Eternally Bound (Thistles & Roses) (8 page)

Having seen them dancing and speaking, Devon would have done what he did best—swoop in and attempt to steal the lady out from under Sebastien’s nose.

Chapter Nine

“YOU are an elegant dancer,” Lord Devon whispered in a way that made Max feel uncomfortable.

Since being introduced, he’d done nothing save try to seduce her. At least, that was how it felt. He was all smiles, compliments, whispered words and soft touches that she wanted to bat away.

The music finally stopped and she was able to disengage herself from his embrace and curtsy in what she hoped was obvious dismissal.

“As are you, my lord.”

Where was Bedford? She’d seen him casting her a scathing look while she’d danced with Devon. In fact, the look had been so filled with wretchedness, she couldn’t help smiling. The man was positively enchanting. His moods and thoughts were almost as unsettled as her own. Max had always been astute at reading people, and though she’d been at court less than two days, what she read on Bedford’s face gave her pause.

One, he and Devon were rivals.

Two, he’d not been pleased to see her dancing with him.

Three, jealousy had been prominent in his gaze.

But where did all of that leave her? Was it simply jealousy that another man would gain the relics he believed belonged to him? Yes, he wanted to marry her, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything more than to get his hands on the items he believed were his to begin with. For heaven’s sake, he wanted the Gladius and poesy ring so badly, he was willing to sign his life away to her for the rest of his life.

Well, Max might want to prove to her father that she was worth more than he’d ever given her credit for, but she also wanted her husband to believe it. And Lord Bedford did not believe it at all, even if he had flattered her enough to cause her to blush.

“My lady?”

Oh, dear. Max’s gaze flashed back to Lord Devon. He’d asked her something and she couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was.

“I do apologize, sir, I was but looking for my father, and I fear I didn’t hear what you said. Please forgive me for being so rude.” She ducked her head humbly, as was fitting, and wished the man had taken the hint and left her to begin with.

“There is no need for forgiveness, my lady, I only asked if I could get you a drink.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, not saying yay or nay, but hoping he would leave her be.

Lord Devon bowed and disappeared into the throng of people. As soon as his back was to her, she whirled, intent on hiding from him the rest of the evening. And not because being in his presence upset Lord Bedford, but because—

She ran smack into the man in question.

Dark brown eyes gazed down into hers and a dangerous smile curved his mouth. He held up a single rose.

“For you,” Lord Bedford said.

She narrowed her eyes. “From where did you steal it?”

That made him laugh. “Must you believe I am a criminal?” He snapped the stem from the rose, leaving only a few inches of the shoot, then reached forward to tuck it into the curls piled on her head.

The scent of the rose was strong and sweet. She was a little more than surprised that she allowed him to touch her hair—for the second time that night. For her choice in not marrying him, she was certainly allowing him to flirt with her. But what harm could a little flirtation do?

“Your penchant for dishonesty has been proven time and again in my presence. I can’t help but wonder what you must get out of it.”

That only made his smile widen and his eyes sparked with humor. It was then she noticed that they weren’t exactly the dark brown she’d thought, but that a golden color rimmed the inside of his irises.

“Your curiosity flatters me.” He winked.

A hot flame shot straight to her belly. “What do you want from me, Lord Bedford? I have already refused to marry you. Pretty flowers, while charming and nice, will not give me cause to change my mind.”

“I’m well aware of that. I’d never want a wife who could be so easily swayed.”

Then you’ll have to try harder.
She almost gasped as the thought came loud and clear to her.
No. No. No
. He did not need to try
at all
. Yet, a warmth had spread behind her ribs and she felt a flutter around her heart.

“I wish you luck in your search,” she quipped.

His smile widened. “And you as well. Seven days is not a very long time to make a decision that will last a lifetime.”

Max shrugged. “Better than zero.”

“This is true.”

“Shouldn’t you be moving along then to your next conquest?” She made a shooing motion with her fingers.

Darn the man, he seemed to be finding only more and more humor with her. His smile was all but as wide as his face. Gleaming white teeth sparkled at her and eyes twinkled with mirth.

“So that I leave room for Lord Devon to return to you?” he teased.

Again, that spark of jealousy in his countenance, though hidden by his attempt at wit.

Max rolled her eyes. “You may trust me when I say that Lord Devon is close to you on my list of Thou Shalt Not Marry.”

Lord Bedford’s lips twitched in a way that made her fingers itch to reach up and touch him. She was not doing a very good job of avoiding the last man on her list.

“That is good. The man is a scoundrel and you’d only get yourself in trouble.”

She tapped her foot. “More trouble than associating with a thief?”

“At least this thief has the queen’s approval.” He pressed his hands to his heart.

She could drown in his charismatic gaze. Why had she not noticed how striking he was? Even more so than she’d thought before. “She is not fond of Devon?”

“Fond enough to let him come to court.”

Max waved away talk of Devon. Bedford was confusing her, and besides, she didn’t have any interest in the man.

“Do you like plays, my lady?”

She welcomed the change in subject and that he’d not left her yet. Bedford was quickly becoming the most exciting thing at court. “I’ve only seen one and it was rather… dull.”

“Then I must insist on escorting you to the play in the queen’s garden tomorrow.”

She folded her hands in front of her. “Why?”

“It will be the first showing at court of a composition written by a playwright named Shakespeare whom the queen is fond of.”

“Will all the queen’s ladies-in-waiting be escorted?” Mary and Elizabeth Talbot had made it clear that she was to follow the queen’s edicts in all things and this was one they’d not discussed but one she very much wanted to indulge in.

“Indeed, any who have a beau or two.”

Max cocked her head and pinned him with an assessing stare. “You are not my beau. I thought we’d established that.” And why did the thought of him being her beau set her heart to pounding?

“Yes, that is true. I promise not to attempt any sort of courtly flirtation that should arouse suspicions that I am utterly set on marrying you.”

Max halted an unladylike snort from pushing past her throat. “My lord, you are sadly lacking in helping your cause. Why should I let you escort me? That would not help my own cause. As you said, seven days is not a lot of time.”

Bedford grinned knowingly. “Because you want to enjoy the show, my lady, and if any of these other sour fellows were to provide you escort, you’d only find a way to escape them. You know with me, thief that I am, that at least you’ll be entertained by my wit and conversation.”

“Lord Bedford, you are incorrigible.” But he had a point. And she was more than willing to concede to him. “All right. I shall allow you to escort me to the production.” She narrowed her eyes at him and held up an authoritarian finger. “But only because you are right that I’d rather like to enjoy myself.”

“I wish society allowed for you to call me by my given name. Every time you say Lord Bedford I think of my father.”

“Alas, if I did so, we’d be swept off to church and vows said before I could blink. Nevertheless, what is your given name? I’ve only ever known you as That Thief, Lord Bedford.” She laughed at her teasing words and was rewarded with the most handsome smile from her
non
-suitor.

“Sebastien de Rayne.” He swept off his cap and bowed low. “Forever at your service.”

Her belly dropped clear to her toes. “Forever is a long time.” Lord, her voice was entirely too breathy.

“Nevertheless, I do swear it.”

She cleared her throat, hoping to clear the butterflies from her brain. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say such.”

“Pretend if you will, but that will not change the matter.” Heat radiated from him.

Before she could respond, they were surrounded by not only Mary and Elizabeth Talbot, but Lord Devon, too.

“Have you heard?” Mary tittered. “There’s to be a play tomorrow.”

“By the handsome Shakespeare himself!” Elizabeth added.

“Upon hearing of the queen’s great sadness, rumor has spread that he stayed up all night penning a play just for her and that she’s allowing him to put on the production in the garden.” Mary’s eyes bulged with delight and her enthusiasm caused Max to feel a lift in her own.

She glanced at Sebastien and smiled, knowing he would make the event all the more pleasant for her.

“May I escort you lovely ladies to the play?” Lord Devon asked.

Mary and Elizabeth batted their lashes, but Max kept her gaze on Sebastien as though they shared a secret.

Maybe they did. For they’d shared things with each other that they’d both admitted to not having shared with anyone. “I regret that I’ve already agreed to allow Lord Bedford to escort me,” she said.

“Regret, indeed,” Devon said coolly, his disdainful glare settling on Sebastien.

The music stopped abruptly and they all turned to see the queen had risen from the dais and was ascending the stairs. Like insects drawn to the light, one by one, her ladies fell in line behind her.

“Until tomorrow, Lady Maxwell,” Sebastien whispered.

A shiver ran down her spine. Why was it when this man whispered in her ear, she felt none of the discomfort of Lord Devon’s equivalent action? In fact, she wanted to hear him whisper against her sensitive skin again.

Max swallowed hard, nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and hurried after the other ladies-in-waiting.

The lady was certainly going to be his undoing.

Despite his better judgment, he was thoroughly enjoying flirting with her. Her hair had been soft when he pressed the flower into it. Her eyes had been filled with pleasure when he’d given her the small token and he couldn’t deny the excitement that thrummed in his veins every time she licked her lips or gazed at him in that coy, teasing fashion she had.

Sauntering out of the great hall with the rest of the queen’s attendants, Lady Maxwell drew the eye of every male courtier present. Possessiveness swept over him. When he looked at her, he couldn’t help but think:
mine
.

The logical side of his mind agreed. She was his—because to get the relics back, he had to possess her. But the other part of his mind, the one he paid little credence to, said something entirely different. He wanted her. Wanted her in his bed. Wanted her across the table from him when he broke his fast, at luncheon and every other meal that followed. Wanted her beside him when he experienced something new and exciting. She was surprisingly easy to talk to. Conversation took on a whole new, thrilling meaning with her.

His mission from the queen had been to woo the chit. His mission from his mother had been to regain the family relics. But it would seem that his goals were being undermined by the woman in question. Lady Maxwell, whether she did so with purpose or not, was worming her way into his… No. Not his heart.

Sebastien de Rayne, Earl of Bedford, did not have a heart.

He’d forfeited the organ as a young man and had left it to rot on the side of a London road years before. In his line of business, he could not have a heart. Besides, having a heart led only to pain and death. And madness. His mother was a prime example. Love had not done many a de Rayne good.

Lady Maxwell was a poison to him. What was a man to do when, to attain his goals, taking poison was his only option. To please his mother, to please his queen, to avenge his father—this poison was at the heart of it all.