by Robyn Carr
“Damn wench,” he muttered, turning to locate his disappearing catch. “Don’t make me mad,” he cautioned, his smile gone.
“Don’t touch me or I’ll scream,” she warned.
“Scream,” he told her. “And I’m sure the castle guard will come running. Now, behave or I’ll have to beat you.”
As he delivered this last threat he stumbled slightly, and she saw that he was so sodden that with luck she could outwit him; and though she feared his strength, she was more angry than afraid.
“Lay one hand to me and I’ll kill you.”
“Kill me, eh? I see my work’s cut out. I’ll have to throw up your skirts and give your wretched arse a swat or two. Now come here.”
“Never. Get out.”
“Bitch,” he mumbled, rubbing his neck and looking as though he’d forgotten what he entered her room for. “All right, have it your way...with a fight.” He stumbled toward her and grasped the opposite side of the table, his eyes fully open now and fixing her with a glittering stare filled with determination. Alicia’s mouth opened slightly and once again she feared him. As he made to pull the table from between them, she grabbed the pitcher by the handle, and with no aforethought, she reached over the short distance between them and laid her mightiest blow to his head. The crockery gave way immediately, crashing to the floor all about him.
His eyes grew round and shocked just before they gently closed and he melted to the floor in a heap. She stared at him for a moment, the porcelain handle of the pitcher still in her hand. He did not look dead, but her first thought was that she had killed him. Yet he seemed peacefully asleep. A look of contentment seemed to rest over his eyes and mouth like a warm blanket.
Ah, he was handsome.
A handsome fool, her anger answered loudly. He deserved at least a bump on the head for what he might have done.
There was a knock at the door and Alicia’s eyes jumped from the sleeping form on the floor to the sound. Her heart began to pound again, for now she was caught. Though she did not think herself outside the law in defending herself, she did not expect to be let out of blame easily once it was discovered that she had wounded this man. His clothes were rich. It was possible he was someone of importance, robbing and assaulting women for sport rather than for sustenance.
Again the knocking. Her eyes began to sting with tears. There was no one to help her. “Blast that oaf,” she muttered under her breath. “He promised to be near.”
And at the moment Rodney crossed her mind, she heard his voice outside her door. “Alicia?” he questioned from the other side.
She went to the door quickly and attempted to open it, grateful enough for tears to spill just because of his presence outside. She wiggled the latch once before she remembered that her attacker had the key safely tucked in his pocket. She went back to the unconscious man and frantically searched through his coat until she retrieved the key. It took her, in all her sobriety, nearly as long to unlock the door as it had taken her intruder. She actually frowned over her shoulder at the man, for it had not occurred to her that it was a difficult lock. She assumed his clumsy drunkenness made the task time-consuming.
Rodney carried a tray of food which he nearly dropped when he saw the body on the floor. Alicia watched him as she saw, for the first time, a look of absolute fear on his face.
“What has happened?” he whispered as he studied the broken crockery and the injured man.
“He’s likely as dead of drink as of the blow,” Alicia said quite easily. “He meant to do his worst.”
Rodney shook his head and kicked the door closed before setting the tray on the table. He knelt by the injured man and opened his eyes and checked his head.
“I thought I’d die of hunger, and now you’ve brought something, I doubt I can eat it. Where have you been?”
“In the common room for the most part, explaining you to Lord Seavers. He had a mite to drink, but when I left him, his condition was not this poor.”
“I was afraid this man would take my money,” Alicia explained, still uncertain what they should be doing about this situation.
“He wouldn’t have taken your money, lass. This is the man who gave it to you. Geoffrey Seavers.”
“God above,” she sighed, dropping heavily to the stool by the table. That explained the insults perfectly. He was appraising her to see how she would fit that part they planned for her to play. And judging by his earlier reaction, she didn’t fit the bill. She sighed softly and looked away from the sleeping noble. “I suppose I’ll be on the next coach.”
“If luck is with us he won’t remember clearly,” Rodney said, rising. “You say he was fairly drunk?”
“Not fairly, sir. He could barely stand without the wall.”
Rodney fought to keep from chuckling aloud. “I don’t suppose you could have dropped him so easily were he able to walk.”
“Don’t be too certain,” she said wryly. She nodded toward him. “Is he drunk often?”
“Seldom. I should have expected this. He was...ah...upset with the circumstance.”
“Then he will have none of me?”
“I think he’ll come around to it, lass. He is honest to a fault, and therein lies his problem. Robbing the crown of an inheritance does not sit well with the man. He’s the most loyal man Charles has at the moment.”
“You’re wrong, sir,” she said very quietly. “He did not find me good enough in any way. He said so.”
Rodney stood and looked down at her. Her eyes were lowered and looking at Seavers. She studied his face carefully and it tugged just a bit at her heart. She had not liked his behavior, but he was actually more amusing than frightening. Beneath his thick hair the color of sand and wheat, his closed eyes looked peaceful. They sported thick, dark lashes, but she clearly remembered the green color. They had sparkled with excitement, delight, and fury, all within the short span of time she had dodged his arms. And the arms—though clumsy, as they clutched at her they were not cruel or careless but strong and gentle. Aside from the drunkards who had lunged at her when she served at the Ivy Vine, there had been only one other pair of arms to hold her...and those had been strong and demanding. Culver Perry was at least as handsome, possibly more so, but there was nothing as boyish and comfortable about his face and body.
This man, she thought, is appealing in many ways. He is handsome and strong. And though he had not been kind or compassionate, neither could she be sure that he was vulgar and mean. Perhaps when he was not swelled with drink he could be tractable...even loving.
Her lips curved in a half smile and she felt moisture come to her eyes. What would it be like to have a man like this actually love her?
“Did he hurt you, maid Alicia?” Rodney asked softly.
“No,” she whispered. “But ‘tis truth that he said he did not want me for his bargain.” She looked up into Rodney’s kindly eyes as her own were quickly welling with emotion. “He said I wouldn’t do at all.”
“That was more the ale talking than the man, lass. He’s a bit plagued by the circumstances, but he’s not one to purposely hurt a woman. Even one he does not like.” By the way she lowered her eyes, Rodney could see that she could not easily quell her disappointment. She believed the bargain was no longer being offered. “You had your heart set on a fine home and decent clothes.”
Alicia looked up at him again, and for a moment she made no response. As she considered his statement, she remembered that her hundred pounds would certainly buy more in the way of lodging and clothing than she might ever have had as a farmer’s wife. That would not be taken from her. But her spirit was drained by yet another rejection. There had been so very many in her short lifetime.
She almost had to laugh at herself. He had stumbled into her room drunk and presumptuous, looking like a criminal, and yet the fact that he found her an unsuitable maid had hurt her. And further recollection made her see that she had not been at all terrified of him but just cautious of his intent. She thought perhaps she
had been immediately taken with him. Sometimes she didn’t understand herself at all. He was drunk, outrageous, and insensitive. Had she simply liked his face?
A low moan came from the injured man. “Yes,” she said to Rodney. “I had great hopes for the riches you promised me.”
The manservant frowned slightly. Her answer lacked a convincing tone. He puzzled at her manner. This did not fit the proud image he had of her. In his mind he suspected that Geoffrey had already pinched at the maid’s heart, even in his clumsy first impression.
He moved to the groaning man and lowered himself to look at him closely. Over his shoulder he addressed Alicia. “Eat something, lass, and have patience with my cloddish master. The game is not played out yet.”
With a sigh, she picked up her utensil and stared into the plate of stew.
“Once you have some decent clothes and the benefit of grooming, I wager he’ll thank us both for this opportunity.”
She chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful. Then she swallowed and returned her knife to the table top and looked earnestly to Rodney. Her eyes seemed cleansed of misery and held only rueful acceptance. “I’m a foolish wench, sir. I’ve long held to a hope that one day I’d meet someone who would look beyond my poor style of dress and lack of legitimate family name—and still find me suitable.” She shrugged and picked up her cup of wine. “I suppose I have proved my ignorance in that.”
“The game is not played out,” he repeated.
In a section of the city not far from where Alicia waited out her bargain, another young woman paced a small rented room atop a clothier’s shop. Her agitation was more intense than Alicia’s had been, and her furnishings were finer. Although she was a maid alone, she did not flinch at every sound from below. She was preoccupied with her lack of food and drink and her anger was mounting.
The sound of footsteps on the stair colored her face with hopeful anticipation. The unlocked door opened and a sigh of relief escaped her. The tall and handsome man thrust a basket toward her.
A somewhat chubby hand grabbed the basket with eager lust, and without a word, the woman was digging through it, withdrawing bread, meat, cheese, and wine from the inside. She did not labor with the tablecloth and utensils but chewed off a generous bite of cheese and poured herself a full cup of wine from the half-empty bottle. Her gluttonous movements brought a grimace to the man’s face.
“It’s not an easy task to keep you in food and drink,” he sneered.
Though her mouth was full and a bit of wine dribbled to her chin, she did not wait to answer him. “You don’t keep me all that well, milord. Hold your complaints or I won’t hold my tongue.”
“You know what to say to silence me, Charlotte. I wouldn’t have guessed you knew such designs.”
She laughed and her dark curls bounced with the action. “I’m intent on doing as well as I can for myself. That’s all. Lord above, no one else is going to give me anything.”
“You stand to gain a great deal this way. Considerably more than you would have in marrying Seavers. It’s plain truth to everyone in London that he wants to get his hand into your pot for his ships. You’d be a pauper with a title in six months.”
She swallowed more food than would be allowed a normal throat, and a look of disgust came over her face. She did not pause in her feast to answer him, but her expression clearly showed that she would not have been content with such an arrangement.
“I think with a little time on our side we can find a way to reject the king’s proposal of marriage for you without offending him badly. For the moment, I fear, he won’t be too happy with you. When Seavers’s man can’t find you, they’ll all assume you’ve fled the betrothal. We’ll come up with a better story, and you can escape his wrath and perhaps turn his mind toward another suitor.” He paused in his oratory and looked at her. He smirked and shook his head. “Madam? Did you hear me?”
“I hear, Culver. Haven’t I already told you that I’d marry you if the king allows?”
“Yes, madam, you did indeed. And I’m counting on you to keep yourself from being swayed by the courtiers. They play a lot of pretty words on attractive young virgins such as you are.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him. “And you play a pretty word or two, Lord Perry. When you’re sure of me I have no doubt your love may suffer just a mite. Just a mite. So I’ll take my chance on you till you show me I’m foolish.” She smiled, and in her teeth there happened to be slivers of meat that detracted from the smile. “I think it may work out, Lord Perry. Unless you’ve lied to me.”
“Why would I lie? By the time you’re at court a day you’ll hear from every wagging tongue that Seavers has been hard at work to finance ships. And I? I told you honestly that I need money to back my influence at court, but I’ve no intention of spending it all—only holding it for the influence it gets. And remember, Charlotte, you can cause me a great deal of trouble by spilling the truth about our alliance, but no less than you’d cause yourself. Charles doesn’t have to give you your estate.”
“I’m not going to spoil the lot, love,” she said, her smile quick and still speckled.
“Good. We’re of like mind.”
“Are you staying here the night?” she asked.
“Much as I’d like to, love, I still have a great deal of business before I rest. And I wouldn’t want anyone seeing me with you until you’ve been able to reject Seavers successfully.”
“What business? Another woman?”
He smiled devilishly. “I’m counting on your fortune to help, Charlotte, but there’s still quite a lot I can do to improve my lot before we exchange vows.” He paused and looked her over, forcing himself to smile. He was not attracted to her, but lying beside her for a brace of years in exchange for a decent amount of money would not pain him much. “I’ll either be here once you’re asleep or in the morning to bring you something to eat. Remember, don’t go out.”
“Like yourself, milord, I’ll go where I please. I hadn’t thought you desperate enough to sell favors. Who’re you sleeping with and what’s her title?”
Lord Perry frowned. “I didn’t say I was sleeping with anyone, Lady Charlotte.”
“No, you didn’t. And I don’t care who you’re with, but don’t expect to hold me to a different plan. I’ll have your promise in writing that my money is my own, and once we’re wed and I have the Perry name, we’ll each do as we please. And I’ll be careful enough to see that my inheritance doesn’t disappear into the ocean, but should it please me to go out and stroll about a bit, I’ll do so.” She bit off another large piece of meat and chewed it greedily. “You don’t own me, Culver, nor will you ever. And when you start to act as though you do, I’ll tell His Majesty that you’ve kidnapped and beaten me, and in fear of my life I’ve followed your orders.”
Culver Perry watched her as she settled herself on the only chair in the room to finish her feast. She did not trouble over his comings and goings so long as he kept her in food and visited her bed regularly. His plan for hustling Seavers out of the Bellamy inheritance had been much more appetizing before he had realized that Charlotte was as devious as he.
But there was a bright light in any storm. “At least we understand each other, madam. Let’s just be cautious that no other understands us as well.”
“Fair enough, milord,” she said with a mouthful of food. He smiled at her, turned, and gratefully took his leave of the room.
Alicia came awake at the sound of a moan. She sat up on the bed and took notice of Geoffrey stirring from his sleeping place on the floor. He shook off the cover that had been thrown over him and sat up, rubbing his head. Taking a cautious look around the room, he spied Alicia, still in her clothes, sitting up on the small bed. Rodney had also taken possession of the floor for his sleeping. Seavers had no way of knowing that Alicia would not allow the servant to leave her alone with him. All were clothed and apparently passing Geoffrey’s unconscious state as best as could be allowed.
With a path
etic-sounding grunt that spoke loudly of stiffness and ill health, Seavers rose to stand on shaky legs. Gathering strength, with a hand on his belly he headed for the door without looking back. His pace quickened, judging by the sound of his footfalls, as he rushed down the hall and stairs.
“You see,” Alicia said, “he’s not dead. But I wager he regrets last night.”
Rodney struggled to his feet, his problem being age and the hardness of the floor. “I for one am grateful for his malady. He’ll blame the drink and not you for the condition of his head.”
Rodney walked to the door and on the way dropped the key on the table. “Lock yourself in and I will see to his lordship. I’ll see that you’re delivered some meager comforts before you have to deal with my young friend another time.”
The meal was the first such comfort to arrive at her door. The tired-looking and unkempt maid who served it further depressed Alicia’s spirit. She wondered if she could ever endure that way of life again. It was the first time since she was a child that she had been served, rather than having to work from early morning until late at night.
When her meal was finished, she paced the room and expected to be seeing Rodney again, but instead the next knock at the door brought a heavy brass tub and buckets full of hot water. A package arrived soon after: scented soap, large linen towels, a generous sponge, and a brush.
A bath of clean hot water, one of the first she had enjoyed since leaving Osmond’s home, eased her mind and body, and later, wrapped in towel, she sat on her stool and brushed her wet hair.
Another knock interrupted her grooming, and she went over to the door. “Who’s there?”
“Geoffrey Seavers, madam. May I come in?”
“You’ll have to wait, milord. I’ve only just come out of the bath.”
“Stand behind the door then and let me come in. I’ve brought you a dress and shoes.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I won’t look.”