The King's Courtesan (8 page)

In the dining room opening off the salon, a long table stood ready, draped in white linen, piled high with platters of chicken, mutton, lobster and tarts from which people could serve themselves. A silver dinner service with the initials
H.M.
shone splendid in the candlelight, and there was a large silver bowl fil ed with rosewater for guests to dip napkins and wash their hands.

They had invited about fifty guests in al . The king’s brother James and his son—the Duke of Monmouth—had already arrived. Buckingham was busy at cards in the corner with Elizabeth de Veres, Lord Rivers’s pretty wife. Hope regarded her curiously. She liked the poet. He’d been kind to her, despite her lowly background, treating her as wel as any court lady, though it was clear he found her faithfulness to Charles amusing. How curious now to find him in love with his own wife. Charles admired her, too.
What is it such
men crave from these virtuous seductresses? Virtue is
something no man will look for in me.

Al that was missing was Charles. A cheer made her look to the entrance. A tal and ruddy dark-haired man, wearing an ostrich-plumed hat tilted at a rakish angle and a gold-braided crimson coat, came sweeping through the door, dwarfing most of those around him both in presence and in size. Charles at last! Her face broke into a happy grin and her heart raced a few beats faster. No doubt he had the same effect on every woman in the room.
But tonight he is
mine.

Her gaze sharpened and she looked with interest at the man who walked beside him. She’d never seen him at court before or she would have remembered. Lean-waisted, broad-shouldered, with a powerful frame, he topped Charles by a good two inches. He seemed solid in a way one seldom saw among men living the soft life at court. He moved like a swordsman: lithe, graceful, yet there was something almost wolfish about him. It was easy to imagine him strapped in armor atop a war horse like some vengeful knight of old. He was familiar somehow, as if he might have walked into her home straight from one of her dreams.

She watched him, mesmerized, as she wove though her guests to greet Charles. He wore a rich black suit with a white-plumed slouched hat. A matching officer’s sash served as a sword belt, and through slashed sleeves she could see crisp white linen showing at the wrist and neck. In a room of gaily bedecked courtiers he looked elegant and dangerous. It suited him wel . Her heart sped up and a guilty flush warmed her cheeks as she imagined him naked.

He turned to speak to Charles and she got a good look at his features, and for one brief moment her heart stood stil .

He had a harsh beauty set off by a faded scar that creased his cheek. His hair was swept back off his face in a neat queue tied with a length of black ribbon. It gleamed in the candlelight, burnished gold with streaks of dark and light.

Flickering shadows from hundreds of tapers accentuated chiseled features: strong cheekbones, a firm jaw and a ful , almost sinful-looking mouth.
I wonder what color his eyes
are?

She had almost reached Charles and she rushed the last few steps to greet him. He caught her and hugged her and bussed her cheek. “You’ve done us proud indeed this evening, Miss Mathews. And you are as pretty as the first day of summer.” She beamed with delight, his words making al her hard work worthwhile. He released her and removed his hat, then gave her an elegant bow. “As you can see, I’ve invited a friend. I pray you have room for one more. My dear, may I present to you a dashing fel ow, both brave and bold, Captain Robert Nichols.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and for some reason, the overly familiar public gesture made her feel slightly embarrassed. She fought the urge to shrug him off.

The captain stepped forward. His face looked grim, as if he were in the presence of something distasteful. She flushed, surprised at her awkward reaction. What did she care what a disapproving stranger thought? Her life was ful of them.

Let him think what he pleased.

Unaccustomed modesty overcome, she greeted her new guest with a playful smile. “Welcome, Captain Nichols. It’s an honor to have you join us for an evening of celebration.

Please treat our home as if it were your own.” She held out her hand, forcing him to kiss it.

He tucked the hat he was holding under his arm and took her dainty hand in his large one. Her heart beat violently in her chest. And then he bent to kiss it. His fingers were cool beneath her own and his breath warmed her skin as his lips brushed her knuckles. Two of his fingers lingered a moment, pressing the soft underside of her wrist. She shivered and pul ed her hand away, fil ed with dangerous new sensations. He rose to his ful height. A stray lock of hair had escaped its bounds, softening his features.

“It’s very kind of you, madam, to welcome a stranger so warmly.”

His rich voice was deep and mel ow. She raised her eyes to his. He was regarding her intently. Riveted, she returned his searching gaze. There was something sad about him,
and
something frightening. Despite a reassuring air of competence and strength, he struck her as a troubled soul.

His eyes were green. A haunting shade of olive-green with flecks of black and silver that captured and mesmerized.

She imagined loneliness and sorrow and great pain hidden in their depths. She blinked and looked away. He was a very handsome man.

“Hope, my dear. We have duties to attend. It’s time you escort me through the salon to greet our other guests. Then everyone can relax and enjoy the evening.” Released from whatever spel had bound her, she stepped back to the relative safety of Charles’s arms, for one wistful moment wishing she might be the virtuous seductress. The kind with whom men fel and stayed in love.

“Can you muddle about on your own for a space, Captain?”

“I expect I can manage it, Your Majesty.” ROBERT WATCHED WITH cold admiration as his new friend the king took the arm of his beautiful courtesan. She wore a distinctive gown, with deep purple skirt and sleeves, white, flower-embroidered petticoats and black stomacher.

It captured the eye and drew attention to her trim waist and the sway of her hips as she walked. Surprisingly, given who her lover was, the only ornaments she wore were a floral crown of wil ow, violets and ivy, with one errant green sprig trailing down her cheek, and a few stray flowers woven into her hair.

Hope Mathews. He’d heard of her. The orange girl who’d leapt from the stage and stormed the palace to become His Majesty’s “country miss.” She was finer than he had expected. Neither coarse nor vulgar, quite charming in fact, and a breathtaking natural beauty. With soft creamy skin, a ful pouting mouth and a luxurious mass of rippling waist-length black hair, she had no need of enhancement, but it was those eyes that had stopped him dead in his tracks and held him captive. Arresting eyes ful of secrets, glowing violet then blue, beneath ful sweeping lashes.

He marveled at his own unaccustomed whimsy, but he’d always been fascinated by violet eyes, and true ones were exceedingly rare. He reminded himself that despite those delicate wrists and wounded eyes, she was no pure and innocent waif. She was a royal concubine, possibly more striking than her court-bred rival, and definitely fit for a king.

Creatures such as she exuded a powerful sexual al ure.

They were meant to be enticing. Yet she looked like a wild thing sprung from the forest, her smile sparkled and enchanted like a warm summer’s night, and she smel ed like spring. He hadn’t expected to be quite so…entranced.

She looked back at him from over her shoulder, as if she had heard his thoughts. A few sprigs of greenery escaped her crown and tangled in her hair. His breath quickened and he felt an unaccustomed twinge of longing. For a moment everything went stil around him, and there was only him and the girl. He tilted his head in a slight bow and she answered with a sunny smile and the merry eyes of a mischievous child. He couldn’t help a slight chuckle.

Whatever she was, the lass had lightened his spirit like nothing had done in a very long while. Definitely not an innocent waif, but perhaps a wayward elf.

ROBERT COMMANDED A QUIET ALCOVE
in a corner of the salon. It was a relief to leave the reception room behind him. He had no idea why any sane person would line a room from floor to ceiling with mirrors. When he first walked in, the whirl of gaudy colors and bewigged heads had left him feeling nauseous and faintly dizzy. He wondered how those who drank too much ever found the door.

The stir around the king had diminished somewhat. The courtiers had made their greetings, the king had accepted them, and now everyone seemed intent on enjoying themselves. Several sat at tables playing hazard and basset, and people streamed in and out of the dining room eating when and what they pleased. The Duke of Buckingham and the charming Mistress Mathews performed a skit in the salon. He thought it somewhat childish, but others seemed to find it uproariously funny. He hid his impatience. He didn’t like surprises and had yet to discern why he was here.

It was a pleasant surprise to see Elizabeth across the room, though. He hadn’t seen her since she’d left London close to a year ago. By the looks of it her husband was back in favor. He was deep in conversation with the king.

She kept smiling and beckoning for him to join them, but Lord Rivers had a grip on her arm as strong as the one he used to keep on his drink. He looked up from his conversation from time to time, and his eyes held a warning and a possessive gleam. It was enjoyable to watch them. A touch on the arm, a whisper in the ear, private looks that spoke volumes; their intimacy was palpable. It warmed him to see it and it made him jealous.
Is it Elizabeth I crave…or
simply to feel something like that?

Yet on this strange night fil ed with laughter and music, old friends and old rivals, beautiful seductresses and whimsical kings, the room glowed with color and al that was in it came dancing to life. It almost felt as if
he
were creaking back to life. He grinned as he watched the king’s lovely courtesan, no longer impatient, for she was the enchantress who’d first cast the spel .

General Monk, the kingmaker who’d engineered Charles Stuart’s return to the throne, stepped forward to greet him.

“Sir Robert Nichols! What a pleasure it is to see you, sir!

You’ve been far too scarce in London as of late.” They exchanged a hearty handshake. “Where
have
you been, Captain? I’ve been trying to find you.”

“I have… I
had
…a smal estate in Nottinghamshire, sir. I’ve left the field of battle for fields of grain, and fighting armies for battling floods and heavy rains.”

“Ah! Indeed, sir. I know it wel . One
thinks
that’s what one wants. Away from the smoke and thunder. At last a little peace. But one grows bored. There’s a longing.

Something’s missing and the days take on a sameness that… Do you know what I mean, Robert?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“As it happens, I may have a cure.”

“Sir?” He felt a keen thril of anticipation. Could this be why the king had brought him here tonight? To take one thing away but give him another?

“You’re a superb warrior, Sir Robert, but more importantly for my purpose, you were always a man one could count on to keep a cool head, think for himself and get the job done.

How do you like the sound of Colonel Nichols?”

“I like it, General! I—”

“General! I see you know our captain.” Charles Stuart came up behind them and embraced them both.

“I do indeed, sire. He’s a fine soldier. One that I—”

“And of course you’ve met Lord Rivers. A dear friend from my exile and a war hero himself. Al ow me to introduce his lovely wife, Lady Elizabeth.”

The general bowed and kissed Elizabeth’s hand.

“Congratulations, madam. Al London has been abuzz about the capture. Only an extraordinary woman could manage such a feat.”

“Thank you, General. You’re very kind. But I assure you it was Wil iam who captured me.” She turned to Robert with a bright smile. “Oh, Robert, it’s so good to see you here! I miss our old visits and I worry about you al alone.” Robert greeted them al with a formal bow, but Elizabeth threw her arms around him and gave him a hug. As he set her back on her feet he took a quick glance at the handsome poet who had stolen her away. Though de Veres had never met him, he’d seen the man in taverns and coffeehouses many times before. There was a brightness to his face. Perhaps Elizabeth had done for her libertine what he had hoped she would do for him.

The man stepped forward and offered his hand and he had no choice but to accept it. “Lizzy has told me many times what a comfort you were to her in the past, Captain Nichols.

I offer you my thanks for watching over her when I couldn’t do so.”

He bit back a scathing reply and managed a polite nod.

This was the man who had put her in danger in the first place.

General Monk put a hand on his shoulder as if reclaiming ownership. “If it pleases you, Your Majesty, Sir Robert is a mighty fine soldier. I’ve a proposition to put to him regarding the Coldstream Guard.”

“Ah, reunions. Aren’t they grand. I had no idea the captain knew so many of my friends. But I’m afraid it wil have to wait, General. In fact I must ask you al to excuse us. As it happens, the captain and I have business to discuss before the dancing begins. Wil you forgive us?” A beaming Elizabeth curtsied while the general and Wil iam responded with a bow. His Majesty put a companionable arm around Robert’s shoulder, led him into a smal dark paneled study and closed and locked the door. He motioned for him to sit and poured them both a drink.

“Wel , Captain. You’re doubtless wondering why you are here.”

“Indeed, Majesty, I am.”

“It is that tyrant Elizabeth de Veres’s doing. I am fond of her, of course, but she’s been very cross with me for taking your lands.”

Robert clenched and unclenched his fists. “She had no business discussing it with you. I had not thought of her connection to you, nor did I seek her aid. I thought, as an old friend, she was discreet.” His voice was stiff.