Her Christmas Knight. Nicole LockeЧитать онлайн книгу.
skipped. There was no reason Hugh should come to Swaffham. No reason at all, except she’d seen him in that garden and he had said he would talk to the King.
‘You’ve gone pale.’ Elizabeth’s mouth turned down. ‘Have you changed your mind?’
Alice tried to stop her spinning thoughts. It couldn’t be Hugh. For one, Elizabeth would never have requested Hugh’s presence, and two he couldn’t be visiting family since he had none here.
‘No, no. Merely...nervous, I suppose.’
Her sister’s frown eased. ‘It’s the gentlemen present who should be nervous. That gown is stunning on you.’
The gown she had chosen tonight was one of her favourites. A silvery grey bliant with a purple surcoat. Alice had also adorned herself with a silver belt and the daintiest silver and pearl necklace she owned. She knew what the colours did to her eyes. She’d need every bit of confidence she could get.
‘Go in. If not to show off that gown, you must be cold—and the fire in the other room is much larger.’ Elizabeth gave a small smile. ‘They don’t bite, Alice, despite your avoiding them all these years...and I’ll be with you soon enough.’
Plastering a smile on her face, Alice followed her sister out of the comfort of the private parlour and into the much larger public room. After some brief pleasantries and a nod to her guests, Elizabeth departed. A servant offered her a drink, and Alice took it gratefully.
She’d need the warmth and the wine’s strength—especially since Lyman and Mitchell turned immediately upon her entering. She knew them well enough. Both single, both with some means. Both of marriageable age, and just the kind of men who were her target.
Alice took a fortifying sip.
* * *
Following behind Eldric, Hugh stepped into the mayor’s dining room, expecting the reactions of the seated company. In past similar situations, he had revelled in the quiet bite of that moment when complacency turned to outraged surprise or amused curiosity.
Unfortunately, this time he wasn’t able to absorb all the surprised reactions on his sudden appearance before their ever-polite host and hostess rose to greet Eldric, who was already by their side.
With barely a glance from Elizabeth, the servants swiftly rearranged the table settings to make room for him. Other servants left to retrieve additional food.
All of it worked like societal clockwork. Even the guests seemed to move with precision as they adjusted their seats. Except for a few people, he didn’t recognise anyone. Not a surprise since most of them washed their hands of his entire family.
What was surprising was that Eldric had lied when he’d said he was permitted to bring a guest. The evidence of the servants adding a place for him was all too clear. Hugh would have to pay him back later for this trick.
Far less interesting was the fact that Baldrick Alistair was still alive—and fatter than ever. And his wife was already slurring, despite the early hour of the evening.
But there was alertness from the two single men he instantly recognised. Lyman’s eyes had narrowed with unconcealed disgust even as he’d inclined his head. Mitchell had been too young to understand when Hugh had left, but appeared pleased at his return. As if his presence would revive a decidedly dull affair.
Since he, too, had a role to play, Hugh nodded to them both though he was truly aware of only one guest.
Alice—who stayed seated until the moving chairs forced her to rise, whose eyes widened in surprise and then quickly narrowed in anger and something else that flushed her cheeks.
It was a flush he shouldn’t have been able to see in the dim light of the room, but he was distinctly attuned to it despite his impoverished childhood and the secrets that would separate them for ever.
When she rose, he wondered if she would step closer to greet him. He wondered, in the state he was in, if he would close the distance.
Too much ale. He needed more control when it came to her and his mission. And surely it was the ale that had made him agree to attend tonight. It couldn’t be because Alice was here.
‘The seating is prepared.’ Elizabeth’s voice was serene, though her hands were clenched in front of her. Elizabeth—so obviously a lady. She didn’t approve of him being here, but would never insult him or Eldric by saying so.
‘Thank you, Elizabeth,’ he said, ‘for the courtesy of your home this evening.’
The lines of worry around her eyes eased. ‘It’s St Martin’s Day, Hugh, and all are welcome.’
Clever Elizabeth. Welcoming him and letting him know he wasn’t special at the same time. When they were young she’d been friendlier to him—but that had been before Alice had been forced into the empty well.
Seating himself at the place she’d indicated was for him, he loosened the tenseness in his shoulders. He was in Swaffham, sitting down to a St Martin’s Day feast, not entering unarmed into an enemy-laden field.
Although he had to wonder about that enemy field. Because subtly, strategically, Elizabeth had directed the servants to set him a place...next to Alice.
* * *
Before this moment, Alice hadn’t known it was possible to freeze with heat. Hugh was a mere hand’s breadth away. She felt more shock now than she had when she’d seen him at Court.
She felt more of his presence than ever before, too. Her eyes tracked every bit of his height, the broad sureness of his shoulders in his white tunic, the way his black leather breeches clung to his thighs, the gleam of the belt around his waist and the shine of his fine boots.
No doubt it was the unexpectedness of seeing him in the confines of her sister’s home...and realising he would be sitting next to her.
Simply that thought alone made heat suffuse her and froze her to her seat, while anger and frustration coursed jaggedly through her shock. She welcomed those emotions—intended to use them to get through this farce of a celebration.
How dare Hugh show up to her sister’s dinner? She’d been clear in the garden that she wanted nothing to do with him. And now she could do nothing to get rid of him—not without causing a scene. And she wouldn’t ruin Elizabeth’s party with accusations.
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