‘No, you don’t.’ Arlette stood up and faced him.
‘I can think of no one else. There are too many bad influences at Court. You and Marian are of an age.’
They started to walk slowly back to the house. Turning to look at her, William recalled seeing the angry bruise on her upper arm.
‘How did you come by those bruises on your arm, Arlette?’ She turned her head sharply. ‘Forgive me. I couldn’t help noticing them when you were trying on your new gown.’ Gently taking her arm, he shoved her elbow-length sleeve up to her shoulder, uncovering the bruises that stained her delicate skin, one of them on the inside of her arm that looked very much like fingerprints. Uttering a violent curse, William settled his angry gaze on her face. ‘How did this happen? Who did this?’ The cold fire in his eyes bespoke the fury churning within him. ‘Was it Crompton?’
Arlette nodded. ‘Yes.’
William held himself on a tight rein until the rage cooled. What was left was a gnawing wish to see Ralph Crompton dangling from the end of a rope. He was not a man, but a rabid beast with a twisted mind who had abused her.
There was a silence for a while as his deft fingers examined her arm. It clearly caused her pain for her face grimaced when he pressed too hard. At first she wanted to pull away from his questing fingers, yet at the same time she felt alarmingly vulnerable and exposed. Something stirred in her chest, making it suddenly difficult to take a breath. Every nerve in her body piqued at the feel of his touch, which was like a brand of fire against her skin, and a searing excitement ran through her breast. She felt overpowered by his nearness. Her whole body throbbed with an awareness of him, but she would not give him any hint of her weakness.
His snug-fitting doublet and high boots accentuated the long lines of his body and she noticed again the incredible blue eyes intent on her arm. It was impossible not to respond to this man as his masculine magnetism was dominant. His face was creased with concentration, his fingers strong and soothing. His touch was impersonal, as if he were examining an object, yet it was gentle and Arlette did not feel like an object—far from it. She felt cosseted. Her whole body felt as if it were unwinding, growing weak with the pleasure of his ministrations. Vividly conscious of her close proximity to him, she abruptly turned her thoughts away from this new and dangerous direction and averted her head, before he could realise just how much he affected her.
He had made it plain what his intentions were and they did not include her. In which case she did not want complications, and, she suspected, neither did he—she was almost ashamed to acknowledge her feelings as she watched him. What kind of man are you, William Latham? she wondered and realised she had no idea at all.
‘Did he hurt you anywhere else?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Arlette,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me you are not going to marry Crompton.’
Arlette turned and looked at him as he pulled down her sleeve. ‘Why, William? Why do you ask?’
‘Because I am concerned. The man is clearly a brute.’
‘It is important to Richard that I marry him. There is more to it than I realised. Apparently Sir Ralph loaned Richard some money in the early days and he has called in the debt—which he will forgo if I become his wife.’
As he towered over her, William’s lean, hard face bore no hint of humour. His lips curled with bitterness and a coldness entered his eyes. ‘How noble of him. It is not Richard who will suffer the indignities of being his wife. Do not be forced into it. Promise me you will do nothing rash.’
Gnawing on her bottom lip as if she could not quite make up her mind, she shook her head. ‘I’m in no position to make promises, William. Sir Ralph is not noted for his patience.’
‘Your arm bears testimony to that. Fortunately there is nothing broken and some witch hazel should be applied to the bruising.’
‘You seem to know what to do.’
‘My years as a soldier taught me many things, one of them being that a soldier may owe his life to his knowledge of tending wounds.’
‘Then I thank you for your concern, William, and I am certain the bruise will fade in a few days. In the future, should I be in need of some healing powers, I shall know who to approach.’
When he unexpectedly smiled broadly, Arlette noticed how white and strong his teeth were and how the tiny lines at the sides of his sharp eyes creased attractively. For a moment she was confused and found herself striving for normality. It was difficult to organise her thoughts when those amazingly blue eyes were focused on her so intently. Before the rogue thoughts could progress further, she lowered her eyes, quickly shaking off the strangeness of the moment that caught her unawares.
‘I am grateful for your concern, William, but there is no need for you to feel that way.’ How she wished she could lay bare her feelings and tell him how much he had come to mean to her, how alone she felt and how the secret she was compelled to keep from him concerning his betrothed was tearing her apart, but words failed her. Yet here, alone in the garden, she felt a closeness between them that she had never felt before and suspected he felt it, too.
* * *
Arlette was correct in her assumption—William’s thoughts disturbed him deeply. Yet when he thought of Marian, this anguish and betrayal he felt filled him with profanation and made him feel even more wretched and contemptuous of himself. But he could not resist reaching out and taking Arlette’s hand. At his touch her fingers trembled beneath his and she felt it hard to meet his eyes. She had not realised that his fingers could be so strong, yet at the same time comforting.
‘Nevertheless, I am concerned. You will take care, won’t you?’ he said, knowing his duty lay with Marian and yet feeling reluctant to leave Arlette. His gaze slipped slowly over her upturned face, seeing the luminous tenderness in her eyes. She looked so defenceless, so childlike and pure that he felt a strange urge to protect her from whatever it was that plainly troubled her.
Arlette swallowed hard, her eyes never wavering from his intense gaze. ‘I’ve told you, you need not concern yourself with me. I shall await your instructions regarding Marian.’
William’s fingers tightened before he released her hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said hoarsely, not trusting himself to say more or to remain with her any longer.
He strode towards his horse and looked back to where she stood. ‘I will call and see you in a day or so.’
* * *
As William rode away from Oaklands House, he wondered why fate should have brought them together in such a cruel way.
He was drawn to Arlette in a way he had never been to any other woman—not even Marian—but there was nothing he could do. It was too late. The fact remained that he and Marian were promised to each other and she loved and trusted him implicitly. He could not abandon her. He had no right to make her suffer because of what he knew he was capable of feeling for Arlette. With her, he must make a deliberate effort to put up all his defences.
* * *
Arlette watched him ride away, bemused by their meeting and prey to all the emotions he had aroused churning inside her. She could appreciate his virile good looks, his seductive blue eyes and sensual mouth, but that was where it must end, she told herself, and sincerely hoped he was not going to fall into the habit of dropping in whenever the fancy took him. But then again, she didn’t want to stop seeing him altogether, she thought as she made her way into the house, pausing a moment and staring into space as she remembered how his expression had softened and he had looked at her with unbearable gentleness and tenderly touched her arm, and how the simple touch had sent her emotions to war so fiercely inside her that for one second she had actually considered bending her head and placing her lips on his hand.
Deliberately turning her thoughts to other things, she cast her emotions aside, for something he had said stirred something deep in her memory. Lord Stanhope! He told her in passing that it was
a Lord Stanhope that had been by his side in battle, that this man had saved his life, that this man was Marian’s father. Suddenly and from somewhere far back, came Hester’s voice saying her mother had made the acquaintance of a widower in Warwick—Lord Stanhope. She thought it strange that she should remember this just now, but as realisation dawned on her, of the shape her confused thoughts were beginning to take, she froze. Hester had said the child Arlette’s mother had conceived was called Matilda, Miranda, or some such name. Could it be Marian? They bore similarities and Arlette herself had experienced a feeling of familiarity on meeting Marian.
Unable to think of anything else, she hurried to Hester’s room and entered without knocking. Going to the bed, she looked at her sister who was propped against the pillows, her face having fullness and a rosy hue that had been absent before her pregnancy.
She smiled when she looked at Arlette. ‘Is something the matter, Arlette? You look worried about something.’
‘Hester, when you told me about my mother, that the man she was seeing lived in Warwick, what was his name?’
‘I didn’t know for sure, but I believe he was Lord Stanhope of Warwick—a widower who had lost his wife and children to cholera.’ She gave Arlette a questioning look. ‘Why?’
Arlette stared at her for a long moment before she could speak. Everything around her disappeared into a haze, leaving her insensate, her face drained of colour as she stared in disbelief at her sister. No, said a tentative message travelling up to her brain, It isn’t possible. It cannot be. But the more she thought about it, she knew that it was highly likely that Marian was her half-sister.
Having no wish to voice her suspicion to Hester just yet, wanting time to come to terms with this disturbing realisation that her sister had appeared without any effort on her behalf, she merely smiled and said, ‘Oh, no reason. It’s just that—well—William happened to mention that he knew a Lord Stanhope in France.’
‘Well, if it’s the same Lord Stanhope your mother knew then it is hardly surprising they know each other since they both lived in Warwickshire.’
Arlette breathed deeply, hesitant to ask the next question that would confirm her suspicion. ‘I never knew my mother’s name before she married my father. No one told me. You must know, Hester.’
‘Of course—although I find it strange that you weren’t told. Her name was Nesbit. Elizabeth Nesbit.’
Arlette thought about confronting Marian. She thought about it a great deal and in the end she decided she would keep the knowledge to herself for the time being, since not only would it affect Marian, but William also.
* * *
That night she was unable to sleep with all the questions she wanted to ask Marian spinning around inside her head and for the next two days her mind was in a confused and bewildered state. Whenever she thought of Marian being her half-sister, the stark realisation of what it would mean overwhelmed her with emotion.
She was also angry that they had been deprived of each other. All her life she had believed her mother had died in childbirth, only to be told by Hester that this was false. It had given her hope that she would find her, but then to discover that she had died saddened her deeply. It was like losing her twice. William had told her that Marian was alone in the world. How lonely she must have felt when their mother had died. She wanted William to come for her, to see Marian, and she was disappointed that another week went by before he came.
* * *
William arrived at Oaklands House, looking forward to having Arlette to himself for the journey into London to see Marian. He had sent word that he would be arriving at ten o’clock and he was pleased to see she was waiting for him. His eyes softened with appreciation as he looked at her standing before him. She was an enchanting sight in her wide-skirted dark blue costume. The short, tight-fitting jacket was piped with a paler blue satin. Bright hair gleamed from beneath a provocative matching bonnet embellished with a small curling white feather—her one small act of rebellion against the strictures of ten long years of austerity. Her lovely eyes burned with an inner glow and her creamy skin was flushed to a faint rose colour.
There was a look of unconcealed appraisal on his face as he looked at her, tracing with his gaze the classically beautiful lines of her face, the brush of lustrous ebony eyelashes. She was quite extraordinarily lovely. He had never seen the likes of her and the depth of his feelings for her were disturbing. Even now she had that untamed quality that he had seen when he had first seen her at Mayfield Hall, running in dangerous undercurrents just below the surface, a wild freedom of spirit that found a counterpart in himself.
* * *
Arlette was happy to see William and relieved that Hester had no objection to her accompanying him into the City. When she had told Hester what she knew about Marian, Hester had been so surprised and relieved that the problem of Arlette’s mother and sister might have been resolved that she had readily agreed to let her go and see her, expressing her own wish to meet her in time if it turned out that she was indeed Arlette’s half-sister. Richard was not approached on the matter. Still simmering over Arlette’s refusal to wed Sir Ralph, he appeared to have washed his hands of her.
‘Arlette! You look lovely,’ the fascinated William said, taking her hand and leading her to the coach. ‘Are you ready to see Marian? She is at home. I have told her to expect you.’
The air was sweet-scented as they set off. Arlette felt wonderfully happy. Everything seemed different when William was around.
‘How are you, Arlette?’ William asked.
‘I’m am quite well. Why do you ask?’
‘I was concerned when I last saw you because of the bruises on your arm. Have you seen Crompton since then?’
‘No. He hasn’t been near me.’
‘And his proposal?’
‘Nothing has been decided. Much as I hate being used as a bargaining tool, I have Hester and Richard to consider. I thought when Charles Stuart returned to his throne things would change, but committed Puritans like Ralph Crompton will never change. Unfortunately, Richard is much like him.’
‘I think you might find that in this new England, things will be different. If Richard is anything of a businessman he’ll put aside his prejudices and take advantage of it. When Royalists come into their own, the dressmakers will be clamouring for fine fabrics to dress them.’
‘I do so hope you are right. Now, tell me about Marian.’ Arlette had decided not to divulge her suspicions about Marian being her sister until they had spoken.
‘She is subdued and refuses to accompany me to Court. I’m hoping you will be able to cheer her,’ he said, voicing his concern, but failing to tell her how Marian had changed towards him, sensing a layer of deceit and subterfuge here which he was struggling to understand.
* * *
They soon entered the outskirts of the city with its tall, tightly packed and overhanging houses and festering gutters. The hawkers rushed up and down the streets, crying out their wares in loud, raucous voices and thrusting their goods beneath the noses of the annoyed people.
‘I’m so glad I live well outside the city. I much prefer the pleasant spaciousness of Oaklands House, the fragrant clover-studded green fields, the fragrance of hedgerows and wild flowers and the leafy trees to the smoky, cramped conditions of the city.’
‘I have to agree with you.’
Arlette was so engrossed in the scene before her, then slowly she felt a tension evolve inside her. William was seated across from her, his knees almost touching her own. She was aware of his closeness. Her cheeks dimpled in a smile, wishing the journey to see Marian would go on and on and this rare moment of intimacy between them would never end.
* * *
William gazed across at her. Arlette was so lovely when she smiled. For him it was as if a shutter had been flung open and the sunlight rushed in. It was a smile compounded of luminous tenderness in her lovely
eyes, yet in the lift of her lips, her perfect teeth and the tiny dimple near her soft lips there was a hint of seduction.
Neither of them spoke and neither knew what was going to happen next. The scent of Arlette’s gentle perfume filled the coach with a subtle fragrance that was as potent as the sound of music and there was a strange magic in the warm air. William was aware of an overwhelming impulse to reach out and take her face between his hands and draw it to his own. He caught his breath, wanting to breathe in the scent of her flesh, to hold her close, to feel the softness of her body. But he could not. He dared not. He was betrothed to Marian.
But within the confines of the coach Arlette was irresistible. She was young and ardent and willing to love. He thought of the kiss they had shared at Whitehall Palace and when his heavy-lidded eyes settled on her lips he knew he wanted to kiss her again, to rekindle the glorious sensations he had felt then. All he had to do was reach for her and when he looked into her eyes and at the plump softness of her lips, he knew he had to kiss them. He wondered about her allure, for it was more than her face or her body that drew him to her. She had a gentleness that warmed him and a spirit that challenged him. He found the prospect of what he was about to do infinitely appealing, even though when they reached their destination he would undoubtedly regret having taken things so far. On the other hand, if he was going to have regrets, he might as well have something substantial to regret.
Quickly he crossed the small distance that separated them, sitting beside her.
* * *
Arlette looked at him with considerable surprise, and for a long moment could not look away. She looked into his eyes and she could see real hunger there. Mesmerised, she stared into the fathomless depths. She was unprepared for the sheer force of the feelings that swept through her and she knew, with a kind of panic, that she was in grave danger, not from him, but from herself. She wanted to tell him how much she cared for him, and how important he was to her, but she did not want to break this moment of closeness. She was trapped and she knew it and she felt her heart suddenly start pounding in a quite unpredictable manner. He was looking into her eyes, holding her spellbound, weaving some magic web around her from which there was no escape.
Reunited at the King's Court Page 12