Her Lord and Protector (formerly titled On Silent Wings) (16 page)

So ugly. The
nails were rough and stubby from her embarrassing incident in the closet, and
the tips of her fingers were pink with tender new skin. She turned her hands
over and studied the revolting scar on one palm.

The old feeling
rose within her once again. She could have saved the two small children if only
she’d been able to grasp the scorching handle of the door inside their
house...perhaps even reached her father in time, and preserved her voice. Life
would be normal.

But they’d all
died because of her failure. And now she waited, vulnerable and afraid, and
unable to crack the hard exterior of the man who held her future in the palm of
his own large hand.

Lord Drayton
should have let her fall.

The door opened
and closed with a bang. Startled, Katherine looked up through a blur of tears
to see him striding to her with swift, sure steps.

He pulled up
short, however, and concern replaced his hard expression before settling into
amused boredom.

“Surely you
aren’t so troubled from the prospect of meeting your suitor that you would shed
tears.”

He held out a
lacy white mouchoir. When she snatched it from him, he stood waiting with his
arms folded across his broad chest.

Scowling at his
crass comment, she wiped her tears and stared ahead of her, but her gaze was
taken up by his firm thighs accentuated by snug black breeches. Which of his
legs had she wrapped hers around to pull him closer? And the hardness of
him...he had settled now, but she could still see his shape....

Mortified at her
lewd thoughts, she lowered her eyes to his boots and pulled her gloves onto her
hands.

He turned away
abruptly with an impatient grunt and walked to the door. “Keep the mouchoir. ’Tis
best that we go on to the parlor.”

She stood with
heavy reluctance and followed him like a woman in a nightmare unable to stop
her feet. The man waiting in the parlor might as well be her captor instead of
her future husband. Lord Drayton opened the door and stood aside for her to
leave first. She stopped and searched his eyes.

He must be an
accomplished actor, for he gazed back at her with the same impassivity he’d
shown on the day of her arrival.

Out in the
passage that led to the Hall, Katherine lay her hand lightly on the forearm he
held out for her. Immediately, the sensations she’d felt on the high battlement
flooded back to her as the firm, corded warmth of his arm tingled her hand.

“Your hand is
shaking,” he said as he glanced down at it. “No need to be anxious. I have
found Lord Wiltshire to be quite pleasant.”

Oh, she wanted
to slap him. Why was he acting as if he hadn’t kissed her and held her like a
lover just an hour before? Didn’t he know what he’d done to her? The desire
he’d unleashed in the midst of her trepidation?

She slowed in
the dim passage, to turn with him back to his study so she could write down her
feelings. And he owed her the truth about his past, an insight to his heart.

But he misread
her hesitation. “If you are concerned that I will mention our error to Lord
Wiltshire, rest assured that I will not,” he said with airy assurance.

Error! Katherine
halted and looked him full in the face. Were there no feelings in the man? Did
he habitually take women up to the heights of the battlement and kiss them into
a stupor? Had he done the same with Agnes? With other women? Tears stung her
eyes afresh.

His façade of
indifference broke. His voice became gruff, his face tight. “Yes, our kiss was
a mistake. What I felt—feel—has no bearing on the present.” His throat moved as
he swallowed.

She reached for
him then, took his hand in both of hers. Her lips moved.
Talk to me
.

His gaze locked
on her mouth. He raised one of her hands to his lips, pressing them to her palm
and sending a tingle straight to her toes. Then, he lowered her hand and shook
his head. “I cannot. ’Tis a pact I made.”

Determined,
Katherine reached up and brushed her thumb over the scar on his jaw and then
across his lips, lips that were so soft for a man whose heart had grown so hardened.

His head lowered
toward hers. “My lady...what are you doing to me?”

Their lips met
again, hungry and determined. His tongue found hers and played it in passionate
thrusts. She clung to his shoulders as her legs went weak.

He clutched her
to him, almost lifting her off the floor with his strength of desire, nuzzling
her neck and breasts. His hands moved over her back in slow, sensual strokes.
“Katherine,” he moaned.

She gasped with
hot desire and tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting for
nothing else in the world but the feel of his mouth, his body, on hers.

He pulled back
and his eyes held both hope and uncertainty. Gradually, though, regret filled
them. “I am sorry. Once again I have lost control.” He drew his hands from her
tense, heated body and placed them on her shoulders. “’Tis best that you leave
here. You mustn’t care for me. I would only bring you sorrow.”

Katherine
stiffened and pulled away, left cold from her own confusion and embarrassment
that she had again flung herself at a man who was about to marry her off to
another.

His expression
resolute, he held out his arm once more and led her silently through the Hall
to the parlor.

As he opened the
door, she heard him speak under his breath. “And so it ends.”

She wasn’t ready
for this. Her emotions hung upside down and every rational thought had been
shaken out. Wanting nothing more than to turn and flee to her bedchamber, she
stepped slowly to the door and heard feminine laughter followed by a deeper
voice.

“...looked quite
grand,” the voice said. “The entire—ah, Lord Drayton.”

“Lord
Wiltshire,” Alex answered in greeting, and both his voice and slight bow held a
grim intensity.
He
stepped aside and Katherine had full view of the man who approached them.

Smallish brown
eyes encased within laugh lines twinkled warmly at her over round, apple-red
cheeks. Not ancient as Agnes had declared, the baron nonetheless had seen a
good many years. His body seemed to creak as he bowed while sweeping off a wide-brimmed
black hat sporting a vivid maroon feather. A fluffy black wig, the top of which
raised his height by several inches, curled past his shoulders and framed his
powdered face.

He wore a waist-length
purple satin jacket edged with gold trim to accentuate the white shirt that
puffed out below. His matching petticoat breeches, fashionably distended, ended
at his knees amidst a flurry of vivid green, white and purple ribbons that
matched those fluttering at his wrists. Gold-buckled black leather shoes
completed the ensemble. Clearly, the baron enjoyed keeping abreast of the
king’s fondness for extravagant fashion.

He could be
Katherine’s own grandfather, only he was to become her husband—if she accepted
him. And this she would not do.

She noted a
startling contrast between tall, grim Lord Drayton in his plain black breeches
with black jacket and white shirt, and the diminutive Lord Wiltshire, smiling
in all his fine, colorful attire. They resembled a magnificent stag looming
over a ridiculous little rooster.

Katherine forced
her face into a pleasant smile and steeled herself for what was to come.

“May I present
the Lady Katherine Seymour, daughter of Lord and Lady Thomas Seymour,” Alex
said, trying not to growl out the words. “Lady Katherine, allow me to introduce
you to The Right Honorable Lord Wiltshire, Thomas Bliss.” He noticed that
Elizabeth had joined Agnes. “I apologize for keeping you waiting, Lord
Wiltshire. I trust my neighbor and cousin are entertaining you.” He adopted an
affable smile as he watched Katherine compare him to the clownish fop before
him, but he felt strangely inadequate. From the way her lips curved up at Lord
Wiltshire’s appearance, it was clear that she preferred his manner of dress.
Perhaps he himself should have worn loose breeches to hide his throbbing desire.

Her lips looked
swollen from his rough kiss in the Hall. He shut out his sudden craving to carry
her upstairs and run his tongue and hands over the rest of her.

“We’ve had a
grand hour!” Lord Wiltshire declared, unabashedly exploring Katherine. He paid
particular attention to the smooth mounds pushing up out of her bodice.

“Indeed we have,
Lord Drayton,” Agnes said from the couch. “I do believe Lord Wiltshire has
caused my stays to loosen from all the laughing I have done.”

“Agnes!”
Elizabeth said with a giggle. “My goodness!”

Alex studied his
cousin with surprise. He’d never seen her so animated.

Thankfully, the
baron had concluded his scrutiny of Katherine. Alex hadn’t expected this
lustful behavior from the old man. Gads, it was as if she were a side of beef
hanging at the market. His roving eyes annoyed Alex almost beyond endurance.

When Wiltshire
took her right hand and meandered his lips over the back of it in a lingering
kiss, something ferocious stirred within Alex. If the baron dared turn it over
and kiss her palm, as Alex himself had done—

“Shall we sit?”
he asked through gritted teeth.

Wiltshire
straightened, his wrinkled hand still clutching Katherine’s fingers in his old
man grip.

Pulling back her
hand, she sucked in a quick breath between her teeth. Pain bloomed on her face.

“Take heed,”
Alex said quickly. “Her fingers are healing from an injury.”

“Injured!”
Wiltshire fired an accusatory glance toward Alex.

Alex replied
coolly, “I will explain what happened later so as to save her embarrassment.”

“Yes, you will,”
Wiltshire said, chin held high as he held out his arm for Katherine.

Alex noted the
ease and trust with which Katherine placed her hand on the baron’s arm. A pain
ripped through his gut that he himself hadn’t been able to earn her trust.

But he had none
to give her. Madness and bitter sorrow had prevailed in this house for years,
and lingered on after Mary’s death. Hope and trust would never reach these
walls, nor his heart.

“Good day, Lady
Katherine,” Elizabeth said as she stood and indicated a chair for her.

The baron
reclaimed his seat nearest the fire in the hearth. Alex waited until both Katherine
and Elizabeth were seated before heading toward an empty chair.

Agnes, reclined
on the couch, cocked her head and placed her left hand beside her, giving the
blue brocade cushion a subtle pat. Alex summoned a smile, the sort a gladiator
might level at his opponent, and lowered his frame into the chair. The woman
had become outrageous in her attempts at persuasion. Apparently Robert had not
relayed Alex’s candid assertion of disinterest. If Agnes declined the hint now,
she was a dolt as well as a flagrant flirt.

“My dear lady,”
Lord Wiltshire, exposing even yellow teeth, said to Katherine, “I realize you
are without a voice, but
’
tisn’t
important. I will always speak for you. And of course, I will fill your ears
with lively chatter.”

Alex crossed an
ankle over his knee. “I believe Lady Katherine would like to regain her voice.
’
Tis quite important
to her.”

Katherine’s
grimace disappeared as she swung her startled gaze to Alex.

“Ah, but silence
is a virtue among our fair sex,” Wiltshire countered. “She should consider it a
gift.” He sat back and sipped his wine, either ignoring or oblivious to the
disgust that now crossed Katherine’s face.

“Lord Wiltshire,
do tell your story about Charles’ restoration to the throne,” Agnes said.

“Ah, yes,” the
baron said, and a smile lit his face. “
The day the king rode into the city,
with hundreds of flowers in his path, was the day of London’s rebirth.”

“I was there!”
Elizabeth exclaimed, startling Alex with her uncharacteristic vibrancy. Was she
drunk? She turned to him with bright eyes. “Alex, do you remember that day in
London? The king’s restoration? I was only fifteen, but
’
tis still all so
clear. Oh, the king looked so handsome, and he smiled at me as he passed.” She
fluttered a hand to her heart.

“I remember,”
Alex replied flatly. The purpose of the trip was to meet his bride. How optimistic
he had been!

“I was too young
to go,” Agnes said. “Were you there, Lady Katherine?”

Alex looked over
to see her reply, thinking he would need to get her a new slate before she left—one
on which the chalk wouldn’t squeak so badly. She had been toying with a ribbon
on her dress and jerked up her head at Agnes’ question. She blinked as if she
hadn’t heard.

Agnes rolled her
eyes. “I asked you—oh, never mind. Go on, please, Lord Wiltshire. I would like
to hear all about Court.”

Wiltshire’s
small eyes peered at Katherine. “Are you well, my lady?”

“Perhaps she is
tired,” Alex said. “We toured the keep today.” That wasn’t it, though, he knew.
The searing knowledge was evident under his breech laces.