"Of course not." Julia numbly stared at her teacup.
The wedding. It was all she had thought about since the incident in the barn nearly a week ago. She wasn't stupid. She knew a threat when she heard one. Simeon's meaning was clear. If Julia put up any argument over the wedding, Lizzy would disappear, perhaps to the bottom of the Thames. If Julia further angered him, she, too, would end up as dead as the hound.
For a week Julia had wandered around Bassett Hall in a daze. She appeared at Simeon's side when commanded, but did little else other than sit in her room and stare out at the dreary days that passed one into the other.
Griffin had been gone a week and she missed him. Missed him desperately. That seemed ridiculous to her. She hardly knew him. Yet he was always on her mind.
It wasn't that Julia had any intention of telling Griffin about Simeon's threat. She had told no one. She was too ashamed, too frightened. Who could she tell if she wanted to? Certainly not her mother. Susanne would never believe her. Obviously she couldn't tell Lizzy. No, she didn't want to confide in Griffin. She just wanted to see him. Be near him.
Secretly, she knew she yearned for another kiss, but each time that thought popped into her head she pushed it away and said a prayer for her immortal soul, which surely was in danger.
"I wanted a green gown, but Mother says it must be pink. Hers will be pink. St. Martin likes pink, you know," Lizzy continued through a mouthful of cake.
Julia raised her cup to her lips. The tea was tasteless.
Doomed. She was doomed to marry a man she couldn't help but hate. Doomed to a life of imprisonment . . . fear. If Simeon had only threatened her, she would have walked away right there and then. She would have taken Lizzy and led her out the front door of Bassett Hall never to look back again. But she couldn't endanger sweet, innocent Lizzy.
Julia closed her eyes and remembered Lizzy's cries of frustration when, at three years old shortly after a terrible fever and illness, she had tried to feed herself with a spoon and had been unable to accomplish the task. Lizzy had thrown her little silver spoon down and climbed out of her chair. The illness had done something to her mind. To her body. Suddenly she seemed like a baby again.
Susanne had screamed at Lizzy. She had called her stupid. Lack-witted. "Idiot," Susanne called after the beautiful toddler with her springy blond curls. "I should send for someone from the asylum now and be done with it!"
"No, no," the eight-year-old Julia had cried. "She's not stupid. She can learn." On her knees, Julia pulled Lizzy out from behind a chair where she lay sobbing, her dress thrown over her head.
"Fine!" Susanne had shouted. "You care for the little halfwit. You give up your life for her!"
With that, Susanne had flounced off and Lizzy had fallen into Julia's care. From that day on, only Julia and Drusilla fed Lizzy, clothed her, bathed her. When Lizzy grew up and became such a pretty young lady, Susanne would parade her before neighbors and say she had one pretty daughter and one capable daughter. But Susanne had never again taken responsibility for Lizzy. Lizzy was Julia's responsibility. Julia's. Forever.
Julia glanced up at Lizzy over the teacup she held in her hand. What choice did she have now, but to marry St. Martin?
Lizzy wiped her mouth with her napkin and bounced out of her chair. "Amos is making biscuits, and he said I could make some, too. Want to come?"
Julia shook her head. "No. I think I'll go to the orangery." She forced herself to smile. "See how my water lilies are taking to their new home."
"I'll walk you down." Lizzy grabbed Julia's hand and pulled her out of her chair. "Come along, or I'll be too late for the biscuits."
Lizzy left Julia at the door to the orangery and Julia went inside. With the glass panes repaired on the roof, the room was pleasantly warm, despite the chilling wind that blew outside.
Just stepping into the room that smelled of sweet vegetation and trickling water brightened her spirits a little. At least she would have this orangery. And she'd have Lizzy.
Julia strolled down the path, stepping over dead clippings she'd never had a chance to clean up. It felt good to be alone. Here she felt protected by the trees and bushes, by the distance between her and St. Martin.
"Ah, there you are. I hoped you'd come."
Julia glanced up to see Griffin sitting at the edge of her pond. He was dressed subtly, at least for him, in a red coat and a small black wig.
Julia stood frozen. Then, before she knew what she was doing, she ran into Griffin's arms.
Chapter Eight
Julia felt Griffin wrap his surprisingly muscular arms securely around her waist. Instinctively, she curled her own arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. He was so warm and solid.
"Julia, Julia," he whispered. He smoothed stray wisps of her hair with a gentle hand, and brushed his lips against her cheek. "What is it, dear heart? What's wrong?"
Julia clung tightly to him, knowing it was madness to throw herself at this man, yet not knowing how to stop. "Everything. Everything."
"Shhhh."
He brushed hair from her face that had fallen from her chignon and stared into her eyes with such tenderness that her tears threatened to spill. He was so gentle and yet so indefinably masculine at the same time. No one had ever held her like this before.
"Tell me what I can do," he soothed. "Tell me how I can help."
She squeezed her eyes shut, still holding on to him, making his strength her own. "Nothing. Nothing. Just this. Just hold me another minute. Tell me that everything will be all right."
"Ah, Julia." Griffin pulled her hard against him and held her tightly. "It's going to be all right."
"It's not." She sniffed and lifted her head from his shoulder, feeling much better. "But thank you for saying so." Then she smiled up at him. It was odd how such a bad situation as being forced to marry a man like St. Martin could bring this moment of comfort.
"Tell me." He allowed her to pull back a little, but still held her in his arms.
She made no attempt to escape because she didn't want to. She wanted to feel this secure forever.
Julia hung her head. "I have to marry him. I don't want to, but I have to."
"You don't."
"Yes. I do." She glanced up. "If I don't, my sister and my mother will have no place to go. We have almost no money left. It's the only answer." She exhaled, feeling calmer, her tears dry. "I know you don't understand, but it's a matter of responsibility."
"Ah . . . responsibility." He kissed the corner of her mouth as if it was the most natural thing and released her. "Responsibility is the one thing I understand," he said cryptically.
She watched him walk to the pond to study the new lilies that floated on the water's surface. "Who are you?" she asked.
"Griffin Archer, the Baron Archer, of course," he spoke with a dramatic drawl. "Husband of Lena Thomas. Gambler, drunk, courtier, playwright." He arched one eyebrow. "Fop."
She walked to stand beside him. "The truth."
He glanced sideways at her. "I really am Griffin, cousin to St. Martin."
"I don't mean your name." Julia didn't know what made her think she could speak so frankly with him; she just knew. "I mean you. This man standing beside me is not the man others know. He is not a man attracted to men and young boys," she said firmly. "I know it's not my imagination. The other night you spoke of a farce—"
"Julia, please." He turned to her. "Don't. I shouldn't have said that. I don't know what got into me. In all these years, you're the first one I've ever thought to confide in. But I can't." He took a deep breath. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I should never have allowed myself to . . . to get into this position with you. Talking this way to you." He paused. "Wanting you."
He held her gaze for a moment and wordlessly made her understand that whatever his secret was, he could not share it with her.
She glanced away, toward the floating lilies. "You said you understood responsibility," she said, turning back to him. "What did you mea
n?"
"My entire adult life I've been driven by responsibility."
"And that has to do with this?" She tugged at the voluminous laces of his coat cuff. "And this." She touched the black beauty patch on his chin that was cut in the shape of a quarter moon.
"Aye." He smiled the most handsome smile. "And why we must not do this." Then he kissed her again.
Julia gave herself completely to his kiss, understanding in an instant the tragedy of their meeting. Another time, another place, and perhaps they could have had a chance to explore this mad, unexplainable attraction to each other. But he was wed and had his secret . . . and she would soon be the bride of one of the most important men in all England.
He touched his warm, wet tongue to her lower lip and whispered, "You realize . . ." He closed his eyes. "I have to realize this cannot be. You and I—"
"I understand." She knew she would probably burn in hell for giving herself so freely to a married man, but at this moment, she didn't care. She would gladly burn for all eternity for the memory of another kiss.
Julia leaned closer to Griffin and caught his tongue between her lips. She was completely inexperienced in kissing and yet her body seemed to know what to do, how to please, how to find pleasure.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth and she savored the feel of it, the texture, the taste. Her legs were weak, her hands trembled, and yet she found a strength within herself, born of their intimate contact. A few moments ago Julia had not known how she could go on and face her marriage to Simeon. Somehow, Griffin was giving her that courage.
"Thank you," she whispered breathlessly as they parted. They were relatively secluded in the orangery. No one ever came here, and no one could hear them from the main house. Still, she felt the need to speak softly, perhaps because she had no desire to share this moment with anyone but Griffin.
"For what?" Slowly he traced her jaw with his finger.
His gentle touch made it difficult for her to answer clearly. "For making me feel as if someone cares what happens to me. Even a stranger such as yourself."
"Am I?"
"What?"
"A stranger?"
She thought for a moment, and then smiled and knew she blushed. "No. I suppose not now."
"Not a stranger, Julia." He took her hand and squeezed it. "A friend. A friend who will be here for you even though he can't be here the way he would like to. The way he fantasizes."
If anyone else had said such an outrageous thing Julia would have been embarrassed, even mortified. But it seemed so right coming from Griffin's mouth. This all seemed so right, and she and St. Martin so wrong . . .
"You know that if there was any way on this sweet earth that I could take you away from this hell—marry you—I would. Here. Now. In this garden."
Her heart soared. Of course he couldn't marry her, not with a wife, not with his secret, not with her being St. Martin's possession, but the thought that he would have liked to was enough. "Let's not speak of what cannot be."
He nodded, and for a moment held her in his gaze. "I have to go," he said, almost as if in pain.
She tightened her grip on his hand when he tried to pull away. "I wish you wouldn't."
"We can't be seen alone together. Your reputation must remain impeccable. My dear cousin would have it no other way. If he thought there was even a hint of impropriety between you and I, he—"
She squeezed his hand and released it. "Say no more. This week I caught a true glimpse of the man. I underestimated him once; I'll not do that again."
"Julia." He groaned. "I wish that I could—"
She reached out and touched his lips with her finger to silence him. "I wish that you could, too, but we can't alter our paths. To have your friendship is far more than I've ever had before. More than I ever expected." She lifted his hand to her lips, kissed his knuckles that smelled faintly of a floral fragrance, and then released it. "Go, before someone finds you here."
He made a kissing motion with his lips and then strode off. Slowly the sound of his footfall died away.
Julia wrapped her arms tightly around her waist and watched him disappear, her heart full of dread . . . full of joy.
"Oh, hells' bells," she muttered to herself as a thought struck her. "The dressmaker." She lifted her petticoats high and raced up the flagstone walk. "I've got to be fitted for the blessed wedding gown!"
Lizzy giggled softly, her back pressed to the corner of the kitchen. All was quiet in the room save for the crackle of the fire and hiss of steam rising from a pot of boiling potato water. "Amos," she whispered as she raised her hands to rest them on his broad shoulders.
"Lizzy, Lizzy. I can't."
"You don't like me anymore?" She thrust out her lower lip, but did not remove her hands from his shoulders.
"Oh, no. It's not that," Amos whispered as if he had a bad pain in his belly. "It's just that I swore to your sister that I would look out for you."
"And kissin' isn't looking out for me?"
He groaned. "Lizzy. I don't know how to make you understand."
She looked into his eyes. They were so pretty and dark, as brown as chocolate in a cup. "Julia thinks I'm lack-witted. That I don't know stuff. And it's true. I don't speak French very well and my letters are awful bad, but I know I like you, Amos. I like you more than I ever liked anyone." She took his hand and laid it over her left breast. "When I see you, when you talk to me, my heart feels like this."
His warm hand made her boobies tingle. It felt so strange, but not a bad strange. A good strange.
"Ah, Lizzy." That was all he could say. He still sounded like he was hurting.
"I want you to kiss me, Amos," she whispered.
He touched her cheek with his mouth.
It felt good, but that wasn't what she meant. "No," she whispered and touched her lips with her fingers. "Here."
Amos let out a groan that made her wonder if she'd stepped on his toe or something, but then he brought his face close to her and touched his lips against her lips.
Lizzy wrapped her arms tightly around Amos's neck. He felt so good against her, all hard and strong. His mouth tasted good, like the sweet tea and cookies they'd just shared.
Amos pulled his lips away from hers, but she wasn't done with kissing. She slipped her hand around his neck and pulled him closer again. This time she kissed him hard.
"Lizzy, we can't—" he whispered.
Then she felt his wet tongue against her lips. For a minute she didn't know what to do, but then it seemed like her mouth knew what to do. His kiss felt so good that she just opened her mouth and let his tongue in.
Lizzy was glad she slipped away from Drusilla to be with Amos. Others might think she was a bad girl for this, but she didn't care. She knew she wasn't. How could it be bad to fall in love?
Amos stopped kissing her. "Ye must go before you're missed."
She clasped his hand. "No."
"Lizzy!" His tone was sharp, but she knew he wasn't angry with her, just afraid.
"Just one more kiss?" She lifted up on her toes and pursed her lips. "Please?"
His gaze met hers in the darkness. "One more," he finally conceded.
"Just one more," Lizzy whispered. But as their lips met, she hoped it wouldn't be just one more. Not tonight. Not even next week. She hoped there would be a lifetime of Amos's kisses.
Lifting a candlestick high, Gordy crept up the staircase and down the hallway to Lady Julia's apartment and tapped lightly on one of the two paneled doors. He knew one led to the lady's personal chambers, the other, her servant's.
"Eh?" came a crotchety voice.
He waited a moment, but no one opened the door. He glanced down the dark staircase and banged again.
Inside Gordy heard the scrape of a chair, then the slow shuffle of feet. "What is it?" The door opened and the nursemaid appeared in a sleeping gown and ruffled bedcap. She was an ugly woman with a hollow face and a black wart at the corner of her mouth. Liver spots colored her yellow skin. "What is
it?"
Gordy did not make eye contact with the servant, for surely she was well beneath him. "Your charge, madame," he said stiffly. "You should see to her."
Drusilla squinted in the candlelight. "Sir?"
"Your charge," Gordy repeated, tight-lipped. "The kitchen."
The old woman's gaze met his and she nodded.
Gordy turned away and hurried back down the staircase before anyone could catch him.
Simeon had outdone himself tonight in celebration of his and Julia's impending marriage. Every crystal glass in the house sparkled. Every bottle of wine was the finest to be had from France and Italy. His buffet table groaned under the weight of exquisite delicacies shipped from hundreds, even thousands of miles away. The most talented musicians in London played from a loft at the far end of the great hall.
The guest list was equally impressive. St. Martin's guests were some of the most important men in England. Even His Grace, the Duke of Buckingham, had made an appearance. Julia had curtsied to the ground when she had met him, and allowed him to take her hand and raise her to her feet. She had smiled prettily, but she had not liked him, nor the way he looked at her.
After nearly two hours of curtseying, smiling, and pretending to be pleased with her forthcoming marriage, Julia finally escaped the confines of St. Martin's company and slipped away to a table of refreshments. As she sipped a punch made with wine and fresh citrus fruits, she peered over the gilded rim of the glass in search of Griffin. Twice they had crossed paths during the evening, but both times they had been unable to do anything but make eye contact.
Julia knew it was ridiculous to dwell on thoughts of Griffin. No good could come of it, but a heart broken, rather than just bruised as it was now. But she couldn't help herself. The only pleasure she'd experienced in the last few days was when she and Griffin bumped into each other in the library or hall, and were able to converse for a few moments without attracting any suspicion from the staff or Simeon. Twice in the week since they had kissed in the garden, Griffin had played backgammon with her after supper, with Simeon seated in the same room. Both times, it had taken all of her concentration not to stare at Griffin, and she had lost easily to him, much to his delight.
In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity) Page 8