Her mother threw up her hands. "Another ridiculous notion from my ridiculous, ungrateful daughter. Oh, why, oh why, sweet Jesus, wasn't I blessed with sons?" She stared up through the glass-paned roof of the hothouse as if expecting God himself to respond.
Julia pushed a water lily into the hole she'd dug and moved forward to plant another. "Please, just talk to the earl for me." She tried a diplomatic angle. "Perhaps he feels the same way and is too much a gentleman to say so. Perhaps he could find me a more suitable match. After all, he is our male guardian and that would be his responsibility, if he wasn't marrying me himself."
"I certainly will not speak to him." She crossed her arms over her bosom. She was dressed in an unbecoming pink satin gown with white insets, a gown charged to one of the Earl of St. Martin's accounts, no doubt. "Your father signed that betrothal agreement, and as long as his lordship is willing to take you off my weary hands, marry him you will."
"Fine. Then I'll speak to him myself."
Her mother leaped up. "You will do no such thing! A woman's place is in duty to her family, first her father's family, then her husband's!"
Lizzy turned from the azalea bush she was examining. "Mama, the servants will hear you!"
Susanne lowered her voice and shook her finger at Julia. "You will not speak to his lordship about breaking off the engagement. You have an obligation to your family, to your poor sister. As the wife of an earl you will have great influence and an even greater purse. How else do you think you will be able to care for your sister when I'm gone?"
"Don't holler at Julia." Lizzy crossed her arms over her chest. "She doesn't have to marry that stinky old man if she doesn't want to. I can take care of myself." She thrust out her lower lip. "I know you don't think I can, but I can."
Julia glanced up at her beautiful sister and her heart felt as if it was being wrenched from her chest. What was she going to do? Her mother was right. She did have an obligation to her sister. Lizzy had been her responsibility since she'd been born . . . and she always would be.
Julia's father had made an advantageous match for her with the Earl of St. Martin. Why couldn't she be satisfied with costly gowns and a great tomb of a house on a fine street in London? What on earth had ever given her the ridiculous idea that she might find affection—perhaps even love—in her marriage? Marriage was to build family and political alliances and produce heirs, nothing more, nothing less.
Lizzy sat down beside Julia and grasped her bare arm where Julia had pushed up her ivory linen sleeves. It wasn't one of the earl's gowns she wore, but a patched one brought from home.
"Don't be upset. Mother doesn't mean the things she says," Lizzy comforted. "You and me, we never listen to her," she whispered, though not softly enough for their mother not to hear. "You don't have to marry the earl for me, I vow you don't. I don't need you to take care of me. I can find my own husband."
Julia smiled tenderly at her sister and her foolish dreams. Of course Lizzy could never have a husband of her own. What man would want a wife with the mind of a ten-year-old? How could Lizzy ever possibly care for a child?
Julia laid her hand on Lizzy's. She didn't want to upset her sister, or even her mother. She wanted to be dutiful. She wanted to stand up to her responsibilities. If only her responsibilities didn't mean marrying that garlic-smelling, pompous—She cut her thoughts short. "It's all right, Lizzy. Don't get yourself stewed. Everything will work out fine."
"It's just wedding fidgets," Susanne piped in. "You'll see that once you're wed, you'll settle in nicely as Lady St. Martin, mistress of Bassett Hall."
Julia glanced away. She knew her mother thought this was the end of the discussion. For now she would allow her to believe so, but Julia fully intended to speak with the earl on the matter. She would at least try to find out how strongly he felt on the subject. Maybe she could convince him to reject her. The only trick would be to actually gain an audience with her betrothed. It seemed that unless she burst in on him as she had done last week, it would be easier to have an audience with the king than with the Earl of St. Martin.
"Your Majesty." Griffin fluttered a handkerchief as he bowed and went down on one knee. Even after all these years together, he still felt a certain awe in the fact that His Majesty would welcome him so generously into his private life.
King Charles II glanced up from a table where he drank from a cup of ale. "Christ's bones, get up, Griffin. And dispense with the tiptoed nonsense."
Griffin rose and glanced meaningfully at the two servants in attendance.
"Go. Go." Charles waved a hand. "Out of here, both of you. No one may enter my closet until I bid him do so. Any man who enters or is discovered listening at my keyhole will find his head on a stake on tower gates, understood?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." The first liveried servant backed out of the room with the other right behind him. "Yes, Your Majesty. Your servant, Your Majesty."
Charles kicked a stool with the toe of his boot as the door to the private room off his bedchamber closed. He was dressed for tennis this morning in a new black suit, looking remarkably young and handsome without his wig. "No formalities. Sit." He waved his hand before his nose. "God rot your bowels, Griffin. What is that stench? Surely that's not you?"
Griffin chuckled good-naturedly. "A scent newly come from France. It's called Eu d'floral Romance. My dressmaker says it will be all the mode."
Charles rolled his dark eyes good-naturedly. "You and your fashion. I've a mind to take that dressmaker for myself before Buckingham bribes him to come into his service."
"I'm certain Monsieur D'Arcy would be honored to serve you, Your Grace." He bowed his head.
Charles groaned. "Please spare me the nonsense, at least in private, Griffin. Here, alone, let it be you and me like the old days in France, when we could walk drunk down a street and clobber a nightwatchman for amusement. I swear, I'm thankful to be home, though it's not as I expected. Nothing and no one is as I expected." He swished the ale in his cup and watched it splash up the sides. "Everyone treats me differently. I no longer know who I can trust and who I cannot."
Griffin lifted his gaze to meet his king's. "You can trust me," he said with utter sincerity.
Charles thought for a moment and then nodded his strong chin. "Aye, that I believe. Now come." He poured a cup of ale for Griffin. "Tell me what you know and let us get to the tennis court while the sun still shines. I fear we're in for a cold, rainy winter. I had forgotten how damned wet London can be."
Griffin pulled a roll of papers from inside his coat and slid his stool closer to his monarch. He couldn't take the chance that anyone might be listening in on the conversation. It could mean the king's life, and surely his own.
Chapter Six
"Ah, there you are." The Earl of St. Martin plastered an unconvincing smile on his face as he beckoned Julia.
"My lord." She dipped as low a curtsy as she dared without needing assistance to rise. She had spent too long in the orangery planting lilies in the fishpond and, for the second time that week, was nearly an hour late to Simeon's dinner party. This was definitely not the way to begin the evening if she intended to discuss the possibility of breaking off their betrothal.
"I feared you were ill when you didn't come down, my darling." Simeon placed a possessive hand on her shoulder and applied pressure with his fingers until it hurt.
Julia could have pulled away, or asked him to remove his hand from her shoulder, but she gritted her teeth and bore the pain instead. She had already embarrassed him in front of his guests by arriving late. She feared that if she challenged him now, he might become furious. Her father had been that kind of man, so she had experience with their ways.
"I apologize profusely, sir." She lowered her head in subservience. "I lost track of the time."
"Let's see that it does not happen again, shall we?" He did not look at her as he spoke between gritted teeth, but toward the gentleman who waited for an introduction.
"Yes, Simeon."
"My lord." She curtsied, wondering if Lord Boggs detected the sarcasm in which Simeon spoke the word esteemed. Julia was quickly learning that though her betrothed was all smiles and proper etiquette, he could be vicious.
"Ah, Lady Julia, you are as beautiful as the gossips say." The round, fiftyish Lord Boggs, with his big belly and a speck of food on his chin, bowed and took her hand. "Everyone in Londontown is dying to receive an invitation to dine with St. Martin, simply to have a look at you."
She smiled, relieved that Simeon had removed his hand from her shoulder. "Why, you flatter me unduly, sir."
Lord Boggs launched into a discourse on the changes in Parliament, absolving Julia of the need to do anything but nod her head and smile. That was all she was required to do at any of Simeon's endless receptions, teas, and dinner parties. In fact, he had instructed her last week that he preferred that she didn't speak any more than necessary. He had explained matter-of-factly that he was the law in their household, and what she thought was of little consequence to anyone.
As Julia moved on to another clump of guests and made small talk with one lord or lady after another, her gaze drifted from one group of laughing ladies and gentlemen to the next, searching for Griffin. A few moments with him had quickly become the highlight of any day for her here in Bassett Hall.
Surely Griffin was here. Simeon had said the previous night at supper that his cousin never missed a chance to overindulge in drink and gambling.
Julia spotted him near the marble fireplace at the far side of the great hall, laughing uproariously as if he were inebriated. He held a woman's painted fan and fluttered it to emphasize each word he spoke.
Julia knew it would be forward of her to seek him out, but she was so excited about the progress she'd made in the orangery that she wanted to tell him. Two nights ago at dinner she had attempted to tell her betrothed about her accomplishments, but he'd simply waved a hand, told her to amuse herself as she saw fit, and ended their conversation by calling for another slice of eel pie.
As Julia nodded and pretended to listen to some baron and baroness's story of a flooded dining hall, she caught Griffin's attention over the baron's shoulder.
Griffin winked and batted his fan. She smiled. Then he motioned with the fan toward the gaming room off the great hall, where gaming tables were always set for guests. Later in the evening everyone would retire there for cards, dice, and more drink, as was the custom at court. This early in the evening, however, the room was still deserted.
Julia politely disengaged herself from the baron and baroness and nonchalantly made her way toward the gaming room. Deep in conversation with a man carrying a cane, Simeon watched her pass, but did not return her smile.
She'd inadvertently angered him again and knew that for the next day or so he would treat her coolly. She was beginning to realize that he operated in just such a cycle as her father had. As long as she did exactly what he asked, exactly as he asked, Simeon could be charming, almost pleasant company. The moment she crossed him, though, even in a matter as minor as the dessert to be served at his supper table, he became cross and cold.
So, she thought dismally, tonight would not be a good time to speak to his lordship on the matter of their betrothal.
Julia slipped out of the hall and into the gaming room. The door closed behind her. The unoccupied room was dimly lit with only a few candles, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. "Griffin?"
"Julia?" he whispered, a touch of humor in his rich baritone voice. There was no sound of drunkenness in his tone now.
The sound of his voice calling her name made her light-headed, as if she'd had too much wine, though she knew she hadn't. Maybe it was her empty stomach and not Griffin that made her feel this way.
She felt awkward as his gaze met hers, but even in that awkwardness she was thankful to have someone smile at her. "Pretty fan," she teased and pointed.
He glanced at the woman's fan in his hand and set it down with a chuckle. She liked a man who didn't take himself too seriously.
"One must amuse himself somehow among such bores, mustn't he?"
She laughed with him.
"Are you having an enjoyable evening?"
She glanced away. "Y . . . no." She shook her head. "I'm not one for parties. I never know what to say. Simeon says to just stand there and look pretty . . . like one of his blessed hounds, I suppose." She glanced up at Griffin, wondering if he would take offense. She hadn't meant to make a derogatory remark about Simeon, it just came out that way.
"I understand what you mean." He plucked a triangular fruit pastry, frosted with sugar, from a tray that had been set out by one of the servants. "So . . ." he said.
She wondered if he would ask why she'd caught his eye in the other room. She didn't know what she would say. She didn't want him to think her forward, or that she was pursuing him.
"So, what progress do you make in the orangery?" He reached for another tart. "Want one? They're quite good. Not too sweet."
"Oh," she breathed with relief. "It's going wonderfully." It felt so good to be away from Simeon's party's bright lights and boring guests. "I've already cleaned out the big pond in the back, and planted lilies in it. Tomorrow I'll begin piping in water."
"Thought anymore about your upcoming wedding?"
He switched the subject so quickly that it took her a moment to gather her thoughts.
She nodded, lowering her gaze to the toes of her slippers. "I . . . I intend to speak with Simeon . . . to see if this is truly what we both want."
"I see. Here, taste." He lifted the tart to her lips and it seemed natural to take it from his hand.
As she accepted the sweet, his fingertip brushed her lower lip.
"I . . ." Julia's voice trailed off, leaving her sentence to hang in the warm, dark air. His touch made her lose her train of thought. His gesture had been utterly innocent and yet it seemed so . . . so sensual.
She couldn't keep her eyes off him as he licked the cherry sauce from his fingertips. She barely tasted the tart melting in her mouth as she watched him, mesmerized by the way his tongue touched his fingertips again and again.
Julia didn't know what ailed her. Her betrothed was entertaining in the other room, and she was here in the darkness accepting tidbits into her mouth from the hand of another man. There seemed to be a certain strange energy in the air that crackled between them.
Griffin's gaze met hers, and he seemed to feel the same energy, perhaps even the same undeniable attraction she felt.
"Julia," he whispered.
He stood so close that all she had to do was lift her hand and it found the smoothness of his silk doublet. This was mad. She felt wildly out of control, and utterly drawn to this man. "Griffin," she whispered miserably.
"Ah, Julia. I can't stop thinking about you." His blue-eyed gaze searched her face as she looked up at him. He caught a lock of red hair that had escaped her elaborate coiffure and rolled it between his fingers.
"I . . . I know. I—" She couldn't say what she was thinking. She was ashamed of herself and her newly born wantonness. She couldn't confess that last night in bed she did not fantasize of lying beside her husband, but—God save her soul—of lying beside Griffin. She knew it didn't make any sense. Simeon was her betrothed. Even if he wasn't a homosexual, Griffin was married. There could never be anything between them but a few games of backgammon and a little shared laughter, and yet as she gazed into his eyes, none of that seemed to matter.
He leaned closer, his face close to hers. "This is dangerous, Julia. We shouldn't—And yet if I don't . . . just once . . ." He brushed her chin with his fingertips.
All she could do was nod. His mouth was so close to hers. Just once, she repeated his words to herself, knowing
what he was about to do. Just once.
Julia had never been kissed by a man, but for the dry cheek-kisses of relatives. She didn't know what she expected, but this wasn't it.
As his mouth touched hers, her knees immediately weakened. His mouth was so warm, so insistent, so welcoming . . .
Julia groaned. She could see herself burning in hell for this sin. She could imagine Simeon's fury, and yet she couldn't help herself. If she didn't brush her lips against this man's . . . if her tongue didn't touch the tip of his, she would surely perish, here and now.
"Oh, God, save us both," Griffin whispered against her lips. He pulled her hard against him and delved his tongue deep into her mouth.
Julia was breathless and dizzy. He tasted so good, so manly. She could still detect the faint scent of cherry on his breath. She opened her mouth wider; waves of sensation hit her and took her unaware. Their kiss was so . . . so primal.
Giddy and confused, she pulled away and touched her tingling mouth with her fingertips. "I . . . we can't do this," she whispered.
He ran a hand over his face, looking as disturbed as she felt. "I'm sorry, Julia," he whispered. "I shouldn't have—You're right, we mustn't—" He groaned. "If Simeon knew—It's absolutely vital that I keep up this damned farce . . ."
Farce? What farce? But Julia knew this wasn't the time nor the place to ask him. Someone could walk in at any moment "It's all right," she whispered. "No one will ever know. It was my fault. I threw—"
"No." He brushed his hand against her sleeve, then pulled back as if he wanted desperately to touch her, yet couldn't allow himself. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I knew you were vulnerable and I took advantage. I—"
The door clicked and Griffin spun around. "God's bowels," Griffin uttered loudly. "I do believe the earl has outdone himself this night. Would you care to sample one of the desserts, Lady Julia?"
"There you are, Lord Archer."
Mr. Gordy entered, looking as handsome and as dangerous as ever.
In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity) Page 6