Margaret Moore (20 page)

“Perhaps, Your Majesty,” he answered warily.

“Oh, come, come, Mr. Harding! You are reckoned a very clever and dutiful solicitor, and Mr. Burroughs is merely a silk merchant, no matter how many airs he puts on. We think you would stand an excellent chance, especially if his niece already loves you. Therefore, we shall be delighted to help you.”

“Help us, Your Majesty?”

“There is no need to look so shocked, Mr. Harding. We would be delighted to assist you young lovers—and incidentally put a bump in the ambitious road to Lady Castlemaine’s bed Mr. Burroughs seems so busy a-building.”

The last part of Charles’s declaration convinced Rob that Charles meant what he said: He wanted to help them—to cause problems for a man who was attempting to gain his mistress’s notice, and more besides.

“Now, then, we have just thought of a plan which we shall be delighted to put into effect. It shall mislead a few people, but we have misled people before. We well recall hiding in that tree to escape Cromwell’s men and disguises and all sorts of subterfuge. We promise this will be nothing so dangerous and will undoubtedly prove much more amusing, with a happy outcome.” He looked at Rob. “Go down the back stairs and fetch Mr. Burroughs.”

Rob hesitated. The man ordering him was the king of England; nevertheless, Rob was loath to leave Vivienne alone with him. He had heard too many stories of the king’s decadent ways.

Charles’s brows lowered ominously. “You did hear us, Mr. Harding?”

“Your Majesty, I fear I cannot.”

He braced himself for the regal wrath, only to see the king’s gaze soften. Charles approached and clapped a friendly hand on Rob’s shoulder. “We give you our word as the king of England that she will be safe. Odd’s fish, man, it’s not as if we are desperate for women, you know. We had to take refuge from one of them here, after all.” His expression changed, to something more serious and stern. “Or we could always send Buckingham to fetch him and you can explain what you were doing here with his niece that has left her in such a state of dishabille.”

Ignoring the king, Vivienne went to Rob, took his hands and looked up into his flushed face. “Do as he commands, Rob. Please.”

Rob’s glance flicked to the impatient, toe-tapping monarch.

She dropped her voice to a low, nearly inaudible whisper. “You must do as he orders you, Rob. He is the king.” Her hands squeezed his. “But hurry back to me.”

Finally Rob nodded. “Very well,” he murmured. Then, and still with obvious reluctance, he made a brief bow to the king and departed.

Vivienne turned toward Charles and clasped her hands to still their trembling. Although what the king had said was true—there were no stories of Charles forcing himself on an unwilling woman—she still did not want to be alone with him.

But they had no choice. If the king sent the duke of Buckingham to fetch her uncle and forced them to explain what they were doing alone together, it would be terrible for Rob. She could hear her uncle’s enraged denunciations, and Philip’s, too. She didn’t doubt that they would both do their best to see that Rob’s career as a solicitor was destroyed because he had ruined their plans.

“Please, sit down,” Charles said genially as he gestured at the sofa.

When he smiled with what seemed genuine benevolence, she started to believe he meant what he said about helping them, although she wished she had some idea of exactly what the king planned to do.

She sat on the sofa and watched him stroll over to Lord Cheddersby’s dressing table, where he examined the items spread upon the top.

“And thus we shall await your lover’s return and the others’ arrival,” he remarked.

“Yes.” Another thought occurred to Vivienne. “Sire?”

“Yes?”

“Will you not be missed?”

He looked at her in the mirror. “We suppose we already are, but people will realize Buckingham is gone as well, and put their own interpretation on the situation.”

“I see.” Lettice always claimed that Buckingham was the king’s procurer. Vivienne hadn’t quite believed her; now she did.

“We only hope that Jerningham woman thinks we are far away, preferably in another woman’s bed. A more persistent woman we have yet to encounter, thank God.”

“She admires you greatly, Your Majesty.”

Charles made a very skeptical face as he turned toward Vivienne. “If we were not the king, she wouldn’t look at us twice.”

“You are a most attractive man, sire,” Vivienne replied, sensing that this would be a wise thing to say.

And it wasn’t exactly untrue. When he smiled and his eyes lit up with laughter, he was not unattractive. He was not Rob, of course, but not unattractive.

“What of Lord Cheddersby? He strikes us he would make a doting husband, and he seems most intrigued by you. A clever wife could be the making of the fellow.”

“I love Mr. Harding, Your Majesty.”

“We understand that, but the fellow, for all his personal attributes, is poor, and Foz is very rich.”

“I would rather be poor and
happy,
sire.”

“Odd’s fish, really?” He shook his head and his expression became very serious. “We have been poor, you know, Mistress Burroughs, and indebted, too, when we were in exile. It is a most unpleasant condition.”

“I will not mind it, as long as I am Mr. Harding’s wife.”

The king grinned. “Very resolutely said, my dear. We believe you mean it.”

“I assure you, I do, sire.”

“Bad luck for Foz, then.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think he loves me. He has never said or done anything that suggests that he does.”

“If so, this is a most peculiar situation. Lord Cheddersby falls in love as easily as some men breathe.”

“Then he will not break his heart over me.”

“An excellent point. We are glad to agree. Indeed, upon further consideration, it strikes us that it would be a pity to see the fellow married. He amuses us greatly falling in and out of love.”

Vivienne thought this was not a particularly nice way to refer to a person and his emotional attachments, as if they existed solely for one’s own amusement.

“We do not mean to imply that you are not beautiful and desirable, Mistress Burroughs,” Charles observed. “You are very beautiful and very desirable.”

It only took him three steps to cross the room. He took her hand in his, and she had no choice but to rise when he gently tugged.

“Majesty?” she queried, trying not to sound as full as dread as she felt.

“A king can order people to do whatever he wills.” He stared into her eyes, and there was no mistaking the lust in his. She had seen that selfish desire often enough in Philip’s.

“Your Majesty,” Vivienne replied, desperately wondering if there was any way she could pull her hand from his without making him angry.

Charles abruptly turned his head, and she heard the voices, too: her querulous uncle, Sir Philip’s annoyed response and Rob’s low murmur.

Just as abruptly, the king pulled her toward the sofa, shoved her down, dove atop her and kissed her, his wet lips covering her mouth.

Struggling, she managed to turn her head and gasp, “Majesty!”

“Quiet,” he commanded in a whisper. “Do you want to spoil the performance?”

What kind of plan was this?

“Good God! What is the meaning of this?” Uncle Elias thundered from the doorway. “Unhand my niece, you varlet!”

Red-faced, he grabbed the back of the king’s jacket and hauled him to his feet. “You disgusting scoundrel! I’ll kill you!”

Frowning mightily, the king adjusted his garments. “It is Mr. Burroughs, is it not?”

Blanching, Uncle Elias fell to his knees, regardless of his new silk breeches. “Your Majesty! A thousand pardons, Your Majesty! I didn’t know—didn’t recognize … forgive me!”

Aghast at what was happening, Vivienne wiped her lips with the back of her hand and sat up. Philip stood scowling behind her uncle, Lord Cheddersby was behind
him
looking horrified and Rob was behind them both. He glared with murderous rage at the king.

This was disastrous! What had the king done?

Horrified, she looked at Charles again—and realized Charles was enjoying watching her uncle grovel with terror.

But what of her and Rob? Were they merely secondary players in his performance, too?

Lord Cheddersby turned and, although this was his private room in his own house, left them.

The full impact of Charles’s action struck Vivienne. If Charles never persisted with an unwilling woman, people would think she must have been willing, perhaps even eager, for his embrace. She would be regarded as another of his conquests. Before the next day was out, it would be taken as fact that she and Charles had made love in Lord Cheddersby’s closet, probably for several hours.

She wanted to cry out in anger and dismay—until she realized something else.

Philip would surely not want her anymore, not if she were another man’s paramour. Neither, obviously, would Lord Cheddersby. The “obstacles,” as the king had called them, were gone. Indeed, if she were now considered devalued goods, her uncle would probably be happy to be rid of her, to anyone who would take her.

Happiness immediately replaced her anguish, and she could only hope Rob would guess this, too—or at least control himself enough not to strike the king. Otherwise, he would be taken to prison, losing his liberty when she had just achieved her own.

“Majesty, truly, I didn’t recognize you in that … that position,” her uncle whimpered.

“Stop whining and get up,” Charles commanded. “Who do you think you are to lay hands upon your sovereign? Men have been sent to the Tower for less.”

As much as she chafed under her uncle’s imperious decisions, Vivienne was truly distressed to see him so afraid.

“Sire,” she said, “as my guardian, he is bound to protect my honor. Given what you were … well, he couldn’t see your face.”

The king’s lips curved up into a smile. “My dear,” he said with a melodramatic sigh, “we fear it is our fate to be as soft as butter in a woman’s hands. Very well, we forgive him.” “Thank you, sire.”

The king smiled slyly. “We hope to provide many more opportunities for you to be grateful.”

T
his was something Vivienne was
not
happy to hear, especially when she saw that expression on King Charles’s face.

Swallowing hard, she darted another look at Rob, who glared at the king as if he were the worst brigand in England.

“Martlebury?” the king said to Philip.

“Sire?”

“We understand you wish to marry this lady.”

“It is my dearest desire, Majesty,” he answered with more humility than she would have believed him capable of.

While Vivienne wondered what to make of this, Charles made a noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a disapproving grunt.

Philip must have thought so, too, for he colored—as well he should. What kind of man could see his apparently wanted bride in another man’s arms and react in such a sniveling manner?

Another glance at Rob told her that Philip’s attitude was very different from his. He was equally angry at her persistent, unwelcome suitor and the king.

“And who is this behind? Ah, Mr. Harding. No need to look so shocked, Mr. Burroughs. We have heard of Heartless Harding and his amazing marriage settlements.”

Vivienne stared. He had?

The regal brow wrinkled. “Since when does being a solicitor also require one to carry cloaks like a footman?”

Her annoyance and dismay at the king’s behavior began to lessen.

Uncle Elias turned and snatched Vivienne’s cloak out of Rob’s hands. “I meant no disrespect. Mr. Harding gave me to understand Vivienne wished to leave. Th-that she was unwell,” he stammered, clutching the garment tightly, regardless of what his grip might be doing to the fabric.

“She seems exceptionally healthy to us.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Sire, Uncle, I confess I am feeling somewhat unwell,” she said, and that was certainly no lie. More, she wanted to be gone from this place, and all these people except Rob.

Charles suddenly grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips. All her former dread and dismay returned full force as his smoldering, questioning gaze held hers. “Until another time,” he murmured, “which we hope will be sooner rather than later.”

Sweet merciful heaven! What was happening here? Was his passionate embrace not merely a ruse?

The king straightened. “Mr. Harding, would you be so good as to go to Lady Castlemaine and tell her we have been delayed? And then perhaps you would be kind enough to call the coach for Mistress Burroughs and her party?”

Apparently, while it was rude of Uncle Elias to treat Rob like a servant, it was perfectly all right for Charles to treat him like a lackey. Indignation burned within her, fierce and protective, her pride wounded for his sake.

His jaw clenched nearly imperceptibly, Rob bowed. “Good evening, Your Majesty. Mistress Burroughs. Sir Philip. Mr. Burroughs.” He turned on his heel and left without so much as a backward glance.

Not even at her.

She couldn’t help what the king had done. He had surprised her, too. Was Rob annoyed, or merely obeying his king’s command with the same reluctance as before, when he had been forced to leave her alone with Charles? What else could he do, especially with Philip and her uncle present?

“Where has Lord Cheddersby got to?” the king demanded.

“I … I don’t know,” Uncle Elias said immediately, as if he feared Charles suspected he had murdered him.

“Ah, well, I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually.” He faced Philip. “Martlebury, we need a partner for tennis in the morning.”

Sir Philip’s eyes widened as if he had just been made a duke. “I would be honored, Your Majesty.”

Vivienne’s lip curled with scorn. What a horrid toady he was!

“Just as long as you can hit the ball,” the king said with a deep chuckle. “You must come to Whitehall very soon, Mr. Burroughs,” Charles said to Uncle Elias, “and your charming and beautiful niece, too, of course.”

“I fear I may be indisposed,” Vivienne said sternly.

Uncle Elias gasped, while the king’s lips curved up into a shrewd smile. “We don’t think that would be very wise, my dear. Not wise at all. It is your king who requests your presence, and we would dislike having to explain exactly why we think you should comply. So, we shall see you soon, will we not?”