Read Online Kathleen Harrington by Lachlan's Bride - Free Book Online
Authors: Lachlan's Bride
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more.”
“All of which could be wiped away in the blink of an eye.”
Francine searched his smoldering gaze. “What do you mean?”
Lychester smiled grimly. “The winds of fortune blow where they may, my dear. The ownership of the lands on which your manor house sits is now being questioned in a Northumberland court. Surely you realize the legitimacy of the titles to the entire Walsingham estates is presently in doubt.”
“There was never a question about the ownership of those lands until after Mathias’s death,” she retorted, striving to keep her voice low and even. “Questions brought by the spurious papers your magistrates introduced in the courts.”
Lychester languidly shook out the folds of lace at his wrist with an air of complete self-assurance. “All of this unpleasantness could be settled in the lines of our marriage contract.” A smug grin parted his lips, his teeth white against the dark mustache and beard. “I assure you, my dear, I’m prepared to be generous.”
Francine’s bottom lip trembled as she met Lychester’s complacent gaze. “There’s only one problem to the solution you offer, milord. I don’t love you.”
A flash of pain flared in his eyes, and his words were thick and choked. “I could make you love me.”
She slowly shook her head. “You can’t make a person love you, Elliot. It just happens or it doesn’t.”
Before he could reply, Francine pivoted on her heel and hurried away to join the other widows just as they were making their curtsy to the king before retiring. As she reached the far door with her elderly companions, she looked back at the crowded hall, where it seemed that everyone was watching her departure with rampant curiosity. She and Lychester would be the talk of the entire court tomorrow.
Francine carefully avoided the Scotsman’s gaze.
Let him think what he will.
He was no concern of hers, nor she of his.
F rancine turned the corner and hurried down the deserted corridor, casting quick glances back over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She’d spied Lychester waiting for her to return to her quarters after attending an early-morning service in the chapel to pray for Princess Margaret’s safe journey to Scotland. The entire entourage of English and Scots were leaving Collyweston Palace today to begin the long trek northward.
At the sight of the dark-haired marquess, Francine had abruptly changed course and hustled in the opposite direction of her rooms, where her daughter and nursemaid were waiting for the time to depart.
The palace was a rabbit warren of small courtyards and suites with which Francine had become familiar in the past few weeks. If Lychester caught up with her in this seldom-used section of the building, he wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of their isolation.
She could hear his rapid footsteps behind her, though he hadn’t as yet turned the corner. Knowing she couldn’t evade him much longer, her only hope was to conceal herself in one of the empty suites. With mere seconds to hide, she was desperate to find a safe retreat.
She turned the knob on one of the arched oak doors lining the passageway and gave a sigh of relief to find it unlocked.
“Thank you, God,” she mouthed silently. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stepped inside the room and quietly closed the door behind her. With any luck, Lychester hadn’t caught a glimpse of her bright blue gown before she’d disappeared from view.
Afraid to turn the metal latch to secure the door, lest he hear the distinctive sound of the click, Francine pressed her ear to the wooden panel and held her breath.
The only noise she heard was the soft splash of water coming from behind her. A chill raced up her spine to tingle at the base of her skull.
Merciful Lord in heaven.
She wasn’t alone in the room.
Too late, she remembered that the contingent of Scottish emissaries had been given lodging only yesterday in this rarely occupied section of
“All of which could be wiped away in the blink of an eye.”
Francine searched his smoldering gaze. “What do you mean?”
Lychester smiled grimly. “The winds of fortune blow where they may, my dear. The ownership of the lands on which your manor house sits is now being questioned in a Northumberland court. Surely you realize the legitimacy of the titles to the entire Walsingham estates is presently in doubt.”
“There was never a question about the ownership of those lands until after Mathias’s death,” she retorted, striving to keep her voice low and even. “Questions brought by the spurious papers your magistrates introduced in the courts.”
Lychester languidly shook out the folds of lace at his wrist with an air of complete self-assurance. “All of this unpleasantness could be settled in the lines of our marriage contract.” A smug grin parted his lips, his teeth white against the dark mustache and beard. “I assure you, my dear, I’m prepared to be generous.”
Francine’s bottom lip trembled as she met Lychester’s complacent gaze. “There’s only one problem to the solution you offer, milord. I don’t love you.”
A flash of pain flared in his eyes, and his words were thick and choked. “I could make you love me.”
She slowly shook her head. “You can’t make a person love you, Elliot. It just happens or it doesn’t.”
Before he could reply, Francine pivoted on her heel and hurried away to join the other widows just as they were making their curtsy to the king before retiring. As she reached the far door with her elderly companions, she looked back at the crowded hall, where it seemed that everyone was watching her departure with rampant curiosity. She and Lychester would be the talk of the entire court tomorrow.
Francine carefully avoided the Scotsman’s gaze.
Let him think what he will.
He was no concern of hers, nor she of his.
F rancine turned the corner and hurried down the deserted corridor, casting quick glances back over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She’d spied Lychester waiting for her to return to her quarters after attending an early-morning service in the chapel to pray for Princess Margaret’s safe journey to Scotland. The entire entourage of English and Scots were leaving Collyweston Palace today to begin the long trek northward.
At the sight of the dark-haired marquess, Francine had abruptly changed course and hustled in the opposite direction of her rooms, where her daughter and nursemaid were waiting for the time to depart.
The palace was a rabbit warren of small courtyards and suites with which Francine had become familiar in the past few weeks. If Lychester caught up with her in this seldom-used section of the building, he wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of their isolation.
She could hear his rapid footsteps behind her, though he hadn’t as yet turned the corner. Knowing she couldn’t evade him much longer, her only hope was to conceal herself in one of the empty suites. With mere seconds to hide, she was desperate to find a safe retreat.
She turned the knob on one of the arched oak doors lining the passageway and gave a sigh of relief to find it unlocked.
“Thank you, God,” she mouthed silently. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stepped inside the room and quietly closed the door behind her. With any luck, Lychester hadn’t caught a glimpse of her bright blue gown before she’d disappeared from view.
Afraid to turn the metal latch to secure the door, lest he hear the distinctive sound of the click, Francine pressed her ear to the wooden panel and held her breath.
The only noise she heard was the soft splash of water coming from behind her. A chill raced up her spine to tingle at the base of her skull.
Merciful Lord in heaven.
She wasn’t alone in the room.
Too late, she remembered that the contingent of Scottish emissaries had been given lodging only yesterday in this rarely occupied section of
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