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to naught but a narrow, silvered ring around his head. Despite his age, Lord Deyville’s shoulders were yet powerful beneath his coat, his build still trim. The nobleman stopped before them.
    Sir Amyas swept his cap from his head and bowed as deeply as his aged joints would allow. Anne dropped into a respectful but brief curtsy. When they rose, Sir Amyas extended a friendly hand in a far more intimate greeting.
    “My Lord Deyville, it has been too long,” he said with a broad grin.
    Anne stared in surprise. She hadn’t even known Amyas could smile. She certainly hadn’t expected the simple movement of her grandfather’s mouth to peel back time, giving her a glimpse of how handsome a man he’d once been.
    The nobleman answered Sir Amyas’s grin with a weaker expression of pleasure, his smile just wide enough to show he yet owned all his teeth, something Amyas could no longer claim. There was no answering spark of friendship in his eyes. “Indeed, it has,” Deyville replied as he caught the knight’s hand in his.
    The pleasantries addressed, her grandfather crossed his arms over his chest, and his expression took a mournful twist. “My lord, it is with deep regret that I offer you my condolences on the loss of your son. He was a man of virtue who will be sorely missed. I don’t doubt that he now dwells with the elect in our Lord’s house. I pray your faith gives you the strength to endure his passing.”
    Deyville gave a deep sigh. “My thanks, Sir Amyas. I would offer you the same sentiments upon your grandson’s passing. Such is the bane of folk who live as long as we. We must watch those we cherish reach heaven before us.”
    As he spoke, his gaze shifted to Anne, and new heat flared in the cool depths of his gray eyes. “It’s fortunate that you yet have your granddaughter as an heir,” he told Sir Amyas without removing his gaze from Anne.
    “Hardly a triumph, that,” Sir Amyas replied with a harsh snort. “Despite that I am His most faithful of servants our heavenly Father sees fit to leave me with naught but this weak and foolish woman, incapable of carrying forward my name.”
    Lord Deyville extended his hand. Anne set her kidskin-clad fingers into the cup of his gloved palm. The nobleman’s hand closed too tightly around hers.
    “My lord, may I present Mistress Anne Blanchemain, the fourth and only surviving daughter of my second son, Richard,” Amyas said in formal introduction, which was Anne’s cue to drop into a deep curtsy with a graceful bend of her knees.
    Lord Deyville’s thumb moved in a soft, suggestive circle atop her knuckles. Anne came bolt upright at this intimate caress. Lust and amusement tangled in the nobleman’s pale eyes, his smile widening into the grin of the hunting wolf.
    Unwilling to play his game, she gave her hand a tiny tug, trying to win free. His grip on her hand remained tight. As he held her fingers captive, his gaze drifted from her face down past her shoulders to the deep, square-cut neckline of her bodice.
    As was the custom for unmarried women Anne wore her shirt open, baring a triangular patch of skin from the bottom of her ruff to the top of her bodice. But the cut of her new undergown was far lower than those Anne was accustomed to wearing, leaving the upper curves of her breasts exposed almost to their nipples. Now, as Deyville’s gaze ravaged her chest she fought the urge to spread her free hand across her exposed skin to protect herself.
    Anne glanced at Sir Amyas, waiting for his protection or at least outrage over his acquaintance’s bold and inappropriate behavior. Instead, her grandfather’s gaze was aimed away from the nobleman. Anger shot through her. The old hypocrite! He blinded himself apurpose.
    “How now Amyas, I see why you saved her for last. She’s the best of the lot,” Deyville said to Anne’s cleavage.
    With no protection forthcoming from her grandsire, Anne set to saving herself. She yanked her fingers from his grasp. Twisted