by Judith James
“Germanic perhaps. They do like their wolves.” He examined the blade with interest. “But I’l wager this is a Spanish steel.” He turned it over. “Lex Talionis. Tel me, Captain—” he leaned forward, and there was hint of playful chal enge in his voice “—on whom do you seek revenge?” Robert leaned forward, too. “If it were some fel ow seated in this room, Majesty, he’d already be dead.”
“God’s blood but you’re a bold and impudent fel ow!” Charles’s laughter rang through the room. “You’re not exactly what I expected, but damn me if I don’t think you’l do. Here. Take it back.” He slid the sword to Robert. “It’s bound to be an accursed nuisance when dancing. Have a care not to trip up the ladies tonight.” Is our interview over? Why in God’s name did he summon me to court? “Your Majesty. I came here at your summons.
I’ve been waiting al day. Might I enquire as to—”
“Al in good time, Captain. Come. Hurry now or we shal be late.”
Robert knew the king was notoriously informal. It was said he attended private parties, taverns, even brothels, and played the country gentleman at New-market every fal . It was unheard of in any other court in Europe, yet he and his brother James could be seen frequently at dinner and supper, dispensing with formality for the sake of entertainment. It took remarkable courage and confidence in the love of his people to al ow them to see and interact with him as simply a man. He felt a grudging respect. But it was a shock nonetheless to be bundled into a carriage and told they were off to a party that his other mistress and he were hosting in their town house on Pal Mal .
It was almost May, a beautiful night, and though dusk had already settled it wasn’t yet ful dark when they rol ed to a stop in front of a grand three-story house on the desirable western end of the street. Shaded by elms, with a garden adjoining the king’s garden at St. James’s Palace, it backed onto the park. Several carriages were arrayed on the street out front, and it looked as if the gathering was already wel under way.
There were occasions in battle when despite training, planning and good intel igence, one found oneself cut off and lost in a situation one couldn’t foresee or control. When that happened, one trusted to one’s instincts and waited, going with the flow of things, watching for that moment when direction and momentum could be wrested back again.
Robert Nichols stil had no idea why the king who’d stripped him of his lands had summoned him to court and made him his boon companion, so with no answers forthcoming, he prepared to observe.
CHAPTER SIX
HOPE M ATHEWS HAD NEVER felt happier. Hosting this evening with Charles and his friends made up for a thousand tiny hurts.
For the past year and half, just like Cinderel a, she would appear at Whitehal , set tongues to wagging, then hurry home at midnight with nothing but the remnants of a dream.
But tonight it was she who was hosting the bal ! Wel …
dinner party. Tomorrow would be May Day, and tonight was an informal private celebration for only his closest friends.
To hold it at her lodgings was to acknowledge her importance to him in front of those whose opinion he valued most. She knew she wouldn’t have him much longer, but while she did, she couldn’t help but love him for letting her enjoy the fantasy, and pretend for one night that she was his queen.
He had left her to manage it, tel ing her to spare no expense, and she was almost bouncing with excitement, waiting for him to see what she had done. She had worked day and night for two weeks to prepare, turning the house into a feast for the senses. A place to celebrate the summer to come, in luxury, comfort and ease. She surveyed it al with a wide smile, confident it was a night everyone would remember. A night that would make Charles proud.
The air was fragrant with scented beeswax candles, baskets of fruits and masses of flowers, many of which she had grown in her own beloved gardens under the tutelage of Charles’s gardener, her mentor in al things floral, John Rose. Boughs of greenery decked the banisters, mantels and arches, and flower-covered arbors and miniature maypoles marked private grottos both inside and out.
The servant girls wore floral garlands and the footmen were painted as jack-in-the-green and dressed in leaf-green linen. Music drifted through the salon from hidden alcoves, cheerful and unobtrusive, weaving into the happy hum of laughter and conversation as people flirted and gossiped and played at cards. A crystal chandelier blazed overhead and side tables sparkled with decanters of malmsey, Rhenish, sack and canary, and beautiful y wrought glasses trimmed in silver and gold.
In the dining room opening off the salon, a long table stood ready, draped in white linen, piled high with platters of chicken, mutton, lobster and tarts from which people could serve themselves. A silver dinner service with the initials H.M. shone splendid in the candlelight, and there was a large silver bowl fil ed with rosewater for guests to dip napkins and wash their hands.
They had invited about fifty guests in al . The king’s brother James and his son—the Duke of Monmouth—had already arrived. Buckingham was busy at cards in the corner with Elizabeth de Veres, Lord Rivers’s pretty wife. Hope regarded her curiously. She liked the poet. He’d been kind to her, despite her lowly background, treating her as wel as any court lady, though it was clear he found her faithfulness to Charles amusing. How curious now to find him in love with his own wife. Charles admired her, too. What is it such men crave from these virtuous seductresses? Virtue is something no man will look for in me.
Al that was missing was Charles. A cheer made her look to the entrance. A tal and ruddy dark-haired man, wearing an ostrich-plumed hat tilted at a rakish angle and a gold-braided crimson coat, came sweeping through the door, dwarfing most of those around him both in presence and in size. Charles at last! Her face broke into a happy grin and her heart raced a few beats faster. No doubt he had the same effect on every woman in the room. But tonight he is mine.
Her gaze sharpened and she looked with interest at the man who walked beside him. She’d never seen him at court before or she would have remembered. Lean-waisted, broad-shouldered, with a powerful frame, he topped Charles by a good two inches. He seemed solid in a way one seldom saw among men living the soft life at court. He moved like a swordsman: lithe, graceful, yet there was something almost wolfish about him. It was easy to imagine him strapped in armor atop a war horse like some vengeful knight of old. He was familiar somehow, as if he might have walked into her home straight from one of her dreams.
She watched him, mesmerized, as she wove though her guests to greet Charles. He wore a rich black suit with a white-plumed slouched hat. A matching officer’s sash served as a sword belt, and through slashed sleeves she could see crisp white linen showing at the wrist and neck. In a room of gaily bedecked courtiers he looked elegant and dangerous. It suited him wel . Her heart sped up and a guilty flush warmed her cheeks as she imagined him naked.
He turned to speak to Charles and she got a good look at his features, and for one brief moment her heart stood stil .
He had a harsh beauty set off by a faded scar that creased his cheek. His hair was swept back off his face in a neat queue tied with a length of black ribbon. It gleamed in the candlelight, burnished gold with streaks of dark and light.
Flickering shadows from hundreds of tapers accentuated chiseled features: strong cheekbones, a firm jaw and a ful , almost sinful-looking mouth. I wonder what color his eyes are?
She had almost reached Charles and she rushed the last few steps to greet him. He caught her and hugged her and bussed her cheek. “You’ve done us proud indeed this evening, Miss Mathews. And you are as pretty as the first day of summer.” She beamed with delight, his words making al her hard work worthwhile. He released her and removed his hat, then gave her an elegant bow. “As you can see, I’ve invited a friend. I pray you have room for one more. My dear, may I present to you a dashing fel ow, both brave and bold, Captain Robert Nichols.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and for some reason, the overly familiar public gesture made her feel s
lightly embarrassed. She fought the urge to shrug him off.
The captain stepped forward. His face looked grim, as if he were in the presence of something distasteful. She flushed, surprised at her awkward reaction. What did she care what a disapproving stranger thought? Her life was ful of them.
Let him think what he pleased.
Unaccustomed modesty overcome, she greeted her new guest with a playful smile. “Welcome, Captain Nichols. It’s an honor to have you join us for an evening of celebration.
Please treat our home as if it were your own.” She held out her hand, forcing him to kiss it.
He tucked the hat he was holding under his arm and took her dainty hand in his large one. Her heart beat violently in her chest. And then he bent to kiss it. His fingers were cool beneath her own and his breath warmed her skin as his lips brushed her knuckles. Two of his fingers lingered a moment, pressing the soft underside of her wrist. She shivered and pul ed her hand away, fil ed with dangerous new sensations. He rose to his ful height. A stray lock of hair had escaped its bounds, softening his features.
“It’s very kind of you, madam, to welcome a stranger so warmly.”
His rich voice was deep and mel ow. She raised her eyes to his. He was regarding her intently. Riveted, she returned his searching gaze. There was something sad about him, and something frightening. Despite a reassuring air of competence and strength, he struck her as a troubled soul.
His eyes were green. A haunting shade of olive-green with flecks of black and silver that captured and mesmerized.
She imagined loneliness and sorrow and great pain hidden in their depths. She blinked and looked away. He was a very handsome man.
“Hope, my dear. We have duties to attend. It’s time you escort me through the salon to greet our other guests. Then everyone can relax and enjoy the evening.” Released from whatever spel had bound her, she stepped back to the relative safety of Charles’s arms, for one wistful moment wishing she might be the virtuous seductress. The kind with whom men fel and stayed in love.
“Can you muddle about on your own for a space, Captain?”
“I expect I can manage it, Your Majesty.” ROBERT WATCHED WITH cold admiration as his new friend the king took the arm of his beautiful courtesan. She wore a distinctive gown, with deep purple skirt and sleeves, white, flower-embroidered petticoats and black stomacher.
It captured the eye and drew attention to her trim waist and the sway of her hips as she walked. Surprisingly, given who her lover was, the only ornaments she wore were a floral crown of wil ow, violets and ivy, with one errant green sprig trailing down her cheek, and a few stray flowers woven into her hair.
Hope Mathews. He’d heard of her. The orange girl who’d leapt from the stage and stormed the palace to become His Majesty’s “country miss.” She was finer than he had expected. Neither coarse nor vulgar, quite charming in fact, and a breathtaking natural beauty. With soft creamy skin, a ful pouting mouth and a luxurious mass of rippling waist-length black hair, she had no need of enhancement, but it was those eyes that had stopped him dead in his tracks and held him captive. Arresting eyes ful of secrets, glowing violet then blue, beneath ful sweeping lashes.
He marveled at his own unaccustomed whimsy, but he’d always been fascinated by violet eyes, and true ones were exceedingly rare. He reminded himself that despite those delicate wrists and wounded eyes, she was no pure and innocent waif. She was a royal concubine, possibly more striking than her court-bred rival, and definitely fit for a king.
Creatures such as she exuded a powerful sexual al ure.
They were meant to be enticing. Yet she looked like a wild thing sprung from the forest, her smile sparkled and enchanted like a warm summer’s night, and she smel ed like spring. He hadn’t expected to be quite so…entranced.
She looked back at him from over her shoulder, as if she had heard his thoughts. A few sprigs of greenery escaped her crown and tangled in her hair. His breath quickened and he felt an unaccustomed twinge of longing. For a moment everything went stil around him, and there was only him and the girl. He tilted his head in a slight bow and she answered with a sunny smile and the merry eyes of a mischievous child. He couldn’t help a slight chuckle.
Whatever she was, the lass had lightened his spirit like nothing had done in a very long while. Definitely not an innocent waif, but perhaps a wayward elf.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ROBERT COMMANDED A QUIET ALCOVE in a corner of the salon. It was a relief to leave the reception room behind him. He had no idea why any sane person would line a room from floor to ceiling with mirrors. When he first walked in, the whirl of gaudy colors and bewigged heads had left him feeling nauseous and faintly dizzy. He wondered how those who drank too much ever found the door.
The stir around the king had diminished somewhat. The courtiers had made their greetings, the king had accepted them, and now everyone seemed intent on enjoying themselves. Several sat at tables playing hazard and basset, and people streamed in and out of the dining room eating when and what they pleased. The Duke of Buckingham and the charming Mistress Mathews performed a skit in the salon. He thought it somewhat childish, but others seemed to find it uproariously funny. He hid his impatience. He didn’t like surprises and had yet to discern why he was here.
It was a pleasant surprise to see Elizabeth across the room, though. He hadn’t seen her since she’d left London close to a year ago. By the looks of it her husband was back in favor. He was deep in conversation with the king.
She kept smiling and beckoning for him to join them, but Lord Rivers had a grip on her arm as strong as the one he used to keep on his drink. He looked up from his conversation from time to time, and his eyes held a warning and a possessive gleam. It was enjoyable to watch them. A touch on the arm, a whisper in the ear, private looks that spoke volumes; their intimacy was palpable. It warmed him to see it and it made him jealous. Is it Elizabeth I crave…or simply to feel something like that?
Yet on this strange night fil ed with laughter and music, old friends and old rivals, beautiful seductresses and whimsical kings, the room glowed with color and al that was in it came dancing to life. It almost felt as if he were creaking back to life. He grinned as he watched the king’s lovely courtesan, no longer impatient, for she was the enchantress who’d first cast the spel .
General Monk, the kingmaker who’d engineered Charles Stuart’s return to the throne, stepped forward to greet him.
“Sir Robert Nichols! What a pleasure it is to see you, sir!
You’ve been far too scarce in London as of late.” They exchanged a hearty handshake. “Where have you been, Captain? I’ve been trying to find you.”
“I have… I had…a smal estate in Nottinghamshire, sir. I’ve left the field of battle for fields of grain, and fighting armies for battling floods and heavy rains.”
“Ah! Indeed, sir. I know it wel . One thinks that’s what one wants. Away from the smoke and thunder. At last a little peace. But one grows bored. There’s a longing.
Something’s missing and the days take on a sameness that… Do you know what I mean, Robert?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“As it happens, I may have a cure.”
“Sir?” He felt a keen thril of anticipation. Could this be why the king had brought him here tonight? To take one thing away but give him another?
“You’re a superb warrior, Sir Robert, but more importantly for my purpose, you were always a man one could count on to keep a cool head, think for himself and get the job done.
How do you like the sound of Colonel Nichols?”
“I like it, General! I—”
“General! I see you know our captain.” Charles Stuart came up behind them and embraced them both.
“I do indeed, sire. He’s a fine soldier. One that I—”
“And of course you’ve met Lord Rivers. A dear friend from my exile and a war hero himself. Al ow me to introduce his lovely wife, Lady Elizabeth.”
The general
bowed and kissed Elizabeth’s hand.
“Congratulations, madam. Al London has been abuzz about the capture. Only an extraordinary woman could manage such a feat.”
“Thank you, General. You’re very kind. But I assure you it was Wil iam who captured me.” She turned to Robert with a bright smile. “Oh, Robert, it’s so good to see you here! I miss our old visits and I worry about you al alone.” Robert greeted them al with a formal bow, but Elizabeth threw her arms around him and gave him a hug. As he set her back on her feet he took a quick glance at the handsome poet who had stolen her away. Though de Veres had never met him, he’d seen the man in taverns and coffeehouses many times before. There was a brightness to his face. Perhaps Elizabeth had done for her libertine what he had hoped she would do for him.
The man stepped forward and offered his hand and he had no choice but to accept it. “Lizzy has told me many times what a comfort you were to her in the past, Captain Nichols.
I offer you my thanks for watching over her when I couldn’t do so.”
He bit back a scathing reply and managed a polite nod.
This was the man who had put her in danger in the first place.
General Monk put a hand on his shoulder as if reclaiming ownership. “If it pleases you, Your Majesty, Sir Robert is a mighty fine soldier. I’ve a proposition to put to him regarding the Coldstream Guard.”
“Ah, reunions. Aren’t they grand. I had no idea the captain knew so many of my friends. But I’m afraid it wil have to wait, General. In fact I must ask you al to excuse us. As it happens, the captain and I have business to discuss before the dancing begins. Wil you forgive us?” A beaming Elizabeth curtsied while the general and Wil iam responded with a bow. His Majesty put a companionable arm around Robert’s shoulder, led him into a smal dark paneled study and closed and locked the door. He motioned for him to sit and poured them both a drink.