My Lady's Guardian Read Free Page A

those eyes made her realize he was no longer the boy she knew.
    She stepped back, barely able to take in the man he had become. He was sun-burnished, golden, his nose straight and strong, his cheekbones as chiseled as if carved by a sculptor. He was so beautifully rendered, yet so male, that it made her uneasy. And in that moment, she felt small and dark and sinful, unworthy to even look upon such perfection. What would he think of her if he knew her secrets?
    But this was foolishness. Gareth Beaumont needed to know nothing of her past. He was no longer her childhood friend, but a stranger passing through her land.
    And then she remembered the ignoble rumors that had chased him from the country. He was said to be a vicious opponent in battle, who won at any cost.
    He, too, was assessing her, staring into her face, then glancing down her body. The trace of his gaze left a burning path in her flesh. She was shocked and unnerved, aware of him suddenly as a man and not a memory. It showed what kind of woman she'd become, how easily the heat of desire consumed her.
    But every man looked on her with a covetous bent, and she was disappointed that Gareth was no better.
    "Margery."
    She heard her name on his lips and she shivered. "Gareth Beaumont, can it really be you? I have not seen you in—"
    "Twelve years." His voice was deep, rumbling, as unnerving as his face.
    She swallowed. "What have you been doing for all these years?"
    "I've been traveling through Europe," was all he said.
    She hesitated, then asked bravely, "Doing what?"
    He just stared at her in that cool way of his, and she didn't think he'd answer.
    "There is money to be earned at tournaments, and noblemen to work for," he finally said. "It is as good a way as any to live."
    She remembered then that his parents had died in a fire just after he'd come to foster at her father's castle. The king had taken the Beaumonts' land and possessions as payment for a debt. Gareth had no home, no family.
    It was sometimes so easy for her to take her brothers' love for granted.
    There was a long, awkward silence.
    "Did you like Europe better than England?" she asked, then wanted to wince at her inanity.
    "Yes."
    She had heard that he had not left the country willingly. She had so many questions, but how to ask without inviting his own scrutiny of her life?
    "Then why did you come here?" Margery finally said.
    "You are in danger."
    Her mouth dropped open in surprise and she sat down heavily on the bench. Fear shot through her, her hands started to tremble, but she forced herself to calm down. He could know nothing.
    He remained standing, his hands joined behind his back, staring at her with his chilly gaze. He didn't look like he wanted to help her, or even be there at all.
    "How do you know such a thing?" she whispered. She remembered the fateful night of her father's death. Gareth had come to her room when she'd been in danger then.
    "I heard things in London."
    Margery felt the doubts creeping into her mind. Where had he been? What had he been doing? He
    might have saved her life once, but she could hardly trust him now—she could trust no one.
    She sighed. "Yes, I am much the talk at court."
    "Why?"
    "It is complicated. But I assure you, I am not in any danger." She tried to give him a bright smile, but was sure it looked forced.
    "Then why was that man chasing you?" he asked dryly.
    "For a simple kiss." She laughed. "Surely you have tried to steal a kiss or two from a pretty maiden yourself."
    She thought he would smile. Instead, he raised one eyebrow. "I've never had to."
    Her smile died. Of course he'd never had to. He was as beautiful—and as cold—as a statue of an angel.
    In her brittle voice, Gareth could hear the truth: Margery was lying. She avoided looking at him for too long, as if he were beneath her socially.
    Why was part of him disappointed? He knew what kind of family she came from: a family that rewarded kindness with banishment. What lessons had she learned