As she listened to it, she imagined a row of pretty children with the warm brown eyes of puppies.
And almost failed to catch his words.
“… a delight to meet you. I am Sir Stephen Carleton.”
She blinked at him. “But that is an English name.”
“Aye, ’tis,” he said with a grin that drew her gaze to his even white teeth. “I am from Northumberland, just as you are.”
Northumberland? But… good heavens! She felt herself blush to her roots, mortified by her mistake. What must the man think?
“I’ve spent little time in Northumberland since I was twelve,” Carleton continued, smooth as silk. “Still, I expect we have some acquaintances in common.”
She caught the devilish twinkle in his eyes, and her humiliation was complete. Did he guess she mistook him for her Frenchman? Or was he merely amused by her wide-open stare?
What had come over her? She thought she gave up those childish dreams of Knights of the Round Table a long, long time ago.
In sooth, this Stephen Carleton was as handsome as any of the knights of legend. She was quite sure, however, none of the Camelot knights had the mischief she saw in the eyes of the man grinning down at her.
Unbidden, the image of Bartholomew Graham flitted across her mind. A reminder that good looks and easy charm could hide a very black heart.
Stephen watched, amused, as Jamie gawked helplessly at the dark-haired beauty. His nephew appeared incapable of speech. Before the poor boy could embarrass himself further, Stephen stepped forward to introduce himself.
He did not anticipate the effect those green eyes would have on him when the lady shifted her gaze to him. God in heaven, she was looking at him as though he were the answer to her prayers. It made him almost wish he were.
The undisguised longing in her eyes sent a bolt of desire scorching through him. The look was gone so quickly he might have imagined it.
Except he knew he had not.
Hoping to strike the spark again, he gave her the smile that usually got him what he wanted. Cool as ice, she turned and took up conversation with Robert.
He found himself behaving as badly as Jamie, taking her in from head to toe. The braids wound in gold mesh attached to her headdress were dark. She had pale skin and lovely delicate features that made her appear fragile. But there was something about the way she held herself that told him she did not consider herself weak or in need of protection.
He followed the elegant line of her neck. Breathing hard, he worked his way down her slender, shapely form. He was grateful for the unseasonably warm weather that had led her to remove her cloak. Grateful, indeed.
His slow, thorough perusal was interrupted by a hard jab to the ribs. When he sent a questioning sideways glance at the offender, William gave his head an almost imperceptible shake and mouthed, “Nay.”
Stephen almost laughed aloud. Aye, there were many reasons he should not look at Lady Hume like that. That she was to make a political marriage for the king was reason enough for a wise man to keep his distance.
He bit back a smile, considering the dangers. Catherine always said he was drawn to trouble like a bear to honey. She was right, of course.
Chapter Five
Try to remember,” Robert said as they walked down a dark street to yet another gathering, “you want to get the men drunk enough so they speak freely, while onlypretendingto be drunk yourself.”
Stephen had sipped watered wine like a grandmother all night, but he did not bother to defend himself. He felt restless, despite the late hour.
“Tell me about this Lady Isobel Hume.” He kept his voice casual, although he’d been thinking about her all day.
“She is virtuous and unmarried,” Robert said. “Not your sort at all.”
Stephen laughed. “Come, Robert, a man can be curious, can he not?”
“So long as you do not attempt to satisfy your ‘curiosity’ with this particular lady.”
Some undeserving Frenchman would have that pleasure. For some reason, that galled Stephen to no end.
“Speaking of women,” Robert said. “By the saints, Stephen, can you not show some discretion in the women you bed?”
