Margaret Moore (17 page)

Her hands stole inside his jacket. Eagerly, she lifted his shirt. His breath caught when he felt the palms of her hands hot on his bare back.

His mouth left hers to trail feather-light kisses along her satin-soft cheek, down her neck toward the tender flesh exposed above her bodice.

Softer than satin was her skin and lightly scented, like the first hint of blossoms on a spring breeze.

Then he felt her hands upon his chest, and in the next moment, she had found his nipples. With tentative yet exciting motions she touched him there, but she seemed uncertain as to the effect her gentle caresses had upon him.

“Yes,” he whispered huskily, encouraging
her as he insinuated his knee between her legs. “Again, dear, sweet Arabella. Touch me again. There and”—he took hold of her arm and moved it lower, gently positioning her hand—“here.”

A woman’s laughter trilled close by.

With a gasp, Arabella jumped back. She quickly looked around, but no one was close by. Except
him
, this man whose touch and kiss seemed to make her lose all reason.

Still afraid they had been seen, she could not bring herself to look at him. Indeed, she half expected he would have his breeches open and his—

Instead, she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and still the thudding of her heart. “We should go back inside. We have been … impetuous.”

Neville chuckled softly, apparently not the least upset that someone might have witnessed their intimacy. “I am quite certain there has been
impetuous
behavior in this garden since it was built.”

“Why, what have we here?”

Arabella cringed as Buckingham appeared, a polite smile on his face and a very shrewd look in his evil eyes.

“A lover’s tryst? Egad, and right under the king’s very nose, as it were. And here I was just saying to Sedley that neither of us stand a
chance if Farrington and the king both desire you, Lady Arabella.”

As embarrassed and dismayed as she was to be found in such a situation by anyone, Arabella thought the man must be mad to think the king desired her. Then she risked a glance at Neville’s face and knew that he was not so skeptical.

The king? Wanted
her
?

She did not want
him
! There was only one man she wanted, and he was standing beside her.

“Come, Arabella, let us go back inside,” Neville said. “I fear the air here is fetid.” He inclined his head very slightly to the duke. “Your servant, Your Grace.”

He took her hand, and she gratefully let him lead her away from the duke and into the Banqueting House, even as she tried not to think about his hand or his arms or his lips or any other part of his body.

Why, if that woman hadn’t laughed—

No, she would have stopped Neville if he had tried to do anything more. She would have left him if he had lifted her skirt, running his strong, slender fingers up her stockinged leg until he reached—

They entered the Banqueting House. Before Arabella could subdue her fantasy, Lady Lip-pet hurried toward them.

“You should take better care of her,” Neville said evenly before that estimable lady could open her mouth. “As you can see, there is no telling what disreputable fellow might come upon her.” He made a brief bow and sauntered away through the crowd.

With a scornful sneer, Lady Lippet watched Neville go before turning to Arabella. “You really must stop disappearing in this astonishing manner.”

Feeling bereft as she watched Neville wend his way through the mob of courtiers like a royal prince among the rabble, Arabella thought she was not the only person given to astonishing departures.

“But still—such wonderful news!”

Raising her eyebrows questioningly, Arabella faced Lady Lippet, who regarded her as if she thought her young charge a dullard. “An invitation to the king’s tennis match! And so soon! Your beauty has had a most marvelous effect!”

Arabella thought of Buckingham’s remarks and Neville’s response. Perhaps this invitation was not the cause for happiness that Lady Lippet so obviously believed it to be.

Much later that night, Buckingham waited by the Privy Stair on the Thames, a private entrance to Whitehall Palace solely for the king’s
use. He had been summoned there by Chaffinch, the king’s confidential page.

Charles obviously did not intend to spend the rest of the night with either Lady Castlemaine or his queen.

“Ah, George!” Charles cried softly as he appeared at the top of the steps.

“Sire,” Villiers acknowledged with a bow.

“She pleases us greatly, George,” the king said as he continued down the steps, and Villiers happily noted that the king had used his Christian name. “There is a country purity about her we greatly admire.”

“You speak of Lady Arabella?” Villiers replied, keeping any sign of satisfaction from his face.

“Of course. She is quite lovely. What exactly is her relationship with Farrington?”

“I believe he has designs on her, Majesty, but has yet to succeed.”

Charles smiled broadly. “Ah. We thought he had a most possessive look in his eye when we spoke with her. He rarely fails in such endeavors, or so we understand.”

“He does possess a facility for charming women, sire, but his skills are nothing compared to your own.”

“Nor is he a king,” Charles added ruefully.

“You were a favorite of the ladies before you were a king.”

“True enough,” Charles replied with a satisfied
chuckle. “Well, given that, and we are now a king, perhaps Farrington will realize he should quit the field.”

“If he has any sense at all, he will,” Buckingham agreed. “She seemed very gratified by your attention, Majesty.”

Charles struck Villiers on the shoulder good-naturedly. “What is all this ‘majesty’ nonsense, my friend? Charles will do, especially at this hour.”

The duke did not hide his pleasure at this remark, but then he frowned. “Her father was a most strict Puritan, Charles. She may have some ridiculous scruples.”

“So she might, and they do her credit if she has,” the king replied as he glanced at the waiting boatman. “It may take a little time and some persuasion. We are willing to be patient.” He eyed his companion. “You would not be unwilling to be our ambassador, would you, George?”

“I would be delighted to speak for you, sire,” Villiers answered, thinking happily of the benefits Berkeley enjoyed in a similar situation. “Not that she will take a great deal of persuading, I’m sure,” he added.

“Good, good!” The king started down the steps, then glanced over his shoulder. “We are seeking a little sport in Bankside tonight, George. Would you care to come along? It will be like old times.”

“I would be honored,” the Duke of Buckingham replied gratefully as he followed the king to the boat.

Honor, however, was something that man had not possessed in quite some time.

Chapter 12

V
ery early the next morning, after a night of fitful sleep, Arabella followed the earl and Lady Lippet toward the king’s new tennis court.

She could not remember a time when she had felt less confident of herself, in any situation, even when her father had been at his most unresponsive.

She had come to London hoping to meet Neville, then decided she never wanted to be near him again—and now, certain she had misjudged him, she was anticipating seeing him more than ever before.

Unfortunately, there was also the problem of the king’s alleged interest in her. To believe in that interest might be sinfully vain, yet did not the Duke of Buckingham and Neville know their monarch better than she?

If the king did have an interest in her, what exactly did that presage?

Also, what was she to do about the lascivious behavior of the other men at court? She had very little real experience in dealing with the opposite sex. Her father had seen to that.

And there was the troubling business of the hunt for her husband, something she wished she could call off. She hated being paraded about like a horse for sale.

Not that she did not want to be married. She wanted a husband and a family. She had been virtually alone for so long!

All in all, Arabella was in no very contented mood as she followed the older couple.

Although it was very early in the day, the continually yawning Lady Lippet wore a gown of brown satin and orange velvet; her expression upon seeing Arabella’s much plainer gown had made it obvious that she did not approve of the younger woman’s subdued selection. Remarkably, however, she had said nothing, a restraint Arabella gratefully attributed to her obvious fatigue.

The earl, unfortunately, had apparently decided to step into the breach, for he had been quite loquacious regarding what he intended to say to the king. Arabella had kept her sighs to herself, yet if the earl managed to say even a portion of what he wished, he would surely
need at least an hour of His Majesty’s undivided attention.

She was also quite sure that King Charles would not appreciate hearing that every single thing he had done since his restoration was a mistake.

They reached the new court. Most of the spacious interior was a large, bare rectangle. A tasseled rope stretched across the middle between the outer wall and what seemed to be a long, covered stall, for a waist-high wooden partition separated the many spectators from the rectangle where the game was played.

She noted with relief that the Duke of Buckingham was not there, nor Sedley, Buckhurst and Jermyn. This was quite a different group of people.

The king was on the far side of the tasseled rope; the man on the nearer side was Neville.

Attired in an open white shirt, dark breeches, low boots and with his shoulder-length hair tied in a tail, he was all lithe, swift action as he batted a small ball with some kind of paddle over the rope toward the king.

As she watched the king hit it back, she decided the idea was to keep hitting the ball from one person to the other until somebody missed it.

“Now, this is the penthouse,” Lady Lippet explained in a loud whisper as she led them
into the long covered area. “We can stand or sit here and watch the game.”

Lady Lippet maneuvered her way through the spectators, tugging Arabella and the earl along like horses on a lead. Finally she came to a halt in the center of the penthouse. “Now we shall see everything,” she declared.

“More laxity when he should be attending to matters of state!” the earl grumbled, albeit softly. “Who are these men? If they are courtiers, they should be about the business of government.”

“It is surely a compliment to your son that the king wishes him to be his partner in this game,” Arabella said to the earl, keeping her voice low and carefully dispassionate.

“A compliment? To play some childish sport?” the earl retorted with a sniff.

“If he lived a truly decadent life, I doubt he would be able to move about so quickly. Would he not be slow and sluggish?”

“The king has little trouble keeping up with my son. Would you say he is a model of decency?”

Unfortunately, Arabella could not disagree, so she turned her attention to the spectators.

The number of people with the king this early in the morning was rather startling, until she considered that of course the king would have many friends and servants to attend him. Although the spectators kept a portion of their
attention on the game, clapping at certain times and cheering at others, it seemed to her that they were far more interested in their own concerns—especially the servant who was holding onto the leashes of several straining, barking, tussling spaniels.

Ignoring the earl’s complaints, Lady Lippet continued to scan the gathering. “Well, this is a disappointment, I must say. These men are certainly not courtiers. They all look like clerks.”

Arabella silently agreed. This was a much more sombre, respectable-looking group than she had seen last night at Whitehall.

“There is that fellow Pepys,” Lady Lippet said, gesturing toward a slightly plump man in plain clothing at the far end of the penthouse. “He fancies himself a musician, I hear, although my friends say he has little talent. No doubt he believes he will be a famous fellow one day. The poor man is going to be disappointed.”

The earl followed her gaze. “Does he not have something to do with the navy?”

“I believe so, yes,” Lady Lippet replied.

“Ah! Then I have much to discuss with him, too,” the earl declared, marching off toward the pleasant-looking man, who was, as yet, unaware of the fate that was about to befall him.

Paying little heed to the earl or Lady Lippet, Arabella decided the king must have done
something rather special with one hit, for Neville started to laugh deprecatingly and called out that His Majesty was getting much too good for him.

Neville’s laugh was really most attractive, free and natural, very much reminding her of his youthful self. This morning, his manner also seemed unrestrained and easy, utterly natural in a way it had not been in the Banqueting House. She could watch him for a long time when he was like this.

Suddenly, Lady Lippet grabbed hold of her arm tightly. “Oh, I was wrong. Here are two very eligible noblemen.”