Marigold Chain (41 page)

‘
We can’t
do this,’ she said as firmly as she was able. ‘You have to let me
go.’

Her chin was
taken in one long-fingered hand and she was forced to meet his
eyes.

‘
Why?’ he
asked, his other arm still holding her fast.

‘
Because
you need to think what you’re doing – and what it means. This …
isn’t clever. And you – you’ve no right.’

‘
Yes I
have,’ responded Alex, with that rare beautiful smile, ‘I’ve had
the right for eight months. But don’t worry. I’m not going to
ravish you. I think – I hope – I don’t need to.’

And then his
mouth was on hers again, shamelessly invoking her senses. Flames
licked along her veins, heat spread to every nerve and sinew and
her bones melted. His hands framed her face, trailed down her neck
and explored the soft skin of her shoulders. With hunger
threatening to over-take him and his arms still holding her hard
against him, Alex raised his head. Looking into half-awakened brown
eyes, he gave a small unsteady laugh as her fingers brushed his
cheek.

‘
Do you
find me distasteful, Marigold? Do you?’ he asked, his lips skimming
her hair, her eyes, her throat. ‘Can you say I don’t attract you?
Just a little? Tell me!’

And driven
beyond her defences, Chloë at last replied with the simple
truth.

‘
No – no.
And you know it.’

His arms
tightened around her and the silver-blue eyes blazed with an
unmistakeable demand which mingled oddly with a sort of desperate
pleading.

‘
I know
it,’ agreed Alex, almost beneath his breath. ‘I just don’t know if
it’s enough.’

And it was
then, with the words of total admission hovering on her tongue that
Chloë realised what their result would be if she uttered them now.
She wanted to hold him close and tell him she loved him … and she
wanted to cry because this wasn’t the way and neither of them could
afford any more mistakes. Anguish rose, choking her voice so that
she could only lay frantic hands against his chest and try to push
him way.

Alex said,
‘Chloë – don’t. It’s all right. Be still. I won’t do anything you
don’t want.’

Past words and
coherent thought, she only knew she had to get away from the
terrible temptation of his arms. She twisted her head round only to
feel his lips against her ear and it was then that she caught sight
of the wine-bottle on the table beside her. Mindlessly, she seized
it and brought it down on her husband’s head.

Alex dropped to
his knees, clutching his skull and dripping claret.

‘
What the
hell …?’ He looked up, his gaze blurred. And then, typically, ‘My
dear girl … you only had to say no.’

Chloë fled –
out of the parlour, up the stairs and into her bedchamber. And for
the first time ever, she locked and bolted her door. If he came in
now, she’d either end up strangled like Desdemona – or naked in bed
with him; and wasn’t sure which would be worse.

~ * * * ~

People said
that the night brought counsel and Chloë, finally slipping from an
uneasy doze into sleep, hoped it was true. When she woke, later
than was usual, she was surprised to find that she felt marginally
better. For five days she had felt as if a stranger was inhabiting
her body; a stranger who walked and talked and had managed to
appear rational – until last night. She shuddered. She’d been tired
and overwrought, of course – but that was neither an excuse nor a
comfort. Nor did it help her to figure out how on earth she was
going to face him.

But despite all
this, she discovered that she didn’t feel unhopeful. Mr Deveril
had, after all, shown no inclination to exchange her for Lady Sarah
– quite the reverse, in fact. Chloë wondered why that was … and
exactly how much of what he’d said last night was actually true.
Then she decided that what really mattered was that, although Alex
might not love her, he did apparently want her; and even if that
was only because he’d been living like a monk for eight months, it
didn’t alter the fact that it was her and not some other he’d tried
to seduce. Chloë’s mouth twisted wryly. She didn’t care why he
wanted her – only that he did. For the one thing last night had
taught her was that half a loaf was definitely better than no bread
at all.

So there was
hope then, of a sort and all she had to do was decide how it could
amount to anything. The thing which had held her back last night
and which would continue to do so was her fear of trapping him; of
removing his only escape route from a marriage for which she had
always considered herself responsible. And therein lay the key.

Her brain
reeled at the sheer, breath-taking simplicity of it. She wanted to
lie with him and he seemed to want that too – but her conscience
was standing in the way of it. So what they needed – what they had
always needed – was the thrice-blasted annulment. All she had to
do, it seemed, was go and ask the King.

Chloë laughed
at the irony of it, then embarked on the most careful toilette of
her life whilst considering the possibilities. It was a gamble, of
course – but for high stakes. Hold on to her marriage and it was
stalemate; jettison it, and they could begin afresh.

‘
God
gives and God takes away,’ she told her reflection firmly.
‘Everything has to be paid for.’ Her reflection looked back, neat
as wax and elegant in tawny silk. Chloë hoped it would
do.

At the foot of
the stairs she encountered Mr Lewis. His shrewd black eyes held a
knowing gleam she could have done without so she said cautiously,
‘Have you seen Mr Deveril yet?’

‘
Aye.’

‘
Did he …
do you know if he got any sleep last night?’

‘
Damn,’
said Matthew, cheerfully. ‘I clean forgot to go and tuck him
in.’

She sighed.
‘You know what I meant. Just tell me how he is.’

‘
He’s
well enough – saving a lump on his head and his good shirt covered
in claret.’

‘
Oh.’
Chloë crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘Did he say how it
happened?’

‘
You mean
you don’t know?’ Matt grinned and, when she flushed but said
nothing, added, ‘Don’t worry. He wasn’t very talkative this
morning. And then he went fishing.’

‘
He
what?’

‘
Went
fishing,’ repeated Matt. ‘Or that’s what he said. If you ask me,
he’s gone off on his own to think. And about time, too.’

A significant
glance accompanied this remark and Chloë flushed slightly. Then, in
order to avoid deep water altogether, she said, ‘I’m going to call
on Mr Fenton and Mr Bennett on my way to Whitehall. It’s time I
finalised the sale of the cloth so that I can pay Captain Pierce.
It will be too late to arrange to move it all today and tomorrow is
Sunday – so do you think we can be ready by Monday morning?’

‘
We’ve
been ready for a week,’ replied Matt. Then, ‘I didn’t think you
were due at Court today.’

‘
I’m not
– this is something else.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Mr Deveril’s not
the only one who’s been doing some thinking.’

*

It was the
first day of September and, though a fresh easterly breeze blew
through the City, it was still very hot. Chloë’s errands to
Cheapside and Paternoster Row were quickly discharged and she
continued serenely on her way through the sunshine to Whitehall
only to discover that the King was playing tennis.

Chloë refused
to be deterred. She informed His Majesty’s equerry that she would
wait in the Stone Gallery and asked him to beg the King to grant
her a very brief but private audience at any time to suit his
convenience. Then she retired and, with complete calm, proceeded to
pass the time in idle conversation with various acquaintances.

It was almost
six o’clock before she finally received a summons to the King’s
closet where she found him engaged in winding his collection of
clocks. Charles greeted her with his usual charm, apologised for
keeping her waiting so long and begged her to be seated.

‘
And
while you tell me why you wanted to see me,’ he smiled, ‘I hope you
won’t mind if I finish setting my time-pieces. Like your delightful
but capricious sex, they require a good deal of
attention.’

Chloë perched
on the edge of a chair, wondered how he could bear the busy,
incessant ticking and tactfully remarked that the clocks were very
beautiful.

‘
I think
so,’ replied the King. ‘But you didn’t wait all day to discuss
chronometry, did you?’

‘
No, Your
Majesty. I came to ask you to dissolve my marriage. I once told you
that there was no hurry but that’s no longer true. I need to be set
free – today, if it’s possible.’

Charles set
down a small, silver clock and eyed her with lazy interest.

‘
I see.
At the risk of appearing vulgarly intrusive, may I ask
why?’

She had
anticipated the question and decided that only the truth would
serve. She smiled a little, reflecting that the nicest things about
Charles Stuart were his lack of formality and his total
unshockability, and said, ‘I think Your Majesty has long suspected
that I’ve never been … indifferent … to Mr Deveril, which is one of
the reasons you delayed the annulment. And I’m glad of that because
it seems that his feelings for me have changed – though I don’t yet
fully understand how. All I’m sure of is that last night he wanted
to make love to me and that, as long as we’re married, I can’t let
him.’

The heavy gaze
dwelt on her with amused fascination.

‘
Are you
saying that you would let him if you
weren’t
married?’

‘
Yes.
That’s it exactly.’ She paused, face and voice suddenly very
serious indeed. ‘You see Alex was drunk when he married me - and
his desire for me now may be as temporary as his intoxication was
then.’

‘
And you
don’t want him to discover that the hard way … yes, I see. But
perhaps,’ suggested Charles, ‘you should take advantage while you
have the chance?’

Chloë smiled
bitterly. ‘I can’t. I can’t let him take that risk. I’d never
forgive myself.’

The King picked
up another clock and wound it thoughtfully.

‘
Alex is
fortunate,’ he said at length. ‘I take it there is no question of
you wishing to … resist his blandishments?’

‘
No. I
don’t think I can. I only managed it last night by knocking him
down.’

He gave a choke
of laughter. ‘Indeed? Then you have managed what a good many men
have wanted to do but never succeeded in.’

She grinned.
‘That’s all very well, sire. But I can hardly make a habit of it,
can I?’

‘
I
suppose not,’ agreed Charles, amused. ‘My dear, I can’t imagine why
Alex isn’t hopelessly in love with you – but if you want your
annulment, you shall have it. Excuse me for a moment while I send
for the necessary documents.’ And he left her alone with the
clocks.

When he came
back, he was holding a sheaf of papers which he laid on a table at
her side, saying, ‘It appears that Alex signed these some time ago.
So all they require now is your signature – and mine.’

Chloë accepted
the quill he offered her and carefully wrote her name in the places
he indicated, then watched while the King scrawled his own name and
appended his seal.

‘
I – I’m
truly grateful,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you how much.’

Charles merely
cast her a quizzical glance and then watched as she fingered the
folded sheets with the only sign of unease that she had shown so
far. Sighing, he said, ‘I have the feeling that you are about to
ask something more of me.’

She looked up
into the dark, clever eyes.

‘
Yes,’
she admitted ruefully. ‘I would be glad if this matter could remain
secret for a few days. I … well, I’d prefer Mr Deveril not to know
about it for a little while yet.’

For a moment he
surveyed her in silence. Then he said, ‘I wonder if you realise
what a dangerous game you’re playing? What, for example, if Alex
beds the lady he believes is his wife but doesn’t feel it necessary
to re-marry her when he learns his mistake?’

Chloë stared
back in astonishment. ‘But I don’t expect him to do so. To be
honest, my worst fear is that he’ll be completely furious with me
for going behind his back.’

‘
Your
worst
fear? What
about your reputation?’

‘
Will be
lost. I shan’t mind. Only I’ll have to resign my post with the
Queen … and I don’t know how to explain it.’

Charles
accepted without a blink the implication that what would do for the
King would not do for the Queen.

‘
I’m
sure,’ he said dryly, ‘that, between us, we’ll think of something.
For now, it would be a kindness if you spent this evening with her
– as it may be the last time. And I wish you luck with Alex. If
he’s lived with you for eight months without learning that you are
utterly unique, I think you’re going to need it.’

*

Mr Deveril did
not return home until early evening. He didn’t bring any fish with
him but, seeing that the strain had largely faded from the blue
eyes, Matt forbore to comment on it. He also forbore to mention
that, though Chloë was at Court, it was not because her duties
commanded it; and Alex, restored to an acceptable level of
composure, did not trouble to ask.

He ate a light
meal, washed down with a single glass of wine and then, removing
himself to the parlour, spent an hour attending to various pieces
of correspondence. There was no urgency now, no torment of doubt or
impatience; only a quiet thread of hope, nurtured all day and not
to be relinquished now. In the end, when you thought with your
intellect instead of your emotions, the truth of the matter became
amazingly simple. Either your wife was a wanton who would respond
to any man as she did to you – or she wasn’t. And since you knew
she wasn’t, that left only one possible alternative. Or so it
seemed.