Much Ado About Marriage (27 page)

Thomas raked a hand through his hair. “Fia, I don’t think you—”

There was a knock on the door and Simmons said, “Cap’n, ye had best come quick. Lord Montley has been going over the charts and thinks we’ve been blown off course. We need to make a correction forthwith.”

Thomas cursed but turned to the door. “We’ll speak some more when I return; we must come to an understanding.”

“We already have.” She rubbed her goose-bumped arms, the water already cooling. “Last night was a pleasant interlude, that’s all. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

Thomas realized that she was repeating his own decisions to him, her voice so distant that she might have been speaking of someone else. Somehow she made him feel deficient, as if he’d offered her a grave insult of some sort.

Irritation surged and he scowled. Damn it, this wasn’t how he’d wished this conversation to go. Yet, looking into her cool, clear gaze, he couldn’t find a single word to defend himself.

His chest heavy, he bowed. “I will leave you then.”

“Thank you,” she returned coolly, her eyes unnaturally bright.

She looked forlorn somehow, sitting in the too-small tub, her long, wet hair tangled about her slender shoulders and cascading across her proud breasts. Her chin was tilted high though her eyes were shining with unshed tears. The entire situation tugged at his heart in a way he couldn’t bear to examine.

Thomas pulled his gaze from her and strode to the door, wishing he knew what words could untangle this moment. But none came, so with a short nod, he left.

The warmth of the sun settled upon Thomas’s upturned face as a light sea breeze flirted with the sails. While he welcomed the lack of storm clouds, the sunshine did nothing to lighten his mood.

The storm had blown them farther off course than Thomas had expected, the crew was restive, and worst of all, Fia had confined herself to her cabin.

A week ago, he would have paid for her to have made that decision. Now he found himself glancing about the deck, feeling as if something vital was missing.

He wasn’t the only one; Simmons and some of the other crew members had wistfully noted her absence, a few wondering aloud if someone had offended her.

In all of his days on ship, and of the hundred or so lords and ladies he’d consented to carry, none had impacted his crew the way Fia had. Apparently he wasn’t the only one bewitched by her presence. Surely that proved that he wasn’t succumbing to some sort of odd magic after all.

With Fia’s self-imposed banishment, Robert was free to wander about needling the hapless Simmons, who retaliated enthusiastically. Their bickering now took the place of the music and lighthearted banter, and Thomas hated all of it.

While his days were fully busy, he had long nights to lie awake and think. He found himself wondering if, in his zeal to reassure Fia that he would see to his responsibilities by her, he hadn’t in some way lost something far more important—her respect.

Simmons hurried up to him now. “Me lord, we’re ready to turn into the head of the Thames and there’s a signal on the east bank.” He handed his spyglass to Thomas.

Thomas held it to his eye. “A red flag—Walsingham’s signal. They are waiting for us.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it, Cap’n?”

“Good enough.” Thomas closed the eyeglass and handed it back to his first mate. “As soon as we land, I must meet the minister. You will take Lady Fia, her servants, and our cargo to Rotherwood House. Lord Montley will escort you.”

“If ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, I don’t need Lord Montley’s help.”

“I know, but I don’t wish him to follow me. He and Walsingham don’t see eye to eye.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Thomas turned back toward the riverbank. In London he’d head to the tavern where he and Walsingham often met, away from the scrutiny and intrigue of the court.

The minister would be disappointed Thomas hadn’t retrieved the letter, yet Thomas didn’t really care. He had bigger concerns now.

He sighed and watched the bank as it slid by. Things would be better now that he was home. They couldn’t possibly be worse.

The Blue Stag Tavern was like a hundred others along the waterfront. Its dark, dirty taproom held the stale odor of rotting timbers and unwashed bodies, while a jumble of uneven tables and broken chairs littered the room. Though the hour was early, several of the more hardy patrons already sat hunched with bleary-eyed hostility over bent pewter mugs.

Thomas made his way past the scarred tables. A gaunt dog bared his teeth, protecting a sliver of bone he had managed to steal from the kitchen. Thomas was glad Fia wasn’t there; she’d no doubt have wished to adopt the beast.

He resolutely pushed away the thought. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. As much as he respected and trusted Lord Walsingham, by the nature of the power the old man held, one would be a fool to take the association lightly.

At the very back of the taproom, leaning against a wall by a small door, sat an immense man, his boots worn and cracked with age, his black leather tunic marred by an array of unidentifiable stains. Small eyes glowered at Thomas from under heavy, scraggly brows.

“Hail, Goliath,” Thomas said in greeting. “I come to see ‘Leticia.’”

“What ’ave ye got to give fer it?”

Goliath was Walsingham’s guard and “Letty” was the code name to gain entrance to the meeting room. Walsingham
probably didn’t know Goliath had taken to demanding gold along with the password, which amused Thomas, so he encouraged the practice by paying.

Thomas pulled a coin from his purse. “Here.” He flipped it into the air. The coin was deftly caught and disappeared into the greasy tunic, but the giant remained blocking the door.

“What’s this? Let me by; I’ve paid the toll.”

The man shook his head, his gaze moving beyond Thomas. “It’s two coins if Letty’s to take on both ye and yer fancy friend.”

“My fancy frie—” Thomas looked over his shoulder. “Damn you, Montley! What are you doing here?”

Robert flourished a bow that drew every eye in the dank tavern. “Why, I’ve come to see the wondrous Letty! I apologize for my lateness, but I found myself with naught but rags to wear.” Robert was even more elaborately dressed than usual. His velvet doublet glimmered, the deep purple shot through with gold threads that caught the dim light and made him almost iridescent.

Thomas noted sourly that the gaze of every cutthroat in the taproom was now transfixed on Robert, their faces reflecting varying degrees of amazement and greed.

With a flourish of lace and grace, Robert tossed a coin to Goliath.

The giant caught it, held it up to the light, and then grunted. He lumbered to his feet. “I’ll send Letty in to ye as soon as she’s able.”

Thomas threw the door open and stalked into the room, Robert’s measured tread behind him.

As soon as the door closed, Thomas turned to Robert. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Robert tossed his cloak onto a chair. “I came to protect you from your own ambition.”

“I don’t need any protection.”

“You do, and ’tis my right to provide it. I and my sisters owe you our lives and I’ll not forget it.”

“You owe me naught but peace. Now leave.”

“I can’t.”

“Have you seen the street outside?” Robert lowered his voice to a whisper. “The alleys are narrow and fraught with dangers.”

“You arrived without mishap,” Thomas pointed out in a dry tone.

“I followed you. None would dare harm me so long as I remained within the safety of your shadow.” Robert dusted off a rickety chair. “So here I remain until you leave, safe and sound.” He sat down and stretched out his legs, the gloss of his black leather boots reflecting the weak blaze in the fireplace.

After sending Robert a hard glance, Thomas went to stand beside the fire. The room was little better than the taproom, the table greasy and the chairs broken and dirty. The only spot of freshness was a bowl of green apples sitting upon the table.

Thomas scowled at a small pot steaming over the gasping blaze as though in defiance of the chill wind that whistled occasionally through the plank walls. The chamber was cold, damp, and foul, and for once, he didn’t appreciate Walsingham’s turn for the dramatic.

He kicked at a loose ember, wondering what Fia would think of Rotherwood House. His father had won it from the estate of the Duke of Northumberland after that schemer had been sent to the Tower for treason. It was large and
impressive, built of gray stonework set with narrow windows. It had been built to intimidate, not welcome.

After his father’s death, Thomas had added a large fountain of warm yellow stone to the front lawn, ordered his gardeners to maintain flowers and topiaries for as many months as the seasons would allow, and added a portico crowned with flowers. The last had been Robert’s suggestion, and Thomas had to admit that it helped.

He rubbed his face, feeling suddenly weary.
What do I care what Fia thinks of my house? She’s not the woman for me, nor does she wish to be. She’s still impulsive, opinionated, unconventional, and
—he closed his eyes—
completely adorable
.

It was madness, complete and utter. He didn’t just want her; he craved her, yearned for her, day and night.

Was this the madness that drove my mother from our house? All these years, I’ve done what I could to be more like Father, but inside I always feared what I now know: I am as impulsive, impatient, and ruled by passion as my mother.

The door swung open and a barmaid sauntered in, her russet hair contained beneath a surprisingly clean scrap of lace. Her blue gown was torn and ill patched in a dozen places, but it was neatly pressed and fit her figure well. She flashed a smile and clunked two mugs of ale onto the scarred table, her overflowing breasts pressing against the inadequate scrap of muslin tucked into her bodice as she leaned over.

Robert drained his mug with startling quickness.

“I can see yer lordship is the thirstin’ kind.” The maid flashed a saucy smile at Robert, her eyes glinting hazel in the dim light. “Perhaps ye’re wishful fer some more ale?”

He captured her hand, murmuring soulfully, “Forget the ale, sweet maid Leticia! Do but reside within mine
heart, warming it until the coldness of death shall overtake it.”

She pulled her hand free with a brisk tug. “Me name is Annie, no’ Leticia. Letty’s on her way, so I wouldn’t waste no time if’n I was ye.”

Robert clutched at his chest. “Fair cruelty! I seek but to please thee and instead I am sent away, sore and rejected as a beaten dog from the beckoning warmth of a hearth.”

Anne sniffed. “Me duties don’t include entertainin’ the customers in no way other than servin’ ale.”

Thomas stirred restlessly.
God’s blood, where is Walsingham?
The man had to be expecting him; the wily old fox knew every time a ship turned into harbor.

Suddenly a shadow darkened the doorway as an old man stood within the opening, his dirty face shadowed by a ragged cloak. “I’ve come to beg a word with me daughter.” The voice cracked with weariness; the thin, dirty hand gripping the cloak shook with the palsy of age.

“Da!” The barmaid bustled to the door. “What are ye thinkin’ t’ be comin’ down here? ’Tis in bed ye should be, not wanderin’ about!”

“Let me be, daughter. Do I look t’ be dead yet?” The old man began to cough, swaying dangerously.

“Come, Da.” Annie pulled the old man from the doorway and fixed a pleading gaze on Robert. “Do ye mind if me da sits a spell here in yer room? He won’t be no trouble, I promise. He can leave as soon as Letty comes fer ye.”

Robert ignored Thomas’s frowned warning. “Of course. Pray, bring the good man something to eat as well. He’ll feel better once he’s had some food.”

The girl flashed a grateful smile as she pulled out a chair for her father and placed the old man in it.

Thomas’s jaw tightened. Robert would adopt the girl’s entire family ere they left.

The old man’s wheezing lessened and he motioned to the girl. Annie leaned over and the man whispered into her ear. She nodded once, then said quietly to Thomas and Robert, “Knock upon the door when ye wish me t’ return fer me da.”

Robert frowned. “You’re leaving him here? But—”

She lifted her brows, her expression suddenly haughty as the queen’s. “Aye, I’m leaving him here.” Her accent was now educated.

Robert gaped. “Mistress, you—”

Annie turned on one heel and was gone, quietly closing the door behind her. Outside they heard Goliath resume his position as guard, his chair scraping against the door.

The old man pushed the tattered hood from his head and said in a cultured, smooth voice, “And how fared your adventures, my fine young bucks?”

Robert scowled at the thin patrician face of Francis Walsingham, chief counselor to Queen Elizabeth. “You bounding knave,” Robert said with disgust. “What a farce!”

Walsingham shrugged. “I’ve been followed every day for the last month. I had to take more precautions than usual.”

“By whom?” Thomas asked.

“A man attached to the Spanish ambassador.”

“The Spanish?” Robert leaned forward. “There are rumors of their armada.”

“One day we will face them, but now they are merely fishing. Checking our strength, our capabilities.”

“The queen knows?” Thomas asked.

“Of course. I don’t know when they will come, but I
shall find out, and then—” Walsingham’s mouth thinned. “Woe to King Philip.” The counselor’s gaze flickered to Thomas. “But that’s not why you’re here. Your venture to Scotland, was it profitable?”

“He asks not if you’re well, but only about the mission,” Robert said in a scornful tone.

Walsingham flicked a cold glance at Robert before he turned back to Thomas. “Why did you bring him?”

“He’s here because I had need of him,” Thomas said. “The streets are not safe, as you know.”

Walsingham’s lip curled. “Then ask a
man
to attend you, not a play actor.”

Robert started from his chair, his fist about his sword.

Thomas threw an arm between the two. “Hold, Robert!”