The Maiden's Hand by Susan Wiggs

been an obliging sort.” Oliver touched her arm, and she forgot to tell him not to. “He’s the defaulter.”
    “Oh.” She glanced at his hand. It was quite an ordinary hand. Large and squarish, sprinkled with golden hair. She wondered why the touch of so unremarkable a hand could make her go warm inside, all trembly with yearning. Did Oliver de Lacey possess some special magic, or was the magic inside her?
    Suddenly afraid to find out, she took her arm away. “Go on. Spencer will swear that Mortimer did what?”
    “Sold him the estate. Illegally.”
    “Ah. Then Spencer would be entitled to compensation from Mortimer.”
    Oliver nodded. He leaned back against a broad, rounded boulder, crossing his booted feet at the ankles and eyeing Lark as if he had not eaten in days. “Lands of equal value would be nice.”
    “But where would this mythical Mortimer get—”
    His fingers touched her lips. She wanted to moan with the pleasure she felt, to melt in a puddle at his feet. She should have punched him harder last night.
    “Just listen, darling,” he said, his fingers tracing her jawline, moving lower, toying with the locks of hair thathad escaped her coif. “Our dear Mortimer will disappear at that point.”
    She steeled herself against the impulse to lean toward him, to let his hand travel lower. “Then he’d be in contempt of court.”
    Oliver’s gentle, knowing smile confirmed it—both her statement and his acknowledgment of her need.
    Lark forced herself to step back, to escape the tender bond of his caresses. “I’ve got it all worked out now. Since Mortimer’s in contempt, judgment must be given against him.”
    He shoved off from the rock and took a step toward her. “Aye. The court will say Mortimer had no right to make the sale to Spencer.”
    She edged backward, away from him. “And the estate must therefore be awarded to you.”
    He advanced, his pace unhurried yet unrelenting. “And I can do what I like with it.”
    Lark pretended not to notice what he was doing. “What about Spencer? He’s still entitled to compensation from Mortimer.”
    “Spencer and I will work that out.” Each time he spoke, Oliver came closer. “I can keep the estate and pay him a fair price for it. Or I can sell it to anyone Spencer designates. It doesn’t matter. The entail will be broken.”
    Lark felt the wind tease more tendrils of hair from confinement. “’Tis cold-blooded and dishonest,” she said, still edging backward. “But there is a certain beauty to it.”
    “Why is it,” Oliver asked, “that we cherish beauty more when we find it in unexpected places?” He reached for her. “Lark, sweetheart, the cliff—”
    She took another step back and started to fall. Even before a scream could gather in her throat, he had her bythe waist. He brought her toward him, slamming her so forcefully against him that the breath left them both.
    She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. He was shaking, and for some reason that made her like him better.
    He took her by the hand and started down the rubbled path back to the estate. He stopped and turned, smiling as the breeze tossed his hair into splendid disarray. “I promise you,” he whispered into her ear, “I am not so deadly as a fall from a cliff.”

Five
    “A n excellent plan,” Spencer declared in his quavering voice. “Quite ingenious.”
    “Lord Oliver and Kit think so. You’d think the two of them had discovered Atlantis.”
    Almost under his breath, Spencer said, “I made a wise choice indeed.”
    Unsure of his meaning, Lark spooned up more oxtail broth seasoned with leeks and carrots and fed it to him. “Choice?”
    “They are clever and good-hearted young men,” Spencer said, turning his head away from the next spoonful of broth. “Honorable men.”
    “Kit Youngblood is.” Lark waited, trying not to seem impatient. Spencer had been endlessly patient with her all her life; she should show him tolerance now. Of late, this was a nightly