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Authors: Bertrice Small

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“But not how you loved the second?” he replied.
Jasmine smiled softly and munched silently on a piece of cheese for a long moment. “Nay,” she finally admitted. “I loved Rowan Lindley in an entirely different way. It was as if we were one at times. You knew him, my lord. You knew the kind of man he was. Kind and generous. Loyal. A man who could laugh. That fate could snatch him from me, and from his children, is something I shall never understand.”
“And yet you were able to love again,” the earl said.
Jasmine smiled again. “Aye. But who could not love Henry Stuart? Everyone adored him. I did not seek his favor, you know. In fact I resisted him quite strongly, but he would not have it.” She laughed with the memory. “Hal would have his way in the matter, and I have his son to remember him by. 'Tis a precious gift, and more than most royal mistresses gain.”
“But that
gift
has forced you into the king's arena, madame,” the earl noted. “Perhaps you should have been satisfied to take just jewelry and titles from Prince Henry.”
Jasmine chuckled. “There is no man in England who could gift me with jewelry, sir, for the jewelry I possess far surpasses anything you have ever seen. Rowan knew it, which is why he gave me MacGuire's Ford. And Hal knew it, too. As for titles . . .” she shrugged. “I was born a royal Mughal princess. Only a queen's crown would impress me, and it could not be.”
“So, madame, you possess lands, titles, gold, and jewelry in your own right, but still you must wed me. What can I give you that will make you happy, Jasmine?”
“Why do you care if I am happy or not, James Leslie?” she demanded of him. “The king has ordered us to wed, and wed we must whether I am happy or not happy. You have said you will obey James Stuart because the Leslies of Glenkirk have always been obedient to the royal Stuarts. What difference does it make if I am happy?”
The muscle in his jaw tightened. Jasmine Lindley could be the most irritating woman when she chose to be. Here he was holding out a rather large olive branch, and she was apparently refusing it. “Madame, I am not some monster who has been foisted upon you,” he began, “nor are you being martyred to any cause by being wed to me. There are several ladies in England who would be but too glad to be my countess. Once even your own stepsister sought that honor.”
“Do you wed me just because James Stuart orders you to, sir?” Jasmine asked him. “I do not like the idea that we must wed each other because of a royal command. When I was a young girl I accepted such a marriage, but it was my father's dictate, and not that of a stranger.”
He swallowed the wine remaining in his cup, wishing that there was more, and sighed. “I cannot change what is, Jasmine,” he said quietly. “When I arrived at Belle Fleurs several weeks ago I was very angry with you. I believe I was close to hating you, and I did, I will admit, seek revenge upon you for embarrassing me so publicly. Being with you, however, has caused my anger to drain away. I admire you. You are a woman of courage and determination. There are some men who might not appreciate such characteristics in a wife, but I do. I am not certain I can offer you love now or ever, nor can you promise me love; but I will respect you, and I can offer you companionship. You will not suffer as my wife, and I will be a good father to your children, I swear it on the souls of my own dead bairns.”
“Will you force me to wed you before the court?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I am past vengeance, Jasmine. We can wed here at Belle Fleurs, or at Queen's Malvern. The choice is yours, I promise you, but please, madame, let it be soon. We cannot afford to incur the king's displeasure much longer.”
“Is he angry at you, too?” She was surprised.
“Aye,” he said with a little grin. “He said when the ram corners the ewe he should nae gie her freedom to choose her own pasture in her own time. Fortunately the Carr mess has kept him occupied, and he has not had too much time for me, but it would please him if we wed soon. He longs to see the little laddie, for he has not seen him since Charles Frederick was a wee bairn, and the boy is his grandson.”
“Promise me you will not let them take him from me,” Jasmine said. “That, I will admit to you, is my greatest fear. Once the queen told me how they took Hal from her, and she rarely ever saw him, and must beg permission from his governors when she wanted to be with him. I could not bear it if they took Charlie from me!” And her eyes filled with thick tears at the very thought.
He reached out and brushed the tears from her soft cheek. “They will not take him from
us,”
he promised her. “Henry Stuart was the heir, and the custom of farming the heir out an old one. 'Tis no longer done, thanks to the queen. Besides, darling Jasmine, your Charlie is but a royal bastard. He can never be heir to the throne. His importance is in his relationship to the king and the queen, not in his future.”
“But what if they want him?” she persisted.
“What they want is to see the laddie and know him. I am his guardian because they know I am an honest man and will not use the boy to my advantage or to build my power base. Charlie will remain with his family. I promise you this, madame.”
“I am afraid,” she said softly.
He took her gloved hand in his big hand. “You must trust me, Jasmine. 'Tis a great leap of faith for you, I will admit, but I beg you to trust me.” He could feel that her hand was cold beneath the leather. He attempted to warm it between his two hands.
A wind had sprung up, and the sun had now disappeared behind a hand of clouds. The promise of spring, earlier in the air, had entirely disappeared, and winter, it seemed, was returning.
“We had best go,” she said, disengaging her hand from his, and standing up. She brushed the crumbs from her breeches and began packing up the basket and cloth.
“You will consider what we have spoken on this day?” he asked her.
“We will marry in the spring at Queen's Malvern,” Jasmine told him with a small smile, “but not upon the first of April, my lord. 'Tis an infamous date for us, and I would begin our relationship on a more cheerful note. Would you not agree? I think perhaps the fifteenth of the month would be suitable. I do not like May. Marry in May, rue the day, 'tis said.”
“You do not favor June?”
“Do you really wish us to try the king's patience that far?” she gently teased, as he helped her to mount her mare. She smiled down at him, her eyes twinkling. “Of course June is a lovely month, my lord.”
“Did you not wed Westleigh in April?” he asked her, vaulting into his own saddle. Somehow the idea of marrying her in the month in which she had married another husband was irritating. Perhaps it was even the same day, thereby making it easier for her to remember. Even her monogram would remain the same. L for Lindley. L for Leslie.
“I married Rowan on April thirtieth, my lord,” she replied, her tone just slightly frosty, “but it is obvious that you prefer June. So let it be June fifteenth. It will do just as well, I think.”
The earl felt a momentary chagrin. He had behaved like a churl, and she had caught him at it and called his bluff. Now he would wait an additional two months, and the explanation given the king must be his. He swore softly beneath his breath, and, to his mortification, Jasmine giggled, or he thought she did. When he looked over at her her face was a smooth mask of bland innocence.
She led him through the vineyards of Archambault and onto the carriage road from Paris that he had ridden over before. They cantered easily along the path until they came to the almost hidden way leading to Belle Fleurs. Now she spurred her mare into a gallop, and her hair, so neatly in its chignon, blew loose, flowing behind her. He urged his stallion onward, realizing they were to race home, and, as he drew even with the mare, she looked over at him and laughed. Pulling past her he reached the château's bridge before her and drew his beast up to await her, but she did not stop, and the mare raced by him into the courtyard of the castle.
Jasmine leapt down.
“I won!”
she bragged triumphantly.
“I thought the race ended at the bridge,” he protested, dismounting.
“Why would you think that?” she demanded.
“Because it was the logical end of the course,” he replied.
“Nonsense!” she mocked him, hurrying into the château, handing off her gloves to a servant. “A race ends at the door of the house. I thought everyone knew that.”
“I didn't,” he said, an edge to his voice.
“Why not?”
she countered.
“Because you didn't tell me, madame!” he shouted.
“Have some wine,” she offered. “It will calm your nerves, my lord. Gracious, it was only a little race.”
He took the large goblet of fruity red wine and gulped half of it down. “Not telling me the rules is the same as cheating,” he growled at her, his dark green eyes narrowing. “If you are to be the countess of Glenkirk, you must be honorable in all things.”
“You are really a dreadful loser, my lord,” Jasmine said. “It was a silent challenge, and to believe the race ended before it ended was just plain silly. You will have to be quicker than that if we are to have a satisfactory relationship, my lord.”
“Are you
always
like this?” he groused.
“Like what?”
“Impossible! Totally, utterly impossible!”
he roared.
“There is no need to shout, my lord,” she told him. “I do not think it is particularly good for you. There is a little vein right there”—her finger reached out, and touched the side of his head—“that is throbbing fiercely. I must teach you a little trick one of my aunts taught me when I was a child that will help you to calm yourself. You sit perfectly still and clear your mind of all thoughts, then just breath deeply in and blow the breath out. It is excellent for calming one's nerves. I used it myself on occasion.”
He could feel the vein she touched beating a tattoo on the side of his head. There were but two ways to stop it and calm himself. He would either have to strangle her where she stood—and the thought at this very moment was deliciously tempting—or he would have to kiss her. He chose the latter.
Sweeping her into his arms his mouth found hers in a hard kiss. He crushed her against him, feeling her bosom, certainly fuller than it had been several years back before she had borne her children, push against him. He expected her to struggle, to give some expression of outrage. Instead Jasmine's lips softened against him, and she seemed to melt into his embrace, returning his harshness with a tender, sweet softness. He had meant to conquer her, but instead found himself the vanquished. He was astounded as he released his fierce hold on her, not just a little chagrined.
She stood straight, looking up at him, although if the truth had been known Jasmine's legs were as weak as a jelly. “ 'Twas either kiss or kill, was it not, my lord?” she taunted him wickedly.
He nodded, and, unable to think of any clever retort, said, “There was a time when you called me Jemmie, madame, and not always
my lord.
Do you think we can regain that place again?”
“You will never
tame
me, nor I you, Jemmie,” she replied in answer. “ 'Twill be a terrible match, I fear.” But Jasmine was smiling.
“Aye,” he agreed, “it will, but there is no help for it. I am the king's loyal man and must obey. Still, a man might have a worse wife than you will be, darling Jasmine. As you are so fond of reminding me, you are rich, beautiful, royal, and clever,” he gently teased.
“I have always been a good wife,” she responded primly. “You will learn if you do not thwart me, I shall be loyal and bring no shame to your name, Jemmie Leslie.”
“In other words, if I give you your own way, we will have no difficulties,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“Exactly!” Jasmine answered him brightly. “How fortunate I am to be marrying so perceptive a man.”
Chapter
5
T
he weather turned again, and the early-spring rains came. James Leslie and Jasmine Lindley kept mostly to the château, where they played cards and chess, and talked. Although they had been acquainted with each other, neither really knew the other. Skye had been correct in leaving them alone. When the children had been gone some ten days, the earl suggested that on the next day there was no rain they ride over the Archambault to visit Jasmine's relations and see how the youngsters were getting on with their cousins.
Jasmine flushed at the suggestion.
“What is the matter?” he asked her.
She laughed weakly. “I had almost forgotten about my children,” Jasmine admitted, embarrassed. “It has been so lovely here with you, Jemmie, that I have come close to forgetting my responsibilities.”
“You are the best of mothers,” he reassured her. “No one would fault you for enjoying your time away from the children. When we return home to England we shall spend as little time at court as is possible that we may spend most of our time with our family.”
“Will we live in Scotland?” she asked him. “My mother transplanted well there, but has always insisted upon her English summers as she is wont to call them. Is Glenkirk beautiful, Jemmie?”
“Very beautiful,” he said, “but we will only live there part of the year, Jasmine. Perhaps the autumn and winter months. Autumn is the best time in Scotland. The summers we will spend at Queen's Malvern, and Henry must go to Cadby then. In the spring we shall go to court so that James is not offended. I have overseen his empire's foreign trade for several years now, but I wish to resign that post now that we are to be wed. My own family has been heavily involved in trading for many, many years with our bankers, the Kira family. I do not know if your grandmother would consider it, but a merger of my interests with the O'Malley-Small trading company could profit us as all. That is something she and I must discuss.”
Jasmine nodded. “It seems a sensible solution to all our domiciles, but I hope we shall not have to stay too long at court.”
“Only to the extent it benefit us,” he responded sagely. “We have the children to consider. Charlie is a duke, and Henry a marquis. Their sisters are heiresses, and will be prime on the marriage market one day.” He reached out and took her hand in his, lifting it to kiss the inside of her wrist and her palm. “And we have
our
bairns to consider as well, darling Jasmine. Perhaps another earl, and a brother and sister or two?” He nibbled on her fingers seductively.
Jasmine colored becomingly. Of course there had to be children of this marriage, but until this moment she hadn't really thought a great deal about it. How long had it been since she had made love to a man? Her youngest child was two and a half years of age, and it had been several months before his birth when she and Henry Stuart had ceased their intimacies. It was almost three years, she realized, amazed. She had grown used to life without a man.
Without a man in her bed.
Did she even remember how to play that game? The fire in the fireplace crackled and snapped, the flames dappling the walls with shadow, while outside the rain beat a light tattoo upon the windowpanes.
James Leslie saw the confusion passing over her features and realized the opportunity presenting itself to him. To his surprise, however, Jasmine pulled her hand away from him, distress written all over her beautiful face. Shaking her head at him, she ran from the hall.
So,
he thought,
she had felt
it
too.
She wasn't being coy, he realized, for Jasmine Lindley was a woman of experience; yet she felt a certain shyness with him that was astonishing given the passionate lover he recalled on that one wonderful night that they had shared those several years back.
He wondered if he should follow her and thought better of the idea. He considered if she had taken a lover while here in France and discarded the notion. The only lover Jasmine Lindley had ever allowed in her bed other than himself, and her husbands, had been Prince Henry Stuart. Then in a burst of clarity he saw the problem. Of course! It had to be!
There had been no man in her bed since the prince.
He laughed softly to himself. Jasmine, who disliked being at any sort of disadvantage, felt awkward about making love again. He was tempted to go to her and reassure her, but he knew that would be a mistake. He would have to court Jasmine as he had never courted any woman. He had not really courted Isabelle, for they had been promised in childhood, and it was a given that they would marry. It had not been necessary to court his late wife, and there had been none since her death he chose to court and marry.
It was an interesting concept, courting a woman, but court her he would have to in order to gain her trust and win his way into her bed, into her heart. What could he do that would please her? She lacked for nothing. James Leslie realized that he had absolutely no idea about how to court a woman who had everything. Had she been a simple lass, he would have wooed her with jewelry and other finery. She knew he liked her children, so there was no ingress there. What was he to do? And then he realized that he would have to seek advice from Madame Skye. He laughed aloud at the thought. Take advice from that beautiful and devious old woman? Aye! He would, for she knew Jasmine best, and was, if her reputation was to be believed, the most skilled and clever woman where the arts of love were concerned.
James Leslie poured himself another large goblet of red wine and settled himself by the fireplace, sipping the liquid nectar slowly. Tomorrow they would go to Archambault, and he knew that Jasmine would devote her time there to her children. He, however, would seek counsel from Madame Skye on how to win her granddaughter, and win Jasmine he would.
In the morning she behaved as if everything was exactly the same between them as it had been the day before. She came to the highboard dressed for riding, in green wool breeches, high leather boots, a cambric shirt, and her doeskin jerkin with the silver-and-horn buttons. She ate heartily, which both amused and delighted him. He liked a woman who enjoyed her food and did not toy daintily with her plate. His mother was such a woman. Jasmine never drank wine in the early morning. Her servants brought her a blue-and-white porcelain dish, pouring into it a fragrant hot liquid which she always drank with relish.
Curious, he asked her, “What is it you drink, Jasmine?”
“It is called tea,” she told him. “Would you like to taste it, Jemmie? Adali, bring another saucer for the earl.” She smiled at him. “We brew it with hot water, using the leaves of the tea plant. It is native to India. The leaves are cured or dried before use. It is a very pleasing drink. My mother and my aunts frequently put cloves or cardamom in the tea to add additional flavor to it.”
Jasmine's steward placed a deep saucer before him and poured some of the tea into it from a pitcher. “This is black tea, my lord,” he said. “The Chinese grow a green variety.”
“It is more delicate,” Jasmine said. “Our Indian tea is a most hearty brew. Taste it, Jemmie!”
He sipped at the hot liquid, finding the taste pleasant, but not particularly stimulating or exciting as wine, ale, or cider.
“I am thinking of suggesting to grandmother that we import tea into England,” Jasmine told him. “The Dutch have been doing it for the past six years although they do not know how to market it and have not had a great success with it.”
“The Dutch are excellent merchants,” he replied.
“Indeed they are,” she agreed, “but they still do not know how to sell tea. Tea is not spices or cloth that can be easily hawked to any housewife in the market. Tea must first be sold to the rich and the powerful. Only when they have taken it to their bosoms and made it a drink of the exclusive will the masses seek to have it.”
Her analysis of the situation surprised him. He had always known that Jasmine was an intelligent woman, but he had put that particular brand of intelligence down to female common sense, but she was beyond that obviously. “You may be right, Jasmine,” he said slowly. “Aye, I can see where having tea drunk by a select few would eventually make it modish, and very desirable to the general population.”
She arose from the highboard. “We'll talk to Grandmama about it,” she said. “Come, Jemmie, and let us be off. I have not seen my darlings in almost two weeks, and I am eager to be with them!”
They took the direct road to Archambault, arriving quickly, and Jasmine was out of her saddle almost immediately, sweeping her children, who were awaiting her upon the steps of the great château, into her all-encompassing embrace. On the top step Madame Skye stood with a distinguished gentleman the earl rightly guessed to be the comte de Cher. Alexandre de Saville shook James Leslie's hand and bade him welcome. The earl then kissed Madame Skye upon her pale cheeks.
“So, James Leslie,” the old lady said, tucking her hand into his arm as they entered the château, “have you made any progress with my granddaughter?”
“We will wed on the fifteenth day of June,” he replied.
“Ah, good! I am glad you have managed to bring Jasmine around to a more sensible frame of mind in this matter,” Skye replied.
They entered an elegant salon, and he saw at once that they were alone.
“I need your advice, madame,” the earl said, “and as we have privacy for the moment, perhaps it is the time to seek it.”
She raised an elegant eyebrow. “You seek my advice? How interesting,” Skye said, a small smile playing with the corners of her mouth. “Then, sirrah, you have decided that I am not your enemy?”
He chuckled. “I think you are a devious, wicked lady, madame, but I still need your advice; and no, I do not believe we are enemies, nor have we ever been.”
They sat upon an upholstered settle, and he took her hand in his. “I believe that Jasmine has become shy in things of an
intimate
nature, Madame Skye. She is not comfortable once matters pass a certain point. It is not in her nature, I believe, to be cold.”
“Hmmmmmmm,” Skye said.
“I considered other reasons for her reluctance, but the only one I believe true is the fact she has not known a man since some time before wee Charlie's birth. I think she may feel at a disadvantage.”
“God's boots!” Skye answered him. “What is the matter with the girl? You are handsome, and well made, and she has shared your bed on one occasion and not found you displeasing.”
“We are being pushed into doing our duty,” the earl replied. “I think I need to court her, Madame Skye, but how does one go about courting a woman with everything? What can I do, or say, or give her that she has not heard or received? My first wife and I were promised as bairns. I did not court Isabelle, but then we were both very young and used to one another. Our families had agreed to our marriage, and that was the way it was done in Scotland at that time.”
Skye nodded. Now here was a small tangle that needed unknotting. She had not considered that Jasmine, once become sensible, would behave like a sheltered virgin, and her a woman with four children! It was simply ridiculous! “I will speak with my granddaughter,” she said.
“Nay, madame, I beg you do not!” the earl implored her. “She would be mortified to learn that I knew her secret. Just instruct me in how to please her so that she will lose her shyness with me, and matters may progress naturally.”
“God's blood!” Skye swore passionately. “What is the matter with you young men of today? In my day the men were bold! They swept a woman off her feet and into their arms without their permission. None of my daughters were like me, but this one granddaughter is. You will gain your goal with her by being audacious and gallant, and not by pussyfooting around.”
“But Madame Skye . . .” he attempted to interrupt her.
“There are no
buts
where love is concerned, James Leslie,” she told him sternly. “Do you know that Jasmine's grandfather seduced me the first time he met me? Like Jasmine I was mourning a loss and had been without a man, but Adam wanted me, and he took me.” Her gaze softened with the memory. “I should have seen that he was the man for me then and there, but I outlived two more husbands before he realized that his first manly and fearless approach to me had been the way to my heart. We were fortunate, and in those days it seemed as if time went on forever.” She was silent a moment, then sighed gustily before looking at him again. “Seize your opportunity, dammit! Give my granddaughter a taste of passion again. You cannot help but overcome her outrage with it.” She chuckled wickedly. “I envy the girl, my lord, I do.”
He raised the hand he had been gently holding to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you,” he said.
She nodded, her Kerry blue eyes twinkling, yet wise. Then she said, “I believe that you and Jasmine should be together alone for a few more weeks, James Leslie. What would you think if I took the children on to visit Paris, and from there home to Queen's Malvern, where we will await you? It is already mid-March, and if I am to prepare for a wedding and notify the family, I cannot linger much longer in France. The children yet prove a distraction to their mother, so perhaps it is better they travel with their great-grandmother?”

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