Winsor, Kathleen (13 page)

Amber
stood and looked at him like a little girl getting a lesson in etiquette from
her grown-up uncle. She was beginning to find that her suit of country morals
was as much out of fashion here in London as her cotton petticoat and green
woolen skirt had been. Now she held out her hand in an impulsive but still
uncertain gesture, and took two or three steps toward him.

"My
lord—don't go. I'm sorry— Only—"

"Only
you're in love with Bruce."

"Yes."

"And
so you think you shouldn't lie with another man. Well, my dear, perhaps someday
you'll discover that it doesn't make so very much difference after all. And if
you do— Your servant, madame." He made her another bow.

She
stood and looked at him, not knowing what to do next. For though she had to
admit to herself that she really was, in a sense, flattered by his proposal,
she could not agree with him that fidelity to the man you loved was of no
importance. It seemed incredible she could ever so much as think of lying with
another man. She never would, not as long as she lived.

And
then there came again the sound of a coach rattling over the cobblestones; she
whirled around and ran once more to the window. The coach came careening down
the street, rocking from side to side, the driver hauled on the reins and it
stopped just beneath. Nimbly as a monkey the footman got down from his perch
and ran to open the door, and after a moment Lord Carlton got out, turning then
to speak to someone inside. Another footman held a flaring torch which lighted
one side of his Lordship's face and threw stark shadows up the street and upon
the walls of the houses.

Amber
was about to lean out and call a greeting when, to her horror, a woman thrust
her head from the coach-window and she caught a glimpse of a beautiful white
face, laughing, and a tumbling mass of red hair. Bruce's head bent above her
and she heard their voices murmuring. After a moment he stepped back, bowing and
removing his hat, the footman closed the door and the coach rolled away. He
turned and disappeared through the arch below.

Amber
stood clutching at the sill, almost sick enough to faint. And then, by a great
physical effort, she straightened
again and turned slowly about The
colour had washed out of her face and her heart was beating violently. For
several moments she stood and stared before her—not even seeing Almsbury who
was watching her with a kind of compassionate sympathy on his face. She let her
eyes close and one hand went up slowly to her forehead. At that moment the door
opened and Bruce came in.

He
paused as if in surprise, glancing from one of them to the other, but before he
had time to say a word Amber burst into tears and ran into the bedroom,
slamming the door behind her and flinging herself onto the bed.

The
sobs wrenched and tore at her and she gave herself up to them with complete
abandon. This was the most miserable moment in all her life and she had no wish
to be brave and restrained. Suffering in silence was not her way. And, when he
did not come in immediately, running after her as she had expected, she grew
increasingly hysterical—until finally she began to retch.

But
finally she heard the door open and then the sound of his footsteps crossing
the floor. Her sobs became louder than ever. Oh! she thought vehemently, I wish
I'd die! Right now! Then he'd be sorry!

The
room began to glow as he lighted a couple of candles. She heard him toss his
cloak and hat aside and unbuckle his sword, but still he said nothing. At last
she lifted her head from her arms and looked at him; her face was streaked and
her eyes red and swollen.

"Well!"
she cried, challenging him.

"Good
evening."

"Is
that
all you have to say?"

"What
else should I say?"

"You
might at least tell me where you've been—and who you've been with!"

He
was untying his cravat now, and taking off his doublet. "Don't you think
that that's my business?"

She
gasped, as hurt as if he had struck her. She had given herself to him so
wholeheartedly, with not a single reservation, that she had made herself
believe he had done the same. Now she realized all at once that he had not. His
life had not changed, his habits had not changed, she had scarcely touched him
at all.

"Oh,"
she said softly, and looked away.

For
a moment he stood watching her, and then he came suddenly and sat down on the
bed. "I'm sorry, Amber, I didn't mean to be rude. And I'm sorry I had to
leave you—spoil your evening that you've been counting on for so long. But it
really was business that called me away—"

She
looked at him skeptically, the tears brimming over her eyes again and falling
in drops onto her satin gown. "Business indeed! What kind of business does
a man do with a woman!"

He
smiled, his eyes tender and yet amused. She always had the feeling, and it made
her uncomfortable, that he did not quite take her seriously.

"More
than you might imagine, darling, and I'll tell you why:. The King can't
possibly satisfy or repay everyone who was loyal to him—he's got to make a
choice from among a thousand claims, one as good as another. I don't think his
Majesty could ever be persuaded by a woman—or anyone else—to do something he
didn't want to, but when it comes to choosing between several things he'd like
to do—why then the right woman can be very useful in helping him to make up his
mind. Just now there's no one who can do more to persuade the King than a young
woman named Barbara Palmer—who's been kind enough to use her influence in my
behalf—"

Barbara
Palmer!

So
that was the woman she had seen!

She
had a sudden horrified sense of defeat, for certainly the woman who could charm
a king must have some almost unearthly allure. Her confidence plunged, beaten
and overwhelmed by her own superstitious belief that a King and everything
which surrounded him was more than half divine. Her head dropped into her
hands.

"Oh,
Amber, my dear—please. It's not as serious as that. She happened to be driving
by and saw my coach and sent up to ask if I was there. I'd have been a damned fool
to refuse. She's helped me get what I wanted more than anything on earth—"

"What?
Your lands?"

"No.
Those were sold. I won't get them back again unless I can buy out the present
owner, and I don't think I will. She helped me persuade the King and his brother
to go into a privateering venture with me; they both contributed several
thousand pounds. I got my letter-of-marque yesterday."

"What's
that?"

"It's
a letter from the King authorizing the bearer to seize the vessels and cargo of
other nations. In this case I can take Spanish ships sailing off the
Americas—"

Her
fear and jealousy of Barbara Palmer vanished.

"You're
not
going to sea?"

"Yes,
Amber, I am. I've bought two ships of my own, and with the money I'll get from
the King and York I can buy three more. As soon as they're provisioned and the
men are signed we'll sail."

"Oh,
Bruce, you can't go away! You can't!"

A
flicker of impatience crossed his face. "I told you that day in Heathstone
I wouldn't stay long. It'll be two months yet, or perhaps a little longer, but
as soon as I can, I'm going."

"But
why?
Why don't you get a—a—I forget what Almsbury
called
'em—where you get money for helping his Majesty put on his drawers?"

He
laughed, though her face was passionately serious. "As it happens
I don't want a
what-d'you-call-'em. I need money, but I'll get it my own way. Crawling on my
belly for the rest of my days isn't the way I want to do it."

"Then
take me with you! Oh, please, Bruce! I won't be any trouble—let me go along,
please!"

"I
can't, Amber. Life on ship-board is hard enough for a man —the food's rotten,
it's cold and it's uncomfortable, and there's no getting off when you get tired
of it. And if you think you wouldn't cause any trouble—" He smiled,
running his eyes over her significantly. "No, my dear—it's no use talking
about it."

"But
what about me? What'll I do when you go? Oh, Bruce, I'll die without you!"
She looked at him pitifully and reached over to put her hands on his arms,
already forlorn as a lost puppy.

"That's
what I asked you when you wanted to come to London with me. Or have you
forgotten? Listen to me, Amber. There's only one thing for you to do—go back to
Marygreen right now. I'll give you as much money as I can. We'll think of some
tale or other to tell your aunt and uncle—I know it won't be easy for you, but
even in a village a large sum of money doesn't go unrespected. After a while
the gossip will run down, and you can get married— Wait a minute, let me
finish. I know
I'm
to blame for having brought you here, and I won't pretend my motives were
noble. I wasn't thinking about you or what would happen to you, and to tell the
truth I didn't very much care. But I care now; I don't want to see you hurt any
more than I can help. You're young and you're innocent and you're beautiful,
and all that with your enthusiasm for living can easily ruin you. I wasn't
joking when I said that London eats up pretty girls—the town's aswarm with
rogues and adventurers of every conceivable breed. You'd be snapped up in a
minute. Believe that I know what I'm saying and go back home, where you
belong."

Amber's
eyes sparkled angrily, and she lifted her chin as she answered him.
"I a'nt so
innocent, my lord! I warrant you I can look to my own interests as well as the
next one! And don't think I can't see what you're about, either! You've grown
tired of me now the King's mistress has caught your eye, and think to fob me
off with some lame story that I should go back for my own good! Well, you don't
know what you're talking about! My Uncle Matt wouldn't so much as let me in the
house —money or no! And the constable would likely set me up in the stocks!
Every man in the parish would laugh in his fist at me and-—" She stopped
suddenly and burst into tears again. "I won't do it! I
won't
go
home!"

He
reached over and took her into his arms. "Amber, my darling, don't cry. I
swear it, I don't give a damn about Barbara Palmer. And I
was telling the
truth when I said I thought you should go back for your own sake. I still do.
But it isn't because I've grown tired of you. You're lovely—you're more
desirable than you can know. My God, no man could grow tired of you—"

Under
his stroking fingers her sobs grew quieter, a warmth began to come over her and
she purred like a kitten. "You aren't tired of me, Bruce? I can stay with
you?"

"If
you want—But I still think—"

"Oh,
don't say it! I don't care! I don't care what happens to me—I'm going to stay
with you!"

He
gave her a light kiss and got up to finish undressing while she sat on her
knees watching him, glowing admiration in her eyes. His body was
magnificent—with a splendid breadth through chest and shoulders, sleek narrow
hips, and handsome muscular legs. His flesh was hard-surfaced, the skin of his
torso browned by exposure. Every movement he made had the easy gracefulness of
an animal, seemingly unhurried, yet lithe and quick.

He
crossed the room to snuff out the candles. And suddenly Amber could restrain
herself no longer.

"Bruce!
Did you make love to her?"

He
did not answer but gave her a glance, half-scowling, that intimated he
considered the question a superfluous one, and then his head bent and he blew
out the last candle.

From
the beginning Amber had both half-hoped and half-feared that she would become
pregnant. She hoped because her love for him yearned to be fulfilled in every
way. But she feared, too, because she knew that he would not marry her, and it
was her vivid memory that a woman who gave birth to a bastard child had no very
tender treatment at the hands of the community. Two years before in Marygreen a
daughter of one of the cottagers had become pregnant and had either not known
or refused to tell the father's name, so that sheer force of public antagonism
drove her to leave the town. Amber remembered the circumstance well, for it had
been the subject of chatter among the delighted and scandalized girls for weeks
on end, and she had been as contemptuous, as jeering as any of them.