Thistle and Roses Collection: A Bundle of Scottish, Irish and English Historical Romance

by Eliza Knight

  “Good. ’Tis settled then. Once you are wedded and bedded, I shall have Cecil provide you with your next assignment abroad. But as of now, your duty is to successfully court and wed Lady Maxwell.”

  “I am your most humble and loyal servant.”

  The music slowed to a halt and Sebastien led the queen back to her chair. She situated herself and smiled. “We’ve not been this merry in months, Lord Bedford, and we have you to recognize for it.”

  He bowed low. “’Tis the same for me, Majesty. I endeavor to meet your challenge in due haste.”

  She laughed. “That amuses us much.”

  Sebastien grinned and then backed away, wondering what in the world she could find amusing in his vow to quickly procure Lady Maxwell as his bride.

  He scanned the crowd of courtiers for the lady in question and found her in the center of the hall, dancing with the Earl of Devon. A wash of jealousy threaded through him, hitting hard in the gut. Devon was a womanizer, beloved much by the ladies at court eagerly sharing his bed. In fact, Sebastien had had a number of run-ins with the man over the years—first the stealing of his own mistress and then the near seduction of Sebastien’s younger sister. She’d nearly been ruined. Of all the men to dance with Lady Maxwell, Devon was the one he would have wanted her to stay away from the most.

  As he stared hotly in their direction, Lady Maxwell’s gaze caught on his, and a grin hitched the side of her lips. ’Twas not possible that she’d chosen Devon precisely because the craven was the very last lord with whom Sebastien would ever want to see her dance. Anger clawed at his ribs. Nay, indeed it was not she who would have sought out Devon, but rather the other way around.

  Having seen them dancing and speaking, Devon would have done what he did best—swoop in and attempt to steal the lady out from under Sebastien’s nose.

  Chapter Nine

  “You are an elegant dancer,” Lord Devon whispered in a way that made Max feel uncomfortable.

  Since being introduced, he’d done nothing save try to seduce her. At least, that was how it felt. He was all smiles, compliments, whispered words and soft touches that she wanted to bat away.

  The music finally stopped and she was able to disengage herself from his embrace and curtsy in what she hoped was obvious dismissal.

  “As are you, my lord.”

  Where was Bedford? She’d seen him casting her a scathing look while she’d danced with Devon. In fact, the look had been so filled with wretchedness, she couldn’t help smiling. The man was positively enchanting. His moods and thoughts were almost as unsettled as her own. Max had always been astute at reading people, and though she’d been at court less than two days, what she read on Bedford’s face gave her pause.

  One, he and Devon were rivals.

  Two, he’d not been pleased to see her dancing with him.

  Three, jealousy had been prominent in his gaze.

  But where did all of that leave her? Was it simply jealousy that another man would gain the relics he believed belonged to him? Yes, he wanted to marry her, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything more than to get his hands on the items he believed were his to begin with. For heaven’s sake, he wanted the Gladius and poesy ring so badly, he was willing to sign his life away to her for the rest of his life.

  Well, Max might want to prove to her father that she was worth more than he’d ever given her credit for, but she also wanted her husband to believe it. And Lord Bedford did not believe it at all, even if he had flattered her enough to cause her to blush.

  “My lady?”

  Oh, dear. Max’s gaze flashed back to Lord Devon. He’d asked her something and she couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was.

  “I do apologize, sir, I was but looking for my father, and I fear I didn’t hear what you said. Please forgive me for being so rude.” She ducked her head humbly, as was fitting, and wished the man had taken the hint and left her to begin with.

  “There is no need for forgiveness, my lady, I only asked if I could get you a drink.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile, not saying yay or nay, but hoping he would leave her be.

  Lord Devon bowed and disappeared into the throng of people. As soon as his back was to her, she whirled, intent on hiding from him the rest of the evening. And not because being in his presence upset Lord Bedford, but because—

  She ran smack into the man in question.

  Dark brown eyes gazed down into hers and a dangerous smile curved his mouth. He held up a single rose.

  “For you,” Lord Bedford said.

  She narrowed her eyes. “From where did you steal it?”

  That made him laugh. “Must you believe I am a criminal?” He snapped the stem from the rose, leaving only a few inches of the shoot, then reached forward to tuck it into the curls piled on her head.

  The scent of the rose was strong and sweet. She was a little more than surprised that she allowed him to touch her hair—for the second time that night. For her choice in not marrying him, she was certainly allowing him to flirt with her. But what harm could a little flirtation do?

  “Your penchant for dishonesty has been proven time and again in my presence. I can’t help but wonder what you must get out of it.”

  That only made his smile widen and his eyes sparked with humor. It was then she noticed that they weren’t exactly the dark brown she’d thought, but that a golden color rimmed the inside of his irises.

  “Your curiosity flatters me.” He winked.

  A hot flame shot straight to her belly. “What do you want from me, Lord Bedford? I have already refused to marry you. Pretty flowers, while charming and nice, will not give me cause to change my mind.”

  “I’m well aware of that. I’d never want a wife who could be so easily swayed.”

  Then you’ll have to try harder. She almost gasped as the thought came loud and clear to her. No. No. No. He did not need to try at all. Yet, a warmth had spread behind her ribs and she felt a flutter around her heart.

  “I wish you luck in your search,” she quipped.

  His smile widened. “And you as well. Seven days is not a very long time to make a decision that will last a lifetime.”

  Max shrugged. “Better than zero.”

  “This is true.”

  “Shouldn’t you be moving along then to your next conquest?” She made a shooing motion with her fingers.

  Darn the man, he seemed to be finding only more and more humor with her. His smile was all but as wide as his face. Gleaming white teeth sparkled at her and eyes twinkled with mirth.

  “So that I leave room for Lord Devon to return to you?” he teased.

  Again, that spark of jealousy in his countenance, though hidden by his attempt at wit.

  Max rolled her eyes. “You may trust me when I say that Lord Devon is close to you on my list of Thou Shalt Not Marry.”

  Lord Bedford’s lips twitched in a way that made her fingers itch to reach up and touch him. She was not doing a very good job of avoiding the last man on her list.

  “That is good. The man is a scoundrel and you’d only get yourself in trouble.”

  She tapped her foot. “More trouble than associating with a thief?”

  “At least this thief has the queen’s approval.” He pressed his hands to his heart.

  She could drown in his charismatic gaze. Why had she not noticed how striking he was? Even more so than she’d thought before. “She is not fond of Devon?”

  “Fond enough to let him come to court.”

  Max waved away talk of Devon. Bedford was confusing her, and besides, she didn’t have any interest in the man.

  “Do you like plays, my lady?”

  She welcomed the change in subject and that he’d not left her yet. Bedford was quickly becoming the most exciting thing at court. “I’ve only seen one and it was rather… dull.”

  “Then I must insist on escorting you to the play in the queen’s garden tomorrow.”

  She folded her hands in front of
her. “Why?”

  “It will be the first showing at court of a composition written by a playwright named Shakespeare whom the queen is fond of.”

  “Will all the queen’s ladies-in-waiting be escorted?” Mary and Elizabeth Talbot had made it clear that she was to follow the queen’s edicts in all things and this was one they’d not discussed but one she very much wanted to indulge in.

  “Indeed, any who have a beau or two.”

  Max cocked her head and pinned him with an assessing stare. “You are not my beau. I thought we’d established that.” And why did the thought of him being her beau set her heart to pounding?

  “Yes, that is true. I promise not to attempt any sort of courtly flirtation that should arouse suspicions that I am utterly set on marrying you.”

  Max halted an unladylike snort from pushing past her throat. “My lord, you are sadly lacking in helping your cause. Why should I let you escort me? That would not help my own cause. As you said, seven days is not a lot of time.”

  Bedford grinned knowingly. “Because you want to enjoy the show, my lady, and if any of these other sour fellows were to provide you escort, you’d only find a way to escape them. You know with me, thief that I am, that at least you’ll be entertained by my wit and conversation.”

  “Lord Bedford, you are incorrigible.” But he had a point. And she was more than willing to concede to him. “All right. I shall allow you to escort me to the production.” She narrowed her eyes at him and held up an authoritarian finger. “But only because you are right that I’d rather like to enjoy myself.”

  “I wish society allowed for you to call me by my given name. Every time you say Lord Bedford I think of my father.”

  “Alas, if I did so, we’d be swept off to church and vows said before I could blink. Nevertheless, what is your given name? I’ve only ever known you as That Thief, Lord Bedford.” She laughed at her teasing words and was rewarded with the most handsome smile from her non-suitor.

  “Sebastien de Rayne.” He swept off his cap and bowed low. “Forever at your service.”

  Her belly dropped clear to her toes. “Forever is a long time.” Lord, her voice was entirely too breathy.

  “Nevertheless, I do swear it.”

  She cleared her throat, hoping to clear the butterflies from her brain. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say such.”

  “Pretend if you will, but that will not change the matter.” Heat radiated from him.

  Before she could respond, they were surrounded by not only Mary and Elizabeth Talbot, but Lord Devon, too.

  “Have you heard?” Mary tittered. “There’s to be a play tomorrow.”

  “By the handsome Shakespeare himself!” Elizabeth added.

  “Upon hearing of the queen’s great sadness, rumor has spread that he stayed up all night penning a play just for her and that she’s allowing him to put on the production in the garden.” Mary’s eyes bulged with delight and her enthusiasm caused Max to feel a lift in her own.

  She glanced at Sebastien and smiled, knowing he would make the event all the more pleasant for her.

  “May I escort you lovely ladies to the play?” Lord Devon asked.

  Mary and Elizabeth batted their lashes, but Max kept her gaze on Sebastien as though they shared a secret.

  Maybe they did. For they’d shared things with each other that they’d both admitted to not having shared with anyone. “I regret that I’ve already agreed to allow Lord Bedford to escort me,” she said.

  “Regret, indeed,” Devon said coolly, his disdainful glare settling on Sebastien.

  The music stopped abruptly and they all turned to see the queen had risen from the dais and was ascending the stairs. Like insects drawn to the light, one by one, her ladies fell in line behind her.

  “Until tomorrow, Lady Maxwell,” Sebastien whispered.

  A shiver ran down her spine. Why was it when this man whispered in her ear, she felt none of the discomfort of Lord Devon’s equivalent action? In fact, she wanted to hear him whisper against her sensitive skin again.

  Max swallowed hard, nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and hurried after the other ladies-in-waiting.

  The lady was certainly going to be his undoing.

  Despite his better judgment, he was thoroughly enjoying flirting with her. Her hair had been soft when he pressed the flower into it. Her eyes had been filled with pleasure when he’d given her the small token and he couldn’t deny the excitement that thrummed in his veins every time she licked her lips or gazed at him in that coy, teasing fashion she had.

  Sauntering out of the great hall with the rest of the queen’s attendants, Lady Maxwell drew the eye of every male courtier present. Possessiveness swept over him. When he looked at her, he couldn’t help but think: mine.

  The logical side of his mind agreed. She was his—because to get the relics back, he had to possess her. But the other part of his mind, the one he paid little credence to, said something entirely different. He wanted her. Wanted her in his bed. Wanted her across the table from him when he broke his fast, at luncheon and every other meal that followed. Wanted her beside him when he experienced something new and exciting. She was surprisingly easy to talk to. Conversation took on a whole new, thrilling meaning with her.

  His mission from the queen had been to woo the chit. His mission from his mother had been to regain the family relics. But it would seem that his goals were being undermined by the woman in question. Lady Maxwell, whether she did so with purpose or not, was worming her way into his… No. Not his heart.

  Sebastien de Rayne, Earl of Bedford, did not have a heart.

  He’d forfeited the organ as a young man and had left it to rot on the side of a London road years before. In his line of business, he could not have a heart. Besides, having a heart led only to pain and death. And madness. His mother was a prime example. Love had not done many a de Rayne good.

  Lady Maxwell was a poison to him. What was a man to do when, to attain his goals, taking poison was his only option. To please his mother, to please his queen, to avenge his father—this poison was at the heart of it all.

  He gritted his teeth. Lady Maxwell was a poison he liked all too much.

  “You may have won the first round,” Devon said, sidling up to him, “but be assured, I will be the victor.”

  Sebastien suppressed the urge to punch Lord Devon in the face and instead, keeping his face plain and his voice rather bored, said, “What in bloody hell are you talking about now?”

  “The lady.”

  “’Tis always a lady with you, Devon. Rest assured, there is no contest between the two of us.” For there wasn’t. Sebastien would not lose.

  Devon snickered. “Oh, but I think there is.”

  Chapter Ten

  Warm sunlight filtered through Max’s shared bedchamber window at Richmond Palace. She stretched, rolling onto her side. Mary and Elizabeth Talbot still snored softly in their beds, as Mistress Hyde had not yet come to wake them.

  Her last thought upon falling asleep was the same as when she woke—Sebastien. She frowned, looking at the rainbow of colors coming through the diamond-paned glass window.

  She wiped at her eyes and then rubbed her temples. Why could she not get the dastardly man out of her mind? She smiled. Their first encounter might have been of him thieving, but even still, she was disturbed by the fact that she trusted him.

  Try as she might, Sebastien de Rayne had captured her attention the moment she’d viewed his feet beneath the curtain in her father’s study. Even though she’d told him he was the last person she’d ever want to marry, the truth was startlingly to the contrary.

  Max threw back her blankets and swung her feet over the side of the bed. With that realization, sleep would not return to her, and it would not be long before Mistress Hyde banged on the door and told them to rise. The queen liked her attendants to be present when she rose.

  After making use of the privy, she splashed water on her face and undid the plait in her hair, bru
shing out the waves. A rather heavy knock came at the door, which was then opened by Mistress Hyde. She was surprised to see that Max was already awake.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Hyde,” Max said.

  “You’ve risen early.”

  Max nodded and worked to twist her hair into a knot.

  “Might it have to do with thoughts of a new beau?” Mistress Hyde raised a skeptical brow.

  “Beau?” Max played innocent. She didn’t want to name what Sebastien was to her. He wasn’t her beau—at least that was what she tried to convince herself.

  “Lord Bedford,” Mistress Hyde said. “Be careful, for the queen does not like when her ladies act immorally.”

  “I would never,” Max said, trying to quell the flutter in her belly at someone having noticed their flirtations.

  Mistress Hyde pursed her lips as though she wasn’t so certain. Max bit her cheek against a tart retort. The mother of maids roused Mary and Elizabeth and then, thankfully, left them to prepare for attending the queen.

  Despite Mistress Hyde’s warning and Max’s own reservations, when the ladies’ maids arrived to dress them for the day, she couldn’t help taking extra care with her gown and hair. Truth be told, she liked the approving glances and veiled desire she’d seen in Sebastien’s gaze.

  Max wasn’t sure what was more scary—the fact that she cared what he thought, or the fact that her heart was already pounding.

  The Lord Chamberlain’s Men had arrived and all of court was abuzz with the excitement of the play they’d debut for the queen. William Shakespeare himself walked across the stage that had been built for this occasion and pointed out where changes were to be made.

  Sebastien had felt comfortable leaving his house only after making certain his mother’s attendants did not leave her side and the doctor had given her another sleeping draught. When he’d returned late the previous night, Mother had been in a deep sleep, and the servants reported that she had not made any other attempts on her life and had, in fact, spoken with excitement that Sebastien would be soon returning her ring.