The Lady Series (50 page)

She closed her eyes as she lost her battle with tears. Twin droplets slid out from beneath her eyelashes to trail down her cheeks. Catching her face in his hands, he used his thumbs to brush them away.

With a shuddering sigh, she leaned her cheek against one of his palms then opened her eyes to look at him. “You are so—”

“Nay,” he interrupted with a harsh laugh. “I won’t have you say it. I am not kind. I’m far too stubborn and prideful to a fault. Some have even dared to name me thick as a brick. All those I accept, but not kind. Never kind.”

A smile trembled to life on her mouth. “Then I shall cherish your good opinion of me all the more,” she whispered.

“In all my life no one has ever preferred me over my mother.”

There was a subtle softening in her expression. That warmth in his heart lifted into a new heat, bringing with it the need to touch his lips to hers. He almost did it. He would have done it but this woman was special above any other he'd ever met. To give way to passion and commit adultery would dishonor what he felt for her.

Releasing her, he took a backward step. “I think it's time we returned to the house,” he said softly.

“I think you are right,” she replied just as softly.

The sadness had departed from her face. In its place was a new emotion. Jamie caught his breath as he recognized it. Although she was promised to Nick, it was Graceton’s steward she loved.

However wrong it might be, his heart responded. Turning, he led the way to the tower door. As he stepped through the opening he met with a wall of chill air. Jamie released a surprised breath. He hadn't realized the air in the stairwell was so much cooler than the night.

“Have a care with the steps,” he warned, speaking over his shoulder to her.

When they were again in the gallery he stopped with her before her apartment door. She dared to step close and lay her hand against his arm. “My thanks. You’ve rescued me once again, Master James,” she said.

Just as it had the first time his name on her lips sent pleasure shooting through him.

“Oh, my pardon,” she said. “I forgot myself again and called you by your Christian name.”

A quiet ironic breath left him at this. “Why should you not when everyone else within these walls does?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding truly bemused at herself “I suppose I wasn’t certain it was appropriate. What sort of name is James?”

“Scots,” he replied. “I’m named for my maternal kinsmen, who hail from that country. But my family has always called me Jamie.” He started in surprise as he offered her more intimacy than he had intended.

“Jamie.” She said it as if she were trying it on her tongue. “It has a foreign sound but I like it.”

Then she grimaced. “Oh Lord. I just realized that once the squire's title is restored everyone here will be calling me by my given name, awful as it is.”

He kept his laugh quiet. “Awful? What’s so awful about Arabella?”

“Nothing,” she said with a quiet snort, “were I a striking beauty. Since I'm not I'd have been far better off with simple Mary or plain Jane. I think I wasn’t but three when I insisted my nurse and Peg address me as Belle.”

Belle. He studied her face then smiled. “You’re right. Belle suits you.”

A brilliant smile dashed across her face. Jamie's need to feel her in his arms stirred anew. He took a single backward step. As if his movement were a signal, she reached for the door's latch.

“Good night then,” she said, her reluctance to part from him in every syllable.

“Good night, my lady,” he said.

They stayed where they stood. A current of heat flowed between them, slowly growing in intensity. She drew a deep breath, her breasts lifting beneath the silk of her robe. Jamie's pulse quickened. Lord, but if there was so much pleasure to be had in just standing near her, what would he find in her bed? It was definitely time to leave.

Raising a hand, he once more brushed her cheek. “Go,” he breathed, “please.”

The moon had sailed far enough across its nightly sea to send its light streaming through the oriel behind him.

In the silvery glow he saw the hesitation in her face. “It’s wrong. I know it is,” she whispered.

“What is?” he asked.

“This conversation. But that's all we'll ever have to share between us.” It was an acknowledgment of her love for him and his for her.

“Aye,” he agreed.

Although he’d already accepted this particular truth, to hear it spoken woke a desperate ache in him. Why shouldn’t he have her, his heart complained. Nick didn't want her. Jamie countered its protest with the reminder that, in sharing this evening with him, Belle trusted him never to use her admission of affection to his advantage. Her respect was more important than his need.

The worried pleat between her brows eased as if she’d come to some decision. “If words are all we have then I cannot bear to be without the sound of your voice. Good night, Master James. I will see you on the morrow at the dinner table.” With that, she ducked inside and shut the door.

Joy shot through him. She wasn’t going to deny him her presence. Turning, he started down the gallery. He was utterly and completely in love with Nick's wife.

Dressed in his courtly best, Jamie stood in the center of his bedchamber. The weather had turned even earlier this year than it had the last. Outside his window the wind lifted into a raging howl, spattering a few of heaven's tears against the panes. How well it reflected what lay in his heart.

His gaze slipped to his bed. With only hours until the speaking of the vows, Mistress Miller's maids were stripping the bed curtains to give them a good thrashing. So too, were the linens being changed. In the room's far corner lay a pile of flower garlands, thick with asters and marigolds.

All this preparation so Nick could lie with the woman Jamie loved.

Until this very moment the thought of the bedding hadn’t seemed real. Now Jamie's stomach took a sick twist. Belle was his. He didn’t want anyone, even Nick, to touch her.

Suddenly, Jamie understood how Cecily could so completely ignore the wedding preparations. Nick had finally confessed to his paramour that the wedding was unavoidable, and still Cecily continued to act as if nothing were amiss. Why, this morn she'd been cool and calm as she left Graceton while Jamie devoured his heart. Why couldn’t he be as clever at overlooking what he didn’t wish to see?

“Master James?” Tom came to a halt beside him.

Jamie tore his gaze from the maid plumping pillows to look at his servant. The promise of a problem filled Tom's face. Good. He needed as many distractions as he could manufacture, anything that might keep him from thinking about what would happen this evening.

The servant held out a letter. Jamie snatched it. It bore Percy's seal. His heart fell. Although news from court was certain to divert, it wouldn’t last long enough. There was nothing he could do about the actions of the high and mighty.

“It came a few moments ago by royal messenger,” Tom said. “Sir Edward also received a packet. Peter says it had the queen's seal on it.”

Worry didn’t even flicker in Jamie. That packet could only contain Elizabeth's token. Of course the queen would deliver her gift to her proxy, who would make a more formal presentation at the celebration.

“Is there anything else?” he asked hopefully. “Have you heard how it goes in the kitchen?”

A month hadn’t given the household enough time to prepare. As of last night all the cook had finished were the hundreds of small sweet cakes needed for distribution after the ceremony. Jamie knew the kitchen staff had worked throughout the night preparing the two gigantic meals that would be served this day. The first was simple enough, being the roast beef and mutton intended for the villagers; the second, the one for Graceton's folk, consisted of far more complex dishes.

And after the meal was finished Nick would sleep with Jamie's woman.

Jamie nearly gagged. If tearing his heart out of his chest would make this stop, he'd do it.

“I don’t know,” Tom replied, perplexed to be asked about the kitchen.

Jamie rubbed a hand over his throbbing brow. As if it weren’t bad enough he was driving himself mad, now he meant to take his servant with him. “Pardon Tom. I’m only nervous.”

Sympathy warmed his servant’s gaze. “That’d be natural, wouldn’t it?” he offered in an attempt at comfort. “Not only do you plan all but you must also play the part of the bridegroom.”

Fresh agony shot through Jamie. He sent Tom a weak smile. “Aren’t you glad I'm not the groom? Think how much worse I’d be if I were.”

Amusement lit Tom’s face. “It was you who said it, Master James, not I,” he said as a maid, her arms filled with linens, collided with him.

As he staggered back, she called, “Pardon,” and rushed out the door.

“Go see what's what in the kitchen, Tom. I'll be in the squire's chamber.” He was hoping for a catastrophe, God help him, anything that would put this event off another day.

Jamie opened the hidden panel and stepped into his employer's chamber. Yet dressed in his bed robe and nightshirt, Graceton's squire was pacing before his windows. With his head bowed and a bony finger pressed to his scarred lips, his steps were brisk, even frantic. He gave no sign he knew his steward had entered.

Jamie closed the door. A blessed quiet, free of all bustle and chatter, claimed the chamber. Nick halted, his eyes closed.

“What do you want?” he whispered harshly.

“We’ve another note from Percy,” Jamie replied, frowning at such strange behavior only to decide it wasn’t any stranger than his own. What a pair they made. Jamie would act the part of the bridegroom wishing he weren’t acting while Nick was the bridegroom and simply wished he weren’t.

“What does it say?” Graceton's master still didn’t look up.

Jamie opened Percy’s note and scanned his uncle’s spidery scrawl then his heart simply stopped beating. “Christ Almighty!”

Nick's head snapped up. “What is it?” he asked, leaving his windows to stand next to Jamie.

“Percy says that Norfolk has left court without Elizabeth’s permission. This has terrified Her Majesty, who fears he intends to raise the country against her. She's removed the Scots queen from the earl of Shrewsbury’s custody, closed the ports and has alerted the militia. Worse, fearing she'll soon face her mother's fate, she's rushed for the safety of Windsor Castle's thick walls.”

Eyes wide, Nick's brows rose to the limit of their mobility. “Who can blame her for her fear?” he said. “We all know Norfolk has more armament and can bring more men onto the field in the next month than she's been able to raise all summer.” Hope sparked in his gaze. “Tell me what this means to our knightly guest,” he demanded. “If all Englishmen must choose between Norfolk and Elizabeth, which way does he run?”

“Run?” Jamie said with a harsh laugh. “This leaves Sir Edward nowhere to go. Indeed, he’s now but a grain between two millstones. I'll wager he throws his lot in with Elizabeth. Sir Edward's face is pretty enough to make him think he might win her forgiveness even if she never forgets.”

The hope in Nick's gaze died. “Which means we'll find no quarter in his direction.”

There was a tap at the panel then Tom stepped within, holding yet another fold of paper in his hand. “Pardon, Lord Nicholas. Master James. It seems there was a letter for his lordship in the packet Sir Edward received.”

Once he’d handed the paper to Jamie, he backed out of the chamber and closed the panel behind him. Jamie showed Nick the letter. It was sealed with the royal signet.

“Wondrous,” Nick sneered. “Felicitations over this happy event from the woman who forces me into it. Read it to me so I can say I heard it,” he commanded almost harshly, “then go write her back, offering our joyous thanks for all the bliss her meddling brought into our lives.”

The fog of Jamie's jealousy lifted, at least a little. He bit back a smile. The queen deserved her thanks without any of the sarcasm Nick aimed at her. Jamie was grateful for her meddling. Although he and Belle dared share no touch, being in her company this past month had made him the happiest he’d ever been.

“So what does it say?” Nick asked.

Rather than a personal note written by Elizabeth’s own hand, Cecil had scribed it for her. Elizabeth had at least signed it, conveying her magnificence by filling the entire bottom of the sheet with her name. Jamie skipped the effusive and flowery greeting to reach the letter's body then flinched.

“What?” Nick asked, his voice deepening in new worry.

Jamie cleared his throat. “She says:

The queen’s words drove Nick across the room. He collided with his bed then dropped to sit upon the mattress. “Mary Mother of God have mercy on my soul,” he prayed quietly, then looked up at his steward. “She makes it sound as if it would be treason for me to refuse to bed Lady Purfoy.”

Jamie nodded. That was exactly what it sounded like to him.

The fear and worry in Nick's gaze deepened. “Where did I err, Jamie?” he pleaded. “All I wanted was a marriage for Kit. I promised her to abdicate my title in my brother’s favor, giving her another Protestant lord. Why should she strike out at me so?

Jamie shook his head. “That you would refuse your rightful title and leave this earth with no heir to follow you truly affronts our queen’s sense of order. But you mistake her if you think she’s striking out. She but demands proof of your loyalty. If you bed the Protestant wife she saw fit to give you, she'll construe it as a sign you don’t mean to rise with Norfolk and the other Catholic barons. Refuse, and it follows you're a rebel. Given the circumstances you can hardly blame her for pulling in every favor and debt she's owed.”

Nick stared at Jamie. The color drained from his face. “This message, it came through Sir Edward.” It was a flat statement.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, a little puzzled.

“Then Elizabeth told him to demand the consummation,” he muttered.

A breath of confusion left Jamie. “But of course she has. Nick, this should come as no surprise to you. I told you from the first the queen would like nothing better than for you to sire a child to carry forward your bloodline.”

Nick stared up at him, his gaze tormented, his shoulders hunched. “Help me, Jamie. I’m trapped and I can’t think of any way out.”

Understanding dawned. Despite all he’d been told and all he’d seen, Nick yet clung to the belief he could escape taking a wife he didn’t want. The irony of it deepened until Jamie wanted to laugh.

What a pair they were. Together and each to their own purpose they’d blinded themselves, seeing only what they wished to see. Now, what they’d tried to avoid rose up to box their ears.

Before Jamie could speak, there was another tap on the panel and Tom threw open the door. This time, there was a frantic look on his face.

“Pardon again,” he called, “but there’s a row in the hall. The village musicians want to take refuge from the wind and Mistress Miller won’t let them in.”

Jamie's heart leapt. Now, here was a problem he could handle. He managed a rueful look and a shrug toward Nick, then whirled and strode from the room.