Read For My Lady's Heart for Free Online

corners and hidden
    places.
    An ill luck it had been that had brought her to Bordeaux at all on her
    way home to England. She’d foreseen this disaster with Lancaster well enough
    to avoid the place by intention, but still had not cared to chance her
    French welcome and take the most northern route. She’d skirted Bordeaux,
    choosing the road to Limoges—only to meet there the English army just done
    with razing the town to ashes.
    Lancaster wielded his courtesy with the same skill he handled a sword.
    She must not rush on her way home to Bowland, he had insisted
    graciously—there was to be a New Year’s tournament—she must come to Bordeaux
    and honor him with her presence at the celebration. He had the ear of his
    father the king, he told her with his elegant hungry smile. He would write
    his recommendation that Princess Melanthe be put in possession of her
    English inheritance immediately and without prejudice. That he might, if he
    chose, equally well jeopardize her prospects with King Edward needed no such
    blunt hinting.
    Wherefore, she was here. And Lancaster continued on his fatal
    determination, courting her through the service of the white meats and the
    red. She lost sight of the Riata, and then found him again, closer.
    The moment approached. Lancaster would ask for her favor to carry in the
    tournament tomorrow. He had already told her that he would fight within the
    lists. In this public place, hanged be the man, Lancaster would beg her for
    a certain token of her regard and force her to a public answer.
    There was no eluding it, no hope that he would not. His intention toward
    her was in his every compliment and sidelong glance. She had thought of
    becoming faint and retiring, but that could only put the thing off until the
    morrow— another night on guard against the Riata—and set off a round of
    further solicitude from the duke. Beyond that, the Princess Melanthe did not
    become faint. It was a weakness. Melanthe did not choose to show weakness.
    She would end with Lancaster a powerful enemy, his lands marching with
    hers in bitterness instead of friendship. A man such as he would not soon
    forget a woman’s public refusal. Among these northerners, chivalry and honor
    counted for all... but the Riata must be shown that she would not have the
    duke, and must be shown it soon and well.
    She suffered Lancaster’s attentions to grow more and more direct. She
    began to encourage him, though he needed no encouragement from her to lead
    himself to his own humiliation. She was angry at him, but smiled. She
    regretted him, but she smiled still, ruthless, laughing at his wit,
    complimenting his banquet. It was no sweet love that drove Lancaster now,
    but ambition and a man’s lust. She could not save him if he would not save
    himself.
    The second course arrived. As a gilded swan was carved before them, the
    duke grew a little drunk with wine and success. He plucked a subtlety in the
    shape of a rosebud from the profusion of decoration on the platter and
    offered it to her with a glance more of affection than desire. Melanthe
    accepted the almond sweet from his fingers. She looked at him smiling softly
    upon her and felt a twinge of regret for his spare, comely figure—for
    women’s fancies—things she had heard about him, of the love he bore still
    for his first wife, things that could not now nor ever be between her and a
    man.
    In exchange for her life—his pride. It seemed a fair enough bargain to
    Melanthe.
    As Lancaster prepared their shared trencher with his own hands, she
    glimpsed a slim figure in blue-and-yellow hose in the throng below.
    Allegreto Navona lounged at the edge of the hall, near the great hearth, his
    black hair and bright hues almost blending into the shapes and figures in
    the huge tapestry on the wall behind him. The youth was looking toward the
    dais. As Melanthe accepted the duke’s tidbit, Allegreto smiled directly at
    her.
    It was his sweet