Lady Merry's Dashing Champion (11 page)

"Ah, Lady Felice," the king said, "it is some time since you have dined with us. We thought we were all forgot during your absence." His Majesty made an elaborate pretense of introducing Meriel to the company, mostly of his mistresses and ministers. Everyone took it to be an amusing game, and the king's way of chastising a woman who had made herself too absent. There were a few astonished faces, since the king had never paid her any more attention than courtly manners dictated.

Meriel played her part, pretending new delight at each introduction, and blessed the king for the clever way he had given her knowledge of all present.

Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine, sat to the king's left, her hands caressing her belly as if to remind the king that she gave him sons while his queen did not.

The queen stared into her plate, her ladies-in-waiting seeming to murmur continuous prayers.

Yet for all Castlemaine's advanced pregnancy, she was very beautiful and very sensual. Her smoldering gaze rarely left the king's face. Until it was turned on Meriel.

"My lady Felice," Castlemaine said in a sharpened tone that could slice through the mutton bone on her silver plate, "I've never seen you look so well. It is little wonder that His Majesty is newly taken with you."

"Babs?" the king said, but the warning tone was lazy and he looked on with interest to see what might come next from these entertaining women.

Commoners crowded the gallery under Peter Paul Rubens's spectacularly painted ceiling cherubs to watch their monarch dine. The hum of their conversation did not drown Meriel's reply, which she meant to reach to the end of the table where Giles sat, watching her with dark, secret eyes she longed to read.

"My lady Castlemaine, is it not the duty of all His Majesty's subjects to serve him"'—Meriel paused for emphasis—"in any way that furthers the king's many interests? Indeed, every lady in England might take lessons in that duty from you, madame."

There were a few indrawn breaths and some titters, though Castlemaine's fury and influence stifled any real laughter at her expense.

Meriel thought she saw the queen suck at her cheeks.

Castlemaine's gaze measured Meriel, who held her breath. "You think to fish in my pond, Lady Felice?"

Meriel's stomach misbehaved so that she was forced to press on it under the vast table. "Never, your ladyship. My own stream is too excellently well stocked." Meriel turned and deliberately smiled at Giles. All heads turned with her to Giles, then back to Meriel and on to Babs, as if they watched a very erratic tennis match.

Before Castlemaine could proceed as she would have rather than be bested by this upstart rival, the king signaled his musicians, who began to play energetically.

Meriel wanted to steal a glance at Giles, but she could not. She wasn't supposed to care what he thought of her antics, or how he was used by two women fighting for dominance. She turned her attention to a dinner of dandelion sallet, roast beef, mutton, goose, chicken, rabbit, steak pie, four breads, Gascon wine and endless sweet tarts. She could scarce swallow, partly due to her corset and partly due to her stomach, which was in her throat. But she ate something of everything rather than appear chastened.

Lady Felice and Castlemaine had been enemies before today, so the nature of Mend's ripostes had been anticipated. Babs rejected any woman she could not rule, and Lady Felice had been one who had not sought her favor, being too busy with the men at court. An omission Babs would not forgive, since they were often rivals for the same lord, although Babs sometimes exhibited even lower taste than that of Felice. One Jacob the tightrope walker had captured her interest, since he could bend his body into especially exciting poses, wearing only tight breeches, and that on a rope over Babs's bed.

The meal lasted for two endless hours, although Castlemaine left early, pleading her belly.

At her leaving, the little Portuguese queen finally lifted her head and smiled at the king. Meriel's heart went to the twice-burdened woman. Not only was she barren, but in love with her lusty husband. Strange though it was, Meriel felt a kinship, bearing as she did the double burden of being both lowborn and an imposter in love with the man she deceived.

Everyone sat until the king stood, then all stood.

Meriel waited quietly when Giles approached, standing tall and strong and handsome enough to steal any woman's breath. He bowed slightly. "My lady," he said, his eyes piercing her to her core. "I will escort you to your apartments, lest there be further talk of my countess strolling alone upon the streets."

"I can think of nothing that would give me greater pleasure," she said, answering his mockery with her own. Yet she had never meant any answer more sincerely.

It took them thirty minutes by the clock to walk the short distance, since everyone must be greeted, bows, curtsies and pleasantries exchanged.

When they reached her apartment, Giles strode swiftly to the adjoining bedroom door and closed it, ordering her twittering maids to remain inside and allow their mistress privacy.

Hesitating, Meriel remained by the entrance.

"My lady, you astound me!" Giles said, his voice a husky growl, moving quickly to the fireplace to pour a stemmed glass brimful of brandywine. He sat abruptly in a chair, sloshing strong drink on his embroidered coat, flinging one leg over the chair arm. He looked exhausted, breathing deeply, as if he had been at recent hard exercise, though she knew he had not.

"I do not take your meaning, m'lord," she said quietly, seating herself across from him, as if his bad manners had gone unnoticed.

"I think you do, Felice. There is every sign of conspiracy about you, although I do not understand it. The king has ordered me this day to remain at court. Why would he not want me gone if he is to cuckold me?" He poured another glass of brandywine.

"You are in drink, sir."

"Not as drunk as I wish to be, or soon will be," he growled. "Felice, this is not the first such conversation we have had, although I did think me never to have another. You are engaged in some plot, no doubt, with Buckhingham or Rochester. I promise you, my lady wife, I will go again to the House of Lords and petition for divorce on grounds that you are barren and I need an heir to protect my title. You will be banned from court,"

"This court where notoriety is exalted?" Meriel fought to stay in Felice's careless character, when as Meriel she wanted to deny these other lovers, to tell Giles the truth that if she were his wife there would be no other man for her. Ever. But she had knowledge that the Dutch planned mischief against England, and she felt Chiffinch's noose tighten about her neck and forced herself to respond in disguise again. "Giles, petition all you want, but the Lords will deny it. I am still young enough to produce an heir."

"Then you will, wife. Dam'me, but you will!" Giles stood so violently, the chair crashed down behind him. He pulled Meriel from her seat, hurting her arms. Crushed against his chest, she could only plead, "Giles, it is not what you think."

His eyes narrow, his full lips pulled back from his teeth, he was a man driven too far. A man to fear. And yet she did not fear him, nor yet pity him. He was too brave to pity. She knew him for an honorable man living in dishonorable times, keeping his head and courage high. That he still wanted his wife, Meriel was sure, and some of that surety reached her eyes and softened them. Not even cold Felice could resist this man's hungry gaze.

Giles almost stopped himself before he captured her mouth. But he was not in control, and there was some look on her face that angered him more because he couldn't understand it. At first he hurt her. He meant to hurt her. He knew he had because she cried out against his cruelly pressing lips.

And he hoped she'd fight him so that he could master her, take her on the floor as a common slattern. But she did not fight him. The harder he pressed, and the more he bent her backward as if she were a slender branch he meant to snap, the more she went limp in his arms. And she wasn't wearing that damned lavender scent, which he'd always hated.

Cock's life! He felt a surge of heat from deep within and a longing he had not allowed himself for many long nights. Gradually, his punishing arms slackened and his mouth softened without any intent on his part. He heard a groan rising deep in his throat, as if dredged up from his heart. Her full lips fit into his, and he tasted her on his tongue. He felt himself going a little mad.

Meriel seemed to exist without breathing, Giles's kiss giving her all she needed for life. She had eaten a sweet at the Banqueting House, though nothing to compare with the sweetness of his kiss. Yet there was one thing Chiffinch hadn't thought to teach her: how to kiss the Earl of Warbor-ough. What if she was kissing as Meriel and not as Felice?

Giles loosed his hold and pulled her upright. She thought she had made a kissing mistake and was exposed for the im-poster she was. Still, she could not allow him to cease his kissing. She was well past wanting him to stop when she slid her arms about his broad back, her fingers tracing the hard muscle under his coat, wishing that coat was warm, moist skin.

Meriel had been kissed before, always hastily and without her permission. But Giles was her husband and needed no permission. His body was close against her full length, and she could very well feel what was hard other than the muscle of his back. This hardness made her breathless, dizzy, or something did. The kiss. His long, lean body. The smell of him, all leather and wine, shaving lather and sandalwood oil on his long hair as it brushed her cheek. Would he take her now? For a fleeting second Meriel knew the ravishment she had endured as a child would now save her from being exposed for an imposter, The Countess of Warbor-ough could hardly be a virgin.

Had the moment come to face her ultimate test? Would she now bed Giles for king and England? Or for herself?

She felt her breasts press against his fine linen shirt, his neck cloth caressing her throat, his hands sliding down to cup her buttocks and draw her closer into him. Now she was not throbbing with a duty to any but her own need, a need that had flared into a flame that put the coal in the fireplace to shame.

He swept her into his arms and moved rapidly toward her bedchamber, kicking in the doors. "Out at once!" he yelled at the maids, who ran tittering from the room.

Giles threw her into her feather-down bed, where she almost disappeared, though several feathers went whirling into the air to settle on the floor.

Before she could do aught but open her mouth, not to scream as he must think but to welcome him, he had thrown aside his coat, dropped his breeches and was atop her, his cock pressing against her, while his hands tore at her gown and shift.

"Giles,
please,"
she cried, almost sobbing, feeling him at the entrance to where her fire burned hottest.

He sat atop her, his cod touching her hot nether lips, suspended between the demands of his body and his conscience. She was his wife. By right he could take her in the street if he so desired. Why not? She had mocked her vows to gently love. So could he.

But he could not. Damn! He could not.

Giles broke away from her, his chest heaving, his eyes wild, and stumbled from her bedchamber.

Frantic, Meriel slid from the bed and raced after him, throwing her arms about him, caring no more how Felice would act, shaken, only needing him and at once.

Giles took her arms and pushed her firmly in the chair he'd pulled her from only minutes earlier. He turned his face away so that he presented his strong jaw and high cheekbone, his skin brown from the sun. She saw the thick, dark lashes lying on his cheek as his eyes closed, scarce keeping his chest from heaving and his hands from shaking by his side. She matched his effort with a shiver that ran from her bruised lips down to her woman's place. And burrowed inside where Giles had not entered.

"Your pardon, Felice," he said in a voice that sounded as if it were strained through rough wool. "Of late you have reminded me of a long-gone love. I will not mistake you for her again, for she is dead to me."

Meriel knew she was in great danger of revealing the truth and was scarce able to return to her Lady Felice tone. "Giles, I think it is you who are ill. Perhaps you should have Dr. Josiah Wyndham, my royal physician, purge you or give you an excellent spring tonic."

"Ah," he said, bowing, almost laughing, thankful for the full return of his senses. "The little doctor can do what the House of Lords cannot."

He walked toward the door, his linen shirt half out of his breeches, his hand on his rapier, turning back to face her so suddenly that he tangled his boots in the turkey carpet. "The king's coronation anniversary ball is tonight. We are naturally expected, and we will appear." He kicked the carpet aside.

She stood, sinking into a very low curtsy to mask the still-glowing desire on her face and a brighter glow hidden elsewhere. If any behavior would make him suspicious, it would be what she would forever have trouble hiding from him. ... Her utter adulation.

What she couldn't hide from herself was her growing sense that this fraud on Giles Matthew Harringdon would land her in a far worse place than the Tower of London. A place a good deal hotter even than the poker she had suffered.

Giles opened wide the door to his apartments, having sent his servants in all directions on meaningless errands so that he could conduct this shameful business alone.

Agnes curtsied, her head bowed. "You sent for me, my lord," she said, holding a folded note containing only his seal in it, since few servants could read.

"Aye. Enter." He took the note, walked stiffly to his chair by the fire and threw the paper into the flames, watching his seal quickly melt back into dripping wax. Back erect, he motioned Agnes to approach.

"How may I be of service to your lordship?" she asked dutifully, hands folded at her waist.

"You are new in my wife's service."

"Just so, my lord earl."

He cleared his throat since his words near choked him. "Thus you owe her no loyalty."