Wild Jasmine (70 page)

Barely interested blue eyes swept over Jasmine and dismissed her as unimportant. “Aye, my dear lord,” came the expected reply.

“Ye hae nae met our Robbie before, hae ye, Lady Lindley?” the king said, sending the young man another loving look.

“Nay, my lord, I have not,” Jasmine replied, feeling as if she were intruding upon a lovers’ rendezvous, and not standing in the middle of a crowded receiving room.

“Robbie luv, Lady Lindley is a most wealthy widow. She will need a new husband ere long, will ye nae, my lady?” The king smiled.

“Eventually, my lord, I hope to remarry,” Jasmine said in cool, measured tones, “but for now I still mourn my beloved Rowan.” Reaching into her bosom, she withdrew a scrap of linen edged in delicate lace and wiped away a tear. “This is my first venture into the world since his untimely death. Do you like children, Viscount?” she queried Robert Carr, whom the king had made Viscount Rochester earlier in the year. “I have three little ones at home, and although my dear grandmama says they are badly spoiled, I adore them. When I finally remarry, I shall want more children.”

The king, who was sentimental over his own offspring, smiled at her. “Aye, bairns are a true blessing, Lady Lindley, but ye canna spare the rod if ye dinna wish them to grow up unruly. Is that nae right, Robbie? The bairns must be whipped well to instill respect and Christian behavior into their wee souls. ’Tis a parent’s duty.”

“Oh, aye, my lord,” Robert Carr agreed, looking as if children were the furthest thing from his mind right now. Indeed, his glance kept straying in the direction of the beautiful and voluptuous Lady Essex.

“Ohh,” Jasmine said, “I could never allow my darlings to be whipped. It is too cruel, sire.”

“Mothers are generally as soft as custard,” the king said, in a tone implying that women, bless them, were weak. “Well, I am yet glad to see yer return. Now go and pay yer respects to the queen, madame.”

Jasmine curtsied to James Stuart once again and backed from his presence.

A hand was placed firmly beneath her elbow, and a voice said in her ear, “A most masterful performance, Lady Lindley.”

Jasmine whirled about to see who would dare be so bold, and with a tiny gasp, curtsied in mid-stride. “Your Highness!”

Prince Henry grinned at her mischievously. He was a very handsome young man who favored his mother and his grandfather, the unfortunate Lord Darnley. Blue-eyed, with red-blond hair and an inordinate amount of charm, he was beloved by all who knew him, and was considered England’s great hope. “Did you see the look on Rochester’s face when you said you had three children, madame, and desired more? He must have been absolutely terrified that my father was going to propose a match between you.” The prince chuckled. “Did I not fear the formidable reputation of your grandmama more than I dislike Robert Carr, I should have encouraged my father to the deed. His Robbie is secretly courting Lord Essex’s wife.”

Jasmine laughed. “You would do better to fear me, my lord, rather than my grandmama,” she teased the prince, “should you encourage your father to match me with
anyone
! I will choose my own husband.”

“Do you have anyone particular in mind, madame?” he queried her, fascinated.

“I am really not of a mind to marry at all, if you would know the truth,” Jasmine replied. “I think, perhaps, that I am a jinx to any man who loves me and makes me his wife. Both of my husbands have been murdered. I am intelligent enough to manage my own life, and I already have children to comfort me in my old age.”

“But what of someone to comfort you now?” he said softly, dropping a quick kiss on her bare shoulder. “Did you know that you have the most incredible blue eyes, madame?”

“So I have been told, sir,” Jasmine said dryly. “I am four years your senior, and you, my lord, are very bold.”

“So I have been told, madame,” he mocked her, his eyes twinkling.

Jasmine laughed helplessly before his charm. “I really must go and pay my respects to your mama,” she said. “My family has already done so, and they will wonder why I have been such a laggard, sir.”

“Allow me to escort you, madame,” the prince said politely.

He led her across the room, not just a few heads turning to see who the prince was with, for most at court did not remember Jasmine’s previously brief visit. The word was quickly
passed.
’Tis the dowager Marchioness of Westleigh. A most wealthy woman. She has the king’s favor
.

Jasmine curtsied to the queen.

“Ahh,” said Anne of Denmark, “I am happy to see you, my dear, but so sad at your loss. Still, you will be a definite asset to the court. Can you learn lines easily? We have the most divine masques, and a lady of your beauty cannot help but want to be a part of our revels.”

The queen’s reputation for frivolity was more than well-deserved. Still, she had done her duty to the crown, producing nine children, though only three, Prince Henry, Prince Charles, and Princess Elizabeth, had lived to maturity. The king loved his Annie, and as long as she did not involve him in what he referred to as her “silliness,” he was happy to allow her whatever she wanted. Aiding her in her many lighthearted endeavors was Master Inigo Jones, who planned her masques and designed both the jewelry and the costumes.

“I am just now coming out of mourning,” Jasmine told the queen, attempting to escape her royal clutches.

“You would make a magnificent Autumn, would she not, Master Jones? We are to do a masque next week celebrating the harvest, Lady Lindley. You must be our Autumn!” the queen insisted.

“I am going to portray the Lord of the Harvest,” Prince Henry said, wickedly encouraging his mother onward.

“Yes! Yes!” the queen replied, beaming at her eldest and most favorite offspring. “Henry does not often indulge me in my little entertainments, but he did promise me this time, did you not, my love?”

“Indeed, madame, I did,” the prince answered, kissing his doting parent’s plump white hand. “And if Lady Lindley will take the part of Autumn, I believe your masque will be a great success, Mama.”

“Then it is settled!” the queen said, smiling brightly at Jasmine.

The dowager Marchioness of Westleigh curtsied again to the queen, and escorted still by the prince, eased from her presence.

“Traitor!” she hissed at the prince once they were away from the queen’s hearing. “You did nothing to help me at all. Instead you encouraged your mother on in her charming folly.”

“I will help you with your lines,” Henry Stuart said. “Indeed,
we will have to spend a great deal of time together rehearsing.”

“You are impossible!” Jasmine said, unable to refrain from laughing. Henry Stuart was a very delightful young man.

“Now there is a word I have never heard describe my most royal and august self,” the prince told her. “I am considered quite the opposite of my dear parents, you know. Mama is a delightful silly creature who would harm no one, and my kingly father, though wiser than most would believe him, is unorganized and overly sentimental. I, on the other hand, am considered orderly in my mind and habits, sensible to a fault, and possessing a great wit; not to mention, madame, a strong healthy body, and a disgracefully handsome face.”

“And Your Highness is modest to a fault as well,” Jasmine said wryly.

Henry Stuart burst out laughing, and those around them turned to stare, wondering at the prince’s amusement, and also at the beautiful woman he was escorting. “Ahh,” the prince said with a knowing smile, “now they will all begin to talk. Are you prepared to be gossiped about, my dear Marchioness of Westleigh, for you will be gossiped about, you realize.”

“I am the
dowager
Marchioness of Westleigh,” Jasmine corrected him, “and why will I be gossiped about? Why, none of these people know me. Why would they gossip about me?”

The prince led her to a windowed alcove with a cushioned seat, and invited Jasmine to seat herself. Settling himself next to her, he said, “There are many reasons to gossip about you, madame. You are outrageously beautiful, for one thing. You are an unknown factor here at my father’s court, which in itself arouses curiosity. You are in my company, and obviously have the facility to amuse me, which, of course, leads shallower minds to wonder what else you might do for me. You see, I have no mistress at the moment. In fact I have never had a formally recognized mistress.

“People cannot help but wonder what kind of a Stuart I am. Am I like my father, who, although he has loved the ladies in his time, now seems to have a tendre for young men? Or am I like my great-great-grandfather, and my great-grandfather, both of whom had large capacities for loving women?” The prince took her hand in his and, raising it to his lips, kissed first the back of it, then, turning her hand over, kissed her palm and the sensitive skin of her wrist. His blue eyes met hers in an unspoken question.

Jasmine found herself flushing with surprise. She knew immediately what kind of a Stuart Henry was. A passionate Stuart. This young man had caught her with her guard quite down. “I am a king’s daughter, my lord,” she said quietly. She must put him off without offending him. One did not anger a prince, particularly one who would one day be a king of England. “You have taken me by surprise, I fear.”

Henry Stuart laughed, obviously pleased with himself and with her answer. “I have not
yet
taken you, my love, but I shall. When you arrived tonight, I could not believe how beautiful you were. We did not meet when you were last at court, for I was at Richmond, keeping at my studies. My mother, of course, wrote to me about you. She was fascinated by your heritage, your wealth, your beauty, particularly your unusual, magnificent eyes.

“When I returned to court, eager to meet you, I learned that you had returned to your grandmother’s home in the Midlands to be married. I was truly disappointed. Then tonight you came to Whitehall. I recognized you immediately, although we had not met. ’Twas your wonderful turquoise-blue eyes that gave you away. I immediately sought out Lord Salisbury, and he told me that you were now widowed. God bless little Cecil! He knows everything.”

Jasmine was astounded. “I do not know what to say, sir,” she told him. His interest was certainly obvious, his intent quite crystal clear. Jasmine was not certain what she should do.

“Lean forward,” he said to her.

“
What?
” she responded.

“Lean forward, madame. I wish to kiss you,” the prince replied.

“
Sir!
” She feigned outrage. She must put a stop to his boldness as quickly as possible. It was a most difficult situation, which seemed to be growing more difficult with each passing minute.

“Lean forward,” he said a third time. “Surely you do not want to cause a scene, madame, and you will if you refuse me. But one kiss, my love. What is the harm in it? You are widowed, I, a bachelor.”

He was right, Jasmine thought, silently chiding herself for being foolish. There was really no harm in a simple kiss in a practically public place. The prince was not yet betrothed, and she was a widow. It was quite flattering, actually, that he wanted to kiss her. With a little laugh, and a shake of her head
to indicate that she thought him quite naughty, Jasmine leaned forward, closing her turquoise-blue eyes and pursing her lips as she did so.

Henry Stuart grinned to himself, well-pleased. With one hand he cradled her head, his sensuous mouth slowly meeting hers in a series of small kisses that finally became a very deep, passionate one as his lips worked seductively against hers. She stiffened, obviously thought better of it, and relaxed, only to tear her head away from his, gasping with shock as his other hand plunged into her bodice to cup a breast.

“
My lord!
”

He forced her head back to his and said softly against her lips, “Open your mouth for me, my love.” His roaming hand caressed her fervently. “God’s boots, your skin is like silk!”

She felt his tongue pushing against the shield of her teeth; her nipples growing taut with the gentle strokings of his skillful fingers. How had a simple kiss become so damned involved? Jasmine wondered muzzily. His tongue plunged into the hollow of her mouth, finding her tongue, which he brushed against with growing ardor. Desperately she marshaled her strength, and placing her hands against his velvet-clad chest, shoved him away. “Stop, my lord, I beg you!” she managed to whisper. “
Stop it this instant!
”

“You intoxicate me, madame,” he groaned, his head dipping to her cleavage, his lips kissing the bared flesh of her bosom, while his marauding hand continued to fondle her with growing urgency.

The bodice of her gown felt tight. She could hardly breathe. What on earth was she to do? His passion was such that he would have her on her back shortly, futtering her for all the court to see! The thought was overwhelming, and her stomach suddenly roiling, Jasmine said with total candor, “Stop, my lord! I am going to be sick! Would you have me vomit all over your fine, bejeweled doublet?”

Henry Stuart lifted his head from the perfumed softness of her breasts and met her gaze. What he saw brought him sharply back to reality. Jasmine was very pale. Tiny beads of perspiration had broken out upon her smooth, high forehead. “My love!” he cried. “What is it? Dear heaven, I have been a complete fool! I have taken you unawares in my eagerness. Forgive me, Jasmine, but I cannot seem to control my desire to possess you. I see now that I must.” The prince arose and signaled a passing servant. “Wine!” he commanded.

The request was quickly met. Henry Stuart pressed a goblet into Jasmine’s hand even as he gulped down several mouthfuls from his own goblet. The wine seemed to calm her upset stomach, and Jasmine drew a clear, deep breath. “Thank you,” she said, but nothing more. What was she going to do about this situation? She had never imagined that such a thing could happen to her. She was totally confused.
Oh, Rowan!
she thought.
What am I to do?
God, if only her grandmother were here!

Her legs were shaking slightly as she forced herself to her feet, leaving the goblet on the seat behind her. “I must find my family,” she said. “They will wonder where I have gotten to, my lord.”