In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  Gordy's gaze moved suspiciously from Griffin to Julia and back to Griffin again. "His lordship requests your presence, my lord. It seems there is a wager to be settled."

  "Oh, well!" Griffin spun on his high-heeled shoes and whipped up his fan. As he strutted away on his tiptoes, he fluttered the fan. "Excuse me, Lady Julia, but St. Martin calls."

  "I'll see to the refreshments and then be in directly," she lied, trying to cover herself as Griffin had.

  Griffin sailed past Gordy. The two men walked into the hall and closed the door behind them, leaving her in merciful solitude.

  Julia gripped the edge of the sideboard to steady herself. She couldn't do this, she thought wildly. She couldn't marry St. Martin. God help her, but she thought she might be in love with his cousin.

  Lizzy sat on the edge of the back stair to the kitchen and laughed. "That's the silliest thing I believe I've ever heard, Amos." She reached for another piece of apple tart from the earthenware bowl he held, and popped it into her mouth.

  Lizzy liked the kitchen. She liked how warm it was and how good it smelled. And everyone was so nice here. The cooks and servants didn't scowl at her, order her around, or send her to her room. They gave her scraps of sweetmeats and shared their warm buttermilk with her. Amos was especially nice to her. She liked Amos.

  " 'Tis the God's honest truth, it is. A dancing bear. I seen it myself in Cheapside market."

  She giggled behind her fingers. "And who danced with this bear? You?"

  Amos sat down on the step beside her and she slid over to make room for him. She liked it when he sat next to her and their arms touched. Amos was warm and he smelled good, like the kitchen. He was a cook and he made the best apple tarts in all of Christendom—at least that's what he told her.

  "No, I didn't dance with the bear. It weren't that kind of dancin'. He stood up and went like this." Amos jumped up from the stairwell and did an awkward jig, his arms in the air like bear paws.

  Lizzy burst into another fit of giggles. She knew she ought to get back to the party. Her sister or mother would be looking for her. But Lizzy hated the earl's parties. She hated the earl. He smelled like garlic and he was mean to her sister. He made Julia cry at night. She didn't say that was why she was crying, but Lizzy knew.

  "I think I should like to see that bear," Lizzy told Amos. "Do you think you could take me?"

  Amos sat beside her again in his white apron that was powdered with flour. "Don't know about that one, Lizzy. The earl wouldn't like it. Servants aren't supposed to take the ladies of the house places."

  "But I'm not the lady of the house." She looked up at Amos. "I'm just the lady's sister. No rules against that, is there? Nobody told me that rule."

  Amos laughed. "Ah, Lizzy." Then he touched her cheek with his floury hand.

  Lizzy smiled. Amos's hand felt good against her face. "Please? I won't tell, I swear I won't. We could sneak out and sneak right back in. I've never seen London."

  Amos grimaced.

  She grabbed his hand. "Please, Amos?"

  "Aye, all right," he finally said. "Come one of these days, I'll take ye. But if we get caught, ye got to swear it was my idea. I made ye come."

  "Oh, goody. I can't wait to go!" She bounced up and brushed the crumbs from her gown. "Guess I got to go back to the dumb party. See you later, Amos." She kissed his cheek. She didn't know why she did it, but she could tell by the look on his face that he liked it.

  "Bye, Lizzy," he called after her.

  She skipped back down the hall, past Mr. Gordy, toward the sound of music.

  Chapter Seven

  Griffin sat at a trestle table in a private dining room above a well-known tavern in Bath, and drank deeply from his mug of ale. "How could I have been so stupid?" he lamented.

  "I do not know how you could have been so stupid, Master." Jabar stood at the upstairs window and watched the road.

  Griffin took another pull from his mug of ale. "One minute I was eating a damned tart," he said miserably, "and the next minute I was kissing her. She was kissing me back. God's teeth, what was I thinking?"

  "You were not thinking, Master."

  "She's practically Simeon's wife."

  "You are married," Jabar added.

  "I'm not supposed to be attracted to women! I'm supposed to be this damned fricatrice! She's supposed to think I'm a fricatrice!"

  "This man tried to warn you that the woman with jeweled eyes was taboo."

  "Jabar! Friend." Griffin extended his palm. "You're not helping me."

  "I am sorry, Master." He turned back to the window.

  Griffin drained his mug. "And what about Julia? What must she think of me now? I kissed her as if I meant it. Hell, I did mean it, and then I traipsed out on my tiptoes fluttering a lady's fan!"

  Griffin reached for the pitcher of ale, only to find that he'd already emptied it. He slammed it down hard on the table. "She can't marry him. He doesn't love her, though how the hell a man couldn't love that face, that voice, that smile . . ."

  "It is not your place to say who St. Martin will and will not marry. It is your place to watch him."

  "I know. I know. I was up all night wrestling with the logic of it." Griffin rose and pushed the chair so hard that it tumbled over with a crash. He righted it irritably and began to pace. "I said something that suggested I wasn't who I appeared to be. I should have kept my damned mouth shut, but for some reason I wanted her to know." He swung his fist. "Hell . . . I shouldn't have just left. I should have tried to talk to her."

  "It was important that you be here today, Master."

  "I know, but she deserved an explanation."

  "Perhaps it is better this way."

  "Better how? For whom?"

  "Better that Lady Julia not know who you are, what you are. Better that she marry the man her family has bid her to marry. Better because she would be in danger if she knew the truth."

  "And she won't be in danger if she marries that bastard? He'll have her dead of childbed in ten years!" Griffin reached the far wall, turned on his heels, and paced in the other direction. He took a deep breath. "You're right. I know you're right and yet—" He clenched his fist in frustration.

  "Master!" Jabar stepped quickly away from the window. "The coach comes."

  An immediate calm washed over Griffin. He was far more comfortable with matters of politics than matters of the heart—even dangerous politics. "All right. Go to our room and stay until my business here is complete."

  "Yes, my master. You have but to call, and I will be at your side with my broadsword drawn." Jabar nodded regally and slipped out the door, leaving Griffin to prepare for the visitor.

  Julia stood in the earl's new gallery and listened to the sound of pounding hammers, vibrating saws, and the scrape of mortar trowels. Sunlight poured through the monstrous windows that ran the length of the new gallery and overlooked the bare winter garden.

  Simeon stood at the far end of the gallery speaking to the foreman.

  She intended to waylay him, before he made his escape to his office that Gordy protected as if it were Newgate Prison.

  She leaned against a window frame and stared out at the swaying skeletal trees, feeling as bare and exposed as the limbs. October was well upon them and winter was settling in, which meant that November would be here before she knew it. She and Simeon were to be wed mid-November.

  She gripped the windowsill tightly. The more she thought about her impending marriage, the more she became convinced that she couldn't marry the Earl of St. Martin.

  Julia brushed her lips with her fingertips as she remembered Griffin's kiss. A heat rose in her cheeks. She'd not seen him today. The ever-lurking Mr. Gordy had informed her that he had ridden out early this morning and was not due back until the week's end. Julia did not ask where he'd gone because Gordy seemed suspicious of her questions, and he did not offer the information.

  Julia was so confused. What was wrong with her? Simeon was a good match, better than good. Most yo
ung women in her situation would give anything to be engaged to such a man. Who would want the Baron Archer, a married man with no income, a heavy drinker, and a gambler with a supposed attraction to men? A woman was bound straight to hell for such affinities. It was ridiculous that she should feel drawn to Griffin . . . and yet she was. Uncontrollably. What was wrong with her that she would be attracted to such a man? Was she as perverse as he?

  But something was not right with Griffin and his effeminate behavior. It was too calculated, too controlled, and, she suspected, false. The man who had kissed her was not the same man who fluttered a lady's fan and wobbled tiptoed on pink shoes.

  And what had he meant about a farce? Hadn't he almost come out and said that he was not who he appeared to be?

  Julia walked along the windows of the gallery, her stride determined. Once she convinced Simeon that they should break their betrothal agreement, she had no idea where she and her sister and mother would go. Their home and what was left of the lands in Dover had already been sold by Simeon. Julia didn't know how she would care for her family, or even where they would sleep. They had no relatives other than Simeon, but she would deal with that problem when she met it.

  Perhaps St. Martin would be kind enough to offer his home until they could find lodging elsewhere. There was certainly plenty of room in this house. It would all work out, she knew it would. As long as she and Lizzy were together, that was all that mattered.

  Julia heard Simeon's footfall behind her and turned to face him. "My lord, if I could have a moment of your time?"

  He was dressed for travel in a gray velvet doublet and black breeches, a black full-length wool cloak thrown over his shoulders. The cavalier's hat he carried in his hand was plumed with a gray ostrich feather. "I've an engagement at Whitehall, madame. Can it not wait until supper? I've only a few guests coming." He passed her.

  Julia ran to catch up. "Actually, sir . . . Simeon, it cannot wait."

  He halted to slip his hands into dove gray gloves. "All right, woman, walk with me." He gestured with his hat. "You can go with me as far as the stables."

  "Thank you, sir." She walked fast to keep up with him. She knew Simeon well enough to understand his subtle ways. The man or woman who walked behind him was always considered by his lordship to be beneath him. Simeon liked his friends, and his betrothed, beneath him.

  "My lord, I've thought long and hard on this matter, and I fear you and I are not suitably matched."

  "Matched?" They turned at the end of the gallery into a corridor.

  Julia knew this might be her only chance to escape impending disaster. She didn't have any time to waste with subtleties. She knew she couldn't marry Simeon because she had enjoyed Griffin's kiss too much, because the memory of it burned on her lips as she spoke. She yearned too greatly for another. "We are not suited for marriage."

  He glanced at her sideways. "Not suited?"

  "Our personalities, my lord. I fear that if we were to unite in marriage, it would not be a happy one. For either of us," she added quickly.

  He walked down the stairs, his boots pounding on the freshly scrubbed treads. "Happy? Gads, woman, you are an innocent. What does happiness have to do with marriage? I'm in need of a wife, and you, cousin, are in need of a roof over your head and food in your mouth."

  He was practically calling her a beggar. She wanted to slap him. "I think you could find a woman better suited to your needs. I'm not good at entertaining, and I'm not good at lying about all day drinking chocolate and ordering new gowns."

  He pushed open the door at the bottom of the steps and a cold gush of wind whipped through, chilling Julia to the bone. She'd not thought they'd be going outside and hadn't brought a cloak.

  He halted in the open doorway, but made no offer of his cloak. "Are you saying you do not wish to marry me?"

  She took a deep breath, hugging herself for warmth. "It's not that I don't appreciate your generosity or . . . or the kindness you have shown my family, but . . . yes." She met his cold gaze. "Yes, I'm saying I'd like to break the betrothal agreement."

  "No." He let go of the door and the wind caught it so fast that she had to throw her arms up to keep from being hit.

  "No?" She shoved the door open far enough to slip out. "No, my lord?" Again, she had to run to catch him. It was so cold outside that her teeth chattered.

  "No." He tossed his wool cloak over his shoulders. "I will not release you from the agreement."

  "Why not?" She followed him down the flagstone path that led from the rear of the house through a small, stark garden to the stables. "I've said I don't wish to marry you. Surely you'd not want a wife who—"

  "No." He repeated firmly. "You are mine."

  "Yours?"

  He hit his heel on the door of the stable. "Are you addlepated? Mine. Yes, mine," he blustered. "I signed the agreement. I took you and your fat mother and your idiot sister into my house, and now I will have you as my wife!"

  Tears stung the backs of her eyelids, but she refused to let them spill. She'd not give Simeon the satisfaction of seeing her as a sniveling, weak female. "You cannot make me marry you."

  He lifted the latch on the door. This time he did not raise his voice, which made him seem even more menacing. "Julia, do not cross me."

  "I will not have you," she said fiercely between her gritted teeth.

  "Oh, you will have me."

  She was met with a rush of warm air that smelled of groomed horses and sweet hay.

  "I will not marry you and you cannot force me."

  He spun on his boot heels. "That dim-witted sister of yours . . ." he whispered.

  Julia's breath caught in her throat. Suddenly she wished she'd never started this conversation, never come to London. Never been born. "You—"

  He snapped his fingers. "Gone."

  Julia covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a cry of anguish. Not her Lizzy. "You couldn't send her away without my mother's approval."

  "Wrong. I am her male protector." He stroked his chin with a gloved hand as if in serious thought. "Such vermin do not belong upon the street. She would be better off dead, don't you think?"

  His meaning sank in slowly. "Sweet Jesus, you wouldn't—"

  "Have you anything else you need to speak with me about, my dear?" He turned away from her and strode into the main hall of the stable.

  Two grooms approached them.

  "You really should go inside," Simeon told her. "You'll catch your death. I won't have a bride with a dribbling nose on my wedding night. Some believe illnesses are bred of snot, you know."

  Julia opened her mouth to retort, for surely this was not the end of the conversation.

  Simeon stopped dead. "What is that?" he exploded.

  She looked to where he pointed. It was Sally, the dog, nestled in a corner of an unoccupied stall. She lay on her side in the straw; four black, wiggling puppies crawled over her.

  "My lord?" The two stable boys came running.

  "That!" St. Martin shouted.

  One of the grooms peered over the edge of the stall's half wall. "Puppies, my lord. She just whelped them."

  "They're black."

  "A . . . aye."

  "They should be spotted like her. Like the male."

  The groom cringed. "We think she bred with that black mongrel that's been hangin' about, my lord."

  "Stupid bitch hound." Simeon grabbed up a shovel that leaned on the wall. "The bloodlines are no good! She has sullied herself and her bloodlines. She has sullied me, the St. Martin name."

  "Really, Simeon," Julia tried to interfere. "The dog doesn't know any better. She—"

  It wasn't until Julia saw Simeon raise the shovel that she realized what he intended to do with it.

  "No," she screamed as she grabbed the end of the handle.

  But Simeon was too quick, too strong. By the time her fingers clasped the wood, he had already begun the downward motion.

  She turned away just in time, pulling her hands away as if th
ey'd been singed.

  Julia heard the clunk of metal as it met the dog's skull. Sally yipped and then was silent.

  Tears ran down Julia's cheeks, tears of rage, of frustration . . . of sudden, cold fear.

  "Drown the pups," she heard Simeon say.

  "But my lord," one of the grooms dared.

  "Now!"

  As Simeon passed Julia, he threw down the shovel. A spot of wet, crimson blood stained the back of the blade. "Let this be a warning, madame." He gestured toward the slain dog. "That which is mine does not betray me without suffering the consequences."

  He strode away. "My horse! Where the blast is the horse I called for?"

  Julia waited until Simeon was a safe distance from her, and then fled in the opposite direction.

  "I can't believe she just ran away," Lizzy chattered as she prepared tea for herself and Julia. Their mother had gone visiting, her absence a relief. "Amos says she just up and took off. Maybe went to live with her man dog." She poured thick cream into her cup, then added the tea. "You think that's what happened?" Lizzy giggled. "Amos says maybe they ran away to the American Colonies, 'cause the babes were out of wedlock. Amos says he's going to get me a new pup soon as he saves enough money. Someday he's going to be the head cook, and then he's going to have lots of money to buy puppies."

  Julia let Lizzy chatter because it was easier than having to carry on a conversation. She was so thankful for Amos's help. After Simeon had killed the dog, Julia had gone straight to the cook. He hadn't seemed surprised by his master's cruelty, which Julia found even more disturbing. She had obviously misjudged Simeon and would now pay a price for her own naiveté.

  Amos had suggested that he tell Lizzy about the dog rather than Julia, because Lizzy would be less suspicious if he told her. Amos had promised to tell some tale that would satisfy Lizzy. To Julia's relief he had handled the matter better than she could have. Lizzy was disappointed that the dog was gone, but she would have been devastated had she learned the truth.

  "Mother said to remind you that the dressmaker will be here at three. She has your gown ready for the first fitting." Lizzy plopped down in a chair and took two tiny iced cakes from a plate in the center of the table. "Isn't it exciting? Your wedding. Mother says I'm to have a new gown as well. The sister of the bride certainly can't come to the church in rags, can she?" she mimicked her mother.