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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: House of Dreams
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The rain fell heavily.
It fell with a hard, staccato sound, echoing the beating of Isabel's heart. She stood just beneath a row of pillars, out of the downpour, a small garden before her, which she made no attempt to enter. She kept the hood of her cloak pulled up overhead. It disguised her face.
Every single moment that passed was torturous, an entire eternity, it seemed. She knew Rob had received her carefully worded message. There was no one she could trust except Helen, and she had sent her companion on the errand of seeing it safely delivered directly into his own hands. But would he even deign to come?
Her temples throbbed, her body was stiff with an unbearable tension. He was her cousin, she told herself, of course he would come.
A noise behind her made her whirl, but it was only a pair of courtiers passing through the palace. Isabel looked away before they might glimpse her face beneath the hood, but they paid her no mind, engrossed as they were in their own low, private conversation. She had recognized one of them, the queen's chancellor, John Gardiner. Oddly, he made her skin crawl with unease.
“Isabel?”
She whirled again, this time to see Rob standing in the rain, the hood of his crimson cloak thrown carelessly over his head. His blue gaze was brilliant.
Their gazes locked and her heart turned over, telling Isabel all that she needed to know. She had been wed less than a week. Two days ago they had moved into their apartments in the palace. Her husband was searching for nearby lodgings, and just yesterday he had presented her with a magnificent ruby necklace, set in three tiers, for she had so pleased him, he said. But dear God, nothing had changed. Rob moved her as no other man ever could.
He threw off his hood and came swiftly forward, beneath the vaulted row of pillars. “How fare you, Isabel?” he asked, his gaze searching.
Her smile felt tremulous. “Very well,” she lied.
His gaze did not cease in its vigilance. “So marriage agrees with you?”
Another lie came from her lips. “My lord is a very fine man. I am honored that, of all prospects, he chose me.”
“The court talked of the match for weeks before the wedding,” Rob said, unsmiling. “How scandalous it was, de la Barca marrying for love.”
“I am sure it was a scandal,” Isabel said, looking away, hearing the bitterness in her own tone. Her husband had married for love. Rob had not, and now they were both wed to others.
“Isabel.” There was something in his low, hoarse tone that made her meet his regard once more. “I feared you might never speak to me again.”
And the fear was there in his eyes, she realized. “You are my cousin,” she said. “Indeed, your letters reminded me forcefully of that.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “I cannot pour out my heart on a page of vellum,” he said quickly. “Dear God, there are spies everywhere.”
She stared. “You mean, you wrote as you did for fear of a spy reading your words?”
“Of course,” he said urgently.
Her mind was spinning, and joy was cresting in her breast. “Rob, whose spies?”
He laughed then, but abruptly, the sound short and harsh. “Good Christ, every lord of consequence has spies. Your uncle, the prince, Noailles, Gardiner, Paget, perhaps even your husband.”
Isabel paled. “My husband might spy upon me?”
Rob stared. “You belong to him now, Isabel. He is smitten with you. I think he would guard you well. I would—if I were him.”
Isabel trembled. “You would?”
“I have thought of nothing but you since we last met,” he whispered roughly. “And now I torture myself every day and every night, thinking of you in that Spaniard's arms. Do you love him?”
She felt her body sway forward, toward him. “No.”
He took her hands. “Do you still love me?”
Isabel wet her lips, ignoring the voice of caution, which told her to dissemble now, or at least avoid his question. “Yes.”
He closed his eyes, a sound escaping from his chest, and then his blue gaze was on her, filled with urgency, and he was pulling her against the wall, where the shadows were dark and deep. His hands cupped her elbows, large, warm, strong. “I must find some small measure of solace then, from that thought.”
Isabel felt his thighs pressing against her legs, they stood so closely together. “Rob, what would you have written had you been free to speak your heart?”
His gaze moved over her face, feature by feature. “That jealousy
devours me, that I regret all, that I still love you, and that I cannot bear the notion of never having you again.”
Isabel trembled. “I would write those very same words, were I free to do so,” she whispered softly.
His eyes blazed and somehow she was in his arms, somehow his mouth was on hers, firm, demanding—unyielding.
He broke away first, glancing around in all directions. “This is far too dangerous.”
“Have we been seen?” she cried, shivering. She was astounded by her body's urgency and wanting. She needed this man desperately, beyond all reason, all sanity. It might be madness, but it was a madness she embraced.
“No, I do think so. Your hood slips.” He reached for the edge and pulled it back over her face.
Isabel's heart continued to pound heavily in her breast. “What do we do now, Rob?”
He was grim. “Either we must never see one another again, or I must yield to temptation, Isabel.”
She stared, frightened and stunned. “I cannot,” she finally said, “give you up.”
His eyes were hard. “Then meet me. There is an inn. The Wolf and Boar. 'Tis just a few miles from the palace, on the road to London.”
She continued to shake as she realized where this rendezvous would lead. He was asking her to betray her husband and break her wedding vows. Could she do so?
But how could she not?
“I will meet you, Rob,” she said. And it was a decision that changed her life.
 
 
“And where have you been this day, might I ask?”
Isabel winced. The last person she wished to see now, other than her husband, was Helen. “I have been wandering about the palace, exploring the many different rooms and meeting some of the ladies present,” she said, smiling but avoiding Helen's eyes.
Within her breast, her heart was singing. She had just left Rob's bed an hour past, and
nothing
had changed. Her body felt glorious, as did her heart, her soul. And she could not stop herself from recalling his every caress, his wicked tongue, and the strength of his manhood. She could not stop recalling how it felt to lie, sated, in his arms, against his
chest. She would die, she thought, if anything ever happened to him. She knew she could not live without him. Not ever.
“Indeed? And why is the hem of your gown crusted with mud? Why is your cloak soaked through?” Helen asked, hands on her narrow hips. “And why do you seem so pleased, like a kitten in the cream—when these past days you have been of an exceeding ill humor?”
“My gown is stained because I foolishly decided to cross the palace by one of the gardens,” Isabel said brightly. “Helen, I do not overly care for your questions.”
“I only seek to prevent you from reckless behavior,” Helen snapped. “I am worried about you, Isabel. How is your cousin, Admiral de Warrene?”
Isabel stiffened while her heart plummeted. “I would hardly know, as he has yet to respond to my letter,” she said sweetly. “I am wet and dirty and I must change.” She hurried past Helen, into the antechamber of their suite, but Helen was on her heels.
“Your uncle wishes a private word with you, and he says you must go directly to his apartments.”
Isabel faltered as she opened the trunk containing her gowns.
There are spies everywhere.
Did Sussex know of her treachery already? No! It was nigh impossible.
“You are pale. Do you now become ill?” Helen asked, taking a red velvet dress from her hands and shaking it out. “This needs pressing.”
“There is no time, I must meet my uncle,” Isabel said. She gave her back to Helen so she might undo the buttons there. Her fear did not lessen. Every noble of consequence had spies, Rob had said. And did that include her husband?
Isabel suddenly faced Helen, clad only in a chemise. “Helen, would you ever betray me?”
Helen stared, Isabel's soggy dress in her hands. “That is a most odd question.”
“Please, answer it.” Isabel met her gaze.
Helen did not look away. “We have been together since you were eight years old, or have you forgotten that?”
“My uncle placed you with me.”
“Aye, he did. For he was intelligent enough to know that a wayward girl such as you needed a firm hand like mine.”
They stared at one another. Helen spoke first. “Isabel, heed me well. Do not do anything to endanger all that you have so suddenly and
fortuitously gained. Alvarado de la Barca treasures you. How fortunate you are.”
“I would never jeopardize my marriage,” she said, too lightly.
Helen stared, then said, “Good.” And she turned away to retrieve the dry red velvet dress.
It was only when she was on her way to her uncle's chambers that Isabel realized Helen had never answered her question.
 
 
Sussex was alone at his desk, a quill in hand, his expression grim and filled with concentration, when Isabel was shown into the chamber. Her own face, she thought, must be pale white, and she was wringing her hands nervously. The moment he heard her footfall, he set the quill down and looked up. And he smiled.
Relief washed over Isabel.
He does not know,
she thought, her knees suddenly weak.
“My dearest niece,” he said, standing. “We have hardly had the chance to speak since your wedding.” He moved around his desk and kissed her cheek. “But how you glow. I see your husband agrees with you.”
Guilt assailed Isabel. “I am most pleased with my lot in life, my lord,” she said demurely, keeping her eyes on the floor.
His gaze slid to her throat. “I have heard he gifted you with a magnificent ruby necklace, one worth a king's ransom,” Sussex said.
Isabel wore several simple gold chains and a locket that had belonged to her mother. “Yes, he did. 'Twas a most generous gift.”
“You do well, Isabel, to please your husband so.” Sussex met her gaze, then turned and strolled back behind his desk. When he faced her, he was not smiling. Isabel tensed.
“Sit down,” he said quietly. “There is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”
Immediately Isabel obeyed, once again filled with dread. Did he know of her rendezvous with Rob after all? Her uncle was a master at playing with people. Isabel knew she could never outwit him. That she must never even try.
“What we now discuss shall remain forever in confidence between you and I,” Sussex said, his gaze piercing. “Do you comprehend me?”
Isabel wet her lips, nodding. Her palms had grown clammy and wet. She was frightened.
“Good. I have taken care of you for many years, Isabel, and never have I asked aught of you.”
Isabel could only nod. Where did he now lead? Did he know?
“The time has come for you to do your duty to me. Without hesitation, reluctance, or any other hindrance of emotion, except for that of loyalty and devotion.”
Isabel went cold. Those were Rob's words … Was it a coincidence? “What is it that you wish for me to do, my lord?” How stiffly her lips did move.
Sussex leaned toward her, hands on his desk. “'Tis simple, actually.”
Isabel nodded fearfully.
“Your husband advises Philip. I wish you to become informed of all the matters which he and the Spanish king discuss, and you shall pass that information to me, privately, aye, even secretively.”
Isabel stared, stunned.
Rob's words echoed …
There are spies everywhere.
“You wish … you wish for me to
spy
upon my husband?” she managed, shocked.
“I do not wish to put a name upon your duty,“Sussex said coolly.”Nor do I wish for you to think about what you must do. Government is a vast and weighty affair, of which I am a part. Should the queen die, grave issues face the land. I must remain prepared. Thus, learn what they discuss, what they plan, their policies, and convey all to me and only to me. Do you understand?” He was standing, towering over her. And he was not giving her a choice.

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