He raised his sad eyes to gaze at her. “My very big house with all those rooms.”
“Why yes,” she agreed warily.
He rose and walked toward the window, then spoke softly, without looking at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so shocked in my life. In my own private closet, too.”
She didn’t have to ask to what he was referring. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, genuinely regretting that the events of last night had happened in the hapless nobleman’s home—or anywhere.
She wasn’t referring to making love with Rob. She could not be sorry for something so wonderful. It was the unforeseen aftermath that filled her with remorse.
Lord Cheddersby turned toward her. “I was so upset, I didn’t know what to say or do. I ran off like a … like a coward.”
“You had done nothing to be ashamed of.”
He straightened, and she was reminded of how he had been in the theater that night, when he had so courageously risen to her defense. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“Yes, I am, my lord.”
“Although this gives me very great pain,” he said, “I felt it necessary to come to you and tell you …” His voice trailed off, and he flushed.
“What is it, my lord?” she prompted gently.
“I fear there are some nasty rumors going about concerning you and the king.”
Vivienne sighed. “Not unexpected, under the circumstances, are they, my lord?”
His gaze grew a little more severe. “Lettice Jerningham is implying that she has known of a liaison between you for some time, and that the reason you are not already engaged to Sir Philip is that you have been the king’s lover. She claims that Philip offered to marry you at the king’s behest, to squelch gossip.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” Vivienne replied, truly horrified. “Philip wants to marry me for my uncle’s money. You saw him last night—he was as shocked as anybody to discover me with the king.”
“Yes, I thought he was as taken aback as I, and I told Lettice I didn’t think there was a word of truth in her tales. I also told her she shouldn’t spread unfounded rumors.”
Vivienne rose and went to him, taking his gloved hand in hers. “Lord Cheddersby, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for championing me.”
Lord Cheddersby managed a hopeful smile. “After all, Charles kisses women all the time,” he said with something like his usual cheerful tone. “That doesn’t give people the right to say that you were … “—he frowned—” that he and you … that you’re not a virgin anymore!” he finally spit out.
As she faced the kindhearted man, she wanted to tell him the truth—that her lover was not the king, but Robert Harding, and that she was going to marry him.
But she couldn’t, not if there was the slightest chance Lord Cheddersby still cared for her. “Lord Cheddersby, if you hear anyone else say that, do not contradict them.”
He stared at her, obviously confused.
“They are right. I am no longer a virgin.”
As she saw respect for her dwindle and disappear from his honest eyes, to be replaced by shocked disappointment, she suddenly realized exactly what she had lost along with her reputation.
It would have been nearly unbearable if she had not had a good cause, and she could sympathize with the pain Rob had suffered because of the lies told about him.
“I thought … I thought you were different from most of the women I’ve met at court, Mistress Burroughs,” Lord Cheddersby stammered as he tugged his hand away. “I am more sorry than I can say to discover I was wrong. I … I have to go. Good day, Mistress Burroughs.”
He went to the door as if he could not leave her fast enough, then glanced back at her over his shoulder, his expression both sad and disappointed. “If, after the king is done with you, you need any help or assistance, I will be glad to do what I can.”
“That is most generous of you, my lord.”
“Yes, well, I’ve seen what has happened to some of his other lovers, and I wouldn’t want it to happen to anybody else. Farewell, Mistress Burroughs, and good luck.”
“Farewell, my lord.”
After he left, she sank down upon the sofa and told herself there had been nothing else she could do.
She straightened abruptly as Uncle Elias strode into the room, a letter sealed with a huge blob of red wax in his plump hand. “Ah, Vivienne, my dear, here you are. A messenger has come from Whitehall!”
He thrust the letter at her and she saw the royal seal. The king or one of his advisors must have sent it.
“Open it!” Uncle Elias demanded impatiently.
She did, and when she saw the signature at the bottom, her stomach lurched with dread.
My dear Mistress Burroughs,
Thank you for a most enjoyable evening. Given that it was mutually beneficial, your presence is requested at Whitehall this evening. Sincerely,
Charles R.
She thought of the lustful gleam in his eyes when the king lay atop her and the way he boldly caressed her, and her doubts as to his true intent began to multiply.
“Well?” Uncle Elias asked. “What does it say?”
“It is from the king,” she murmured.
“I supposed as much. What more?”
“He requests my presence at Whitehall this evening.” There and then she could explain to Charles that there was no need to continue the ruse, she decided.
If his actions had been only feigned.
Uncle Elias’s eyes lit up like torches. “Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent!”
He was all but rubbing his hands together with glee.
“Lord Cheddersby has just called. I fear we have seen the last of him.”
Uncle Elias shrugged.
“He told me that I am being talked about, and it is not flattering.”
“By jealous women, I don’t doubt,” Uncle Elias replied, rocking back and forth on his heels as if his excitement and delight must take physical form. “All the ones the king has not bestowed his attention upon, I’m quite sure. Don’t trouble yourself about it. That’s the price you must pay for the royal favor.”
The price she must pay. Yes, he would put it that way, and apparently he thought she was going to be getting her money’s worth.
This would all be worth it only if she could be Rob’s wife.
Slouched in a wing chair, Sir Philip Martlebury glared at his footman over the rim of his brandy glass. “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t to be disturbed?” he demanded, his words slightly slurred as he put his drink down on the table beside him.
“Yes, Sir Philip,” the trembling servant replied. “He said it was important. Very important.”
“Who said?”
A man shoved his way past the footman and walked to the center of Sir Philip’s library. “I did.”
He was about Philip’s age, with greasy dark hair that hung about his broad shoulders and clothes that had clearly seen better days. He also sported a patch over his left eye.
“Who the devil are you?”
The man removed his patch. “Don’t recognize me, eh, Martlebury?”
Sir Philip straightened, then glanced at the gawking footman. “Leave us.”
The servant obeyed, closing the door softly.
“Well, well, well,” Philip drawled, reaching again for his brandy. “I thought we’d seen the last of you. Or have you got another sister to sell? My father’s been dead these five years, though, and I have different tastes.”
A muscle in Jack’s jaw tensed. “Maybe you don’t want Vivienne Burroughs, after all.”
The glass of brandy halted its progress to Philip’s mouth.
“Ah, now you’re interested.” Without waiting for an answer, Jack strolled over to the decanter on the side table and lifted it to his lips. He drank down several large gulps, then set it beside Martlebury with a bang. “She doesn’t want you because she’s got a lover, a
nd I know who it is.”
Philip scowled. “The whole city knows who it is, you oaf. The king.”
Jack grinned. “Think so, do ya?”
“I do. So if you thought to sell me that information, you can go now.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty to sell, ‘cause it ain’t the king.”
“What, some brother of yours?”
“A friend, as a matter o’ fact.”
“What friend of yours could be the lover of a woman like Vivienne Burroughs?”
“Cost you them rings you’re wearin’ to find out.”
“You’re lying.” Philip took another drink.
“Why would I do that?”
“For my rings, which are worth considerably more than you asked of my father for the pleasure of your sister’s company.”
“I was just a boy then. I come up in the world since.”
“To where you would sell friends?”
“A man has needs.”
Sir Philip eyed him speculatively. “I won’t argue with that,” he remarked. “But if Vivienne Burroughs has a lover, he’s a royal one, and more power to her—and so to me,” he finished.
He opened his mouth to call for the footman, but in the next instant, Jack was behind the chair, his hand clamped over it.
“Listen to me, you pompous ass,” he hissed in the nobleman’s ear. “I can stick you quick as a wink and be out that window before your servants get here. It ain’t the king who’s had her, and there ain’t goin’ to be no reward for you being cuckolded. If you want her uncle’s money, what I know will mean that you get it. Now, are you goin’ to pay me for what I have to say, or do I rob ya and slit your throat?”
His eyes full of panic, Philip nodded.
“I wouldn’t make any loud noises if I were you.” With his other hand, Jack drew out his long, sharp knife. “The rings, Martlebury.”
The nobleman quickly took them off and held them out.
Jack came around the chair and snatched up the jewelry.
Philip wiped his lips. “I could have you thrown in prison for robbery.”
“Aye, ya could, but then you won’t find out who’s been plowing Vivienne Burroughs’s furrow.”
Philip reached for his brandy. His hand shaking, he raised the glass to his lips and drank before speaking again. “Well, who is it—Cheddersby?”
“Rob Harding.”
“That’s ludicrous. Heartless Harding?”
“The very same.”
“He’s representing me.”
“He’s representing you, all right—in her bed.”
Philip’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and disgust. “I’ve heard stories about Harding and Godwin. He’s a sodomite.”
Jack’s lips curled scornfully. “Then I’m the king’s long-lost brother. Stories, they are. I tell ya, he’s already made love to her at least once, so if you want Vivienne Burroughs, you’ve got her. Her uncle’ll be glad to be rid of her—unless you think he’ll let her marry a solicitor, and one with scarcely a penny to his name.”
“You’re a scoundrel and a liar. When have they had a chance?”
“He was with her t’other night. Climbed in her bedchamber window like the thief he used to be. I seen him meself.”
Philip rubbed his naked fingers. “If that’s true, I’ll have him thrown in prison, the lying rogue.”
Jack grinned. “Worth a few baubles, ain’t it?”
“I believe it is, yes,” Philip agreed slowly. “If you’re not lying.”
“I can prove it.”
“How?”
“He’ll be climbing in her window tonight, like as not. You could wait in the mews and see for yourself. He’ll go in to her very bedchamber and there won’t be a peep out of the house because he’s welcome.”
“She would hardly let me touch her, that whore,” Philip muttered as his hands balled into fists.
“We’re all whores, ain’t we, in one way or another?” Jack noted dispassionately. “Dog eat dog. Every man for himself. That’s the way of the world.”
“I daresay that’s how you justified selling your sister to my father.”
Jack’s jaw clenched again. “You’re selling your title for money, ain’t ya? You gave me them rings in exchange for what I had to tell ya. I sell what I have, no different.”
“I think peddling your sister to a disgusting old lecher is quite different. She fought him, you know,” Philip continued coldly. “Bit and scratched. He had to beat her senseless the first time. She was better after that. Never made a sound, not even when he was done with her and cast her out.”
“Because she was havin’ his bastard.”
“So what of that?” Philip asked rhetorically with an airy wave of his hand.
Jack regarded him studiously. “On second thought, maybe I oughta kill you.”
Philip straightened. “You wouldn’t dare. My servant saw you.”
“Thievin,’ murder, I swing either way.”
“You didn’t rob me,” Philip said desperately. “I gave you the jewels.”
Jack smiled. “So you did, and don’t you forget that, in case it comes before the courts. What are ya going to do to Rob?” His eyes gleamed eagerly. “Kill him?”
“Sully my sword with the likes of him? Oh, no, Mr. Leesom, nothing so crude as that. I will ruin him. I will send him back to the gutter where he belongs.”
“Fair enough,” Jack said. His gaze roving over the many portable, valuable items so carelessly displayed, he sauntered to the door.
“How much did my father pay you to kill Janet?”
Jack slowly turned back. “I never killed her.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. I am just curious.”
“She done herself in. Too ashamed to go back to Rob, too afraid he’d turn her away. Even then he had a high and mighty opinion of himself.”
“How much will it cost for you to cripple him?”
“What, hamstring ‘im?”
“No. I want him castrated.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Like a bull?”
“He has enjoyed what should have been mine,” Philip said. “He has aspired far beyond his place. I want him alive to contemplate that, and all that he has lost. How much?”
“Two hundred pounds and passage to the New World,” Jack replied after a moment’s thought.
“Very well.”
“When?”
“We’ll go to Burroughs’s house tonight. If he comes there as you say he will, you can do it then. You are capable of overpowering him?”
“O’ course.”
“Especially since he will not be expecting an attack by his friend.”
Jack ignored Philip’s remark. “What’ll you be doing?”
“If you are such a clever fellow, I’m sure you can help me climb in a bedchamber window.”
Jack ran his measuring gaze over the man and looked doubtful. “Won’t it be enough to watch ‘im climbin’ in?”
“What, and miss the opportunity of calling Vivienne a whore to her face? I think not.” An evil, rapacious smile grew upon Philip’s face. “And when I make her pay for cheating me, I will enjoy it all the more if Harding has to watch.”
Chapter 20
Vivienne and Uncle Elias stood uncertainly in a corner of the Banqueting House of Whitehall Palace. Around them, the women were attired in fine silks and satins, but had painted their faces and exposed so much naked skin, they might have been actresses. Or whores.
The men were no better, for the majority of them seemed drunk. And as for the language … Vivienne was shocked by the obscene words and suggestive nature of most of the conversations she overheard.
She glanced up at the ceiling, where she understood one of the scenes depicted represented Temperance subduing Wantonness. Apparently Wantonness had gotten the upper hand during this reign.
Even Uncle Elias, who had so yearned for this invitation, appeared to be dismayed by what he was seeing and hearing.
“I don’t see he
r anywhere,” he muttered more to himself than to Vivienne.
“Lady Castlemaine?” Vivienne proposed, realizing his dismay had sprung from another source.
Uncle Elias started as if he had forgotten she was there. “Yes, and the king isn’t here, either.”
“Then perhaps we should leave,” she suggested. “Maybe he’s changed his mind about me.”
Or it could be that she and Rob had been worried about the king’s motive for nothing. Perhaps he had simply seen a way to help them, albeit one that allowed him liberties she would never permit otherwise.
Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. “Yes?” she said, turning swiftly to discover a man dressed in livery behind her.
“Mistress Burroughs?” he asked, bowing and giving her such a knowing look, she thought he must be the most insolent servant she had ever encountered. “Yes.”
“I am Chaffinch, the king’s page. Will you please step this way?”
She had heard of him; he was the servant most in the king’s confidence.
“Go, Vivienne,” Uncle Elias growled under his breath, “and remember what an opportunity this is. Don’t throw it away.”
A swift look at the faces of those nearby confirmed that they were also making assumptions as to Charles’s reasons for summoning Vivienne. What else would they think, given who had come to fetch her, Charles’s reputation and what had happened at Lord Cheddersby’s?
“I would not keep the king waiting, Mistress Burroughs,” Chaffinch murmured.
Vivienne glanced at her uncle. “Will you wait for me?”
Uncle Elias glared at her. “Who can say how long you may be?” he replied. “You must stay with the king for as long as he wants you.”
Why she had expected him to say otherwise, she didn’t know. “Very well, don’t wait,” she snapped before turning on her heel. “Come along, Mr. Chaffinch. To the king.”
She held her head high and ignored the speculative looks, sly smiles and excited whispers as the man led her through the crowd to a door that led to a corridor.
Then they turned another way, and another, until she was quite lost. With a shiver of dread, she wondered if that was the intention.
Finally, Chaffinch halted before a large double door. “The king’s private apartments,” he informed her as he opened them.
Margaret Moore Page 19