Secret Heart (23 page)

“
He will
outgrow that,” Roarke told her, sounding as if he knew all about
children. “He’s a handsome lad, Marjorie. He will make you
proud.”

“
He
already does. Thank you, Roarke. Come along, Lan,” Marjorie said,
unwinding her son’s hand from her skirt. “It’s time for your
evening bread and milk. Let’s see if Nurse has brought an apple for
you, too.”

The door closed behind them, leaving Roarke
and Jenia alone.

“
That was
well done, Roarke,” Jenia said. “Lan is a sweet child.”

Roarke tried to glare at her and discovered
that he could not. From the expression on her lovely face he knew
she understood how difficult meeting the boy who might have been
his own son had been for him. He regarded her with a new
appreciation for her indomitable character. Then he looked more
closely.

Jenia’s
hair was in sore need of combing and her cheeks were flushed. Her
shift was wrinkled. Obviously, she was only recently wakened from a
nap that Roarke was certain she had sorely needed. He fought the
urge to take her into his arms and muss her more
thoroughly.

She was
not Chantal, not Garit’s love. The knowledge sang in his veins as
it had done ever since her astonishing admission in the royal
audience chamber. Lady Matilda Jenia of Gildeley belonged to no
man. Even Walderon’s neglectful guardianship of her would likely
soon be terminated.

Roarke
wanted her with all the masculine ardor he had ruthlessly repressed
for six cold years. He’d taken women to bed during those years, but
not as many as he could have had, and each of them, whether lady or
whore, had been no more than a release for his physical needs. He’d
been kind to every one of them, and he’d paid the whores well. Not
one of those women had left any imprint on his heart.

“
Well,
after this morning you know all of my secrets,” Jenia
said.

“
Do I?”
Roarke wondered if he’d ever plumb all of her secret depths. No, he
concluded, not in a lifetime of trying. He watched her pull the
shawl closer about her shoulders. She lifted her head and looked
directly into his eyes. He found that he was unable to read her
thoughts in her cautious glance. He tried the first subject that
came to him.

“
You
mentioned making plans,” he reminded her. “What plans?”

“
First, I
need to speak with Garit. How strange this all is,” she said with a
tremulous smile and a little shake of her head. “I have been so
frightened, so certain that the moment I accused King Henryk of
ordering Chantal’s murder, he would consign me to his executioner
for what I said against him. Or, at the very least, that he’d send
me to the castle dungeon. I didn’t think I could bear another
dungeon. I would almost rather be beheaded at once.”

“
You
don’t know Henryk, if you thought he’d ever treat a woman so
cruelly,” Roarke told her.

“
You are
right, of course. I don’t know him. I never even spoke to him
before today. The last time I was in Calean City, I was pretending
to be Chantal’s attendant, so I was far removed from his royal
notice.”

She paused, a slight frown wrinkling her
brow. Roarke assumed she was thinking, working out what to say
next, as he sometimes did, so he kept quiet and waited until she
chose to speak again.

“
The
thing is, Roarke, until King Henryk dismissed me to come here to
Marjorie’s room, I didn’t believe I would have a future beyond
today. Now that I am faced with one, I can see that my quest isn’t
finished. I wakened from my nap knowing one, single fact beyond any
question or doubt. I still need to see to the matter of justice for
Chantal’s death.”

“
Is that
why you want to speak with Garit?” Roarke asked. “He is convinced
that Lord Walderon is behind Chantal’s abduction, and
yours.”

“
He did
mention that belief several times before we reached Auremont, but I
was so sure King Henryk was solely to blame that I dismissed
Garit’s suspicions without considering them. Now, I think he may be
right. Roarke, I must find and confront my uncle. I have to
discover the truth. I cannot turn away from my duty just because I
was wrong about King Henryk. Chantal deserves better from
me.”

“
What an
admirable woman you are. Your sense of honor is stronger than that
of many men.” Roarke was so profoundly moved that the words caught
in his throat. Still, he was compelled to say them. “If you were
any other lady, I would try my best to dissuade you. I would tell
you that tracking down Walderon and forcing him to talk is a man’s
work, and likely to be dangerous. But I won’t dream of telling you
so, for I don’t believe you’d listen.”

“
No, I
would not,” she said, looking back at him with shining eyes and a
slight smile. “I swore myself to this quest and, by heaven, I
intend to complete it.”

“
Oh,
Jenia.” He caught her shoulders, pulling her toward him. Then she
was in his arms, lifting her face to his, and Roarke could no
longer fight the desire that had lacerated his heart for too many
days and nights. He was filled with a sense of joyous freedom.
Jenia was not Garit’s love and, after meeting Marjorie again,
Roarke was released from the old, dark resentment that her betrayal
had once held over his mind and heart.

“
Jenia.”
He brought his mouth down on hers in a searing kiss,
claiming her, branding her as his own. Suddenly, his blood was
pounding in his ears.

Jenia
allowed the kiss. He could tell she wanted it. Her hands were in
his hair, her lips parted on a sigh. As Roarke’s tongue entered the
sweet moistness of her mouth she hesitated in what he perceived as
virginal confusion until, with a whimper, she surrendered and let
her tongue slide along his. Roarke’s hand caressed her hips and
slid upward along her flanks until his palms rested on the sides of
her breasts. She did not object. Indeed, she moved so she fit even
closer into his hands.

Nearly
lost in a blaze of happiness, Roarke realized he could have her
right there, on the bed that sat so conveniently near – Marjorie’s
bed, where Marjorie had doubtless lain many times with Roarke’s
father.

Knowing he could not make love to Jenia on
the bed that belonged to his first love, who was now his
stepmother, Roarke began to disengage from the embrace. And just in
time, too.

“
Ahem.”

The soft, little cough brought him back to
his rightful senses. Roarke lifted his head to find Lord Oliver
standing just inside the doorway that connected the two
chambers.

“
What do
you want?” Roarke demanded, all warmth and passion gone at the
sight of his father.

“
My dear
boy, this is my apartment,” Oliver replied in a quiet voice that
Roarke suspected was meant to calm his irritation. His father had
used that same voice to him many times during his early
childhood.

Oliver
was not a man to discipline anyone by the rod or his fists. Roarke
hadn’t known how unusual his attitude was until after he left home
to begin his training as a page. He’d still been very young then –
the path to knighthood was long – and he’d been shocked to discover
that other noblemen did believe in physical discipline, sometimes
for the smallest infractions. As a young man he’d been grateful for
his father’s remarkable forbearance and had tried to emulate
him.

The swift
plunge from soaring, mounting passion to dismay at his father’s
unexpected appearance, to a youthful memory that had long been
buried left Roarke so disturbed he barely noticed when Jenia
removed her arms and stepped away from him. He noticed the instant
she was gone, though. The warmth and the light she bestowed on him
shimmered at a distance; the happiness flickered like an oil lamp
caught in a blast of bitter wind. He longed to catch her and pull
her closer before the light disappeared altogether and he was left
alone in darkness again.

“
My lord
Oliver.” Jenia curtsied with as much dignity as if she was still
clad in her heavy court gown. “Thank you for allowing me the use of
this room. Lady Marjorie has been so kind to me. My spirits are
thoroughly restored.”

“
I am
glad to hear it.” Oliver smiled at her.

To
Roarke’s great relief his father made no move to take Jenia’s hand.
Roarke thought if he had, he’d have laid his hands around his own
father’s throat and strangled the man. Oliver, after all, could not
be trusted to act honorably toward any woman for whom Roarke
cared.

“
Marjorie
has arranged for a light evening meal to be brought to the other
room,” Oliver said to Jenia. “I interrupted you only to ask if you
would join us? Roarke, too, of course.”

“
I don’t
want-” Roarke began.

“
How very
thoughtful of Lady Marjorie, and of you.” Jenia spoke right over
Roarke’s words. “After this morning’s display before so many
courtiers, I would much prefer a private meal to one eaten in the
great hall. I’ve had only a mouthful or two of food all day long,
so I am hungry. Perhaps, Roarke, you could visit with your father
while I dress. I promise, I won’t take long.”

The last
thing Roarke wanted was to
visit
with his father and stepmother. He was about to
say so, and to ask what Jenia was thinking to suggest such a
meeting, when young Lan made another appearance.

“
Papa?”
The boy looked up at Oliver with wide eyes that clearly expressed
worship for his tall, silver-haired parent. Oliver bent and lifted
his son, holding him against one shoulder with Lan’s small arms
around his neck.

Roarke swallowed hard, forcing back the rude
words he wanted to say. An argument would only upset the shy
child.

“
Have you
met your brother?” Oliver asked his older son.

“
Yes.
Earlier.” Roarke clamped his mouth shut on those two
words.

“
He is an
adorable boy,” Jenia said into the silence that lay between the two
men. “My lord Oliver, Roarke, if you would excuse me for a few
moments?”

“
Of
course. Come along, Roarke.” Oliver headed for the other room in
the same way he had done so often during Roarke’s childhood,
clearly expecting his son to follow him with no
argument.

“
Go on,
Roarke.” Jenia was looking at him as if she understood his
tumultuous emotions – and as if she was certain he would comport
himself well in her absence. “We will eat with your family, which
will allow Garit enough time to complete his work on those
documents from Kantia. Then we will seek him out and make our
plans.”

To his own surprise, Roarke nodded his
agreement with her and stepped into the other room.

The simple meal was not quite as awkward as
Jenia had feared it might be. While she and Marjorie chatted as if
they were old friends, with Marjorie leading a thoroughly frivolous
discussion of the latest court gossip and the newest styles, Roarke
and Oliver behaved with scrupulously polite formality. Jenia
supposed that was all she and Marjorie dared hope for at first from
men who had hurt each other so deeply. At least father and son were
talking and not circling each other with drawn knives. And despite
their long-standing quarrel they were breaking bread together.
Jenia considered that a great improvement.

The
second chamber of Lord Oliver’s apartment was even smaller than the
bedroom, and it was far more crowded. A child’s bed was pushed
against one wall, with the pallet on which Lan’s nurse apparently
slept rolled up neatly next to it. A few wooden blocks and a tiny
wooden horse with a small knight riding it lay near the bed. In
another corner a baby slept in a cradle, while a second nurse
tended to a tiny girl who could barely walk.

The
grownups sat on stools at a trestle table, eating a meat pie,
cheese and bread, and a large apple tart, all washed down with
wine. Meanwhile, Lan’s nurse attempted to feed him at the other
side of the room. But Lan wasn’t inclined to stay put, or to eat
the usual child’s supper of bread and milk. From his parents’
reactions whenever he ventured toward the adult table, it was clear
to Jenia that the boy was dearly loved by both and was
overindulged, at least by his mother.

Jenia
observed Marjorie offering first a few pieces of her meat pie, and
then bits of the apple tart to her son when Oliver wasn’t looking.
Jenia gave Lan a taste of her own portion of the meat pie when he
paused beside her with an expression on his little face that
reminded her of a hungry puppy. Oliver didn’t notice what Lan was
doing because he was trying to make conversation with a mostly
silent Roarke. And Roarke was spending entirely too much time
staring at Jenia. He was beginning to make her nervous.

“
I have
spoken to Garit,” Oliver said to Roarke. “He told me what he
intends. The man is bent upon making someone pay for Lady Chantal’s
death.”

“
He loved
Chantal. Can you blame him for wanting justice?” Jenia demanded
when Roarke did not respond, but only kept on looking at
her.

Oliver
sent a repressive glance in her direction, then turned back to
Roarke. His next words finally caught Roarke’s full
attention.

“
I want
to help. When you and Garit ride out in search of Walderon, I shall
ride with you,” Oliver announced.