The knight dutifully looked over the lady, but shook his head again. “Too young.”
“Helen is a lovely girl,” Ariana began, pointing out one of Glamorgan’s prettiest maids. “She is more mature and very—”
“Haughty.” Roarke finished her sentence, though not in the way she intended. Ariana had to admit the man possessed a sharp eye. Most men were fooled by Helen’s beauty.
“How about the woman two trestles over in the comely red wool? She is—”
“Dull. She does not know how to enjoy herself and begrudges anyone else their happiness.”
“My lord!” Ariana admonished, as shocked at his correct assessment as she was at his bold manner. “She is an accomplished young lady.”
“I am sure she is, Lady Ceara, but she is also an unhappy person. She will not do.” Roarke lifted his glass toward his man-at-arms on the opposite end of the room.
The blond giant seemed to take great pleasure from feeding one of the ladies a choice morsel with his fingers. Apparently the man was not as choosy as his too-perceptive lord.
Perhaps she should have been happy that Roarke Barret was not finding anyone else to suit his taste for a bride, but Ariana found herself annoyed at his smug attitude.
“You may have overestimated the women of Glamorgan, sir, if you thought you would be able to find a perfect bride here in the course of one evening.”
The knight leaned close, his dark head inclined intimately toward her own. An unfamiliar sense of heightened awareness shot through Ariana at his proximity. Such intense regard by a man struck her as strange and new.
“I have no choice, my lady. I must wed tomorrow morning in order to secure a land grant.” A shadow darkened his eyes for a moment, then was gone so quickly Ariana wondered if she imagined it.
“I do not mean to overstep my bounds, sir, but it seems you are rushing an important decision in your life. Could your nuptials not wait until your return from France?” Feeling rather breathless under Roarke’s close scrutiny, she was relieved when a fresh platter of sugared fruit paused before their table.
“Allow me, Lady Ceara.” Roarke chose a plum and an apple before waving away the server, then offered her the plum from his own fingers.
Ariana’s cheeks heated as the fruit grazed her mouth. Her heartbeat jumped as he wiped the juice from her lips with his thumb, his callused touch surprisingly gentle.
“Delicious,” he remarked, as surely as if he himself had taken a bite.
“It is good,” she agreed, which elicited laughter from Roarke.
“It is not the plum I speak of, Ceara.” His words were clear and distinct, yet the peculiar glint in his eye gave Ariana the sudden impression Roarke Barret imbibed too generously this evening.
“Pardon me, lady, if I speak too forwardly,” he took her hand into his own, interrupting her thoughts. Ariana knew he must feel the leap of her pulse in her palm as he gently squeezed it. “But lack of time dictates I be quick about this business of marriage. Your uncle tells me you are eager to enter a convent. May I ask why?”
“A convent?” The warmth from his hand momentarily dulled her wits as she struggled to grasp his meaning. She made a concerted effort to pay attention to his words instead of the curious effect male attention seemed to have upon her.
“Your uncle suggested you were shy and convent-bound, but I see no trace of unusual shyness or rigorous piety in your manner.”
Sweet Arianrhod. Her father must have spoken to Roarke about Ceara. Ariana mentally shook herself to ward off the strange feeling Roarke’s hand upon hers was inspiring. Luckily, he released it at that moment.
“A convent is appealing to a young woman with no prospects. I do not wish to burden my uncle.”
The knight frowned, as if this answer did not please him. Ariana puzzled over what response he might hope to hear from her. Did he seek a shy and pious bride?
“But he will have to dower a convent as heavily as any young groom for you, perhaps even more heavily.”
“It is not the dowry that is a problem, it is more a lack of possible husbands. I would not ask my uncle to use any favors to procure a groom for me as he still has to find a husband for his own daughter.”
Was she making any sense? She felt as if he knew she was lying, as though her burning face gave away all her secrets. He paused thoughtfully, as if he still had not heard the answers he sought.
Attempting to change the subject she blurted, “Did you meet Ariana?”
She could not believe she said the words. Some inner demon must have forced them out of her mouth. But she was curious to know his earlier impression of her, before she resorted to a small charm. Had he felt the same pull of some invisible bond between them when they’d met in the hall and along the bank of the creek?
His brow furrowed as if trying to remember. “You and she rather look alike.”
She nearly choked on a sip of wine. Replacing her cup on the table, she coughed as delicately as possible all the while hoping Lord Barret would not see through her scheme.
Few men had ever been able to conjure up details about Ariana Glamorgan’s appearance, yet this man had distinguished a very particular resemblance. All without the benefit of any charmed herbs or the elaborate disguise she’d resorted to this evening.
Hope blossomed like a spring bud, urging Ariana to wed the mysterious foreigner with the penetrating green gaze. This was the man who could dispel the suffocating Glamorgan legend.
“I am surprised she is not already wed,” Roarke continued, oblivious to Ariana’s churning thoughts. “Is she inclined toward the convent, as well?”
“She is too vibrant a spirit for such a dull existence,” she replied, feeling oddly defensive of herself and her choice not to enter the convent as a good Glamorgan woman was supposed to.
Strangely enough, her annoyed answer seemed to please Roarke and he nodded his satisfaction. Did he find a vibrant spirit so reprehensible?
“I will not mince words, my lady, so excuse me if I am too abrupt. Would you consider marriage to an English knight?”
Chapter Four
A riana absorbed the words for an endless moment. She felt as if she were poised above a deep ravine, moments away from making a huge leap that would determine the course of her life. She took a deep breath.
And jumped.
“I would consider it.”
Roarke’s laugh was humorless. “Perhaps I did a poor job of phrasing the question, Lady Ceara. I plan to seek your uncle’s permission to wed with you. I am not without care for your thoughts on the matter. If he consents, do I have your approval?”
The glittering intensity of his eyes frightened her for a moment, and Ariana saw into his soul. Whether it was her fickle gift of the sight or feminine intuition, she could not be sure, but she knew with unwavering certainty the English knight resented having to ask her the question. Her fears increased tenfold.
Before she could form her response, his voice turned hard and cold. “You do not love another, do you?”
“Nay! I know nothing of love.”
“Good. May I speak openly with you, Ceara?”
Ariana could see no trace of the gentleness she’d perceived in him earlier. She nodded, unable to deny him anything.
“I believe it is important we be forthright with one another, my lady. Having known the wretched heritage of bastardy myself, I hold honesty and honor