a tall gentleman said with an unpleasant smile.
Harry looked up in annoyance from his oysters and gave the fellow an insolent stare.
“You’re mistaken, sir. I never clapped eyes on you in my life.”
“Then please forgive me if I have interrupted your luncheon. The inn is so full, I felt my heart lift when I thought I saw an old acquaintance who could offer me a place at his table.”
Harry recognized a hint when he heard it, and he laughed at the fellow’s effrontery. The place was indeed crowded. It didn’t matter to him in the least if the chap wanted to share his table.
“Then by all means, sit down, sir. The oysters are excellent.”
Nigel Garthwood took the chair indicated and offered to share a bottle of wine in gratitude.
“You would seem to be a man of the world, sir,” he began.
Within thirty minutes Garthwood and Harry were laughing together in apparent amity, and Garthwood had turned the discussion to Harry’s family. Though Harry was normally more reticent with strangers, by the end of the afternoon there was little that Nigel Garthwood thought he had left to learn about Richard Acton, Viscount Lenwood, the man who had so inconveniently married Helena Trethaerin.
* * *
Helena awoke that night to the distinct sound of a cry. Was it an owl? She sat up in bed and listened. Moonlight shone brightly across the fine carpet on the floor. Perhaps she had imagined it? Then, quite distinctly, she heard a low moan. No wild creature ever made such a soul-disturbing sound.
Slipping quietly from the bed, she took up her dressing gown and wrapped it around her shoulders. There was a slight thud, which resolved itself instantly into footsteps pacing in the bedchamber next to hers.
Without hesitation she went to the door to Richard’s room and knocked. It opened to reveal the fair head edged with the glint of silver in the moonlight. His silk dressing gown appeared black in the shadows.
“I woke you?” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Richard, what is it? The wound? Is it troubling you?”
She could see the play of shadows on his face as his mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile.
“ ‘Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan / Maim’d, mangled by inhuman men?’ Go back to bed.”
“Let me see it. If there’s infection, it must be taken care of.”
“Generous Helena,” he said, coming into her room and closing the door behind him before leaning back against it and fixing her with his midnight gaze. “Can you still express concern for a fellow who exhibited such scurrilous behavior to you? May I hope you have forgiven me?”
“For your accusations? No, I haven’t, but I’ve no desire to see you develop a fever and be consumed before your time like the Lionheart.”
“Ah, noble crusader king! No one was so solicitous of his wounds, were they?”
“If they had been, perhaps he would have lived out his natural days and not been succeeded by his intemperate brother, Bad King John.”
Richard walked quietly to the window and gazed out at the moonlit gardens.
Helena watched his lithe movement, then sat down in the chair by the fire and folded her hands. She knew that her knuckles shone white with tension.
It may not have been the cry of a wild creature, she thought, but he certainly moves like one! Helena, dear girl, the man has made it quite clear why he married you, and he doesn’t even trust you. Be careful, for heaven’s sake!
At last he turned, and crossing the silver-dappled carpet stopped in front of her.
To her surprise, he dropped on one knee beside her chair.
“Helena, I’m a sorry fellow and a worse husband. The wound to my arm barely broke the skin. It really was only a scratch. I have no pain and certainly no fever. I have darker secrets than that, my dear.”
With sudden insight, Helena knew exactly what he was going to say next. Why he had cried out. Why danger lay like a shadow behind his eyes. Why he would not share his bed at the inn, and why he had left hers before
Harry looked up in annoyance from his oysters and gave the fellow an insolent stare.
“You’re mistaken, sir. I never clapped eyes on you in my life.”
“Then please forgive me if I have interrupted your luncheon. The inn is so full, I felt my heart lift when I thought I saw an old acquaintance who could offer me a place at his table.”
Harry recognized a hint when he heard it, and he laughed at the fellow’s effrontery. The place was indeed crowded. It didn’t matter to him in the least if the chap wanted to share his table.
“Then by all means, sit down, sir. The oysters are excellent.”
Nigel Garthwood took the chair indicated and offered to share a bottle of wine in gratitude.
“You would seem to be a man of the world, sir,” he began.
Within thirty minutes Garthwood and Harry were laughing together in apparent amity, and Garthwood had turned the discussion to Harry’s family. Though Harry was normally more reticent with strangers, by the end of the afternoon there was little that Nigel Garthwood thought he had left to learn about Richard Acton, Viscount Lenwood, the man who had so inconveniently married Helena Trethaerin.
* * *
Helena awoke that night to the distinct sound of a cry. Was it an owl? She sat up in bed and listened. Moonlight shone brightly across the fine carpet on the floor. Perhaps she had imagined it? Then, quite distinctly, she heard a low moan. No wild creature ever made such a soul-disturbing sound.
Slipping quietly from the bed, she took up her dressing gown and wrapped it around her shoulders. There was a slight thud, which resolved itself instantly into footsteps pacing in the bedchamber next to hers.
Without hesitation she went to the door to Richard’s room and knocked. It opened to reveal the fair head edged with the glint of silver in the moonlight. His silk dressing gown appeared black in the shadows.
“I woke you?” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Richard, what is it? The wound? Is it troubling you?”
She could see the play of shadows on his face as his mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile.
“ ‘Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan / Maim’d, mangled by inhuman men?’ Go back to bed.”
“Let me see it. If there’s infection, it must be taken care of.”
“Generous Helena,” he said, coming into her room and closing the door behind him before leaning back against it and fixing her with his midnight gaze. “Can you still express concern for a fellow who exhibited such scurrilous behavior to you? May I hope you have forgiven me?”
“For your accusations? No, I haven’t, but I’ve no desire to see you develop a fever and be consumed before your time like the Lionheart.”
“Ah, noble crusader king! No one was so solicitous of his wounds, were they?”
“If they had been, perhaps he would have lived out his natural days and not been succeeded by his intemperate brother, Bad King John.”
Richard walked quietly to the window and gazed out at the moonlit gardens.
Helena watched his lithe movement, then sat down in the chair by the fire and folded her hands. She knew that her knuckles shone white with tension.
It may not have been the cry of a wild creature, she thought, but he certainly moves like one! Helena, dear girl, the man has made it quite clear why he married you, and he doesn’t even trust you. Be careful, for heaven’s sake!
At last he turned, and crossing the silver-dappled carpet stopped in front of her.
To her surprise, he dropped on one knee beside her chair.
“Helena, I’m a sorry fellow and a worse husband. The wound to my arm barely broke the skin. It really was only a scratch. I have no pain and certainly no fever. I have darker secrets than that, my dear.”
With sudden insight, Helena knew exactly what he was going to say next. Why he had cried out. Why danger lay like a shadow behind his eyes. Why he would not share his bed at the inn, and why he had left hers before
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