Alex had cursed Felton for being Felton, Lady Joan for watching him, and himself for wanting to impress her. Thanks to his little slip today courtesy of his smarting pride, he’d given Pembroke more cause to question his dedication and loyalty. Despenser’s questioning him with a smug smile about “his relationship” with Bella MacDuff hadn’t helped either. He didn’t have to guess where he’d learned that information.

So instead of participating in an important meeting where he might have been able to do some good—or at least impart some reason—he’d gone to the nearest alehouse and tried to cool his anger in more than one mug of ale.

He’d only been drunk a few times in his life (all before the age of twenty) and never intentionally.

But the drinking didn’t work. If anything it only succeeded in making him angrier and edgier—which was the last thing he needed when he entered the Constable Tower and nearly ran right into Joan Comyn. He would have run into her, if she hadn’t seen him first and let out a gasp that stopped him in his tracks.

Still, he instinctively reached out to grab her as if to steady her. Although maybe it was he who needed steadying. He felt the same way he felt every time he saw her—as if he’d slammed into a stone wall.

A stone wall that smelled like spring flowers and looked so lovely and desirable she made his heart stop.

Their eyes met and held in the flickering of the iron lamp that lit the tower entry. He didn’t understand the connection between them, but neither could he deny it.

The snap and crack of the flame was the only sound until he broke the silence. “What are you doing here?” But even as the question left his mouth, knowledge pulsed through his already heated blood. His hands tightened on her arms for one moment before he let her go. “Sleepwalking again, my lady?” His eyes slid over the dark cloak that had parted enough for him to see the green velvet gown that she’d been wearing earlier. At least she was dressed this time. “Where is your night rail?”

Her eyes flared as an angry flush flew up her cheeks. “I’m on an errand for my cousin—not that it’s any concern of yours.”

“Is that what they call it now? An errand? Let me guess, your cousin had a message for Despenser? He has a room in this tower, does he not?”