His Lady Fair
How Could He Love This Daughter Of Treason…?Yet with his heart so full, his passion so afire, how could he not? Nicholas Hawken had never found a woman so attuned to his touch, his taste, his very being, as Lady Maria Burton. Though if her father proved traitorous, he was duty bound to expose him…and so destroy their love!From household drudge to daughter of a duke, Maria Burton had been forever transformed. But nothing had been as soul-shattering as what she'd experienced with Nicholas Hawken, infamous scoundrel, intriguing rogue…and truebound mate-of-her-heart!
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Male instinct ruled.
While Maria was still recovering from the shock of seeing him, he pulled her close and claimed her lips with his own. He savored the spicy taste of her, the scent and texture of her hair as he cupped her head, the lush curves of her body as he pressed the length of her body to his own.
Nothing mattered but this.
He would have devoured her completely if he could, but the indignant shrieks of a nearby woman eventually penetrated his consciousness. At the same time, he felt Maria’s hands against his chest, actually pushing him away.
“My Lord!” the older woman cried. “Unhand Lady Maria this instant!”
Nick kept his eyes locked on Maria’s. All he could see reflected in those glorious irises was panic.
Her lips were swollen by his kiss, but they were trembling. She took a step back—And slapped him…!
Praise for Margo Maguire’s previous titles
Dryden’s Bride
“Exquisitely detailed…an entrancing tale that will enchant and envelop you as love conquers all.”
—Rendezvous
“A warm-hearted tale…Ms. Maguire skillfully draws the reader into her deftly woven tale.”
—Romantic Times
The Bride of Windermere
“Packed with action…fast, humorous, and familiar…The Bride of Windermere will fit into your weekend just right.”
—Romantic Times
#595 CARPETBAGGER’S WIFE
Deborah Hale
#597 THE DOCTOR’S HOMECOMING
Kate Bridges
#598 WICKED
Beth Henderson
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
MARGO MAGUIRE
The Bride of Windermere #453
Dryden’s Bride #529
Celtic Bride #572
His Lady Fair #596
This book is for Mike.
Contents
Chapter One
Alderton Keep. Early Spring, 1429
Ria stole into the buttery and smoothed the wrinkles from the front of her new gown. Not that the gown was truly new, for it had belonged to Cecilia Morley, Ria’s sophisticated, young, legitimate cousin. But even if it was not a perfect fit, the elegant castoff, once a lovely blue silk dress, was a decided improvement over the threadbare gown Ria had been wearing these last few years.
Ria allowed herself a moment to savor the sensation of the fine silk against her skin. She was glad Cecilia had had the fur lining removed. Ria had no use for it. Nor had she any use for the jeweled collar that had once adorned the neckline. With the hard work that was required of her, Ria knew those fineries would quickly be ruined.
Besides, she had her own jewelry, a precious locket—a bauble of gold with a secret latch that held a lock of her mother’s golden hair within. Ria always carried it with her, though she kept it tied up in a square of linen so that no one would ever see it. And take it from her.
She spun around and gave herself leave to imagine that, just this once, she was dressed in the glorious gown before its lining and jeweled collar had been ripped from it. She could almost feel the weight of the gems, and dream she was tall and slender and lovely like Cecilia, making heads turn and eyes glitter with envy.
’Twas a foolish fancy, Ria knew, but her little dreams made life at Alderton Keep bearable. Her life had always been harsh, and it seemed to grow worse with every passing year.
Her aunt Olivia had made it quite clear that Ria would never be recognized as a member of the family. The Morleys would provide her a roof, food for her belly and the occasional bit of cast-off clothing. But Ria would be required to work for it.
The bastard daughter of Lady Sarah Morley deserved no better.
“Ria!” Cook’s harsh voice interrupted her wandering thoughts. Ria quickly tied a scratchy woolen shawl ’round her shoulders—more to cover up the shortcomings of Cecilia’s dress than for warmth—and flew out of the buttery, into the kitchen.
“Where’ve yer been, girl?” Cook demanded.
“I—I’ve just—”
“Get the pot out of the fire fer me now,” the sour-tempered cook ordered, “then give it a good stir.”
Ria lifted the heavy cauldron from its hook in the huge blackened fireplace and carried it to a sturdy wooden table in the center of the kitchen.
“Ye slopped some of m’ stew over the side, ye beef-witted dewberry!” Cook screeched at her, cuffing the side of her head and nearly knocking Ria down as she struggled with the heavy pot. “Now wipe up the mess ye made!”
“It wouldn’t have sloshed if you’d put it in two smaller pots like I told you before,” Ria retorted just as Cook cuffed her again.
She knew better than to sass Cook, but it went against her nature to keep silent over unfair criticism. Ria rubbed the bruised spot on the side of her head and picked up a rag. She said nothing more, but began cleaning up the spill.
“When yer done there, yer to take this tray up to Lady Olivia’s solar,” Cook said. “She’s got a guest wi’ her, so try not to splash or spill while yer up there.”
