Amusement lit her eyes. “That depends. It is another stone fortress, aye? No doubt it also stinks and is equally as cold as Tutbury. And what a deal of work to transport us there! So, no, I cannot say I am looking forward to it.” She paused a moment. “But it was kind of you to ask.”
Gavin laughed. Perhaps she was honest to a fault, and that was what made her seem so disagreeable. “Surely a change of scene will be welcome,” he said. He glanced up, and his eyes settled on Bess Shrewsbury. With thinly veiled anger, that lady was gazing upon her husband. The earl of late spent a great deal of time in conversation with Mary, who was an inveterate flirt. She charmed every man who entered her orbit. Granted, she was lovely, and he’d witnessed her working her wiles on willing victims. But he had never felt himself in any danger from her.
“As I said, that depends,” Cecily said. Then, noticing the focus of Gavin’s attention, she added in a whisper, “The earl’s lady is jealous. Did you not know? He’s fallen under Mary’s spell, as all men do eventually.”
Shocked, Gavin did not have a chance to respond, because the queen herself was demanding his attention. “Master Cade, does it fall to you to organize our move to Sheffield?”
He laughed. So preoccupied had he been with other matters, he hadn’t given it more than a moment’s thought. “I suppose that task is within my purview, Your Majesty. Pray, do not ask how I do, because I’ve yet to accomplish anything. But it will be my first priority, beginning tomorrow.”
“Ah, oui, I believe you have other priorities,” she said knowingly, her eyes roaming toward the other end of the table, where Isabel was seated between Lesley and Blake.
Gavin made no answer, although Mary kept her intense gaze riveted on him. “I am very fond of her, Master Cade,” she said softly. “I would not take it kindly were she to have her heart broken.”
It was incumbent upon him to respond, but he could think of nothing to say that would not sound defensive. Or weak. He’d no idea Mary and Isabel had become so close. “I, too, am exceedingly fond of her, Your Majesty.” That much was true. His intention of ending his flirtation with Bel was not the queen’s business, and he did not believe Isabel’s heart would be broken.
Mary nodded her head once, curtly, as if the business was done. He fervently hoped it was. He glanced at Bel, who was laughing at something Blake was saying. Christ, but he was a handsome devil. A living, breathing woman would have to be blind not to see his attractions. The memory of what he’d said to Gavin earlier came back to haunt him: “If you don’t intend to bed Isabel, I may pursue her.” The whoreson. He was no more interested in a wife than Gavin was. Less so. Blake did not intend to woo her. To him, “pursue” meant only one thing, and Gavin knew too well what that was.
…
After dinner, the queen retired to her privy chamber. Some members of the group paired off, and a few more joined together for cards. Isabel heard Gavin beg off. She waited for him, and he found her directly. “Come,” he said. “I would like to finish the conversation we began earlier.”
Little quivers of excitement shooting through her, Bel nodded. She was not thinking at all about their conversation, but was remembering something else entirely. He led her down the passage and into one of the unused chambers, the one with furniture. A settle was pushed against one wall, and he gestured to her to sit.
“Let me make certain we are alone,” Gavin said. He’d brought tinder and a candle in a holder. When it was lit, he moved about the room, checking under chairs and opening cabinets.
Isabel could not suppress a giggle. “Those are hardly large enough to conceal a person, Gavin.”
“I am carried away,” he said, chuckling. He set the candle down on a small table near the settle and looked at her. His eyes, his manner, were serious. “You asked about my work here, but I would like to talk of something else first. Will you hear me out?”
“Say on, sir. I am all ears.” She was trying to lighten the mood, but her efforts did not seem to be working, as his expression did not change.
He reached for her hand and clutched it tightly. “I am a widower. Did you know that?”
Did she? She thought not. “Nay, neither you nor anybody else has ever mentioned it. I am sorry to hear it.”
“My wife died giving birth to another man’s son. The babe died, too. I discovered the truth after her death and have been trying to come to terms with it ever since.” He paused and turned his head to one side, as though working out what else he wished to say to her. Finally, looking at her straight on, he said, “I do not want your sympathy, Bel. I am telling you this because it’s vital you know that what happened with Anna has caused me to be mistrustful of most women.”
She stared at him, not knowing how to respond. Was he including or excluding her from that group? She waited.
“I have grown passing fond of you, Isabel. You have touched me in a way I hadn’t thought possible since Anna died. But I am not ready to wed again, and you are not the kind of lady one dallies with. Things between us have gone far enough, and they must go no further.”
Isabel’s head was spinning. He liked her, but he did not want to marry her. Or anybody. They must not…kiss? Touch each other? Talk? All of that, she guessed. Couldn’t he have told her this before she’d allowed him access to her body? Shame, spineless and insidious shame, planted itself in her belly like a serpent, and worked its way up. To a point just underneath her ribs. Then, to her heart. Her poor, ill-used heart. Shame could rip a heart out, and she had denied it a place in her life since her stepfather had done the awful things that had shamed her, years ago, now. She had let Gavin penetrate the wall she’d built around herself without even thinking twice about it, and now she once again would have to suffer the agonies of humiliation and the loss of her dignity.
How could she have been so reckless? She had vowed to protect herself, because her mother had not, her brothers could not, and look at the result. The first time she left her home, she’d forgotten everything she’d ever known. She wanted to hang her head and cry. But that would make matters worse.
“Bel?”
She yanked her hand from his grasp. “I perfectly understand,” she said. “You need not explain further.” She rose and walked toward the door. “I believe I shall retire.”
He was beside her before she could exit. “Pray don’t go. Please, Bel, tell me what you’re feeling.”
Her hurt turned swiftly to anger. He wanted to discuss her feelings. Perfect. She stepped back. “You believe all women are the same, and perhaps you are correct. At this moment, in my view, you are a braying donkey’s arse. Given the opportunity, I would push you into the latrine pit.” He gaped at her, as if he could not believe her words. “I should have known. I should have known better.” Her throat was thick, and her words sounded strained. “You no longer believe in love, and I have long considered most men to be oppressors. And pathetic and weak into the bargain. I thought you were different. More fool, I.”
“Listen to me, Bel—”
“Stay away from me, Gavin, and I shall do likewise for you.”
Before he could speak another word, she hurled herself out the door and strode to her chamber. Thank the Lord and all the saints, she was alone. Isabel had told Ann she would not require her assistance tonight, hoping foolishly she would be with Gavin. Frances, as usual, was not there. Isabel scrunched up her nose at the idea her friend was in bed with John Lesley. There was a man who could not be trusted. But she would judge for herself from now on. Was Gavin even telling her the truth about Lesley? About anything?
Isabel sank down onto the bed, and only then did she allow herself to weep. At length, she drifted off to sleep. In the middle of the night, she jerked awake in the full darkness. She rose and, after considerable effort, disrobed down to her smock. If Ann and Frances saw that she had not undressed, they would guess something was wrong, and the last thing she wanted to do was answer their probing questions. And word would spread in no time. She climbed back into be
d and endured a troubled sleep the rest of the night, visions of her meeting with Gavin replaying in her head over and over.
…
After Isabel parted from him so abruptly, Gavin extinguished the candle and hastened to his residence, still in shock over what had transpired. Her extreme reaction had stunned him. He climbed the stairs, remembering the way her face had crumpled and her eyes had glistened with unshed tears. How could he have been so mistaken? Isabel was right, he was an arse. A braying donkey’s arse, to be precise.
The fact that he hadn’t spoken up sooner, that he had taken advantage of her, burned in his gut. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what he was doing was wrong. All he’d been able to think about was satisfying his raging lust for her. Thank God he hadn’t…they hadn’t done more. Entering his suite, he yanked off his mantle and tossed it on a chair. And began pacing.
He felt much more for Isabel than lust. No mistake, he felt that, too. But he didn’t know what to do with his emotions, so he’d convinced himself to let her go. Why hadn’t he simply told her about Anna and then asked if she would wait for him? Until he was ready to marry again? She might have refused, but at least he would have made his feelings clear. And would not have wounded hers. God’s heart, if she had similar feelings and sensations toward him, no wonder she was hurt and angry. He paused, mid-stride. On the morrow, he would seek her out and apologize. More than apologize. Beg her to forgive him.
She’d said something that puzzled him. That she had long considered men to be oppressors. What had occurred in her past to sow such a degree of hatred toward his sex? He knew little about Isabel, come to think on it. Of her family, her life before Tutbury. Which showed exactly what a self-absorbed bastard he was. He recalled telling her he was a good listener, but he’d been so preoccupied of late he’d proved the opposite.
His eyes strayed to his desk and the packet of documents resting there. He’d never be able to sleep, so he might as well look them over one more time, to make certain there was indeed nothing there of concern. In the morning, he’d have to send Simon off with them. He lit more candles, sat down, and began perusing the documents.
Chapter Fourteen
Gavin read each document carefully, convinced in the end that his original assessment had been correct. He rubbed his eyes and strode about the small chamber for several moments, then poured himself a glass of wine and settled in for one more look. There was something off about the letters, yet he could not pinpoint it.
Fifty-two yards of lace from the Netherlands seemed excessive, even for the queen. As did fifteen tapestries and fourteen Turkish carpets. His vision was blurring; his brain, crying out for rest, but he was now almost certain this was a cipher. Stubbornly, he began playing with the numbers, using a simple grid that had originated with the Greeks:
Reading the matrix down and then across, 52 signified W, 15 was E, and 14, D. Wed! Mary and Norfolk?
Quitting now was not an option. He must keep on. The next set of numbers was tricky, and Gavin almost gave up. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him. It was a longer word, that was all. He simply must persist. Finally, he reaped his reward. The numbers stood for Harwich. A port town in Essex, on the east coast. The closest English port to the Netherlands.
What did it all mean? He racked his brain, trying to make sense of it. At long last, he thought he had something. Mary and the Duke of Norfolk were planning to wed, which Gavin already knew. The confirmation in the cipher strengthened their case. Troops from the Netherlands would land at Harwich. Pairing this information with what he had overheard that night at the receiver’s lodging, he could draw some conclusions. The troops—Spanish, because they ruled the Dutch at present—would support the seizing of the throne by Mary and Norfolk. Gavin assumed, although with his meager skills he could not confirm it, that the duke would be rallying English Catholics to support their takeover attempt, and all forces would combine.
Who was financing this?
The next set of numbers, 35, 34, 35, 15 spelled Pope, and he had his answer. And the details the duke was about to expound upon when Gavin had been knocked unconscious. The code breakers who worked for Cecil would crack this and obtain much more information than he was able to do. But this was incontrovertible evidence that Queen Mary and John Lesley were implicated up to their ears. He did not doubt that Cecil’s people would find references to Norfolk where Gavin could not.
It was nearing dawn, but he must inform Shrewsbury without delay. As much as Gavin longed for his bed, there would be no slumber for him this night. In his personal chamber, he splashed water on his face, donned a clean shirt, and brushed his hair. Then, with the packet holding the documents clutched to his chest, he hurried to the earl’s residence.
He hadn’t thought of Isabel once in the last few hours.
In the morning, Gavin strode back to his residence. Shrewsbury had roused his secretary to copy the documents while Gavin and the earl discussed what was to be done.
“Do we put an end to the plotting now?” Shrewsbury asked. “Or let it move forward? That would enable us to gather further evidence against all parties.”
“There is risk either way. But allowing the plot to carry on could potentially lead to unmasking others who may be involved. Men we do not even know about at present. Plus, further proof.”
“And what about Ridolfi, if in fact it was he who gave the lad his orders?”
Staring at the documents resting on his lap, Gavin rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes felt gritty, as though somebody had tossed sand in his face. “I could follow him, see where he goes. He may not be here on his own.”
The earl raised a tankard to his lips and took a long swallow. “Chances are, he will head for the coast posthaste.”
“I’m concerned for the lad’s safety,” Gavin said. It was not the first time that thought had occurred to him. It had been hovering at the back of his mind since he’d decided to keep Simon overnight.
“I imagine he’ll hand the papers over and that will be the end of it. He doesn’t read, does he?”
“It’s not that. Ridolfi would not expect Simon to understand the missives even if he could read. It’s the delay. He’ll be wondering what kept the lad.”
“You need only help the boy concoct a credible story.” Shrewsbury had risen, indicating an end to the meeting. “Follow Ridolfi far enough to establish his direction, then return to Tutbury and report to me.”
Gavin nodded. “The move to Sheffield. It requires organization.”
“Do you think I have never managed a progress before? I will order the packing of the carts to begin, and you can take over when you return.”
Entering his lodging, Gavin wondered if he could snatch a few hours’ sleep before rousing Simon and setting off for Derby. No. He’d put this off long enough. They must be on their way as soon as they’d had a meal. Barnaby greeted him at the door, and Gavin asked him to pack a clean shirt, shift, and hose for the trip. When the man turned to leave, Gavin said, “Oh, and we need food, Barnaby. Something hearty.” Then he went to Simon and woke him up.
…
The next few weeks passed in a haze for Isabel. She spent her days helping to prepare for the move to Sheffield, which was a monumental task. Assigned the job of packing the queen’s personal belongings, including her wardrobe, she was often isolated from the others. When she was unsure of whether Mary would need a certain gown or bodice, she erred on the side of caution and included the item. Isabel gained a new awareness of the extent of Mary’s extravagance.
The queen’s other ladies had completed their work quickly, as it had involved nothing more than packing Mary’s favorite objets d’art and her embroidery supplies. They were free to sit on their stools and sew, gossip, and laugh. While Isabel resented them for it, she was largely glad to be removed from their presence. She did not believe she could be sanguine with them at present, and she was afraid they would ask her about Gavin.
He had disappeared after that horrible evening. The eveni
ng he’d told her they must end their love affair, if indeed what they’d been to each other could be called that. She could not say where he was, but she assumed it was some business for Shrewsbury. More than anything, she wished to ask Lady Shrewsbury where he’d gone, but she seemed to have fallen into despair for some reason.
One day, after she’d carefully folded and laid at least a dozen bodices in a container, she abruptly sat. When she recalled what she’d said to Gavin that night…oh, her humiliation was complete. A flush came over her, blossoming on her cheeks, and she set her hands on them. Why hadn’t she pretended he meant nothing to her? Instead she’d called him awful names and come close to weeping. Clearly, she was not important to him at all. He’d looked shocked at her reaction, and she had behaved like the classic spurned female.
And now he was gone. Had he asked Shrewsbury to assign him a mission that would remove him from this awkward situation with her? Aye, she would not be surprised if he had. What man wishes to be reminded daily that a lady desires his attentions if he does not feel the same?
They were due to leave two days hence, whether Gavin had returned or not, Isabel assumed. She may never see him again. Perhaps that was for the best. Her injured heart would heal faster that way.
Get a hold of yourself, Isabel. Self-pity is unbecoming and tiresome.
She had returned to her task, this time folding smocks and kirtles, when she felt a presence. The queen had entered the room. Smiling at Isabel, she said, “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
Isabel leaped to her feet and curtsied. Annoyed, she had to work to conceal it. “Most of your apparel is stored in these chambers, Your Majesty.”
“Oui. Even I forget how much there is. I am sorry this has fallen to you, ma chere. I cannot spare Aimee.” She riffled through the clothing, which had been neatly folded and set into the containers, setting Isabel’s teeth on edge. “Too many bodices—I have no need for all these.” Yanking some from the stack, she said, “I detest this one. I have never cared for velvet. Would you like to have it, Bel?”
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