Margaret Moore

by His Forbidden Kiss

  “What now?” Bill mumbled grouchily as he hoisted himself to his feet.

  “If you think he’s mad, why go?”

  “’Cause he’s got better clothes than most, that’s why,” Bill explained as he waddled toward the open door. “He might have money to pay for additionals.”

  “Ah!” his fellow guard said with a slow nod. “Need any help there?”

  “No, I can manage,” Bill muttered as he made his way along the corridor, ignoring the stares or hawks of spit of the other prisoners, until he came to stand outside the cell of his most recently admitted prisoner. “What?” he demanded.

  The tall man who, although he was also better-looking than most of his prisoners, nevertheless gave Bill a bit of a shiver, stuck his face up to the grill in the door. “I want you to fetch my clerk, Bertie Dillsworth. Tell him to bring paper, ink and quills. Oh, and a small table and stool. Also, I need better food than moldy bread and fetid water.”

  Bill scowled and scratched his grizzled chin. “Think I’m your servant, do ye? Better take another look.”

  To his surprise, the man grinned. “I can pay for your troubles.”

  “Show me.”

  The man produced a sovereign. “There’ll be more. I assure you I have additional funds in my chambers.”

  “Chambers?”

  “I am a solicitor, Robert Harding.”

  Bill looked as if he had swallowed a bug. “Not the one they call ‘Heartless’?”

  He bowed. “Your servant.”

  “God’s teeth, you got my old mam them ten pounds that skint owed her! Not much, but she needed it bad. Why the hell didn’t you say who ya was?”

  “I was not at my best.”

  “Ha!” the jailer barked. “’Spose not. Right, then, sir, I’ll see you get what you need.”

  “I shall be very grateful.”

  King Charles looked up from the very boring document he was supposed to be reading and raised a brow. “Chaffinch, what in the name of God is that confounded racket?”

  His page, who was standing closer to the door of Charles’s apartments, cleared his throat. “It seems, Majesty, that someone wishes to intrude upon the royal presence.”

  Charles’s eyes lit up. “Odd’s fish, really?” Then he frowned. “If it’s the Dutch ambassador, tell him we’re indisposed and can’t possibly see anybody.”

  “It is not the Dutch ambassador, Majesty,” Chaffinch replied. “It sounds like a woman.”

  “Why did you not say so?” Charles demanded as he got to his feet, then stretched. “That sounds like something we should investigate.” He got a wary look on his face. “Unless it’s Barbara?”

  “No, sire, it is not Lady Castlemaine.”

  “Ah, then we shall have to see who dares to make so much fuss in our palace.”

  Again, Chaffinch cleared his throat. “Majesty, Lord Clarendon—”

  “Can go to the devil for a little while,” the king declared cheerfully. “We swear, if we are forced to read any more correspondence from the chancellor of the Exchequer, we shall go blind! Now, out of the way, that’s a good fellow.”

  The king waved Chaffinch aside and opened the door, then stepped into the corridor. A short distance away, two palace guards blocked the hall, obviously attempting to prevent the woman in front of them from going any farther.

  “Ho, there, what’s afoot?” Charles called out jovially. “An assassin in skirts?”

  “Your Majesty, please, I must speak with you.”

  “Guards, step aside,” the king commanded.

  They did so, albeit reluctantly.

  “Ah, Mistress Burroughs!” Charles said, frowning. “This is a surprise. We thought you unlikely to visit Whitehall again.”

  The lovely young woman, who no doubt possessed the finest breasts Charles had ever seen, flushed to the roots of her hair. “Your Majesty,” she said, dropping to a low curtsy that brought her cleavage into the royal view, “I most humbly beg your pardon for intruding, but I come on a matter of utmost urgency—and not for myself.”

  “A good thing,” the king muttered in an annoyed tone and letting her remain in a subservient position a little longer, “for we do not forget your behavior during your last visit here.”

  She glanced up, her really remarkable eyes flashing with a bold spirit he couldn’t help but admire. “Your Majesty, Mr. Harding is wrongfully imprisoned in Newgate.”

  “Wrongfully imprisoned?” Charles repeated as she straightened. “This sounds like most serious business, indeed, and the corridor is no place to be discussing serious business. Come, let us retire to my apartments.”

  He saw her hesitation, noting the way her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. Nevertheless, she did not protest when he tugged gently on her hand to lead her away.

  He barely subdued a smile. He was sure she must be a bold, energetic lover. Robert Harding should count himself a fortunate man.

  They entered his private domain, where the dutiful Chaffinch waited. “You may go, Chaffinch. Mistress Burroughs and I wish to be alone.”

  Chapter 24

  Vivienne’s heart throbbed wildly as the king’s servant abandoned the room, but she would not flee. Her dread and fears were insignificant. All that mattered was getting Rob free. “Majesty, I have come—”

  “You are all out of sorts, Mistress Burroughs,” he interrupted as he strolled toward the table bearing several decanters and crystal wineglasses. “Perhaps you would like some wine?”

  “No, Majesty,” she said, trying to sound calm.

  The king poured himself a goblet of rich red wine, the heady scent of it drifting toward her. “We gather you’ve come about Sir Philip’s death?”

  She stared at him. “Sire?”

  “Lord Cheddersby interrupted our game of tennis this morning to tell us all about it.” He took a sip. “The poor fellow was quite indignant that Mr. Harding had been taken to Newgate.”

  “Quite rightly, sire,” she replied. “It is I who should have been taken away, for I did the deed.”

  The king turned to her with an incredulous look. “You?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I stabbed him.”

  “Lord Cheddersby tells us Mr. Harding was defending himself.”

  “He was defending me, but he was injured and Philip was going to kill him. I had a knife in my hands and I killed him.”

  “God save us,” Charles muttered. “Amazing.”

  “It is the truth, sire.”

  “Yet your lover has confessed to the deed.”

  “Only to protect me, Majesty.”

  “A most charming sentiment that has, unfortunately, landed him in a terrible situation.” Charles cocked his head to regard her shrewdly. “Perhaps you are trying to protect him, too. The law is usually more merciful to a woman.”

  “Sire, what I say is the truth. Have me taken to Newgate and set him free.”

  Charles set down the goblet and approached her. “You are far too pretty to go to prison, my dear, and surely too pretty to have killed a man.”

  Her body trembled and perspiration trickled down her back as she stood before him, afraid but resolute. She would do whatever she could to have Rob freed, and if nobody was willing to believe the truth, she would try another way. “Majesty, if you are not willing to see me in prison in Mr. Harding’s stead, then I ask that you pardon him.”

  “Pardon him?” the king demanded. “Even if we believed you, we are not in the habit of interfering in criminal proceedings, except as they concern treason, Mistress Burroughs. We hardly think this matter requires your sovereign’s involvement.”

  Desperate, seeing no other way, Vivienne swallowed hard and said, “If the truth alone is not enough to persuade you to pardon Mr. Harding, I will do whatever I must to encourage you to do so.”

  The king ran a measuring gaze over her. “You are willing to barter for his freedom?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty, if I must.”

  “And you would offer whatever we most des
ire?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “So it is a bargain, then, is it, Mistress Burroughs? We shall pardon Mr. Harding in return for … whatever we will?”

  She nodded.

  “Shall we seal our contract with a kiss?”

  Again, she nodded, and she closed her eyes as she waited for his unwanted embrace.

  “You are most tempting, my dear,” the king said, his voice sounding unexpectedly far away, “really most tempting. However, we have enough troubles with women and do not seek to add to them.”

  She opened one eye cautiously. The king stood by the decanter-covered table again. As he reached for his wine, he said, “We really don’t need another mistress.”

  She opened both eyes.

  He frowned with displeasure—but she saw the sparkle of merriment in his eyes as he raised in goblet in salute. “We are not so decadent as to make a woman pay for a pardon with her body, Mistress Burroughs, no matter what you may have heard, although, as we said, you are mighty tempting.

  “Lord Cheddersby pleaded the case most eloquently this morning. Really, he was quite astonishing and not at all what one might expect, given his usual bumbling manner. In fact, we think the young man has been hiding his light under a bushel—or should we say, a wig?”

  The king chuckled at his own joke, while all Vivienne could do was make a weak little smile.

  “As he put it to us,” Charles continued, “the facts seem quite clear. Sir Philip intruded into your bedchamber, made improper advances, and a struggle ensued. One way or another, Philip lost.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” she confirmed, too confused and uncertain to speak in much more than a whisper.

  “So Sir Philip’s death was justifiable. However, you tell me now that Lord Cheddersby and Mr. Harding have misrepresented the actual events.”

  “They did that for my sake, sire.”

  “We understand that, too. And frankly, we think anyone who believes a lawyer never lies incredibly naive. However, we have it on good authority that Mr. Harding may indeed be exceptional in this regard, as well as very well versed in the law. If so, it would be unfortunate if he were to lose his reputation for honesty. He most certainly would if it got out that he had lied, even if it was to save the woman he loved.” His mien softened. “We would dearly like to inspire so much tender feeling in a woman’s breast.”

  Sighing, he set down his goblet. “Be that as it may, we think it best to let the confession stand, and to pardon Mr. Harding, which we had every intention of doing this very day. One of our secretaries is writing the document now and we shall sign it as soon as it is ready.”

  “Oh, Majesty!” she cried, covering her face with her hands as she burst into tears and sank to her knees.

  “Please get up, my dear,” Charles said tenderly as he took her elbow. “Really, we are not an ogre, you know. Mr. Harding can take credit for our mercy, too. We have heard of his assistance to those who have been unfairly treated and his attempts to have justice rendered to them.”

  She wiped her face and tried to stop crying as Charles gently helped her to her feet and led her to a chair. “You … you have heard of what he does?”

  “Indeed.” The king grinned and his eyes twinkled. “Did we not tell you we have plenty of courtiers who dearly love to inform us of so many things? We are glad to hear of Mr. Harding’s efforts. If people feel justice will be done, it reflects well on the government, of which we are the head, so it reflects well on us and makes us popular with the people. We do not overlook something that increases our popularity.”

  He pressed a crystal goblet into her hand. “We really must insist you take a drink.”

  She did, and wine had never tasted better. She looked up at Charles, who was watching her with paternal concern. “I cannot possibly thank you enough, Majesty. And dear Lord Cheddersby, too.”

  “Whom we truly believe has been most seriously underestimated,” the king remarked. “All finished?”

  “Yes, thank you, sire.”

  He took the goblet from her.

  “Your Majesty, I must confess I feared that I had angered you so much, you would hold that against Rob, too.”

  “Our reputation really is not very gentlemanly, is it?” Charles replied with a wistful expression that made her feel sorry for him. Then he grinned, once more the Merry Monarch. “It was for your sake we did that, Mistress Burroughs, for we fear you are no actress.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We didn’t want to damage your reputation any more than it already had been. Everyone at court thinks you are foolishly virtuous for refusing to be the king’s mistress, which was part of our plan. But as we said, you are no actress, so we felt we dare not confide in you. As it was, you were beautifully and indignantly angry and distraught. It was quite the talk of the Banqueting House last night.”

  Although she had had many a dreadful moment since that meeting in the palace, given that Rob was going to be set free, she was willing to forgive the king for misleading her. “You are very clever, Majesty.”

  “Now, that is a compliment we rarely receive,” he said, obviously pleased. He gave her a devilish grin. “If Mr. Harding should ever grow tiresome, my dear …” he murmured suggestively.

  “You shall be the first to know, sire.”

  His deep laugh filled the chamber. “We don’t believe you for a moment, but we can ask no more.”

  There was a soft knock at the door. “What it is?” the king bellowed.

  The door opened a crack and Chaffinch’s head appeared. “Lord Cheddersby has returned, sire.”

  “Ah, wonderful! Have him come here. And see what’s keeping that pardon, will you?” Chaffinch nodded and disappeared.

  Grinning gleefully, the king turned toward Vivienne. “This should be excellent! We’ve sent Foz to fetch your uncle.” He clapped his hands like an excited child, then hurried to the table holding the decanters.

  The king lifted up one end of the embroidered cloth. “Hide under here and you’ll see what we mean about Lord Cheddersby’s astonishing and unexpected burst of eloquence, for we shall put him through his paces for you.”

  “But Majesty, I don’t think I’ll fit—”

  “Of course you will! Hurry, hurry!”

  He was the king, she was his subject, and moreover, he was going to pardon Rob, so she obeyed.

  She had no sooner managed to get all her skirt under the tablecloth and sit cross-legged on the floor than she heard the door to the room open.

  She recognized her uncle’s heavy tread on the parquet floor. The other man was Lord Cheddersby, for he spoke the moment he stopped. “Here is Mr. Burroughs, Your Majesty, and a more stubborn man I have yet to meet,” he declared.

  Even though there could be no mistaking the voice, Vivienne nevertheless raised the table-clothto peek out and confirm the identity of the very irate, and certainly not stammering, speaker. Lord Cheddersby looked like the very vision of angry righteousness, while Uncle Elias appeared decidedly uncomfortable.

  And the king—the king looked more imperious than she had ever seen him, even the night she believed he was trying to seduce her. She felt of twinge of sympathy for her uncle. “Your Majesty, I don’t know what you’ve been told—” he pleaded.

  “Everything, Mr. Burroughs,” the king interrupted. “We know what transpired in your house last night, and we know why—which seems to be something in which you are completely uninterested. However, we assure you that your sovereign is always keen to know all the facts. And,” he finished, glowering, “we do not take lightly to wrongful imprisonment, which is a fate we narrowly avoided ourselves.”

  “But Your Majesty, what else could I do? There was Sir Philip lying there dead, right in my niece’s bedchamber, and—”

  “You might have asked yourself what Sir Philip was doing there in the first place,” Lord Cheddersby said coldly.

  Uncle Elias blushed. “And Harding was there, too, where he had no business to be—�
�

  “Mr. Harding, if you please,” Lord Cheddersby said in a low growl that would have done credit to a highwayman.

  Indeed, if she weren’t so uncomfortable under the table, she would have been delighted to simply admire the change that had apparently come over the nobleman.

  “Didn’t your niece explain that to you?” Lord Cheddersby continued. “He was defending her honor.”

  Uncle Elias flushed as he looked from Lord Cheddersby to the king and back again. “But he shouldn’t have been there, either.”

  “It was a good thing he was, or your niece might have suffered even more than she did,” Lord Cheddersby said.

  “But …” Uncle Elias fell silent.

  “But what?” the king demanded.

  “But a dead nobleman in my house, sire! My business would surely suffer when that became known. Although Sir Philip was a fool, a fop, and a heedless, impetuous—”

  “Impetuous?” Charles roared. “Impetuous? He attacked your niece in her bedchamber!”

  “And he died there. What will people think?”

  Vivienne couldn’t stay silent. Her uncle and Lord Cheddersby regarded her with shocked surprise as she clambered out from under the table.

  “Vivienne, what—”

  “Uncle, are you forgetting that Philip wanted to rape me and kill the man trying to stop him? What does it matter if you lose some custom? Would you feel better if it had been Rob who died? Is his life less valuable than a nobleman’s?”

  The king held up his hand for silence. “We are venturing onto swampy and republican ground with such questions. We remind you that your king is well within hearing.”

  “But sire—” Vivienne began.

  “However, without venturing into that swamp,” Charles continued, “we must say we value Mr. Harding. His absence would be a great loss to British jurisprudence. Therefore, Mr. Burroughs, we are not only prepared to pardon Mr. Harding, but we believe we must show our appreciation for his work with the less fortunate. We think a knighthood at the very least would be sufficient. Yes, a knighthood—but he must continue his practice, of course.” He turned to Vivienne with a warm smile. “What say you to that, Mistress Burroughs? Shall we make him Sir Robert Harding?”