The King's Courtesan (11 page)

I am also your lover. And as you yourself keep pointing out, my bride is on her way. Is it not my responsibility to see you cared for?”

“By passing the responsibility on to someone else?

Someone a stranger to you as wel as to me? Had you even met him before this night?”

“No,” he said defensively. “But I had very good reports from those who know him wel . And frankly, my dear, I thought you’d prefer a younger handsome man, and it was deuced hard to find one who was both a gentleman and wil ing.”

“Of course it was. I am your whore. I want responsibility for my own life, Charles. I’ve told you before I have money saved. By giving me to this man you let him take it. You give him control over me and everything I own.”

“He would not dare abuse that which I value.” She snorted, anger and disgust drying her tears. “That which you value? By bringing your creature you’ve shown how much you value me to everyone here this night.”

“You know I don’t tolerate jealousy, Hope.”

“And I don’t tolerate being sold as if I were a slave. I wil not go with him. Nor shal I burden you. I wil return to the stage and—”

“You wil not! Neither the King’s Theater nor that of my brother wil accept you as a player if I tel them no.”

“Why do you hurt me this way? You didn’t have to do this.

You didn’t have to bring her. You don’t have to take my future away. You betray me in every way imaginable. You may be a king, but what I gave you was worth far more than anything you ever gave me, Charles Stuart. I gave you my friendship. I gave you my loyalty. I gave you my trust!”

“Then trust me now, Hope. Things are not as you paint them. You must believe that I know what is best for you. I have made you a lady. A countess. The same rank as Barbara. I promise she is no more pleased this night than you. Once I’ve settled things between her and my wife I wil cal you back to court as a married lady and—”

“You are banishing me from court?”

“I am sending you to the country for a brief stay. You wil be gone by morning. When you return you shal be welcomed at Whitehal as a lady and I shal introduce you to my wi—” Too angry to hear his words, she did the unthinkable. She turned her back on him and walked away.

Barefoot and bedraggled, she wandered though her guests, shivering with cold, her toes wet with dew. Even though it was dark, streaks of light played on the horizon.

Gone by morning? What of her clothing, her jewels, her shoes?

A tal footman approached. She watched him with wary eyes. He stopped by her elbow and nodded to a gravel path that wound into the woods. “My lady…your carriage arrives.”

“Yes, of course. Charles has thought of everything.” The man who was her husband, who’d seemed cold and forbidding until he had smiled, now looked impatient and cruel.
You were a part of it, too. You both conspired without
a thought to my wishes. Well, you traded for a title by
marrying a whore and you’ll get just what you deserve. I
hate you both.
She gave him a cold smile as she took his arm and let him help her into the plush interior of one of the royal coaches. She sat down, rigid with anger, and looked straight ahead.

Charles stood just outside the window, Lady Castlemaine by his side. “Here now, Wil iam,” he said with forced joviality. “Have you any words of wit to speed the Lord and Lady of May on their way?”

Wil iam looked at the too-familiar tableau. Charles and two mistresses. Tears and humiliation. Courtiers gawking with salacious appetites whetted amidst every form of excess.

“Why, yes, Charles. I think I have just the thing.

“‘Whence comes this mean submissiveness we find This il -bred age has wrought on womankind?

Fal ’n from the rights their sex—’”

The king sighed and raised a hand to silence him. “That wil be al , Lord Rivers. Thank you. It’s good to see some things never change. Drive on, coachman!” The coach lurched forward, its bel s jingling merrily, as Hope embarked with a stranger, leaving her beloved house on Pal Mal , al of her friends, and al her dreams behind.

Wil iam stood next to the king, watching the coach disappear. “That was unnecessarily cruel, Charlie. You’ve changed more than I’d al owed.”

“Sometimes one must be cruel to be kind, Wil .”

“Lizzy and I wil be leaving tomorrow.”

“You wil not. You wil remember I am your king and you wil stay for my wedding. Do not mistake my patience with you as endless. Besides…haven’t I given Elizabeth what she wanted? Her captain keeps his lands. She should be pleased.”

ELIZABETH’S CAPTAIN WAS FAR from pleased. The girl sat but two feet away from him and she was clearly upset.

Jealous courtesan or haughty jade, she was his responsibility at the moment, and she was folded tight in a corner, her eyes glistening with tears. He didn’t know a damned thing about keeping a woman. He’d never had one of his own before. Camp fol owers and friendly tavern wenches on a cold night, yes. Perhaps a widow now and then. One kissed and cuddled them and left some coin or a gift, and then one was on one’s way. They didn’t
cry!

This one was his wife now. The prospect was daunting. It would surely be better for them both if they got along, but it seemed so damned complicated. Al he knew for certain was he’d yet to do a single thing right and his efforts had been met with nothing but coldness and disdain. Even the mighty Charles Stuart seemed hard put to keep her happy.

Though be she barmaid or great lady, any fool should know better than to favor another woman over the one he was with.
What was he thinking?

Her quiet tears disturbed him. He preferred it when she was angry. Actual y, he had preferred when she was happy.

A vision of her dancing barefoot through the grass made the corner of his lips turn up slightly. He knew how to make a woman smile, though not in ways he intended to practice with her. Nevertheless he was an intel igent fel ow.

Resourceful. Cool under fire. A leader of men. Surely he could find a way to stop a jealous chit’s tears.

He decided to try and manage her again. He leaned forward and reached out a hand to pat her shoulder. “There now, lass. There’s no need to cry. That redheaded, long-legged shrew is built like a garden rake, and she’s nowhere near as pretty as you. I promise you, His Majesty wil be regretting it soon.”

Her eyes snapped to his, boring into him. “I am not crying!

Now…take…your…hand…off…me.” She bit out each word. “Don’t speak to me. Don’t touch me. You haven’t the right!”

His good intentions evaporated. He was not at al accustomed to being spoken to in that tone. He was not going to live with hostility, condescension and grand airs, nor be spoken to like an impertinent servant. He sat back in his seat, his eyes blazing and his mouth set in a hard line.

“But I do have the right. You would do wel to show me some respect.” His words were clipped and cold.

“Why?” She sat up. “Why should I? You think yourself better than me? You think me little more than a common whore? I saw how you looked when you first walked into my house.

Spare me any pious sermons. What kind of man are you?

You take another man’s leavings, ready to give her back as soon as she’s needed. You sold yourself as surely as I ever did. And your prize is a title and a woman who belongs to somebody else.”

“You and your royal lover are both mistaken there.” Though his voice was soft, there was something about it that reminded her she was at the mercy of a stranger.

“We may both be whores. I’l not deny it. But you were paid for with what little is left of my honor. Whether Charles wil ed it or not, and whether you agree, I bought you, and now I own you. By law you belong to me.”

“That’s unfortunate for us both. People have been tel ing me that al my life. I don’t like being owned. You’l find I make a very poor slave.”

“That’s not what I meant! You are an impossible woman. No wonder the… Pah! I should have asked for a dukedom and a palace to put up with you.”

She turned her head away to look listlessly out the window.

She was barefoot stil , and her cheeks were stained with tears. The necklace of flowers rose and fel with her breath and violets and buttercups sprouted here and there in her hair. She looked like a sad little girl, and despite himself he was moved.

Hope closed her eyes, shutting him out, though she’d learned long ago it wouldn’t change a thing. Her heart was near to breaking. Deceived. Betrayed. Sold. Humiliated.

Again. Anger warred with hurt and she didn’t know one from the other.
How dare he? Hypocrite, liar, beast!
As she fought back bitter tears she wasn’t sure if she meant Charles or this arrogant brute of a husband.

HOPE STUDIED THE LONG-LEGGED
gentleman sprawled across the opposite seat. His large frame seemed cramped even in the spacious confines of the royal coach.
He takes up too much space.
They had traveled al through the day yesterday, stopping just before nightfal at an inn a few hours short of their destination. The captain had secured her a room and promptly disappeared. She didn’t know where he slept. From the smel of him, probably in the tavern. The sanctimonious prig had been half-shot even as he deceived her with his trickster vows. Perhaps he had needed to drown his delicate scruples to complete the ceremony, or maybe Charles had married her to a drunkard. Either way he was a duplicitous rogue.

She resisted the urge to kick him. If he woke she might have to speak to him. Not a word had passed between them since they left St. James Park. Not even this morning when he’d tossed her a worn pair of shoes to cover her bare feet.

This dissipated Captain Nichols bore little resemblance to the stiff and formal soldier who’d glowered his disapproval in her reception hal . The revels and rigors of the past two nights had left him disheveled. His lids looked bruised and heavy, his rugged jaw bristled with stubble and his hair hung loose about his shoulders. The elegant black coat with its silver trimming hung open, exposing the lines and muscles of his col arbone, and the strong column of his neck. Her eyes were drawn to the hol ow where they met and her heart beat a little faster. No knight of old now. He looked tarnished and disreputable, though every bit as dangerous.

She stil couldn’t believe that Charles had simply handed her over to this stranger, trusting she’d be safe with only his words to protect her, and disconcerted to say the least that despite her anger and resentment, his face and form stil held the same fascination for her that they had at Pal Mal .

It is a perfectly normal and entirely manageable reaction
to a ruggedly handsome man. The kind one seldom sees
at court. A novelty. And novelty fades fast.

He began to stir, muttering something incoherent under his breath as he shifted position, and she turned away, face flushed, to look out the window.

The road was bounded by a forest of beech, wil ow and oak. Sunlight dappled the forest floor and a playful breeze lifted fresh spring leaves so they tumbled and swayed, their undersides exposed in a mosaic of light and dark. She climbed up on her knees and poked her head out the window, the better to see. A gleaming band of silver light almost blinded her as the sun reflected off a distant river that appeared and disappeared through a curtain of trees.

As they approached it, the traffic grew thick with carts and people. Cattle and horses forded the river in a noisy churning of water, beasts and men, while a gathering of folk stood gossiping on the bank, waiting their turn to be ferried across. It was wider and swifter than she’d expected, though not as broad as the Thames. Beyond the far bank she could see imposing stone buildings and, eager as ever to see new things, she leaned further out, keen to take it al in.

Robert, who’d been awake the past half hour, watched her, completely bemused. Ladies of his acquaintance didn’t perch, elbows on windowsil , with their heads poking out and their bottoms in the air, their unbound hair gleaming in the sun. It was highly indecorous and utterly charming. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He liked her this way. Gone was the haughty courtesan, replaced by the unaffected maid who’d danced barefooted beneath the sky. The night before last she’d appeared a wide-eyed nymph, wild and free, an enchanting visitor from a magical realm. He’d almost thought his imagination had conjured her in a haze of drumming and dancing, spirits and song. Yet here she was back again.
She has a sense
of wonder. What fool would let her go if this is who she is?

She was stil barefoot despite his gift, bought for an exorbitant sum from a saucy flaxen-haired barmaid who’d offered herself along with her shoes. He wondered if his…

pretend wife would care that he’d declined. Somehow he doubted it. Stil , she
was
his wife by law. It would hardly be fitting to tumble a maid with his new bride sitting upstairs.

Besides, she’d suffered more than enough humiliation in front of her rival for him to risk adding more.

As reward for his chivalrous behavior, he decided to keep silent and enjoy the show. Bad-tempered and haughty she might be, but there was no denying she was a seductive minx. Just not in the way one expected. Mind…the sight of trim ankles and pretty toes peeping from silk petticoats was certainly arousing. She’d discarded her stockings before the dancing the other night, and he had only to stretch his arm a little to claim her skin, sliding his hand beneath her skirts to caress her naked thighs.
She’s mine. She sold
herself to me so that she might have a place at court
.

Her couldn’t help but notice how her arched posture made her dress cling, accentuating every luscious curve. Her breasts thrust forward, straining in her bodice, bobbing as she turned and twisted, trying to see. It must be painful to be so tightly constricted.
I’ve but to move behind her and
loosen her stays.
Then he might reach around to cup those succulent globes, and tweak her nipples, before slipping his hands into her bodice and setting them free.

Christ! I’ve been too long without a woman. I should have
taken the barmaid’s offer whilst I had the chance.
An aching erection strained rock hard against his breeches and his fingers itched to touch her. He bit back a groan, suffering in silence with no immediate way to relieve himself.
I could slide her skirt up the smooth skin of her
haunches, exposing that pretty rounded behind.
His hands could almost feel her pert buttocks: soft, smooth, firm, demanding to be squeezed and fondled, positioned and—
Stop!