Margaret Moore (21 page)

Feeling trapped by his veiled threat, she mumbled, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent. Now you all may leave us.”

*   *   *

“Good God, I could have been sent to the Tower!” Uncle Elias muttered as the coach rattled over the cobblestones. Beside her, Philip said nothing.

Uncle Elias wiped his sweating brow. “You should have told me you had an assignation with the king.”

“I didn’t have an
assignation,”
Vivienne replied through clenched teeth. She never felt more upset, confused and angry in her life, and she was utterly unsure of the final outcome of this horrendous situation.

Then, mindful that this terrible business might be turned to good account if it rid her of Philip forever, she truthfully said, “It simply happened.”

Uncle Elias regarded her studiously. “He pursued you?”

She didn’t reply.

“Well!” Uncle Elias declared, slumping back against the wall of the coach, momentarily stunned. “I thought Charles was taken with you, but I had no idea how much.”

Vivienne slid a glance at Philip and saw, to her shock, that he not only wasn’t disturbed by this observation, he actually looked pleased. “You are not upset, Sir Philip?”

“Not at all,” he replied, turning to her with a smile that instantly chilled her blood.

“You still wish to marry me, even though you yourself saw me in the king’s arms?”

“So what of that?” Philip replied with cold calm. “Be his mistress. That is even more reason for us to marry. My Lord Castlemaine owes his earldom to his wife, after all, and I’m sure to be just as amply rewarded for sharing.”

Vivienne could not, unfortunately, refute that, but that didn’t lessen her disgust. “What of your honor?”

“What of it? It is yours that will be sullied more than mine, and I assure you, I can overlook that with suitable remuneration.”

“He has a point, Vivienne.”

She ignored her uncle. “You would sell your wife to the king?”

“If the price was appropriate, of course, just as you must have leapt into his arms expecting some compensation. You know full well he is already married, so what can you hope for but the material rewards of being a royal mistress?” Philip’s lips jerked into another smirking smile. “Or will you claim to be in love with him?”

Merciful God, had she endured the king’s horrible embrace for nothing?

It was all Vivienne could do to shout that she most certainly did not love Charles. She loved Rob—but because she loved him, she held her tongue.

“I should think you would be glad I still want you.”

“You
don’t
want me. You want money or a title, or anything else legally possessing my body will get you!”

Desperate to have some good come from the king’s unwanted lustful act, even more anxious to be rid of Philip once and for all so she would be free to marry Rob, she regarded her uncle with fierce determination. “While this man may have a financial reason to want to marry me, I do not necessarily need him to get a title if I become the king’s
amore,”
she pointed out. “Charles will give me one if I ask, will he not?”

“That’s true,” her uncle said, his eyes widening with that realization.

Philip grabbed her arm. “Without a husband, you’ll be nothing more than a whore.”

She yanked her arm away. “And if I agreed to this disgusting proposition, what would you be but my pander?” She faced Uncle Elias. “Why should we tie our family to this impoverished noble if we don’t have to?”

“You do have a point,” he mused aloud, regarding Philip as he might an overpriced commodity. “And he does not have nearly the influence he led me to believe.”

“Think again, Burroughs,” Philip growled, reminding Vivienne of his earlier implied threat. “We have an agreement.”

“Do we?” Uncle Elias retorted. “I know I have not signed anything, nor has my niece. Have you, Vivienne?”

Was that it? Was the promise of marriage all he had to claim? “No, Uncle.”

“You old buzzard!” Philip snarled, his face feral in the dim confines of the coach as he turned to glare at Vivienne. “What kind of greedy harlot are you, to play such games with me? I’m a nobleman willing to tie myself to you and this fat
tradesman
when you are nothing.” He shoved his face close to Uncle Elias’s. “I will marry your niece and get that dowry, by God, or I shall take you to court for breach of promise.”

“What?” Uncle Elias cried, while Vivienne could only stare incredulously—and wish Rob were here.

“You heard me. I shall sue you for breach of promise, per
verbe de futuro.”
Philip’s smile grew with smug satisfaction. “You think only lawyers know Latin and the law?”

Now more than ever Vivienne wished Rob were here, to give them the benefit of his legal expertise.

“That is ridiculous,” Uncle Elias retorted, his jowls quivering with angry indignation. “I have never heard of a man bringing such an action. You’ll be laughed out of the courts.”

“I think not. Have I not been led to believe the marriage would take place? I most certainly have, and I have the draft of the marriage settlement to prove it.”

Her uncle flushed and looked away.

His silence further unnerved her. Could Philip indeed take them to court if she didn’t marry him? Lawsuits could be costly. What would her uncle consider the least expensive: fighting Sir Philip, or giving in to his demands? He might try to force her to marry the odious man after all.

If only Rob were here!

Philip looked at her with his cold, cruel eyes. “So prepare yourself, my dear. You are either going to marry me or your rich uncle can damn well compensate me. I should at least get the full amount of the proffered dowry, if not more.”

Desperate, Vivienne grasped at one thing that might dissuade the man. “I am no longer a virgin.”

Both of them stared at her, but she didn’t care what they thought of her. She must and would rid herself—and her uncle—of Philip.

Philip stuck out his chin. “So what if Charles has had you? We can both enjoy your considerable charms—as long as I receive sufficient remuneration. Then I shall be able to buy all the virgins I want.”

“You are disgusting!” Vivienne hissed.

“And what are you except a slut?” he demanded. “You gave yourself to a man not your husband.”

“Does it not trouble you in the least that you will be famous as a cuckold?” her uncle said, finally speaking.

“You really are an ignorant upstart, Burroughs,” he sneered. “Chances are I would be cuckolded sooner or later anyway. It is the way of the world. At least if I marry a mistress of the king, I get something out of it. I should think you, being a tradesman, would understand the nature of trading.”

“I do indeed,” he retorted. “So I appreciate when someone tries to trick me into overpaying.”

He rapped on the roof of the coach and it rocked to a halt, nearly sending Vivienne tumbling onto the floor. “Get out, Sir Philip,” her uncle commanded, opening the door. “As my niece has pointed out, she has a royal protector now, so there will be no wedding between you and this
fat tradesman’s
niece.”

“How dare you—”

“I dare because I am her guardian, and I decide who she will wed,” Uncle Elias snapped as the coachman put down the step.

“You’ll regret this, the pair of you!” Sir Philip declared as he disembarked, stepping down into the stinking gutter. He cursed as he looked at the sole of his soiled boot.

“Close the door,” Uncle Elias commanded the gaping driver, who hurriedly obeyed. In another moment, the coach was again making its way down the street.

“I fear we have made an enemy, Uncle,” Vivienne said quietly after a long moment.

“Perhaps, but the king is much more important.”

That observation brought Vivienne no comfort.

She chewed her bottom lip. Despite the results so far—dissuading Lord Cheddersby and ridding her of Philip—the king’s scheme seemed to be more and more wrong-headed with each passing moment.

What might her uncle do when he discovered that the king had no real interest in her and was only pretending in an effort to help her?

At least, she hoped the king had been pretending—that the lust she saw in his eyes was merely habit and nothing more than a part he was playing to get back at her uncle.

What if it wasn’t? What if his motives were not entirely unselfish? He had certainly kissed and fondled her with more enthusiasm than the situation warranted.

And underneath all these ruminations ran another thread, of more importance than anything else: Where was Rob, and would he come to see her tonight? She desperately needed to see him, and talk to him, to discuss the possible repercussions of tonight’s events—and to be held in his arms, where she felt safe and secure in his love.

“I wonder when Charles will invite you to live at the palace,” Uncle Elias reflected. “If he does, you should ask for your own house instead. On the river, of course, so he can come and go as he pleases. I can think of two or three available. And be sure to ask for jewelry whenever you can, Vivienne. Smaller pieces are generally easier to sell later. Diamonds are best. And make sure he supplies plenty of servants and clothing. Oh, and a coach-and-four, as well.”

As the coach continued on, Vivienne paid no heed to her uncle’s mercenary observations and thought only of Rob.

Rob shivered as he waited on the cold slate tiles of the stable roof outside Vivienne’s window. A chill drizzle dampened him, making his shirt cling to his back.

As a coach rattled into the mews, he moved closer to the wall, both for shelter and to be more in the shadows. Listening carefully, he heard voices. Vivienne and her uncle had finally returned, thank God.

After what had happened tonight, he was so anxious to see her alone that he could not even bear to wait until the morning.

He had had no idea that the king intended to make it look as if he had been with Vivienne, not him. Neither had she, he was sure. When he had returned with her uncle and the others, she had looked as upset, angry and distressed as he felt.

Since leaving Lord Cheddersby’s, however, he had decided that he and Vivienne were surely wrong to be so upset, that what had happened had been the king’s only means to help them. It was quite obvious from the look on Lord Cheddersby’s face as he passed Rob that he was no longer interested in Vivienne, and surely Sir Philip would not be, either.

Unfortunately, the price for that freedom was going to be Vivienne’s reputation.

He should have acted with more restraint, not made love with her. Then they would not have been at the mercy of the king and his impromptu plan.

A light was kindled inside Vivienne’s bedchamber. Peering inside, he waited until the slow-moving, elderly maidservant finally left the room. Then he tapped on the window. Vivienne ran to the window and unlatched it.

“Oh, Rob,” she cried, throwing her arms about him after he climbed inside.

He held her gently. “Vivienne, if I had known what he was going to do—”

“If I had,” she interjected.

“I wish I had behaved better. Then we would not have found ourselves desperate for any aid, and so at the mercy of whatever Charles proposed. I should have guessed he would do something like that.”

“You may be a very good lawyer, Rob, but you’re not a seer. I didn’t know what he was going to do until he did it.”

“This has gotten much more complicated than I ever thought it could,” Rob replied. “We have been too hasty.”

“Blame my impetuous nature, then. It was I who kissed you first.”

“It was I who made love to you.”

“With
me, Rob, and I do not regret that.”

“Truly, Vivienne?”

“Truly,” she replied, meaning it.

He sighed and stroked her hair. “What happened after he ordered me to go?”

She raised her eyes. “My uncle and I are probably going to Whitehall.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know.”

One reason came to Rob’s mind, but she looked so worried, he sought to reassure her. “I daresay it’s part of the ruse, to make them believe his feelings for you are genuine.”

Vivienne pulled away and went to the window, looking out over the stable roof, away from him. “I fear they may be.”

Rob had tried not to think that, but he could not disagree. He could, however, hate the man. “I dreaded that, too, but I hoped I was wrong.”

“After you left, he implied that if I didn’t come to Whitehall, he would tell Uncle Elias what he saw.”

“Oh, God, Vivienne!” he cried softly, going to her.

She tried to smile, and her effort touched his heart.

“What have I done?” he said remorsefully. “I have ruined your reputation, and now—”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Are you sure about your feelings, Vivienne?” he asked, voicing the question that had been haunting him ever since he had left her with the king. “You have already lost much, and I think only of your honor.”

“Although I regret losing Lord Cheddersby’s good opinion, I am grateful for the outcome,” she assured him. She backed away a bit. “You’re wet. You will catch a chill.”

He shook his head. “It’s not raining hard. I have been wetter than this many times, and I am rarely ill, or I would have died long ago, given the less than tender care I received.”

He saw the sympathy in her eyes and looked away, toward the fine furnishings that cost more than he had ever made in his life. “I wonder if you really understand what you give up for me,” he mused aloud.

“And I wonder if you can understand what I would suffer without you—a loveless marriage to a greedy, grasping man who thinks of me only as an item he has purchased. You will save me from a terrible fate, Robert, if you marry me.”

“Gossip doesn’t trouble you at all?”

She shook her head. “Not if the reward for my endurance of it is you.” Then her expression clouded.

“What is it?” he asked, the look on her face filling him with new dread.

“Lord Cheddersby is out of this, and out of danger from Philip, too,” she replied.

“That is good, is it not?”

“Yes, but I fear we have not seen the last of Philip.”