A Game of Shadows (19 page)

The note from Tom arrived the following day, asking Louisa to meet him in the garden.  She wasn’t sure how he planned on getting into the garden, but it didn’t matter.  He wanted to see her, and she wouldn’t pass up the chance.  She was vibrating with curiosity and excitement.  What would he say to her?  Surely, there was no harm in hearing him out.  She wouldn’t allow him any liberties though, just enjoy the game.  Theo was still not back for a few days, and she was bored and restless, eager for something to occupy her mind.  Her father had instructed her to spend time with Genevieve, but the girl bored her to tears with her modesty and pious ways.  Spending a few stolen moments with Tom would be a welcome reprieve from that silly goose who only wanted to sew or read.  Too bad she couldn’t talk to Genevieve in a way that she wanted to.  It would have been nice to have a confidante, but Genevieve would be shocked and dismayed if she ever found out what Louisa was really up to.  She had to keep her own counsel if she wanted to keep control of the situation.  Genevieve just might be silly enough to tell her aunt and uncle in her misguided devotion to her newly found family.  Better to keep things to herself.

Louisa instructed the maid to help her with the rose-colored gown, knowing it brought out her dark hair and golden eyes.  She turned in front of the mirror, examining her image.  She didn’t think of herself as vain, but she had to admit that she looked fetching, especially with her cheeks glowing pink with anticipation.  Tom would see her and realize what
he’d lost.  She hoped he would be really sorry.

Louisa made sure the hallway was empty before slipping out of her room and
skipping down the stairs.  She felt unusually happy, on the verge of an adventure as she stepped outside into the garden.  It wasn’t large but well-tended, with lovely autumn flowers blooming in their beds and tall hedges lining the walk.  Would Tom be hiding behind one of them as he had at Charlie’s house? 

Louisa felt the kind of thrill she hadn’t felt since she tiptoed to Theo’s room last month. 
Should she let Tom see that she was happy to see him, or should she be cold and unattainable, reminding him of what he’d done to her?  In truth, it hadn’t really been his fault.  She’d been a willing participant in their trysts, but it was easier to blame him since she was the one who suffered the consequences and Tom got to escape to England and start a new life.  He looked happy and comfortable in his new life, whereas Louisa had been forced to endure snide comments and a lack of social opportunities thanks to Charlie’s indiscreet handling of the situation. 

Tom was sitting on a bench at the end of the paved
walkway, conveniently hidden from view by the hedges lining the path.  His hair shone in the light of the sun, his smile warm and inviting as he patted the space next to him, inviting her to sit down.  Louisa lowered herself onto the bench, leaving enough room between her and Tom to keep things proper.

“You look lovely, Louisa
, even more beautiful than you did last night.” Tom’s eyes were drinking her in, his admiration obvious.

“Surely not as beautiful as some of the ladies at Court?” she asked coyly, fishing for a compliment.

“The women at Court would sell their last piece of finery to look as lovely as you.  Your youth and beauty just accentuate their tired old faces, painted like trollops in an effort to disguise the cruel march of time they’d give anything to stop.”  Tom took her hand as he gazed into Louisa’s trusting face.

“I’ve been such a fool, Louisa.  I ran away to England, thinking I would find adventure and excitement, when all along the things I wanted had been right in front of me.” Tom was
caressing Louisa’s hand gently, his thumb stroking her palm in a circular motion that made her feel slightly weak.

“You must have met many beautiful women,” she replied breathlessly, wanting him to deny it.

“I have, but I never realized how common their beauty was until I saw you again.  There wasn’t a woman last night who didn’t envy you.  The king himself couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

The
king had barely glanced at her, but Louisa wasn’t about to point that out.  If Tom thought she was so captivating, she wasn’t about to tell him otherwise.  He hadn’t wanted her enough before, but maybe things could be different now.  He’d changed and so had she.  She was no longer a naïve little girl.  She was a woman on the verge of a betrothal to a lord, and she wouldn’t let him deceive her again.  All she really wanted was to see the regret on his face and the longing in his eyes.  That would be enough for now.

“You are very kind, Tom, and it’s been such a pleasure to see you again, but I must go back before I’m missed.”  Louisa withdrew her hand, gazing at Tom from under her thick lashes.  His face fell in disappointment, but he wasn’t ready to give up.

“Louisa, say you’ll meet me again.  Maybe I can take you for a drive or on a pleasure cruise on the Thames.  I wager you’ve never been on a barge equipped with every comfort, with players to entertain us and servants to see to our every need.”

“That sounds very pleasant, Tom, but my aunt and uncle would never allow me to go with you unchaperoned.  Shall I invite them along?” she asked playfully, enjoying Tom’s discomfiture.

“Perhaps you can bring along a maid or a female relative?” he asked hopefully.

“Well, there’s always Aunt Maud.  I trust you two have met?” Louisa nearly burst out laughing at the look on Tom’s face.  He’d rather drown himself in the river than go on a cruise with Aunt Maud, but then again, so would she.

“I think Aunt Maud would ruin the mood, my sweet, don’t you?  Maybe a young female relative.  How about your cousin, Genevieve?” Tom took her hand again, gazing into her eyes. 

“How do you know about her?” Louisa asked, suddenly jealous.  What if he decided to woo Genevieve instead?

“Word gets around, but it’s not her I long to see; it’s you.  Will you come?”  His eyes were full of longing as he looked at her, her hands warm in his.

“I don’t think Lord Carew would approve of me meeting with you.  We are about to announce our betrothal, or did you already know that
too?” she asked with a coy smile.  “You seem to know everything.”

“All I know is that you are not married yet,” replied Tom, pulling a startled Louisa into his arms and giving her a hard kiss before
letting her go and disappearing behind a hedge.  Louisa raised her hand to her mouth, touching her tender lip.  She should be offended and upset, but instead she felt a sense of loss at the thought of not seeing Tom again.  What would be the harm in meeting him one more time?  She just had to keep her head, that’s all.

Kit had almost convinced himself that Buckingham had changed his mind and was willing to forget the entire episode when the summons came, inviting him to the duke’s apartments for a light luncheon.  Kit stared at the piece of paper as if it would burst into flames just from the intensity of his distaste, but the paper remained intact, the scribbled lines just words that when strung together had the power to destroy a man’s soul.  Kit sighed, bracing himself for the worst.  He doubted he would get off as easily as the first time.  Buckingham liked to play games, and the next move would be more strategic than the first.  Kit couldn’t help remembering how it felt to have George on his knees, worshipping him in a way he never expected to be.  The thought of returning the favor nearly made Kit sick, but he stuffed the note into his pocket and put on a brave face.  He’d survived the last encounter, and he would survive this one, as long as his family was safe from the far-reaching specter of Buckingham’s power. 

Kit knocked on the door expecting to be admitted by a servant, but Villiers opened the door himself, smiling benignly at a bemused Kit.  He was dressed much as before, informally and comfortably.  A table was set for two, several covered dishes already in the center, waiting to be
sampled.  Villiers gestured for Kit to enter before locking the door behind him.

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to accept my invitation.  I wasn’t sure how eager you’d be to come after our last meeting, but I was hopeful.”  Villiers poured a cup of wine and handed it to Kit before pouring one for himself.

“Do you mean to imply that I had a choice, Your Grace?” Kit asked, watching the man. 

“There’s always a choice, my pet, but one must be prepared to deal with the consequences of one’s decision, mustn’t one?”  Buckingham took a sip of wine, putting the cup back on the table and taking the untouched wine from Kit’s hand. 

“My man left us a cold luncheon, but I think I prefer to wait, don’t you?”  Villiers was watching Kit as a cat watches a mouse just before it bites its head off.  He was probably enjoying this little dance as much as he would enjoy what followed.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Kit replied, bracing himself for what was to come.

“Please, Christopher, I’ve asked you to call me George.  Your Grace is so formal and inappropriate under the circumstances, unless you enjoy the act of submission to someone in a position of power.  We can explore that if you like.”  He smiled, the humor never reaching his eyes.  “Shall we?”

Villiers took Kit by the hand, leading him into the adjacent room.  The bedroom was decorated much like a woman’s
boudoir.  The bed was hung with gauzy bed curtains; their pretty pattern worked in gold thread, and pastel colors.  The furniture was gaudy and ornate, not the usual masculine design favored by men for their private chambers.  A marble statue of a nude Roman stood in a place of prominence on a round table next to the bed.  Kit couldn’t help but stare, for the man in the statue had the posture of a warrior; shoulders back, head held high and legs spread to give him better balance; his erect manhood long and thick and worked in exquisite detail.  Villiers put his hand on Kit’s shoulder, “Beautiful isn’t he? I like to look at him as I’m falling asleep.”

Kit looked away, unable to meet Buckingham’s eyes.  He didn’t protest as George removed his coat and shirt, his lips fastening around Kit’s nipple like a hungry babe’s.  The feeling was not unpleasant as long as Kit closed his eyes and tried to forget that it was a grown man suckling him and not his wife.  The breeches
and stockings came next, leaving him naked and vulnerable.  He kept his eyes closed as Villiers continued to kiss him, his gentle hands stroking his chest and cupping his buttocks.  Kit wanted nothing more than to punch the man until he was a bloody mess begging for mercy, but that was out of the question.  Attacking Buckingham was like signing his own death warrant, so he willed himself to relax and stay calm. 

Buckingham pushed him onto the bed, ordering him to lie on his
stomach.  Kit was grateful for the pillow which he could bury his face in.  At least he didn’t have to look him in the eye.  Buckingham pushed Kit’s legs apart with his knee, cupping his bollocks as tenderly as any woman, and caressing them for a few moments as he whispered obscene things about what he was about to do in Kit’s ear.  Suddenly, the hand was withdrawn as Buckingham got off the bed.

“I want you to look at me, Christopher,”
he ordered, gently turning Kit’s head to the side.  He stood next to the bed, making sure that Kit could see him, his head cocked to the side as he watched Kit’s reaction.  The man was in good shape from riding and playing games, his stomach taut and his legs and arms well-muscled.  George commanded Kit to watch as he stroked himself, his lips stretched into a satisfied half-smile at Kit’s discomfort. 

“Are you ready for me, pet?” Buckingham whispered as he slid his finger inside Kit, lubricating him with rose-scented oil.  Kit gritted his teeth, his mind screaming in protest, but he couldn’t leave.  Buckingham would never forgive the insult.  If only he could get on the first ship back to Virginia, but leaving Court without
express permission from the king was tantamount to treason, not to mention what would happen once Louisa was back in the colony.  He was trapped.

Kit
balled his hands into fists as Buckingham got behind him, his thighs brushing against Kit’s.  He gasped with pain as Buckingham penetrated him, moving slowly and rhythmically, and whispering words of love.  He was glad it hurt.  He wanted to feel pain for it took his mind off the terrible humiliation and feeling of helplessness. 
Let it hurt like hell
, he thought. 
Let it be agony, for then I can at least pretend that I’m being tortured for the sake of my family
.

The pain began to recede, replaced by a feeling of fullness and pressure.  Villiers was moving faster, moaning with pleasure as he neared his climax. 
Just a little longer
, Kit thought, desperate for it to be over.  He felt a revolting wetness as Buckingham spilled himself inside him, pulling out with a sigh of contentment.

“You’ll grow to like it.  I enjoy lying with my wife from time to time, but there’s nothing like the tightness of a man’s arse.  I’ll let you try it next time.  I prefer to
be the dominant one, but I will do it for you.  I want you to have the full experience.  Would you like that, pet?”

Kit just nodded into the pillow, not trusting himself to speak.  What was he supposed to do now, make polite small talk with a man who’d just violated him in the most disgusting way possible?

“Shall we have some lunch?  I’m famished.”  Villiers wiped himself and pulled on his breeches, not bothering with a shirt.  He was watching Kit, that little smile still playing about his mouth.  How Kit wished he could wipe it off with a few well-placed blows, but he hid his thoughts as he pulled on his own clothes, his hands shaking badly. 

“George, would it be all right if I left?  I’m afraid I can’t eat just now.”  He prayed to be released, if only for a short time
so that he could regain his composure, if not self-respect.

“You many go,” George said, kissing
him softly on the lips.  “I know you are shaken, but say you’ll come back.  Please do.”  Kit just nodded again.  If he had a choice, he’d come back in order to sheath his sword in Buckingham’s chest, twisting it until his tormentor was dead, but all he could do was get dressed hastily and make his escape, hoping he wouldn’t see anyone on his way out. 

Kit couldn’t remember walking through the halls or exiting into the street, but the sound of the city finally brought him to his senses. 
Wagons rumbled by, the sound of wheels and neighing of horses loud in his ears.  Vendors were calling out their wares as they sold anything from oranges to bunches of flowers and hot sausages.  Kit leaned against the wall of a building, gulping air like a man who was suffocating.  The street stunk of manure and rotting fruit, but he didn’t care.  It was preferable to the smell of rose oil, following him about like a miasma.  He was out of that room and away from Buckingham, but he wasn’t free.  Kit suddenly remembered what it felt like to have George inside him and was violently sick onto the sidewalk, his forehead covered in a cold sweat, his knees buckling under as the magnitude of what just happened to him finally crashed over him like a tidal wave that destroys everything in its path.  If Louisa ever found out he would never be able to face her again; would never muster the courage to be a proper husband to her.  For the first time in his life, he wished death on another human being; a sudden, violent death.