Robyn Carr Restoration Box Set

by Robyn Carr

  Chad stood inside the door. He knew Bess kept apartments on the second floor but he was not inclined to go barging in on her. They had a strange relationship that he did not ponder very deeply, but he had an unpledged respect for her privacy.

  It was a few years ago that he first met Bess. She was a youngster then and mistress to a hired sea captain he employed. Daniels was no lad, he was a swarthy old dog, but generous and good-hearted. He had a wife and a brood of children in London. Daniels was paid fairly and got his share of the plunder if they took a Spanish ship, but he was hardly rich. Chad was surprised to learn he had a wench in keeping and doubly so to learn how well kept and lovely she was.

  Chad had never intended to abuse a friendship and had only gently pursued Bess when he was invited in. That was when he learned the most desirable things about this lass. She had no eye on power or fortune, never troubled him with questions or requests. He never darkened her door if Daniels was in port and rewarded her handsomely for his brief and infrequent visits. He had taken her out to dinner in a tavern a couple of years before and she had charmed both him and John with her simple gaiety.

  He had learned since that time that she was one of the few women he could trust. She was closemouthed and had no traffic with the nobility. She befriended Chad only because she wanted to, not because of his generosity with her. She was in love with him and had no ambitions beyond having him occasionally come to her. And now, he was eager to enlist her aid. Second, he relished the fact that Daniels was conveniently out of port.

  The landlady returned and said nothing, simply handing Chad a candle to light his way up to Bess. When he entered the room he saw that she had risen and was brushing out her long blond hair. She was wearing a sheer dressing gown and was the best sight he had seen in a long time. He threw his hat into a chair and moved toward her. She rose and met him halfway, their mouths coming together hungrily. The need within him ached so violently he didn’t know if he could spare the time to woo her at all. His hands found the buttons and roved over her eagerly. Then suddenly he broke away and placed a hand over the slightly rounded stomach, chuckling softly. Their eyes met and she nodded.

  “Again,” she confirmed to the unasked question.

  “This will be the third child,” he commented. “Does he do nothing to prevent it?”

  “He intends but forgets. He’s good to the children and I’ve no cause to complain.”

  “You’re not far along?”

  “Not to my discomfort.”

  “I’ve come to talk. I wouldn’t press you.”

  “I know that. It’s all right.”

  “Bess,” he groaned, pulling her into his arms again. “I’ve needed my Bess.”

  “I know, love. I know.” She took him by the hand and led him to her bed. It would be swift and silent from then; she knew the routine well. She loved him in a way she could never admit to him or anyone else. It was less painful to be his convenience than to have him know how she truly felt. He was gentle and kind with her, thoughtful and a marvelous lover.

  But he came to her only like this. Like a man long at sea, starved for the ease of this need. They never talked beforehand, and talked afterward only because he was conscious of the need to treat her humanly. It was the same, rushing in, throwing his clothes aside, and having it done. Then he would relax with his head at her breast and sometimes talk to her. Yet in his eyes she had always seen the reflection of another woman, one he had truly loved, and one he seemed to search for in her. To have even this much of him was enough for her.

  She stroked his hair affectionately, just as she often did with her babes when they had satisfied their hunger at her breast. He handled this as he would any call from nature, accomplishing it because he had to. Once done he was grateful, thankful, and he turned to her to love her again, this time not so urgently.

  He whispered sweet lover’s words as if she were the only person alive, the only woman he had ever longed for. He took care with his caresses, moving against her gently and sensing her moment perfectly. Then he let it end again, falling against her in happy exhaustion. Beautiful. The ease. The wondrous softness of having the burden partly gone. A great weight had been lifted. At last, at last...he felt a certain peace.

  “My lord,” she beckoned softly. He turned to look at her. “An earl now, I’m told. But why, my lord? Why? Does she bring you no pleasure?”

  Chad turned away from her. Bess was often in the ‘Change and tiring rooms. She would have learned of his new status and marriage. He couldn’t answer her. Bess knew men well, especially those who had been without a woman for a long period of time.

  “I have seen her,” Bess said softly. “I was out about shopping and John pointed her out to me. She is lovely and kind. She spoke to me over the ribbons...” She sighed wistfully. “She made me feel old. I hardly remember when I was that young.” Her voice took on a sudden, purposefully happy note. “I was so happy for you, that you should be gifted with one so lovely and kind, but you still—”

  “She is beautiful,” he relented, not much appreciating the memory at a time like this. It brought to mind the fact that Bess was far less so. She was older, fuller, and her golden hair was beautiful only when he was in need. Sated, he saw it had a dullness he didn’t find attractive. And being with her when she was full with another man’s child was not particularly appetizing, but at least he did not worry about leaving her with one of his own.

  “But still you have a woman you cannot love? After so long?”

  “I could love her,” he said, rolling over onto his back.

  “And still seek your sport from Bess? Is a simple woman so much better? No pride to shorten your pleasure?”

  “Bess,” he groaned.

  “I don’t ask for jewels and gowns, though you leave the coin for more than that. But you are starved! Always, like a man long at sea! And you are strong and handsome and the finest lover...why do you not use the countess?”

  Though the room was dimly lit she could see the bright, piercing silver of his eyes as he looked at her with anger. “Must I leave lest I answer you?”

  Bess was not afraid. She knew he would not hurt her. She ran a hand along his arm and whispered to him. “Don’t leave me. I won’t ask you again. But I have seen this one and I know you don’t think of her when you are with me. I could never be the countess to you.”

  The lass had no more schooling than any other peasant in London. She could not write her own name or read from a book, but in some things there was absolutely nothing she did not know. Chad sighed. “I don’t think of her now. I think only of you.”

  NINE

  John Bollering had a great many matters on his mind, enough so that another tall tankard of ale was conducive to dreaming, to planning his actions and pondering his life over and over again. Tonight there was no business demanding and tomorrow those men he had gathered up would be ready to leave for Bratonshire. Ordinarily there wasn’t much time for leisure, but tonight he allowed himself.

  The men around him drank heartily and teased the wenches. He faced the crowd for his own diversion and had it been any other night he might have joined in, grabbing a wench to warm his lap and falling headlong into drink. Traveling vagabonds, merchants, sailors and strumpets—the clientele was about average for this type of ordinary and this was not a particularly dangerous place. But then there were very few taverns in London that wouldn’t have a brawl or two for sport every night.

  A squeal rose from within the crowded room—a woman’s obvious indignation at being carelessly handled. On the other side of the room there was a quick shuffling as the men moved back for two ruffians as they engaged in a serious arm-wrestling contest. It was not so odd that this would relax a man; in this company John was completely unnoticed. At a time in his life when the sight of his face might well bring him a love affair with a noose, it was awfully nice to be ignored.

  He hadn’t noticed her come in, but she stood out so sorely that he wondered where his brain must ha
ve been to miss her for even a moment. She spoke quietly to the proprietor, her cloak swinging open to expose the expensive fur of its lining and her vizard pulled down to show her lovely little face to all the world. She was not well known enough in London to be immediately recognized as the countess of Bryant, but the obvious wealth stung the eye in a place like this. She turned to go, as she must have come, without escort.

  John looked about quickly, seeing exactly what he expected and feared. Three men, their clothing advertising that they earned their livings unscrupulously, their physiques crying out that they could fight well and would do so eagerly, conferred together for an instant and were on their feet. Forgetting his hat in his anxiety, John darted out the closest exit and made his way swiftly around the building to where he guessed her coach must wait. He felt the handle of his knife in his hand.

  When he rounded the building he spotted the coach that had carried her ladyship and he groaned out loud. The little fool! She had come with only a driver and two grooms. The protection was almost nonexistent and she wore no disguise. She was an easy mark. The footman was just helping her into the coach and the driver, thankfully, was still atop and holding the reins.

  John saw a shadow on the opposite side of the coach and knew his move would have to be fast. He ran to where Chelynne was still half out of the coach and gave her a hearty shove, bouncing her into the seat. Swiftly vaulting up the side, he managed his maneuver just in time to prevent a murder. By getting rid of the driver first the thieves could make away with coach, parcel and all...more for their trouble. He managed only to throw that man to the ground and jump from the coach himself. There was no time for fighting, no time to do anything but find flesh with the point of his knife and move along to the next aggressor before it was too late.

  A scream from the coach alerted him and he found a man struggling to get inside. The countess was preventing his entry with wildly kicking feet. Bollering threw that man to the ground, noticing that his companion made fast work of one groom while the other stood watching, frozen with horror. John felt the knife in his arm before he realized his opponent was up again. A struggle ensued but lasted only a moment before John pinned the man down with his knees and stabbed him efficiently. He jumped up, grabbed onto the open door, and shouted, “Drive, man!”

  The horses were startled out of their melancholy; and with a last kick in the direction of the sole uninjured thief they were away. With some effort John pulled himself inside.

  He could see the little figure huddled in the corner opposite him, her eyes round and terrified, shaking uncontrollably. “What the hell were you about?” No response came from her side of the coach. He grabbed his arm and moaned. “What were you doing in that place?”

  The smallest little voice, plainly reeking with fear, responded. “Who are you?”

  “Your friendly tavern gallant,” he sneered. He let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re safe now. What were you doing?”

  “I...I was looking for someone. I didn’t know it would be so dangerous.”

  He laughed cruelly. “Had you thought to disguise the fact that you’re mighty rich it could’ve been all right. Even so dressed, you might have been left unaccosted had you thought to bring proper protection!” His voice boomed in the small space. “The instant those men saw your coach you were like sleeping prey! Good Christ, they were only one for one! Where do you come from that you think to go tinkering around London in the middle of the night?”

  “I’m not...I don’t know the city very well.”

  “That was obvious on first sight. Who were you looking for?”

  “A man...it’s not important. I knew he wouldn’t be there.”

  “What man meets you in such a place?” he roared, clearly forgetting his place. “You’ve quality clothes and coach and my guess is there’s ample protection to be got as well. Who uses you at this rate?”

  “Please—”

  “Madam, I have received, on your behalf, a most painful wound,” he ground out with carefully restrained rage. “Now what man?” he exploded.

  Chelynne shook in her corner, terrified of her rescuer. But his anger made it impossible not to answer. “My husband,” she said, very softly, tears collecting in her eyes.

  John was slightly embarrassed. “Why didn’t you send someone from your household to do your spying? Do you have any idea what those men would have done to you? Noting your wealth, they would likely have held you for ransom, but not before they used you themselves. And that, madam, would have been the kindest thing that could have been done you!”

  A harsh, bitter laugh, verging on hysteria, answered him. “I’m most fortunate then,” she said, her voice taking on a caustic edge. “For I’m certain they would have had to kill me. There would have been no payment.”

  “A few gold coins will buy a better spy. Next time you would do well to send some member of your house.”

  Again came the laughter, mixed with choking tears. “There is no one in my house to do my bidding, except maybe my woman and she has seen over fifty years. I have not one ally in my husband’s home.”

  Something in the sound of her voice caused him to look in her direction and forget the almost insane rage he felt at being forced to act in her defense. He could see that she was crying and it was hurt, angry weeping, not frightened tears.

  “Why do you look for him?”

  “To see what wench pleases him so that he cannot even come to his wife in need!” More tears followed that, quieter and sorely strained. Her voice, though youthful and soft, had a bitter quality. She had been badly hurt. John watched the display in wonder. How guileless she was to so brazenly admit her jealousy and disappointment. At first he had thought her suspicious of Chad’s meeting, that perhaps she was plotting something, spying for a more practical purpose. Now he could see she was just a hurt little lass, her heart breaking because her husband was a-wenching. It was almost humorous. This little slip of a girl, no more than a child actually, was thus undone at the thought that her husband would seek out another and not love her and her alone. Where in the world did this creature come from?

  The pain in his arm turned his thoughts and he leaned his head back, growing more pale and drawn by the moment. His hand clutched his arm and a river of blood ran down to his fingertips.

  He hadn’t noticed that she moved until he saw her face in front of him, studying that injury through tear-filled eyes. “Oh...you are hurt. Let me look at it.”

  “No, leave off. I’ll borrow your coach if you’ll be so kind, and let your driver take me home when he’s left you off.”

  “Here, you’re bleeding badly,” she said, wiggling onto the seat beside him. “Have you a knife?”

  “Aye, in my boot.” She reached her small hand down and dug around until she felt the handle. She never gave thought to what she was doing as she wiped the old blood off on her velvet gown and slit his shirt to expose the gash. Her lips formed a round “oh” and she lifted her hem to take a strip of cloth from her petticoat.

  “Aye, they cut you badly,” she muttered, never looking at him but working industriously. She wrapped the wound tightly, tearing two more strips to tie the first into place. He winced as she pulled the final knot tight, the thing paining him a great deal more than he would admit.

  “There’s a man at my home who is talented with healing. You’ll have a warm bed and...and a reward for your gallantry. What name do you go by?”

  “John is enough, my lady. And I’d much prefer my own room.”

  “I must insist, John. You’ve paid me a grand compliment in coming to my rescue. I can’t have you on my conscience.” She smiled sweetly at him but her eyes were still red and weary.

  “Your husband will consider much amiss to find me in one of his beds.”

  “I doubt he would care much if he found you in mine,” she muttered. She brightened her face as if on cue and gave his hand a pat. “Now I’ll count the matter done. I owe you at least that much.”

  John loo
ked at her as if he would look through her. There was a faint smile on her lips but in her eyes there was the glimmer of sadness. “What excuse will you give your husband for tending me?”

  “I’ll give none.” She shrugged. Then with a light laugh she added, “He seems to notice me only when he’s angry. Mayhaps I’ll gain some attention.”

  “And mayhaps he’ll call me out.”

  “Oh, I think not,” she laughed. “I can assure you, he’s warned me not to expect that from him. He is a good man, truly, it’s just that—” She lowered her eyes again, biting her lip against the urge to cry. A gentle hand, still stained with blood, brushed her cheek.

  “What manner of man goes wenching when one so lovely as you awaits his pleasure?”

  She raised her eyes and shook her head in confusion. “I had hoped to see what his preference be. I’ve no idea what he would have in my place.”

  “I should like to meet this beast,” John said, trying to hide the amusement in his voice.

  “I imagine you’ll have that chance. It seems a grand fault of mine is saying things I’m later sorry for. I hope you’ll not make mention of this talk we’ve had.”

  “You fear him?”

  “Yes, I suppose I do, but it’s not for that. I’m a little more afraid of looking like a fool to him.”

  “You must love him very much.”

  She raised her chin and took on a look of duty and tolerance. “Sir, I am his wife. Regardless of how I feel I am left without the right to decry him in any way when I speak of him. I was much too candid. I beg your discretion.”

  She looked back at him and read his expression accurately. He was amused. There was no way for her to conceal the fact that her love was a most agonizing thing. It was so painfully obvious that it almost sent John into a fit of laughter. She had nothing of the courtly dames’ ability to play games. He patted her hand as a fond older brother would. “I wouldn’t give you away for the world, sweetheart. I’ll never let the monster know how you love him.”

  Chelynne knew she was being laughed at. She looked away again, coming close to tears yet another time though she fought them gallantly. “I suppose you can see why he feels as he does,” she murmured, feeling absolutely infantile. How unattractive and juvenile she must appear.