By Love Unveiled

by Deborah Martin

  “I don’t require a lover, either. Nor do I want one.”

  His grim smile masked the hurt her words gave him. “Then you deny you found enjoyment in our lovemaking.”

  With a blush, she stared down at her hands.

  Her silence encouraged him. “You see? You cannot deny that you want me. And God knows I want you. Can’t you accept that for what it is?”

  When she lifted her eyes to him, they shimmered with unshed tears. “ ’Tis not enough.”

  “It’s more than what you had before.”

  “You don’t understand. You’ll never understand.”

  He leaned forward to brush a kiss over her hair. “I want you with me. That’s all I care about.”

  “That’s not true. Have you forgotten you don’t trust me? That you think I’m in some terrible conspiracy with your uncle?”

  He hadn’t forgotten. He’d hoped—nay, believed—she would tell him the truth now that they’d made love. “It’s you who doesn’t trust me. I’ve already told you that your secrets are safe with me. No matter what you tell me, I’ll protect you. Now that I’ve bound you to me as a man binds himself to his mistress, you can surely tell me about your past.”

  For a long time she stared at him, as if debating something. Then she wrenched her gaze from his. Staring down at the stained bed linens, she asked, “What is the worth of a man’s bond to his mistress?”

  When a low curse erupted from his lips, she met his angry gaze. “I didn’t say that quite right. But when you speak of such a bond, what do you mean?”

  He dropped his hands from her. “That I’ll be your protector.”

  “You’ll protect my life with yours?”

  He struggled to control his growing anger. “Didn’t I do so last night?”

  A haunted look briefly crossed her face. “Yes, but I require more than that.”

  “Money,” he said, a bit surprised that she would be so mercenary. “That I’m more than willing to give. You’ll never want for anything.”

  “Until you tire of me.”

  He tried to draw her into his arms, but she wouldn’t allow it. A coldness crept through his veins. “I assure you, sweetling, I shan’t tire of you for a long time.”

  She twisted the linens in her hands. “Men tire of women, my lord. ’Tis not unusual.”

  “Men tire of common women. You are anything but common.”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “In any case, it’s not money that concerns me. I get along quite well with my skills as a healer. But this ‘bond’ you speak of must require other promises on your part. Would this bond force you to side with me against… against those I see as my enemies?”

  “Of course,” he clipped out, tiring of what began to sound like an odd rendition of marital vows.

  “Even if they were your own friends? Would you take my part against your friends?”

  That stopped him briefly. If for some unforeseen reason he had to choose between Hampden and Mina, whom would he choose?

  The choice would be hard, but in the end he knew he wouldn’t choose Hampden. “Yes. Against my own friends, though I don’t see why that would be necessary.”

  “You’d stand for me against your blood kin? Against your country?” She paused, her eyes lit with a strange light. “Against your king?”

  A part of him recognized that somewhere in her questions lay the key to the riddle of who she was. But another part was angered by what was tantamount to her conditions for being his mistress. The insult to his pride prevailed.

  “If you wish me to swear complete loyalty to you for all eternity, Mina,” he replied coldly, “you’ll have to place some faith in me first. You ask a great deal and offer very little. I still don’t know why you’ve hidden your identity from me when every bloody man, woman, and child in Lydgate seems to know your past. Nor do I know how you and my uncle are acquainted with each other. I’ll make no promises until you tell me something. Anything.”

  She stared away from him into the fire that was now only ashes. He could feel her arms stiffen under his hands. “I’m afraid, Garett,” she said softly.

  He caught her hands in his. “Afraid of me?” he asked, almost dreading the answer.

  “Yes… no… I don’t know.”

  Her confusion twisted something within him. He drew her to him, and this time she didn’t resist. She laid her head against his chest as if seeking reassurance in the beat of his heart. Then her arms stole about his waist, and she clasped him to her.

  At least she could cling to him for comfort. He brushed a kiss across the tangled waves of her hair. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, sweetling. Surely last night proved that. I couldn’t harm you if my life depended on it.”

  She was silent a long time. Then she lifted her face to his. “Last night only proved you want me. But sometimes wanting isn’t enough.”

  “Then let my word, my honor, be enough. I’ll protect you, Mina, no matter what you tell me. I swear it on whatever god or holy book you find sacred.”

  For a moment, she looked as if she might say something. Then she lowered her head once more to press it against his chest. “Give me time to think.”

  He sighed. Yet he had to grant her request. She was like a wild deer that had to be coaxed into trusting before it would finally allow a human near.

  “As you wish,” he murmured soothingly against her hair.

  She relaxed in his embrace. For a long time they stayed with arms entwined as he stroked her hair. Then he began to be aware of the softness of her body, the press of her breasts against his chest, the woman scent of her filling his senses. Suddenly he needed to know that her giving of herself the night before had been more than a moment’s whim.

  Cupping her chin, he raised her head until her lips were inches from his. “I’ll give you whatever time you need, but I’ll be damned if I let you spend it just thinking.”

  Her eyes dropped to his mouth and her lips parted, giving him the invitation he sought. So when he bent his head toward her, she didn’t argue the point.

  * * *

  Pitney glared at the thick ledgers stacked atop his fashionable walnut desk, then toppled them over, wishing he could make them disappear. His expenditures mounted daily. Unfortunately, his income did not. His friends wanted repayment for his loans, his enemies were taking away his power, and his bankers refused to lend him any more money.

  He still had some lands and his small estate. But what good was it when the tenants seemed to feel no inclination to toil in their fields? They openly defied him, and when he tried to exert his power over them, they sullenly worked for a few days, then disappeared to a local alehouse to drink their troubles away.

  Pitney thought of Garett’s well-tended lands and gritted his teeth. All this was that bastard’s doing. Damn those soldiers who’d mistaken a footboy for Garett and had killed the wrong person along with Garett’s parents.

  With head pounding, Pitney called for a servant. The stooped woman who answered his summons came in hesitantly with head bowed. Pitney sneered at the trembling woman. At least he was still master of his own house.

  “Fetch my wife! And try to move faster than the slug that you are.” He took a perverse pleasure at the way the woman’s face reddened. He almost hoped she would respond to the insult, for Pitney badly wished to tear into someone.

  But the woman controlled herself, backing carefully from the room. Pitney frowned. He’d take his fury out on his wife instead.

  Lately, however, that had been more difficult to do. He couldn’t beat her—he didn’t want to risk the life of his unborn child. All he could do was threaten. And his threats seemed to fall on deaf ears. It was as if she’d found another hope to sustain her, one that gave her immunity to his venom.

  Garett. She still hoped her nephew would “rescue” her. Well, Pitney would make sure that never happened. It gave him one more reason to kill Garett.

  A knock at his study door made him smile. The servant had been qui
ck indeed. But it wasn’t his wife who burst through the door. It was Ashton, his eyes bright and eager.

  Ashton made a sketchy bow before announcing breathlessly, “I have important news, sir.”

  “Of Falkham?”

  “Of Falkham. And another who interests you.” Ashton smiled conspiratorially as he knocked the dust from his clothes. “Your nephew has a companion now—Winchilsea’s daughter.”

  Pitney gaped at Ashton. “Miss Winchilsea?” When the man nodded, he growled, “It can’t be. You were mistaken. That chit is dead.”

  “Nay. The soldiers who were sent to the gypsy camp for her must have lied. She’s alive. I saw her myself, and I promise you I’d never mistake that pretty face. She’s in Lydgate, living at Falkham House.”

  Pitney sat back in his chair. So the beautiful Miss Winchilsea was still alive, was she? His cock hardened as he remembered her sweetness and youth. She had her mother’s bewitching, wild look about her. Just the kind of woman he enjoyed.

  Except she’d been insolent, far too insolent for a girl. He’d wanted badly to press her down into submission. He’d even contemplated offering to make her his mistress once her father was safely locked away.

  That, too, Garett had taken from him. Worse yet, Garett had her now. Miss Winchilsea and his nephew. A potentially dangerous combination. If she guessed who was really behind her father’s arrest and told Garett…

  “Did Falkham know who she was?” Pitney asked.

  “I don’t think so. The villagers talked of her as Mina, although you know they all knew her. When I saw her last, his man was taking her before the town council. I overheard someone say Falkham was suspicious of her and wanted to know who she was.”

  Pitney leaned forward, ideas taking shape in his brain. “Who does he think she is?”

  “A gypsy healer. Before Falkham kept her at Falkham House, she stayed in a wagon with a gypsy woman.”

  Pitney laughed. “I suppose she won’t tell him who she is for fear he’ll turn her over to the king’s men. Excellent! Quite a comeuppance for the aloof little bitch, don’t you think? To be forced to live as her mother ought to have—a Romany slut servicing a nobleman. Her mother had no right to wed a pure-blood Englishman. And now Miss Winchilsea is paying for it. Ah… there is some justice in this world.”

  Ashton shifted on his feet. “But sir, what if he finds out who she is? What if she protests her father’s innocence? If she knows that you—”

  “Quiet!” Pitney ordered, nodding toward the open door. Anyone might come along to hear them. He lowered his voice. “We’ll have to act before he does. But I need time to think of a way to have her discovered with Falkham. Even the king’s favorite subject will have difficulty explaining why he’s harboring a traitor.”

  Ashton’s face brightened. “Aye. ’Tis brilliant. You could discredit him before the king.”

  Pitney frowned. “Perhaps. Trouble is, she hasn’t been found guilty of anything yet. But if perchance I brought soldiers to capture him and if perchance he resisted…” He grinned broadly. “Well, there are all sorts of possibilities, aren’t there?”

  Ashton patted his rapier. “Aye, sir, that there are.”

  “I might even find a way to dispose of Miss Winchilsea before she stumbles onto something that might prove that her father was wrongfully accused and murdered.”

  Ashton flashed him a knowing leer. “Before you do, you ought to sample what Falkham’s been sampling. Lord, but she’s a fine piece of work.”

  “And a dangerous one,” Pitney retorted. “Don’t forget that.”

  “What could she tell? She has no idea of my involvement. I was nowhere in sight when the medications were knocked over and the king’s dogs swallowed the poison. What—”

  A sound from the doorway made both Pitney and Ashton turn. There stood Bess, terror shining in her face. She whirled to run, but her pregnant state made it difficult for her to move quickly.

  Pitney bellowed, “Come back here, Bess!” as Ashton dashed out after her. In seconds, Ashton led her struggling back into the study.

  “Shut the door!” Pitney commanded, and Ashton kicked it shut.

  Bess stared at him, hatred and disgust in every line of her face. Pitney rose from his chair, wondering how much she’d heard.

  “How long have you been standing there?” he demanded.

  She tilted her chin up, though her lips quivered. “Only a few moments.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You know what happens when I catch you in a lie.” He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a riding crop. The blood drained from her features as he slapped it into his palm. “How long, Bess? What did you hear?”

  “N-nothing.” But her eyes remained transfixed on the crop.

  He slammed it on the table, making her jump. “Did you hear us talking about poison?”

  She dropped her gaze.

  He rounded the table and lifted the crop.

  “Yes!” she cried, holding her hands up in front of her face. “Yes.”

  “Leave us, Ashton,” Pitney muttered, and his man obeyed.

  As soon as Ashton was gone, she babbled, “I don’t understand what you’ve done, but I promise I won’t say a word to anyone.”

  “Don’t play the fool. You know quite well someone tried to poison the king, and the poison was only discovered because some fool knocked it over and His Majesty’s dogs lapped it up.”

  “You planted the poison? I know you always hated His Majesty, but plot against the king? That’s insanity! How could you be so wicked?”

  “ ’Twas neither wicked nor insane. When power is at stake, great men must be daring. Our king is rapidly undoing everything the Roundheads sought to build. I couldn’t let that happen. Come now, surely you didn’t think that milksop Winchilsea was behind the poisoning?”

  Her expression altered to one of pure shock. “You truly are mad,” she whispered, backing away from him.

  How dare she see his brilliance as insanity? Stupid woman! “Was it mad to choose Winchilsea to carry the poison so that if it were discovered, he’d be the one to suffer? Was it mad to get you your precious Falkham House back?” He smiled diabolically. “That was my intent, you know. Sir Henry was doomed once the poison was discovered. And with him gone, I could have bought Falkham House from the Crown. So you see, I did it for you, my dear.”

  Her eyes blazed her outrage. “You will not blame this crime on me!”

  Pitney strode around her till he stood behind her. “That’s precisely what I’ll do. If you breathe a word of this, I’ll make certain you’re found as guilty as I, sweet wife.” He trailed the crop over her back, feeling a surge of pleasure when she trembled. “Keep in mind what I might do to you. I can bribe the maid to swear you confessed your crime to her. Ashton would fabricate tales about you if I requested it. So you had a part in my crime and didn’t even know it.”

  She whirled on him, her eyes tinged with horror. “You would betray your own wife?”

  “Only if she betrays me.” This time he lifted the crop to the gauzy scarf tucked in her bodice. He flicked the crop beneath it, pulling it loose to bare the tops of her full breasts. Then he traced a design over her white flesh with the tip.

  Her face reddened, and she knocked the crop away. “Garett won’t let this crime pass. He’ll find you out, and then what will you do? Already he’s made your name a mockery at court and among the gentry. You can’t stop him.”

  Cold anger turned his blood to ice. He brought the crop heavily down on the desk, his anger growing when she didn’t so much as jump.

  He tossed the crop away in disgust, then jerked her against him. “If you say a word to Garett, I’ll kill you and make certain you suffer in the dying. Don’t think you can stop it by having me arrested. I still have men who owe me, who’ll do my bidding no matter what.” She struggled, but he laughed hollowly. “Don’t think I won’t do it, Bess. You’d best keep your pretty mouth shut.”

  He pulled her hand down to feel his swollen b
reeches. “Be glad that even in your bloated state, I can still feel this for you. That and the babe and your ties to the nobility are the only things keeping you alive. If you ever lose them…” He twisted her wrist suddenly, making her cry out.

  “I won’t say anything,” she whispered. “I won’t.”

  “Good girl.” He stared into the face that bore some slight resemblance to the man he hated. Anger and a desire to punish swelled within him like an infected boil that required lancing.

  He dropped her wrists and began to undo the buttons of his breeches. He couldn’t take his anger out on the one who truly deserved it. But at least there was someone he could punish.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A mighty pain to love it is,

  And ’tis a pain that pain to miss;

  But of all pains, the greatest pain

  It is to love, but love in vain.

  —Abraham Cowley, “Gold”

  You haven’t told him yet, have you?” Aunt Tamara asked, stooping beside her niece, who knelt in the Falkham House garden pulling up weeds.

  “Nay.” Marianne kept her head bent over the plants, unwilling to let her aunt see her chagrin.

  “It’s been a week already since he rescued us. Hasn’t that been long enough? You should tell him.”

  Shading her face from the sun, Marianne scanned her aunt’s expression. “How can I?”

  Aunt Tamara plopped down in the piles of dirt strewn with wilting thistle and ragwort. She looked exasperated. “Any fool can see that the man’s besotted. Now that you’re certain he didn’t betray your father, why not tell him who you are? Perhaps he can help you discover who did commit the crime. You’ve little reason to keep your secret now. What do you fear?”

  “You know what I fear.”

  Aunt Tamara idly pulled up a weed. “I think I can read a man correctly, poppet. There’s no way on earth that man will send you to be hanged.”

  Marianne twisted the long stalk of a ragwort, jerking it out of the ground without caring whether the root came with it. She wished she could be as certain as her aunt was about how Garett would react upon learning the truth.