Page 50 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
It gave her a chance to see which of her suitors was particularly strong-willed. Certainly that man would go to the bottom of her list—the list that was getting shorter every day. Lord Shaw Wharton, one of the duke’s sons, was particularly mild-mannered. Though he bickered with his brother, he didn’t force his own opinion on others. His height was not much more than her own, but his face was acceptable.
She inwardly berated herself, remembering that she had told the twins that a man’s appearance was unimportant.
Why was it so difficult to find a decent husband?
Soon enough Gareth came in. He seated himself at the end of the head table, leaned over his trencher, and began to eat as if he’d been fasting in a monastery. If he noticed the noblemen giving him uneasy glances, he didn’t show it.
Margery sighed, glad that he wasn’t hurt. She hoped Sir Humphrey recovered just as easily. Maybe the knight would leave, solving one of her problems.
Her other problems would not go away. She wished she could eagerly anticipate her brothers’ visit, but even that was denied her. Peter Fitzwilliam might be with them. How could she face her former lover in full view of her brothers, who would know immediately that something was wrong? Just the thought of the deceptions she would have to employ made her stomach twist with nausea.
So, she must have a man in mind before she saw Peter and her brothers.
When Gareth finally turned to look at her, Margery saw that a purplish bruise colored his face. She would see to that—later. First she would do what she had sworn she wouldn’t: use Gareth’s knowledge of her suitors. She needed a husband, soon. She walked toward him, then slid onto the bench beside him, noticing that they were at least a half a table length from anyone else.
As she leaned near, Gareth paused with his spoon partway to his mouth, eyeing her. Slowly, he took a mouthful, then waited.
Margery licked her lips nervously, gave him a smile, then looked over her shoulder once more. No one was paying them any attention.
“Gareth, remember when I told you I did not need your help to find a husband?”
He narrowed his eyes and nodded.
“I admit I was wrong.”
“Then this isn’t about my battle with Sir Humphrey?” he asked.
“No—though, of course, you should never have let the situation deteriorate into a sword fight.”
“I am certain your husband will never let such a thing happen.”
“Never.” She heard his sarcasm, but she ignored it. “The husband I choose will not want to fight. There are better ways to handle disagreements.” She gave him a quick look. “You know I mean no offense to your methods.”
He smiled the slow smile that made her insides weak. “I take no offense. I do what I must to keep you safe. Now tell me what else I can do for you.”
Just looking into his face made all thoughts leave her head. She watched the movement of his jaw as he ate, the concentration in the depths of his eyes when he looked at her.
“Margery?” he prompted.
“Oh, yes,” she said, flustered. By the saints, what was wrong with her? “I need to ask you about Lord Shaw Wharton. He is the son of a duke, so I assume he would be at court often.”
Gareth chewed the lumps in his porridge, his gaze thoughtful. “He lets his elder brothers handle the family business at court. He rarely goes at all.”
“Oh.” Margery felt the first stirrings of dismay—and the length of his thigh against hers. She couldn’t move without being obvious, so she remained still. What was she thinking about? Oh, yes, Lord Shaw. “But I’ve seen him at court so often.”
“He’s searching for a wife, someone who loves the country life as much as he does.”
“He said that?” This was looking worse and worse.
Gareth’s arm brushed against hers as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Yes. He also needs a woman to raise his son.”
“Son? He’s been married already? But he seems so young.”
“No, never married.” He folded his arms and rested his elbows on the table. He turned to look at her, and their shoulders touched.
Margery stared into his eyes, so unusual in color, so intense. It took a moment before his words sank in. “Never married? That means the boy is?—”
“The boy cannot help his father’s mistake.”
