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S he didn’t usually get invited out.

Like a bird in a gilded cage, Lady Delaina de Courant was, under normal circumstances, kept away from the light and life that was part of England’s social whirl.

But the very kind Lord Daventry had insisted she attend the king’s grand feast at Westminster and had even commissioned a gown for her for this very event.

It was a gown of layers of sheer white fabric, called gossamer, with gold embroidery through it.

Quite literally, she looked like an ethereal shower of gold when she walked. Everything glistened.

But she was nervous. She wasn’t used to being around crowds of people like this. At most, she entertained in the hall of the lord she happened to belong to at any given time, and she was very good at entertaining men in general, but women… that was where she had issue.

Or, more correctly, they had issue with her.

But Lord Daventry didn’t seem to think any of it was an issue.

He sat next to her in the fine carriage his family had commissioned forty years ago, made from iron and silk, painted the gold and red of Daventry’s standards.

He’d been talking a blue streak on the entire journey from his town home of Haydon Square.

The man was full of life, happy to be out and about, thrilled at the prospect of attending a kingly feast.

Delaina had listened without speaking the entire way.

But that was usual with this relationship.

She’d been with Lord Daventry for several months now, and it had been one of her better positions because she wasn’t expected to do anything other than listen and look pretty.

There was no affection involved, no duties that relegated her to the bedchamber.

She was something lovely to behold, a comfort to both sight and spirit, and that was all Lord Daventry expected of her—although he did like his feet rubbed, and she’d done that a few times.

Nothing sexual about it. It was simply because he was a round, old man with swollen feet.

Still, it was better than some of the positions she’d held.

And far more lucrative.

The life of a courtesan was a luxurious one, but not always easy.

She was chattel, and she had long accepted that.

She didn’t mind being property as long as she was kindly treated, and she’d been fortunate, for the men she’d belonged to had all treated her well.

They’d given her money and jewels, horses and finery.

Daventry had even given her a home of her very own, a smaller manse at one of the many bends of the Thames, called Swan’s Landing.

But she’d only been there twice. Lord Daventry liked to keep her close.

As the old man prattled on, she’d dreamed of that house.

It was of waddle and daub construction, but it had a big brick facade with dark beams running through it.

It was three stories, with the second and third stories built wider than the first floor.

The big chamber on the second level took up half of the floor, with enormous windows that overlooked the river.

The whole house was spartanly decorated, but Lord Daventry assured her that she could spend whatever she wanted to in order to make it to her liking.

She tried not to have big plans about it because plans could change, but it was delightful dreaming about it.

The carriage passed through the streets of London, arriving at Westminster to great fanfare.

Torches and servants lined the drive, finely clad men in silk hose approaching the carriage as it came to a halt.

Lord Daventry exited first, resplendent in his green brocade tunic with gold tassels, followed by Delaina in her white gossamer gown.

All anyone could do was stare at her.

It was uncomfortable. Having been kept so closely and very nearly isolated for so long, being in the open with dozens upon dozens of people looking at her was unsettling.

Delaina took Lord Daventry’s arm when he extended it to her, gathering her skirt a little so it wouldn’t drag in the dust. Behind her, her lady’s maid, who had followed in another carriage along with Lord Daventry’s knight and personal attendant, fell in behind her.

Delaina didn’t like having a lady’s maid, but Lord Daventry had insisted, so the severe-looking woman with the hawklike nose followed primly.

“Sir Simon!” another lord called to him, lifting his hand in greeting. “How good to see you again!”

Lord Daventry could see the man several yards ahead, dressed in fine leather and silk, with a rather large retinue following him. He lifted a swollen, reddish hand in response.

“Lavenham,” he called. “My dear lad, I have missed you. You are here tonight, also?”

Jonathan de Lambert, Lord Lavenham, broke away from the herd of retainers following him and rushed to Lord Daventry, taking the man’s hand in greeting. For a moment, they simply beamed at one another.

“My dearest fellow,” Lavenham said, still holding his hand. “How long has it been?”

Lord Daventry grinned. “Months,” he said. “Years. Centuries. Who can count? All I know is that it has been a very long time, and I am delighted to see you again.”

“As I am delighted to see you, my old friend,” Lavenham said. But Delaina was on Lord Daventry’s arm, and his gaze inevitably drifted to her. “And you have brought… someone quite beautiful with you. My lady, it is an honor.”

Lord Daventry gestured to Delaina. “It is for you, indeed,” he said. “This goddess is Lady Delaina de Courant. A more spectacular beauty you will never see. Go ahead and worship her, but only from afar. She belongs to me, and I do not share.”

Lavenham reached out and took Delaina’s free hand, giving it a genteel kiss. “My lady,” he said. “He is absolutely correct. You are a goddess. We are in awe of your company this night.”

Delaina forced a smile. “You are too kind, my lord,” she said. “The honor is mine.”

She had a smooth, lower-pitched voice that flowed like liquid silk. It did something to a man’s ears, like the song of a siren.

Lavenham lifted an eyebrow. “De Courant?” he repeated. “I’ve heard the name. Where are you from?”

“Cornwall, my lord.”

Lavenham cocked his head curiously as he thought a moment. “Is your father Callum?”

“Aye, my lord.”

Lavenham’s eyes lit up. “I know your father,” he said. “He fought in Longshank’s armies, did he not?”

Delaina nodded. “He did, my lord.”

“How is the man?”

“Dead, I’m afraid.”

The excited look faded from Lavenham’s features. “I see,” he said. “I am very sorry. When did this happen?”

“Five years ago, my lord.”

Before Lavenham could reply, Lord Daventry held up a hand in a silencing gesture.

“Come now,” he said, pushing past his old friend.

“An entire feast is waiting for us, and we are wasting time here. Let us move into the hall and claim our seats. You may ask all the questions you wish once I am comfortable and with a drink in my hand.”

Delaina was pulled along as Lord Daventry began to walk.

He was a big man, so people naturally stood back as he moved.

Lavenham’s attention was on Delaina, however.

He’d just experienced something that nearly every man who met her experienced—once the voice hypnotized, her appearance locked in a man’s attention.

It was a combination of attributes that could hold a man’s focus like nothing else.

Bewitching was the appropriate term.

And Lavenham was bewitched. He gathered his horde of followers and pursued Lord Daventry and the goddess into the great hall, where a wide world of pageantry, food, and wine opened up before them. The world of England’s king and his wealth was on full display.

But so was the wealth of his warlords.

It was no secret that the king coveted the wealth of the men who both supported and opposed him, men who stood in the way of absolute rule.

They wore their golden-hilted swords and daggers, with gold medallions hanging from their belts, and any number of jewels in strategic places.

The wives were even more lavish, displaying their rubies and sapphires in gaudy fashion.

Delaina had seen it all. She’d attended functions like this before, though they were a rarity, and she knew that these events were essentially beasts on parade.

As Lord Daventry led her into the vast hall that smelled of roasting meat, smoke, and perfume, she restrained herself from looking about too much because she didn’t want to come across as if she was gawking.

Which she was. But she didn’t want anyone to think that she was.

More than that, a position like hers wasn’t…

secretive. Gossip was the blood in the veins of most English nobility, so she was fairly certain that some of them knew who she was.

“Sit here, my dear,” Lord Daventry said, showing her to a cushioned seat at a long feasting table. “Sit and be comfortable. Drink! ”

He bellowed for wine so loudly that Delaina winced because he’d hurt her ears.

Finely clad servants rushed to do his bidding, bringing cups known as mazers .

These were specific drinking vessels with no handles, no knobs, made from polished wood with a metal band around the lip.

They were expensive to produce because each one was labor-intensive, but it was another example of the king’s wealth because every guest had a mazer.

Delaina had one with a silver band around the top, giving the wine a slightly metallic taste when she drank.

But it was delicious.

“There you are!” Lavenham suddenly appeared across the table, taking a seat and collecting his own cup of wine.

“I thought I had lost you in the crowds of people. God’s Bones, I do not think I’ve ever seen so many warlords in one place.

If someone were to burn this building down, they would destroy most of the great lords in England.

Ha! If I had known this, I’d have sold the information to the French! ”