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  Warwick placed firm fingers beneath her chin and compelled her to look at him. “Who are you? I demand to know your name.”

  She raised her eyes to meet his. “I am Marjory de Warenne.”

  “Christ Almighty!” Guy de Beauchamp shot from the bed as if a demon from hell had just skewered him with a burning pitchfork.

  Chapter 4

  “Are you the Marjory de Warenne whose brother is Lynx de Warenne and your uncle the Earl of Surrey?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” she admitted shyly, lowering her lashes, and crossing her arms to cover her bare breasts.

  “It’s a little late for that, Lady Marjory.” He picked up his black velvet robe from the floor and thrust it at her. “Why, in the name of God, did you pretend to be a serving wench?” He hated deceit with a vengeance and believed that every woman breathing, not just the ones he’d known, indulged in lying and cheating.

  Jory slid her arms into his robe and wrapped it about herself. “I do have an explanation, my lord.” Though he suddenly found her nakedness highly inappropriate, he seemed unaware of his own.

  Silence stretched between them; he said sharply, “I’m waiting!”

  “It’s a long story, my lord.”

  “We have all night. I am not noted for my patience, but in your case, Lady Marjory, I will try to make an exception.”

  “Please don’t call me that…My name is Jory.” The noise he made in his throat sounded like a growl. She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I am lady-in-waiting to Princess Joanna. I am also her confidante and friend. For months she has railed against this arranged marriage with Gilbert de Clare, but in the end her father’s wishes have prevailed and she has no choice but to wed a man who is thirty years her senior.”

  She watched the impatience mount on his face, but he held his tongue. “Now exactly the same thing will happen to me. The Earl of Surrey and my brother will arrange my marriage and I’ll have no say in the matter. I found out that they already received an offer, which they turned down, but others will follow. This large gathering of nobles provides a most timely opportunity to negotiate matrimonial matches.”

  “Who offered for you?” he demanded sharply.

  “Lord Aylesbury, for his younger son.”

  Warwick’s brows drew together in outrage. “The son of a bitch should be hanged for his temerity!” He strode to the fire and gave it a vicious jab with the poker. “Go on,” he ordered.

  “My friend Joanna suggested that before they arrange my marriage with someone I don’t want and bludgeon me into becoming a dutiful wife, I should choose a tempting young lord who would lure me to dalliance.” She sighed deeply. “I chose you.”

  “I am not young. I am thirty-four years old.”

  “Truly, my lord? Thirty-four seems a perfect age to me.”

  “It’s not just my age. I am unsuitable in every way.”

  “Unsuitable for dalliance? You are quite wrong. You set my blood on fire and make me melt with longing.”

  Warwick flung down the poker with a sharp bark of laughter. He came and sat on the foot of the bed, his eyes filled with amusement. “What the hell am I going to do with you, Jory?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. I am very willful.”

  To say nothing of exquisitely beautiful, temptingly innocent, and infinitely fuckable. His cock stirred and he quickly covered it with the sheet.

  “You said you wanted to keep me, that you wanted to take me back to Warwick with you.”

  “That was before I realized you were a highborn noble lady.” The only way I could keep you would be to make you my wife, and marriage is anathema to me! “Jory, what do you know about me?”

  “I know that you are Guy de Beauchamp, the infamous Earl of Warwick, but I don’t know why you are infamous.”

  “Are you aware that I am a widower?”

  Jory shook her head.

  “Are you aware that I have a son the same age as the prince?”

  “A son?” she asked with wonder. “Is he here with you?”

  “Nay. My son, Rickard, rode with me only as far as Hertfordshire. He has been invited to join Prince Edward’s household at King’s Langley.”

  Jory digested the information. Then she gave him a radiant smile. “I now know that you are thirty-four years old, you are the father of a son, and that you had a wife.”

  “Two wives.”

  She stared at him; she knew there was more.

  “Both died under suspicious circumstances. Dark whispers of murder have swirled about me for years. These rumors are what make me the infamous Earl of Warwick. I am beyond redemption.”

  “Do you deny the rumors, Guy de Beauchamp?” she whispered.

  He gazed at her for a full minute, his purpleblack eyes unreadable, and then he replied, “No, I do not deny them. Both deaths were rightly laid at my door, and I accept full blame.”

  Jory sat in his bed, hugging her body, which was clad in his black velvet robe. His stark honesty compelled her to confess something she never said aloud. “I killed my mother. She died giving birth to me. I know what it is like to bear guilt.”

  Warwick’s heart went out to her. He knew better than to diminish the tragedy by telling her it wasn’t her fault. What people thought and said about you mattered not one whit. It was the belief buried deep within your soul that counted. “In spite of my blackened reputation, you are still not afraid of me, are you, Jory de Warenne?”

  Her glance roamed over the proud face, muscled shoulders and chest, and came to rest on his powerful hands, which possessed enough brute strength to snuff out her life. Yet those same hands had lovingly held the most private and vulnerable parts of her body. “No, I am not afraid of you, Guy. I would willingly place my safety in your hands.” She raised her eyes to his and smiled.

  The question is: Would you be willing to place your future in my hands? He smiled back at her. He couldn’t help it; her smile was infectious and it did strange and wonderful things to his insides. Though he was past thirty, and cynical and jaded beyond his years, this vibrant wisp of a girl made him feel twenty again.

  “Let’s make a pact that from now on there will always be truth between us. Deceit is the common currency between a male and a female. It is not only uniquely refreshing, it is an aphrodisiac to find a lady who tells me honestly what is in her heart. Candor is a rare and precious thing. Until tonight, I didn’t think it was possible to have a relationship without lies and subterfuge. A man usually has to tell a woman what she wants to hear. It is liberating to share my darkest secrets with you, Jory.”

  “Men have all the power in this world, my lord earl. In order to achieve the smallest fraction of control over her own life, her own destiny, a woman must dissemble, flatter, and manipulate. If needs must, I will delude the entire world, but I promise I will never lie to you, Guy de Beauchamp.” She tossed her hair about her shoulders. “I have quite made up my mind!”

  You will lie, Jory, but it is pleasant to pretend if only for a little while. “I am honored by your pledge. Come, we must both get dressed and I will take you back.” He opened his wardrobe and donned clean garments, while Jory climbed reluctantly from the bed and slipped on the plain grey tunic. She handed him the black robe and he rubbed it against his cheek. “Your fragrance clings to the velvet.”

  “I always wear freesia.”

  “The costly scent should have told me you were no serving wench.” I deliberately deceived myself. He lifted a curl from her shoulder and rubbed its silken texture between his fingers.

  “Are you disappointed that I am highborn?”

  “Nothing about you disappoints me, Jory.” That was my first lie to you, sweetheart. If you were not highborn, it would be a simple task to make you my mistress and sweep you off to Warwick.

  “I am regretful that there will be no further dalliance,” she said wistfully. She bent to pick up the white linen headdress.

  “Splendor of God, I’m not done with you yet—I’ve hardly begun. There will be
no further dalliance tonight, Lady Marjory, but tomorrow I intend to continue my relentless pursuit and explore any and every possibility of a liaison between us.”

  Her fingers trembled with excitement as she covered her hair. He tucked in a tendril that tried to escape and bent to brush his lips across hers. “Lord God, I intend to do more than woo you.” He willfully ignored the emblem on his chest that was doing its damndest to burn a hole in his flesh. Not without right!

  Though it was long past midnight, no guard challenged the Earl of Warwick as he escorted the young maid through Windsor’s Upper Ward. With his wolfhound Brutus stalking beside him, none dared.

  When Jory arose, she did not rush to attend Joanna. The royal princess had plenty of ladies to help her dress and make sure she looked resplendent for the planned hawking party. Jory had her own appearance to see to today. She had an overwhelming desire to look beautiful in Guy de Beauchamp’s eyes. She put on a soft white underdress with full sleeves gathered at the wrists, then donned a vivid emerald surcoat embroidered with white roses. Rather than cover her hair with a jeweled caul, she braided it with silver ribbon and wound the long plaits about her head to form a regal coronet. Soft green leather boots and gloves completed her outfit.

  Jory joined the princess and her other ladies and together they made their way down to the courtyard adjacent to the stables, where grooms waited with their saddled mounts. Since the queen was no longer robust enough to ride, Joanna and King Edward were to host the hawking party, and Gilbert de Clare stepped forward and aided his bride to mount.

  The courtyard was crowded, not only with noble lords and ladies, but with attendants, grooms, and falconers. Cadge boys, with wooden frames suspended from their shoulders, held the birds that had been brought down from the mews for today’s hunt.

  Jory saw her brother and pushed through the throng to greet him. “Good morning, Lynx. Your tawny hair and great height make you easy to spot in a crowd. Oh hello, Sylvia. I didn’t see you.”

  Her sister-in-law, adorned in a drab brown surcoat, stared at Jory’s outfit. “You are dressed most impractically for a hunt.”

  Lynx gave his sister an irreverent wink. “That depends upon what quarry she is after.”

  Jory threw him a grateful smile, and then her eyes dilated with pleasure as Guy de Beauchamp joined her brother.

  “Lady de Warenne.” Warwick bowed gallantly to Sylvia and addressed Lynx. “You are surrounded by beautiful ladies. How does an ugly devil like you manage it?”

  De Warenne grinned. “This is my sister, Lady Marjory. Allow me to present the Earl of Warwick.”

  “Not the infamous Earl of Warwick?” Jory asked as wicked amusement danced in her eyes. “I already know you by reputation.”

  Lynx shot her a warning glance. “Lady Marjory has an impertinent tongue and a knack for causing mayhem. I ask that you excuse my young sister, Warwick.”

  “And I ask that you excuse us both. It would be my pleasure to take her off your hands.” He held out his arm. “May I help you choose a falcon, my lady?”

  Jory gave him a radiant smile and placed her hand on his arm. “I can think of only one thing I would enjoy more, my lord.” As they moved away, she heard Sylvia hiss, “She’s incorrigible!”

  “God, I hope so,” Warwick murmured as he maneuvered them to a less crowded part of the courtyard. When they stopped walking, his black eyes roamed over her, devouring her. “You are a feast for the eyes.” He held out his large, closed hand, palm up.

  Jory opened his long, shapely fingers one by one and saw that he was offering her a perfect white rose. It filled her with delight to think he compared her with its delicate beauty. As she lifted the fragrant flower to tuck it into her hair, she perceived that its petals had been hiding a small brooch. With a joyous gasp she saw it was a carved onyx wolfhound with an amber eye. “It’s Brutus!” Jory immediately tried to pin it to her surcoat.

  He grinned down at her. “Let me do that. Are you sure you want everyone to see? It will be like wearing my brand.”

  “That is what makes it so exciting. It fills me with pride that a powerful earl like Warwick is courting my favor. I want to shout it to the world.”

  “So it is the power of Warwick that attracts you?”

  “I refuse to lie to you. Of course it is the power of Warwick that attracts me. It is also the innate French charm and dark virility of Guy de Beauchamp. You make my blood sing!”

  He slid his fingers into the décolletage of her riding dress and in doing so brushed against her naked flesh just above her heart. When the brooch was pinned securely, their eyes met and Jory quivered at his intimate touch.

  “Is this your mount?” Warwick took the reins of the small roan from the groom. “A dainty white palfrey would suit you better.”

  “Infinitely better, but Princess Joanna rides a white horse and prefers that her ladies own less showy animals.”

  “She may have her mother’s dark coloring, but ’tis rumored her temperament is pure Plantagenet.”

  Jory laughed. “The rumors are not wrong.”

  “Rumors seldom are. Come, let me get you a hawk.” He looked over the small female birds suited to a lady’s hand. “Would you like a merlin?”

  “Not really…I prefer a kestrel.”

  He gave her a quizzical glance. “Why would you choose a kestrel over a merlin?”

  She lowered her voice. “A merlin preys on song-birds and innocent sparrows that take flight in fear. A kestrel dives to the ground and hunts vermin. I can reward my bird and let her eat what she has killed without pricking my conscience.”

  “Another secret revealed. You will have a hell of a time surviving in this cruel world with such a soft heart, my beauty.”

  “I’ve discovered a hidden vulnerability of yours, too.” Her fingers touched the rose he had given her. “Beneath your dark, dominant, and dangerous facade, you are a romantic at heart.” She smiled into his eyes. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “What heart?” he mocked.

  When his hands captured her waist, lifted her high, and set her in her saddle, his brute strength dizzied her senses.

  Warwick selected a female kestrel and removed it from its perch. He handed her the creance so she could draw the bird back to her gloved fist. “Here is your fierce predator.”

  Jory glanced at him playfully. “What makes you think I can handle more than one fierce predator at a time?”

  “I’d be willing to wager you are woman enough for anything.”

  “Warwick!” the king bellowed. “Join us.”

  “Edward hunts with a goshawk,” he told Jory as they approached the king and his party. “I’ll take a falcon; they are superior in every way. A peregrine never misses and it kills swiftly.”

  Princess Joanna gave her friend a sly sideways glance, then rolled her eyes. Jory masked her amusement and threaded the jesses through her gloved fingers.

  Joanna introduced her to Gilbert de Clare. “I believe my lord fears falconry is becoming a frivolous and effeminate sport now that ladies are becoming proficient.”

  Jory smiled at Gilbert. “I doubt the Earl of Gloucester fears anything. We are adept at handling the hawks, my lord, because we have smaller hands that can easily manage to unfasten the jesses and tyrrits from the birds’ legs.”

  Gloucester looked ruefully at his large hand and returned her smile. “I believe you are right, Lady Marjory.”

  Jory saw Warwick signal the groom, who held his black stallion. She caught her breath and her eyes went wide with admiration as she watched him mount. He balanced the falcon on his gloved fist and swung his leg effortlessly across his horse’s rump without ruffling his bird’s feathers. He moved with a lithe, sensual grace that aroused her. His eyes, black as his hair, were as piercing as the fierce eyes of the falcon. She decided that Guy de Beauchamp put all other men in the shade, including the king.

  Edward Plantagenet held his goshawk high and spurred his enormous horse to plunge forward. He a
lways rode and hunted at full speed, setting the pace and expecting others to keep up with him. His daughter took up the challenge and Gloucester followed.

  Warwick drew his horse close to Jory’s. “They will hunt on the open ground. My falcon will head to the river, lured by the waterfowl. If you ride into the woods to elude everyone, I will have no trouble seeking you out.”

  She watched him gallop after the others, closing the distance effortlessly. She saw him stand in the stirrups to cast his falcon and she smiled a secret smile as it circled toward the river. “So this is how assignations are made.” She shivered with anticipation.

  Jory heard Lynx call out to her, and she had no choice but to join his party. She glanced wryly at Sylvia, who had invited most of the queen’s ladies to hunt with her. “Poor Lynx, obviously you share Gilbert de Clare’s opinion that the sport of falconry is being ruined by females. Sylvia’s father also has a face like a thundercloud. Why don’t you and Roger Bigod join John de Bohun and his sons? The ladies will better enjoy themselves without the critical eyes of the men watching their every move.”

  A look of relief and gratitude came over Lynx’s face. He courteously took leave of his wife and joined the men.

  Jory hunted with the ladies for an hour before she decided to elude them. It was a simple matter to cast her kestrel toward the woods and then follow the small raptor into the trees.

  “How on earth did you find me?” Jory had not been at all confident that Warwick would turn up at the place she had chosen.

  “I followed the scent of freesia.” He dismounted, perched his falcon on an oak limb, and closed the distance between them. “No, in truth it was horse sense that led me to you. Your little roan instinctively sought a clearing among the trees with a stream nearby. Caesar unerringly ran you both to ground.”

  “Caesar and Brutus…you have a fancy for Roman history.”

  He took her kestrel, which she had already hooded, and perched it on a tree branch. Then he held up his arms for Jory. “I have a fancy for many things…especially green-eyed wood nymphs.”