Lady Fortune Read Free Page B

argumentative father, raised within the comfortable confines of his father’s great house, schooled and trained by the best that money could buy.
    Until his father, Baron Derwent, made the dire mistake of annoying King Henry’s father. It was a dangerous thing to get mixed up with the obstreperous sons of Henry the Second, as more than one noble had discovered to his cost. By the time Nicholas was fifteen, everything was gone—his parents, the house, the vast wealth. All that remained was an empty title and his father’s old squire, Bogo, to try to look after him.
    The first few years were both the hardest and the best. Nicholas discovered he had a talent for both cutting a man’s purse and charming food from vulnerable ladies. Within a year he was charming much more than food; he was a man wise in the ways of the world, a scamp and a thief, a liar and a rogue.
    By the next year, he was a fool.
    It was a role entirely suited to his nature. He could say or do anything he pleased without fear of retribution, he straddled all the levels of society, from peasants and criminals to lords and ladies, from traveling players to the King of England himself.
    He had taken the worst that life had to offer and survived. He had little doubt he would continue to do so.
    Sooner or later he would please Henry enough to claim his reward, though not the long-lost riches of the north that had once belonged to his father. King Henry, like most of his kind, seldom parted with anything of true value unless absolutely forced to do so.
    But a small, tumbledown estate, anywhere, would be enough. A house in disrepair, land and people and peace. He wasn’t ready for it yet, but the time was coming closer, and providing King Henry with the sought-after chalice might do the trick. Then, and only then, would Nicholas become Lord Nicholas, Baron Derwent, again.
    For now he was content to be a fool. Content to drive sober, stuffy men mad with his prattle, content to drive the ladies to distraction with far more pleasurable ways. He would find the same at Fortham Castle . Men to annoy, women to love.
    And the Blessed Chalice of the Martyred Saint Hugelina the Dragon.
    He was looking forward to it.
    He stretched out in the litter, admiring his tattered, mismatched hose. Bogo, his manservant, keeper, and friend, had outdone himself this morning in providing just the right apparel. The lady of Moncrieff Castle would be appalled when she saw her traveling companion.
    He wondered whether she’d be any more of a challenge than the stuffy Sir Richard. She could hardly be less of one. He could charm her, of course—he’d yet to meet a woman he couldn’t charm, no matter her age, appearance, or social background. If suitably inspired he could always while away the interminable journey beneath Lady Julianna’s skirts. She was young, he knew that much. A child bride, a girl widow, a woman without dowry or value. She couldn’t be more than passably pretty—he would have heard if she was a beauty or a troll.
    He could hear her approach—Sir Richard was droning on and on in his gruff voice, a grating sound that was his only defense against Nicholas’s determined assault. He shifted in the seat, resisting the impulse to peer out at her.
    “What was that?” Her voice, at least, was pleasant, unlike Sir Richard’s. More than pleasant, actually, it was low and rich, with a tinge of voluptuousness that suddenly stirred his senses. He shifted on the bench.
    “What?” Sir Richard replied in a fretful voice.
    “That clanging noise? Is he kept in chains?” She sounded wary. Obviously Sir Richard had managed to exaggerate Nicholas’s reputation until the poor girl was terrified.
    “Bells, my lady. I warned you he was a noisy creature.” He pushed aside the curtains, ignoring Nicholas. “In you go, my lady.”
    He sat very still in his corner of the litter, watching her as she was assisted inside, sinking back on the seat with a faint sigh and settling her