The Lily and the Lion by Catherine A. Wilson, Catherine T Wilson Page A

The last I heard, Venetian cloth merchants were still docking at Marseilles.’
    I pulled away from his grip and self-consciously smoothed my borrowed apparel. Beneath his cloak, his own clothing, by comparison, was of extremely good fabric, his dark velvet doublet embroidered with gold thread and the elegant emerald ring on his finger bespoke lordship.
    â€˜By which road have you come, Milord?’ I spluttered. ‘I am told the damnable English have wrought terrible destruction on our fair city. King Edward cares not who his war inconveniences, nor how, and through unforeseen circumstances I found myself locked outside the city walls. I am reduced to wearing rags and engaging in menial labour to pay for my keep.’
    His spontaneous smile was one of perfection, a gentle sloping of two pink lips over teeth of the finest ivory. He lifted one of my hands. ‘And did I not say only recently that Paris was like a beautiful woman, and to set fire to her hems would only cause her to stamp her foot in anger? I believe, dear lady, that you are my Paris personified.’
    My heart jumped to my throat as his lips gently brushed my fingers. ‘Please, allow me to rescue you from your current plight and to correct the offences that I have committed so appallingly by asking you to join me for supper tonight. It would be my utmost pleasure, Mademoiselle Cécile d’Armagnac, to enjoy your company further.’
    Cheeks aflame with delight and noting his well-proportioned thighs as I modestly lowered my eyes, I accepted. After such a gallant proposal, how could I not?
    He retrieved his fallen hat and peered into the courtyard. ‘I seem to have arrived at an inopportune time.’
    â€˜I am sure that a room can be spared, Monsieur, for a man of such importance as you.’
    He spun around with a generous smile. ‘I am sure it can.’ He bowed confidently. ‘Lord Stock at your service, Mademoiselle, and I retract my comment about ill timing. Something tells me this was most opportune.’ It was at that moment the pot suspended above the flames decided to boil over.

    â€˜Here it is!’ Odette rushed into my room and laid the folds of bright red damask reverently over my bed as if it were the robe of Christ.
    â€˜Oh!’ I gasped, running my finger over the fine embroidery. ‘The neckline is so low.’
    â€˜It is rather scandalous,’ she breathed, her hand hovering above the lavish material. ‘The latest fashion in London, introduced to court by the Maid of Kent so the trader said, but Madame won’t wear it. Monsieur Philippe was full of ale at the time and did not come home all night. Scarlet cloth is outrageously expensive so the dress stays buried out of spite.’
    â€˜Mayhap we should not do this.’ It had sounded a good idea when Odette first suggested it but I was having second thoughts.
    â€˜ À Dieu ne plais! You cannot go to dinner with a lord in those clothes.’ Her eyes rolled with mock horror as she spun me around and began to unlace my gown. ‘Besides, Madame will never know. She won’t return until tomorrow and I will have it back in her chest by then. Now stand still.’ Odette carefully scooped up the material and darkness engulfed me as the sumptuous layers fell to my feet.
    â€˜There,’ she crowed with satisfaction, clasping her hands with childlike glee. ‘It’s perfect!’
    â€˜It’s a little big.’ I slid the disobedient seam back onto my shoulder.
    â€˜Non. It is just the cut. Keep your shoulders back. That’s it! Now go. Go! His lordship is already waiting.’

    I entered the inn’s private salon to find Lord Stock staring dispassionately out of the front window casement. He closed the shutters and shook his dagged sleeves into place, turning with a deep frown. I swept into a curtsey, noting that the table was set with the inn’s best pewter and plate.
    â€˜I see the evening