‘I assure you, Eleanor, that a naked woman is most provocative at this time of the morning.’
‘You are indeed the most unmannerly man I have ever met, William Marston,’ she hissed, a storm brewing in her eyes.
He was quite undaunted; a dazzling smile broke the firm line of his mouth. ‘I never pretended otherwise.’
Drawing the covers tighter about her, she flashed him an indignant look. ‘If you must ogle somebody, William, go and seek out one of the servant girls. I’m sure they will be flattered to acquire the attention of a gentleman of your calibre.’
‘It’s not a servant girl I want.’ An audacious smile began to curve his lips, his expression watchful and a knowing look in his eyes as his mind reminded him of all the delectable female attributes that lay within his reach—mentally he could feel the firm softness of her breasts filling his palms. ‘You really are very lovely, Eleanor.’
Mesmerised, she stared into the fathomless silver eyes while his deep husky voice caressed her, pulling her under his spell. She was unprepared for the sheer force of the feelings that swept through her and she knew, with a kind of panic, that she was in grave danger, not from him, but from herself.
‘Do not attempt to dazzle me with glib flattery, William Marston,’ she retorted sharply, ‘for you haven’t a prayer for success.’
‘I do have other skills to persuade you if I had a mind.’ The sudden gleam that danced in his eyes was wicked. ‘You’re blushing,’ he murmured, observing the familiar pink that stole over her cheeks that somehow reflected her innocence. Strange how he’d come to expect it—and stranger still was the warmth it stirred within him, the need to protect her that it brought to the fore. He smiled slowly, enjoying teasing her. ‘And your eyes are far too eloquent to claim uninterest.’
Eleanor’s lips trembled. He wrapped such carnality around the words that she almost fell back on to the bed. For a second she glimpsed a different face—lowered eyelids, a passionate gravity, a face from which all cynicism and irony had vanished under the surge of a single feeling.
‘Please don’t say these things to me,’ she said, sighing wearily, beset with confusion on finding herself in a situation she had never been in before and not sure how to handle it. ‘I think you’ve set your mind to torment me.’
For a long moment William’s hungering eyes looked at her and then, pushing himself away from the door, he smiled. ‘I apologise, Eleanor. I can see it takes more than flattery and a spot of teasing and cajoling words to move you to ardour.’
Her flush deepened as her eyes flared to life. ‘It does, much more than that. Now please leave so I can get dressed. I’ll be down in a moment.’
A heavy lock of hair caressed her temple and William had the urge to brush it away. Suddenly recollecting himself, he clenched his hands into fists to stop himself. Suddenly, touching Eleanor Collingwood did not seem like a good idea. A part of him wished he’d never instigated this moment, another part of him wanted to drag her into her arms and kiss those luscious lips that were parted and slightly trembling.
Turning from her, impatient to be away, he opened the door and said, ‘Don’t take long.’
Why had he behaved like that? he asked himself angrily as he walked away. The fact was that flushed with sleep and wrapped in bed covers—which to William’s observant eyes was more of an enticement than a covering—Eleanor had looked so delectable and desirable that he had wanted her with an aching need that seeped into the deepest parts of his body, had wanted her with a recklessness that was completely foreign to his nature, but it had been a momentary aberration, and now it had passed.
Eleanor had been heartened by a night of rest and good food, so the rattling harness and the ring of horses’ hooves on the hard cobblestones as a coach full of refreshed passengers went out into the road and headed for London was like music to her ears. She was mounted and ready to leave when she saw Godfrey, with his cloak slung carelessly about his massive shoulders and broad, studded, leather belt about his hips, striding across the yard in the direction of the stables, crossing the path of her horse. His blond hair, unfashionably long, fell in heavy waves to his shoulders.
Initially she had been uneasy with William’s servant. He rarely spoke to her, only to acknowledge her presence with an occasional greeting in a deep, guttural voice, but gradually she was becoming used to him.
He did not trouble to lower his gaze, which was amused and slid over her, but not in an insolent manner. Eleanor stared back at him, and when he smiled broadly she returned his smile. He was a stranger, a servant, but it was clear that William thought highly of him.
‘You feel rested this morning, Mistress Collingwood?’
‘Perfectly, thank you, Godfrey,’ she answered. His voice was deep, quiet and compelling with a pronounced northern accent. ‘William tells me you are from Scotland, Godfrey.’
‘Aye, my father was a boat builder on the Clyde. He had a thriving business, his vessels being sold all over England and sailing for ports the world over.’
‘Then why is the son of a successful boat builder Lord Marston’s servant?’ she asked him curiously, hoping he would tell her something of what William had been doing for the past three years.
Godfrey looked at her for a long moment, considering whether to answer her question. Shrugging his enormous shoulders he smiled a secretive smile, and, shaking his head, started to walk away. ‘Things changed for my father. He lost his fortune and died in debt. William is generous. We have an understanding—and,’ he said, chuckling softly and giving her a playful wink, ‘he pays me well.’
Eleanor watched him disappear into the stables for his horse, feeling strangely disappointed, which was foolish. Why should he tell her anything—and why should she care? But her curiosity about William was not appeased. There were rings in Godfrey’s ears and rings on his fingers, gold rings that sparkled with jewels. Since when did a man’s servant behave without subservience towards his master and flaunt a wealth his master did not? Godfrey was big and bold and, despite being William’s servant, he was his own man.
But the question of the past three years of William’s life nagged at her. Wherever he had been, he was keeping it locked away inside, as if it was some dark secret he didn’t want to talk about. Whatever had happened to him, it was eating away at him, but he would not share it with her.
Coming into the yard, distractedly William paused to watch Eleanor ride towards the road. Her hat was set at a jaunty angle on her head and she sat her horse with a straight-backed, easy grace he admired. Godfrey sidled up to him, chuckling deep in his throat when he saw where William’s gaze was directed.
‘Am I to deduce, since you’ve been staring at our charming companion for the best part of two minutes with an inane grin on your face, that you are not finding her company as objectionable as you feared you might?’ he taunted, provoking William to throw him a dark, though smiling, look.
William took the bridle of his horse that Godfrey had brought out of the stable. ‘You are welcome to deduce anything you wish, Godfrey,’ he barked, his eyes twinkling merrily at his servant, ‘but she has made the journey less tedious—as I’m sure you will agree, since I have noticed you spend a good deal of time watching her yourself. You’re bedazzled, Godfrey. Never have I seen you so smitten.’
‘Nay, not smitten, William,’ Godfrey said on a serious note. ‘She made a courageous decision when she decided to leave Fryston Hall. I’m merely concerned for the lassie and that’s all.’
William frowned. ‘So am I, Godfrey, so am I, and I doubt she will be as safe from Atwood’s machinations at Hollymead as she expects to be.’
‘Aye, well, she’s out of his clutches for now—as is the fair Lady Catherine’
William turned and met the other man’s sky-blue eyes and smiled. Godfrey was a connoisseur of women. Where they were concerned he had the charm of the angels and the luck of the devil. ‘Catherine? She impressed you, did she, you old reprobate?’
Godfr
ey’s chuckle was like a low rumble. ‘Reprobate I’m happy to live with, but less of the old. Now the lady is wed you’ll be looking for a new bride with a lovely neck to hang your family jewels around.’
‘I’m in no hurry. Marriage is the last thing on my mind at this time.’
‘You will be when a list of eligible ladies has been drawn up by the ladies of the Court.’
‘Then I shall endeavour to keep well away from the place. Following my brief time at Court and the necessary visit to Fryston Hall, time spent with my family is what I need just now.’
‘It wasn’t the fair Catherine that drew you to Fryston Hall, but Atwood himself, wasn’t it? And who could blame you after he consigned you to a living hell.’
William was not offended that Godfrey spoke plainly. Shaking the dust from his hat and placing it on his head, he swung himself up into the saddle. ‘You always seem to know my secrets, Godfrey.’ He paused, giving his friend a long, knowing look. ‘Is it possible that if Catherine hadn’t wed Henry Wheeler, you might fancy her for yourself?’
‘And would you be angry if I did? She’s a handsome woman.’
William gave a sudden laugh. ‘Ye Gods, Godfrey, by no means! Catherine is in the past—and between you and me, I’m relieved she wasn’t waiting for me. I’ve complications enough without having to find an excuse why I no longer wish to wed her.’
‘If you wanted her, none of that would matter,’ Godfrey remarked, hoisting himself on to his horse. ‘Anyway, I don’t think your lordship is the type she admires.’
William cocked a brow. ‘And you are?’
Heading out of the yard, Godfrey gave a bark of laughter. ‘Had I met her before that milksop she’s married, I warrant she’d be willing enough.’
Godfrey was supremely confident that this was so—despite her scathing look when she had met his gaze and the way she had lifted her lovely head haughtily. The woman was beautiful in a different way to Mistress Collingwood, and one thing he had discerned was that she was indifferent to her new husband. His gaze swept to where Mistress Collingwood waited for them by the roadside, an impatient look on her face.
‘But for now we have another young lady to contend with—all the way to York.’
The weather turned colder and the condition of the roads deteriorated as they travelled through the counties of Cambridgeshire, Nottinghamshire and at last into her beloved Yorkshire. The winter’s rain had turned puddles into small lakes and roads into quagmires, but Eleanor was full of hope despite the weather.
Somehow, despite all her efforts to dislike William, Eleanor was unable to sustain her animosity and a genuine camaraderie had sprung up between them. The tense, stilted journey she had feared had turned out differently and she had enjoyed the casual banter between her companions.
Eleanor and William were riding two abreast, Tilda stepping out to keep pace with the bigger horse, Godfrey several yards in front. They had been riding in silence at a steady pace for several miles. For once the sun was shining and the sky was a pale blue with wisps of cloud. The view on either side was picturesque, with grassy hills dotted with woolly sheep and water meadows where plump cattle grazed.
Skilfully riding his prancing stallion, William looked at his companion, becoming distracted with the delicate curve of her cheek and mouth, the slight swell of her bottom lip and the gentle arch of her brows. He enjoyed riding beside her. She sat her horse with an ease that came with knowing how to.
‘You ride well, Eleanor,’ he commented softly.
His eyes went over her figure in her hose and doublet, the padded fabric pulling over her breasts. Her cloak was thrown back over her shoulders and a jaunty brown feather curled in her hat. She was exquisitely lovely, sensual and complex and with none of the pampered softness of so many women he had known. She was standing up to the hard journey admirably, but she was weary and saddle sore and straining to reach Hollymead. Thankfully the pain in her shoulder had eased.
Eleanor smiled carelessly, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face. ‘I’ve had plenty of practice at Hollymead and at Fryston Hall—at least my stepfather didn’t begrudge me that, and Tilda’s been mine ever since I went to live there.’
‘She’s a fine mare,’ William remarked, keen to engage her in conversation; despite having spent a good deal of time together, he knew little about her. But he was beginning to decipher her moods. She was strong, confident, spirited and determined one minute, and vulnerable and unsure of herself the next.
‘She has a sweet nature and handles well. She also has stamina—which you will have seen for yourself, although she’s not up to your splendid animal.’
‘He is rather fine. I bought him off a dealer when I arrived in London a week ago. Savage, he was—thought he’d kick the stable door down, but he’s beginning to know who’s his master.’ Chuckling low, he leaned forward and slapped his horse’s neck affectionately when it pricked its ears and snorted, the clever beast knowing it was being discussed. After a while he gave Eleanor a sideways glance. ‘What do you really think of me, Eleanor?’ he asked before he could stop himself, but he was curious to know her opinion of him.
She gave him a pointed look, an impish smile playing on her lips. ‘I think you would trouble a woman, Lord Marston—not dressed as a boy, that is.’
William laughed out loud at that. ‘Then think yourself fortunate that you are wearing hose.’
She laughed back at him. She could not help herself.
They rode for a few moments in silence. William turned his head and found Eleanor looking at him. He looked into her eyes, enormous, captivating eyes, amazing eyes, of a deep rich amber that made him think of copper and liquid honey and burnished gold—candid and expressive, with long dark lashes. The silver flame in his gaze kindled brighter, burning her with its intensity. Raising his eyebrows a fraction, he grinned suddenly, the change lessening the tension of the moment.
‘I can imagine how eager you are to reach Hollymead,’ William remarked. ‘I trust you will find your uncle in good health.’
‘So do I. I haven’t seen him for a long time. What will you do when you have spoken to him? Will you remain in York?’
He shook his head. ‘I shall go home to Staxton Hall—just a few miles north of York. I’ve been away a long time. I’m eager to see my family—my mother and my sisters.’
‘They are expecting you?’
‘I wrote to my mother from London.’
‘And how many sisters have you?’
‘Two. Anne and Jane are twins and still at home.’
Her look was one of envy. ‘You’re lucky. I would have liked a sister.’
‘You have Catherine.’
Eleanor’s eyes clouded with regret. ‘Catherine and I never enjoyed the close relationship that real sisters share with each other, and we rarely confided in each other.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Catherine was often moody, her temper volatile, but she had a gentle side to her nature—and she was also a victim of her father’s harshness and, at times, indifference.’
Eleanor glanced at him, wondering if he still loved Catherine. The blankness of his expression showed her he was desperately trying to hide what he still felt for her; in fact, his seeming lack of concern was not convincing, for a man who has loved a woman cannot help but hold on to the memory of that love, even if it is no more.
‘You—have been to the Court since returning to London?’ she asked, having no desire to discuss her temperamental stepsister.
‘Briefly.’
‘And is Queen Elizabeth as beautiful as everyone says she is? And is it as exciting as I have heard?’
William seemed amused as he studied her. Eleanor saw a twinkle in his eye and a twist of humour about his attractive mouth.
‘Each to his own. There are better things to do than to idle away one’s time at Court. It all appears civilised on the surface, made up of civilised human beings, but there runs many dangerous and treacherous undercurrents as ambitious courtie
rs court the Queen’s favour and scheme to better their position and fill their family coffers.’
‘And are you too not ambitious? I—am aware that your own scheming resulted in the confiscation of your home,’ she said haltingly.
‘No,’ he said decidedly. ‘Besides, my home has been restored to me—and for that I have to thank your uncle, since he petitioned the Queen on my behalf. Thankfully Elizabeth knows who her friends are. She knows who stood by her through the years of her troubles and rewards them well for it now she has the power to do so.’
‘I did not realise my uncle was influential in Court matters, never having sought favour.’
‘The Queen met him several years ago when she was at Hatfield Palace and she admired his intellectual mind. But where the Court is concerned, believe me, Eleanor, it can be a dreadful place. There is also much warmongering among the ladies who surround the Queen, with their petty jealousies and intrigues, weaving webs of deceit. And the men are equally as bad, with their love of corruption, of besting the next man in the frequent tournaments—jousting, pageants and masques put on for the Queen’s entertainment.’
‘They say she is much admired by the gentlemen of the Court.’
‘She is the Queen. It flatters her vanity to be surrounded by men, and she is not averse to a handsome face.’
‘And do you not aspire to be one of them? There was a time when you dazzled the ladies of the Court of King Edward and did not lack for female companionship—and I know all about your spirit of adventure that took you to foreign parts.’
A cloud seemed to cross his face. Elizabeth’s Court was livelier than the Court of the young King Edward, of which he had been an integral part, where nobles had seen him as an astute friend or a man to be wary of if they were involved in anything detrimental towards the King.
‘Those days are gone. The Queen’s Court holds no attraction for me, and much less the Queen herself. Besides, she is enamoured of Lord Robert Dudley—and he of her.’
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