Grasso, Patricia (12 page)

Keely's path was clear. She would visit the earl that day and beg his mercy for her cousins and herself. Somehow, they would make restitution.

An hour before noon, Richard sat at his desk in Devereux House's richly appointed study and frowned at Willis Smythe. Richard's head pounded from the deadly combination of too late a night and the frustrating financial records he'd wasted the morning poring over. The thought of the reports due the queen by the following day staggered his mind.

"Why do you squander your money?" Richard asked, irritated. "Whoring and gambling produce no profits. I'll gift you with a two percent share in my Levant Trading Company, but the profit on only one percent will be paid to you. I'll reinvest the other percentage for a greater yield."

How generous,
Smythe thought snidely as he relaxed in his chair and stretched out his legs. He took a healthy swig of his ale and remarked, "My father and my brother always saved. Both died before they could enjoy the fruits of their labor."

Richard recalled Burghley's warning to him at Kenilworth Castle:
"Untrustworthy... involved in his father's and his brother's deaths... squandered the inheritance."
Richard gave himself a mental shake. Willis and he had fostered together and were as close as brothers. Unless proven wrong, Richard refused to give credence to those slanderous rumors.

"Should I toil from sunrise to sunset and die without any pleasure?" Willis was asking.

Richard cocked a copper brow at him. "Pleasure-seeking is your vocation, Will. Are you so determined to leave nothing for your son?"

"I have no son."

"My point is that you will father a son one day."

"Worry about fathering your own son," Willis shot back. "Getting that tour of duty in Ireland is impossible without one. By the way, how goes your courtship of Morgana Talbot?"

"After spending a week in her company at Ludlow, I realized that marrying Morgana would be too great a sacrifice," Richard replied. "Unless, of course, misery excited me."

"An heiress is a possession I could use," Willis said. "Mind if I try my hand with her?"

"Be my guest," Richard answered, inclining his head. "The duke's other daughter interests me."

"Talbot sired only one daughter."

"As of a couple of days ago, His Grace claims two."

"How can that be?"

"Do you recall the woman with those two thieving Welshmen at the Rooster?" At the other man's nod, Richard went on, "That wench is actually a lady, albeit His Grace's by-blow from a Welsh gentlewoman. He's acknowledged their relationship, and I mean to pursue her."

"A bastard?" Willis exclaimed, then hooted with derisive laughter. "Imagine, England's wealthiest earl courting a bastard! Elizabeth will never consent to the marriage. Why not take her as your mistress? Better yet, let's both take her as
our
mistress. Consider the pleasurable hours—"

Richard stood so abruptly, it startled the other man into silence. "I can handle Elizabeth," Richard said. "If you don't mind, Willis, I have a mountain of reports due the queen tomorrow morning. I won't be futtering any woman if I lose my head. No pun intended."

Oblivious to his friend's anger, Willis rose from his chair. He reached out to shake Richard's hand just as a knock sounded on the door.

Jennings, the earl's majordomo, entered and said, "My lord, Lady Glendower wishes an interview. Will you see her?"

A surprised smile appeared on the earl's face. "Escort Lady Glendower here."

"You have the Devil's own luck," Willis remarked.

"Luck has nothing to do with success," Richard told him.

And then Keely stepped into the study. She wore a gown created in rose cashmere, enhancing the bloom on her cheeks. A matching shawl covered her more interesting charms. Alluring yet simple.

"Welcome, my lady," Richard greeted her. The two men started across the study toward her.

Keely smiled as winsomely as she could and flicked a glance at Willis Smythe. "I'm sorry to intrude," she said, losing her nerve. "I can return another day."

"Lady Glendower, I present Baron Willis Smythe," Richard made the introductions. "Will was just leaving."

The baron smiled at her; Keely felt a ripple of fear dance down her spine. When he bowed over her hand, she nearly shrank back. Oh, why hadn't she foreseen his dark threatening presence?

Smythe turned to Richard. "I'll see you at court," he said, then quit the chamber.

Keely heard the door click shut behind her. As she stood five steps inside the room, her gaze appraised the chamber.

The study reeked of masculinity. Near the windows on one side of the room sat an intricately carved desk fashioned from sturdy English oak. Rows of books lined two walls from floor to ceiling, and the fourth wall sported a hearth where a fire crackled. Perched in front of the hearth were two comfortable-looking chairs.

Almost hesitantly, Keely looked at Richard. The earl, dressed severely in black, appeared the picture of casual elegance as he watched her through his disarming emerald eyes. His black silk shirt conspired with his form-fitting breeches and boots to give him a rather dangerous look. The only splashes of color in his appearance were his fiery red hair and his emerald green eyes.

Holy stones! Keely thought, dropping her gaze. She'd never seen such a sinfully magnificent man. Had coming here been a mistake? Too bad she needed his mercy instead of his arrogance. He seemed to possess plenty of that.

Good God! Richard thought as he stared at her. Never had he seen such an adorable creature. Though she was a penniless commoner, she did possess the bearing of a countess. Did His Grace know she was here? Richard doubted it.

Long silent moments stretched between them. Disturbed by his intense presence, Keely kept her eyes downcast and wished he would say something.

Taking a deep breath, Keely gave the earl's chest a tentative smile which brought an answering smile to his lips. She tipped her head back to look up at him, for at six feet and two inches, the earl was more than a foot taller than she.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Richard asked by way of a greeting.

"I—there is a matter of some importance that we need to discuss, my lord."

Richard cocked a brow at her.
"My
lord?" he teased. "I thought I was merely
a
lord."

Embarrassed, Keely dropped her gaze and reminded his chest, "You already accepted my apology for that rudeness."

"So I did," Richard agreed, then glanced in the direction of his desk. He just had to finish the queen's reports, and if he insisted that the young lady wait to speak with him, she'd be in his company that much longer.

"Unfortunately, you've arrived at a bad time," Richard told her. "I'm obligated to finish the reports on my desk. The queen expects them in the morning. If you don't mind waiting, why not dine with me?"

"I'd like that," Keely accepted, glad for the reprieve. An English earl with a full stomach should be more amenable.

"Do you read?" Richard asked, gesturing toward the book-lined walls.

Lifting her chin a notch, Keely said, "We Welsh possess many fine talents."

With a smile Richard said, "Sit in front of the hearth, and I'll bring you a few books."

While Keely settled herself in one of the chairs, Richard selected several books on various subjects. He set them in a pile on the floor and handed her the one on top, saying, "This is a particular favorite of mine called
Lives of the Saints."

"Trying to instill moral fiber in me?" Keely quipped, taking the book from him.

Richard gave her an easy smile. "If it bores you, choose another."

Keely rested the book on her lap and opened it. Holy stones! she thought in surprised dismay.
Lives of the Saints
had been written in a foreign language—and she could barely read English. Was this his idea of a joke?

Unamused, Keely flicked a sidelong glance at the earl, who now seemed oblivious to her presence. If he'd intended to enjoy a laugh at her expense, she was going to disappoint him. Keely decided she would pretend to read.

She tried to give her full attention to the gibberish in her lap but cast an occasional glance at the earl. Her occasional glances lengthened into appraising stares. Keely unconsciously surveyed his charms—fiery copper hair, emerald jewels for eyes, handsomely chiseled features.

Keely sighed. The earl was a maiden's dream and infinitely more interesting than
Lives of the Saints.

Resting her head back against the chair, Keely closed her eyes. Anxiety for her cousins had taken its toll. Warmth and safety enveloped her and lulled her into a peaceful sleep.

"Bloody shit," Richard muttered, flinging the quill down in disgust. He'd just tallied the same column of numbers for the tenth time and reached his tenth different total. He looked at his guest. It was her fault. Her presence was as distracting as hell.

Deciding he needed a break, Richard poured himself a whiskey, a gift from his Scots brother-in-law. He sipped it, then grimaced against its potent taste and coughed to alleviate the burning sensation. How Iain actually enjoyed this rot was beyond him.

With cup in hand, Richard stood and wandered across the chamber to stare at his sleeping guest. Lady Keely was an enchanting puzzle, and learning her secrets was an irresistible challenge.

Richard tried to imagine Morgana Talbot cuddled into his chair but couldn't. All he saw was Keely with her shining ebony mane, thick fringe of sooty lashes, and flawless ivory complexion. God, he wanted her—
badly.

Richard glanced toward his desk. Duty called—no, screamed—for his attention. He needed those figures totaled by the time he reported to the queen in the morning.

Lifting the discarded book from Keely's lap, Richard struggled against a shout of laughter. His guest had been reading
Lives of the Saints
upside down. Apparently, reading Latin was not numbered among her many fine talents.

Reluctantly, Richard returned to his desk and the troublesome column of numbers. Whenever he glanced in Keely's direction, he felt a chuckle of laughter bubbling up. Imagine, the saints and their lives turned upside down.

As dinnertime neared, Jennings knocked and entered. Before the man could utter a word, Richard gestured for him to be quiet and pointed at the chair where Keely slept.

"Should I hold dinner back, my lord?" Jennings whispered.

"Give me a couple of minutes to awaken her," Richard said. "Set a table up in here." Jennings nodded and left.

Richard crouched beside Keely's chair and whispered close to her ear, "Time to awaken, my lady." When her eyelids fluttered open, Richard felt as if he were drowning in those glorious pools of violet. Like a delicate but heady wine, her beauty intoxicated his senses.

"Dinner is about to be served," he said, inhaling deeply of her fragile scent. "I hope you're as hungry as you were tired."

Embarrassed at being caught sleeping, Keely blushed and dropped her gaze. How could she have fallen asleep in this man's house? In his very presence, no less! Did he enjoy magical powers that she hadn't foreseen?

"Smudges of fatigue circle your eyes," Richard said.

"We must discuss—"

"After dinner," he said.

Ever the consummate courtier, Richard escorted his guest to the table set for two and assisted her into her chair. Gazing across the table at her, Richard decided that Keely was one of those rare women whose beauty need never be enhanced. No matter her circumstance, she was simply perfection.

A bouquet of flowers sat in a vase on the table. There were baby's breath, a single red rose, and violet blue blossoms that she failed to recognize.

" 'Tis the last rose of summer," Richard said, seeing where her gaze had fallen.

"I do love roses," Keely told him. "I once had a cat who loved them with baby's breath."

"Their perfume attracted him."

Keely gave him a puckish grin. "I believe 'twas their taste Percy found irresistible. He ate them."

Richard grinned. His gaze on her warmed considerably.

Keely reached out and touched one of the violet blue flowers, asking, "What is it?"

"Nigella damascena.""

Keely looked at him blankly.

"Known in English as love-in-a-mist," Richard told her.

"What a beautiful name," she said with a soft sigh. "I love flowers and plants and trees."
And mist,
she added to herself.

"The flower's beauty withers when compared to yours, my lady."

Keely blushed furiously. No man had ever voiced such a thought to her. Peering at him from shyly lowered eyes, she felt like the ignorant
taffy
that, she was quite certain, he thought she was. How did she dare sit across the table from a noble of Queen Elizabeth's court, an experienced man of the world? And then she thought of Odo and Hew.
Hanging at Tyburn Hill.
That kept her from bolting out the door.

Several mouth-watering dishes sat on the table between them. There were oysters in parsley sauce; thin slices of baked ham, sprinkled liberally with cinnamon and served with a sharp mustard sauce; a side dish of peas and baby onions; and rissoles of fruit—dried fruits and nuts enclosed in a batter and fried in oil. Goblets of wine sat beside their plates.

"Will that be all, my lord?" Jennings asked.

Richard looked at his guest and raised his brows in a silent question.

"Well, I—I would prefer milk instead of wine," Keely admitted.

"Bring the lady a goblet of milk," Richard ordered his man, then cast a pointed look at the other servants, who immediately left the study. "I usually dine in the hall but thought the privacy here would be more comfortable for you."

Keely peered at him from beneath her sooty lashes. Though she appeared serene, her nerves tingled in a wild riot. How exactly did an impoverished Welsh princess converse with a wealthy English earl? In truth, they had nothing in common.

Keely lifted the goblet of milk and drank. When she set it down, she looked like a young girl with a delicately tiny white moustache. She wasn't a child, however, as evidenced by her sultry violet eyes with their heavy fringe of ebony lashes.