Darling Jasmine (17 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

BOOK: Darling Jasmine
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Piers St. Denis, however, had grown quite annoyed with Jasmine's refusal to give serious consideration to his suit. He could never get her alone. Glenkirk was always with her but when she slept. Shortly she would announce her preference, and he knew it would be James Leslie, unless, of course, he could change her mind, but how could he when he was never alone with her? He complained to the king.
“I have not a chance with her with Glenkirk skulking about all the time,” the marquis of Hartsfield said, his tone petulant. They were in the royal apartments.
“Gracious, St. Denis,” taunted George Villiers, “do not say you are a laggard in love. I should not have thought it of you.” His dark eyes danced mischievously. “The rumors are certainly otherwise,” he finished with a grin.
Piers St. Denis threw the younger man a venomous look. “Your Majesty, I cannot court Lady Lindley if I must share her every waking minute with the earl of Glenkirk.”
“My husband has said the choice is Jasmine's,” the queen said, not even bothering to look up from her embroidery frame.
“But how, madame, can she make her choice if she does not know me?” the marquis of Hartsfield almost shouted, frustrated.
“Perhaps,” the queen said giving him a mild stare, “she already has made her choice, my lord.”
“Sire! You
promised
me a chance with Lady Lindley,” Piers St. Denis almost whined. “You
must
do something!”
“I'll send Jemmie to Edinburgh,” the king answered.
“James!”
The queen's tone was pure irritation. She had only earlier spoken most severely to him about his foolishness in attempting to meddle in Jasmine's life again. Would he never learn?
“Now, Annie,” the king said, “our Piers is justified in his complaints. Jemmie will nae let him near the lass. Let him go up to Edinburgh to begin the arrangements for our visit there sometime in the future, perhaps next year or the year after. When he returns Lady Lindley will be allowed to make her choice. 'Tis only fair.”
“She will not change her mind, Jamie,”
the queen said, annoyed with her husband's overindulgence of the marquis. “All you will do is outrage Glenkirk and possibly provoke Jasmine to some new rashness.”
“I will speak wi them myself,” the king said. “Our Piers must hae his fair chance wi the lady, Annie.”
“Thank you, Your Highness!” the marquis said, kissing the king's hand with gratitude.
The king caught the hand in his and smiled at the young man. Then he ruffled Piers St. Denis's honey-colored hair. “Yer a braw laddie, Piers. How can she nae fall in love wi ye?”
“Well, it had best be settled now,” the queen said briskly. “Steenie, go and fetch Lady Lindley and Lord Leslie to us, will you?” She caught Villiers's eye, and total understanding passed between them in that single moment. The queen liked George Villiers, and far preferred him as her husband's favorite to the marquis of Hartsfield, whom she hoped eventually to remove from the picture entirely.
George Villiers leapt up. “At once, Your Majesty,” he said with an elegant bow, and was out the door before the king or St. Denis might protest on one pretext or another.
“There now,” the queen said with a sweet smile. “Now, my dear St. Denis, you will be able to begin your courting more quickly.”
George Villiers dashed through the palace, seeking either Jasmine, or James Leslie, not doubting that when he found one, he would find the other. Finally a young page mentioned he had seen the earl and his lady playing cards at some tables that had been set up in one of Whitehall's interconnecting galleries, with their stone and gold ceilings and wainscots of carved wood representing beautiful figures. Windows lined either side of these galleries, giving the impression that one was out-of-doors.
“ 'Tis the one overlooking the lawn and the river,” the child called after George Villiers.
“What now?” Jasmine grumbled, slamming down what she was certain was a winning hand when Villiers found them.
“I'll tell you as we go along,” Villiers answered them, ushering the pair from the gaming table and back along the corridors to the royal apartments, and he did.
“God's boots!” swore Glenkirk. “James did something similar years ago to my father. Sent him off when he wanted to create a bit of mischief.” He went no farther than that, for he did not want George Villiers privy to his family's history. There were very few people left alive who knew that the earl's mother had once been James Stuart's secret passion.
“I will go home to Queen's Malvern,” Jasmine said immediately.
“Nay, madame, you will not,” the earl said. “You must remain and, even as you yourself have said, allow the king to believe you have seriously considered the marquis of Hartsfield as a suitor.”
“If I can be of any help, Lady Lindley,” Villiers said, “you have but to ask me. I have not just the king's favor, but the queen's as well,” he told them proudly. “She gave him quite a scolding when he came up with this scheme to offer you a choice of husbands. I think she fears you will disappear again, taking young Charles Frederick Stuart with you, and that she will never see her grandson again.”
Jasmine stopped dead in her tracks. “Sir,” she said quietly, “I have twice run from my country—to save myself the first time and my children the second time. I will not be forced to flee ever again. England is my home, and it is my children's home. I will not allow anyone to take their birthright from them. You are quite free to repeat my words, if you so choose.” Then she continued onward.
He ran to catch up with her. “Madame,” he said in breathless tones, “I consider your words a confidence. I will not repeat them.”
“We appreciate your friendship, Villiers,” the earl told the young man, smoothing over Jasmine's rough edges. “You will understand Lady Lindley's irritation in this matter, I know.”
“Aye, sir, I do,” was the gracious reply.
They had reached the royal apartments and hurried through the doors that opened before them as they went. The queen looked up, smiling encouragingly as they entered. St. Denis, however, had a smirk upon his face that made Jasmine want to slap him. He was obviously quite pleased with himself. They made their obeisance to Their Majesties.
“I would hae ye go up to Edinburgh, Glenkirk,” the king began. “I'll be wanting to make a visit next year, or the year after. I would know the climate of my welcome. Ye'll hae to speak wi the old bonnet lairds, the border lords, and of course, the leaders of the kirk. 'Tis an unofficial exploration ye'll be making for me, of course. And perhaps ye'll even hae time to visit yer own holding.”
James Leslie smiled. “I'll be happy to go investigate the climate in the north for you, my lord,” he said pleasantly. “I do not believe, however, that there will be time to go to Glenkirk and return to England by the fifteenth of June.”
“Yer absence will gie our Piers his chance wi Lady Lindley,” the king continued ingenuously. “Ye hae been taking all of her time, a wee birdlet tells me.”
“When would you have me leave?” the earl asked.
“On the morrow,” was the royal reply. “This is a private visit, Glenkirk. Ye'll nae hae any trappings of authority.”
“Very wise,” the earl agreed. “My man and I will travel faster alone and create no curiosity that way, sire. I shall, of course, convey your greetings to all I speak with so Scotland may know that you are thinking of her yet, even here in England.”
“Verra good, Jemmie,” the king said, relieved. He had feared an outburst from the earl, but as always James Leslie was behaving like the perfect royal servant; but then he always had, from the time he had replaced his father as earl of Glenkirk and taken responsibility for their clansmen and women. The king didn't know why he had been worried in the first place. The Leslies respected his divine right, and they had always done so. He didn't have to worry about their loyalty. His glance went to Jasmine, who was strangely silent. “Now ye'll hae time to get to know our Piers, madame,” he said.
“As Your Majesty pleases,” she replied, her look noncommittal. Jasmine made him very nervous. He had expected an outraged burst of anger form her that Glenkirk was to be sent off. His wife had made him see the error of his judgment in this matter, but a promise was a promise. He had promised Piers a chance with the beautiful and wealthy woman. “There is a masque tonight,” he said weakly. “Ye'll come wi the marquis, madame.”
“Alas, sire, I have a headache,” she said sweetly, “and then, too, there would be no opportunity for me to create a costume. You know how famed my family are for their costumes.”
“Could ye not wear the garb of yer native land, madame,” the king persisted. “ 'Twould be exotic to our eye.”
“Regretfully those garments are packed away at Queen's Malvern,” Jasmine said.
“Oh,” the king answered. He was disappointed. He well remembered Jasmine's appearance in a diamond-encrusted garment some years earlier.
“I can send to my grandmother, however,” Jasmine amended, stemming any annoyance on the king's part. “There will be other masques quite soon, will there not be, madame?” Her query was aimed at the queen, who smiled conspiratorially and nodded in the affirmative.
“Indeed, Jamie, a salute to springtime, in two weeks,” she told her spouse. “I'm certain Lady Lindley can arrange for a suitable costume by then, can you not, my dear.”
“Certainly, Your Majesty,” Jasmine promised.
“Then it is all settled,” the queen continued brightly. “Now, you must go home, my dear, and treat your aching head. Should she not go this minute, Jamie? Poor darling!”
“What will ye treat yerself wi, madame?” the king asked, suspicious.
“Hot tea, sire, and Adali will massage my shoulders,” Jasmine responded. “For me it is the sovereign cure. That, and a good night's rest, and I shall be in fine condition by morning, I am certain.”
“Verra well, madame, then you are excused,” he told her reluctantly.
Jasmine curtsied. The earl of Glenkirk bowed.
“Ye'll ride out at dawn,” the king commanded James Leslie.
“I shall, sire,” he replied and, taking Jasmine's arm, departed the royal apartments.
“There now, Piers,” the king said as the pair disappeared. “I hae cleared yer way for ye, but it is ye who must woo and win the lady. I hae promised that the choice be hers, and I will keep that promise, for I am a man of my word.”
“I will win her, sire!”
the marquis of Hartsfield said firmly.
“When cows fly,”
murmured George Villiers beneath his breath, but Queen Anne heard him and, unable to help herself, began to laugh, helpless to her mirth, which caused tears to roll down her somewhat plain face.
“Why, Annie,” the king said, “I hae nae known ye to laugh so hard in many a year. What is it, my dearie? Will ye share yer jest wi us, eh?”
But the queen waved her hands helplessly at him, choking on her mirth as she did so. “ 'Twas j-j-just a t-th-thought, Jamie, and 'twould only be amusement to another female. “Or perhaps,” she continued regaining control of herself, “ 'twould not be.”
The king turned away to speak with the marquis again, and his wife shook her finger at Villiers, who grinned mischievously at her, then winked.
“You're a wicked laddie,” she scolded him softly.
“Aye,” he agreed complacently, and then, taking her hand up, George Villiers kissed it. “Your servant, Majesty,” he said.
The queen smiled softly, a knowing light coming into her pale blue eyes. “You're a shrewd laddie,” she told him. “I am glad that we understand each other, Steenie.”
“I'll never hurt him, Majesty,” was the answer.
“Then you will always have my friendship,” said the queen quietly, “and we are of the same mind in
this
matter?”
“Aye, madame, we are,” he told her, “but Lady Lindley is too much in love with the earl of Glenkirk to be swayed, never fear.”
“St. Denis is ruthless,” the queen warned, “and he is clever.”
“I am more clever,” George Villiers assured her.
Queen Anne looked at the beautiful young man with the face of an angel. “Why, Steenie,” she told him thoughtfully. “I do believe that you are.”
He sent her a radiant smile.
Chapter
9
T
here was a faint scraping against the casement windows in Jasmine's bedchamber. A light wind ruffled the surface of the Thames. The moon silvered both the lawns and the river. Anyone looking up would have seen the shadowy figure of the man who had climbed the thick vine which grew up the brick side of the house. Clinging to his precarious ladder with one hand, he fumbled to open the casements and, meeting with success, swung himself over the sill and into the room. Walking over to the bed, he looked down upon the woman there.
It was the sound of the windows opening, and the thump of feet hitting the floor that had aroused and awakened her fully. Jasmine opened her eyes. “Jemmie!” she said, recognizing the silhouette looming over her. “Are you mad?”
“Aye,” he told her. “Mad for you, darling Jasmine!” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled his boots off, then, standing, began to remove his clothing. “Did you think I would go off to Edinburgh for the next month without coming to say a proper good-bye?” He slid naked beneath the sheets with her, taking her into his arms.
“But what of Kipp St. Denis, my faithful watchdog?” she demanded. “He will go running to his brother, and then the marquis will complain to the king, and then heaven only knows what will happen,” she fretted.
“Kipp has gone home. I simply outwaited him. I then followed him back to his brother's house to make certain. Turnabout is fair play, after all, is it not, darling Jasmine?” He nuzzled her ear, inhaling the warm fragrance of her. “I even watched the lights go out all over St. Denis's house.” He nibbled upon a perfectly shaped earlobe. “Only then did I come to you.”
“Ohhh, Jemmie,” she sighed, pressing her body against his. “I have been wild with longing for you, and now you are to leave me.”
“But not until the morning, sweetheart. We have a few hours until then, and I intend that we make the most of them. It has been hellish not sharing your bed. I ache to have you as my wife.”
“Promise me we will never have to come to court or involve ourselves with the Stuarts ever again,” she said fiercely. “I do not like having my life manipulated by others, Jemmie. We will live in your Highlands forever, if we must, to escape the royal meddling. I know the king does not like his native land, and so is unlikely to chase after us.”
He kissed her mouth in a leisurely fashion, tasting the familiar sweetness of her, his big hand cupping the back of her head. “We Scots are a contentious people, Jasmine. We are just as apt to murder our kings as obey them. Our lords, great and small, are an unruly lot. Jamie was always afraid of them, and rightly so, I think. If we live in Scotland, you will learn 'tis a turbulent and tumultuous land to which I have brought you, darling Jasmine. You will find, like your mother, that you will want some time in England each year. Our climate is unique, you will discover. Autumn is our best season.” His hand slipped from her head to smooth down the length of her back, caressing her buttocks.
She purred with contentment, twisting herself about, and drawing his dark head down into the shadowed vale between her breasts. He rested there a moment, listening to the beating of her heart beneath his ear. Then, affixing his hands about her waist, he straddled her and, bending, began slowly to lick the flesh of her torso. The flat surface of his tongue moved all about the swell of her breasts, and beneath them. It blazed a trail across her chest, her shoulders, and up the slender column of her throat. Then, his head moving swiftly like a darting butterfly, he blew back the wetness, finally fastening his mouth about one of her nipples, which he at first suckled, and then gently bit.
“Beast,” she murmured, and, raising her head up, nipped hard upon his muscled shoulder, her teeth dangerously close to drawing blood.
“Little bitch!” he groaned, his hands pinioning her down hard. Then he transferred his attentions to her other nipple, his fingers kneading the tender flesh of the first breast as he drew hard on the second. He half released her so that he might push his hand between her silk thighs, his fingers seeking. “Jesu, you're a hot little bitch. Wet, and hot, and very ready, darling Jasmine!”
She easily broke his light hold on her, her arms sliding about him. Her hands gently stroked him as she whispered hotly in his ear, “Fuck me now, Jemmie! I will die if you do not!”
“Not yet,” he insisted. “I have barely begun to delight myself with your ripeness, sweetheart.” A single finger found what it sought, and he began to tease at her most vulnerable spot, flicking the digit back and forth over the sensitive flesh, feeling it swell beneath the tender torture until she was gasping with pleasure.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
“Bastard!”
she hissed at him. “I want you!
I want you!”
He laughed happily. “In time, darling Jasmine,” he promised her, and then began to kiss her even as he pushed two fingers deeply into her sheath, moving them quickly back and forth until she drenched them with her love dew. “There, sweeting, that should take the edge off your hunger,” he told her.
“I hate you,” she half sobbed weakly, but he had eased her longing, and they both knew it.
“And I'm wild for you,” he teased her. His lips met hers again, rendering her dizzy with the sweetness. “Each night I'm away from you I will remember tonight and all the other nights we have lain together making love to one another. I will count the days until we are married, and you are mine forever, Jasmine.” He kissed her lips once more, and then her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose, her determined little chin. “Tell me you will hunger for me as much those long weeks we are apart.”
“Yes, damn you!” she managed to gasp. What was happening to her? Usually she was equally in control of their lovemaking; but tonight he had taken firm charge, and she found she was utterly content to allow it. She wanted him to take her roughly, overwhelm her entirely, make her a slave to his masterful passion. She felt like a very young girl again.
Releasing his grip upon her, he slid down the length of her torso, leaving her breasts aching with longing to be touched by him again. Catching up her small, narrow foot in his big hand, he kissed it, suckling lightly upon each toe, his tongue tickling her high arch. His kisses trailed over her narrow ankle, up her shapely calf, across her dimpled knee and, sweeping over her silken thigh, moved across to her other leg. Then reversing the process, he worked his way back down to her left foot.
Pulling himself back up, he began to nibble lightly once more upon her ripe lips, while her fingers tangled in his dark hair. He nuzzled his face against her navel, rubbing his cheek against the satiny flesh. Every pulse in her body was throbbing with her desire. Lower and lower, he moved along her torso. Her vulva was swollen, and already pearlescent with her love juices. He licked at it, smiling to himself when she whimpered first, then swore at him furiously. Spreading her wide, he settled himself between her legs, gazing at her sex, which he revealed to his eyes, opening her nether lips with his thumbs to expose the tumescent core of her sex, throbbing beneath his hot look.
“God,” he groaned, “you are so damned beautiful there!”
“Jemmie! You are killing me!” she cried out low.
Leaning forward, he licked several times about the coral shell of her, and then, fastening his mouth about the jewel of her sex, he sucked hard on it while her body arced wildly beneath him, almost dislodging him. His hands fastened about her hips, holding her still beneath the sweet assault.
Pleasure such as she had never known rolled over her in such wild excess that she thought she would surely die. Then, as suddenly as he had offered her this delight, he was mounting her swiftly and fiercely driving into her very womb, bringing yet another surge of pleasure so great that she could hear a violent roaring in her ears as her body began to convulse with a powerful orgasm the like of which she had never known. Her nails clawed at his back, and she moaned wildly.
He couldn't get enough of her. Over and over, and over again he thrust into her, unable to cease the furious motion of his loins. He groaned as she wrapped her legs about him, giving him greater access to the exquisite pleasure that their two bodies were capable of generating. Finally, when he thought relief was not attainable, his lance quivered wildly, then burst with such intensity that he thought he would never stop coming as his love juices poured into her womb, flooding it to overflowing. Exhausted, James Leslie collapsed upon his lover's pillowing bosom, sobbing with relief.
“Ahhh, you exotic witch,” he finally managed to say, “you have come near to killing me, and I, you.”
Jasmine managed a small chuckle.
“Wasn't it wonderful?”
she said, her arms going about him again.
“And now I must leave you for a month, more or less,” he complained.
“Ride quickly,” she encouraged him. “I do not know how long I can bear St. Denis's company, and holding him off will be both difficult and irritating. Thank God the queen is my friend!”
“If he so much as touches you,” Glenkirk growled, lifting his head and staring into her turquoise eyes, “I shall make him this court's first eunuch. I hate the way the randy bastard looks at you, as if he were contemplating a delicious meal.”
“He'll find himself poisoned if he attempts to take a bite out of me,” Jasmine promised him. “I am yours, James Leslie. Body and soul, I am yours. I will have no other man as my husband. Now, get off of me, you great beast. I need to prepare love cloths so we may begin another sweet round of passion. I have hated being without you, and I need strong memories to last the next month.”
“You are totally insatiable,” he grinned at her.
“So are you,” she shot back at him.
“Prepare the basin,” he instructed her. “I'll need those memories too, darling Jasmine.”
When she awoke long after sunrise the following morning, James Leslie was gone from her side, and she didn't even know when he had departed. On the pillow where his dark head had lain was a perfect half-open blood red rose. With a smile she lifted it and inhaled its fragrance, her mind awhirl with the memories they had made before the dawning. Those memories would have to sustain her in the weeks to come, Jasmine knew. The basin was gone from the bedside, and she realized that her servants, discreet as always, had already been there. Reaching out, she pulled on the bellcord to inform them she was awake and ready for her Assam tea.
Shortly Adali entered her bedchamber, the tray, with its blue-and-white porcelain cup and deep saucer, in hand. “Good morning, my princess,” he said, setting the tray down. Taking the handleless cup up, he spilled some hot, fragrant tea into the saucer, and brought it over to her. “Your tea.” He took the rose from her to put in a bud vase.
Jasmine sipped the beverage slowly. Then she said, “When did Lord Leslie leave, Adali?”
“Before first light, my lady. The skulking one had not yet returned to his post, nor has he come yet. I imagine his master will no longer require him to hide in the shadow of the garden wall now that the earl has departed for Scotland. He and Fergus More rode out just after dawn.”
“And now begins the tiresome task of outwitting the marquis of Hartsfield while I pretend to consider his silly suit,” Jasmine grumbled.
Adali made a disapproving motion with his mouth. “The gentleman has all the finesse of one of your father's fighting elephants,” he observed. “A dangerous fellow, I sense.”
“Aye,” Jasmine told him. “Jemmie says he is deviant in his passions. I will have to be very careful about him.”
“Surely, my princess, you will not allow yourself to be alone with him,” Adali said, disturbed.
“I must at some point,” Jasmine told him. “That is why he has had Jemmie sent away; so he may have time alone with me. He believes he can convince me to marry him. Of course all he wants is control over my wealth, and my not-so-royal Stuart son. Obviously he has a poor opinion of women, another mark against him in my books.”
“You will want a bath,” Adali said, dropping the distasteful subject of Piers St. Denis.
“Ummmm,” Jasmine agreed. “I am deliciously battered, and replete with my lord's loving, Adali.”
“Then you are truly content to wed with James Leslie next month? While I believe he is the proper husband for you, my princess, I should not want you unhappy. Not I who love you like a father and have raised you from an infant,” Adali said, his brown eyes filled with tender emotion.
“I am content,” Jasmine told him. “Thank you, dearest Adali. I would have you know that I love you every bit as much as I loved Akbar, whose royal seed gave me life.”
He bowed low to her and, unable to say another word, hurried from the room, so overcome with emotion was he. Watching him go, Jasmine smiled. She could not imagine life without Adali by her side. He had always been there, with her and for her. He and her two maidservants. How would they adjust to life in the less civilized climes of Scotland? At least they would all be managing together as they always had, she considered with a small chuckle. Adali, Toramalli, and Rohana could make civilization anywhere.

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