Her Lord and Protector (formerly titled On Silent Wings) (2 page)

Sweet heaven,
she was beautiful.

Golden-brown
hair. Small hands that gripped her slate against her slender body. A ramrod
posture and proud tilt of her chin suggesting inner strength, which she had
needed after losing everything in the fire.

Could she ever
regain her voice? Had anyone tried to help her?

Her brown eyes,
ablaze with vitality, had awakened something deep within him and stirred his
heart into an unwelcome gallop. But those eyes revealed nothing about the
knowledge of her circumstances.

Did she not know
why she was here? Someone had to have informed her that Lady Castlemaine, the
king’s jealous mistress, had plotted Katherine’s ruin upon discovery of Lord Seymour’s
treason.

A pox on that.
Alex wanted nothing to do with the scheme. Cromwell’s men had destroyed his
family, but that was years ago and had nothing to do with these circumstances.
He had no wish to ravage a dead spy’s daughter in the name of retribution. The
very thought sickened him.

The door opened
a crack. “My lord?”

Alex
straightened in his chair, cleared his throat, and slid a ledger toward him. “I
am working, Sam.”

Ignoring the
obvious hint, his old manservant entered and sent a cursory grimace toward the
unruly papers piled on Alex’s desk. “Well?”

“She is no
softheaded mouse.”

“I took notice.”
Sam leaned his gnarled hands on the back of the chair that Katherine had vacated.
“What does she know?”

Alex sighed and
rubbed the back of his neck. “She said—wrote—that the king sent her here to
provide her a home. She is lying.”

“To protect
herself, mayhap,” Sam said. “She doesn’t know you. But Lady Elizabeth might
discover something if she befriends her.”

Alex shook his
head. “I have said nothing of Katherine’s father’s treachery. I just want her
out of here.”

Sam
straightened. “’Tis almost mealtime. Shall I see to your dining clothes?”

“Do not bother. I
will dine alone in the withdrawing room off my bedchamber.”

“Again? Even
though you have a guest?”

Alex wouldn’t
have tolerated the servant’s bold question from any other, but he owed his life
to Samuel Peele. Even so, he bristled. “She is no guest. And tomorrow’s meal
with the Cookes will garner enough socializing to last me through the rest of
April.” He opened the ledger to another error-filled page, and muttered an
oath. “Damnable steward. Should have killed him myself.” He heard the door shut
as Sam departed, and paused in dipping his quill. His gaze slid to the chair
Katherine had occupied.

Despite his
attempt to remain unresponsive when she had leaned down to pick up the chalk,
Alex had felt his face grow heated with the glimpse she unwittingly gave him of
the creamy tops of her breasts. He’d no choice but to glare at her. It was the
only way to hide his desire. And he would desire no one, least of all the
daughter of a spy.

Hadn’t he
promised himself? Had he not shut away his heart, created an iron wall around
it to stave off the agony of loving a woman who seemed to hate him so much that
she had taken her own life?

Impatiently he
raised his fist and pounded once on his desk, sending his inkbottle into a
drunken spiral that nearly spilled its black contents onto a stack of papers
nearby.

He would never
lose sight of the pact he had made with himself the night his insane wife died.

With grim
finality, he shut away Katherine’s image from his mind. He grasped his quill,
hunched over his ledger, and returned to his task.

Katherine willed
her heart to slow its pattering after meeting the handsome but brusque Lord
Drayton. How clear he had been in his declaration that he only sheltered her
out of obligation and would be rid of her as soon as he could. The rogue. She
tried to summon anger to replace her despondency, but to no avail.

This vast main
Hall she followed the servant through made her feel small and insignificant.
Her steps echoed on the dark planked floor beneath a high arched ceiling with
wooden beams
that,
in her current humor, appeared as though they might plunge and slice her to
pieces.

She looked to
her left and paused in dismay at the disjointed images of herself in a grouping
of small mirrors over an ornately carved table. Like the fragmented reflections,
she was here but not here, a specter with no refuge to call home. She was
trivial, irrelevant, an unwanted object tossed about.

Here...yet not
here. A surreal emptiness overcame her and, suddenly light-headed, she
staggered to one of two nearby chairs flanking an old wooden chest.

Through her haze
she saw a figure limp toward her, seemingly a ghost in pale gray.

“Lady
Katherine....”

Katherine forced
herself to focus on the woman standing before her—Elizabeth Hopkins, Lord
Drayton’s cousin, whom she’d met upon her arrival. A frown creased Elizabeth’s
delicate brow, and she gazed down at Katherine with worried gray eyes.

Katherine stood
and forced herself to smile.

“Will you not
join us in the parlor for refreshments?” Elizabeth asked.

Katherine
glanced back through the Hall to the door that led to his study. Who else would
be in the parlor? Not Lord Drayton, she hoped.

She would rather
be shown to her own bedchamber where she could at least pretend she belonged.
Instead, she nodded her consent.

Elizabeth
dismissed the servant and led the way through the Hall. Her left hip lifted and
twisted to the right with each slow, awkward step.

The vast,
echoing Hall seemed to fit the aloof temperament of its owner.

Stretching from
the massive front door to the back corridor, the Hall must be situated at the
center of the old fortress. Between enormous tapestries the stone walls peered,
dark and cold.

Katherine and
Elizabeth entered a parlor as dim as Lord Drayton’s study. A fire burning in
the hearth threw vague, dancing shadows on dark drapes that completely masked
the tall windows Katherine had seen from the carriage.

A woman with
light yellow hair sat on one of the couches. For just an instant, Katherine
caught a glimpse of pursed lips and narrowed eyes before the woman smiled. But
it could have been the play of light on her face.

Elizabeth led
Katherine to a chair, but Katherine hesitated with her attention drawn to the
drapes, willing them to open.

Why on earth did
he close off the daylight? Had the king informed him of her affliction with
closed, dark spaces since her entrapment in the fire? Surely Lord Drayton
wouldn’t be so cruel as to play on her fear. Her chest tightening, she took a
seat.

“Lady Katherine
Seymour, may I present our neighbor, Mistress Agnes Cooke,” Elizabeth said. She
anchored both hands on the chair arms and sank onto the seat.

“More than just
a neighbor I would hope, Lizzy,” Agnes replied, and arched blond brows.

“Yes...forgive
me. Agnes is also my friend.” Elizabeth lowered her eyes and plucked at her
dress.

“To you
and
to Alexander,” Agnes said.

Katherine forced
herself to maintain a pleasant expression. Although Agnes held a sweet smile,
her words denoted possessiveness. She must be betrothed to Lord Drayton. Why
else would she refer to him in such an informal manner?

Katherine’s gaze
again slid to the heavy drapes. Feeling smothered in the dimness, she took a
deep breath to calm herself, and this brought on the familiar long, drawn-out
cough that had assailed her since the fire. Swallowing hard and relaxing her
shoulders, she forced herself to concentrate on the two women before her.

“My family will
dine here tomorrow,” Agnes announced after a moment.

Elizabeth’s hand
stilled with her cup halfway to her lips. Her voice barely carried. “Yes, I am
aware of this.”

“Edward is quite
smitten with you, Lizzy,” Agnes said.

A blush crept up
Elizabeth’s cheeks. “He is nice enough.” Her cup clattered a little as she set
it onto its matching saucer.

Agnes tapped a
finger to her lips. “I do hope his feelings do not change upon meeting Lady
Katherine.”

Elizabeth
shifted in her seat. “That would be Edward’s choice, of—of course.”

Katherine
frowned. Who was Edward? And what was Agnes implying?

Agnes again
turned toward Katherine, her brows creased in apparent compassion. “Lizzy has
informed me that you lost your voice in the fire. What a pity. Were the
situation different, you could tell us of your interest in the curtains.”

Elizabeth looked
up quickly. “Agnes, please.”

Rude woman.
Katherine’s body tensed, but she lifted her chalk to explain. Perhaps Elizabeth
could ask a servant to open them.

Agnes waved a
dismissive hand. “No need. I have always found reading an unnecessary burden
for a
true
lady.”

Katherine
returned her slate to her lap and lowered her head to hide her smirk. True
lady, indeed.

At a soft knock
on the door, Elizabeth, with clear relief in her voice, bade entry.

A servant
entered and curtsied. “Lady Katherine’s things have been taken to her room. She
has no maid.”

Elizabeth turned
to Katherine with wide eyes. “No maid? Certainly you did not make this trip
alone!”

Embarrassment
heated Katherine’s face as she wrote,
No, borrowed servant
.
She
returned to London
. Ellis Potts, her ex-betrothed, had spared all expenses
and not bothered to procure a maid for her when he sent her away.

Elizabeth read
the words aloud, slowly.

“Well, that is
quite odd,” Agnes said with a laugh. “I suppose you will have to curl your own
hair and lace your own shoes. Do your dresses button in the front? Gads, I
cannot imagine doing anything without my maid, can you, Lizzy?”

“You are in need
of a lady’s maid,” Elizabeth said, her sudden decisiveness surprising after her
former hesitation. “I will accompany you to your bedchamber and try to remedy
this. If you will pardon me, Agnes, I will return shortly.”

Katherine rose
on stiff legs. The two-day jostling of the coach during her journey from London
to Chiswick had taken its toll on her body, and a short rest would surely quell
her weariness. Perhaps later she could request a warm bath.

Despite Agnes’
friendly smile, Katherine shivered with a wary chill as she passed.

The servant
walked ahead of them back through the Hall toward the stairs, her pace slow to
accommodate Elizabeth’s limp.

Katherine
imagined Lord Drayton at his desk. The memory of his broad shoulders and the
heat of his powerful masculinity even now triggered something unbidden deep
within her.

She scoffed at
herself. How shameful and improper that her body should respond in this way to
a man who resented her presence.

Her reaction,
she knew, stemmed from the profound forlornness she’d seen in his eyes despite
his terse manner. Perhaps the widower had loved his wife and missed her very
much.

The servant led
them up the wide staircase and then down an oak-paneled passageway that
stretched in both directions, interspersed with an occasional bench or table.
Closed doors stood like shadowy sentinels as the women passed by them.

At the end of
the corridor, the servant turned right and headed down another. It seemed
strange that Katherine’s bedchamber would be so far from the main stairs.
Perhaps the doors they passed opened to rooms for overnight guests. Lord
Drayton must entertain often.

The thought did
not cheer Katherine, whose former lively banter with the other courtiers at
Whitehall Palace had been reduced to listening to the talk around her. By the
time she added her comments to a conversation on her slate, the subject had
moved on.

“Your room looks
out at the front,” Elizabeth said, panting slightly with her uneven steps. “I
do hope you will enjoy it.”

Ahead of them,
the maid’s shoulders tensed. She stopped at the end of the passage and opened a
door.

The chamber was spacious,
but the gloom made it difficult to see many details. Katherine rolled her eyes
in frustration. Was every window in this home darkened with heavy curtains?
What was so wrong with letting in some light?

Without delay,
she set her slate on the writing table near the door, crossed over to the
window, and grasped the drapes. The metal loops skating across the rod sent a
relishing ring throughout the room.

Although gentle
rain still fell, the grim daylight added a measure of brightness to the room.
Katherine hadn’t realized just how tense she had become in this gloomy fortress
until relief washed over her. She turned with a smile, and then stared in
dismay at the monotony before her.

Gray tester
around the bedposts. Mud-gray quarterpane. She glanced at the rug. More gray.
And surrounding her, plain walls with no hint of decoration save for a thin
border of pale yellow flowers that seemed to cry out in desperate cheer.