Fugitive Countess

by Anne Herries

  ‘I did not mean to cause you so much trouble. If I had stayed inside Lady Claire’s home in the first place I should not have been captured. It was foolish to walk alone, but I thought I must be safe at the house.’

  ‘And so you should have been. That was my fault. I should have guarded you better. It was perhaps a little foolish of you to go out alone in the circumstances, but I am not angry.’

  Marietta swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood up. She gazed into his face uncertainly. ‘Are you not? I did not expect that you would come for me…’

  ‘You should have known I would. His Majesty ordered me to bring you to court. I was merely following orders.’

  ‘Oh…I see…’ Her voice trailed away. ‘I thought when you came…but that was foolish. You came for the ring, of course.’

  ‘Do not look like that!’ Anton said hoarsely. His need at that moment was so great that he hardly knew what he did as he reached out to take her in his arms. ‘I would have searched for you if it took me the rest of my life…’ He groaned as he held her pressed to his chest, burying his face in her hair. Why did she always smell so sweet? ‘I swore that I would never let another woman near, but you have bewitched me…’

  ‘No!’ Marietta pushed away from him. ‘Do not say such things. I have used no spells to bind you to me, Anton.’

  ‘I did not mean with witchcraft.’ Anton bent his head and kissed her. At first his lips gently brushed hers, and then the kiss intensified, becoming demanding, drawing a response from her. Her body arched into his, her arms about his neck, her fingers moving at the nape. ‘Only the magic that binds a man’s senses and makes him want a woman so much that it is agony to deny that need.’

  ‘Anton…’ Marietta breathed. Her eyes opened wider as she sensed his desire. Her body throbbed with need, but she was afraid to believe. ‘Do you truly want me? You want to lie with me?’

  ‘Yes, more than you will ever know.’ He drew away from her, his mouth loose and soft with aching desire. ‘You are tearing me apart, Marietta. I must take you to the King, but I will do everything in my power to persuade him that you are innocent of all the crimes laid at your door. I would not have you die. You must know I would give my own life to save yours.’

  ‘No, I should not want that…’

  ‘I will do everything I can. I give you my word.’

  ‘You can do no more…’ Marietta touched his face with her fingertips. Her body seemed to dissolve with wanting and need, moisture trickling between her thighs. Her lips parted on a soft sigh. ‘Do not torture yourself for my sake. If you are with me I shall not flinch. I am innocent. Please believe me. I would never have harmed my husband, though I did not love him.’

  ‘Did you have a lover?’

  ‘No…’ Marietta faltered. Her eyes met his steadfastly. ‘There was once someone I loved, but he did not notice me.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘There is only you. You saved my life. I am grateful.’

  ‘I do not want gratitude…’ Anton moved away from her, turning his back. Her words had broken the spell that bound him. ‘I have things to do. If you need my cure for seasickness come to me…’

  ‘Anton…’

  Marietta watched as he left the cabin. Why had she not told him that he was the only man she had ever loved? He had kissed her, told her he desired her—what more could she ask?

  She shook her head, for the answer was foolish. Anton desired her. He might make her his mistress if the King did not have her condemned as a murderess, but love was merely a dream.

  Chapter Six

  Marietta slept for some hours before going on deck. It was close to nightfall when the shores of England came into view, and a cool wind had blown up. She thought there might soon be a storm and was glad that it had not struck while they were still in mid-sea.

  Anton’s remedy for seasickness had not been needed this time. He had not returned to the cabin, and she would not allow herself to go in search of him. However, he came up to her now, as the ship anchored a short distance from the English beach.

  ‘You look much better, Comtesse Montcrief.’

  ‘Please…my name is Marietta. You called me by my name last night. I would rather you used it always, at least when we are alone.’

  ‘As you wish. We shall go ashore as soon as the boats are launched. This evening we shall stay at the nearest inn. I know of a decent one where we may safely lodge for the night. In the morning we shall leave for London. We shall be two days on the road and will spend at least one other night at an inn, perhaps more.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me, my lord.’

  ‘If I am to call you Marietta, you must use my name in return.’ He smiled at her ruefully. ‘Do not fear me, lady. I mean you no harm, believe me.’

  ‘I have always felt safe with you—even though I did not tell you my name at the start. I was afraid you might think me guilty of murder. I think at first you did?’

  ‘I was not sure,’ Anton admitted. His gaze was intense, seeming to search her very soul, ‘When I found you on the road I took your part, as I would that of any lady who was being attacked. I have tried to keep an open mind, but now I believe it was the Bastard who murdered your husband. He took the ring the Comte always wore, and must have done so as he lay dying. If it was not there when you were called to your husband’s bedside only he could have taken it—and so the finger of suspicion points at him.’

  ‘I am certain that you are right. My husband feared that his bastard might try to kill him and steal all that should belong to my son. For that reason he took precautions meant to protect us. The Bastard of Rouen needs my signature to release my husband’s gold from its guardians. He thought that once I was his wife he could force me—or perhaps he would not have needed my agreement then, for a husband’s will takes precedence.’

  ‘I do not know how French law stands, but in England your fortune would pass to your husband’s care. However, if your husband made you trustee for his son, your signature will be needed until Charles is of age. Without it, Rouen will find it difficult to persuade the goldsmiths to give up what is in their charge. They could be called to account by your son when he reaches his maturity; they will not lightly part with gold trusted to their charge.’

  Marietta nodded her agreement. ‘Then that is the reason I am still alive. I refused to marry him, clung to my bed and pleaded sickness. I know my ruse made him very angry, but it gave me more time. Claudette promised to help me…’ She glanced back across the water towards France. ‘I pray that he does not take too harsh a vengeance on her.’

  ‘We left her bound and gagged. She need only plead that she was overcome.’

  Marietta nodded. She remembered Claudette’s mad plan to be married in her dress. Perhaps she had thought better of it. She hoped so, for she would not be in Claudette’s shoes when the Bastard of Rouen discovered the trick.

  ‘You scheming witch! I swear I’ll beat you to a pulp! How dare you trick me so?’

  The Bastard towered over Claudette, his eyes bulging. His neck was red with rage. He struck her a heavy blow across the face, sending her staggering back.

  ‘I am your wife…’ Claudette cried defiantly. Her eyes were very bright but she would not weep for mercy. ‘Beat me if you wish. It makes no difference. You have married me, and only my death can free you—for the church will not let you put me aside in favour of that witch.’

  ‘Damn you!’ The Bastard threatened her with his fist. ‘I’ll see you in your grave before I’ll let you ruin all my plans.’

  ‘Will you kill your own son?’ Claudette asked, facing him proudly. She placed her hands on her belly. ‘My son will be a legitimate child, and heir to all you have stolen from your fa—’ She got no further for the Bastard rushed at her, seizing her about the throat. She struggled, putting up her hands to try and force him back, but he was too strong for her. Her eyes widened in horror as his grip tightened and she knew that he meant to strangle her. Her mouth moved in a
plea for forgiveness but no sound came, only a sighing breath. It was her last.

  The Bastard let her lifeless body fall to the ground. He stared down at her for a moment and then laughed, lifting her with the toe of his boot and kicking her aside.

  ‘So end any that seek to defy me,’ he told the silent, watchful servants. ‘Steward, have my things packed and tell fifty of my men to be ready. We leave for England within the hour. They will have taken her back with them. This time I shall go after her myself, and she will follow that whore to hell!’

  Marietta looked about the inn bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, but clean, and would serve her well, the bed softer than that on board the ship. She imagined it was more comfortable than the cell that might soon be her resting place—but she would not think of that! If her life was forfeit, so be it.

  Kneeling, Marietta closed her eyes and prayed. Anton had promised to help her as much as he could, but the King’s word was law. She knew that Anton felt something for her, but was it merely the kind of passion that men often felt for an attractive woman? If he loved her he would surely help her to run away instead of taking her to the King? He had said little on their journey to the inn, seeming lost in his thoughts. Had she done something to anger him again?

  Her thoughts went round and round in circles. God must know that she was innocent—but would He spare her? She had just risen to her feet once more when someone knocked at her door. Having asked that she might be served supper in her room, she thought it must be a servant.

  ‘The door is not locked…’ She turned as it opened and Anton entered. ‘Oh…I thought you were a servant with my supper.’

  ‘Forgive me. I came to ask if you would sup with me instead?’

  ‘I am tired. I shall do better alone.’

  ‘Are you angry with me, Marietta?’ His gaze was intent on her face. ‘I should not blame you if you were—but I must do my duty.’

  ‘Why should I be angry? I thought I had angered you once more. You said little on the way here.’

  ‘I have much on my mind. Perhaps we could talk at supper?’

  ‘If I asked you, would you let me go back to Claire’s house? Would you let me take my son and go away—perhaps to Italy?’

  ‘Do you think it is easy for me to escort you to the King, knowing that he could condemn you to a terrible death?’

  ‘I do not know…’ She watched his eyes take fire. ‘If it distresses you why will you not help me to run away somewhere I am not known?’

  ‘This is what I wished to talk to you about…’ Anton’s gaze was intent on her face. ‘If Henry clears you of both crimes you will be free of the stain of murder and able to live as a woman of your standing should. Your son will be entitled to make a claim for his inheritance—which means I shall do it with your blessing and in your name, so that you are his guardian.’

  ‘You would do that for us?’

  ‘Yes, of course. If you run away again it will confirm your guilt in the eyes of the world.’ Anton’s voice was soft, caressing. ‘You would never feel safe, Marietta. You would spend your life looking over your shoulder, afraid that someone would recognise you.’

  ‘Yes, that is true,’ she said. ‘But supposing the King does not find in my favour?’

  ‘This is what we must discuss. Believe me, if judgement goes against you I shall not just stand by and watch you hang. Come down now and we shall make plans…’

  ‘Very well. If you wish it I shall come down.’

  ‘I do wish it. I believe we need to talk in private.’

  ‘We are private here.’

  ‘If I stayed here too long I should think of other things rather than talking.’ Anton smiled at her, but the flame in his eyes told her that he wanted her. ‘I do not think you are aware that the scent you wear arouses a man’s senses.’

  ‘I am not wearing perfume. I washed at the castle. Perhaps the perfume of my special soap lingers in my hair.’

  ‘It does…’ Anton’s eyes went over her hungrily. ‘Come down to supper, Marietta.’ He held out his hand to her, a smile on his lips. ‘I would not dishonour you, but being here alone with you tempts me beyond bearing.’

  ‘If you want me…’ Marietta’s cheeks burned but she forced herself to speak. ‘I should not deny you. I have been married. I am not a shy maiden to run away from the truth of men’s desires. My husband did not often trouble me, but I do not fear physical union. I do not seek to turn you from your duty. All I ask in return is protection for my son…that if I am dead you will try to recover his inheritance.’

  ‘I have already given you my word on that,’ Anton said, his voice hoarse. She was so beautiful, and the scent she claimed not to wear was inflaming his senses. ‘You do not need to offer me anything, Marietta.’

  ‘Yet I have—I am offering more…’ she said, and moved towards the door, turning the key in the lock. ‘This is not just for you, Anton. Tomorrow or the next day may be my last day of freedom. I have just two nights left before I must face the King’s justice, and I would not spend them alone.’

  ‘You are certain?’ Anton moved towards her, taking her into his arms. ‘I do not want gratitude, Marietta.’

  ‘It is not gratitude I offer.’ She lifted her face to his, her tongue smoothing over her lips, wetting them. They were moist and soft, tempting. ‘I want to spend tonight in your arms, and tomorrow night. I want the pleasure I know you can give me…a pleasure I may never know again.’

  If she told the truth she would spend every night of her life in his arms. Perhaps he would never love her, but she would be happier as his mistress than she had ever been as her husband’s wife.

  ‘God forgive me, I cannot resist…’ Anton bent down, scooping her up behind the knees and carrying her to the bed.

  He had the smell of horses on him, and his own masculine musk, and it sent her senses spinning. Her body cried out to him, wanting, needing this gift. Perhaps it was not love, but his desire was strong. She felt his heat and it warmed her to the core.

  ‘You are so beautiful…so lovely…’

  ‘Take me, love me for as long as we have,’ Marietta whispered. She felt his lips at her throat and arched towards him, her body begging for his touch. Her mouth opened to the delicate flicking of his tongue. She met him, teasing and duelling in a dance of pure pleasure. Drawing him down to her, she gave herself to him, moaning softly as his hands sought out the most intimate places of her body. Heat pooled low in her and moisture ran as she welcomed his touch.

  ‘You are so hot and wet for me,’ Anton murmured as he entered her. ‘I have burned for you almost from the first.’

  Marietta gave a cry of pleasure as he thrust deep into her. Her body arched to meet his, taking him deeper and deeper. Never once had she felt such pleasure in the act of love. He was young, strong and well made, his manhood filling her, stretching her despite the fact that she had borne a child. White heat licked its way through her body. She sighed and screamed, her fingers digging into him as the climax took her.

  Anton looked down at the woman as she lay in his arms. He was not sure at what period they had shed their clothes. Was it after the first time he took her or the second? His need had been great, for it was many months since he had lain with a woman. The first time had been too swift, and his desire nowhere near slaked. Even now that he had loved her thrice he still burned with desire, wanted to feel the moist heat of her silken sheath enfolding him once more. At the moment she slept, her lips parted a little. She looked so beautiful, so soft and sweet, that he could hardly keep from kissing her body.

  He had thought that once he’d lain with her the need would go, but it seemed stronger. It was almost as if he were bewitched, for he did not remember a night such as this with his wife. He had believed he loved Isabella at the start, but she had not set him on fire as this woman did. Isabella had been a shy virgin. In the beginning she had flinched from him, and he knew that his loving had hurt her at first, but even after their first child was born she had n
ot welcomed his attentions in bed.

  Isabella had rejected him, and the few times they had made love it had been cold and passionless. On the other hand Marietta was a passionate woman, her kisses warm, her body willing and welcoming. She aroused feelings in him that he had never known were there.

  Anton rose from the bed. Marietta had no bad dreams to disturb her this night. Instead she smiled as she slept, one hand beneath her face. Was she a wanton? She had given herself to him fearlessly—but was he the first besides her husband to receive her favours? If he let down his reserve and took her into his heart would she break it? Jealousy turned inside him like a handful of maggots, eating at his stomach.

  He was a damned fool to care! He should simply take what she offered and then move on. Yet he knew that she had found a way to penetrate his being; she was inside him, whether he willed it or no, and he would not be able to forget her as he had intended.

  Anton wanted to wake up and find her by his side every morning! He wanted to lie by her side each night and make love to her until they both slept. He was not in love with her. Desire was not love. He wanted Marietta with a passion that surprised and even frightened him, but he would not let himself love her.

  Yet if Marietta died it would tear him apart.

  She would not die! Somehow he would persuade the King that she was innocent. He must, because he could not lose her.

  He felt for the ring in the inner pocket of his jerkin. The Bastard of Rouen had taken it from Comte de Montcrief and the King wanted it returned. Why? He looked at it carefully, turning it over to examine it from all angles. The back of the stone was not open to the light but encased in gold. Anton had seen rings like this before, and knew that sometimes there was a little compartment behind the stone. The trick was to open it, and that was not always easy. He could see no obvious signs of a catch…