Heather Graham (40 page)

She had decided it best not to tell him that Pierce had never seemed to mind waking himself to walk with the child when he cried in the night.

Garth sniffed, and then left them to it.

She told Pierce about the argument when he finally came to bed that night. He laughed, and said that he was glad she managed to solve it without ruffling Garth’s feathers too much. Then he sobered and told her, “Jerome has been living quite nicely for himself in the past year. He has already gambled half of Anne’s estate away, and I assure you, it was a lofty inheritance. He bemoans his sister’s death at every opportunity,” he told her, his voice growing hot with anger, “and is quick to tell anyone who will listen that I am a terrible, cold-blooded murderer. That I killed Anne and Jamison in a wild fury.”

Rivulets of fear danced along Rose’s spine. He had been hurt so deeply!

On the sea, they had found happiness.

Here, in England, she could feel it slipping away.

She wanted to throw herself against him, to keep him with her—cleaning stalls if that was what it would take to keep him safe!

But she could feel again the anguish of all that happened. It seemed to lie atop them.

Between them.

He had to clear his name. As much as she wanted to go forward and forget the past, she knew that they could not do so.

Nor could she keep Pierce from seeking his revenge. All that she could do was help him as she could.

“What do we do?” she asked.

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For the king to summon you to court. He will do so. And, I warrant, he will summon Jerome just the same. And Jerome will come, because he will surely be convinced by now that I am dead. And that he can never be proven guilty. And I imagine he will be delighted to be near you, tormenting you with all he has accomplished.”

“How can we prove him guilty?”

“I don’t know yet. I will find a way.”

“And until then?”

He stroked her hair. “Hold me!” he told her softly. “Come into my arms, and hold me.”

Gladly, she did so.

Just as he had expected, Rose was summoned to court within the week. Her father and her servants were welcome to accompany her. The king wanted to see his godchild, the little DeForte who had been baptized through proxy in the colonies.

“So it is time to go!” Rose murmured.

“It is.”

There was nothing she could say that would dissuade him. They left for London, Ashcroft, Mary Kate, Garth, Rose—and her new mentor, Brother Peter from the Llewellyn Monastery.

Rose had to admit that Pierce looked like the monk he was portraying. The brown cloak he wore was encompassing and had a hooded cowl that fell very low over his forehead while the robe’s collar stood tall, hiding the lower portion of his face. Pierce had grown his beard, and his cheeks and chin and lip were concealed in the deep richness of it.

All that gave away the man was his eyes, and he promised Rose that he would keep them in shadow.

Still, on the day when they came to see the king, Rose could scarcely breathe as she walked down the long hallway with her party behind her. Charles was not alone when he greeted her. The royal family was at rest in one of the quieter drawing rooms in his private quarters. With him were the queen and his brother, James, James’s wife, Anne, and Anne’s father, Edward Hyde. The king had been sitting; he rose to greet Rose, catching her hands, kissing both her cheeks in the French fashion that was often his way.

“Lady DeForte! We are glad to welcome you home, and we are most anxious to see the babe, are we not, my love?” he asked his wife warmly.

The queen, ever gentle, joined him, fascinated with the DeForte heir. She gazed longingly at Rose. “He is a fine child. And a son!”

“Thank God!” Rose said.

The king inspected the boy, then looked up. “Ah! Sir Ashcroft Woodbine!” He shook Rose’s father’s hand warmly. “How good that you have come to us at last!”

Rose had never seen her father speechless. With some amusement, she watched his face grow crimson, and his lips work with no words escaping from him. But Charles was looking past him to the monk in his brown robe. He arched a brow to Rose.

“Your Majesty!” she said, trying very hard to keep her nervousness from her voice. “This is Brother Peter from the Llewellyn Monastery. He was at my father’s house in the Virginia colony, and asked passage to London with us. I have brought him here since he has been teaching me a great deal about world history.”

“Ah,” Charles said after a moment.

Brother Peter bowed low and gravely to him. “Your Majesty.”

“Yes, well, er, welcome to my court then, too—Brother Peter.”

And so it was over then, the moment that Rose had been dreading. Charles gave her Pierce’s old rooms, and Brother Peter was assigned other quarters. While Garth went away to prepare them and Mary Kate disappeared with Woody, Rose was left with her father and the royal family for several minutes.

Thank God, her father managed to talk at last. He spoke about Virginia with a passion that was rousing, and he captivated the king. Rose was grateful, since she seemed to be entirely out of conversation herself.

She was able to retire at last. She paced Pierce’s elegant quarters for long hours, then gave up and crawled into bed. She must have dozed, because when she awoke, she nearly screamed. She was not alone.

Pierce had come to her. Naked, he loomed over her in the darkness.

“Did they teach you this stealth in the monastery?” she demanded.

He smiled, caught bronze and rippling and beautiful in the firelight. “The monastic life has been too much for me, I fear.”

“You shouldn’t be here! What if you are caught, coming or going?” she demanded.

“I won’t be caught,” he promised.

“Milord, you are a monk!”

“By day—never by night,” he promised wickedly.

She smiled. There was no choice. He was determined.

Later, when the fire burned low, she curled into his arms. She slept again.

When she awoke again, he was gone.

She didn’t see him all that morning and was worried sick. The king was involved in a tennis match, and the court came out in full measure to watch him.

It was then that she first saw Jerome.

He was elegantly dressed in silk breeches and a long coat, fur- and velvet-trimmed. His garters, too, were silk, his shoes ornamented with jewels atop the toe. He seemed sleek, still lean, still very blond.

And his eyes, when they touched hers, were still watery, almost so pale a blue as to be colorless.

He smiled, seeing her, even as the rest of the crowd watched tennis balls fly between the king and the Duke of York.

Jerome bowed deeply and mockingly to her. Then he disappeared into the crowd.

Dinner that evening was in the great hall. Mary Kate helped Rose dress, for which Rose was grateful. She still hadn’t seen Pierce, and her stomach was in wild knots. Garth arrived when she was nearly ready. Rose looked at him hopefully. “Have you seen him?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “Milady, he made some discovery from a kitchen maid this morning, and left here soon after. I have not seen him since. But you mustn’t be afraid. He knows what he is doing!”

“If he is recognized, he will be thrown into prison!” she cried.

Both Garth and Mary Kate put their fingers to their lips. Rose inhaled and exhaled swiftly, then nodded. “Yes, all right! But, Garth! You must find me when you see him. Immediately. Please?”

“Yes, milady, yes!”

Mary Kate set a brush through her hair one last time. Just as Rose turned to go, Woody began to fuss from his little bed in the outer room. Rose instinctively turned.

“Allow me, milady!” Garth said primly, and went to pluck up the little boy.

“Go on now, go on!” Mary Kate ordered. She gave Rose a little shove for the door. Rose went, then paused, looking back. Mary Kate had gone to stand beside Garth. “Why, you old coot! I think you’ve got the knack of it at last!” Mary Kate said, and with affection.

Rose stared at the two of them for a moment, surprised. A smile curved her lip. Garth? And Mary Kate? It seemed that something was growing there.

Stranger things could happen, she told herself. Then she hurried from the room. She had to appear normal! Even if Pierce had disappeared, even if she could scarcely walk.

Her father awaited her in the hall.

For a moment she remembered when she had first come here. She remembered looking to the head table where the nobility was invited to dine.

And now she belonged at that table. A shiver seized her. Ah, but the things she had discovered. Happiness could be had by any man, commoner or noble, and it could not be achieved with either power or status. Happiness existed in the heart. It had to be held and cherished …

“Milady Rose!”

A handsome young man she should have remembered paused before her, taking her hand. She tried to recall his name but could not. “Ah, milady, we are glad to see you back!” he said. He was fairly tall with a handsome head of rich brown ringlets. “The king has arranged dancing this evening. I hope that you will be so kind as to give me the first dance.”

“I—” she began, moistening her lips.

Her father stepped up behind her, rescuing her. “Lord Yerby! A pleasure. I am Ashcroft Woodbine. I’m afraid my daughter is still in mourning, and will not dance for some time yet. Were she able, I know that we would both consider your request a most pleasant one.”

Yerby bowed gracefully, accepting Ashcroft’s edict. “Milady!” He kissed Rose’s hand, and then disappeared into the crowd.

“Father!” Rose murmured, giggling. “When did you grow so eloquent?”

He seemed very pleased. “Perhaps it is a shame I was such a successful merchant. I might well have been a true talent on the stage!”

Rose smiled. She was glad to take her father to the high table for dinner.

Yet during the meal, she suddenly felt a tiny piece of meat stick in her throat. Pierce had made his appearance. He was down with other clergy members, far from the noble table. He seemed animated, though, enjoying a discussion with a young priest. Rose felt her temper flare. She had been so very worried. And he seemed to be having the time of his life.

When the meal ended, she excused herself to her father. She found young Lord Yerby and smiled at him bewitchingly. “I think, milord, that perhaps one dance might be proper enough.”

His eyes lit up. As the music and stylized dance began, his fingers touched Rose’s. He smiled and spoke to her softly.

She flirted—just a little.

And she was very surprised when the king claimed the next dance with her. He asked again how she had been, and complimented her on Woody. Then, his dark eyes ablaze, he demanded, “And now, milady. You’ve been here a full day—and you’ve yet to begin your demands that I clear your husband’s name.”

“I do demand it!” she said swiftly.

He smiled. “Jerome is here. Ah, the stage is set, is it not?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty.”

He smiled crookedly. “I think that you do. If not, perhaps you should avoid dancing with any other young swains. Elsewise, my dear, I think that the dark-frocked Brother Peter there is going to strip off his robes and throttle someone! Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

Smiling, he left her.

Rose bit her lower lip. He knew. Or he was guessing. But he was keeping their secret.

She refrained from dancing anymore, instead escaping to her room. She changed, looked to her sleeping son, and chatted with Mary Kate nervously.

Midnight came. Mary Kate went to her room. Rose waited.

At one, Pierce slipped into the chamber. He strode to her angrily, sweeping her off her feet. Breathless, she stared at him.

“How was the dear young pup, Lord Yerby?” he demanded.

“You disappeared!” she challenged him.

“And you forgot me so quickly! Alas, I have failed you. Let me imprint myself upon your memory one more time!”

The fire crackled. His lips touched hers. The flames seemed to leap into her.

Later, she whispered that she had never forgotten him.

And she never, never could.

“But where did you go?” she demanded.

He lay back, staring at the ceiling. “I went to see an old witch-woman in the woods.”

“What?” Rose cried.

“Shush!” he warned her, then drew her to him, whispering softly, “I managed to get one of the maids here gossiping. She said that Jamison had a mistress, a plump, pretty thing named Beth. It seems that she has been ill over the loss of Jamison, but believes he was double-crossed by the man he was helping.”

“
Jerome?”

“Indeed. The maid didn’t know where to find Beth, but she did know that she sometimes went to an old witch-woman in the forest. She gave me directions.”

“And you went to see the witch.”

He nodded. “With a little persuasion, she admitted to me that Beth had come to her for a potion. A very special potion. One to steal reason—and enhance the senses.”

“The drug! The drug we were all given, you, me—Anne!”

He nodded bitterly. “Aye, that drug!”

“Well, do we go to the king?”

He shook his head. “All I can prove now is that we were all drugged.”

“Then …”

He touched her cheek. “We wait. The old witch-woman intends to get word to Beth that Lady DeForte is looking for her—and intends to pay for whatever information Beth can give. Now, you must listen. I have to be there when you meet with Beth. Somewhere near you. When you receive the message, you must find me. Immediately. Promise?”

Rose nodded. A ripple of pure unease tore down her spine.

“I don’t want you hurt!” he warned her.

“Nor do I want you hanged!” she cried softly.

He kissed her lips tenderly. “They won’t catch me!” he promised, and she had to be happy with that.

“When will the message come?”

“I don’t know,” he told her, then repeated softly, “We wait!”

The message came far faster than either of them had imagined. Garth brought Rose a breakfast tray in the morning. There was a small note upon it.

“Where did this come from?” she asked Garth anxiously.