the north.”
It seemed that when it came to marriage alliances, Mr. Fitzallan was every bit as feudal as his ancestors. “I see,” I said a little hollowly. Then, more aggressively, “If she is such a splendid match, why don’t you marry her?”
There was an audible note of bitterness in his voice as he replied. “I am Diccon’s cousin, Valentine, but I am not the earl. Lady Barbara Bevil is not for the likes of me.”
It struck me suddenly that Mr. Fitzallan was not himself indifferent to the earl’s prospective bride. I had blundered and hurt him. I put my hand on his arm and said, “Any girl would be lucky to marry you, sir.”
And I meant it. I looked at his handsome face and thought how secure one would be married to a man like this. He was so kind, so considerate, so reliable. I thought of the man I loved and sighed. Next to his lordship, Mr. Fitzallan was stodgy and dull. How could I expect Lady Barbara to feel any differently? How could any girl not want to marry the Earl of Leyburn?
Later in the day I slipped out of the castle and went for a long walk on the moors.
I was finished. New clothing meant a tailor. I would have to tell the earl the truth. He would be angry, of course, but it couldn’t make that big a difference to him. I was still the same person, wasn’t I?
It was a very warm day and my jacket soon felt much too hot. I took it off, rolled up my sleeves, and walked on through the empty rolling miles of browns and greens and yellows. I was feeling strangely tired and lethargic and my legs felt heavy. Finally I threw myself down on the grass, put my hands behind my head, and stared up the high white clouds above me. What to do? What to do?
What I did was fall asleep, for the next thing I knew was the reverberation of horses hooves drumming on the ground. I sat up, a little bewildered. I saw Lord Leyburn at about the same time he saw me, for he slowed Saladin down and swung him in a wide arc around me.
“I didn’t see you lying there in the grass,” he said to me as he brought the stallion to a halt beside me.
His lordship dismounted, efficiently picketed Saladin, and dropped down beside me.
“What a day, eh,” he said good-humoredly.
He was wearing buckskins and his favorite riding jacket, which he proceeded to take off. “It’s hot as hell in this sun,” he remarked, and started to roll up his sleeves. Belatedly I recalled my own state of undress.
Since assuming my disguise, I had never gone without a jacket in the presence of anyone else. Their padded bulk had been one of the main reasons my masquerade had been successful. I looked now at the coat lying just beyond the reach of my fingertips and glanced sideways at Lord Leyburn . He was squinting up at the sun, a blade of grass between his teeth. Cautiously I stretched my hand forward toward the jacket.
Strong fingers closed like a vise around my wrist and held my arm rigid. I sat as still as stone and stared at our two bare arms.
I had always been fair but, against the darkness of the earl’s hand, my skin looked pearly, translucent almost. The fragile bones and tendons of my arm were in stark contrast to the hardness of the male forearm and hand that gripped it so efficiently. He must have been able to feel the hammering of the pulse in my wrist.
He twisted my arm a little so that I had to turn toward him. I felt his eyes on the open collar of my shirt. I had always been very careful to wear a muffling cravat. Those dark eyes moved from my throat lower down to the chest, and I could feel hot color staining my cheeks.
“All right,” he said. “I want the truth. Now.”
It was a voice I had never heard from him before. I glanced at him quickly and felt myself recoil from what I saw in his eyes.
“I told you the truth, my lord. The only thing I neglected to mention was my disguise. Everything else was true. I swear it!”
“Who are your grandparents?”
I had guarded that secret for so long, but things were
It seemed that when it came to marriage alliances, Mr. Fitzallan was every bit as feudal as his ancestors. “I see,” I said a little hollowly. Then, more aggressively, “If she is such a splendid match, why don’t you marry her?”
There was an audible note of bitterness in his voice as he replied. “I am Diccon’s cousin, Valentine, but I am not the earl. Lady Barbara Bevil is not for the likes of me.”
It struck me suddenly that Mr. Fitzallan was not himself indifferent to the earl’s prospective bride. I had blundered and hurt him. I put my hand on his arm and said, “Any girl would be lucky to marry you, sir.”
And I meant it. I looked at his handsome face and thought how secure one would be married to a man like this. He was so kind, so considerate, so reliable. I thought of the man I loved and sighed. Next to his lordship, Mr. Fitzallan was stodgy and dull. How could I expect Lady Barbara to feel any differently? How could any girl not want to marry the Earl of Leyburn?
Later in the day I slipped out of the castle and went for a long walk on the moors.
I was finished. New clothing meant a tailor. I would have to tell the earl the truth. He would be angry, of course, but it couldn’t make that big a difference to him. I was still the same person, wasn’t I?
It was a very warm day and my jacket soon felt much too hot. I took it off, rolled up my sleeves, and walked on through the empty rolling miles of browns and greens and yellows. I was feeling strangely tired and lethargic and my legs felt heavy. Finally I threw myself down on the grass, put my hands behind my head, and stared up the high white clouds above me. What to do? What to do?
What I did was fall asleep, for the next thing I knew was the reverberation of horses hooves drumming on the ground. I sat up, a little bewildered. I saw Lord Leyburn at about the same time he saw me, for he slowed Saladin down and swung him in a wide arc around me.
“I didn’t see you lying there in the grass,” he said to me as he brought the stallion to a halt beside me.
His lordship dismounted, efficiently picketed Saladin, and dropped down beside me.
“What a day, eh,” he said good-humoredly.
He was wearing buckskins and his favorite riding jacket, which he proceeded to take off. “It’s hot as hell in this sun,” he remarked, and started to roll up his sleeves. Belatedly I recalled my own state of undress.
Since assuming my disguise, I had never gone without a jacket in the presence of anyone else. Their padded bulk had been one of the main reasons my masquerade had been successful. I looked now at the coat lying just beyond the reach of my fingertips and glanced sideways at Lord Leyburn . He was squinting up at the sun, a blade of grass between his teeth. Cautiously I stretched my hand forward toward the jacket.
Strong fingers closed like a vise around my wrist and held my arm rigid. I sat as still as stone and stared at our two bare arms.
I had always been fair but, against the darkness of the earl’s hand, my skin looked pearly, translucent almost. The fragile bones and tendons of my arm were in stark contrast to the hardness of the male forearm and hand that gripped it so efficiently. He must have been able to feel the hammering of the pulse in my wrist.
He twisted my arm a little so that I had to turn toward him. I felt his eyes on the open collar of my shirt. I had always been very careful to wear a muffling cravat. Those dark eyes moved from my throat lower down to the chest, and I could feel hot color staining my cheeks.
“All right,” he said. “I want the truth. Now.”
It was a voice I had never heard from him before. I glanced at him quickly and felt myself recoil from what I saw in his eyes.
“I told you the truth, my lord. The only thing I neglected to mention was my disguise. Everything else was true. I swear it!”
“Who are your grandparents?”
I had guarded that secret for so long, but things were
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