Forbidden Lord Read Online Free Page A

deerhounds scavenged beneath the tables, while minstrels in the gallery strummed their guitars and played their lutes, trying to make themselves heard above the din of voices.
    The man’s hard gaze swept the throng, coming to rest on Frederick Atwood. He was seated at the long table on the raised dais—an elevated position for the lord of the manor and his family.
    Frederick halted his conversation with the lady next to him as he caught sight of the black-garbed figure striding purposefully towards the dais. Their eyes met. Frederick rose, grim faced.
    â€˜Marston!’
    His voice came out as a hiss, but its mere sound attracted attention, and then an ominous silence swept over the hall as the musicians ceased to play and every eye became riveted on the newcomer in fuddled disbelief. The very name scalded Eleanor’s being with hot indignation. Tall and powerfully built, this intruder, who looked as if he could claim the ground on which he walked on, emanated a wrath so forceful that every man and woman shrank in their seats.
    William Marston, a man whose features were chiselled to perfection, had once been one of the most audacious, imperious gentlemen of the Court. The ladies and general public had adored him, and he had taken a charter of their hearts to the Americas, which was never cancelled. He had been a great courtier of the realm, a great swordsman. Dressed in sombre black, his wide-brimmed hat dripping water on to the floor, he was a shock to the beholder.
    Frederick thrust his chair back so violently that it scraped harshly on the floorboards. He started up, his hands supported on the table. There was an expression of outrage on his face, his colour choleric. ‘So you are back.’
    â€˜As you see, Atwood. Back to wreak vengeance on thosewho conspired against me—and others, men who were not as fortunate as I.’
    The deep timbre of his voice reverberated around the hall.
    â€˜How the devil did you get in? Had I foreknowledge of your visit, you would have found my doors barred.’
    â€˜It wasn’t difficult gaining entrance—your watchmen were not at their posts—but worry not,’ William said drily, ‘I’m not staying. I find being in this house distasteful to say the least. This is an unappealing but necessary visit. I wanted you to be the first to know I have returned to England from foreign parts.’
    â€˜But this is an outrage—to come bursting into my house without invitation,’ Frederick declared forcefully, his long, thin face suffused an angry crimson.
    The air between them was filled with tension, hostility and hatred.
    William’s gaze passed along the rows of diners and came to rest on an empty chair, where it dwelt for a moment and then shifted to the swaying tapestry behind the chair, before coming back to Atwood. ‘Your nephew, Sir Richard Grey, is absent, I see.’ He smiled knowingly. ‘Perhaps he saw me coming and crept away to hide his cowardly carcass,’ he drawled, a razor-edge of sarcasm in his voice. ‘Not that it matters. I’m in no hurry. If my suspicions about him are proven, I’ll catch up with him in my own time.’
    William laughed in derision, the silver-grey eyes taking on a steely hardness. ‘You hoped to see me dead, Atwood. Come, admit it. You worked your mischief, I know it, and the reason why does not elude me. Disgraced for standing against the marriage of Mary Tudor to Philip of Spain and dispossessed of my family’s wealth and property, I was a pauper. You did not merit me as suitable a husband for your daughter’s hand as Sir Henry Wheeler,’ he said, knowing all there was to know about the highly respected and influential City merchant, ‘and your decision to get rid of me was not only out of fear at whatI would do, but greed-inspired—taking into account that Sir Henry’s wealth far outshone my own.’
    â€˜Believe what you like. ’Tis