She forced a smile as she lifted the hood of her cloak. "How exciting."
"Have a lovely day, dear."
Simeon brushed his lips near her cheek, and Julia made her escape into the chilly morning.
Julia moved mechanically from one ladies' shop to the next. She didn't bother to look at the clothing she purchased, but simply read from the list, waited while the items were wrapped, and then led the footman to the next shop. When his arms became overburdened, she sent him to the coach to unload, then filled his arms again.
Considering the amount of clothing Simeon was having her purchase, she wondered if he ever intended to release her from Bassett Hall to shop again. The thought was amusing, until it occurred to her that imprisoning her was not beyond Simeon's power. Once they were wed, he could legally do what he wished with her.
With that sobering thought, she moved on to the next shop, where she bought French perfume and sachets.
Home in Dover, there had been long afternoons when Julia had sat in a sunny window and dreamed what it would be like to shop for her wedding trousseau. She had fantasized about what it would be like to choose the sleeping gown she would wear to her bridal bed. Now the purchases meant nothing more to her than buying fish or eggs for supper at a market.
After Julia had checked the last item off Simeon's methodical list, she allowed the driver to take her to the Three Silver Bells Tavern. She wasn't really hungry, but she was enjoying her freedom and wasn't anxious to return to Bassett Hall and the smell of its lye soap rooms. Since her arrival in London she'd only been outside the estate's gates a few times. Though she found the city streets to be filthy and noisy, it was still a welcome change from the unnatural silence and cleanliness of her new home.
Julia lowered the hood of her cloak and gave her name to the proprietor, who met her at the tavern door. The pock-faced man bowed twice in rapid succession, chattered that he had been expecting her, and led her through the smoky public taproom toward a staircase that led to private dining rooms above.
Griffin tossed the ivory dice on the trestle table stained with ale, greasy food, and time. He gave a hoot of pleasure as his companion groaned. "Just empty your purse into mine now, Jack, and be done with it," Griffin said.
His companion flipped two coins onto the table and lifted a dusty bottle of sack to his lips. "Cheat. I should challenge you to a duel to defend my good name."
Griffin threw back his head and laughed. "Me, a cheat?" He spoke loudly so that anyone nearby could follow the conversation. To a passerby, they were simply two gentlemen sharing a bottle or two over a friendly game. "By the king's cod, 'twas your die. You initiated the game when I was but an innocent come to quench my thirst in this fine establishment."
A tavern wench sauntered up to their table and tucked a greasy lock of hair behind her ear. "Another, my lords?"
"Nay." Jack tossed a few coins onto the table to pay for the sack, and rose. "I've need of a visit to the backyard, and then home I go before my Katy appears at yonder door and hauls me out by my ear."
Griffin bumped into the table as he rose from the bench and both sack bottles tumbled over.
The maid giggled and retrieved them.
Griffin steadied himself with his hand, adjusted the sword he wore on his hip, and straightened to his full height as if regaining his dignity. "Aye. I believe I've a need to totter in the same direction."
"Come again, my lord," the barmaid called after them as she dropped the coins into her bodice. "Ask fer Rosy."
Griffin dropped his cavalier's hat onto his head and bowed to Rosy. "Farewell, my love, my Rosy."
She giggled as she finished off the last drop from one of the bottles.
Jack elbowed him in the side. "Come on with ye."
The two men walked through the public room, down a back corridor that led outside to the necessary. Halfway down the hall Griffin halted. "Well," he demanded softly. "What have you for me?"
Jack tried to walk away, but Griffin grabbed his velvet sleeve. "You've stalled long enough," he said more forcefully. "I must have information."
Jack leaned against the wall, only half-sober. "Ah, Christ's bones. I didn't get it—but I will."
Griffin tightened his grip on the man's coat and pushed him back to the wall hard enough to make him strike his head and perhaps knock some sense into him. "You shouldn't be drinking like this. It's not safe," he said, tight-lipped. "You know better."
Griffin spotted the glimmer of the knife as the man drew it from his coat sleeve. With one quick motion, Griffin knocked Jack's arm hard enough against the wall to crack bone. The man grunted in pain. The knife fell and Griffin caught it in midair.
"You are a fool, Jack," Griffin whispered harshly, as he pressed the point of the knife to Jack's throat. "I'm not the enemy and you know it. Now get hold of yourself before we're seen."
Griffin turned at a sound behind him. A woman and the innkeeper appeared at the end of the hall to mount the stairs.
Griffin caught a flash of her face beneath the hood of her cloak and was taken off guard for a moment. He froze. He knew the eyes. She recognized him at the same instant. Her gaze shifted from his face to the knife Griffin held at Jack's throat.
"This way, my lady," the innkeeper muttered as he pretended not to see what he could not have missed.
Julia hesitated on the bottom tread.
Don't stop, Griffin thought. Please, Julia, keep walking. He was afraid for her. For Jack. For them all.
Her gaze met his. She was frightened, too . . .
Please, he begged silently, still holding the blade to Jack's throat. For a moment Griffin held his breath. His heart pounded in his ears.
Another long second dragged by. Then, just when he thought there was no hope, she turned away.
Griffin let out an audible grunt of relief. He turned back to Jack as Julia's footsteps echoed on the staircase. He would set Jack straight and then he would go to her. The question was, what would he say?
Chapter Ten
Griffin? Julia caught herself before she breathed his name aloud.
"This way, m'lady," the innkeeper ushered her on as if he had not noticed a man being held at knife point in the back hallway of his establishment. "I've a fine bit of roast duck with leeks coming up directly."
Julia's gaze met Griffin's, and a shiver of fear trickled down her spine. Who was this man she had lost her affection to? What was he?
The moment they made eye contact, she knew what he was asking of her. Keep walking.
Julia slid her gaze from the shadowy passageway toward the staircase. It was one of the most difficult things she'd ever done. "I'm sure the duck will be fine, sir." She raised her petticoats and climbed the steps.
At the top of the landing, the innkeeper showed her to a private dining room that was dominated by a large table surrounded by eight mismatched, but sturdy bowed chairs. There were two windows, the painted inside shutters half-closed. A discreetly placed narrow, paneled door no doubt led to a private necessary. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace at the far end of the room, making it warm and cozy .
"Your cloak, m'lady. I hope the room suits. His Grace the Duke of Buckingham rents it often."
Julia allowed the innkeeper to remove it from her shoulders. "It's fine, sir."
"White rhenish on the table." He hung her cloak on a peg near the door. "And your meal should be up directly."
"Thank you." She handed him a coin from the small purse she wore tied at her waist, hoping he didn't see her hand tremble.
He bowed and hurried out the door, closing it firmly behind him.
Once the innkeeper was gone, Julia stood in indecision for a moment. Should she go downstairs? What if Griffin was in danger? Yet from the way he had been holding the other man at knife point, she doubted it. He seemed in complete control—control that came from experience.
Julia walked to the fireplace at the end of the room and thrust out her shaky hands to warm them. No, it didn't make sense to go
downstairs. She would wait for him here, for surely he would come.
Julia didn't have to wait long. She heard no footsteps, no turn of the doorknob, no squeak of hinges. Suddenly she just sensed that he was there, behind her.
She turned. "Are you all right?"
He stood with his legs slightly parted, his hands folded in front of him. He was dressed in bright gold and lavender, but there was a sword on his hip, and a look on his face that confirmed her belief that he was not the man his frivolous garb indicated. Griffin's lips were drawn back tightly in a grimace, his blue-eyed gaze intense.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said simply.
She folded her arms over her chest. "And what was that I saw?"
He pulled his black woolen cloak off his shoulders and tossed it to the wall, where it caught on a peg beside her cloak. Next he stripped off his brocade and lace doublet, down to his breeches, white linen shirt, and cravat. Apparently he intended to stay.
He took a step toward her. "I can't tell you, Julia."
She took a step back, her gaze fixed on his face. Should she be afraid of him? No, she didn't think so. For, although she had seen with her own eyes that it was Griffin who held the knife, she intuitively knew that it was not he who was in the wrong in that hallway.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." She turned away.
"No."
She felt the warmth of his fingers as he caught her wrist.
"I would tell you if I could." He tugged on her arm and forced her to face him. "I want to," he added softly. "I've already told you, allowed you to see more than I should have. I just can't tell you more."
A knock sounded at the door, and she looked toward it anxiously. "My meal. I don't know that you should be seen here. Simeon—"
"It's all right." Still keeping possession of her arm, he called to the door, "Come in, Jabar."
The door opened, and the dark-skinned, turbaned servant entered bearing a large tray covered with a table linen. The succulent smell of roasted duck and freshly baked bread wafted through the air.
"I sent word to our fine proprietor, saying I would dine with my cousin," Griffin explained. "Should word get back to Bassett Hall, which surely it will, no one will think it odd." He led her to the table. "I ran into you here at Three Bells and knew it my duty to dine with you and perhaps escort you home safely."
Julia took the chair he pulled out for her.
As Jabar set the dishes out, Julia noticed him cut his eyes toward Griffin. He was obviously displeased with Griffin for being here with her.
Griffin shot his manservant a severe look and hooked his thumb toward the door. "Keep watch," was all he said.
Jabar nodded his turbaned head and backed out the door without a word.
Standing behind her, Griffin reached for the flagon that had come on the tray. "Ale or rhenish?"
She could smell his shaving soap, the masculine scent of his skin, and she wanted to touch that skin. "Just water." She needed to keep her head about her. She needed no spirits to confuse her any more than she already was by her own thoughts and desires.
"Water it is." He poured her a full cup and then took the seat at the end of the table, so that he was beside her. He placed a healthy portion of duck and leeks on her plate and added a slice of thick bread. "Eat. You look thinner every day. You're wasting away. Eat." He waved one hand and then reached for the flagon of ale to pour himself a draught.
Julia wasn't hungry. Her stomach was flip-flopping. It felt so strange to be alone with Griffin, away from Bassett Hall. Almost frightening. There, within the walls of Simeon's domain, she could retain a thread of common sense. There, she trusted herself not to do anything to jeopardize herself or her sister. But here, they seemed so far from that world. And here, Griffin was so close, so handsome in his rumpled linen shirt and dusty boots. Here, she was so afraid of the wedding that loomed before her. Here, she wanted so desperately to be comforted in Griffin's arms.
"So the keeper let you out. What brings you to the Three Bells?"
She nibbled on the crust of the warm bread. "Shopping. My trousseau."
"Ah ha." He nodded, trying to sound casual, only she could see right through it. "The wedding next week."
The bread was tasteless in her mouth. "Yes."
He lifted his mug to his lips and drank deeply.
He said nothing about the wedding, because she knew nothing could be said.
Julia gave up on the bread and dropped it to her plate. "Could I ask you something? Not about downstairs, something else. Something personal."
He smirked over the rim of his cup. "I'll answer if I can."
She picked up the pointed dining knife and poked at the dark flesh of the duck she had no intention of eating. "The other night . . . you said you loved me."
He was silent, and that was one of the things she loved about him. He was always willing to give her a chance to speak.
"First, I want to tell you what I didn't get a chance to say then. And that's . . . I think I love you, too, though how or why, I don't know, don't understand."
"Julia—"
"My question," she continued before she lost her nerve, "is, how can it be that you love me? You have a wife. Don't you love her?"
He set down his mug. "Yes, Julia, I do love Lena."
Julia felt a jealous tug in her heart. She didn't want to feel it. She knew she had no right. Lena was his wife. He should love Lena.
Griffin stilled her hand that jabbed at the meat on her plate. "But I love her differently than I love you."
She lifted her lashes. "How so?"
Griffin released her hand and exhaled through pursed lips. He lowered his gaze to his hands on the table before him and examined his manicured nails. "Women always want words for feelings, and that's so damned hard for men." He paused again.
She set down the knife and waited.
"I love Lena for what she's done for me. I probably shouldn't even tell you this much, but . . ." He took a deep breath. "Years ago, when I was abroad, she sent word that my lands were to be confiscated because of my alleged loyalty to the King."
"Alleged?" Julia raised one eyebrow.
He grinned and went on. "The house and lands had been in my family for six hundred years; I didn't want to be the one to lose it. She proposed that we wed. As my wife, she could petition Cromwell, a distant cousin of hers, to ask that the lands not be revoked."
"It worked?"
He nodded. "We were married in France thirteen years ago."
Julia knew she shouldn't ask any more, but she couldn't help herself. "Children?"
He looked amused. "I hardly think so. Lena was well beyond child-bearing years before we were wed."
Julia's eyes widened in surprise. "She's old?" She didn't know why that delighted her, but it did.
"Elderly." He chuckled and pointed a finger. "But don't tell her that. She hasn't realized it yet."
"But why would she do this for you? She put herself and her own lands and title at risk. Who was she to you?"
"My father's aunt. Held me on her lap. Changed my napkin when I was a babe." He smiled fondly. "She bought me my first man's suit and sword, and probably would have bought me my first whore if my father would have allowed it."
Julia smiled because he was smiling. "She must be very special."
"She is." He tugged at the queue of his tightly curled periwig. "I'd like for her to meet you. She's been invited to the wed—" He halted in mid-sentence, but his gaze didn't stray from hers. "Ah, Christ's bones," he sighed and took her hand. "What are we going to do, Julia? How can I allow you to marry him?"
She bit down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. "Do? We're not going to do anything. You're not going to allow or disallow anything, because it's not your place."
He slid his chair back and reached out for her. She came into his arms and settled on his lap.
"We're going to do as we must. We're going to follow the paths that were already laid out for us before we
met." She traced the line of his jaw, feeling the midday stubble of beard that could not yet be seen. "I'm going to wed Simeon because I must. And you . . . you are going to do what you must—whatever that is."
Griffin wrapped his arms around her waist and lowered his head to her breast. She stroked the back of his neck, wishing she could remove his wig and feel his hair between her fingers. She didn't even know what color it was.
"Why?" he whispered painfully. "Why must it be like this?"
She lifted his chin and planted a soft kiss on his lips. She had thought that the kisses they had shared in the darkness would be their last. So now these would be their last. She kissed him again. "Responsibility."
"I know I can't marry you now, but . . . but—" he went on faster than before. "Lena won't live forever. I could take you somewhere. France. Italy. You could—"
She pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. "No. I must marry Simeon." She didn't tell him about Simeon's threat, for fear it would put Griffin in danger also. This was her problem and she knew how to solve it. Only by marrying Simeon would those she loved be safe.
"Why must you marry him?"
"Why must you wear star and moon face patches and walk on your toes?" she challenged.
He grimaced. "I deserved that."
"You did. But you deserve this, too." And then she lowered her mouth to his, closed her eyes, and brushed her lips against his.
Griffin tightened his grip around her waist and thrust his tongue into her mouth.
She moaned as he slipped his hand into her bodice and cupped her bare breast with his hand. It was the most wonderful, wicked feeling.
Julia's heart pounded and her pulse raced as he stroked her nipple with the slightly rough pad of his thumb. She was hot and cold at the same time.
Griffin slid her gown down over her shoulder. The cold air made her skin prickle in gooseflesh, which only heightened the sensation of his warm hand.
She yanked at the drawstring of her corset cover and pushed the linen fabric aside. Griffin caught her breast with his hand and lowered his head.
Julia held tightly to his shoulders and moaned as he took her nipple into his mouth. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right.
In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity) Page 10