by C. J. Archer
He had just enough sense to acknowledge he was losing control. Right in front of Enderby.
And he didn’t care.
“Travelers passing through,” came Farley’s voice.
“With no baggage?” said Enderby.
“Maybe they didn’t stop long enough to pack any,” Farley said with a laugh.
Enderby grunted, snorted, then coughed. The cough turned into a wheeze, which slowly faded. He must have left.
Leo could stop kissing Alice. He should stop kissing her. But she tasted too good. Felt too good. He wanted her to stay right where she was, in his arms, against his hardness.
Farley cleared his throat. “They’re gone,” he said. “But don’t let that stop you.”
Alice sighed and withdrew just enough to take her deliciously swollen lips away. God but she was beautiful with the blush of desire flooding her cheeks and her usually cool eyes smoldering beneath half-closed lids.
“Well.” She licked her top lip. “That was—”
“A mistake.” Leo pulled away and turned his back on her.
Christ. He was the biggest damned fool in all England. And he was going to pay for that kiss.
CHAPTER 6
Alice hadn’t thought it possible to travel alongside someone for nearly two hours without speaking. It seemed it was quite possible when the other person sat like a forbidding statue upon his horse and didn’t even look at her. The only time he spoke was when he informed her they would ride to her house. It was said with such decisiveness that she dared not disagree with him.
“We should discuss what happened in the stable,” she said when they approached Gracechurch Street. They only had a few minutes left in each other’s company and she wanted him to say something. Parting on uncomfortable terms didn’t do justice to their kiss. Their delicious, heady kiss. Her heart still pounded wildly and her lips hadn’t stopped tingling even after riding for hours in the cool autumn air.
“There is nothing to discuss,” he said. “I told you, it was a mistake.”
“It didn’t feel like one. Not to me and I suspect not to you either. You certainly responded—”
“I did no such thing!”
“I could feel your response, Warhurst. Not only from your kiss but from your…well, you know where.”
His back stiffened. “That was a natural reaction to kissing a pretty wench. It happens to all men.”
He thought her pretty? Tears stung her eyes. He thought she was pretty.
Yet their kiss meant nothing to him. He was completely unmoved by it, except in the, er, obvious area. She, on the other hand, was in turmoil. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess and all she knew for certain was that she wanted to kiss him again.
“Then I have to ask,” she persisted, “why did you kiss me in the first place?”
“If Enderby had recognized me he wouldn’t have rested until he learned the nature of my visit. I’m not sure Farley could stand up to one of his interrogations. It was easier to not show my face.”
“You could have hidden behind your horse,” she said. “It was as close to you as I was and wouldn’t be pestering you with questions now.”
He shifted in his saddle but still didn’t look at her. The lead roof of the old mansion used for Leadenhall Market rose ahead, overshadowing the surrounding buildings. Most of the shops had already closed for the evening, and people hurried in all directions, heading home for supper before dusk became night and settled like a blanket over the city. She’d wager none of them felt the way she did. Full and yet empty at the same time.
She hated Warhurst. Hated that he thought her beneath him, hated that he could shut her out so thoroughly after sharing something as thrilling as that kiss.
Hated that he’d made her want him despite everything.
“I live down this street,” she said, reining her horse to a stop. “We’d best part here so no one sees us.” She dismounted and handed the reins to Warhurst.
“I’m sorry,” he said, focusing on her shoulder, not her face. “My actions were unforgivable.” He gave her a curt nod. “Good-bye, Mistress Croft.”
“Good-bye?” She held onto the reins. “Not yet, Warhurst. Our business is not complete.”
“Your participation is, Mistress Croft.”
“For God’s sake, call me Alice!” They shared a kiss and still he wouldn’t unbend enough to call her by her first name. He was an infuriating man. “And my participation has not ended. You need me to speak to Marlowe. I know him.”
“You said you don’t know him well.”
“Better than you.”
He tugged on the mare’s reins and she let them go. “You are not coming with me. Our association has ended. I will send you the details of our financial arrangements when they’re settled.” He turned the horses around and left.
She scrunched her hands into fists and just managed not to scream at his retreating back.
Leo somehow reached the Golden Lion without concentrating too hard on the route. It was sheer luck that no one got in his way and that the weary horses didn’t balk at the late-afternoon traffic. They at least gave the journey their full attention. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alice.
And that kiss.
He could no longer pretend it hadn’t affected him. His complete absorption in it proved it did. She’d got under his skin with that kiss, and she was still there. Extracting her was going to be difficult. But he was determined to do it. So much relied upon him forgetting her.
He returned the horses to the ostler at the Golden Lion then trudged back home. By the time he arrived at Blakewell House, he realized he’d made another mistake where Alice was concerned.
She was right. Marlowe wasn’t going to speak to him, a stranger, but he might talk to Alice.
Leo definitely needed her.
And not just to deal with Marlowe.
Christ. He shouldn’t have kissed her.
“You look a little dazed, Son,” his mother said as he joined her in her private withdrawing room. She was embroidering yet another cushion by the rapidly fading light coming through the window and the flame of a single candle.
“That’s because I’m hungry,” he said.
“Supper will be soon.”
“I can’t wait that long. I’ll go down to the kitchen.” It was easier to avoid his family there.
She pricked her finger with the needle and hissed. “Light me another candle, Leo. I want to finish this.”
He lifted the silver candelabra off the mantelpiece and lit all three candles from the flame of the one she was already using. “Your eyes grow worse, Mother,” he said, placing the candelabra on the small table beside her.
“I can see perfectly well, thank you.” She sucked the blood off her finger. “It’s these new candles Robert bought. They don’t throw nearly the same amount of light.”
He shook his head and sat on a chest, its sides elaborately carved with the faces of classical heroes and heroines. “How is Lilly today?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said without looking up from her embroidery. “Why?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I was simply wondering.”
“You never simply wonder about anything, Leo, so what is going on?”
“Nothing.”
While her needle worked, she peered at him out of the corner of her eye. “Where were you today?”
“Nowhere!”
She cocked her head to the side to peer at him. “I’m no fool, Leo.”
He sighed. “I went for a ride out of the city.” He was trying to help Lilly, for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t be made to feel guilty. He shouldn’t feel guilty.
“A ride.” She dropped her cushion to her lap and fixed him with a stare that could freeze the sun. “A ride. You went for a ride when you should have been paying your attentions to Elizabeth!”
“The queen?”
“Lady Norwich’s daughter.” She shook her head at him. “Leo, did you leave your wits behind on your ride?”
“Have you forgotten the letter I charged you to deliver to Lady Norwich?”
“No. I gave it to one of the servants to deliver. I didn’t think I’d have time for paying calls today.”
“A servant! Oh, Leo,” she said on a sigh. “Do you even want to get married?”
He thought about it a moment then said, “No.”
A low growl came from her throat as she picked up her embroidery again and stabbed the needle into the fabric. “You need to get married.”
“I didn’t say I don’t need to, I said I don’t want to. Different things.” He stood. This conversation was heading into familiar territory where danger lurked beneath treacherous waters. He’d better flee while he could. “But I will not wed a fifteen-year-old girl.” He held up a finger to silence her when she opened her mouth. “Not even a pretty, nubile Norwich one.”
“That’s a pity,” she said, holding her embroidery alarmingly close to the candelabra for light. “Because she’s coming here tomorrow with her mother.”
“What!” If he wasn’t careful he might find himself betrothed to this Norwich girl without having even met her. It wouldn’t surprise him if his mother had devised an arrangement with the girl’s parents. “What have you been scheming behind my back?”
“If you were here I wouldn’t have to do it behind your back, would I? I could scheme in front of you.” She screwed her eyes up and completed a stitch. “Not that you’d notice. You men tend not to see the things that are prodding you in the nose. Especially when it comes to women. Look at Lord Hawkesbury.”
“I believe he did notice Lilly,” he said wryly. “That is the problem. Speaking of Lilly, I need to see her.”
“She’s in her rooms as usual.”
He took his leave and made as quickly as possible for the door. Not quick enough.
“Lady Norwich and her daughter are coming tomorrow morning,” his mother said without looking up from her embroidery. “Make sure you’re here.”
“I have something else—”
“Please,” she said, lowering the cushion and blinking rapidly at him. “Please, Son. For me. Just this once.”
“Very well,” he said, sighing. “I’ll meet the chit. But I’ll not marry her.”
She said nothing but started humming a wedding tune.
He made his way to Lilly’s rooms on the other side of the landing. He drew in several breaths before knocking on her door, then entered when she called out.
“Leo,” she said, rising to a sitting position on her daybed. He kissed her cool cheek and covered her cold hands with both of his.
“Were you sleeping?” he said.
“Resting.”
“You do a lot of that lately.”
“The early stage is tiring.”
His gaze rested on her belly. There was really a baby growing in there. His little sister was going to become a mother. He would be an uncle. He didn’t feel ready for the responsibility—and there would be a great deal of responsibility if Hawkesbury was not made to marry Lilly.
“You look well today,” he said, although in truth it was difficult to see. The only light came from the fire in the grate, which had been allowed to die down. “Where is your maid?” he said, adding wood from the log box to the low flames. “She should have tended to this long ago.”
Lilly answered him with a wave of her hand. “So what can I do for you, Leo? I assume this is not a social call.”
He watched the fire crackle around the wood. “Why do you say that?”
“You don’t do social calls. Everything you do has a purpose.”
He stood and blinked at her. “I can be sociable.”
“When you have to be. That’s the point.”
“I came to see how you are,” he said defensively.
“Don’t pout, Leo. I don’t mind if you’re here for something specific. I’m used to your ways.”
He wanted to disagree with her but then he’d have to follow that up with proof he could be sociable. Since that involved small talk about the weather or some other dull subject he decided he might as well get on with his business.
“Do you know of any reason why Hawkesbury might come to the attention of Walsingham’s spy network?”
Her eyes widened. She stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “Please tell me this is a joke.”
“No joke. I met a man today who used to work for Enderby. He claims to have seen Walsingham leave Enderby’s house on more than one occasion.”
“What does this have to do with Lord Hawkesbury?”
“Nothing directly. But it proves that Enderby is a link in Walsingham’s vast spy chain. He might have come across something that implicated Hawkesbury—”
“In what?” she spat. Her face had turned ominously dark in the same way his brother’s did before they fought. It wouldn’t surprise Leo if Lilly leapt at him with her fists closed and her aim true.
“In something treasonous. That is what Walsingham is interested in.”
“Lord Hawkesbury is not a traitor. He is loyal to his queen, his country, and the Protestant faith. Now leave. Take your accusations with you and shove them somewhere unpleasant.”
“Perhaps not treason then,” he said, sitting on a nearby chair. “But something that might still damage Hawkesbury’s reputation if revealed.”
“No. There’s nothing.”
“Think about it for a while. You might remember something.”
“I remember that he’s a good man,” she snapped, rising from the daybed. The folds of her glossy black skirts swished around her and settled into place. It was remarkable how like her hair the material was. She tilted her chin at Leo and suddenly she looked like the defiant and beautiful Lilly of old, the girl who could make her suitors jump to do her bidding. “I also remember that I love him. Now go.”
He rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers against his lips.
“What is it now?” she said, sounding weary again.
There was no tactful way to form his question, so blunt it must be. “How do you know that you love him?”
She sat with a plop on her daybed, her skirts billowing about her like clouds. “You’re asking me to define love?”
“No, I’m asking you to tell me how to recognize it.”
“Does this have something to do with the Norwich girl? I hear she’s remarkably pretty.”
He suddenly laughed. He hadn’t been thinking about the Norwich girl. He’d been thinking about Lilly and Hawkesbury and wondering how she could possibly know she loved him despite everything the cur had put her through. Surely she must at least hear angels singing every time his name was mentioned.
“I wouldn’t know what Elizabeth Norwich looks like,” he said. “Nor do I care. No matter what Mother thinks, I’m not marrying a fifteen-year-old. Not even a remarkably pretty one.”
She grinned, her earlier anger apparently forgotten. Quick to flare and equally quick to forget and forgive, that was Lilly. “You’d think Mother would know by now that you need a woman equal to you in cleverness.”
“And equal in other ways too.”
Her gaze locked with his and there was no trace of her momentary humor. “Don’t pursue Hawkesbury,” she said gravely. “I trust him. If he says he can’t marry me and must wed Patience Enderby instead, then he must have a very good reason.”
“You are a forgiving woman,” he said. “Of Hawkesbury anyway.”
“Because I love him. As to how I know that, well, you’ll just have to learn for yourself how to recognize love. Believe me, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. It lifts you up and carries you as if on wings.”
“It sounds precarious.”
“I suppose it is.” She thought for a moment. “Flying must be both terrifying and exhilarating if one is not a bird.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. It was much warmer now. He liked to think his company had put the heat back but it was more likely to be from the fire.
“She doesn’t love him,” he said.
“Who?”
“Patience Enderby. She loves Richard Farley.”
“Who?” she repeated in a whisper.
“Her unborn babe’s father. He was Enderby’s land steward. They want to be together still.”
“Oh.” It came out more a breath than a word. “Thank you,” she said as he rose to leave. “I needed to know that. Very much. But please, Leo, I’m begging you. Leave Lord Hawkesbury’s secret in his own hands. No good can come of chasing it.” A flicker of pain crossed her face, but it was gone so quickly he wasn’t sure it had even been there at all. “I have come to terms with our separation. I wish you would too.”
He couldn’t look at her anymore. Lilly never begged. She never asked anyone for anything, especially Leo—they’d not been very close as youngsters, not as close as she and Blake. It made his heart tighten to hear her voice crack and see her eyes pool with unshed tears. Especially when he couldn’t promise her what she wanted to hear.
Without giving her an answer, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. Something soft, a cushion perhaps, hit the thick oak. He smiled. That was more like the Lilly of old.
CHAPTER 7
The tiring house at the Rose Theatre was a sight to behold. Built over three levels, it could easily store all of the costumes and props belonging to Lord Hawkesbury’s Players as well as those of Lord Strange’s Men. One entire floor was used as a dressing room so Alice didn’t need to pretend to turn the other way when the actors changed. Most were already up there preparing for their first performance at their new home and the debut of Minerva Peabody’s latest play, The Fantastical Lives and Loves of Barnaby Fortune.
“Have you ever seen so many people?” Henry Wells said, coming down the stairs to join Alice and her father. He wore a green and gray servant’s livery, the first of many costumes he would don for the performance and an outfit Alice had made herself specifically for the play. He looked very handsome in it. “I’ve just been up to the balcony to have a look. The audience is piling in!”