Margaret Moore (31 page)

Then he kissed her, his lips moving over hers with sureness and confidence.

She felt nothing except revulsion. But that must not be. It must not!

His hands made leisurely progress over her back, and she felt him caress her breasts.

How was it she could find that so delightful when it was Neville and feel the opposite when it was the king?

Yet she should act as if she enjoyed this … this pawing, so she made a few sounds as if she were pleased and excited.

Her ruse must have worked, for he continued, his caresses growing bolder as he shoved his tongue into her mouth.

She was sickened and wanted to tell him to stop—but then what would happen to her?

Fortunately, he ceased of his own volition.

“Majesty, you overwhelm me,” she panted, hoping to prevent him from comprehending her true feelings, which had to be subdued.

“And you intoxicate me with your beauty,” he said smoothly.

Indeed, he said the words so blithely that she rather suspected he had said these very words many times before.

He started to walk again, and she was glad of that. “These next rooms are for Lord Arlington, and so we come at last to the Stone Gallery.”

He led her through more of Whitehall. Finally he opened a door and revealed a set of rooms of great, gilded magnificence well lit with so many candles that it seemed as if the walls glowed with molten gold.

They were his apartments, obviously, for the liveried servants looked as if they expected him. The first room was something of an anteroom, and the king divested himself of his stately coat.

“There, now, that is better,” he said with a cheerful smile, rolling his shoulders. “Odd’s fish, that must weigh five pounds. Come, Arabella.”

He brought her further inside to another room, where there was a table of polished mahogany set with fine crystal banded with silver. Also set out on the exquisite linen were silver plates. A large crystal bowl held oranges, apples and what Arabella supposed must be a pineapple, a fruit from the New World she had heard of. Confectionery dainties also stood upon the table in smaller silver dishes.

So he did mean that they should eat before … before …

The king escorted her to the table, where two statuelike servants stood at the two chairs. “Please, sit.”

Surely the king should sit first. She glanced at the servants, wondering if they would see her uncertainty and give her a sign.

They remained unhelpfully inscrutable.

The king prepared to sit, and at that same moment, the servant closest to her went behind her chair and pushed it forward. Taking a cue, she sat at the same time as the king.

“We shall have no more need of you this evening,” Charles said to the servants.

They bowed and left as quietly as if they were spirits instead of mortals.

“Is this not pleasant?” the king asked after the servants had departed. “Just the two of us here together?”

Arabella looked at the face of the man opposite her. Lust lurked below the affable surface of his expression, and it was a lust that had more in common with that of Buckingham than the desire in Neville’s eyes.

It had nothing in common with the desire in Neville’s eyes or the love she had seen there.

The love that had still been there the last time he had looked at her.

Suddenly, despite the words they had said and the anger she had felt, she knew she loved
him yet and was just as sure he loved her.

Arabella abruptly shoved back her chair and faced the surprised monarch. “Your Majesty, I must beg your forgiveness. I have made a terrible mistake.”

His brows lowered ominously. “A mistake?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, her knees beginning to tremble as she thought of the Tower.

But she would—she must—continue. “A mistake. I should not have come here.”

The king leaned back in his gilded chair and regarded her with a slightly puzzled air that lessened her dread somewhat. “Why not?”

“I—I cannot love you.”

“I do not want your love,” Charles replied with a smile. “Your affection would be enough, and we shall … divert each other.”

“I do not want to be diverted!” she said desperately.

He toyed with a silver fork. “Do you want a title or a house or some such thing first?”

“No, Your Majesty. Thank you, but no.”

“Sit down, Lady Arabella.”

It was, as much as anything she had ever heard the king say, a royal command. “Your Majesty, please—”

“Sit down!”

She obeyed.

“Do you not appreciate the honor we do you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Yet you would refuse your king?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“It’s Farrington, isn’t it?”

Suddenly Arabella thought she might have been wiser to submit. Now she might have put Neville in jeopardy. “Majesty, please—”

“Do you deny that there is another man in your heart?”

“I … I cannot, sire.”

“And it is Farrington.”

She could not deny that, either.

“So even though Farrington has caused your fall from grace, you think you love him.”

“My fall was not his fault, Majesty, and I do not
think
I love him. I know I do.”

“He told me you had quarreled.”

She twisted her fingers together. “I was upset and angry with him, Majesty—but I still love him.”

“We take it, then, that he is forgiven for seducing you?”

“He didn’t seduce me.”

The king straightened. “Then we have been grievously misinformed!”

“I welcomed his embrace, because I love him.”

Simple words, and suddenly so easily said. “Odd’s fish, we do believe you do.”

Charles sighed softly, then smiled wryly. “As we know from our own experience with
Lady Castlemaine, love and anger are often two sides of the same coin.”

“I am sorry I misled you, Your Majesty.”

His smile grew rueful. “As much as we think we would both have enjoyed ourselves immensely, we shall confess that our primary objective in pursuing you was to make Lady Castlemaine realize she was not the only apple on the tree.

“And we are now very sure of Neville Farrington’s loyalty, for we believe he reciprocates your feelings and appreciate that he was willing to sacrifice that love for his sovereign.”

“You think
what?
” she asked, not taking her gaze from Charles and quite forgetting she was addressing the monarch. “How do you know he loves me? Did he tell you?”

“We do not have to be told everything,” Charles said with a slightly aggrieved air. “We have eyes.”

He picked up the fork and began to tap his chin. “He is a good fellow, Farrington. Not like his father, thank goodness. What a pompous bore that man is!”

“So you used me to test his loyalty to you?” Arabella asked. Then she pressed her lips together. Otherwise, she would undoubtedly have said more, and perhaps something treasonous. But ruler or not, Charles should not have used them in such a cavalier fashion.

“We must be sure of the people around us,
Lady Arabella, lest our fate mirror that of our illustrious father.”

After his rueful remark, she could agree with the king’s need, if not his method. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Charles fixed a speculative eye on her. “Do you wish to marry Neville Farrington?”

“Majesty!”

“Come, come, this is hardly the time to dissemble! We can command it, if you like.” Charles smiled as if vastly amused. “Or put him in the Tower until he swears undying devotion, eh?”

“Your Majesty, please, I would rather he married me because he loves me than because the king commands it.”

The king put down his fork. “You are a romantic, I see. So is your sovereign.”

Arabella fought to keep any skepticism from her face.

“Therefore, it is our royal decree that this love story have a happy ending.”

“Majesty?”

“We waited a long time to be king, and sometimes, we enjoy it mightily.”

A troop of the king’s guards marched into the Banqueting House. At the sight of them, the courtiers fell silent, and the Duke of Buckingham discreetly sought the exit.

Neville watched the soldiers for a moment
until another, more shocking sight met his eye.

His father.

He should have been well out of London by now.

“Lord Farrington?”

Neville started and turned to the sergeantat-arms. “Yes.”

“Come with us.”

Neville was vaguely aware that his father was coming closer but had to be more concerned with the soldier before him. “Why? Am I under arrest?”

“I have a warrant for your arrest, signed by the king,” the sergeant replied.

“Really? May I see it?”

Neville took the paper the sergeant pulled from his large cuff, immediately noted the royal seal, and opened it. He quickly read the writing, which was, indeed, in the king’s own hand. “It does not say with what crime I am charged.”

The sergeant shrugged. “You are to come with us.”

“Delighted,” he replied.

“Neville, what is the meaning of this?” his father demanded, pushing his way through the courtiers.

“I’faith, Father, what brings you here? I thought you would be far away by now.”

“I came for Arabella.”

“Then you are too late. She is with the king.”

“What have you done? Why are you under arrest?”

“Does it matter? Perhaps I am finally meeting the fate you think I deserve.” Neville glanced at the waiting soldiers. “I had no idea she could be so vindictive.”

“Who? That bitch Castlemaine? I have heard of your liaison with her!”

“Father, please! You are not in a barnyard speaking of a pack of dogs. And no, I don’t mean Lady Castlemaine. Your charming ward, who is about to become the king’s latest mistress, is, I fear, responsible for my current dilemma.”

“Arabella? You’re making a jest—and a bad one, too!”

“I think not.”

The sergeant barked the order to march.

“Come, Father, don’t look so glum. You always knew I would come to a bad end. Now you can congratulate yourself on your foresight.”

The sergeant prodded Neville into motion while Lord Barrsettshire watched helplessly as his only son was led away.

“This is not the way to the Tower,” Neville noted almost immediately.

“No, my lord,” the sergeant replied gruffly. “We’re to take you to the king himself.”

She had wasted no time getting her revenge.

And to think that for a moment, before she
accepted the king’s invitation, despite all evidence to the contrary, he had dared to hope …

The soldiers came to a halt outside the royal apartments. The sergeant stepped forward, knocked and then spoke softly to the liveried servant who opened the heavily gilded door.

“This way, my lord,” the sergeant ordered.

Neville nodded, then took a deep breath before striding in to face his obviously irate sovereign, who sat at a small table in the room directly off the anteroom, his brow lowered in an ominous scowl, the food spread before him untouched.

There was, Neville noted at once, no sign of Arabella. Perhaps she was further inside the king’s apartments, maybe waiting in his bed.

Neville bowed. “Majesty.”

“We are gravely displeased, Farrington,” the king said. “Very gravely displeased.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Majesty, yet I confess I had some suspicion, since I have been arrested.”

“Don’t be flippant with me, you young fool,” the king snapped, rising and starting to pace in the ornate room. “We are not a coxcomb from the theater or a woman.”

Neville bowed his head. “No, sire.”

“We have had a most unpleasant experience this evening, Farrington, and it has been laid at your door.”

“Majesty?”

“I am sure you know what we were anticipating.” The king paused in his pacing and fastened his gaze on Neville. “Odd’s fish, you of all men know what we were anticipating.”

“I assume Your Majesty speaks of Lady Arabella.”

“Precisely. She has spurned us, Farrington, and we understand this is your fault.”

If the ceiling had suddenly opened up to reveal angels singing, Neville couldn’t have been more astonished or more hopeful of forgiveness for his sins.

“We do not like having our plans thwarted, especially when they involve a lovely young woman like Lady Arabella, Farrington.”

“I am sure you do not.”

“We understand that you seduced her to make her more amenable to our proposal, and we know women often mistake the physical act for something far deeper. We are sure it is so in this instance. Therefore, we require that you tell her you do not reciprocate her feelings and that she would be wise to accept all that her king offers her. If you do that, and she proves amenable, we are willing to overlook this little difficulty.”

Neville regarded the ruler of his kingdom, the man who should command his absolute loyalty and who had the power to imprison him.

He thought of Arabella and the sordid, unhappy
fate that might await her. Even if he had lost her, he could not abandon her to such a future. Not when he loved her with all his heart.

“I regret, Majesty, that I cannot do as you ask.”

The king crossed his arms over his chest. “You refuse our direct command? That is perilously close to treason, Farrington. We could let you mull over your impetuous response in the Tower until you see the merit of obedience.”

If Neville could not have Arabella in his life, he truly didn’t care what happened to him. “Put me in the Tower if you must, Your Majesty, but it will not induce me to change my mind. I do not want her to be your mistress.”

“You
do not want—?” the king demanded incredulously.

“I love her.”

Simple words, and suddenly so easily said.

Arabella appeared at the entrance to the inner chamber.

“Neville!” she cried before running across the room and throwing her arms around him.

“Oh, Arabella, forgive me!” he murmured, holding her close. “I love you! I have always loved you.”

“And I, you! But I have been foolish and stubborn and too full of wounded pride.”

“No, I was the proud and stubborn one, or
I would have declared my feelings for you without waiting for you to speak first. How did I ever think I could live without you?” Neville murmured as he kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her brow, her forehead.