What she thought was that she didn’t know where this might be leading and why he was choosing to say it now right after, presumably, reading Sarah’s letter. She said carefully, ‘I – I think it seems a rather drastic step to take for Matt’s peace of mind.’
‘Not just his. I too have grown comfortable with our life.’ And thought wildly, ‘Comfortable? God, what a bloody stupid thing to say!’ Then, striving for lightness, ‘And who else will sew on my buttons?’
There was a tiny tremor in the insouciant voice that Chloë, with her back to him, took for laughter. It never occurred to her that quick-witted, sharp-tongued Mr Deveril was so completely out of his depth that he had no idea what to say. Something inside her shrivelled and when she spoke again, her voice matched his. ‘I’m sure you’ll think of someone. And buttons aren’t everything.’
‘True.’ He laid one hand gently on the polished table and contemplated his fingers. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘Haven’t I?’ Chloë kept her gaze on her lap. ‘I didn’t think I needed to. I thought you were joking.’
‘No,’ he said. And thought, ‘Not joking, Marigold. Just afraid I’ll make myself ridiculous by drenching you in emotion.’ Then, aware that it was not going well, he said in a tone stripped of all levity, ‘No. In fact, I wasn’t. It simply occurred to me that we have been waiting eight months for our marriage to be declared null – and we may wait another eight. It seems an inordinate amount of inconvenience for something that I, at least, do not particularly want.’ He hesitated and then ploughed on. ‘We’re not strangers any more – indeed, I hope that we’ve become friends. And so I wondered if we might not bow to the inevitable and allow our marriage to stand.’ Another pause while he forced out, as unemotionally as possible, the words that had to be said. ‘Unless, of course, you find me distasteful in any way or have … formed an attachment for someone else?’
He waited for what seemed a very long time before she turned slowly towards him.
‘Are you suggesting,’ asked Chloë, her eyes wide and dark, ‘that we go on just as before?’
The ground shifted beneath Alex’s feet, bringing him to the edge of the precipice. He managed a crooked smile. ‘Not quite, my dear,’ he said, so casually that he astounded himself. ‘I hoped you might consider sharing my bed.’
For the second time that evening, Chloë’s breath froze in her lungs. Then, because his words made no more sense than anything else in their conversation so far, she rose mechanically from her seat and heard herself say, ‘Did you? Why? Because the annulment is troublesome and Matt dislikes change? Or because your life is beautifully ordered and I don’t disturb it? I’m sorry – but I don’t find those reasons adequate.’
A rare flush stained Alex’s skin and his eyes glittered strangely.
‘Don’t you? Then forget them and I’ll give you another,’ he said before he could stop himself. ‘I love you.’
Hope blossomed at the words but was instantly withered by the flatness of his tone. For a tiny instant Chloë thought she was going to be sick and then the feeling was washed away in a wave of anger. Again, the notion that he was sincere but so unsure of himself he was afraid of being laughed at, never occurred to her.
‘Really?’ Well, that is a surprise!’ she snapped. ‘You must think I’m an idiot!’
Burningly aware of his own clumsiness, Alex proceeded to make matters worse.
‘No! I didn’t mean it to sound like that – I never meant to say it at all just yet.’
‘That I can believe!’ she retorted furiously. ‘Won’t you ever learn not to make these sort of proposals when you’re three sheets to the wind?’
An oddly shaken laugh escaped him. ‘Not true – or not entirely. I know I’m making an unholy mess of it – but I mean what I’m saying. I love you.’
‘So you said. Roughly translated, that means you need me to sew on your buttons and save you from your wealthy widow. Oh – how is Sarah, by the way? Still pining for you?’
‘Not any more, I hope.’
Chloë stared at him, a knife twisting in her stomach. ‘You’ve seen her?’
He nodded uneasily. ‘Yes. I wanted to – ‘
‘Spare me,’ said Chloë coldly. ‘At least it makes some sense of the last ten minutes. The only thing I don’t understand is why you should think it necessary to endure the tedium of making love to me. After all, with a little address and careful planning – both of which are supposed to be your speciality – you could have the best of both worlds.’
There was a sudden deathly hush, then Alex gave a reckless little laugh and advanced towards her smiling.
‘You’re quite wrong, you know. Utterly, spectacularly wrong. I have the best of all worlds, here in this house with you. I want nothing else. But I need you to tell me that I may keep it.’ The wide, silvery gaze held hers. ‘Please.’
The saving wrath fell away from her, leaving her defenceless. She stared into his eyes, still unable to trust him and seeking to discover what lay behind the words. He rarely said what he meant – and frequently said things he didn’t. She had always known that. So what then did he mean? His eyes didn’t tell her. Instead, they warned of his immediate intention but a fraction too late to avoid it.
In two strides, Alex was at her side, capturing her hands and holding them deftly behind her. It was Oxford all over again and brown eyes met blue in a moment of shared recollection. Then Alex said softly, ‘Forgive me, Chloë. But it’s the only weapon I have left.’ And his mouth found hers.
Too startled to resist, too shaken to engage her brain, and wanting beyond reason to have this one moment, Chloë simply gave in. Her hands relaxed and her mouth opened to the warmth of his. Alex released her wrists and gathered her against him, gliding one hand up into the waterfall of her hair to cradle her skull. The kiss deepened and her arms slid round his neck. She was lost. They both were.
Aeons later yet still too soon, Alex released her mouth to look into her eyes.
‘I want you,’ he breathed. ‘Say you want me too.’
Reason returned. It would be so easy … so very easy to just say ‘yes’ and let it happen … and God knew, she wanted to. It would make the lie she had been prepared to tell a truth and the annulment an impossibility. And yet … and yet … if she did that, she might never know if this moment had been real. He had been drinking and, though not drunk, neither was he completely sober – and they had been here before. She couldn’t let it – didn’t dare let it – happen again. Summoning up every ounce of will, she brought her palms to his shoulders and tried to push him away.
‘We can’t do this,’ she said as firmly as she was able. ‘You have to let me go.’
Her chin was taken in one long-fingered hand and she was forced to meet his eyes.
‘Why?’ he asked, his other arm still holding her fast.
‘Because you need to think what you’re doing – and what it means. This … isn’t clever. And you – you’ve no right.’
‘Yes I have,’ responded Alex, with that rare beautiful smile, ‘I’ve had the right for eight months. But don’t worry. I’m not going to ravish you. I think – I hope – I don’t need to.’
And then his mouth was on hers again, shamelessly invoking her senses. Flames licked along her veins, heat spread to every nerve and sinew and her bones melted. His hands framed her face, trailed down her neck and explored the soft skin of her shoulders. With hunger threatening to over-take him and his arms still holding her hard against him, Alex raised his head. Looking into half-awakened brown eyes, he gave a small unsteady laugh as her fingers brushed his cheek.
‘Do you find me distasteful, Marigold? Do you?’ he asked, his lips skimming her hair, her eyes, her throat. ‘Can you say I don’t attract you? Just a little? Tell me!’
And driven beyond her defences, Chloë at last replied with the simple truth.
‘No – no. And you know it.’
His arms tightened around her and the silver-blue e
yes blazed with an unmistakeable demand which mingled oddly with a sort of desperate pleading.
‘I know it,’ agreed Alex, almost beneath his breath. ‘I just don’t know if it’s enough.’
And it was then, with the words of total admission hovering on her tongue that Chloë realised what their result would be if she uttered them now. She wanted to hold him close and tell him she loved him … and she wanted to cry because this wasn’t the way and neither of them could afford any more mistakes. Anguish rose, choking her voice so that she could only lay frantic hands against his chest and try to push him way.
Alex said, ‘Chloë – don’t. It’s all right. Be still. I won’t do anything you don’t want.’
Past words and coherent thought, she only knew she had to get away from the terrible temptation of his arms. She twisted her head round only to feel his lips against her ear and it was then that she caught sight of the wine-bottle on the table beside her. Mindlessly, she seized it and brought it down on her husband’s head.
Alex dropped to his knees, clutching his skull and dripping claret.
‘What the hell …?’ He looked up, his gaze blurred. And then, typically, ‘My dear girl … you only had to say no.’
Chloë fled – out of the parlour, up the stairs and into her bedchamber. And for the first time ever, she locked and bolted her door. If he came in now, she’d either end up strangled like Desdemona – or naked in bed with him; and wasn’t sure which would be worse.
~ * * * ~
THREE
People said that the night brought counsel and Chloë, finally slipping from an uneasy doze into sleep, hoped it was true. When she woke, later than was usual, she was surprised to find that she felt marginally better. For five days she had felt as if a stranger was inhabiting her body; a stranger who walked and talked and had managed to appear rational – until last night. She shuddered. She’d been tired and overwrought, of course – but that was neither an excuse nor a comfort. Nor did it help her to figure out how on earth she was going to face him.
But despite all this, she discovered that she didn’t feel unhopeful. Mr Deveril had, after all, shown no inclination to exchange her for Lady Sarah – quite the reverse, in fact. Chloë wondered why that was … and exactly how much of what he’d said last night was actually true. Then she decided that what really mattered was that, although Alex might not love her, he did apparently want her; and even if that was only because he’d been living like a monk for eight months, it didn’t alter the fact that it was her and not some other he’d tried to seduce. Chloë’s mouth twisted wryly. She didn’t care why he wanted her – only that he did. For the one thing last night had taught her was that half a loaf was definitely better than no bread at all.
So there was hope then, of a sort and all she had to do was decide how it could amount to anything. The thing which had held her back last night and which would continue to do so was her fear of trapping him; of removing his only escape route from a marriage for which she had always considered herself responsible. And therein lay the key.
Her brain reeled at the sheer, breath-taking simplicity of it. She wanted to lie with him and he seemed to want that too – but her conscience was standing in the way of it. So what they needed – what they had always needed – was the thrice-blasted annulment. All she had to do, it seemed, was go and ask the King.
Chloë laughed at the irony of it, then embarked on the most careful toilette of her life whilst considering the possibilities. It was a gamble, of course – but for high stakes. Hold on to her marriage and it was stalemate; jettison it, and they could begin afresh.
‘God gives and God takes away,’ she told her reflection firmly. ‘Everything has to be paid for.’ Her reflection looked back, neat as wax and elegant in tawny silk. Chloë hoped it would do.
At the foot of the stairs she encountered Mr Lewis. His shrewd black eyes held a knowing gleam she could have done without so she said cautiously, ‘Have you seen Mr Deveril yet?’
‘Aye.’
‘Did he … do you know if he got any sleep last night?’
‘Damn,’ said Matthew, cheerfully. ‘I clean forgot to go and tuck him in.’
She sighed. ‘You know what I meant. Just tell me how he is.’
‘He’s well enough – saving a lump on his head and his good shirt covered in claret.’
‘Oh.’ Chloë crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘Did he say how it happened?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’ Matt grinned and, when she flushed but said nothing, added, ‘Don’t worry. He wasn’t very talkative this morning. And then he went fishing.’
‘He what?’
‘Went fishing,’ repeated Matt. ‘Or that’s what he said. If you ask me, he’s gone off on his own to think. And about time, too.’
A significant glance accompanied this remark and Chloë flushed slightly. Then, in order to avoid deep water altogether, she said, ‘I’m going to call on Mr Fenton and Mr Bennett on my way to Whitehall. It’s time I finalised the sale of the cloth so that I can pay Captain Pierce. It will be too late to arrange to move it all today and tomorrow is Sunday – so do you think we can be ready by Monday morning?’
‘We’ve been ready for a week,’ replied Matt. Then, ‘I didn’t think you were due at Court today.’
‘I’m not – this is something else.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Mr Deveril’s not the only one who’s been doing some thinking.’
*
It was the first day of September and, though a fresh easterly breeze blew through the City, it was still very hot. Chloë’s errands to Cheapside and Paternoster Row were quickly discharged and she continued serenely on her way through the sunshine to Whitehall only to discover that the King was playing tennis.
Chloë refused to be deterred. She informed His Majesty’s equerry that she would wait in the Stone Gallery and asked him to beg the King to grant her a very brief but private audience at any time to suit his convenience. Then she retired and, with complete calm, proceeded to pass the time in idle conversation with various acquaintances.
It was almost six o’clock before she finally received a summons to the King’s closet where she found him engaged in winding his collection of clocks. Charles greeted her with his usual charm, apologised for keeping her waiting so long and begged her to be seated.
‘And while you tell me why you wanted to see me,’ he smiled, ‘I hope you won’t mind if I finish setting my time-pieces. Like your delightful but capricious sex, they require a good deal of attention.’
Chloë perched on the edge of a chair, wondered how he could bear the busy, incessant ticking and tactfully remarked that the clocks were very beautiful.
‘I think so,’ replied the King. ‘But you didn’t wait all day to discuss chronometry, did you?’
‘No, Your Majesty. I came to ask you to dissolve my marriage. I once told you that there was no hurry but that’s no longer true. I need to be set free – today, if it’s possible.’
Charles set down a small, silver clock and eyed her with lazy interest.
‘I see. At the risk of appearing vulgarly intrusive, may I ask why?’
She had anticipated the question and decided that only the truth would serve. She smiled a little, reflecting that the nicest things about Charles Stuart were his lack of formality and his total unshockability, and said, ‘I think Your Majesty has long suspected that I’ve never been … indifferent … to Mr Deveril, which is one of the reasons you delayed the annulment. And I’m glad of that because it seems that his feelings for me have changed – though I don’t yet fully understand how. All I’m sure of is that last night he wanted to make love to me and that, as long as we’re married, I can’t let him.’
The heavy gaze dwelt on her with amused fascination.
‘Are you saying that you would let him if you weren’t married?’
‘Yes. That’s it exactly.’ She paused, face and voice suddenly very serious indeed. ‘You see Alex was drunk when he married me - and hi
s desire for me now may be as temporary as his intoxication was then.’
‘And you don’t want him to discover that the hard way … yes, I see. But perhaps,’ suggested Charles, ‘you should take advantage while you have the chance?’
Chloë smiled bitterly. ‘I can’t. I can’t let him take that risk. I’d never forgive myself.’
The King picked up another clock and wound it thoughtfully.
‘Alex is fortunate,’ he said at length. ‘I take it there is no question of you wishing to … resist his blandishments?’
‘No. I don’t think I can. I only managed it last night by knocking him down.’
He gave a choke of laughter. ‘Indeed? Then you have managed what a good many men have wanted to do but never succeeded in.’
She grinned. ‘That’s all very well, sire. But I can hardly make a habit of it, can I?’
‘I suppose not,’ agreed Charles, amused. ‘My dear, I can’t imagine why Alex isn’t hopelessly in love with you – but if you want your annulment, you shall have it. Excuse me for a moment while I send for the necessary documents.’ And he left her alone with the clocks.
When he came back, he was holding a sheaf of papers which he laid on a table at her side, saying, ‘It appears that Alex signed these some time ago. So all they require now is your signature – and mine.’
Chloë accepted the quill he offered her and carefully wrote her name in the places he indicated, then watched while the King scrawled his own name and appended his seal.
‘I – I’m truly grateful,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you how much.’
Charles merely cast her a quizzical glance and then watched as she fingered the folded sheets with the only sign of unease that she had shown so far. Sighing, he said, ‘I have the feeling that you are about to ask something more of me.’
She looked up into the dark, clever eyes.
‘Yes,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘I would be glad if this matter could remain secret for a few days. I … well, I’d prefer Mr Deveril not to know about it for a little while yet.’
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