back.

Realizing she was being ridiculous, she slid her fingers into his. Maybe not so ridiculous, after all. Instantly she felt claimed—possessed—by the warmth of his big hand surrounding hers. It made her feel small and fragile and special in a way that she never had before.

She allowed him to lead her to the lord’s private solar attached to the Great Hall. He motioned to the large cushioned chair—which she assumed was reserved for the king or his governor—for her to sit. He didn’t seem inclined to do the same and paced (anxiously?) for a few moments before turning to face her. “I will not apologize for the dishonor I have done you, even though it is deserved. I think we both know it has gone beyond that. I would have spoken to you before I left, but under the circumstances, I thought it best not to give anyone, including your cousins and de Beaumont, any hint of my intentions.”

The moment the king had winked at her, Joan had guessed (but didn’t want to acknowledge even to herself) those intentions, and a strange mix of anticipation and dread had started to swirl in her stomach. By now it was a tempest. She looked down at her hands. “There is nothing you need say, my lord.”

Reaching down, he took hold of her chin and forced her gaze to his. “How can you say that? What happened between us . . .”

His voice fell off, and his jaw hardened. But one look in his eyes, and any hope that he might not remember was put quickly to rest. He remembered
everything
, and she felt the heat rising to her cheeks as the memories hit her, too. Just being in the same room with him alone brought back the feelings of intimacy, the sensation of lying in his arms, the feel of his weight on top of her, the hardness of his powerful muscles against her, the fullness of him inside her . . .

She forced her thoughts away with a harsh twist of her head, freeing her chin from his hold and her gaze from the nearly irresistible pull. “What happened was regrettable, but it does not change anything.” She stood, her voice shaking just a little as her fingers gripped the wool folds of her skirt. “Now if you will excuse—”

He stopped her before she could finish. “We aren’t done here, and you won’t leave until this matter is settled.” Apparently she’d managed to rouse his temper, as his serious expression had definitely taken on an angry edge. “’Tis not the way I would have wished it—nor the proper order—but I owe you an offer of marriage, one I would have made had I not fallen into the sleep of the dead or had you been there when I woke up.”

She ignored the none-too-subtle admonishment and turned away, unable to bear to look at him another second for fear that he would see her guilt and how much she wished it were otherwise. But they were at cross-purposes, and she did not delude herself as to how he would react if he knew the truth. Perhaps he would not clap her in irons, but he would despise her for deceiving him.

“You owe me nothing, Alex,” she said quietly. “You better than anyone know that.” She had not been a maid. She ventured a glance up at his face only to see his mouth turn white. Trying to douse the burning in her chest, she took a deep breath and added, “Besides, I came to you.”
Under false pretenses
, she thought guiltily. “You need not fall on your sword to assuage your sense of honor. If there was any dishonor done that night it was mine.”

She tried to move past him, but he took her by the arm. “This isn’t about my honor, damn it. Don’t you see? I
want
to marry you.”

That
effectively stole the argument from her mouth. She stared at him wordlessly.

Seeing her expression, he dragged his fingers back through his hair, loosening the imprint from the helm that he’d worn earlier. “Christ, I’m doing a piss-poor job of this. But I’ve never done this before.”

He looked so boyishly discomfited. She smothered the impulse to comfort him with an equally awkward jest. “You do not propose to all the women you take to your bed?”

He gave her a strange look and frowned. “I do not take women to my bed.”

At first she thought he was returning the jest, but when her smile went unreturned, it turned to incredulity. “You are serious?”

He didn’t say anything, but it was clear he was.

“B-but surely that was not the first?” she sputtered. There’d been no indication . . . Her cheeks turned red at the memories. He seemed to know
exactly
what he’d been doing.

Perhaps guessing her thoughts, his gaze heated for a moment before he answered. “Nay, but the first since my brother took me to a bordel when I was a youth. It was not an experience I wanted to repeat, and I made a vow.”

Joan didn’t understand. “Like a Templar?”

His mouth quirked. “The Templars were disbanded a couple of years ago. Nay, nothing so formal—and I haven’t been a monk. I just told myself that the next time I made love to a woman it would matter.”

It took her a moment for the import of his words to hit. She stared at him in horror. Good God, what had she done? She’d wronged him even more than she’d realized. It seemed a man like him existed after all. And she’d made a mockery of what should be held dear. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

He took her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “You misunderstand. I’m telling you this so that you understand the significance—so you see that it did matter. I want to marry you, and you would do me the greatest honor if you agree to be my wife.”

Words she’d thought she’d never hear spoken by the only man in the world she’d ever wanted to say them. Though she knew what her answer must be, she let herself hold on to the moment for just a little bit, knowing it would have to last forever.

Muteness was not the response Alex had hoped for. But he could see the indecision—he hoped it was indecision—warring in her eyes and told himself to be patient.

It was not rewarded.

“I’m sorry, Alex, I can’t.”

She held his gaze, pleading for understanding. But he couldn’t give it to her. He didn’t understand at all. It was clear she wanted him, but something was holding her back.

“Why can’t you?” An explanation occurred to him—one that made every muscle in his body flare. “Is there someone else?”

Her brow furrowed as if she were momentarily confused, but then a coy smile lifted one side of her mouth. “Isn’t there always someone else?”

But there wasn’t. He knew that, even if his jealousy had gotten the best of him for a minute. It was an act—he was certain of it—and he wasn’t going to let her push him away with it anymore.

“Not anymore,” he said flatly, his tone causing her to lift her gaze to his in surprise. “Whatever happened before today is in the past, and that is where it shall stay. It cannot be changed, but the future . . .” He let his voice drop off and gave her a knowing smile. “The future is a different matter, and I can assure you, my lady, I intend to keep you so well satisfied in my bed that you will never have want or reason to seek another.”

She gasped in shock—and perhaps in something else as the sensual promise of his words penetrated.

They were standing so close he was tempted to prove it to her. But almost as if she guessed his intentions, she took a few steps back.

She shook her head. “I can’t—it would never work.
We
would never work.”

“I think we proved otherwise last Saturday. We work well together”—he gave her a heated look—“very well.”

Her face turned so adorably red that he had to stop himself from laughing. She was the blushing maid again, and more and more he was certain
that
was not an act.

“You are trying to embarrass me,” she chastised. “But that is not what I meant.” She was twisting her hands anxiously in her skirts again. “I can hardly be the type of woman you were hoping to marry.”

Perhaps she’d been right initially, but it wasn’t true any longer. The idea of the sweet, innocent maid didn’t hold the same appeal for him that it once had. Actually, he wasn’t sure it had ever held appeal, it was just something he’d never thought about and just assumed. But now . . . a woman like that would be far too simple. He liked the edge that came from experience, and the challenge that came from wit and intelligence. He liked a little mystery and reserve. He wanted to be the one to learn her secrets and make her smile.

He also rather liked boldness in the bedchamber. He couldn’t imagine a wide-eyed, blushing maid putting her hand on him. And Alex wanted Joan’s hands on him—all over him. Aye, she could seduce him for a lifetime. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “Until you there has been no woman I wished to marry.”

She groaned as if he were torturing her. “God, why do you have to say things like that?”

He frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes. No.” She looked as exasperated as she sounded. “It’s just sweet!”

His frown turned perplexed. “And that is bad?”

“It is when I must refuse you.”

“Must?” It was a strange word to use.

Her flush deepened; she hurried to explain. “There are things you don’t know. Things that might make a difference to you if you did.” She hesitated as if searching for the right words.

But Alex, suspecting she was referring to other men, didn’t want to hear any more. His expression drew hard and intractable. “I know everything I need to know. My mind will not be changed. Besides, it is too late for that anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the matter has already been decided. The king has given his permission, and unless you can think of a good reason why you cannot marry me—one that you wish to share with him—we will wed as soon as I return from Scotland. The first of the banns will be read on Sunday morning.”

The flush drained from her face. She was pale as she stared at him with an expression that made him feel as if he’d just stabbed her in the back. “You have arranged this without my consent?”

Alex winced—a tad guiltily—at the betrayal in her voice. But it wasn’t like that. “After what happened, I did not anticipate that I would be without it. I sought the king’s permission because I thought I might need his help in convincing de Beaumont—not because I thought I might need it to convince my bride.”

“Convince? You mean force!”

He tried to keep a rein on his temper at the scoff, but it wasn’t easy. His jaw hardened. “Call it what you will, but the king is looking forward to it, and I do not intend to disappoint him.”

“Sir Henry will be furious. What did you have to promise the king to get him to agree?” Her anger turned into a sneer. “Or perhaps you offered him something else? The king has an eye for handsome knights, does he not?”

Alex ignored the taunt—even if it was regrettably true. But he sure as hell hadn’t pandered to the king’s particular tastes. “Edward has a weakness for love-thwarted stories and enjoys being cast in the role of the facilitator.”

“That is all?” she said disbelievingly. “He is willing to risk Sir Henry’s anger to write a pretty tale?”

Alex shrugged, but not without a certain amount of discomfort. “I did agree not to pursue any claims on your inheritance until after the war.”

The betrayal in her gaze cut him to the quick. “I see. How thoughtful of you to decide my future without consulting me.”

He dragged his hand back through his hair. Bloody hell, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He knew she might need some persuading, but he sure in the hell hadn’t expected her to react like this. He wanted her to be happy, damn it. Like he was. Because despite everything that had happened, he was happy. “It wasn’t like that. Besides, the war will be over soon anyway.”