by Stella Riley
She still couldn’t believe he wasn’t mocking her.
‘Yes.’
‘Ah.’ His smile gathered an element of ruefulness. ‘That is something I might have been better not knowing.’
Kate drew a long breath, not sure what he meant but having just enough command over her faculties not to ask. She said, ‘You were leaving and I’m delaying you. I should go.’
‘Yes.’ His fingers continued toying lightly with hers. He told himself he ought to send her away; that this was no time to give in to temptation; that this unlooked-for moment couldn’t be allowed to change anything. Then, failing on all three, he murmured, ‘Forgive me, Caterina. I should ask … but I fear I’m going to do it anyway.’ And sliding his other arm around her waist, he drew her against him and brought his mouth down on hers.
She gasped and her lips parted beneath his. A small involuntary sound escaped him as his tongue found hers and his body became agonisingly aware that, beneath the gown, she was wearing virtually nothing. He released her hand, the better to hold her and his palm slid lingeringly down her back to the curve of her waist and gripped. Her mouth was warm and sweet and he felt her fingers at his nape, tangling themselves in his hair while his own were being teased by long, coppery curls. Pulling her even closer, he deepened the kiss and felt response quiver through her body.
Shaken by pulses and flooded with heat, Kate’s body overflowed with feelings she had glimpsed only once before and others she had not known existed. Every part of her seemed abruptly and intensely alive. Hating the impediment of his coat, her hands explored the line of his arms and chest and shoulders; and when he broke the kiss for a moment, she buried her face against his throat to drink in the scent and taste of his skin. Lemon and salt and something she couldn’t identify but recognised was just him. Deep inside her, something was melting and, when he wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled her head back in order to let his mouth trail along her jaw, she gave a tiny, inarticulate moan. Then he claimed her mouth again with almost tantalising laziness and every nerve in her body burst into flames.
Controlling the hunger so long repressed was becoming difficult and, dimly aware that if he didn’t stop soon, he was likely to go beyond the bounds of what was acceptable, Luciano summoned every ounce of restraint and slowly ended the kiss. He looked down into dazed green eyes and waited for his breathing to settle. Then, moving slightly away from her so that he could lean his brow against hers, he said, ‘You should probably slap me again.’
Kate managed a shaky smile and shook her head.
‘This time was different. Wasn’t it?’
He sighed. ‘Yes.’ Lifting his head, he stepped back to take her hands and said, ‘Different – but no more excusable.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘No.’ He stared down at the bracelet on her wrist while he debated, not just how much he could safely tell her, but how to phrase it. Finally, he said wryly, ‘My life is complicated. Aside from my work and my obligation to my uncle, I have … other responsibilities. Ones which are taking a very long time to resolve and which are not compatible with a settled existence.’ He looked up at her. ‘What I’m saying is that I’m not at liberty to offer either words or promises. And I may never be. So you shouldn’t waste your life waiting.’
Her fingers tightened on his.
‘It wouldn’t be a waste,’ she said, past the ache in her throat.
‘Yes, Caterina. It would. And I have enough on my conscience already.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
TWO
For those at Thorne Ash, Rupert of the Rhine’s brilliant relief of Newark fell into eclipse when Sir William Waller thrashed the Cavaliers at Alresford. Then, as April drifted into May, the Scots and the Fairfaxes massed outside York, causing Rupert to leave Oxford in a hurry … and thus leaving Lord Digby free to persuade the King to withdraw his forces from Reading and Abingdon - with the result that Lord Essex immediately possessed both.
Essex’s delight at having Oxford helpless before him caused him temporarily to bury the hatchet with Waller and, in no time at all, the pair of them were menacing the city from three sides – while, belatedly recognising his mistake, the King winnowed both himself and his cavalry out to safety in Worcester.
If there was some strategy behind His Majesty’s moves, Richard Maxwell was not the only one who found it hard to comprehend – for, if Oxford fell, the Royal cause was unlikely to recover. For a couple of days it was tempting to wonder if the end might not be in sight. But then Essex took it into his head to march off and save Lyme from the marauding hands of Prince Maurice, leaving Waller with no choice but to play grandmother’s footsteps with the King. So much, thought Richard irritably, for making the most of your opportunities. At this rate, the war could last another decade.
While Rupert took Stockport, Bolton, Wigan and Liverpool, Maurice abandoned Lyme and Lord Manchester took his own troops to join those already besieging York. And, at Thorne Ash, Toby Maxwell waged his own private campaign to be allowed to return to Cheapside – to which, for reasons of his own, his father was eventually persuaded to give in.
‘Who do you think you’re fooling?’ asked Dorothy when he told her. ‘You just want an excuse to get the news first-hand. You want to visit your friends, discover exactly what’s happening in Westminster and put the world to rights over a glass or two with Luciano del Santi – assuming he’s back from his travels. Never say,’ she finished with a smile, ‘that I don’t understand you.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. But can I also take it that you’ve no objections? I shouldn’t be gone much above two weeks.’
‘Oh? Well … no doubt Kate and I can just about manage to hold things together for that long.’
‘Vixen,’ murmured Richard. And pulling her into his arms, ‘Some small reluctance to let me go might be nice. Or I might get the idea that you won’t miss me.’
‘No you won’t.’ She tilted her head back to look at him. ‘You know I’ll miss you – and you know how much. But you’ve been itching to go for weeks, haven’t you?’
‘The thought has occasionally crossed my mind.’
‘Well, then … off you go and enjoy yourself.’
Richard kissed her.
‘You’re a wonderful woman. Do you know that?’
‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘So it’s fortunate, isn’t it, that you deserve me?’
* * *
When Kate learned that Father and Toby were going to London she had to force herself not to ask if she could go with them. She knew it was a bad idea. If Luciano was back from Genoa, there would doubtless be a hundred matters requiring his attention. Also, she suspected he wouldn’t appreciate being pursued. He’d told her not to wait – which was ironic, really, since waiting was all she could do.
That morning in the stables, she’d let him leave without asking the only question that mattered; whether, but for this unnamed ‘responsibility’, he had been implying that they might have a future together. She had been about to do so but had suddenly glimpsed something unexpected in his eyes … something that warned her not to press him. Something that looked strangely like despair.
* * *
Richard and Toby arrived in London on June 20th to find that Signor del Santi had still not returned from Genoa. Toby found this surprising. Richard, understanding the difficulties faced by shipping around England’s coast, did not. He merely said, ‘He could be here any day, Toby. So be patient and keep away from Geoffrey’s presses. If you get yourself arrested again, I’ll be tempted to let them keep you.’
Toby grinned ruefully.
‘Don’t worry. Sir’s threatened me with worse than that. If I get in trouble again, he’ll terminate my indentures and send me home for good.’
‘God forbid! And you believe him?’
‘Yes. Idle threats aren’t his style. And he knows how much I want my own attempts at filigree to start resembling his. At the moment it’s like putting an iron griddle next to a spider
’s web. So as I said, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll be good.’
Put like that – and knowing his son – Richard was content to believe it and therefore set off on the round of calls he had set himself with an easy mind. He delivered a few strictures into the suitably abashed ear of Geoffrey Cox and spent a pleasant, if not stimulating, hour with Amy. Then he went back to Cheapside and bore Toby off to sup with him at the Bear.
Four days later – and still with no sign of the Italian – Richard was beginning to realise that the former colleagues who had been so pleased to see him, all had ulterior motives. They wanted him to return to the House.
‘There’d be no difficulty,’ said Henry Cox. ‘With numbers so reduced and no chance of new elections, I doubt anyone would query your absence. So what do you say?’
‘Exactly what I said before,’ replied Richard. ‘I’m not taking the Covenant. And if you’re about to observe that oaths, like pills, are better swallowed without chewing, I suggest that you don’t bother.’
‘So you’ll just give up and go home,’ muttered Denzil Holles. ‘The rest of us may have had to put our tongues firmly in our cheeks, but at least we still retain our seats.’
‘And what good has it done you?’ asked Richard bluntly. ‘Policy is being shaped by Vane and St John and the rest of them – while you’ve become a lone voice crying in the wilderness.’
Holles fell silent and stared gloomily into space. They were sitting in a small tavern just outside the precincts of Westminster and, save for two other men talking in low-voiced murmurs on the far side of the room, they had it to themselves.
Henry Cox stirred and said, ‘If the Scots take York, it’ll make the whole thing seem more worthwhile.’
‘If they do,’ grunted Holles. ‘God knows three armies ought to be able to take a town.’
‘On the face of it, maybe. But to my mind, three armies is two too many. Once the generals start squabbling, nothing gets done. If Noll Cromwell can spare the time from bickering with Lord Manchester, he’s probably at it tooth and nail with Tom Fairfax or old Leven by now. No. One army – one commander-in-chief. That’s what we need – eh, Richard?’
‘What?’ Richard’s attention had become fixed on the men in the corner. He recognised one of them and had the annoying feeling that he’d seen the other one before as well. ‘Henry … isn’t that Samuel Luke over there?’
Mr Cox peered across the room.
‘Couldn’t say. Never seen him before.’
‘The scoutmaster-general?’ Denzil Holles sat up. ‘So it is. I wonder what he’s doing here?’
‘The same thing he does everywhere, I imagine.’
Richard continued to stare at Sir Samuel’s companion and wondered why he had the peculiar suspicion that the two somehow didn’t belong together. Then the naggingly familiar gentleman rose to go and stood for a moment leaning against the settle with one tapering hand resting against its back; and quite suddenly Richard had it.
Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Surely that fellow with Luke is a King’s man? Denzil – or no. You weren’t there. But you, Henry – you’d remember him. The day His Majesty came to the House to arrest our friend here, the doors were held open by two men. One was Roxburgh; and the other, unless I’m much mistaken, was that man there. Well?’
Me Cox scratched his head.
‘Could have been, I suppose. I can’t say I took much notice. But what if it was him? He won’t have been the first to change sides – nor the last, either.’
‘No. No, I suppose not,’ sighed Richard. He had a feeling that something important was eluding him – which it might well be if the fellow was one of Sir Samuel’s spies. Not that he looked like a spy. Richard took in the exquisite lace collar, the gold-embroidered baldric and the size of the jewel flashing on the supple, white hand. No. Spies were presumably less flamboyant. Still frowning, Richard drained his tankard and absently accepted Henry’s invitation to supper that evening.
He never got there. Half-way between his lodging and St Paul’s, he suddenly realised precisely what it was about Sir Samuel’s companion that had been troubling him. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and he stopped dead in the street, thinking furiously. It was nothing to do with where he’d seen the fellow before. It was the thrice-blasted ring on his left hand. The bloody great emerald that Richard now cursed himself for not getting a better look at. He drew a long breath and told himself not to get too excited. There were many emeralds in the world … but of that size and cut, visible even at such a distance? Unlikely. Damn. He wished he could be sure. He wished he’d made the connection five hours ago. But that was futile. The question now was what – if anything – could still be done about it.
Richard stared unseeingly into a haberdasher’s window, debating various possibilities. Then, giving a small boy sixpence to carry his apologies to Henry, he walked quickly down to Queenhithe and took a boat to Westminster, where he hoped someone would be able to direct him to Sir Samuel Luke.
* * *
The following morning found him hammering on Luciano del Santi’s door before Giacomo had opened up for the day. Then, when he was admitted, he said briskly, ‘Is he back?’
Giacomo shook his head. ‘No. But soon, I hope.’
‘Soon’s not good enough.’ Richard eyed the little man calmly. ‘How deep are you in the signor’s confidence?’
Giacomo thought about it. Then, smiling wryly, ‘As deep as you, I think. You want I should give him a message?’
‘Yes. Tell him … just tell him I’m following a ring I saw yesterday. And that, if I find it and it turns out to be the right one, I’ll try and bring him its owner’s signature.’
Giacomo’s smile evaporated and was replaced by a look of uncharacteristic grimness. He said simply, ‘You have a name?’
‘Yes. But I’ll keep it to myself until I’m sure.’
‘The signor will not like it. I think is better you tell me.’
‘No doubt. But if the signor doesn’t like it, he’ll just have to do the other thing. And, in the meantime, I want you to get Toby back to Thorne Ash,’ said Richard flatly. ‘He won’t like it either – but if my mission prospers, Luciano is unlikely to be devoting the next few weeks to Toby’s filigree-work. And if these premises are going to become the target of someone’s unfriendly attentions, I’d rather my son wasn’t here. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Very clear, signor,’ came the gloomy reply.
‘Good. Then I’d best be off. Don’t take any nonsense from Toby – or let Luciano’s impatience gather momentum,’ said Richard, heading for the door. Then, turning, ‘Oh – and Giacomo?’
‘Signor?’
‘Give them both my love.’
* * *
Kate wasn’t sure when her prevailing sense of unease about Celia’s frequent visits to Far Flamstead finally crystallised into dark suspicion – only that it was so. It had begun, of course, on the day she’d caught her loitering in the shadows of the gatehouse with Hugo Verney; less on account of Celia’s presence there than for the glibness of her excuses. And after that had come a noticeable diminution in the twice-weekly excursions that had lasted only as long as Waller’s army was known to be outside Oxford and returned to normal as soon as it drew off in the wake of the King. Just as if, thought Kate unhappily, the possibility of Eden arriving home unexpectedly made it necessary to take a few extra precautions. But that was pure speculation and certainly not sufficient to warrant an accusation of adultery – neither to Celia herself nor, indeed, to anyone at all.
To her credit, Kate hoped she was wrong. The difficulty was in knowing how best to go about finding out. Her own relationship with Celia made it impossible to offer to ride to Far Flamstead with her; and when Tabitha had quite innocently asked if she might accompany her one day, the response had been a crushing snub. All that was left, therefore, was the unpleasant process of spying; and after a good deal of soul-searching, Kate came to the reluctant conclusion that it behoved
her to undertake it. After all, if she was lucky, Celia’s visits to her old home might prove completely innocuous. And if not … well, at least there might be some chance of putting an end to the affair before Eden was destroyed by it.
She finally steeled herself to make the attempt ten days after Richard left for London with Toby. There were rumours that the King’s army was somewhere in the vicinity; that, on Midsummer’s Day, it had been in Buckingham and was now no further away than Brackley. If this was true, it made riding around the countryside – even if only to Far Flamstead – a risky business and Kate couldn’t help hoping that Celia would think so too and choose to stay at home. But either Celia was made of sterner stuff or she had better sources of information – for she set off, with no apparent concern, exactly as usual. And after hovering irresolutely in the stables for the best part of ten minutes, Kate simply told herself that it was now or never and set off after her.
There was no need to keep Celia within sight. It was enough to ride slowly along the lanes which led to the village of Farnborough and Lord Wroxton’s manor … and then, leaving the carriage-drive, to make her way unseen through the park to the west wing of the house.
Two horses were tethered outside. Celia’s bay mare … and a powerful roan that made it unnecessary to go peering through windows or keyholes. Hugo Verney was in there with Celia and not, presumably, for the first time. Kate shivered. Apart from the latter stages of her pregnancy during the winter and those few days in May when Eden was close by, Celia had been ‘keeping an eye’ on Far Flamstead for over a year. Since well before little Viola could have been conceived, in fact. And that, of course, was the most frightening thought of all.
Weighed down with sick anger, Kate remained hidden amongst the trees and waited. She didn’t know how long she stood there but finally Celia and Hugo emerged from the house to walk, hand in hand, to the horses. They were talking but she could not hear what they said. She could, however, see the smile on Celia’s face and the way she nestled close to Hugo while her fingers busied themselves re-tying his collar. And then, as if that were not enough, she saw them melt into each other’s arms and exchange a long, desperate kiss.