Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2)

by James, Judith

  “Might I remind you, Lady Nichols that you are people like me now, too? And what have you been living off in your palace and your town house in Pall Mall?”

  “Oh! I will never be people like you. After all, I’m not good enough, am I? Nor would I want to be. You are all hypocrites and liars!”

  “The man was a cutthroat, a robber and thief,” he snapped. “No wonder he’s admired by your kind.”

  She stopped and jerked her arm from his grasp. “No doubt you would have seen him hang, Captain Nichols. Or maybe drawn and quartered first. And you know nothing about people like me! Maybe I have lived off of other men’s labors, but believe me I’ve worked and paid for every bit of it. Who are you to judge? I have done what I must to survive and prosper. Have you not done the same on the battlefield? Do you not do the same in holding your nose to marry me? At least I have never killed anyone!” She shoved past him, continuing down the path on her own.

  “Hope, wait! The trail is dangerous in the dark.” He hurried to catch up with her, grasping her by her upper arm when she wouldn’t stop. “All I meant was that you grew up amongst the poor, who tend to take their heroes from rebels and those who flout the law.”

  “And to remind me that I am a glorified whore.”

  “No! To remind you that now you live the life of those nobles you insult, which makes you just as much a hypocrite as you call me.”

  “Let go of me! I’ve told you before not to touch me,” she snarled.

  “And I’m telling you that you’re not walking home alone in the dark.” She made to pull away from him and he hoisted her easily in his arms.

  “Put me down, Captain. I’m well able to walk on my own two feet.” She struggled in his grasp but it only made him hold her tighter. She could feel the strength of him in his effortless stride, the muscles of his stomach, arms and chest—every inch of him was hard. There was no escaping. She ceased her struggles but refused to relax against him, her body as tense and rigid as that of an angry cat. He dropped her to her feet at the entrance to the inn.

  “Now, I put you down.”

  Robert needed a drink. He couldn’t remember ever drinking as much as he had over the past few days. She was exactly what he’d thought her. An impossible woman. He was almost grateful for their argument. At least things had righted themselves and were back the way they should be. He walked away, leaving her to find her own way to her room.

  “And who are your heroes, Captain?” she called after him, her voice mocking.

  “I have none,” he replied without looking back.

  “I will tell you how many men I have fucked if you tell me how many you have killed.”

  He slowed and stopped, then turned to face her, leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed and his head cocked as he looked her up and down. “I don’t care how many men you’ve fucked, Mistress Mathews, and I’ve stopped keeping count of how many I have killed.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hope was back to staring out of windows. Anything rather than acknowledge his presence. She must have imagined the brief warmth between them, for all traces of it were gone. After a day of pleasantries and simple pleasures, the thin veneer of civility between them had shredded as easily as flimsy tissue leaving them encased in frigid hostility once more. One moment they were enjoying the sunset and the next they were on the attack. She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened so quickly, nor why she’d deliberately provoked him when he’d dropped her at the door. Did I want him to go? Or did I want him to stay?

  That there was an attraction was undeniable. But he wasn’t the amiable companion he’d pretended to be yesterday. She was embarrassed to remember how she’d warmed to a few gently spoken words like an abandoned puppy, though it was only to be expected after being humiliated and betrayed. It wouldn’t happen again. She was a courtesan, not some dewy-eyed miss, and he was a bought husband. It hadn’t taken him long to show his true colors. When he came to collect her this morning, his cold gaze had flicked over her as if she were a bale of linen or a sack of sugar, just one more purchase to be carted home. It was better this way—without the masquerade.

  She snuck a sideways peek at him from beneath her lashes. He seemed cramped and uncomfortable in confined spaces. The inn, the coach, even in her town house. He seemed a man meant to be outdoors. He’d neglected to shave again and dark shadows accentuated firm lips and strong chin and jaw. She didn’t know why she found this rugged look so appealing, particularly when it appeared he had spent the night drinking again.

  She should feel nothing but contempt yet her body betrayed her. Despite her anger and his disdain, she felt the same intense awareness of him as she had when he sat across from her at the inn. It was the sensation of touching without being touched. She could almost feel the rasp of his stubble against her tender cheeks. Her lips burned as if his sullen mouth hovered, just a heartbeat from hers.

  She took a deep breath, acknowledging a tender aching that weakened her limbs and squeezed her heart. This man is a danger to me like none other if I let my senses rule my head. A woman like herself, forced to make her way alone in the world, must always take care that her head ruled her heart. Yesterday had been an aberration. It was well they didn’t like each. It was far too easy to confuse lust with something else when friendship mixed freely with desire.

  They passed a prosperous-looking village of half-timbered houses, clustered in a shady dell nestled in the woods. It was home to a forge, a substantial alehouse and an impressive looking water wheel and mill. Yesterday she would have asked Robert about it and its people but today she was rendered mute.

  Not long after the village they approached Cressly through a magnificent alley of towering oaks. The ancient trees, as magnificent in size and shape as any she’d seen, created a cathedral-like sense of awe. Ignoring her surly keeper she perched halfway out the window when she spotted a small herd of deer. Their ears pricked forward but they made no move to bolt, watching the passing coach with mild interest as it circled round the bend.

  Hope’s eagerness to see Cressly had been growing since she’d seen the view from Castle Rock. The pretty village and regal forest they had passed on the way were like something from the stories she had heard as a girl. She was excited to see the rest.

  At first she caught only flashes—teasing glimpses of red brick, soaring turrets and towering chimney stacks, but as the drive straightened it revealed a beautiful three-story rust-tinted house with banks of white-trimmed windows. Set amongst a copse of trees with ample boughs to shelter and protect it from eastern blasts, it was draped by dark-green ivy and widespread Virginia creeper.

  Edged by a moss-and-lichen-covered terrace, it sat on a gentle rise on a protected bend of the river. The Trent, girded by stately trees, some of whose boughs dipped gently almost trailing in the water, flowed right in front of its windows. A backwater made from its overflow was home to a pair of swans. She had never seen a home that looked more like it belonged just where it was. It seemed a natural feature of the forest, fields and river. Something that had grown there, rather than been built..

  They came to a halt in an empty stone-flagged courtyard. A sweet scent wafted from overgrown beds of tangled flowers on either side of a broad gravel walk. There was no bustle of servants, no clutch of chickens, no curious children or barking dogs. As she stepped from the coach it was eerily silent. Just the rush of the river and the sibilant whisper of wind stirring the leaves. She accepted the captain’s proffered hand, though he offered her no greeting or welcome to his home. My home now, too, Captain Nichols. Whether it pleases you or not.

  A falcon cried overhead and a cool breeze sent a cold shiver up her spine. She imagined the house was watching her, taking her measure. She swallowed her anxiety, lifted her chin, and stiffened her spine. This lovely home was sadly neglected. It was almost ghostly with its unkempt gardens, smothered walls and silent courtyard. But it was the home she had always dreamed of. It called to her, asking to be loved and cared for and
her heart ached to embrace it. I need it and it needs me.

  Yet in her dream the house belonged to her and she was independent and free. Charles and this stranger had put an end to that dream. This house could never be hers. It belonged to someone else. If Charles called her back, she would have to leave it for whatever pretty cage he chose to put her in. If he forgot her here, as she knew he might, it would become her prison, a place where she would live unwanted and unloved.

  Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. It had taken such effort not to let this hard-eyed stranger see her pain. A few kind gestures and she’d been drawn to him immediately, taking his arm, leaning on his strength. But in truth she was alone. She had always been. She must rely on herself, trust herself, for therein lay her strength. In a life fraught with harsh lessons, trusting Charles had been her biggest mistake. Now, all that mattered was—

  “Good evening, Sergeant Oakes. I have brought a guest. The Countess of Newport. I would appreciate it if you would have the staff see to her comfort, and then I will see you in the library straightaway. There are important matters to discuss.”

  I have brought a guest? So that was how it was going to be.

  Hope took a deep breath, regaining her composure, and turned to greet the sergeant. He seemed almost taken aback by his master’s appearance, tilting his head with what looked like puzzlement before shifting his attention to her. As he approached she noticed he walked with his left hand curled by his side. It seemed to be missing a couple of fingers, and a scar across his cheek and brow passed perilously close to one eye.

  “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, my lady.” The grizzled old veteran gave her a beaming smile. He had the rough-edged growl of someone who’d spent years barking orders, but his tone was friendly enough. He wore a military uniform rather than livery, and it was hard to tell his position in the household but she didn’t care. Like recognized like. The sergeant was a survivor and so was she.

  She stepped forward and threaded her arm through his. “It’s such a great joy to meet one of Robert’s colleagues, Sergeant Oakes. He can be rather taciturn and at first I feared he had no friends. It pleases me greatly to see him play the jester, but he really shouldn’t tease you. I am Lady Nichols, our gallant captain’s new wife.”

  The sergeant’s eyes rounded and he blinked several times. His mouth opened and closed twice before he recovered the capacity to speak. “You’re married, sir? When? How? Why didn’t you inform us, Captain?”

  “The whole thing was rather sudden. I ought to have sent a messenger from London or Nottingham, I suppose.” The captain signaled his indifference with a yawn.

  “Indeed, sir. Then we might have greeted your lady properly. You are most welcome here at Cressly, madam. We have missed a lady’s touch. Er…” The sergeant reddened and cleared his throat. “That is to say Cressly has missed a lady’s touch. Pray forgive the miserly welcome, my lady. I’ll have the staff assembled to greet you at once.”

  “There’s no need to apologize, Sergeant. You could not have foreseen this turn of events when we are just as surprised as you.” Hope patted his arm. The sergeant’s astonishment was almost comical, but her husband’s look was mocking and cold. Returning it with a sweet smile and eyes full of scorn, she let go of the sergeant and took her husband’s arm instead. She smiled when she felt it stiffen. Leaning her head against his shoulder she looked up at him with melting eyes. “We were both overtaken by a grand passion weren’t we, my darling? And there was simply nothing else to do.”

  Robert grunted in reply. A wiry dark-haired young man with an eye patch had come to help with the horses, and a footman with a scar that traveled across the bridge of his nose and down his cheek was assisting with the bags. People with scars and missing limbs were a common sight on the streets of London since the war, but not in gentlemen’s homes. She almost asked a question of the sergeant, but the doors to Cressly opened and she was swept inside.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A superb staircase rose in front of her. Massive and elaborately carved, its wide landings led from the basement to the upper floors. A billiard room was close by the entrance, the doors to a library were to her left, and what looked to be a drawing room and a long hallway were to her right. It might have been elegant, even opulent, but other than heavy dark-colored drapes the walls were bare and the furnishings, many of which were covered by sheets and rugs, were sparse.

  Her first thought was that it was dark, the second that it was cold and unwelcoming, much like it’s owner, and the third—that it was empty inside.

  It must be easy for the maids to clean but it felt funereal and much too quiet. She could hear a clock ticking in a distant room and she felt a tightening dread. How can I live in this house? She was used to music and color, laughter and gaiety, company…friends...

  ~

  Once Sergeant Oakes had assembled the staff, the captain introduced her as the Countess of Newport, then waited with a look of bored impatience as the sergeant told her their names and explained their duties. Clearly, her fortune-hunting husband was eager to be shed of her and off about his business. He is ashamed to call me wife. She felt a quick stab of hurt and anger. Refusing to acknowledge it she straightened her spine and raised her chin, doing her best to look gracious and regal.

  He seemed curt with his servants. They showed no fear or any sign he was a difficult master, but there was no evidence of the excitement and bustle one might expect when a new mistress came home. They stood in order of precedence.

  Maggie Overton, the housekeeper, a small severe-looking woman with nut-brown hair watched her with eyes as cold as her master’s. Mrs. Fullerton, the cook, gave her a businesslike nod as if she had other places to be. The scarred footman was introduced as Corporal Ryan, along with another handsome fellow called Mr. Yates who was missing two fingers on his left hand. Last came two maids named Lucy and Patience. They both bobbed their heads but their eyes were sharp with speculation.

  It was a small coterie of servants, particularly given the size of the manor. There was no butler, valet, or lady’s maid, though she would correct the last as soon as she could. She wasn’t sure what to make of them. The sergeant seemed friendly, the footmen correct, but the housekeeper looked her up and down contemptuously, almost bristling with disapproval—and the maids, though not outwardly insubordinate, stared with a curiosity that bordered on rudeness.

  I might as well have whore stamped on my forehead. They think they know what I am even if the men don’t. The captain’s introduction would have confirmed their suspicions. Even Sergeant Oakes hadn’t known that they were married, and respectable unmarried ladies didn’t come to stay with men alone. Well, she was not about to stand here and explain herself to a collection of surly strangers. Who were they to judge? If she had faced down dukes and duchesses she could certainly manage this lot. She held her head proudly and returned the housekeeper’s withering look with a haughty stare.

  The captain cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Well.... There you have it. Now you’ve met the household staff. I’m sure Maggie will be pleased to show you the house while a room is prepared for you. Oakes and I have business to discuss. I shall see you at dinner.” With that, he abandoned her, leaving her to cope as best she might on her own.

  “This way if you please, mistress. Quickly now. I’ll show you the drawing room. Your unexpected arrival has left us with much work to do.”

  Hope’s eyes narrowed. The housekeeper’s annoyance was so obvious it was disrespectful. After cleaning and serving in her mother’s establishment she usually felt a kinship with servants and staff. She tried to respect their dignity, be sensitive to their needs, and she made every attempt not to be burdensome, but she never tolerated rudeness. She hadn’t asked to be countess, lady, or wife, but she was all three and it had cost her dearly. She had earned respect and she would have it. The housekeeper would have to be put in her place.

  Unlike the parts of the house she’d glimpsed so far, the dr
awing room was well-appointed, luxurious, and clearly lived in. Dutch tiles ornamented a fireplace of gigantic proportions and plush settees, chairs, and couches sat upon a brightly colored Turkish carpet with a beautiful star-burst design. The broad casement window commanded a lovely view of gently rising hills, grand old trees and the gleam of water edging the deer park—and a portrait of a handsome if stern-looking man and an elegant woman graced the far wall. The family resemblance was unmistakable. He is more handsome than his father, she mused. His face is hard—not harsh—and I doubt the man before me ever smiled.

  The housekeeper cleared her throat impatiently. They all seemed impatient around here, though from what little she’d seen of this cavernous house there could not be that much for them to do. She studied the painting a few moments longer before turning to respond. “Yes, Maggie?” she inquired mildly.

  “It’s Mrs. Overton, to you, miss,” the housekeeper snapped. “I’ve work to do. You can settle yourself here until one of the lads has got your luggage and the girls have fixed your room.”

  “I should like someone to show me around, Maggie. That is the housekeeper’s duty, is it not?”

  “That’s the housekeeper’s prerogative, when she has spare time for amusing guests…. Miss.” She almost hissed it.

  “Not when her mistress requires it, Mrs. Overton. And it’s Lady Newport, or my lady, or ma’am, to you. I am married to your master and lady of this house now, and like it or not I am your new mistress. You will show me the appropriate respect if you wish to remain employed here.”

  “You’re a mistress all right, ma’am. And we all know whose. Notts is not so far from London as you might think. They talk of the king’s country miss there, with her enchantress eyes and witch-black hair. None else has eyes that color, nor would come to the country dressed so fine. I’ve seen you with the king at Newcastle when I visited me granny. Lord knows what you’ve done to the master. He’s never brought a woman here before. But he’s been through enough and deserves better than the likes of you. We be hard-working folk here, ma’am. There’s no palace full of servants at your beck and call. If you want to pretend to be his wife, go ahead. But don’t expect the rest of us to pretend it with you!”