Reckless Angel (24 page)

“It grows late, my dear wife,” he said, bowing before her, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.

Henrietta looked thoroughly startled at such an unusual salute from her husband. “I had not thought it
so. Are you acquainted with Don Pedro Escobal? He has been amusing me most wonderfully with some very wicked stories.” Her lips curved in an entrancing smile at Don Pedro. “May I introduce my husband, sir.”

“Sir Daniel.” The Spaniard bowed deeply. “I have heard much of you and am delighted to make your acquaintance at last. I must thank you for permitting me to enjoy your wife's company this evening.”

“Did he permit it?” asked Henrietta, forgetting for an instant the punctiliousness of this society. “I had thought 'twas I who permitted it.”

Daniel's lips twitched as he watched the young man search for an appropriate response to this unconventional declaration.

“You are too kind, Doña Drummond,” Don Pedro said, bowing over her hand. “But 'tis even kinder of your husband to deprive himself of your company in order that others may enjoy it.”

“Oh, bravo, sir!” Henrietta clapped her hands admiringly. “That was most neatly said.”

“But I fear I must now take my wife away,” Daniel said easily. “'Tis time we made our farewells.”

“Is he not the most handsome man?” Henrietta breathed as she walked off on her husband's arm.

“Tolerable,” Daniel replied in an offhand fashion. “If you care for little beards and pointed chins.”

“Daniel!” She stopped dead at the entrance to the reception room. “Y'are not jealous!”

“Of course not,” he said loftily. “What an absurd idea.”

She peeped up at him through her eyelashes. “Y'are!”

“Am not!” The black eyes danced at her. “You have too great a conceit of yourself, my child.”

She touched her lips with her tongue. “I do not think so, sir. I have received a great many compliments this night.”

“'Tis the Spanish way,” he said in airy dismissal. “'Tis not to be taken seriously.”

“Nay, I suppose not,” she said in a small voice, looking down at her feet.

Instantly remorseful, Daniel patted her hand. “It was but in jest, love. Y'are looking radiant tonight; 'tis no wonder you have received compliments.” When she made no response, but continued to walk with her eyes on her feet, he pulled her toward a secluded window embrasure, shielded by a richly hued tapestry where silver and azure thread mingled in an elaborate design. “I did not mean to hurt your feelings, elf. Surely you know that.” Catching her chin in customary fashion, he tilted her face toward him. Her eyes were brimming with mischievous laughter.

“Wretch!” he scolded vigorously. “For a minute, I really believed I had upset you.”

“You have but yourself to blame,” she informed him, tossing her head.

He probably had, Daniel thought. There was a quality to this Henrietta he had not seen before. Then she put a hand on his arm and whispered, “He is not nearly so handsome as you.”

“Oh, you do not have to spare my feelings,” he said, tracing her mouth with his fingertip. “I am aware I cannot hold a candle to such youth and elegance.”

Henrietta looked stricken. “How could you believe such a thing? Y'are a thousand times more elegant and handsome; and I do not care for callowness.”

“I think you are going to have to prove to me that you prefer the graybeard to the youth,” he said softly, holding her gaze until the deep velvety pools of her eyes seemed to engulf him.

“Let us go home at once.” On this imperative statement, she turned and marched out of the embrasure, her skirt flowing gracefully around her, her heels clicking on the black-and-white marble floor, a purposeful tilt to her small head. “Come quickly,” she commanded over her shoulder. “I do not wish to tarry with this demonstration and it cannot take place here.”

“Indeed it cannot,” he murmured, following her im
petuous progress across the reception room. “But we must make our farewells in decent fashion.”

“Oh, pah!” Nevertheless, she slowed, allowing him to take her arm and direct her toward their hosts.

He could feel the vibrating impatience in the hand resting on his arm, could hear it in her voice as she struggled to master her eagerness to be off, and responded with suitably leisured courtesy to the Duke and Duchess of Medina. At last, however, they were free to make the last curtsy, the last bow, and hasten into the warm night.

“I thought we would never get away.” Henrietta breathed a sigh of relief and skipped on the cobbles. “Kiss me.”

“Here? In the middle of the street?”

“Yes.” She nodded vigorously. “'Twas you who created a powerful excitement with your talk of demonstrations.”

“So I did.” He lowered his mouth to hers, tasting the wine-sweetness of her lips, inhaling the delicate fragrance of her skin.

Abruptly, she took over what had been intended as a gentle salute, a mere preliminary to what would ensue in the bedchamber. Her tongue pushed insistently between his lips, her arms went around his neck, her hands riffling through his hair to palm his scalp, gripping his head tightly as her body moved passionately against his.

“What the devil are you doing?” He pulled back, his breathing ragged. “'Tis not the place for this.”

There was a wildness in her eyes and she laughed, a gay and heedless laugh. “You would have me prove something to you. I will prove that passion for my graybeard husband transcends all caution. I would make love under the stars, husband. Now.”

“Dear God,” Daniel exclaimed under his breath. “'Tis the full moon!”

She laughed again, looking up to where the great golden round hung benevolently in the star-filled sky. “Maybe so. Let us go in here.” She darted through a
small gate leading into a darkened garden, quiet and still, heavy with the scents of honeysuckle, sweet basil, and roses. She came into his arms again, her hands moving intimately over his body, busy with the fastening of his britches, sliding within to caress him with deft strokes and assured touches. And all the while she kissed him, his throat, his chin, the corner of his mouth, his eyelids, fire-tipped kisses that heated his blood and drove all thoughts of caution from his head.

An arbor of rosebushes beckoned and they moved almost blindly to within its deep, scented darkness. Daniel drew her toward a carved wooden bench as she nibbled his ear, whispering to him, softly erotic. He was drowning in the warm, whispering, fragrant wonder of her. He sat down and she understood without words what he wanted of her, drawing up her skirts and petticoats as she stood in front of him, baring herself under the night's soft touch, so that he could run his hands down the creamy, gleaming length of thigh, over the soft roundness of her knees, up to play in the moon-washed, corn silk-colored tangle at the apex of her thighs, slipping between to feel the heated readiness of her. When he drew her down astride his lap, she took him within her self, tightening around him, willing him to become a part of her, part of her essence. Her knees held fast to his thighs and her body moved with a rhythmic vigor that carried them both, until she slowed, eased into a gentle, languorous motion that lapped them in a sensuous sea of delight. Daniel was content to leave the play to her direction. When he would have lifted her from him at the moment of climax, she placed her hands on his shoulders and held him tightly within, glorying in the throbbing pulsing of his release, until a cry broke from her and she fell forward to rest her lips against his forehead as the waves of joy broke over her.

“Mayhap we have made a son,” she whispered, when she could draw breath again.

Daniel stroked her narrow back, feeling the fragility of her shoulder blades through the rich silk of her
gown, feeling the warm flesh of her thighs pressed to his own. “I never seem to anticipate your impulses,” he said ruefully. “And ye have more than a fair share, my elf.”

She raised her head to look down at his face in the shadows. “Would ye not have had that happen?”

A finger of moonlight pierced the shadowy darkness, touching the planes of his face, sparking in the black depths of his eyes. “I'd prefer you to be safe at home when y'are with child,” he said.

“Well, we cannot be nine months in this land,” she said practically, “so I will be brought to bed at home.”

He smiled, shaking his head slightly. “We can but wait and see. Lift up, now.” He slipped his hands beneath her, raising her from his lap. “Naughty one. I wonder whose garden we have just made such shameless use of.”

She laughed, smoothing down her skirts. “Not shameless use, but the best and most wonderful. I trust I have now set your mind at rest on the subject of gray-beards.”

“You have,” he agreed, fastening his britches. “And I do not feel in the least like a graybeard. I do not think elders make reckless love to importunate young women in strangers' gardens.”

“No, I am sure they do not.” She slipped her hand in his. “Let us go home and do it again, just to prove to me that my husband lacks none of the energy of youth.”

“You will need your sleep,” he said. “I forgot to tell you that you may expect a visit from Doña Teresa Jerez this forenoon and you must be at your best.”

“She is chamberlain to the queen, is she not?”

“Aye, and it can only help my mission if y'are accepted at that court,” he replied. “If you have audience with Her Majesty, then I cannot be refused the same privilege with King Philip.”

“I will do whatever is necessary to be accepted,” she assured him as they reached their own house. “I will become a veritable Spanish lady.”

 

She was rather too true to her word for Daniel's taste. He came into the bedchamber at mid-morning and stopped in horror. “What the devil are you doing, Henrietta? Take it off immediately.”

“But why? All Spanish ladies paint, from the queen to the fisherman's wife. 'Tis surely only polite to adopt the same customs,” she protested with seeming innocence, rubbing a little more vermilion on her cheekbones and patting chalk-white powder on her forehead.

“Take it off!” he ordered, revolted. “You look like a whore.”

Henrietta pouted with her rouged lips. “Why do I look like a whore if the Spanish ladies do not?”

“Who said they do not? You, however, are my wife and I will not tolerate such a thing. Now, wash it off!”

“But you said I should do everything I can to be accepted at the queen's court…Ow, Daniel!” She squealed in shrill protest as he took her ear between finger and thumb and forced her inexorably to her feet. It occurred to her somewhat belatedly that her teasing had not fallen upon receptive ground as she found herself hauled thus unceremoniously across to where the ewer and basin stood on the marble-topped tiring table.

“If you will not wash if off yourself, then I will do it for you,” he said grimly, still holding her by the ear while he scrubbed her face with his free hand and she spluttered and squirmed.

“I would have done it!” she cried when he finally ceased. “I was only jesting.”

“I do not find it in the lest amusing,” he snapped, dabbing at a patch of red he had missed. “Whatever possessed you to do such a thing? Seldom have I been more revolted.”

“I only wished to see what it would look like,” she said, aggrieved, rubbing her ear reproachfully. “I thought it funny, like a clown…There was no call to be so rough and vexed.”

“For some reason you failed to convince me of the
humor of the situation,” he commented tartly. “The Lord knows, I'm no Puritan, but paint on women has always disgusted me. And on you…” He shook his head, unable to describe what he had felt at the sight of her fresh, soft prettiness sullied by the red-and-white mask. “I did not hurt you,” he said as she continued to regard him reproachfully.

“You pulled my ear as if I were some scrubby urchin instead of a wife.”

Daniel laughed at this disconsolate yet undeniable statement. “Come, I will kiss it better.”

She stood still as he brushed the offended feature with his lips, then squirmed away as his tongue darted within. “Oh, you know I cannot bear it!” She struggled in his hold as his tongue explored thoroughly, every contour and whorl, wickedly aware of every exquisitely sensitive spot.

“Oh, how could you be so unkind?” she gasped when at last he released her.

“Unkind?” he protested. “I thought only to give you pleasure…and you know it does.”

She tried not to smile, but her lips curved despite her efforts. “I cannot deny it, but 'tis a strange kind of pleasure.”

“Cry peace,” he said softly, opening his arms to her.

She stepped into his embrace. “I could not imagine not being at peace with you.”

“There is no reason why that should ever be,” he said. “We understand each other far too well, my elf.”

It was a statement they were both to remember in the weeks that followed.

“A
wise woman, my dear Doña Drummond, always ensures she knows and understands her husband's business.” Her Catholic Majesty, the Queen of Spain, smiled with apparent benignity at the young woman. Her eyes, however, were hooded, the drooping eyelids touched with kohl, and the smile from rouged lips seemed to crack the red-and-white mask of her complexion.

Her Majesty was seated upon a pile of rich satin pillows on a dais under a lavishly embroidered canopy of state. The ladies of her court were also seated upon cushions, their proximity to the queen determined by rank. Henrietta had been bidden to take a cushion at the queen's feet. Sensible though she was of the honor done her, she was at a loss to understand why she should have been singled out for such gracious attention on only her second visit to the queen's court at the palace of Buen Retiro.

Doña Teresa Jerez fanned herself lazily and copied her queen's smile. “Indeed, Doña Drummond, it is one of those little secrets that women keep from their husbands. We permit men to think of us as empty-headed and unknowing of the truly important things in life—those matters that men like to consider purely the masculine province—but little do they know how many of their decisions are influenced by the quiet words, the gentle encouragements, the tactful maneuverings of
their helpmeets.” A delicate rustle of assenting laughter ran among the listeners grouped around the queen.

Henrietta found this doctrine rather appealing, yet she felt a little uncomfortable, almost as if, by listening and laughing with the rest, she was in some way being disloyal to Daniel. But that was absurd. “'Tis surely hard to know such business if one is not in one's husband's confidence,” she ventured.

“Such innocence!” exclaimed the marchioness of Aitona, popping a sugared almond between scarlet lips. “Dear child, husbands do not share confidences in these affairs. It is for us to discover things for ourselves, and having done so to use that knowledge in our husbands' best interests.”

“'Tis a well-known fact, Doña Drummond, that men do not always know what is in their best interests,” gently put in the queen. “They do not always see the undercurrents. Your own husband, for instance…” She paused to take a sip from a small silver cup of steaming, fragrant chocolate proffered by one of her ladies.

Henrietta stiffened involuntarily, waiting for the queen to continue, but strangely she did not, turning instead with a murmured comment to Doña Teresa.

The latter rose from her cushion, announcing, “Her Majesty will retire.”

Henrietta rose to her feet with the rest, curtsying low as Her Catholic Majesty swept from the room accompanied by her chamberlain and several of her maids of honor.

“What did Her Majesty mean?” Henrietta inquired of the marchioness of Aitona, who seemed to have been allotted the role of Lady Drummond's guide and mentor at these court functions. “She was about to say something concerning my husband.”

The marchioness smiled and patted Henrietta's hand. “Her Majesty has taken quite a fancy to you, my dear Doña Drummond. If she deigns to give you a little advice, you would do well to heed it.”

Henrietta nodded slowly. “I would do so, madam,
if I could but be certain what the advice was. It seems Her Majesty talks in riddles.”

“Not so. Let us walk a little in the gardens.” The marchioness glided through the presence chamber where ladies remained chattering like so many bright-plumaged birds. Henrietta followed her down the wide sweep of stairs, through lines of bowing footmen, and out into the peaceful gardens that gave the palace its name. Fountains plashed softly into marble basins, ornamental lakes glistened like jewels set into the lush verdant grass, and great oaks offered shady and secluded walks.

The sun was hot and Henrietta's companion showed no hurry as they progressed far too slowly for the impatient and eager Lady Drummond in the direction of an orange grove. “I pray you, madam, unravel this mystery for me,” Henrietta begged once they had attained this privy spot.

The marchioness sat upon a stone bench at the edge of a lily pond, carefully arranging her emerald taffeta skirts before patting the seat beside her in invitation. “Her Majesty simply meant, my dear, that affairs of state should be as much the domain of women as of men. Indeed, a woman who understands these things will be much beloved of her husband.” She glanced shrewdly at Henrietta to see if the bait had been taken. The look of eager speculation in the girl's eyes boded well. “Of course,” she continued casually, “'tis often as well to keep the extent of our knowledge to ourselves, but simply to use it as it would best benefit our husbands.”

“Forgive my stupidity, madam, but I do not see how one can use knowledge without revealing that one has it,” Henrietta pointed out with her usual logic. “How could I be of assistance to my husband and thus earn his gratitude if I must keep close the means by which I do so?”

The child was not the simpleton they had thought her, reflected the marchioness, dabbing her upper lip with a lace-edged handkerchief whilst plying her fan vigorously. She picked her words carefully.

“In some cases,” she said with a conspiratorial smile, “virtue must be its own reward, augmented, of course, by your husband's satisfaction in achieving his goals, even though he may be unaware that he owes his success to your intervention.” She paused to allow the import of this to sink in before continuing almost casually, “At court, 'tis sometimes necessary to employ devious means to achieve one's object. One must know always who is the best person to approach, what approach will succeed with different people, and one must always have at hand certain bargaining counters.” Again she paused to allow her listener time to absorb this, before continuing in the same level tones. “Sometimes people do not always realize that they must have these bargaining counters, and then they do not achieve their object.”

Henrietta thought of Daniel and his continually frustrated efforts to gain audience with King Philip. Always he was faced with a warm, friendly, hospitable, utterly courteous wall of implicit denial. Was there something he should be doing, some card he should be playing, to unlock the deadlock? “Pray, be more explicit, madam,” she requested. “I take it you refer to my husband's mission and his present inability to progress in that cause.”

The marchioness sighed. “You are very direct, Doña Drummond. 'Tis not always wise to be so. One must move by side roads, speak with caution. Those who are meant to understand will do so.” She rose from the bench. “The afternoon grows too warm for taking the air, my dear. You must be anxious to return to your house for the siesta.”

Henrietta acquiesced in correct manner with this discreet closing of the subject. She had learned enough in the past weeks to realize that nothing would be gained by transgressing the rules of etiquette governing Spanish society. They returned to the palace and the marchioness, with punctilious courtesy, gave order that Doña Drummond's litter be summoned, then waited with her in the anteroom, making polite conversation.
When the footman appeared to announce her ladyship's conveyance, the marchioness took her hand. “I have enjoyed our little talk, Doña Drummond. You must miss your home in The Hague.”

“A little,” Henrietta admitted. “I miss my stepdaughters rather more. I wish they could have accompanied us.”

“Yes, to be sure. It is always hard to leave one's family behind.” The marchioness smiled brilliantly, but the experienced eyes were hard and calculating. “I am certain your husband must receive regular dispatches from The Hague. I trust they bring good news of his household.”

“I do not think such domestic matters are referred to,” Henrietta replied frankly. “My husband would have told me if there were such news.” In the silence that greeted this artless statement, certain knowledge burst upon her. Dispatches from The Hague lay at the core of this strange part interrogation, part lesson that had been delivered this afternoon.

“Don Drummond does not share these dispatches with you?” gently questioned the marchioness. “Perhaps he considers their contents no concern of yours?”

“Perhaps,” Henrietta agreed neutrally. “'Tis not a subject we have discussed.” The lie came easily and she kept her eyes down lest her interlocuter read the truth and the speculation they contained.

“Remember, my dear, that affairs of state are as much a wife's concern as they are a husband's,” said the marchioness. “Your husband will certainly benefit from any interest you may take on his behalf.”

Henrietta smiled vaguely, murmured a polite farewell, and seated herself in the litter, heaving a sigh of relief as the curtain fell shut, enclosing her in solitude as she was carried through the streets of Madrid by the four stalwart bearers.

Coach and horses were expensive to maintain and Daniel had early decided they were unnecessary. Mostly, he himself went about his business on foot, and Henrietta also whenever her errand was of an un
official kind. But she could not pay social visits in such manner, so the litter and bearers were now always at her disposal and she was rapidly becoming accustomed to traveling in this style. It certainly granted her the privacy to think, and the thoughts now raced through her head, tumbled in confusion, before falling into a readable picture. Somebody was inordinately interested in the dispatches Daniel had received from The Hague…and Daniel was clearly not being forthcoming about the contents. If he would not tell her, it stood to reason that he would not tell anyone else.

But what did they contain that was of such interest? Whatever it was would unlock the door to the king's presence chamber. That much had been made crystal clear to Henrietta this day. Just as she had been told where, in the eyes of the queen's court, her own wifely duty lay.

In essence, she had been told to spy upon her husband. This unpleasant truth was in no wise mitigated by the benefits she had been told would accrue to Daniel from such an act. Yet some aspect of the doctrine imparted to her did appeal. She did resent being excluded from this area of her husband's life. He still thought her too young and inexperienced to understand the diplomatic complexities with which he daily wrestled, and the temptation to prove him wrong was more than great. She did feel that she could and should be of more service to him than that of simply playing her social role. Maybe it was time to demonstrate that she had both the understanding and the ability to take a larger part in this business. And, as always, when the opportunity presented itself to help him when she thought him in need, Henrietta could not master the urge to seize that opportunity.

Thoughtfully, she stepped out of the litter when the bearers set it down outside the high-walled courtyard of their lodging. Somehow she must use the knowledge she'd been given this afternoon to smooth Daniel's path, yet she must do so without betraying him. It was out of the question to deliver the contents of the
dispatches to the queen without Daniel's permission, and he would definitely not give it. But once she had discovered what the dispatches contained, why could she not play her own devious game at court? If she could discover exactly what it was they wanted to know, then maybe she could feed them misinformation that would still act as the bargaining counter for Daniel. But she had to know the true contents before she could do that convincingly. And how was she to find out?

In the relative cool of the shuttered bedchamber, she thankfully removed her gown of turquoise satin and the stiff taffeta underskirt. While she enjoyed this new wardrobe, the rich elegance of court dress had its disadvantages in the heat of a Madrid summer, and the extraordinary fastidiousness of the Spanish nobility was easily explained. Their love of cleanliness had at first surprised Henrietta, who was so accustomed to the odors of unwashed bodies, occasionally overlaid with heavy perfumes, that she barely noticed. She had been used to bathing infrequently, but she had discovered the pleasures of following the example of her host country and now relished the sensation of clean skin and sweet-smelling hair. It was an example Daniel also followed and one she was determined they would carry with them when they returned home.

She hung her garments carefully in the clothes press and released her hair from its pins. The Spanish habit of sleeping through the hottest part of the day was also a custom she had adopted with enthusiasm. Going to the casement, she pushed open the shutters, resting her elbows on the broad stone sill as she looked down onto the somnolent, sun-drenched courtyard. The heat laved her breasts through the thin linen of her smock and struck upward from the hot stone of the sill. She closed her eyes, feeling the sun's warmth probing her lids, creating a red darkness that lulled her into an almost hypnotic trance. When arms banded her waist from behind, her heart jumped in shock.

“Sun worshiper,” Daniel said with a chuckle, push
ing aside her hair to nuzzle the soft, fragrant nape of her neck. “Come to bed.”

“I'd like to make love under the sun,” she said dreamily, turning into his arms. “To feel it on my bare skin.”

He smiled. “Your wish is my command, madam. Let us first ensure the bare skin.” Deftly, he unfastened the ribbon tie of her smock before catching the hem and lifting it up her body. “Raise your arms.”

Henrietta giggled at the brisk, matter-of-fact instruction and complied, wriggling her head free of the folds of linen. “Now what?” She planted her hands on her hips and regarded him mischievously, her head on one side. “Am I to go outside like this?”

Daniel looked her up and down in a teasing appraisal before placing his hand on the top of her head and twirling her around so he could view her back in the same fashion.

“Do you like what you see, sir?” she inquired sweetly.

“Beggars can't be choosers,” he observed solemnly.

“Why you…you…” Speechless, she spun on him, pummeling him with her small fists while he doubled over with laughter, making no attempt to defend himself until at last he caught her against him, pinning her arms at her sides, his hands flattening warmly against her bottom.