by Pam Roller
“’Tis the only thing I want you to wear.”
Katherine’s mouth opened slightly. Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes grew dark with a desire that made him want to carry her off to the nearest bedchamber.
Alex fingered one of the soft curls at her neck, then looked beyond to see a man staring at them. He stood with his bejeweled hands perched on his waist, a voluminous white silk shirt hanging over his bright blue-green breeches. Alex met Katherine’s eyes. “What did you ever see in the Earl of Rochester?”
Katherine shrugged. “Father wanted the match. I thought he meant to gain lands and power from the union. But now I know that he hoped Ellis might tell me secrets.”
“But you said you loved the earl.”
Katherine touched his cheek. “I never knew what love was. That is, not until I fell in love with you.”
“And I said there could be no love in marriage,” Alex replied softly. “How wrong I was.”
Through the crowd, Rochester moved across the room. He acknowledged neither Alex nor Katherine as he passed, but instead preyed on Agnes, who stood near the food table watching him with a bright smile.
Katherine saw him then. “Ah, and there he is. I wondered why you suddenly asked about him. Do you think him angry at you for telling King Charles of his whereabouts with Mrs. Mallet?”
“I do. He spent two days in the Tower for it. I believe he’d like to put a sword through me.”
Katherine nodded toward Agnes, who had cocked her head and laughed too loudly at something Ellis said. “She knows not that she will only be a plaything to him,”.
They both watched as, a moment later, Ellis and Agnes left the room.
“Perhaps I should warn her about him,” Katherine said, tapping a finger to her lips.
Alex smiled at his wife and helped her to her feet as the music swelled for the next dance. “You are too kind. I believe he is the one to be warned.”
After four more dances, Katherine, feeling the satin bodice of her gown beginning to stick to her skin, went to the rooms reserved for the ladies to freshen up.
Afterward, she noted to her left a balcony, empty of people, that beckoned her with its silence and early evening air. She would just slip outside for a moment to fan her face.
The gardens in the back of the manor were splendid in their size and color. In the fading daylight, Katherine studied the layout and gleaned ideas for her own flower gardens.
“Here we are,” said a voice below her. “This is more private. We can sit and talk without having to shout to be heard.”
The voice sounded familiar, raucous and boyish at the same time. Katherine moved to the side of the rail and peered below. There, directly below her, Ellis led Agnes to a stone bench. No one else was about.
“This is nice,” Agnes said in a sultry purr as she took a seat. “Although I would like to dance with you at least once, my lord.”
“We shall. Soon.” Ellis sat beside her and immediately traced his finger over the top of one nipple.
“Oh! My lord!” Agnes jumped to her feet and unfolded her fan with a snap. She waved it over her face with rapid strokes, but made no move to leave.
“Please, sit,” Ellis said in the innocent voice that had initially charmed Katherine. “I couldn’t help myself. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
Katherine twisted her lips. How often had she heard that from the men at Court who pursued the women? She should leave them alone, but curiosity kept her rooted.
“Am I?” Agnes sat, and Ellis put an arm over her bare shoulders.
“You are. I cannot believe my good fortune. But I shall always regret that you are betrothed to another.”
Agnes fell right into his trap. “Oh, but I am not betrothed to anyone,” she simpered.
“But you might be,” he said, and Katherine had to strain to hear his voice. “If you are so inclined.”
“What-what do you mean? T-to you?”
Ellis’ hand slipped into Agnes’ bodice and cupped one large breast. Since most of it was exposed anyway, it didn’t take much effort to pull it free. It hung exposed, a white melon in the moonlight.
Agnes gasped. “My-my lord!”
Ellis palmed her breast, and leaned his face toward hers. “Have you ever had a man’s tongue in your mouth?”
“I—well—”
Her words became muffled when Ellis kissed her. Katherine shook her head. For all Agnes’ vile ways, she was no match for a gentleman of the king’s bedchamber, who had boasted of sampling each of the king’s mistresses and half the wives at Court.
She took a last peek at Ellis sliding Agnes’ skirts up over her knees, and then went back inside.
Lady Sarah Cooke was just exiting the powder room.
“Lady Cooke,” Katherine nodded in greeting. “Oh, if you are seeking Agnes, she and Lord Rochester are sitting right outside below that balcony there. Be very quiet lest you disturb them. They’re in deep discussion over the human body.”
A moment later, Lady Cooke’s squawks of outrage rang down the corridor.
Alex, waiting for Katherine, leaned casually against the wall near the parlor door. His questioning smile over her quiet laughter, however, froze when a cry, shrill and thin, sliced across the room through the din of the packed parlor.
“No! Edward!”
Alex shoved himself straight and swung his head toward the sound. “Bethie?”
Piercing the sudden, stunned silence, an agonized scream answered.
Chapter Thirty-four
Blood bloomed over the delicate silver lace of Elizabeth’s bodice. She lay on the long gaming table at one end of the Allerton’s now-empty parlor.
Her hand slowly cooled, but Katherine still gripped it, willing the warmth of her body to fill Elizabeth with life again. Alex, his own face pale and his mouth in a thin line, gently stroked Elizabeth’s forehead and hair.
In a nearby chair, Edward sat bent with his head in his hands, sobbing in uncontrolled gasps. “I killed her,” he moaned again and again. “My God, I killed her.”
“’Twas an accident, Edward,” Alex consoled, but his own voice broke.
Edward, his long-muted anger surging forth, had challenged the baron to a duel. Elizabeth, attempting to stop Edward as he brandished his father’s rapier, had stumbled when her hip twisted. She’d fallen between the two men.
Some time later Robert took his family home. Wiltshire had disappeared after giving Alex his condolences and claiming that he was certainly not at fault.
Lord Allerton accompanied Katherine and Alex, who cradled Elizabeth’s body wrapped in his cloak, back to Drayton Castle.
Alex seemed to lock himself up within his mind. He wouldn’t speak, but spent the ride staring down at his cousin with a pinched, anguished face.
When the moon was high and bright, the carriage creaked to a stop. The front door crashed open. Stephen and Carly, their laughter shrill in the night air, raced down the front steps.
“Alex, the children shouldn’t see this,” Katherine said. “Stay here and I will get them inside.”
“Yes,” Alex said.
However, Stephen had flung open the door and poked in his head. “I beat Carly to the carriage!” His grin faded as he saw Elizabeth’s limp body in Alex’s arms.
“Step back, Stephen,” Katherine said as she guided the boy from the carriage. Alex emerged with Elizabeth. Millie and Sam, their faces creased in concern, had come down the front steps.
“Lord Drayton?” Carly asked. “Who are you carrying?”
Alex’s voice hitched. “’Tis Elizabeth. Please go to your bedchambers, you and Stephen. I will be up to talk to you soon.”
“But what happened?” Stephen asked. He shrugged from Katherine’s arms and reached out to touch Elizabeth’s cheek, then drew it back quickly. “She is cold.” By the tremble in his voice, Stephen had guessed something was terribly wrong. His tone heightened in pitch. “Is Lady Liz dead?”
Alex stopped and fac
ed him. “Yes,” he said flatly. “She is dead.”
Carly came toward them, her eyes wide and dark. “What-what happened?”
“Why?” Tears glistened in Stephen’s eyes. “Why is she dead?”
“Millie, take them to their rooms,” Katherine said.
Stephen was crying openly now. “I want to stay with him. He’s gone sad again. Please, Lord Drayton, let me stay with you.”
Alex’s face crumpled. “Come with me, then,” he said to Stephen. “You can help me watch over her.”
Katherine took Carly’s hand as Stephen walked with Alex through the door and to the long table in the Hall.
Alex remained aloof and silent all the next day, coming out of his study only to gaze upon his white-clothed cousin lying in her coffin with her hands crossed over her chest. He remained apart from Katherine through the night.
Katherine didn’t seek him out, knowing that Alex’s way of dealing with death was to enclose himself within his grief. When he was ready, he would come to her.
The next evening, looking older and exhausted, he joined her in their bed, and she held his tense body close. She stroked his warm skin and pressed her face to the soft, springy hair of his chest. She said nothing, knowing her touch was what he needed.
At length he responded, turning on his side and pulling her into his arms. “I couldn’t save her,” he said, his voice muffled on her neck.
“You are not to blame,” she whispered. “Nothing could be done.”
His arms tightened around her like bands of steel. “I loved her. I do not think she knew. I never told her.”
“She knew,” Katherine said softly, and kissed his mouth. “She loved you, too.”
For a time he was silent. Then, his hands began to slide roughly over her back and buttocks and between her thighs.
“I need you.” His breath was warm against her breasts. He raised his head and engulfed her in the sad blue of his eyes. “’Tis wrong, I know.”
“No, Alex. Not wrong.” She curled on her side and kissed him, then boldly ran the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip. In her hand she took him and slid her fingers down his length. He quickly grew hard under her coaxing. “Let me comfort you.”
Alex needed no further persuading, and relished her gasp of pleasure when he rolled her on her back and slid over top of her. He sealed her lips with his. Raw, rough emotions coursed through him as he thrust his tongue into her mouth and brusquely ran his hands over her warm silky skin until he thought he would go wild with desire. He kissed his way down her breasts and stomach, smelled her sweet, musky scent, tasted and teased the nub at her center with his lips and tongue until her thighs quivered in his hands. She was wet and ready for him.
He moved up and laid claim to her willing mouth while he positioned himself and thrust into her. He pulled almost all the way out and then drove into her again, and again, faster and faster.
He thought he was being too rough. But she arched her back and wrapped her legs around his hips and clutched his back with her hands. Her soft, sexy whimpers turned into throaty cries of bliss. In her eyes, he saw her love for him.
Katherine took in the hot desire in Alex’s eyes. She ran her fingers through his loose, soft hair and let him ride out his pent up emotions, his raw male power. His weight on her was a sensual confinement, his tongue and hands and hard-driving penis the luscious restraints that held her captive.
He filled her, made her complete. He drove into her and touched a hidden place that built up a crescendo of sensation, sending her straight to the summit. She clutched him, dug her fingers into his back as she went over the edge, and he leaned into her and drove all the harder.
“I love you,” he whispered savagely, his breath hot against her ear. “Love you.”
Abruptly Katherine shattered into a million delightful bits and then melted away into paradise.
Alex shuddered and released himself into her, his breaths hard and fast. He relaxed slowly, and then kissed her for a time, his lips moist and hot. Gradually he slid off, and his arms loosened around her. His breathing slowed.
After he was asleep, Katherine pulled away bit by bit so as not to wake him, and rose to check on the children.
With a joy that caught her breath in her throat as she walked down the dark corridor, she passed her hand over her lower belly. It wasn’t definite, but she had missed her monthly time. And deep within a primitive part of her, she knew instinctively that it was true.
She carried Alex’s child.
****
Alex had only allowed Agnes in his home to pay her respects to Elizabeth. Now, her eyes wet and reddened, she stood with Edward beside Elizabeth’s coffin.
“Edward, you have to stop crying,” she said with a sniffle.
Edward dragged his eyes from the coffin. He pointed to a bench against the wall. “I sat there with her. I first kissed her on that bench.”
“Ah, Ed,” Agnes said. “Where is your mouchoir? You need to wipe your nose.”
“I do not want to soil it,” Edward said. ’Twas a gift from Elizabeth on Twelfth Night.”
Agnes made a comforting sound and removed a square of white linen from her sleeve. With it came a tiny vial, which tumbled down her black dress to the floor. The stopper rolled off and yellow-brown liquid spilled from the vial.
Edward leaned down to get it.
“Wintergreen,” said Agnes. “For my headache. I mix it with my ale.”
“Doesn’t look like wintergreen tincture,” Edward muttered thickly. “But I cannot smell it. My nose is stopped up.” He corked what was left of the liquid and handed the vial back to his sister. Then, he turned back to Alex. “I am sorry she is dead. I loved her. I wanted her to be my wife.”
“Do not blame yourself.” Alex patted Edward on his shoulder harder than he intended. He wanted them gone, was sick of hearing Edward’s tearful confessions. The man had not stopped crying since arriving early this morning. Agnes, thankfully, had walked away.
“Do you need more whiskey?” Katherine asked. “I can get some for you.”
Edward pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. “No. I want to be sober when I read my poem during the burial. I wrote it last week asking her to marry me.”
Alex swallowed and patted Edward’s shoulder again, this time with more gentleness. Edward was hurting as much as he. He then turned to Katherine. “I could use some whiskey,” he said tiredly. “If you are offering.”
“Of course,” Katherine said. “I need to check on the food anyway.”
She gave him a poignant smile, squeezed his hand, and left his side.
****
As expected, the servants were keeping up with the fast-emptying platters of food and jugs of ale. The new cook Katherine had hired ran the kitchen like a well-tuned orchestra. Katherine moved on to the note that fresh barrels of ale and whiskey had just been tapped. Townspeople and neighbors milled about eating and drinking. She greeted several of them, then headed toward the whiskey to get Alex his drink.
“You are pale, Katherine. Are you well?”
Katherine turned toward the voice. “Why, Agnes?” she asked. “Do you wish me in that coffin instead of Elizabeth?”
Agnes lips spread in a warm, weary smile. “Of course not,” she said, holding out a tankard of ale for Katherine. “I brought this for you, and one for me. Can we talk?”
Katherine kept her hands at her sides. “No. I have nothing to say to you. After we bury Elizabeth, I never want to see you again.”
“Katherine, I have been a horrible person,” said Agnes, lowering her gaze to the floor. “I am so sorry for what I have done to you.”
“Truly you are.” Katherine began to walk away.
Agnes’ voice cracked and rose in pitch. “Please. I am falling apart. Elizabeth was my friend, and now she is dead. My brother wants to kill himself. My father beat me after Alexander told him that I sent you to the brothel.” Her lips trembled and a tear slid down her cheek. “I feel so alone.
My own family has forsaken me.”
Katherine tried to put aside her intense dislike of the woman. Clearly, Agnes needed someone to talk to. “All right. What did you want to speak to me about?”
Agnes’ gaze darted around the vast Hall. “Can we go somewhere quiet?”
Katherine glanced again at the food and drink. The servants were doing fine. “We can go to the parlor. Or walk the grounds.”
“I do need some air.” Agnes fanned herself. “Perhaps ’tis cooler outside.”
“One moment. I need to take a drink to Alex.” Katherine directed a servant to pour whiskey, then decided to have the servant take the glass to him. The sooner she got this conversation with Agnes out of the way, the better.
She led the way through the Hall and outside to the stone bench in the middle of the flower garden. The sun in a cloudless sky poured over the green lawn. Stephen’s excited voice reached her as he dashed with the other children through the tidied boxwood maze.
The child’s resilience and immediacy of the moment astounded her. Like Alex, Stephen had grieved in his own fashion.
“How lovely,” Agnes said as she took a seat. “I didn’t know those pink roses grew over there. They must have been covered by weeds for years.” She handed Katherine her tankard of ale.
“Thank you.” Katherine took a drink and noted an off-taste. Had the ale been improperly brewed?
Agnes chatted on about flowers and herbs for a few minutes, telling Katherine of the variety that Edward dried in his herbarium. Just when Katherine began to grow impatient, Agnes said, “You need to be strong for Alexander. I have never seen him so sad. Even when Mary died...but that was a relief, I think. Near the end, he had to tie her wrists to her bedposts to keep her from hurting herself.”
“I know.” Katherine sipped at her ale, now barely noting the faint bitterness over the image of an out-of-control woman bound to the bed she herself had occupied. She shivered, then shut out the thought, determined to get on with the conversation.
“Poor Elizabeth,” Agnes said with a shake of her head.
Katherine scoffed. “You truly mourn for her? You used her shamelessly to get to Alex.”