He snorted. “It would take more than the likes of your kinsmen to trap me,” he said, casually insulting the men of her family. What do you want from me?” he asked. “That you come to my bedchamber in the middle of the night.” He cast a look over her slender body. Her face was swathed in so many veils he couldn’t make out a single feature. “How do I even know it’s you?”
“You’ve heard what has befallen me?” she asked quietly. She was sat eerily still now.
He looked at her, then gave a brief nod. The pox. Everyone was talking of its most famous victim.
“I don’t want to remain at court,” she said. “To become an object of pity. I want to leave Caer-Lyoness.”
He shrugged. “What’s this to me? You want a paid escort?”
“It is said.” She began speaking a little less confidently. “That you are in pursuit of your own fortune.” Her words were breathless now, hesitant. “To make your way in the world.”
He sat stock-still. “And?” he rasped.
“My circumstances are not what they were, “she began haltingly. “My prospects are quite altered.”
His eyebrows rose. The only thing of note about Lenora Montmayne was her exceeding fairness. Without that, he supposed she no longer had a claim to her fame or position at court as resident beauty. But what was that to him? Then it hit him. She was talking about her marital prospects. His lip curled. Her clamoring suitors must have all cried off once she lost her looks. And now she had come to him, crawling. “And?” he asked. He wanted to hear the haughty bitch say it. That she was offering herself to him, now her face was ravaged and her beauty gone. Her veil seemed to flutter, as if her breathing grew labored, and just as suddenly he found he didn’t want to make her say it after all. “Let me see your face,” he said gruffly instead.
She sat very still. Then, just when he thought she’d refuse, her hands rose to lift the veils to show him. His eyes widened. The rumors hadn’t lied. Lenora Montmayne’s legendary beauty was quite gone. Where once her complexion had a bloom like a flower, it was marred with pockmarks and an uneven redness was spread across her skin. She tilted her face first one way and then the other, so he could see the full extent of the damage. Oddly enough, that impressed him. That, and how slowly she moved, to give him the chance to examine the damage the pox had wrought on her once fair face. When she closed her eyes, he thought she was finally showing distress, but then realized she was letting him see the crinkled, misshapen eyelids. She kept her head tilted up, waiting for him to tell her he’d looked his fill.
“How far down does it extend?” he heard himself ask.
She gave a slight start. “Just my face.”
“Nowhere else?”
She shook her head. When he didn’t speak further, she seemed to rally herself. “My cousin Kit inherits my father’s estate, as its entailed, but he has a sizable private fortune and always swore to give a handsome bride-gift with me.”
“I’m guessing there’s a reason Sir Leofric’s not approaching me with this offer?” he asked dryly. “One that doesn’t involve my popularity at court.” Or lack of it, he thought.
Her face flushed, the areas of it not already red. “There is a reason,” she agreed.
“Which is?” he pressed.
“We would need to elope.”
He pursed his lips. “So, I would be taking you without your father’s consent,” he ruminated. She nodded. “Who’s to say I’d see a penny of this famous dowry?”
“My father is fond of me. He would be angry, yes at first, very angry. But then he would relent. He would want me happy.”
He wondered at the grim determination in her tone. Was she saying what she wanted to believe?
He frowned. “Then why not set him the task of finding you a groom?”
Lenora licked her dry lips. “Because…” she started lamely.
“Yes?”
“Because, he’d have to bribe someone to marry me,” she said, her voice rising. “Someone who would be kind to me, —" She broke off. When she spoke again, her voice was low, but no less impassioned. “Someone who would feel sorry for me for the rest of my days. And everyone would know it… and that he’d paid them a fortune to do it.” She clasped her hands together, he suspected to hide the fact they were shaking.
“What’s the difference with me?” he asked bluntly. “My reason for wedding you would be no less mercenary.”
“But you are quite pitiless, my lord, are you not?” she said simply. “You will not be kind, and I need not feel guilty about you making any kind of sacrifice on my behalf. I have no doubt you would lead whatever woman you married a dog’s life.”
He gave a short laugh at that. He had no idea she was so gutsy. When she reached up a hand to pull down her veil, his own shot out to forestall her, catching her wrist. Lenora froze.
“I heard you had pockmarks the size of pennies, and a hole where your nose should be,” he said bluntly.
“Who said so?” she gasped.
He shrugged and let his eyes roam over her face. “You’re not beautiful anymore, but it’s not so bad as all that.” The oddest look crossed over her face. “What?” he found himself asking.
“’Tis nothing,” she said, avoiding his eye.
He considered her a moment. “When?” he asked abruptly. “When do you envisage us running off into the night together?” He spoke dryly, but to his own surprise was clearly contemplating the idea.
She stared at him a moment, then gulped. “Before the tournament is ended would be better for me.”
He frowned at that. “I’m competing,” he pointed out heavily.
“I’m aware, but there is someone here I do not wish to see.”
“Who?” His voice was sharp, surprising him.
“Family,” she answered promptly. “How long would it take you to get your affairs in order?”
He shrugged. “A day.”
“Have you… someplace we could go? Just until my father relents?”
He was silent a moment while he pondered this. Then he gave a short nod. “I’ve a place.”
“Where?” He stared back at her stony-faced. “What I meant was,” she elaborated slowly when she realized nothing was forthcoming. “How many days’ ride is it from Caer-Lyoness.”
Oh. “Three days.” Then feeling he had been ungracious, he added, “It’s near a village called Cofton Warren. I’ve a farm there.” He narrowed his eyes in anticipation of her response to this, but she made no reaction to the fact he was proposing to take her, the daughter of a noble family to a mere farmhouse.
“Then, this time tomorrow night?” she suggested, her voice high, betraying her nerves. “I could meet you in the courtyard by the west gate.”
He looked her over again. Was he really going to do this? It would mean withdrawing from the Challenge to Arms, which was a blow. He had a good chance of winning in that event. Still, at least he could participate in tomorrow’s jousting. He nodded swiftly and released her wrist. For a moment he thought she would topple off the chair, she looked so suddenly drained. Then she seemed to collect herself, pulled the veils down over her face and tottered from the room. A nobler man than he would have seen she made her way back safely, but she had made it plain that she expected no better from him. He smiled grimly to himself. Well, well, well. The Flower of all Karadok, begging for his hand. Even if the flower was now quite spoiled and had lost its bloom.