The Dragon and the Rose by Roberta Gellis Read Free Book Online Page B

where laughter and tears had stretched and washed it. The changes only enhanced the quality of fragile purity that drew men's eyes and yet held them back from grossness.
    Dear Henry, how constant he was and how foolish to worry about her as if, after all these long years, she could not take care of herself. She rose as gracefully as a girl and moved toward her writing desk. A scratch at the door made her quicken her step, thrust Henry's letter inside and step away as she called, "Enter."
    The page announced Lord Stanley, and he trod in virtually on the heels of the child.
    "You will think me quite mad for returning so soon, Lady Margaret," he said.
    Margaret's lips quirked; she struggled for composure, then gave in and chuckled softly. "My dear Lord Stanley, no woman has ever thought a man who flattered her was mad. Since the only business between us is that of our proposed union and since you are urging it, I can only assume you have discovered more or more cogent arguments to that purpose. That is most flattering and not, to my mind, at all mad."
    Lord Stanley had stopped abruptly and started to draw himself up, when Margaret laughed, but there was only kindness in her eyes. He came forward again, his thin face intent. He was not a large man, rather of middle size but well made, and he carried himself with the easy grace of the courtier-soldier that he was. The high, broad forehead betokened intelligence, which was also apparent in his dark eyes; the full, well-shaped lips told of passion, but the chin— Lord Stanley would be a frail reed to lean upon. That was all to the good, Margaret thought. She had strength enough for both.
    "Then, I must depend upon that little feminine weakness," Thomas Stanley said, "although I do not flatter. My regard for you is—is most sincere, most sincere indeed. Lady Margaret, I have returned not with cogent reasons but—but to make a confession. You have protested at the unseemly haste with which the king is pressing you into a new marriage. It—that is my fault."
    "Yours, my lord?"
    Lord Stanley drew a deep breath and looked away. "I have long loved you, Lady Margaret, longer, in truth, than is honest, for my heart had turned to you before my wife's death. You shine like a pure wax light among the stinking, smoking torches that most of the court ladies have become."
    Margaret made a half gesture of distress, and Stanley's voice checked. It was rumored that his wife had been touched by the king. If so, he had been too weak to protest, but there was honor enough in him to feel the shame was not worth the profit.
    "As soon as I had word of Stafford's death," he went on after he had unclenched his jaw, "I went to the king and—and demanded you."
    "My lord!"
    The shock in her voice reacted upon him like a blow in the face. He winced and stepped back a little. "If this is disgusting to you, Margaret, if you think you cannot bear to have me as a husband, I—I will withdraw my suit."
    "Thomas"—it was now Margaret who stepped forward and took his hand—"do you mean that?"
    "Yes," he exclaimed bitterly. "When I came to you earlier, you were so uneasy and so glad when I took my departure. It galled me. I was angry. First I told myself that I would force you to love me. But whatever the fools at court think, I know you are not the kind to yield to force. Then I bethought me what my life would be … I could not endure to live with your hatred. It is better to lose you entirely. I am sorry, Margaret … sorry. I would have made you a—a good husband. Better than others the king, or the queen, might choose."
    He pulled his hand from hers and started to turn away. Margaret gripped his arm. "Wait, Thomas. I was only surprised by what you said. I do not hate you. Before, it is true I was eager for you to go, but it had nothing to do with you as a person." It had to do with Henry's letter, but Margaret could not admit that. "I only felt I was being hurried and harried. I could not understand why. It