“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“According to Queen Mary, you came from Spain, yet you speak with an English accent in a Scottish court, and you claim you’ve visited France. You’re quite the traveled man.”
“Quite.”
She waited a few heartbeats before raising an ebony brow at him. “You will say no more on that? I am required to tell you my life story, but you do not meet the same requirements?”
She was saucy. He liked that. She made him want to laugh, but he wisely kept it to himself; he had a feeling that she was very serious. She didn’t like him for some reason but forced herself to tolerate him.
“It is true that I am from England. You are very observant with that deduction.”
She made a deprecating sound, and he would have bet his finest velvet doublet that she rolled her eyes at him.
“I was a favorite in Queen Elizabeth’s court, but an…indiscretion…made me fall out of favor, and I was summarily ejected from court, much to my family’s distress.” It was the story he told when he was asked about his English background. Elizabeth was fully prepared to confirm his story if asked. So far she’d never been asked. For some reason people tended to believe his stories.
“How unfortunate,” Aimee murmured.
“Quite unfortunate. I made my way around to France and spent some time there and eventually found myself in Philip’s court.”
“And now Mary’s court. You do seem to land on your feet.”
He shrugged. “It’s a talent of mine.”
They found themselves at the royal stables. Simon led her into the cool shadows of the stable, where horses poked their noses out to investigate the newcomers. Aimee stopped to rub the velvet smoothness of a chestnut mare. She murmured to the animal and pressed her cheek to the mare’s nose.
“You like animals,” Simon observed.
She made a humming sound that had his blood racing. She was happy right now. Instinctively he knew it was a rare moment for her. She smiled at the horse as it nudged her hand.
“I wish I had thought to bring an apple.” She stepped back and dropped her hand. “But I did not expect to come here.”
They wandered through the stable, peeking into the other stalls. Simon let her lead while he readily followed. He stood back and observed when she encountered a litter of kittens. The mama cat, obviously worn out from mothering, watched Aimee bend down and study the newborns. Simon listened to her cries of delight and murmurs of encouragement to the mama.
“They’re so petite,” she said.
He hummed his agreement, not looking at the kittens. It was a good word to describe Aimee. Petite. Yet like those kittens, she had her claws, and she would hiss at him if he tried to get too close.
The mother cat lifted her head when Aimee reached to run a finger down the back of a gray kitten. “Their eyes aren’t even open yet,” she said.
His were. His eyes were wide open, and while he liked what he was looking at, he didn’t like what he was seeing. Aimee de Verris was getting under his skin, and he didn’t need that kind of complication in his life.
“Did you have pets while you were growing up?” he asked.
She stood and rubbed her hands down the ugly gown. “No,” she said sadly.
He wanted to offer her one of the kittens, but they were far too young to be taken from their mother. Instead he pushed away from the wall and offered his arm again. This time she took it without hesitation, and when they exited the stables, she lifted her head to the sun and smiled.
“The sun feels so good,” she said. “I feared I would never see it shine again.”
They stood like that, her basking in the sun, Simon watching the length of her throat, his gaze traveling to her unfettered smile.
She lowered her head and turned that smile to him, and it was at that moment that Mary and her entourage rounded the corner and almost knocked them over.
“Well,” Mary exclaimed. “I knew you two would suit.” She clapped her hands as if she were a small child given a new toy. “I’m so pleased to see you enjoying each other’s company.”
Instantly Aimee’s smile vanished, and Simon’s heart did a flip. Mary had witnessed a very small moment and drawn dangerous conclusions. He and Aimee certainly did not suit. Aimee had made it clear that she didn’t like him, and he’d in no way indicated anything other than friendship—although he’d thought about it.
Chapter 4
Catherine,
Scotland is as you described it. The people are welcoming and kind. I have formed a special bond with Queen Mary, as you had hoped, and we get along well. She is a good queen to her people—
Catherine,
Mary has not revealed any dastardly secrets to me yet. In fact, she rarely talks to me, and when she does, we discuss our formative years spent with you—a not so pleasant experience, if you must know. I fear your plan to use me to gather information has been a failure. Please send me back to France.
Aimee balled up the letter and threw it into the fire, where the flames instantly snatched at the dry parchment. The edges curled, black and smoking, mimicking the black anger inside her. Even though she would never send such a letter, it felt good to pen her frustration. She truly did fear that her mission here was a waste of time. Mary was shrewd and surrounded herself with excellent advisers. She was never going to trust Aimee with state secrets, never going to slip up and reveal some dastardly deed in the few salons Aimee attended.
Was this failing mission just an excuse for Catherine to send Aimee away? Had Catherine known Aimee would never succeed?
Aimee used the poker to spread the ashes but found herself stabbing the burning logs with a viciousness that came from her festering anger.
She was moldering away up here in a country that no one cared about, and she feared that Catherine had immediately forgotten about her as soon as Aimee boarded the ship to Scotland.
What if Pierre were to forget about her as well? What if he decided he’d waited long enough, even though he told her he’d wait forever? She angrily swiped at a lone tear. She’d never get the information that Catherine wanted. Catherine was vindictive and cruel, but she was Aimee’s guardian, and there was nothing Aimee could do but obey her.
A knock on the door had her putting the poker down. Hannah was gone to wherever it was that Hannah got off to. She wasn’t the most attentive lady’s maid, so Aimee answered the knock herself. A servant was on the other side.
“The queen requests your presence,” he said with importance.
“Me?” She’d never been summoned by the queen before.
“Follow me, please.”
Aimee cast a worried glance behind her. The fire still burned, and there was no sign of the letter. For a moment she’d feared she’d been caught writing to Catherine, but that was impossible. All proof had burned away.
Nervously she followed the servant, awkwardly staring at his back end. She felt as if she were walking to her doom. She had no idea why Mary would summon her.
Unless Catherine was calling Aimee back to France.
The thought was uplifting and had her heart pounding. Until she realized that Mary would not be the one to tell her such good news. Mary probably didn’t care if Aimee came or went.
She entered the outer room of the Royal Chambers, where she was startled to see Sir Simon. He rose when she walked in, and the servant left them.
Simon bowed and swept his arm, offering her the seat beside him. There were other people in the room, but Aimee did not note them, as she had eyes only for Sir Simon.
“Why are you here?” she asked, her nervousness making her a bit breathless.
“I have no idea. And you?”
She perched on the edge of the chair, her back stiff and her hands clenched in her lap. “I don’t know, either.” Nerves let loose wings of apprehension that batted against her stomach. Was it coincidental that they were here at the same time? “I hope it doesn’t take long,�
� she said quietly, not wanting others to hear. They would cast aspersions on her if they knew she wasn’t pleased that the queen had summoned her.
Simon raised a brow. “Do you have a more important appointment after this?”
She heaved a sigh, knowing she was sounding surly. He seemed to bring out that particular trait in her. “No. Of course not. I’m just anxious to know what she wants of me.”
Simon leaned back as if he had not a worry in the world. He looked exceptionally fine today, in a dark brown velvet doublet with gold stitching and yellow gold breeches and hose. The outfit reminded her once again that he was a lion in human form.
“You don’t seem concerned,” she said, eyeing his relaxed posture.
He shrugged. “Nothing comes to mind for which she would want my head.”
Aimee thought of her burning letter. She’d sent a few to Catherine via the French ship but was fairly certain those letters had not been intercepted, although she couldn’t be positive. She pressed a hand against her churning stomach.
“Relax, Magpie. I’m quite sure she’s not calling for your head, either. Besides, if she were, she wouldn’t allow you to sit outside her Privy Chamber unguarded.”
Aimee eyed the guards at the door to Mary’s sanctuary. They didn’t appear to be paying any special attention to her.
“You’re right, of course,” she said. Her imagination was getting away from her. She’d really done nothing wrong except send a few letters to her guardian in France. Those letters didn’t even have anything important in them other than what Mary did on a day-to-day basis and Aimee’s thoughts about the Scottish queen. She’d hoped that would be enough to appease Catherine, since she could get no other information.
Simon seemed to be overly amused by her nervousness. He watched her with twinkling eyes and a slight smile.
“You must be accustomed to audiences with monarchs,” she said.
“I’ve had my fair share.”
She tilted her head to look at him. “Was it frightening, being dismissed from Queen Elizabeth’s court?”
He seemed to think about that for a moment. “It was more shocking. At first I didn’t think she was serious. By the time I realized she was, I was on a ship bound for France.”
“I would have been beside myself.”
“I survived. As I’m sure you would have.”
“It’s different being a woman,” she said, thoughts of seeing Mary swept to the side for the moment. “A man can travel where he wishes. A woman must always be conscious of her virtue. A woman does not have the means to earn money to fund such travels.”
“I will admit that being male has helped me along the way.”
She looked at him sharply, unable to determine if he was mocking her, but before she could ask, the doors to the Privy Chamber opened and they were called in.
—
Simon stood and offered his arm to Aimee. So they were to see the queen together. He was far from relaxed, as Aimee believed him to be. He was on edge and alert. There was no reason for Mary to request his presence, and the fact that Aimee was to see the queen with him didn’t bode well for either of them. Had their stroll in the garden somehow provoked her displeasure?
Mary was seated on a great red velvet and walnut chair, her black skirts spread out before her. She never wore jewelry and almost always wore either black or white.
She was an intriguing woman, and Simon, like most men who met the queen, was not immune to her charms. When Mary listened, it seemed her entire person was centered on everything you said and no one else was of importance. She exerted charm and a certain sexual appeal that many had succumbed to. There had been one who had been banished from court because he’d mistaken her attention for something far more and had become a nuisance to her.
She smiled and beckoned them forward. Aimee lowered herself into a curtsy while Simon bowed.
“I have witnessed with my own eyes how well you two have suited since I introduced you. I am very much pleased that my belief in the two of you has come to fruition.”
Simon stiffened, not liking this at all.
Mary turned her attention to Aimee. “Catherine sent you to my court in hopes of securing a good marriage for you.”
Aimee made a sound of distress, and her normally pale skin turned a bit green. She opened her mouth to say something, but Simon leaned in to her, pressing his arm against her to keep her silent.
“I believed that Sir Simon Marcheford would be that man, and after seeing the two of you at the stables, I am more convinced than ever that you two shall wed.”
Simon went still. “Pardon, Your Majesty?” He couldn’t marry Aimee. He was an English spy in Mary’s court. Elizabeth would be furious.
Mary turned her attention to Simon. “Philip has great things to say about you,” she said. “And I’ve heard that you have the means to take on a wife.”
What in the bloody hell…
“You two shall wed tomorrow.” Mary clapped her hands and laughed. “Oh, I am so pleased by this, and I know Catherine will be just as delighted.”
Aimee had barely moved, and Simon looked at her in worry. She was even greener than before and was swaying. Simon took her hand and placed it on his arm. She leaned in to him and swallowed.
“If I may, Your Majesty.” Her voice came out weak and breathless. “Catherine never mentioned that she wanted me to make a match while I was here. There is…” Her voice trailed off, and Simon found himself leaning forward to hear what she would say next.
Mary frowned. “Why would she send you here if not to make a match? No, you are wrong, Aimee. Catherine wrote to me specifically asking me to find a husband for you. Simon is a good man. And Philip has assured me that Simon is a wealthy man in England. I will write to my fellow queen, Elizabeth, and ask her to release Simon’s funds to him so he can provide for you.”
Release his funds? What the hell did that mean? He had plenty of funds given to him by Elizabeth for his service to her. That part was true. He also had land and an estate that had been given to him. He was well off. Very well off. But there was no possible way he could bring Aimee to England with him.
Mary turned a shrewd eye to him. “I trust that you have no objections to this marriage? Aimee is related to the de Medicis, a very powerful French family, as I’m sure you are aware. She brings her own dowry and riches to the marriage, and as an act of goodwill, I will add to that dowry.”
“Her dowry does not concern me,” Simon said. But everything else did.
He could object, but what would that do to his mission? In Mary’s eyes, this was a very good match. The Marchefords were a well-respected family in England, having served the English monarchs for generations. Aimee’s family was obviously just as respected.
“I remember when you first came to my court,” Mary was saying. “We discussed your lack of a wife.”
Simon wanted to groan. He remembered that conversation well. He’d been playing a part, lightly, harmlessly flirting with Mary as they discussed his lamentable lack of a wife. He’d thought nothing of it, but Mary had obviously taken the conversation seriously.
“You had said you were visiting all of the great courts of Europe in hopes of finding that one woman who would be your wife.”
“It was said in jest, Your Majesty.”
Mary smiled. “I do not believe you, Sir Simon.” She paused. “I like you, and I like Aimee, and I think you will make each other happy, yes?” She turned her attention away from them, and Simon knew the audience was over.
The decision had been made. A whim of a monarch, the wish of a queen, and Simon’s life was turned upside down. He had no idea what he was going to do about this.
But first he needed to escort his bride-to-be out of the Privy Chamber before she was sick on the queen’s shoes.
Chapter 5
“Breathe,” Simon said as they walked out of the Privy Chamber. He was holding Aimee up, praying that she wouldn’t faint while they were still in Mary’s presenc
e. “Breathe,” he commanded again between clenched teeth.
Aimee dragged in a shuddering breath as the doors closed behind them, and they stumbled to the closest chairs. Simon lowered Aimee into one and collapsed into the other to run a hand down his face.
Aimee clutched at his sleeve. “You must stop this. We cannot marry,” she said.
“Quiet.” There were still people in the outer room, waiting for an audience with the queen, and they were looking at Simon and Aimee curiously.
She dug her fingers into the velvet of his sleeve. “You have to stop this,” she said again, ignoring his warning.
He stood and took her arm, forcing her to stand as well. She sagged against him, and he walked her out of the room, ignoring the avid stares. Somehow he managed to get them outside to the formal gardens, where, miraculously, they were alone.
“I can’t do this.” She looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. “I can’t marry you.”
While he felt the same, he also felt oddly hurt by her insistence. “What do you propose I do?”
“Tell her no!”
He laughed. “Tell the queen that we will not obey her command? You tell her.” But at the same time, he was thinking of ways to tell Mary that he couldn’t wed Aimee. Should he claim a secret wife in England? Maybe tell her that his heart had been broken by another woman and he’d not recovered from it? That seemed romantic enough to capture Mary’s imagination.
Aimee was breathing fast, gasping for air, her hand over her heart.
“Stop it.” Simon shook her shoulders, and her head lolled back. “Panicking will not help either of us.”
“Oh, I’m panicking,” she said between gasps. “I’m not marrying you. I don’t care what the queen says.”
“Then by all means, go in there and tell her so, and let me know how it goes.”
She pursed her lips and looked away. One didn’t just disobey a monarch without repercussions. Sometimes those repercussions could be deadly.
“Tomorrow,” he muttered. He had until tomorrow to somehow get out of this marriage.
—
Aimee slammed the door to her chambers and lowered the bar on the door. She did not want Hannah walking in right now.
Wed to a Spy Page 3