by Trish Morey
It was so terribly intimate, somehow even more than when they joined together in sex, and she felt utterly open and vulnerable to him, yet also strong and powerful. She wanted to shout out at the joy of being with him!
His mouth eased away from her to kiss the inside of her thigh. He slid up along her body and caught her by the hips as he kissed her lips. He tasted of wine and mint, and also, shockingly, of her, and it made her cry out against him. She tilted her hips and felt the hardness of his own desire on her stomach.
They fell together, entwined, to the bed. She moaned again, the only sound her blurry voice could make. She could hold no thoughts now, only emotions, feelings she had pressed down inside for so long that they overwhelmed her now. Tears pierced her eyes as she turned her head away from him, and his open mouth traced her cheek, her eyelids, her temple where the pulse beat so frantically. He bit at her ear-lobe, his breath hot in her ear, and they shuddered together.
Her hands tunnelled under his shirt to trace the groove of his spine, the hard muscles of his back and shoulders. His skin was taut and damp under her touch, so warm and alive it was amazing.
He reached between them to unfasten his breeches and release his erect penis. It was hard and ready, and she spread her legs wider in invitation. With a deft twist of his hips he drove into her and buried himself to the hilt.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and moved with him, hard and fast, and then even faster. She held tight to his shoulders, letting that rough, burning pleasure build inside her. Together they climbed higher and higher, until they could leap free and soar into the sky.
‘Anna!’ he shouted above her. ‘Anna, Anna—I can’t …’
‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I know. I’m here. I’m here.’
He collapsed beside her, and they held on to each other as the night closed in around them.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘SHELDON is in debt to some very powerful people,’ Rob muttered as he examined the papers spread over Edward’s desk. The documents Elizabeth’s bold niece had stolen from Thomas Sheldon’s London home were a scattered lot, snatched up quickly and in places incomplete, but they painted a dark picture of financial desperation.
And, for a man as socially ambitious as Sheldon, desperation was not a good state.
Edward tossed down the half-finished letter he studied. ‘He has made promises to the Queen’s courtiers he can’t keep in return for their loans. Now it seems he has turned to less exalted means of finding money.’
‘Bankside moneylenders, pimps and swords for hire,’ Rob said. He slumped back in his chair and propped his boots up on the table. Outside in the garden could be heard shrieks of happy laughter as Elizabeth led a game of blindman’s buff, but that light-hearted scene seemed far away from the closed-in library. This was his real world, and he could never escape it for long.
‘Such a man would not stop at taking Spanish or French coin, either,’ said Edward. ‘Treason is not so far beneath him—especially if he feels he is not getting his due attention from Queen Elizabeth.’
‘Is he the one we seek?’ Rob said. ‘The man who used the theatre as his base of traitorous communications?’
Or was Rob searching for straw men—anyone to replace Anna’s father in Walsingham’s suspicions? Perhaps Sheldon was too stupid, too desperate for the patient planning of such a scheme.
But traitors were often simple-minded and overconfident—it was what got them caught in the end. Look at Babington and his friends, and their wild scheme to free Mary of Scotland.
‘We must trap him well and good,’ Rob said.
‘I’ve made a fair start—inviting him here, flattering him, cajoling him, even as it has made me feel ill,’ Edward said. He went to the window and watched Elizabeth as she laughed with the others. ‘Elizabeth hates him for trying to wed her niece … She doesn’t see how I can stomach his presence even for our scheme. But I can invite him here again, if I must.’
‘I fear our time to spring the trap grows short,’ said Rob. He reached inside his doublet and withdrew the folded message that had arrived only that morning, before Anna and most of the house were even awake. ‘From Seething Lane.’
Edward scowled and snatched the note from Rob’s hand, reading it hastily. ‘They are closing in?’
‘They want this business done—one way or another,’ Rob said grimly. ‘We must find out if Sheldon is our man and make haste back to London with the evidence.’
‘Damn it all!’ Edward cursed, slamming the paper onto the desk. ‘If only Lady Essex had stayed here longer, until we had more evidence for her to carry to her father.’
Rob shook his head. ‘‘Tis better she is there, to delay them if she can. You should visit Sheldon yourself—ride over to his estate this afternoon and see what you can find. I will talk more with your other guests. They should know the latest gossip.’
Suddenly there was a shout from the garden and ladies’ screams—not of joy but alarm. Edward threw open the window and leaned out to see what was happening. Rob sauntered over to peer over his shoulder.
Two of the men were arguing heatedly, it appeared over one of the sobbing ladies, and it looked as if blades were in imminent danger of being drawn.
‘And now a brawl in my house, on top of all else,’ Edward growled. ‘Come, Rob, let’s break up this dog fight before it destroys my fine garden.’
They snatched up their own swords from where they lay on the desk and ran out of the library after sweeping the papers into the drawer. Even the servants had gathered at the open front doors to watch the fight.
‘Another dull country day,’ Rob said with a wry laugh. Merriment could turn to violence in only a moment.
‘Is anyone here?’ Anna called. She made her way slowly down the corridor, peering past darkened doorways. She had slept late, and awakened to find Rob gone and her stomach grumbling with hunger, so she’d quickly dressed and ventured out to find some food.
But the house seemed eerily quiet—no guests laughing or playing cards, not even a servant to be seen.
Anna heard a muffled shout from beyond a closed door, and tested the latch to find it unlocked. It was a small library, the panelled walls lined with shelves of valuable books and a desk piled up with blank sheets of parchment and pots of ink and quills. The window was half-open, and that was where the noise came from.
She hurried over to peer outside. When she had first awoken and looked out to the garden there had been a merry game going on—men chasing ladies between the flowerbeds as everyone shrieked with laughter. Now it seemed turned to sudden strife. Two men stared at each other in smouldering fury, blades half drawn, while one of the women sobbed.
Rob and Edward held them apart, and Rob was speaking to them in a low, quick voice. It seemed he was as good at defusing fights as he was at causing them. She learned new aspects of him every day, yet still she couldn’t believe she would ever know all of him.
A cool wind rushed in from the garden and ruffled the papers on the desk, sending some of them fluttering to the floor. Anna knelt down to retrieve them before they could blow away. Most of them were blank, but one, torn in half and then quarter-wise, so only a portion remained, was covered in tiny, smudged cross-writing. As she rose to place them back on the desk, a scribbled name on the page caught her attention.
Peter Spencer. One of the Lord Henshaw’s Men at the White Heron.
‘Why would Lord Edward have a list of actors?’ Anna whispered. For a proposed performance at Hart Castle, perhaps? Curious, she turned the fragment over and tried to read its closely writ lines.
There were more names, but not all of them were actors. She recognised a few as young, rebellious noblemen—second sons with nothing to do but get into trouble gambling and drinking, and perhaps dabbling in forbidden Catholicism. There were numbers after each name, various amounts of money, and with some there were other notes. A Spanish name—D. Felipe—and amounts in scudas plus one word—’Received.’
Had these men received Spanish money, as well as English? A double-cross scheme?
But who was being crossed? And why did Edward Hartley have such a list?
As Anna stared down at the strange document in her hand, a terrible thought struck her. Did Edward work for Walsingham, as Rob did? Were they here to conspire on some scheme? Catching double agents and traitors? The paper looked messy, harmless, but she suddenly feared it would burn her if she held it too long.
Her fingers trembled and she felt as if the warm garden breeze had turned to freezing ice on her skin. Rob’s dangerous work followed him everywhere, touched everything—now it followed her, as well.
She turned back to the desk and tried to organise the papers just as they had been, as if she could thus put the world back the way it had been. As she tugged a blank sheet over it a name scribbled in tiny letters at the bottom of the list stood out to her.
Tom Al wick—and a question mark and a star.
Her father. On an intelligencer’s list.
Anna pressed her hand to her mouth to hold back a cry. Her father suspected by Walsingham? Nay, it could not be. He thought of nothing but the theatre and the tavern, his friends and his ale. He could never have the discretion and the caution needed for spying. He could never be …
A traitor.
Surely that question mark meant he was only suspected? Considered because he knew so many actors—the men Rob had said were especially sought out by Walsingham for their skills and their need of money. All people of the theatre, of Southwark’s businesses, were liable to suspicion.
But mere suspicion could so easily get men tortured and killed.
Anna heard voices again outside the window. She quickly straightened the pages back into place on the desk and looked to see what was happening in the garden. The quarrelling company had dispersed, and Rob and Edward were walking back to the house. They talked together quietly, confidently, as old friends did. Anna remembered how Rob had said they’d known each other since boyhood.
Did they work together now to find traitors in the people around her?
She hastily brushed away the hot tears that prickled at her eyes and spun round to rush out of the library. She had to leave Hart Castle at once—to get back to her father in London and warn him to be on his guard. He had to look hard at his friends, be wary of what he said—and perhaps even leave London for a time.
And she had to hide from Robert the fact that she’d seen that paper. What if he was working against her? Searching for a way to trap her father while—while making love to her?
‘No,’ she whispered. Her whole body felt so cold and brittle, as if she would snap in two. The room turned hazy and pale at the edges, as if in a dream. Perhaps this was a dream, all of it, and she would soon awake in her own narrow bed in Southwark.
She hurried up the stairs, past the servants who had finally reappeared to do their morning tasks, and back to her fine borrowed chamber. She had to be gone from this place, and all its deceptive dreams.
She quickly traded her soft leather shoes for boots, and pinned her hair up under her hat. The rich costumes would have to be left behind in her haste to leave, but perhaps Elizabeth would send them on to the theatre once Anna had seen her father safe.
As she tucked her few coins into her purse, and tugged on her gloves, she saw Rob’s book on the rumpled blankets of the bed. Its fine cover gleamed in the light, concealing the beautiful words of romance and longing within its pages. She remembered last night—the tender desperation of their love-making, the way she’d felt when Rob held her in his arms. Everything else had disappeared then—even her old self, encased in icy fear and mistrust, was gone. There had been only the new joy and freedom of being together, of sharing their secrets and coming to a true understanding.
It had felt so very real, she thought as she stared at that book. How could her own emotions have so deceived her?
She caught up the book and tucked it away in her purse. Somehow she could not abandon it.
She ran back down the stairs and into the bright light of the warm day. It seemed spring was truly here at last, but even that couldn’t warm her heart again. Some of the guests were strolling in the gardens, the earlier quick explosion of temper just as swiftly forgotten. She could hear voices and giggles from behind the maze.
Rob and Edward were gone, but Elizabeth waved to Anna from where she sat on one of the marble benches. Anna waved back, but she didn’t slow her steps. She turned away from the party and rushed around the side of the house towards the stables.
‘I need as fast a horse as possible,’ she told the groom.
‘Are you sure of that, mistress?’ he queried uncertainly.
Perhaps he remembered her lack of skill on a horse from the hunt, Anna thought. She remembered it, too, and eyed the rows of horses with some trepidation. But necessity was pressing in on her.
‘I’m quite sure,’ she said decisively. ‘Perhaps the mount Lady Elizabeth rode?’
‘If you insist, mistress,’ he answered, turning towards Elizabeth’s restive grey mare. ‘Two of the lads can soon be ready to ride with you …’
‘No,’ Anna said quickly. ‘I must go alone today.’
Alone—as always now. She was truly the only one she could really trust.
‘Elizabeth, have you seen Anna?’ Rob asked Lady Elizabeth as he came upon her where she sat in the garden. ‘I have searched all over the house and she is nowhere to be found. I promised her a walk this afternoon.’
Elizabeth smiled at him and lowered the open book she read to her silk skirts. ‘You are an eager swain today, Robert, setting out on a romantic stroll with your lady.’
Rob grinned. He was eager—ridiculously so. He looked forward to every minute spent with Anna. Every chance to make her smile, hear the rare music of her laughter, kiss her. ‘‘Tis a fine day to walk outdoors.’
‘Edward seems to think it a fine day to visit the neighbours and leave me alone, alas,’ Elizabeth said lightly. ‘I’m glad someone thinks of romance today.’
‘Yet I cannot think of romance when my lady is not here,’ said Rob. ‘I hope she has not abandoned me to hide in the maze with another swain.’
‘I do doubt that. Anna has eyes for none but you, just as you do for her. I think she went for a ride.’
‘A ride?’ Rob asked in surprise. ‘She doesn’t much care for horses.’
‘We all have to overcome our fears, I think. I saw her not an hour past, going towards the stables. She wore her hat and gloves.’
He felt a sudden touch of disquiet. It wasn’t like Anna to slip away so—and to go riding of all things. Yet nothing had been missing from her chamber except the book of poetry.
‘Perhaps one of the grooms saw which way she went,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll go after her.’
Elizabeth frowned, as if she sensed his doubts. ‘Shall I come with you? Help you look for her?’ She paused. ‘Did you two quarrel? Is that why she left?’
‘Not at all. We were getting along very well.’ Rob remembered how Anna had looked as he had kissed her once more before slipping out of her chamber at dawn. Her soft, sleepy smile, the way she’d wound her arms around his neck for one more kiss before she drifted back into slumber. The way he craved so much more.
Surely it was just a simple country ride and she would soon return. Yet still that dark cloud of doubt lingered, and Rob had learned in his work to trust his instincts.
‘I will go and find her now,’ he said.
She could not escape him, not now. Not yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ANNA held tight to the reins as she let the horse have its head and run free down the lane. The wind rushed past her, whining in her ears and tearing at her hair, and she vowed never to go near a horse again if she could help it. But for now all she could do was cling tight and pray she arrived in London in time—and in one piece.
She met few people on the road—just some farmers with their carts, and one fine carriage that thankful
ly was going much too fast to take note of her. She tried not to think of what lay behind her, or what might wait in London. She could only think of what she had to do right now—get her father out of Southwark, and find out exactly what he was suspected of so he could be cleared.
If she thought of Robert, of what his part in all this might be—or what he had been doing with her—she would go mad.
She pulled up at a crossroads to rest for a moment, and peered at the sky. The sunny morning, which had seemed so ridiculously full of hope, had turned overcast and grey. Strings of clouds hid the light and cast shifting shadows over the fields.
As she tried to catch her breath she heard a rumbling sound like thunder in the distance. But it didn’t fade. It just persisted and grew louder and louder. She twisted in her saddle to glance at the road behind her, but it was clear. Only as she turned back did she glimpse a horse rushing towards her from the cross lane.
It was a large black horse, a dark blur that threw up a great cloud of dust in its wake. It moved fast and with purpose. Anna turned and gathered the reins tight again, ready to flee.
‘Anna!’ she heard a shout. ‘Wait! Don’t go.’
It was Robert. She saw his face as he came ever closer, his jaw set in a hard line, tense and dark. She started to flee, yet something held her back. Something inexorable and inevitable, holding her fast where she was. She watched him come, anger and hope and fear all boiling inside her. She couldn’t run from him any longer.
He reined in his horse just in front of her, dirt and gravel flying. His boots were splashed with dust, his doublet unfastened to show his loosely laced shirt and the gleam of sweat on his bare skin. He had ridden hard indeed to catch her, and Anna sat tense in her saddle, unsure of what he would do.