Grasso, Patricia (32 page)

Keely glanced sidelong at him. His use of the phrase
my love
softened her heart and brought a reluctant smile to her lips. She nodded, accepting his apology.

"Shall we tickle the carpet, dearest?" he asked.

His invitation surprised Keely. " 'Tis expected like the mingling?"

Richard nodded.

Before he could take her hand in his and lead her onto the dance floor, Keely dropped gracefully to her knees. She reached out and rubbed her fingertips across the carpet in front of her.

Richard gaped at her in surprise. What the bloody hell was she doing?

All around them people laughed, but no one laughed harder than Ladies Morgana, Jane, and Sarah. Those courtiers who managed to suppress their mirth for the earl's sake stared in horrified fascination at his bride's bizarre behavior. Even Queen Elizabeth riveted her sharp gaze on them, while Robert Dudley stood beside her and hooted with derisive laughter.

Richard crouched down to be eye level with his wife and asked mildly, "Dearest, what are you doing?"

"I'm tickling the—" Keely broke off at the sudden realization that he hadn't been asking her actually to tickle the carpet. She heard the howls of laughter directed at them and turned a stricken expression upon her husband.

"Darling, I was asking you to dance," Richard said gently, but his lips twitched with a powerful urge to laugh.

And that was Keely's undoing.

Mortified beyond endurance, Keely leaped to her feet and raced through the shocked crowd out of the hall. She heard her husband calling her name, but she never looked back or stopped. The sound of the courtiers' laughter chased her through the maze of corridors to her own chamber.

Keely slammed the door shut and leaned back against it. Hot tears of humiliation streamed down her cheeks.

She could never face those people again. Her husband's world would never be hers; she didn't belong there. Cut from a different mold, Keely knew she would never successfully fit into the life of a courtier. A descendant of Welsh princes and a Druid priestess she may be, but to these Englishmen she was merely an ignorant Welsh bastard who'd forced her presence on her unsuspecting noble sire and tricked England's favorite son into an unwanted marriage. She was truly the Princess of Nowhere.

Slowly, wearily, Keely walked across the chamber and sat on the edge of the bed. She needed desperately to escape this world of unhappiness.

Home.
Like a siren's song, the misty mountains of Wales called to Keely.

Oh, what a coil she'd wrapped herself in! Leaving the earl would shatter her heart; but staying in his world with him would destroy her.

Surrendering to hopelessness and sorrow, Keely covered her face with her hands and wept for what was.
And for what could never be.

The door opened and closed quietly. Richard crossed the chamber to the bed and sat down beside his wife. He put his arm around her and drew her close against his comforting strength. His heart ached at the sight and the sound of her weeping.

With his handkerchief, Richard wiped the tears from her face and told her, "Elizabeth requires her courtiers to remain in the Presence Chamber until she leaves. 'Tis a sign of respect for the Crown."

"I am no courtier," Keely said in an aching whisper.

"The Countess of Basildon is most assuredly a courtier," Richard said with an encouraging smile, trying to put a brave face on the embarrassing situation.

Keely gazed at him through violet eyes swimming with tears. "I must return to Wales, my lord. Our marriage can be annulled."

" 'Tis impossible once a marriage is consummated, sweetheart," Richard said, sounding more reasonable then he actually felt. No matter what happened, he'd never let her go.

"Then a divorce will do."

Richard tipped her chin up, gazed into her eyes, and felt her pain. In a voice that brooked no argument, he said, "For better or for worse, we are husband and wife until death do us part."

"As every noble in England saw, 'tis apparently for the worse."

"Not so." Drawing her into his embrace, Richard stroked the delicate column of her back in a soothing motion. "The fault lies with me. Am I forgiven?"

" 'Twas
my
ignorance that caused such hilarity," she said, absolving him of any guilt.

" 'Twas
my
ignorance that caused the hilarity, sweetheart. I used a courtier's figure of speech with a lady who'd never before attended the court." Richard gazed into her disarming violet eyes and said, "Return with me now, and we'll dance together. Within the hour, those shallow minds will fix upon a different piece of gossip. Trust me, beauty."

Keely lowered her gaze and whispered, "I—I cannot."

"The longer you hide yourself away, the longer those blockheads will smile behind their hands."

"You misunderstand," Keely said in a small voice. Then, as if confessing a monstrous crime, she blurted out, "I never learned to dance."

" 'Tis a problem easily solved," Richard replied. He stood and gently forced her to rise with him. When she faced him, he smiled and bowed to her in courtly manner.

Taking her cue from him, Keely managed a wobbly smile and curtsied. "Now what do I do?" she asked.

"Keep this part of your arm pressed against your body," Richard instructed, demonstrating as he spoke. "Hold your open palms up toward me. Excellent! Sway your right side toward my right side, and touch your palm to mine." When she'd done as he'd instructed, Richard said, "We'll do the same with our left palms."

" 'Tis simple," Keely said, her easy smile enchanting him.

His wife was entirely too beautiful for Richard to resist. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly, healing the emotional pain she'd endured that evening. When she entwined her arms around his neck and pressed herself provocatively against him, Richard muttered, "The queen be damned."

He lifted her into his arms and placed her across the bed, then lay down beside her. He yanked the bodice of her gown down, freeing her breasts, and suckled upon her dusky nipples.

"Ahem." Another voice sounded within their chamber.

Dazed with desire, Richard turned his head slowly and looked toward the doorway. Willis Smythe stood there, his lust-filled gaze fixed on the sight of Keely's bared breasts with their aroused dusky peaks.

Keely gasped in embarrassment and tried to cover herself. Unfortunately, her husband's body pressing her down prevented movement.

"The queen demands your presence," Willis informed them, his gaze still riveted on Keely's bared breasts.

"Get out," Richard ordered, his voice soft but deadly.

"But Elizabeth—"

"I said, get out!"

Willis Smythe didn't need to be told a third time. He grinned unrepentantly, inclined his head, and left the chamber.

Richard looked at his wife's crimson face and regretted his decision to remain at court until after the Christmas holidays, but it was too late to change his mind. He'd already promised Elizabeth they would stay through Twelfth Night, when the court was scheduled to move to Richmond Palace, her winter's warm box. Leaving early would be insulting at best and suspect at worst.

Richard rose from the bed and adjusted his codpiece while his wife covered her breasts. " 'Twill never happen again," he promised.

Keely nodded. Their lack of privacy was no fault of his.

"I'll make our excuses to the queen," Richard said, giving her a quick kiss. "Lock the door, and do not open it for anyone but me." He left the room but waited outside until he heard the bolt thrown. With anger etched across his face, he marched down the corridor.

Gaining the Presence Chamber, Richard made his way through the crowd. He reached the dais and waited in silence until Elizabeth deigned to acknowledge his arrival, then bowed low in front of her.

"We have noted your rudeness in leaving Our presence without permission," Elizabeth said, irritated.

Richard flicked a glance at the smirking Earl of Leicester, who stood close beside the seated queen. "Majesty, I do beg your generous pardon," Richard apologized. "My wife took ill suddenly."

" 'Tis serious?" Elizabeth asked, playing the courtiers' game, a dissembling pastime consisting of two players— monarch and courtier—and any number of spectators. Everyone in the hall knew that she had witnessed the entire embarrassing fiasco of his wife tickling the carpet.

"I believe 'tis the excitement of being in your august presence," Richard lied with a sincere smile. "I'm positive my wife will feel much better in the morning."

Elizabeth nodded. His polished excuse brought the hint of a smile to her lips. She always enjoyed playing the courtiers' game with her dear Midas, who was an exceedingly worthy opponent.

"May I have leave to return to my chamber and offer my wife whatever comfort is possible?"

"Carry your lovely bride Our heartfelt tidings for her quick recovery, my lord."

"Thank you, Majesty."

Richard bowed deeply and backed away. Turning toward the assembly, he scanned the chamber until his sharp gaze fell on Willis Smythe dancing with Lady Jane. With grim determination stamped across his features, he marched onto the dance floor and pushed his way through the myriad couples who stopped dancing and watched his unprecedented behavior.

Lady Jane saw him first but missed the murderous gleam in his eyes. "Have you come to your senses and dumped the little
taffy?"
she purred.

Richard ignored her. He fixed his gaze on his friend, who inclined his head and waited for whatever was coming.

"We've shared many things, but never make the mistake of counting my wife among them," Richard warned in a deadly voice. "Look at her again, and that hour will be your last on this earth." Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and shoved his way through the titillated audience of courtiers.

"Basildon!"

Richard halted at the hall's entrance and turned in the direction of that voice. He saw the only other man there who was dressed completely in black, Lord Burghley.

"Is there a problem?" Burghley asked.

Richard flicked a glance over his shoulder in the direction of his former friend and then answered, "No longer." Without another word, Richard quit the chamber. He never saw the pleased smile that appeared on his mentor's face.

Chapter
14

Life at the Tudor court was hell.

Keely endured the longest six weeks of her I life. She learned to smile at people she disliked; she learned to find her way through Hampton Court's labyrinth of corridors; and she learned the pavane, the slowest and most stately dance for couples.

The thought of learning the sprightly five-step galliard was enough to give Keely the hives, but she needn't worry about that formidable dance until the following year. Keely carried the earl's child and pleaded her condition on the grounds that the lively galliard could dislodge their baby.

Suffering with morning sickness gave her a good reason to miss the ridiculously long Sunday service in the Chapel Royal. She'd used that particular excuse this very morning.

"How do I look?" Keely asked, turning in a circle for her tiringwomen.

Her high-necked gown had been created in sapphire blue cashmere with a matching shawl and slippers. Around her neck Keely wore the gleaming dragon pendant.

"How lovely you are!" May gushed, clapping her hands together.

"The most beautiful woman at court," June agreed, bobbing her head.

"I owe my appearance to my talented tiringwoman," Keely said, returning their compliments.

"Women," June corrected her.

May reached out and pinched her sister's arm, scolding, "Tiringwomen do not correct their ladies."

"So sorry, Lady Keely," June apologized, rubbing her arm. "Your beauty will shame all those other ladies."

"I doubt that," Keely replied, walking toward the door. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," May and June chorused together.

Keely started down the corridor that led to another corridor, which in turn brought her to the wing of the palace that housed the queen's privy chambers. She carried a large tapestry bag containing her husband's linen handkerchiefs, which she intended to embroider.

This invitation was the first she'd received to visit the queen's privy sitting room for an afternoon of sewing with the other ladies. Keely worried which topics would be suitable for conversation. She'd never enjoyed a close female companion except her mother. About what did these Englishwomen think and talk?

Keely recalled her husband's parting words to her that morning.
"Keep your lips closed and your ears open. Above all else, be discreet."
Apparently, the earl was also worried about what would transpire in the queen's privy chamber.

Reaching the end of the last corridor, Keely faced the entrance to the Long Gallery and hesitated in indecision. Dared she enter or not? The Long Gallery was the only path she knew to the royal apartments. Keely was no coward; nor did she fear the dead. But the torment of the soul trapped within the gallery had literally sickened her the last time she'd entered that chamber.

Summoning her reserves of inner strength, Keely opened the door and stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her.

Keely stood perfectly still, and her sharp gaze scanned the chamber. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. She moved forward several paces, felt a prickly draft teasing the nape of her neck, and stopped short.

Keely looked at the rows of long tapered candles on either side of the gallery. Once again their flames burned steadily.

Still, Keely refused to retreat. Steeling herself against the unseen, she walked deeper into the gallery. An oppressive heaviness settled upon her, and bleak hopelessness weighed her spirit down. Suddenly, an unfamiliar name surfaced into her consciousness: Cat Howard.

Keely halted. Something unspeakably evil had happened in this chamber to a woman named Cat Howard.

Losing her nerve, Keely whirled around and dashed out of the Long Gallery. Alone in the corridor, she tried to compose herself. When reality finally seeped into her senses, Keely worried her bottom lip with her teeth and considered a logical way out of this untenable predicament. She was unable to pass through the Long Gallery, but only a complete fool would refuse the queen's invitation. One did not snub Elizabeth and live to tell the story.