The Hawk and the Dove (16 page)

“Meet me by the water stairs as soon as Kate will let you.”

She kept him waiting two hours on purpose. He’d been pacing the water stairs angrily for the last hour, and when she finally arrived he didn’t know if he wanted to shake her or embrace her. He looked down into the pale green eyes. “How you madden a man, little wildcat.”

She looked inordinately pleased at his admission.

He never took his eyes from her as the wherryman maneuvered the barge into the current of the river and expertly flew beneath London Bridge and then Blackfriars Bridge. Shane pondered on his fatal attraction to her. Granted she was one of the loveliest, most vivid females he’d ever laid eyes on, in any country he’d ever visited. Her body was slim and exquisitely curved and would give rise to a dead man. But he tried to identify the elusive quintessence that drove him to possess her. He shook his head as it once again eluded him.

They alighted at magnificent Somerset House and walked the short distance to the Strand and the Roman bath. The streets were packed with vendors hawking their wares, from milkmaids to rat catchers. He bought her an armful of golden roses. They were full blown and would not last until the morrow, but now, at the peak of their beauty, their perfume was intoxicating. Sabre buried her face in them and inhaled deeply. Desire flared in him, for she never did anything by half measure. He believed she had lain with no man yet, but he would never describe her as innocent, for she had the age-old allure of Eve and he knew that once he had awakened her, she would take him to the Garden of Eden.

Sabre drew in her breath at the splendor of the huge marble bath. The water shimmered a pale azure, inviting,
tempting, luring. As she watched Shane climb to the gallery, she knew exactly what she would do. She used one of the small cubicles to undress, but instead of wearing the short petticoat as she first intended, she stripped off every stitch. She would swim nude for him.

She shook out her hair so that it cloaked her to the hips, gathered the roses to her breasts, and stepped out to the edge of the pool. She slipped gracefully into the water and let the golden roses glide about the surface of the pale azure water. Slowly, and very gracefully, she kicked out and floated through the water, her beautiful pale copper tresses drifting out behind her. She swam to the far end of the bath, then swam slowly back again. Once more among the roses she turned upon her back and looked up at him.

He leaned upon the gallery rail, entranced by her performance. She was like a mermaid from some mythic tale, and her beauty pierced his heart and soul. She swam for him for over an hour and he could have watched her forever. Finally she smiled up at him and blew him kisses. By God, he had his answer. She had given it to him in her own spectacular way. Only a mistress would gift a man with such an intimate, luxuriant display. Suddenly he knew exactly what attracted him. It was her courage. She would dare anything. She saw his intention to come down to her, and in a flash she was out of the water in an attempt to clothe herself before he swooped down on her. He was so fast, she had donned only her flimsy shift, and the pretty yellow silk gown with silver ribbons lay just out of her reach.

He lifted her high against his heart and shouted with joy. “You were like a mermaid! A fitting mate for a sea god. Your answer is a resounding yes, isn’t it, my love?”

“Of course; was there ever any doubt?” she teased unmercifully. “Dress me,” she whispered against his mouth.

“No!” he refused. “I want you … here … now!” he insisted. His hands on her body showed clearly that he thought he owned her.

She panicked for a moment. Had she inflamed him beyond the point of control? She admitted to herself that she had indeed been wanton in her behavior and could expect no less from a man as virile as Shane Hawkhurst.

His hands had already half lifted the shift from her body, and his lips were doing forbidden things to her. She pulled from him with a transparent excuse. “My hair is too wet … please … don’t.”

He undid the buttons at his neck. “Take my shirt to dry it,” he pressed her.

She suddenly went weak at the knees and had to cling to him momentarily. “Oh, please, don’t bare the dragon to me or else I’m undone.” She was not teasing him now, but had gasped out her true feelings without thinking.

Now he slipped the shift from her shoulders, and as her breasts swelled upward, free of their gauzy restraint, his restraint vanished also. He threw his black cloak onto the beautiful white marble floor and knelt before her. His hot mouth trailed fiery kisses from her navel to the triangle of coppery curls which was the core of all his fantasies.

“Shane … please … not here, not like this….”

“Yes! Here … just like this,” he insisted.

“Shane, I’m cold … please, not in this public building … I want you to make love to me in your bed.”

He groaned. “Of course you do. I’m sorry, darling.” He helped her into her gown, uttering mild oaths under his breath as his fingers dealt with its buttons and fastenings.
When she was fully clothed, he enfolded her in his cloak and held her fast. “When will you come to me, Sabre? Tonight?”

“No,” she said softly.

“When?” he demanded hoarsely.

“I shall come … when I come,” she answered elusively.

He hovered on the brink of violence. She exulted that she could play him like a trout on a line. “You mean when the whim takes you?” She smiled irresistibly. “Precisely!”

She spent the morning carefully putting away the queen’s discarded clothes and jewels as she did every morning after the important robing ceremony. Her own dresses, though pretty in color, were woefully lacking in rich ornamentation, and so few in number as to cause comment.
Well, as of today all that is at an end,
she thought as she aired the sumptuous gowns before putting them away in the wardrobe.

She rushed off to meet Penelope Rich and arrived at Essex House early in time to watch Penelope at her elegant toilette. Sabre’s color was high and her eyes sparkled like emeralds.

“Sabre, you look as if you are in love,” declared Penelope. “Are those stars in your eyes for my brother Robin?”

“No,” answered Sabre honestly. “I told Hawkhurst I’d become his mistress. I want you to take me to your dressmaker, Penelope; you have the most glorious clothes in London. I declare I’m dressed like a beggar maid. I need so many things, I don’t know where to begin. The season is begun and I don’t intend to be seen in the same thing
twice. I have a fantastic idea for my costume for the queen’s birthday masquerade, and oh, I need riding dresses, everything!”

“Will he pay?” asked Penelope.

Sabre looked at her and smiled. “There are many things about Lord Devonport that I don’t yet know, Penelope, but of one thing I’m very certain—he will pay and pay and pay!”

“Oh, dear,” said Penelope, realizing this put an end to her brother’s plans regarding the fortune-telling.

“What is it?” asked Sabre.

“Robin had concocted a plan for me to deliver you to his arms this afternoon. He was to be the fortune-teller.”

They laughed unabashedly at Essex’s plight. “Let’s go to the dressmaker’s instead. If Robin looks into his crystal ball he should be able to divine all,” said Sabre, laughing.

Sabre didn’t know it, but Essex’s day was already spoiled. Hawk confronted him in the courtyard at Greenwich. “The lady is mine,” he said with satisfaction. “I’ll send a groom for your Arabian tomorrow.”

“In a pig’s arse! The lady and I have an assignation this very afternoon. Tomorrow you may have my leavings,” he sneered.

Hawk’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Take that back, m’lord Essex, or be prepared to defend yourself,” he growled.

“I’ll meet you anywhere you suggest,” he answered, his eyes cold and deadly.

“Like hell, we’ll settle this now,” snarled Hawkhurst, throwing off his doublet and drawing his narrow sword.

The clash of steel rang out and the air seemed to hang in stillness, then a crowd gathered in the courtyard. Both
were excellent swordsmen, their styles of offense rather than defense identical. Hawk sprang into the attack, forcing Essex to give ground to avoid his whirling, darting blade. Essex parried and thrust quickly, yet very surely. Sweat beaded their faces and stuck their shirts to their backs. Then, only a moment apart, each man nicked his opponent, blood showing crimson on their white shirts. Just at that moment Elizabeth arrived on the scene, returning from her morning walk.

“God’s death, stop that this instant!” She was enraged. She loathed quarrels and forbade dueling. “I am sick unto death of young men’s tantrums! Devereux, Hawkhurst,” she said, deliberately denying them their titles, “I shall deal with this in private. Get you to the throne room.”

The two men waited stiffly inside the throne room as the queen decided to let them cool their heels. After half an hour their eyes met; then, as the long minutes ticked by, the earl of Essex, more used to the queen’s wrath, said, “We’d do well to concoct a tale that will hold water.”

“Meaning?” demanded Hawk.

“If she suspects our quarrel was over a woman, God help us. Her fury knows no bounds.”

“Then we must say the quarrel was over her,” decided Hawkhurst.

The inner door opened and the queen swept in. She sat upon the throne and the two men had no choice but to kneel before her. Suddenly there was a tap upon the door and a lady of the privy chamber entered and said, “Your Majesty—” The queen instantly took off her shoe and threw it across the room toward the unfortunate woman’s head. “Get out!” she screamed. The two men were
left in no doubt about their sovereign’s mood. She glared at them. “Men of blood live out only half their lives!”

“Your Majesty, I beg you forgive me for drawing my sword near your most precious person,” said Essex.

“I humbly apologize, Your Grace,” murmured Hawkhurst.

“A fig on your apologies! I will have the cause for this insolent brawl.”

The earl of Essex had a facile tongue. “We both picked the same jewel for Your Majesty’s birthday.”

Her eyebrows went up and her look of displeasure almost disappeared. Hawkhurst, damned if he would let Essex best him, said, “A large black pearl on a diamond chain. But I withdraw from the competition and concede victory to m’lord Essex. He may gift you with the pearl.”

She eyed both men, wondering if they had conspired, but knew it was to her advantage to forgive them. “Never quarrel again in my presence or you will find yourselves forbidden court. You may leave.”

Outside the throne room Essex, his good humor restored, said, “Where the hell am I to get a black pearl on a diamond chain?”

“It just so happens I have one for sale,” said Hawk, laughing.

“I thought you might have, you bastard,” Essex replied, enjoying the jest.

Lord Devonport faithfully attended the dancing each night in the council with its adjacent music gallery. This did not interfere with his other nocturnal activities. He planned them for well past midnight after the queen and her court retired to their beds. Of late, he suspected that he was being followed. By so-called friend or foe he knew
not, but he determined that next time he would find out. He needed no more rumors that the Black Shadow had been seen again.

On the second night of dancing he thought he’d been patient long enough with Sabre. She let him find a secluded alcove for them, where she allowed him all the kisses he hungered for. He fondled her shamelessly until she was limp with desire and his own nerve endings screamed for the release his body demanded, yet still she eluded him. She gave vague and elusive answers when pressed to come to Thames View.

The third night was a repeat of the second. He was like a man starving and kissed her so passionately that she eventually fainted in his arms.

The fourth night saw an end to his patience. He had had enough dalliance in corners. He led Sabre out in the first dance. He said only one word to her. “Tonight!” It was not a question, it was an order. She tossed her head and went off merrily with a new partner. After a few more dances he led her out again. “Midnight sharp! In the courtyard.”

She knew her time for eluding him was finished. He would not allow her to neglect him further. As their dance ended he said lustfully, “You can be thinking of something unique for us to do in bed.” He retired from the dancing and took himself off to play gleek, never glancing her way again.

A few minutes past midnight Sabre walked through the courtyard in the warm September night. A dark cat slunk across her path and the warm air carried sounds from an occasional vessel still upon the river. Suddenly she saw a dark horse and rider. She was afraid as it headed straight toward her, but as he came alongside and
swept out a strong arm to lift her to the saddle, she saw his face. He took her inside his cloak and she was stunned to feel his warm bare flesh. “You have no doublet or shirt,” she breathed.

“No. I once saw with my own eyes the effect my naked chest had upon you. I needed to see it again.”

Her arms slid up his hard torso and slipped about his neck. “You are mad!” she whispered.

“Aye, and you are the cause of my madness.”

She could hardly contain the excitement she felt. It was a special kind of thrill to steal away from the palace at such a late hour when it was expected that all decent people had retired for the night. The risk and danger involved made her heart race and her pulses quicken. If the queen learned of such behavior they would be punished and banned from court.

He held her against him, then took her mouth in a savagely demanding kiss. He spurred his horse and the three of them sprang forward down the moonlit river road to his own estate. He dismounted and, lifting her from the saddle, carried her into the house and up to the master bedchamber.

He threw off his cloak to reveal the wide expanse of hard, rippling muscle. His dark mane of hair fell wildly to his shoulders, and his white teeth flashed their wolfish gleam against his deeply tanned face. His black breeches fit his muscular thighs as if they were molded to him. Her pale green eyes played seductively with his body until she saw it harden and swell with his need for her. She was wearing her cream wedding gown with the deeply cut-out décolleté. With one teasing finger he traced the high swell of her breast, then dipped his head to place the tribute of a kiss upon each swell. His lips traveled a fiery path up
her throat to her ear, which he touched with the tip of his tongue, then whispered, “Did you think of something novel we could do in bed?”