Sandra Madden (15 page)

Observing her from a distance, once more without her leave, Edmund found he simply could not look elsewhere. Ropes of pearls circled her neck and were woven through her tawny curls.

His palms grew moist. His mouth dry.

"Edmund?"

"Yes, Judith."

"Why have we stopped?"

He smiled down at her. "Have we?"

"In a matter of steps we shall be at your aunt's side," she pointed out with some asperity.

Feeling the neglectful cad, Edmund gave Judith a rueful smile. "Come, I did not mean to tarry."

Aunt Cordelia welcomed them warmly. Kate offered a gracious but distant greeting. When her eyes locked on Edmund's, his heart bolted.

Bloody hell.

Time was running out to find her a husband. Kate and Aunt Cordelia would be returning to the country soon. If he could only turn Kate's mind from searching for her natural mother, she might be more receptive to potential suitors.

Edmund feared Kate would be hurt if she continued in her quest. If he ever laid hands on the stargazer who advised her to find her mother, Edmund swore to run the woman out of the country. Jutta. That was all he knew of her, her name and that she lived in the village. At least, here in the city the astrologer could not influence Kate.

As it was, she was quite unpredictable. From moment to moment, Edmund never knew quite what to expect from her.

"Where are you, Edmund?" his aunt cajoled. "You appear miles away when you should be dancing with Lady Judith."

"Indeed." With a bow to his lady and a sidelong glance at Kate, who looked askance, he reluctantly led Judith to the dance floor.

Although he'd left her company, Kate lingered in Edmund's mind. Over and over, he searched the throng for her. Later, after the queen had made her entrance and joined the dancing, Edmund caught sight of his aunt's gentlewoman dancing with Christopher Carew. He felt both a sense of relief and satisfaction.

During their interrupted meeting at the tavern, he had asked his friend to dance with Kate at the ball. He wished her to enjoy the only court function she would ever likely attend. He could not condemn his amber-eyed friend to spend the entire eve on the sidelines with Aunt Cordelia and Lady Mason.

Shortly after her dance with Carew, Edmund spotted Kate dancing with Donald Cameron, the Duke of Doneval. All eyes were on the couple, who appeared quite striking together. Edmund gave a low grunt of disapproval. The duke was too old to be a spirited husband to Kate. She needed someone young and strong and potent. A masterful man. A man more like... himself.

Knowing he risked her wrath, Edmund surreptitiously watched Kate with the duke. She smiled often at the elderly gentleman. They talked. Doneval laughed. Edmund chafed.

When he discovered them dancing again near the end of the evening, his stomach roiled with displeasure. Was the Scotsman thinking he could take Kate as his mistress?

* * * *

"Weel na, I am honored a young bonny lass would deign to dance with an old Scot a second time."

"Nay, my lord, 'tis I who am honored that you would ask me."

Kate felt safe in his arms. She had liked the Duke of Doneval the moment the side of her farthingale knocked the goblet out of his hand. She hadn't meant to turn so quickly. And he
was
holding his ale too low.

"Ye dance with the lightness of a feather."

Kate felt her cheeks heat. "Pray, you are too kind."

"Ye must attend many balls."

She lowered her voice. "In truth, I am a gardener's daughter."

Donald Cameron frowned, an expression of disbelief that pleased Kate. "Weel na, I wouldna have guessed," he said. "Ye are wise for so young a lass, gardener's daughter or no."

Because she had taken an instant liking to and trusted this sweet man in his glorious kilts, Kate whispered her secret. "I was sent abroad and educated by nuns in an Italian convent."

His warm brown eyes widened in surprise. "An' how did yer mother an' father manage such a feat?"

"I was a foundling," she explained, no longer feeling the shame of it as she had when she was young. "The funds were given with the condition they be used for my education long ago. When I was left at mama and papa's door."

The duke shook his head. " 'Tis astonishing."

"I suspect my father to have been a wealthy noble, and my mother..." Kate paused to draw breath. "You are familiar with the story, my lord."

"Oh?" His bushy, snow-peppered auburn brows gathered in a downhill slope.

"A nobleman taking advantage of a poor serving girl, or peasant?" she prompted.

"Ah, weel na, aye. I am familiar with that old tale. But you appear weel, lass, an' obviously attached to wellborn acquaintances."

She smiled. "When I was a girl, I fished with Lord Stamford."

"Lord Stamford?" The duke hiked a brow. "A good man."

"He has made me gentlewoman to his aunt."

Doneval’s expression grew grave. He lowered his voice. "Serving as his aunt's companion is all the earl has asked of ye?"

"Oh, aye, my lord," Kate replied quickly, unwilling to damage Edmund's reputation, no matter how she felt about him at the moment. "Lord Stamford is a fine gentleman. And I shall not repeat the sins of my past, you can be certain."

The duke smiled then, a broad friendly grin that seemed to wipe away the scars settled deeply into the lines of his craggy face. "Aye. Ye have beauty an' grace. Ye shall lead a sweet life, lass."

" 'Tis my fondest wish." Kate felt reassured by Donald Cameron's words and smile. She had confided more than she ought to a stranger.

"Ye shall marry a prosperous merchant an' raise a flock of children."

"Perhaps," she agreed. "After I find my mother."

"An' tell me how do ye hope to do that, lass?"

"With the ring I was sworn to never remove. If I find the goldsmith who created the ring, he in turn will tell me who commissioned it to be fashioned."

"Have ye thought yer ring might have been stolen or—”

"If it were stolen,” she interrupted, “why would I be forbidden to remove it?"

"Weel, 'tis a proper question. May I see this ring?"

Before Kate could show the duke her ring, she heard a familiar voice at her side.

"By your leave, Doneval."

Edmund. He stood so close to Kate he risked a farthingale wound.

One explanation screamed within her head. Lord Stamford had been watching her again! Like a salter, not to be stolen from his table, he'd come to be certain she was safe.

With a pleasant smile, the duke stepped aside. "Lord Stamford. Ye look weel."

"My thanks. I did not know you were in London."

"I have only recently arrived to do business with your queen."

"You are a loyal and steadfast spokesman for King James and Scotland," Edmund said in a respectful, yet rather terse, tone. "I admire your dedication."

"There is much to accomplish," the Duke replied modestly.

"I see you have met Kate."

"Aye, bonny Kate." Doneval smiled down at her.

She returned his smile, happy in the feeling she had made a friend in London.

"Kate is my Aunt Cordelia's gentlewoman," Edmund said.

Kate stiffened. Not only did she not appreciate being talked of as if she had evaporated from their sight, she feared what Edmund might be about to say next.

"Aye. An' I have no doubt the lady is fortunate, indeed."

Edmund's emerald eyes clouded. "Indeed. By your leave, Lady Cordelia has been asking for Kate. She must return to her duties."

A surge of disappointment mingled with fresh anger in Kate's midsection. She dipped a curtsy to the kindly duke. "My thanks, my lord."

"Nay, thanks to ye, lass. Ye have lightened this eve for a lonely old man."

With a firm hand, Edmund hastily guided Kate toward a vacant area near the rear of the great hall.

"How did you happen to dance with an old Scottish duke?" he demanded.

"Were you not watching?"

"Insolence does not become you, Kate."

"If you must know, I bumped into the duke. 'Twas an accident. Being a gentleman of the first order, he took mercy upon me and asked me to dance. Lady Cordelia was otherwise occupied so I saw no reason not to dance. I like to dance."

"You had already danced with Carew."

"Should I enjoy only one dance?"

"No. I am going to dance with you, as I intended from the start. Come."

But Kate did not budge. "Have you taken pity on me?"

"Nonsense," Edmund scoffed. "Come."

"The Duke of Doneval is an agreeable man," Kate muttered.

As if Edmund were not. "Aye,” he replied. “But Donald Cameron is old and a Scot. He cannot be considered as a future husband for you.”

“I am not considering anyone as a future  husband currently as well you know.  And when I do, I shall not consult with you,” she snipped, raising her chin.

“Moore has asked to call upon you again,” he told her ignoring her uppish attitude. “Evidently you did not scare him off."

Kate laughed at that. "Your barrister is a brave man."

As Edmund's sandalwood scent filled her senses, the male heat of him slid beneath her skin. For the first time since arriving at the ball, Kate felt alive. Her body tingled with anticipation. She and Edmund danced together as if they had done so for years. 'Twas a dance of wits as well.

Edmund did not share her good humor. Though he smiled, the sharp timbre of his voice bespoke a churlish mood. "I explained your bold behavior by telling Moore you were weary and agitated from your recent journey from the country."

"Why does the barrister require an explanation?" she wondered aloud.

"Smile, Kate."

"Smile?"

"For those who watch us, and there are many."

"Why do they watch us?" she asked, turning her head to see if she could detect curious eyes.

"Do not look!"

She rolled her eyes. "Pray pardon, my lord."

"And do not roll your eyes in that way," Edmund admonished her beneath his breath. "I have never danced with any of my aunt's previous gentlewomen. And you... you are the fairest woman at the ball."

His strained compliment did not ease Kate's irritation with him. "How do you expect me to smile when you intrude upon my affairs?"

Smiling broadly, Edmund dipped his head in silent greeting toward another couple. "I am attempting to assist you."

"How?" Kate bristled. "Despite your promise, you do not accompany me to Goldsmith Row. I am forced to go alone—”

"No one forced you," he interrupted, his gaze flitting about the dance floor. "Smile, Kate."

"Explain how you are helping me,
my lord"

"I am engaged in finding a prosperous husband who will keep you in fine fashion."

"By your leave?" Shock flashed through her like a bolt of lightning, deadening all feelings left in its wake.

"Smile, Kate."

"I do not desire a husband. I do not seek one. I do not care to meet another limner, bookseller, or barrister. Do I make myself clear?"

"If you do not smile, the queen will take me to task."

"I should like see your head on the tower of London," Kate shot back... and smiled.

"You will understand the wisdom of my—”

"Shall we stroll in the garden, my lord?" Though she spoke through her teeth, Kate smiled.

But there was no joy in her smile. 'Twas for the others, for those Edmund thought might be watching. Fearing she could not contain her anger another minute, flight seemed advisable.

Edmund frowned. " 'Tis cold, Kate."

"I shall warm you with the flames from my tongue, Lord Stamford."

Chapter Ten

While the moon is in aspect to Venus you will not speak in anger

Kate had seen several couples slip through the side door to the garden, no doubt bent on romantic interludes. She, however, had a tongue-lashing in mind as she marched toward the door.

Once outside she sucked in her breath as an icy breeze stung her cheeks. Having no mind to return for her cloak, Kate could only hope that her teeth would not chatter and undermine the fury of her words. 'Twas unnaturally cold for this late in spring.

Surrounded on two sides by open, columned galleries, the queen's great garden at Whitehall Palace was laid out in knots. An astonishing number of blazing torches shed light on the paths and brightened the night.

Along fine walks of grass, Kate sallied forth, flouncing past raised flower beds planted within low brick walls. Edmund whistled in a nonchalant fashion as he trailed behind her.

Plots of spices scented the quadrangular area with  exotic aromas. Overlooking all, high atop posts and columns, heraldic beasts with horns of gilt bore the queen's arms. In the center of the garden stood an elaborate fountain and magnificent sundial.

Although she had not come to view the garden, Kate could not help but take note. Her love of gardening triumphed over her fury. But only for a short time.

Upon reaching the far side of the fountain near the brick boundary walls, Kate spun upon Edmund. Bursting with indignation and plagued with goose bumps, she spoke her mind.

"What gives you the right to interfere with my life, Edmund?" Before he could answer she dug her fists into her hips and leaned forward. "Do you th-th-think me to be your slave?"

"You know I do not," he responded. Frowning, he lowered his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "On the contrary, you are—”

She could not bear to hear his platitudes. "By your leave, my lord. You do not own me. Ju-ju-just because I am your aunt's gentlewoman, you do not have the—”

"Pray, be still, Kate." Edmund splayed his large hands before him as if he feared she might spring upon his person.

"Are your teeth chattering? Is that why you stammer?"

"Nay!"

"As you will." 'Twas a condescending reply. He went on in a soft, soothing tone, as if he were attempting to calm a madwoman—which further infuriated, Kate. "I promise to find you an upstanding fellow."

She scowled and rubbed her arms briskly.

He gave her a lopsided smile.

The kind of smile that tickled Kate's heart and arrested her breathing. Why must he be so charming? Why must he be so tall, dark, and compelling? Why must he have such an appealing cleft in his chin, and shoulders as broad as the Thames? To her great consternation, Kate felt her anger ebbing away.