So Worthy My Love (67 page)

Maxim yielded to an urge which had strongly tested his restraint since his entry into the Queen's chambers. He did not care that he had an audience of men and a most curious youth who was eager to spy upon them. What mattered was his craving to take his wife in his arms and kiss her at length and with a thoroughness that roused their hungering passion. He restricted himself only to the margin of propriety he deemed adequate when he pulled her across his lap and leaned over her, but it was enough to bulge out the eyes of the youth who watched from behind. It was a very long time before Maxim lifted his head, and then only slightly.

Elise's head swam from the heady intoxicant of his kiss and as her world reeled crazily under the starlit night, she sighed beneath his hovering mouth. “Your greetings have fair sundered my trembling heart, but oh, for such sunderings I've desperately yearned.”

His breath was warm in her mouth as he touched light kisses to her parted lips, drinking in the sweet honeyed dew she offered. “I've come alive again,” he breathed. “In your absence I fear I'm stricken deaf and dumb, as one cast with a spell. I thought my heart had stopped.”

“If you could feel mine now, my love, you would know its rushing haste.” Elise caught his hand as it
moved to make the inspection and smiled into his shining eyes. “Later, my love,” she promised in a soft whisper, “when there are not so many to see.”

“They cannot see where my hand goes,” he cajoled with a wayward grin.

“Oh, but they'll hear my sighs.” She smiled and raised a hand to caress his mouth with her fingertips. “I'd not be able to help myself. When you touch me, I become a woman possessed, and my frenzy is not appeased until we come together as one.”

His glowing eyes plumbed the dark translucent depths of midnight blue as he promised in a softly rasped whisper, “I'll wait until that moment we're alone, then I'll tender you a lover's fete the likes of which you've never known.”

“My heart quakes in expectation,” she breathed in warm response.

Shifting his weight, Maxim relaxed back upon the cushions of the seat and snuggled her close upon his chest. With a wicked leer he pulled off her hat and tossed it aside. “Edward can leave Bradbury or stay, whatever you may see fit, madam. I would only claim my old chambers as our own.”

“Edward is dying, Maxim. He's staying here in London at my father's house where he can be close to the physicians who are attending him. I think it's only a matter of time.”

Maxim frowned in bemusement. “But the man was hearty enough when I last saw him. What has happened, my love?”

“I vow the mere act of marrying Cassandra would mean the wasting of any man.” After a
moment Elise realized her simple answer failed to enlighten her husband, and she went on to explain in more detail. “Long ago ‘twas rumored among my father's servants that Cassandra poisoned my mother and then, later, her husband, Bardolf Radborne. As a child I didn't understand and later when I could, I passed the tales off as merely the delusions of a demented ancient. Now I am convinced the rumors were not fabrications. I've also come to think that before she even married Edward, Cassandra intended to poison him and had him sign a marriage settlement giving her the right to inherit everything he owns upon his death. Edward could never read very well and his understanding of the written word was ofttimes lacking. He was always cautious to let Arabella counsel him on the documents he signed, but I doubt she knows about it. ‘Tis hard to believe that Cassandra gained those concessions
from Edward while he was cognizant of what he was doing. He must have been well into his cups. Otherwise, he would have insisted that Arabella look over the document.”

“The Queen's decree of restoration will disarm any attempt of Cassandra's to collect my properties.”

“Cassandra knows the importance of legal documents only too well,” Elise commented dismally. “My father left no guarantees for me, at least none that could be found, and ever since his disappearance, Cassandra has been trying to obtain his estates for herself and her sons, claiming that he is already dead. Should he be found so, I fear she'd have the upper hand. She's always had a good nose for wealth and a knowledge of how to get it.”

“I shall ask that a royal warrant be issued for her arrest.”

“The word is out that she has fled the country. Perhaps I should breathe a sigh of relief that she's gone, but I fear she will return one day and do us hurt.”

“If they try, they'll be called into account for their actions. And if aught happens to me, my love, you should know that I've already given a document to Walsingham, stating you will become my heir, the Marchioness Dowager of Bradbury.”

“I care naught for your possessions,” she avowed emphatically. “All I want is you . . . and our babe.”

“Our babe?” Maxim drew back enough to see her face. “What is this you say?”

Elise met his searching gaze with adoring eyes. “My body does joyfully nourish your seed, my lord. I carry your child”

Maxim pulled her close again and covered them with a light woolen throw to keep away the chill of the night. “I shall endeavor to fulfill your desire, madam, for surely, ‘tis the yearnings of my own heart to live for you and our child. There is yet another head of this Hydra that needs be lopped off, but first I must search it out and restore your father to you.”

A contented silence settled upon them as the barge wended along the river. Night studded the ebon sky with twinkling stars as a thin sliver of lunar brightness tore itself free of the rooftops of the city and climbed into the vast empyrean above. All was indeed right with the world while Elise rested secure in her husband's arms. She could feel the
slowly throbbing beat of his pulse where her brow lay against the side of his throat, and she was lulled into a feeling of bliss she had not experienced since their parting.

Much later, they strolled hand in hand from the river's edge and entered the manor house of her father. Word was quickly passed that the mistress had arrived home with her new husband, the famed Lord Seymour. Every cranny, crevice, and nook seemed filled with curious eyes and eager faces as the couple crossed the hall. Having heard whispered rumors of the mistress's capture, they caught their first glimpse of the Marquess. Young maids were set atwitter by the notion that such a daring and handsome gallant would be housed in the manor, but their smiles drooped in disappointment when the word was given that his lordship would be taking his lady to his country estate when the morning came.

Maxim still struggled with feelings of anger and resentment toward Edward as he slowly mounted the stairs with Elise at his side. He braced himself for the moment of their meeting, but upon entering the sleeping man's chamber and seeing the frail form of what was once his adversary, it came to him that he need not have tried so hard. All the harsh angers faded to be replaced by the pity he had been reluctant to give. Compassion washed over him with a natural ease, releasing him from the bitterness that had bound him up for so many months now. An easy flowing peace untangled the knotted cords of his emotions, allowing him to clearly see how supremely he had been blessed because of the
deceit of his enemy. If not for Edward's accusations, his life would have remained empty of the joy he now knew with Elise.

Astounded by the realization of his good fortune, Maxim laid an arm around Elise's shoulder and lifted her chin. His eyes glowed into hers as he drank deeply of the love he found shining there. “When all is said and done, my love, I must admit Edward did me a great service,” he murmured in easy concession. “I found a treasure far beyond his ken . . . a woman worthy of all my aspirations . . . a fulfillment of my loftiest dreams.”

“Seymour?” The strained whisper came from the bed, and they turned to gaze down at Edward. The invalid tried to raise himself in his much-weakened condition, but the effort proved too much for him. With a sigh of resignation, he collapsed back upon the bed and was much amazed when Maxim lifted him up and braced several pillows behind his back.

“I prayed you'd come . . .” the frail man whispered. Maxim glanced back at Elise, who conveyed her own bewilderment by a small shake of her head. A light frown marked his brow, betraying his own confusion as he posed the question to the invalid. “Why would you pray for my return, Edward?”

“I've . . . a pressin' need ta clear . . . me conscience,” the elder rasped in a weak whisper. “I cast the blame on ye . . . ta hide the evidence of me own doings. ‘Twas meself who was responsible for the agent being killed.”

“Do you ken what you say, Edward?” This deathbed confession was not what Maxim had expected. “How did you kill him?”

“Listen to me!” he gasped. “I did not kill him, but I was responsible for his death. If not for me, he might not've been slain.”

“Explain yourself,” Maxim urged. “I would know what happened that night.”

The dulled eyes raised beneath sagging blue lids, and after a pause, Edward gathered his strength for the ordeal. His voice took on a nasal monotone, almost a whine. “I'd taken ta followin' Ramsey . . . ta see what he was 'bout. I'd head rumors 'bout him hoardin' his wealth, an' I wanted ta see for meself just what he was a-doing, but the thought o' goin' inta ‘ose nasty Stilliards sent shivers up me spine. So's I waited ‘ere on the river an' watched ‘til he come back to his barge . . . usually with a chest.”

A long panic-filled moment passed as Edward tried to take air into his lungs, and he seemed on the verge of expiring. Maxim lifted him up to help him draw a deeper breath and held a glass of water to the colorless lips. Gulping down a draught, Edward nodded his gratitude and sank back weakly to the pillows. With more ease, he continued with his tale. “The Queen's agent noticed me a-waitin' ‘ere several times, an' later when he come ta Bradbury ta speak wit' ye, he recognized me as the one what he'd spied. He faced me off, he did, an' accused me o' bein' in on the conspiracy ta assassinate the Queen. God knows that weren't true, but the bloke wouldn't listen. He grabbed me arm, hard like a tightenin' rope, an' snatched me ‘round.”

Edward's eyes seemed to plead from the caverns of their thinly fleshed sockets, begging them to understand. “I pushed him away an' his heel caught
on a rug, an' he went down like a stone, hittin' his head on the hearth with a good, solid thump. He were bleedin' as much as a cut hen, he were, an' then I heard ye, Seymour, comin' down the hall, an' I slipped out onta the porch.” Edward paused and stared at the quilt where his feet made twin peaks. He would not meet their eyes, but only nodded in distant contemplation. “Aye, ‘twas meself what caused the deed ta happen.”

“The man was alive when I knelt beside him,” Maxim explained. “Why do you say you were responsible?”

“If we hadn't scuffled, or if I hadn't fled when ye heard me on the gallery, he might not've been stabbed later. He seemed a man well able ta care o' himself, an' surely after the deed was done . . . had you been there by his side . . . he'd not have been killed. Aye, I was the one responsible, ‘at I was.”

“If you're seeking absolution for the deed of murder, Edward, ‘tis not your sin to bear,” Maxim assured him. “You told a lie against me to clear yourself, but what you meant for evil has been turned to my good, so all is forgiven. I can only think that a far wiser hand than yours or mine directed the events, and I shall ever be grateful because it has happened.”

“What'll ye do now?” the elder wheezed.

“The Queen has given my title and estates back to me. I shall be returning to Bradbury on the morn.”

“ ‘Twould seem that I won't be livin' long enough ta enjoy it anyway.” Edward heaved a deep sigh, relieved that his conscience had been cleansed
on all accounts, and then he grimaced and clutched his belly with both hands. “Oh, Cassy . . . Cassy!” He rolled from side to side, and his voice grew strained with pain. “Where is me fair Cassandra? Why has she not been at me side these past days?”

“Uncle Edward.” Elise laid a gentle hand upon his am. “Do you not know what she's done to you?”

“Aye, I know it well!” Her uncle writhed in agony as a dappling of sweat broke from his pores. Rubbing his forehead with bony knuckles, he ground the words out through tightly clenched teeth. “She held me head ta her soft bosom when the knives o' hell tore at me belly. She eased me ailment an' even brought a good tonic for me. Aye! The tonic!” He raised a scrawny arm to indicate a small, dark green vial on the nightstand. “Pass me the tonic, girl.”

Elise lifted the tiny decanter to the light and watched the thick, yellowish ichor that swirled inside. She drew the cork and sniffed cautiously, then held it away, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Maxim stepped near and, removing the glass vial from Elise's grasp, put a finger over the opening, tipped it, and inspected the spot on his finger. Ever so lightly he touched his tongue to the drop. His mouth twisted in sharp distaste and, passing the tiny bottle back to his wife, he took a cloth to wipe it across his lips and tongue. He bent and took a close look at Edward's pallid face, noting the bluish tinge around the eyes, and examined his hands and the fingertips that bore the same hue.

“Whether or nay you were a student of Aristotle's works, or Pliny the Elder's, ‘twould have
made no difference, Edward. I doubt if you'd have known what I think this vial contains. The crystals that make this bitter vetch are sometimes found in the iron mines in Germany. I've heard that a few women have drunk a concoction of the stuff to make their skins pale and white, but ‘tis a dangerous bane that can cause death.”

“A pox ‘pon the two o' ye! Me own sweet Cassandra would never . . . Why, she vowed ‘twas the same tonic she plied on her first hus . . .” Edward's words came slowly to a halt as he considered the fate of her first spouse, and his jaw sagged. Even his simple mind caught the strings and wove them together. “But why?”