Forbidden Lord (20 page)

‘She is in the throes of passion?' He laughed softly. ‘What a foolish little idiot you have been.'

As the truth finally unfolded in its entire cruelty, Eleanor's heart hammered beneath her ribs. She stared at him, as though having difficulty understanding any of this. ‘William, I thought…'

‘It makes no difference what you thought. You should have made sure of it before giving yourself in marriage to Martin Taverner—although, believing I was the traitor I have been painted and unable to forgive me for betraying your father, you'd probably have married him anyway. But that aside, because of that one misunderstanding when you imagined I was with Catherine—of which you had no proof—you married Martin Taverner.'

‘No, it was more than that. When I asked Catherine if she had seen you, she told me she had, and she led me to believe the two of you would be married.'

William's eyes darkened and his expression became grim. ‘Catherine did that?'

Eleanor nodded. ‘And I believed her.'

‘It was wrong of her to do that. I did see her on one occasion—briefly. It was a chance encounter. I did not seek her out.' He sighed deeply. ‘And because of this you drew the only possible conclusion. Is there anything else?'

‘There is a great deal else. You see, before that there was the letter—the letter the messenger brought to Staxton Hall.'

‘Ah, yes—the letter. I recall there was a mention of Henry Wheeler's demise, but the main content of the letter was something entirely different. That was the reason why
I left Staxton Hall. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Catherine.'

‘Then—what was Godfrey's horse doing at Catherine's house?'

William was looking at her with an amusing ‘don't you know?' look in his eyes, and then as the truth dawned on her she shook her head as though in disbelief at her own foolishness. The very idea of Godfrey and Catherine was ludicrous. ‘Oh! You—you mean Godfrey and Catherine were…?'

Raising his brows, his face creasing in a smile of dry humour, he nodded. ‘'Tis an unlikely partnership, I agree, but they are besotted with each other—and Godfrey is an experienced ladies' man.' He leaned against the edge of a table and, arms folded, watched her. ‘Now we have the matter of Catherine cleared up, I think it's time to take care of the rest.'

‘What are you saying?'

‘That whatever you have been told and whatever you believe, I did not betray your father.'

E
leanor stared at William. She felt as though she'd been felled with one blow. ‘But—that was what I was told.'

‘By Atwood?'

‘Yes.'

His smile was grim. ‘One should not believe all one hears, Eleanor. It may create the wrong impression.'

‘Are you saying that you had no part in my father's downfall? None whatsoever?'

‘I did not betray your father, Eleanor,' he told her with quiet gravity. ‘I swear it on my life.'

There was a moment of silence between them. Eleanor felt her resentment fading. Looking into that strong face she felt an uneasy stirring of doubt.

‘Your father was a good man,' William continued, ‘an honourable man, who was not afraid to stand up for what he thought was right, what he believed in, and I respected him greatly. Contrary to all Atwood told you, we were friends—good friends. What happened was not of my doing—and perhaps if he'd held his tongue and gone about his scheming quietly, he might have kept his head. I would have laid down my own life for him. Please believe that.'

Eleanor took a deep breath, feeling the truth of his words.
‘Yes,' she whispered. ‘I do believe you. Were you party to the same plot?'

‘I had knowledge of it, but refused to take an active part. Unfortunately my innocence was never proven, and because there was an element of doubt my properties were confiscated and my mother and sisters thrown on to the mercy of relatives.'

‘And you were banished.'

William's lips twisted with irony. ‘No, I wasn't. But no doubt Atwood told you that, too.'

‘Yes. What did you mean when—when you confronted my stepfather at Catherine's wedding, when you said he got what he wanted when he married my mother—that he had planned it all along? What you said puzzled me.'

William looked straight ahead, his expression grave. ‘It pains me to speak of this and I know it will pain you more. I must tell you things you do not like to hear.'

‘How so?'

‘Atwood coveted your mother and resented her being married to your father. Somehow he found out that your father was involved in a conspiracy to prevent Mary Tudor marrying Philip of Spain and planted one of his own men among the conspirators—a spy—to play a double game.'

A cold shiver ran down Eleanor's spine. ‘Are you saying my stepfather was responsible for the conspiracy being blown wide open—knowing they would all be executed—and then—he—he befriended my mother?'

William nodded. ‘I'm afraid that's true.'

‘I am truly horrified. I had no idea. So he, my father's own cousin, sent him to his death—although it should not surprise me after what he did to Uncle John. Poor Father. He did not deserve that. You also told my stepfather that he would pay for what he did. I didn't know what you meant by that—but now I do. I realise now that for some perverse reason of his own my stepfather wanted both me and Catherine to think ill of you and, I am ashamed to say, he succeeded—at least
where I was concerned. Catherine was not so easily persuaded of your guilt, but then she knew you better than I. Have you spoken to my stepfather since?'

‘Not yet, but I intend to.'

‘You will find him much changed—he came with Catherine to my wedding and I was shocked by his condition. His deterioration started with the blow to the head Sir Richard gave him. In fact, he's so weak and forgetful that he's had to resign his office as alderman. So if it's vengeance you seek, then you will be wreaking vengeance on an old and ill man.'

‘Maybe, but he has the answer to a question that continues to elude me. There is one ghost to be laid and I want an answer. So,' he said, capturing her gaze, ‘there we are, Eleanor, and now what's to be done?'

‘That's the trouble, William. There is nothing to be done.'

‘Nothing? Even now, knowing what you do, you mean to remain married to Martin?'

‘It's too late. Martin is my husband until death.'

‘Martin Taverner is nothing,' William said with a savagery that surprised Eleanor. ‘He is nothing. You are mine, Eleanor, and I mean to have you. I made up my mind that night you spent in my bed, in my arms, that you would never belong to any other man but me. I thank God Taverner is what he is and that he hasn't touched you, because if he had I would have had to kill him.'

‘Then why didn't you tell me?' Eleanor cried, her voice rising on a crescendo of terrible pain, unable to believe he was saying this to her now when it was too late. ‘You should have told me everything.'

‘I should have, I realise that now, but I thought we had time.'

‘What happened?'

‘The letter—that's what happened. There was a…development…here in London.'

‘And you couldn't tell me? Could you not trust in me? I swear that I would never betray your confidence.'

‘No,' he said sharply, thinking, ‘not after suffering alone for so long'—it would be like sharing his soul. ‘When my mother wrote and told me you had come to London, I made up my mind to see you, to talk to you about the future.'

‘We have no future, William.'

‘And you have no future with that—that catamite. It would seem you are at an impasse, my love. You are mine, Eleanor,' he said with enormous gravity, ‘and I mean to have you.'

‘Stop it, William,' she whispered wretchedly. ‘Don't torture us both like this.'

‘I will, when you leave Martin Taverner.'

‘There can be no going back, and I swear if you continue like this I will leave London.'

‘And go where?'

‘Devon, which is where the Taverners live.'

‘Then all the more reason for me to speak to him and I shall tell him that you and I are lovers.'

He spoke with the arrogance and certainty that said that it would do her no good to argue. But she would not be dictated to, not by William or anyone else. Her head lifted imperiously and her eyes were a vivid flash of amber in her flushed face. ‘You mustn't. Don't you dare.'

‘But I do dare. I dare to do anything I like, Eleanor.'

She turned to the door, not wanting to stay to hear more—she could feel her body responding, straining towards him, yearning to give in, to have him enfold her in his strong arms and kiss her into oblivion.

‘Go away, William. Go back to Yorkshire and get on with your life—and let me get on with mine. Leave me in peace.'

‘Refuse me all you like, but I am not going anywhere. At present I have an apartment here at the Palace. Oh,' he said, leisurely sauntering towards her, ‘and if you should think of fleeing to Devon, I will come after you. It's no good fighting me, my love, you should know that by now. I will have you, one way or another.'

 

Hands clenched, Eleanor strode quickly along the corridor.

‘Eleanor! Eleanor, wait. I've been looking for you.'

Hearing her husband's voice, Eleanor stopped and turned round.

Martin hurried towards her, seeing her anger. ‘Eleanor? W-what is it? What ails you? What has h-happened to upset you like this?'

‘Nothing that concerns you,' she bit back. ‘What do you want, Martin?'

‘I thought you should know that I shall be s-staying here tonight.'

‘Really?'

‘You don't mind?'

‘Mind? Martin, I don't care,' she cried, enunciating each word.

‘But—'

‘Do what you like. Go back to your fancy popinjay,' she cried, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. ‘You always do what you want anyway, but do not embarrass me again when I am with you. Ours might not be a love match in any sense of the word, but I am your wife and surely deserve your respect. There was none in the way you flaunted yourself with Richard Grey. Your conduct was disgraceful and not to be borne.' She bitterly resented his unacceptable conduct as much as she resented the triumph she had seen in the Richard Grey's eyes when he had looked at her.

With her eyes spitting fire and her jaw rigid, Martin wondered what on earth had got into her. Reaching out, he placed his hand on her arm, which she snatched away as if he had burned her.

‘Don't touch me,' she snarled, her eyes blazing. ‘Don't you ever touch me again.'

Without more ado, as if she couldn't bear to look at him, she was about to hurry away, but something in his expression
reached out to her, appealed to her and made her pause. In the silence that followed Eleanor felt no longer enraged, but baffled by Martin's passiveness that she now recognised as dignity. On a sigh she went to him and took his hand.

‘Martin, I—I know you are infatuated with Sir Richard, but—'

Martin said something about being sorry and she must believe him but he hadn't wanted to hurt her.

She smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘I know you didn't.'

‘No, Eleanor—please l-listen—I know you w-won't understand, but—'

‘I understand perfectly,' she said. ‘I've been so naïve. I suppose this has been going on a long time—with Sir Richard.'

Embarrassed he nodded. ‘A few months.'

‘Then take care, Martin. Stay away from him. He is dangerous. I don't trust him, and I should hate you be hurt.'

‘I won't be. P-please don't worry about me.'

 

Although Eleanor had parted from William in anger, she could not help but take pleasure in knowing he was near. Suddenly she felt a great lightening of her mood and her natural optimism returned. The relief and gladness she felt knowing he did not betray her father was enormous. She was aware of a new sensation in the pit of her agitated stomach. She was honourably married, and even though it was not to the man she wanted, her husband was wealthy and she had lovely clothes and jewels to wear and she had access to the Court and its many pleasures. And tomorrow there was to be jousting to enjoy.

The day dawned bright and Eleanor looked ahead with excitement. When her maid had dressed her in her favourite gold taffeta gown with its high stiff collar enriched with gold lace, she looked in the mirror and was startled, for she looked changed somehow—in fact, she felt different. Her high white forehead and the delicate arched eyebrows looked exactly the
same, but there was renewed colour in her cheeks and her eyes and mouth had acquired a softness that had been absent for weeks. Was this the result of seeing William again?

When she arrived at the tilt yard with Martin, jousting had started. The colour and pageantry had her transfixed.

‘Is this your first joust?' a stout lady of mature years enquired. When Eleanor nodded, she patted the bench beside her. ‘Sit beside me where you can see well. I'm Lady Louisa Durban, and I shall enjoy your company for the time it takes.'

Thanking her effusively, Eleanor sank down, perching on the edge, her eyes wide with wonder as Martin stood with a group of gentlemen discussing the joust.

The Queen and her chattering group of waiting women were already seated in the royal box, Elizabeth in the centre like a dazzling queen bee in her green and gold and ropes of pearls draped around her neck. Eleanor's eyes were drawn back to the lists as there came a roar from the spectators. At either end of the yard two men in armour atop powerful chargers appeared and pulled down their visors on their helmets and took their lances.

‘What's happening?' Eleanor asked, seeing several laughing ladies lean forward to give the worthy knights of their choice their colours.

‘Lord Robert Dudley is about to sally forth,' Eleanor's companion chuckled. ‘Listen how the crowd shouts for him—and that flower in his helmet shows he has the Queen's favour.'

It took skill and good horsemanship to avoid being thrown by a blow from the opponent's lance, even if the blow was softened by the angle and the splintering of the lance. The two opponents thundered towards each other at breakneck speed, lances poised and aimed at the opposing shields.

‘They'll kill each other,' Eleanor gasped, hardly able to watch.

‘No, they won't, but one of them might be injured when he's knocked off his horse.'

Unconsciously Eleanor held her breath, waiting for the
crash of wood on metal, and when it came she gasped out loud and with everyone else shouted with approval when the favourite knight prised his opponent out of the saddle while his horse whinnied wildly and reared back on its haunches.

‘Lord Robert Dudley is a worthy knight indeed,' Lady Durban cried, getting to her feet to show her appreciation.

The victor raised his visor and smiled broadly at his adoring public, before looking at the Queen. Elizabeth, obviously delighted with the outcome, stood up and clapped her hands.

And so the afternoon wore on and Eleanor was completely lost in the excitement of it all. When she distinguished a tall knight in brightly polished armour take his helmet from his squire and mount his huge horse, her heart did a somersault. It was William, and he was looking at her. She felt a pleasant warmth. For a second, no more, all the special feelings she held in her heart for this man were revealed as though it were something that was impossible to hide. They looked at each other, neither of them speaking, their eyes locked.

William had seen Eleanor, poised, provocative and glowing with colour, the minute he'd entered the tilt yard. With a spirit of mischief and a desire to tweak Martin Taverner's nose, without more ado he rode up to the barrier in front of the platform where Eleanor was seated. He looked directly at her and smiled lazily.

‘Greetings, Lady Taverner,' he said, bowing his dark head. ‘Will you not honour me by allowing me to wear your colours?'

He looked devilishly handsome, his dark hair tousled and a roguish gleam in his silver-grey eyes, which gazed only at Eleanor.

She turned poppy red at being singled out so publicly, knowing all eyes were focused on her. She stared at him, not knowing what to do and afraid of doing the wrong thing.