Lord Grey’s haughty aristocratic expression hadn’t changed a whit from last year. Yet, hehadchanged. Clearly he was not the preening peacock she’d thought he was when they’d first met. His skin was unfashionably bronze. His hair—inky black and touching his shoulders—was in disarray. But what a beautiful mess it was. He needed a shave, and that scar above his lip…The man looked like a virile knight of old. The queen had, for once, been perfectly correct. Madelaine sighed and Lord Grey blinked. She blinked back. Dear God, had she been staring? The unusual quietness told her she had.
“Here you are.” Lord Grey held out her easel.
“Thank you,” she automatically replied and took the easel while praying he was smart enough to keep their prior meeting secret.
“No, thank you.” Lord Grey’s voice washed over her with its warmth.
“For what?” Blast. She should have let the conversation die. The queen was frowning at her.
Lord Grey leaned forward on bent knee, the fine tan cambric of his coat stretched tight over his broad shoulders.
“It’s not every day that I get to come to the rescue of a beautiful lady-in-waiting.” He plucked her sketching utensil from the ground and handed it to her.
As she reached to take her instrument from him, his fingers brushed hers and her skin tingled in the wake of his touch. She rubbed her tickling fingertips together and racked her mind for a coy, yet proper reply, to his flattery. Before she could speak, Grace did. “I, for one, am not the least surprised you had to help Lady Madelaine. She’s a terrible lout. Why just last night, she tripped Lord Carlisle whilst they were dancing.”
It was entirely too bad the opportunity to take revenge on Grace hadn’t presented itself earlier. An angry blush singed Madelaine’s cheeks. It was true shehadtripped Lord Carlisle on the dance floor, but it had been purposely. His hands had kept “accidentally” brushing her bottom though she had quite sternly told him to quit. But she couldn’t very well explain herself with the truth. She ground her teeth at the futility of her situation.
Lord Grey stood, his powerful frame extending in one fluid motion. He glanced down at her. Was that a conspiratorial smile stretching his lips? “I find it hard to believe someone who looks as graceful as Lady Madelaine could cause anyone to trip, yet I find I hope it’s true.”
“And why is that, Lord Grey?” asked the queen.
“If I might be bold, Your Majesty?”
“Of course you may.”
Madelaine gawked at the queen. How amazing she looked with a genuine smile on her face. She was almost pretty.
Grey moved to the side of Madelaine’s chair, his thigh brushing her arm. “I’ve an affinity for awkward people, being one myself.”
She would have grinned up at him for his kindness, but the queen was studying her with an inscrutable look. Whatever was Queen Charlotte thinking? Before Madelaine could ponder the likely dire possibilities, the queen stood and Madelaine scrambled to stand along with all the other ladies-in-waiting. The queen smiled and addressed Lord Grey. “You’re too kind, Lord Grey. I happen to know from watching you ride and joust you have the grace of a prowling panther.”
“Your Majesty—” He took the queen’s proffered elbow. “—you flatter me.”
“I flatter no one,” the queen replied with a laugh. “Just ask Lady Madelaine.”
Good gracious. If she answered truthfully it would make the queen look bad, yet if she lied, the queen would know it. The stubborn part of Madelaine that had gotten her into so much trouble was leading her there again. She didn’t want to look weak.
“Lady Madelaine?” Lord Grey’s gaze met hers.
She inclined her head toward Queen Charlotte. “You are my queen, therefore you are correct.”
“And if she wasn’t your queen?” Lord Grey asked. Blast the man. He had no idea the precarious situation he was putting her in.
“Then I would say her words carry the sting of a bee and not the sweetness of their honey. From my experience, of course,” she hastened to add at Lord Grey’s lifted eyebrows.
Why was he studying her as if she were some unknown species?
“Interesting. A woman not afraid to speak the truth.”
She most certainly was afraid, but she’d been presented little choice.
“Perhaps,” the queen agreed, though her voice held an underlying tone of doubt. “Lord Grey, tell me, are you here to see your sister or just to beguile us with your company?”
“Both. Unofficially. But officially, I’m here in service to Lord Pearson.”
“As?”
“His newest equerry.”
