“You’re going out.”
Madison froze. She spun around to face Miss Lindsey’s angular features. The woman stood tall, her head tilting forward. Madison’s instinct was to shy away from the censor.
“I need to clear my head.”
Madison bit her bottom lip. Gosh, stop justifying yourself the whole time.
“It’s rather late.”
Madison kept better control this time and remained silent. What she was doing with her time wasn’t any of the woman’s business. However, Miss Lindsey didn’t share the same definition of privacy.
“When are you going back to the United States?” she continued, her lips raised in a sneer when she pronounced the last two words.
That woman is uglier than a mud fence.
Madison gave herself a mental slap for being so mean. She applied herself to being polite instead and kept her facial expression neutral. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, very early. Ma’am.”
But Miss Lindsey kept on testing her charitable disposition. “You have been very lucky, very lucky indeed.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
The censor went on to answer the question. “Doctor McCain has made your stay here more than comfortable. He ensured that you had a room in the college. And now I understand that you’re working for him.”
Madison clenched her fists. She didn’t like what the woman was implying. She hadn’t slept her way into Jackson’s favor.
“I’m working hard, Miss Lindsey. If you don’t think I deserve what I got, you can share your concerns with Doctor McCain. But I don’t think he will give a damn.”
She nodded toward the bony woman and hurried along St. Aldate’s, eager to forget about the incident. She turned at Carfax Tower and trotted through the empty streets. Once or twice her feet slipped on treacherous icy patches, but she found her way to the Turf Tavern where central heating welcomed her.
She breathed in the lingering smell of ale and the comforting aroma of good, honest pub food. Soon spicy gumbo would replace toad-in-the-hole, but tonight sausage and mash was the plat du jour for the sparse clientele around her.
She noticed one client in particular. Although he had his back turned to her, she would have recognized her tormenter from any angle. Difficult to miss those broad shoulders curving above the bar counter anyway.
Damn, damn, damn. Why do bad things happen to good people?
Like a coward, she tiptoed back to the exit.
“Mizz LeBon, what a pleasure.”
Biting her lower lip, she had no option but to turn around and face him. “I was looking for a friend,” she lied, and she knew he knew it.
“I’m your only friend here, or so it seems,” he told her, then he added, surprising Madison, “I’d be happy if you join me.”
She looked around as if he had addressed the offer to some bystander behind her, and not her, goodie-two-shoes Madison LeBon. Perched on a barstool, he smiled at her confusion.
“I wasn’t planning to stay.”
“Come on. I don’t bite.”
She tried a smile and took off her coat. He led her to a table nestled in an alcove overlooking a courtyard. She laid her coat and scarf next to her on the cushioned bench.
“The house specialty is white wine with sausage and mash. You’ll love it.” When Madison reached for her bag, he added, “My treat. You saved my life.” And with a quirk of a smile that said “I would have made it without you,” he went to order.
Madison made a point of not looking at his long, muscular body curving above the bar where he stood. He made the low-beamed tavern seem as tiny as a gator in the roots of a mangrove tree.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed the sideways looks he threw in her direction while waiting for the wine. She squirmed on the bench but urged herself to stay calm and collected. The dinner would be a test of her new resolution to remain detached where Earl Boy was concerned.
Bad boys were so not advisable for virgins. Whatever they wrote in romance books.
Holding a wine bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, Rupert returned, poured her some wine and sat. “I would have thought you were already back in the States.”
“I fly out tomorrow.” She took a sip and let the crisp, buttery texture caress her tongue. “I’m surprised the leader of the it-crowd would stay behind once the curtain has fallen.”
He ignored her veiled criticism. “I had to finish my paper. McCain is on my case twenty-four/seven.” He flicked his hand through his hair. “Let’s put it this way, I’m in no rush to go home anyway.”
Staring at the golden surface of the wine, he tilted his glass. “My father is getting married.”
“I take it congratulations aren’t in order.”
“No.” He fixed his bright blue eyes on hers, challenging her to ask more or maybe just begging her to. She didn’t have to, as the words started flowing out of his mouth.
“My father is getting married, and I’m about to become a big brother in the spring.”
She gave him a pondering look. “How is your mom reacting to the news?”
Raw pain spread across his face, and the mask shattered into pieces. He lowered his gaze and concentrated on an invisible point in the middle of the table.
No explanation required here. She had touched the open wound of the haughty, invincible Rupert Vance, and she could have beaten herself up for doing it. Laying her hand on his, the contrast in their size and strength struck her all over again.
“Tell me her name,” Madison murmured.
He pinched his lips together. In slow motion he lifted his eyes, and looking at her, he whispered, “Laura.” There was an echo in the name when he pronounced it.
She didn’t want to stir his pain, but he looked like he needed to talk. “Tell me about her.”
“She could be so funny. Nowadays, I remember the end. It’s been four years since she … passed away. I know I should give my father a break and accept he’s moving on with his life. But it’s tough.”
A waitress brought the food and interrupted his thoughts. Before she laid the dishes on the table, Madison unclasped her hands from Rupert’s. Her body temperature dropped by at least ten degrees. Fahrenheit.
Instead of shutting down, Rupert released the gates of his memory: their summer holidays in Magway, their Gone-With-the-Wind afternoons, Laura’s tears when he boarded at Eton.
Madison relived these moments through his eyes, with his laughs, and the edge threatening to crack his voice. She wanted to protect him and take his pain away.
RUPERT LEFT THE table to order coffee. They had almost finished the bottle of wine during dinner. Well, Madison had done most of the drinking since Rupert was on a no-booze diet. He had lapsed, though, pouring himself one single, tiny glass.
“Enough about me, tell me about this Dixieland of yours,” Rupert suggested, sitting back at their table.
By reflex Madison shut down. Years of practice had trained her to ditch questions about her family.
“Come on, Mad Hatter, I’ve bared my heart to you. You don’t want to embarrass me. Share your dirty little secrets.”
“I don’t know what you might find interesting,” she volunteered, her breath catching in her lungs. But the alcohol in her blood softened her discipline.
“Everything.”
Eeck. She knocked down a couple more sips of the chardonnay. “I never knew my father. He left before I was born.” She leaned over her glass, as if searching for her reflection in the straw-colored liquid. “Didn’t want anything to do with us, I guess.”
“Welcome to the club. My father stayed—that’s my problem.”
She blurted out the words. “My mother owns the town bar, my aunt is a nun, and my grandmother is the parish voodoo specialist.”
Rupert’s whistle ended in a cheeky laugh. “I say. Can’t compete with all that.”
“My grandmother was born in the thirties, just before the war.” Madison was on a roll. “Her own mother was an Afr
ican-American who got knocked up by a Berthier.” Realizing her parish’s nobility wasn’t world famous, she explained, “They’re aristocracy in Pierre Part.”
Her love for her Mamie, for the bayou, for this dysfunctional family of hers rushed to her heart.
“And I take it Pierre Part is where you come from. I’ve no idea where it is.” His contrite frown brushed at her now.
“About one hour’s drive from Baton Rouge, but until not that long ago the town was cut off from the rest of the state. We used to be fishermen, surrounded by water.”
Madison wanted to paint her home in the most vivid colors, make him fall in love with the sticky, burning Louisiana air. “We still speak Cajun at home. Well, Mamie does. My mother fakes mostly.” She could hear her Southern drawl creeping back into her speech pattern as her vowels elongated.
“Feeling homesick, are you?” Rupert teased her by pushing at her hand. His body shuffled on the seat, and in doing so his legs shifted until they surrounded her own denim-clad thighs.
The possessive touch caused her body to tingle with awareness. She didn’t want it to stop there, either. She wanted to be held by him. Just like at the party when he’d rescued her from Claus. To be kissed by him.
Rupert’s legs put extra pressure on hers. Their eyes locked in a challenge. Heat exploded in the lower part of her anatomy.
Determined to cool down her desire, she forced herself to speak. The flow of words was slower than it had been before. “Without my aunt Louise, I would never have left Pierre Part.”
“She must be the nun.”
“Yes, an Ursuline. She teaches in their school in Baton Rouge. That’s where I boarded.”
“You boarded? Just like me. We both grew up away from our families.”
They fell silent for a moment, the alcove sheltering the memories of their childhoods, their legs brushing softly against each other. The wine made the blood in Madison’s veins rush, and she relaxed back against the cushion, staring through the window at the falling snow. Rupert’s eyes were fixed on her, but she didn’t dare return his gaze.
A voice inside her head screeched, What’s going on here? She shifted on the bench. Before losing it, she had to leave. Her heart demanded she stay.
“I’d love to go out and take some fresh air.” Could Rupert read her thoughts?
Leaving was the rational plan, the safe plan, just not with him.
But for once in her life, Madison had decided she did not want to be rational. Or safe.
Sarah hadn’t wanted that for herself either. Madison stared into Rupert’s eyes, and she saw why Sarah had risked everything for her man.
Chapter 20
Oxford - September 1650
I AM BACK IN THE barn where Robert recovered from his injury in the spring. I have not been to this hiding place since I last saw him, when we kissed.
The dark September night covered my discreet escape from the house. Under the feather-filled mattress I sleep on, I have hidden the secret missives my Cavalier has sent me these last three months.
He writes at least once a week, short letters, sweet messages, tender words, each of them warming my heart and nurturing my love for him.
Tonight, I am here waiting for Robert.
I have tidied up my surroundings as much as I could. Spiderwebs still spread across the corners of the battered roof. A messy mix of shovels, pitchforks and brooms lean against the wall, at the side of the entrance gate. All I can see is the clean straw covering the earth floor, tempting like the softest of blankets.
I have missed Robert so much, and I do not intend to let politics and war block the path to my love. He is my life.
Outside, I distinguish the sound of a horse’s hooves. Through the gaps in the wood I see a man drop from the saddle and make his way to the gate of the barn. Before he lifts the latch I have enough time to run behind the post, where the animals used to shelter.
Robert steps into the barn and I run to his arms.
He lifts me with ease, as if I weigh no more than a single feather.
Together, we spin around and around. When my feet touch back on the earth, I am lightheaded, and my heart pounds like a military drum.
“You are even more beautiful than in my dreams.” His voice is softer than in my memory.
“I was not sure you would come. You must be the fastest Cavalier to journey from Scotland.” I giggle, looking up and down at his riding costume, his blue waistcoat with its wide buttonholes.
“I could not wait to escape the debacle of Dunbar. Charles might now be the King of the Scots, but our cause is lost here in England. We did not have enough time to train the Scot soldiers properly. Cromwell will make us pay for this latest act of bravado.”
“You should have stayed in Edinburgh. I hear the castle is still holding out. It is far too dangerous for you here.”
I want him by my side, as the Lord is my witness, but not at the price of his safety.
“Do not worry yourself, Sarah.”
He takes my hand and leads me to a rickety stool in the center of the barn. I sit on it and he kneels at my feet, holding my hands in his. He smells of fresh air, of wild ridings through the elements. His eyes roam over my face and linger on my throat. My skin tingles. More than ever, I wish my attire could be somewhat sophisticated. The low neckline of my mulberry gown is filled in with smocks and a wide linen collar, barely trimmed with lace.
“I am glad you are not wearing one of those nasty hood-like caps. Your hair is too beautiful to be hidden.” He caresses it with his fingertips.
We have so many questions to ask each other. I lose track of time, absorbed in my Cavalier’s adventures. I understand that his tales are expunged of the violence he has encountered, but he fills in the blanks of the last several months.
Robert strokes my palm with his thumb, and excitement vibrates through my core. I want this man with no shame, no guilt. He is the one God has meant for me to be with.
I lean down toward his mouth, and I kiss him. My hands tremble when they circle around his neck. Our mouths brush each other, and his tongue slides between my lips. Pleasure spreads through my being and I long for more, much more.
It is Robert who seizes my arms and softly pushes me away.
“You have to be careful. I am only a man. I care for your virtue.”
“I do not.”
I am speaking the truth, my truth, the only one that matters in this world of lies and power struggles. I see my words have shocked him.
“I understand what I am doing. Who knows when we will see each other again? I want to live every moment with you to the full.”
He casts his eyes downward, and my outburst now embarrasses me. I wrap my arms around my chest, a tight knot caught in my throat.
“Do not feel ashamed. I want the same thing as you. But your wellbeing comes first and foremost.” I start shaking my head in rebellion, but he continues. “Nobody can say when the hostilities will stop. If anybody became aware of your dalliance with a Royalist, your life would be unbearable.”
I place my finger on his mouth, and he stops talking. “I am aware of all the implications. This is my choice. I will not take one single step back.”
I stand and his hand in mine, lead him to the bed of hay at the back of the grange. I open a large blanket and spread it wide on the floor. I lie on it and extend my arm for Robert to sit next to me.
Without a spoken word we have become man and wife, cradled in a cushion of sweet-smelling hay. Murmurs and whispers suffice in the starry September night. No church, no priest, only the two of us.
I will love Robert Dallembert until my last breath. And beyond.
“YES, PLEASE. I’M NOT used to drinking so much wine. I’m a bit light-headed.”
Liar.
Rupert held her coat, and while she wrapped the scarf around her neck, he put on his navy blue jacket. Outside the Turf, the cold took her aback but he tucked her under his arm. Madison fought her need to lean against his strength, to indul
ge in being petite, fragile, next to him.
Once they stood on New College Lane, she tilted her head upward to ask him, “Where do you want to go?”
“To my secret place …” His smile and closeness could have made her melt on the spot, despite the polar temperature. “We’re going to break the law.”
Madison was a law-abiding citizen, but she followed him along the cobbled streets, passing the Bodleian Library, to Radcliffe Square, all the time wondering if he really meant it. The Radcliffe Camera, with its circular shape and Corinthian columns, stood grand in the center. They were alone on the square, alone in the world.
“Rupert, the Camera isn’t a secret place, and I would prefer breaking the law in a less popular location. I’m sure there are CCTV cameras spying on us right now.”
“You Yanks are so conventional.”
He seized Madison’s hand and ran to the other side of the square, alongside the Fellows’ Garden of Exeter College. Pippa had taken Madison into her college. They had walked in its tranquil garden and sat on the terrace overlooking Radcliffe Square.
Rupert took a key ring out of his jacket. After selecting one of the smaller keys, he inserted it into the ancient, wooden door in the college wall and opened it.
Her jaw dropped. “It’s not our college, and even if it were, you shouldn’t have those keys. We could get caught.” Madison checked around her with alarm. “Thank God it’s Christmas and damn cold,” she muttered, following Rupert up the steep stairs leading to the terrace. For the first time in her life, breaking the rules didn’t feel so bad. She relaxed.
Immaculate snow covered the promontory, untouched now that most college residents had left for the holidays.
“So what about that, Mad Hatter? It helps having friends in high places. I bet none of your nerdy clique could have opened that door.” Rupert stood in front of her, with the square’s streetlights shining behind him. He might have been planting his victory flag on top of Mount Everest.
Oxford Whispers Page 10