if she just walked away. ‘Have you only just arrived at the fair, Mr Fitzalan?’ she found herself asking.
He stared down at her in fascination, both repelled by the cool manner in which she had approached him and attracted by her physical beauty.
‘Yes. And you? Are you enjoying the fair?’ he asked politely.
She smiled. ‘Very much, thank you.’
Marcus was the kind of man who understood flirting and always found it distasteful—except when it happened to be from the right woman. But this was not a woman, this was a girl, and if she had not chosen that moment to smile he would have moved on, but it melted his bones to water and he found himself wanting to know more about her and enjoy her company a little longer. He was intrigued. Perhaps a little dalliance wouldn’t go amiss before he had to return to Netherley.
Eve felt herself begin to relax, turning to observe the event that was about to start. ‘What is going to happen?’ she asked innocently.
‘Another prize fight,’ he answered, his attention drawn to a brute of a man with a bare chest and massive shoulders prowling in the ring before them.
Eve paled suddenly when she realised she was close to the ring where pugilists were displaying their skills, accepting bets from amateurs who fancied their chances in fighting them. If she had known this was to be the attraction, she would have waited until Mr Fitzalan had moved away. Her eyes became riveted on the fighter awaiting another challenger. His fists were clenched and bloodied, his last challenger having retired with a broken jaw and bloody nose. He was powerfully built, rippling with muscles, his head covered with black patches to hide his scars.
Eve turned to speak to her companion, about to move further away, but the excited crowd closed in around them, forcing her to remain where she was, the roar that rose from a hundred throats as another challenger stepped into the ring rendering her speechless. She became dismayed and nauseated when she realised she would have to stay and watch the brutal slaughter.
Swallowing hard, she was determined not to waver, remembering Angela would be watching her mercilessly. ‘Oh—on whom do you place your money, Mr Fitzalan?’ she heard herself asking tentatively, wondering if he approved of this crude and violent sport. ‘Will it be the reigning champion, do you think, whose last opponent looks to be in a sorry state,’ she said, indicating the poor man holding his broken jaw and having a wound on his cheek sewn up at the ringside, ‘or the challenger?’
‘Neither. I’m not a gambling man. I would never bet on the obvious for I fear the challenger is destined to be the loser.’
‘I disagree,’ said Eve, studying the man who had stepped into the ring to try his luck. ‘I suspect the challenger is about to make his reputation. The champion is strong and lithe, I grant you, while his opponent is stout and not so great in stature—but he is full of fire which will give him added strength.’
Marcus looked down at her with slight amusement. ‘You speak like an expert. Do you enjoy prize fights?’
‘No,’ she replied, wincing, unable to hide her repugnance as the two men began hitting each other with their bare fists, a man holding a long staff standing by ready to separate them should blood flow. ‘I confess it is the first time I have seen one at close range. It’s horrible.’
‘My feelings entirely. The public taste for violence always appals me. Come, we don’t have to stay and watch two men knock the sense out of each other—if they had any in the first place for believing it wise to indulge in such brutality,’ he said, taking her arm and drawing her back, the crowd parting to let them through. He paused where his horse was tethered to a tree, beginning to loosen the reins.
Free of the constriction of the crowd, Eve breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. I don’t believe I could have watched them fight to the bitter end. What a magnificent horse,’ she said, her attention caught as always when she recognised good horseflesh, reaching up to slide her hand along its silken neck.
‘Yes. He’s very special. You like horses?’
She nodded, about to tell him her father had a stable full of superb horseflesh, but thought better of it. Better that he didn’t know who she was. She became alarmed when she suspected he was about to leave.
‘You—you’re not leaving?’
‘I must. It’s a long ride back to Netherley.’
Panic washed over her as she turned briefly, seeing Angela with a smug expression on her face, watching her like a cat watches a mouse, reminding her what it was she had to do. ‘Oh—but—but I…’ she faltered, acutely embarrassed and unable to go on.
Marcus raised his eyebrows in question, waiting for her to continue, enjoying her confusion.
Eve looked towards the fiddlers and the laughing, dancing swirl of people, acutely conscience of Angela’s challenge and knowing she would have to ask him now. ‘I—I—thought you might like to dance.’
Unable to believe that she had said those words she watched him, unconscious that she was holding her breath or that her eyes were wide open as she waited expectantly for him to reply, seeing neither shock nor surprise register on his carefully schooled features at her bold request.
‘No.’
‘Oh—I see.’
Eve stepped back, ashamed and filled with mortification by his blunt rebuff, wanting to extricate herself from the awful embarrassment of the predicament she had created in the first place as quickly as possible, but she felt a stab of anger that he could have been so rude as to refuse her in such a brusque manner, and a dull ache of disappointment in her chest that Angela would crow with delight at her inability to tempt the high and mighty Mr Fitzalan to dance with her. Making a conscious effort to escape from the situation with as much dignity as she could muster, she stepped away from him.
‘Very well, Mr Fitzalan. Since you seem averse to my company I will bid you good day. Please forgive me for troubling you.’
Marcus’s hand shot out and gripped her arm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her friends not twenty yards away watching expectantly, giggling and nudging each other in anticipation of what might happen next. His eyes narrowed and he nodded slightly, looking down at his delightful companion whose face was flushed with indignation.
He was no fool. He knew exactly what she was up to. For some reason known only to her and her friends she was playing some kind of game. He smiled slightly with bland amusement, determined to give little Miss Whoever-she-was a shade more than she had bargained for. But not here—he had no mind to be watched by two giggling girls.
‘I did not say that. On the contrary, I find your presence pleasing. Come—it’s just that I am not inclined to dance, I never do at these occasions. But perhaps you will take a walk with me along the path by the river?’
Eve stared at him, feeling her heart turn over at his unexpected request. His voice was incredibly seductive, his eyes smiling and compelling her to say yes. She felt a warmth creeping throughout her body which made her doubt her earlier conviction that she was not attracted by him. How could she not be when he looked at her like this? She was confused, the situation having become one she had not anticipated—one she was unsure how to deal with, not being experienced or worldly enough to grasp the type of man Marcus Fitzalan was.
‘Why—I—I shouldn’t—I…’
