Grasso, Patricia (3 page)

Eager to put his travels behind, Richard spurred his horse forward and galloped the remaining distance to the great house. He reached the inner courtyard and leaped off his horse, then tossed the reins and a coin to a waiting stableboy.

"Be sure to treat him well," Devereux ordered.

"Aye, my lord," the boy said with a toothy grin.

"I wondered when you'd arrive," a familiar voice said.

Richard turned toward the voice and offered his hand to Baron Willis Smythe, one of his closest friends. "I don't suppose Dudley's saved me a chamber?" he asked.

"Accommodations are cramped," Smythe replied. "Luckily, I've saved you a cot in mine."

The renowned Earl of Basildon and Baron Smythe walked together toward the main building. The myriad females they passed—high-born ladies no less than lowly serving wenches—paused to admire the perfect picture of virility the two friends presented.

Both men enjoyed magnificent physiques—broad shoulders, tapered waists, and well-muscled thighs shown to best advantage in the tight hose they wore. But all similarities between them ended there.

The taller green-eyed earl sported a thick mane of burnished copper hair and moved with a predator's grace. The heavier black-haired baron had deep-set blue eyes and moved in a lumbering gait.

Given their pick, those perusing females would undoubtedly have chosen the earl who, as everyone knew, was richer than the pope. Baron Smythe usually lacked funds, though his intense gaze promised rewards more valuable than gold.

"Both Lady Mary and Lady Jane have been pestering me about your arrival," Willis Smythe said as they entered the main building's foyer. "How will you juggle two mistresses in the same house without getting yourself into trouble?"

There was no reply. Smythe turned when he realized his friend had paused.

Richard stood in the middle of the foyer and watched a passing young lady. When she recognized the earl, the blond-haired beauty stopped, curtsied in his direction, and smiled winsomely. After undressing her with his smoldering emerald gaze from the top of her head to the tips of her slippered feet, Richard winked suggestively at her.

"Lady Sarah is looking especially lovely," Richard remarked, watching her walk away.

"Is she destined to become your next mistress?" Willis asked. "Or will that greatness elude her?"

Richard glanced sidelong at his friend. "You know, Will, I never dally with unmarried women."

"Devereux!"

Richard turned at the sound of his name and waited as the Earl of Leicester approached them.

"Welcome to Kenilworth. The queen is resting after the morning hunt," Dudley said. "Shall I have your arrival announced?"

"I'd prefer to wash the dust from my face before I see Her Majesty," Richard replied. "Tell Burghley I'm here with important information."

"Not bad, I hope."

"On the contrary, quite good."

"What is it?" The words slipped out of Leicester's mouth before he could bite them back.

Richard stared at him, a stare that told the older man the information was no business of his.

"Housing the royal retinue does create a crowding problem," Dudley said, recovering himself. "Smythe and you will share a chamber."

"I understand," Richard replied, his intense dislike of the pompous earl evident in his polite expressionless response. Without another word, he turned his back and walked away with Willis Smythe.

Had he glanced back, Richard would have caught a deadly expression etched across his host's face. The Earl of Leicester, possessive of the queen's affection, harbored no fondness for the Earl of Basildon. In fact, the older man eagerly awaited the arrogant upstart's comeuppance.

"Here we are," Willis said, opening a door.

Richard followed him inside and looked in disgust at the closet posing as a bedchamber. "I should have known Dudley would see me ensconced in the worst chamber at Kenilworth. Call a servant, will you?"

Smythe opened the door and hailed the first passing servant. "You, girl, get in here!" he barked an order.

A pretty serving girl stepped nervously into the chamber. Richard read the anxiety in her expression and smiled to put her at ease.

"I'd like something light to eat and a pan of warmed water for washing," Richard said, his voice a soft caress, soothing the girl's worry. "Would that be possible?"

Mesmerized by the handsome earl's smile, the girl stared at him and said nothing.

"Miss?" Richard prodded, pressing a coin into the palm of her hand.

"I'll take care of it right away, my lord," she said, recovering herself, then hurried away to do his bidding.

"Whenever I order a servant, the service is poor," Willis complained. "But when you give an order, the wenches trip over their own feet in their haste to please you. Why is that, I wonder?"

"You haven't been paying attention," Richard said, removing his dusty doublet and tossing it aside. He sat on the edge of the cot and yanked his boots off. "A world of difference lies between a simple request and an order."

"What do you mean?" Willis asked, sitting on the opposite cot.

"Give a woman what she wants, and in return she'll move mountains to please you," Richard told him. "Reading a woman's secret desire is so incredibly easy. For example, most serving girls yearn to be treated like a lady, while most of the noblewomen I know—like Lady Sarah—yearn to be ravished like common wenches. Follow that one simple rule, my friend, and the gender sex will adore you."

Willis grinned and folded his arms across his chest. "What happens when you finally meet an unreadable woman?"

Richard shrugged. "I'll probably marry her and make her my countess."

"What if she's a commoner?"

Richard cocked a copper brow at him. "England's wealthiest earl can marry whomever he pleases."

"With the queen's permission, of course."

"Never fear. I can handle Elizabeth."

"Is there a chance the servants jump to do your bidding because they know your purse is fat?" Willis asked, his voice tinged with envy.

Richard smiled at the other man's tone and tossed him a full bag of coins. "Try both approaches," he suggested. "Let me know the outcome."

"Do not deny the queen loves you because your business ventures fill her coffers with gold," Willis said, irritated that his wealthy friend could afford to toss a bag of coins away with cavalier disregard for what others needed.

Feigning surprise and dismay, Richard replied, "I thought Elizabeth loved me for my devilish good looks and dashing charm."

Willis burst out laughing. He stood then and crossed the chamber, saying, "I'm off. I'll see you later." Before he could get out the door, two serving girls rushed past him. One carried a pan of warmed water while the other offered the earl a platter piled high with food. Casting his friend a bemused glance, Willis Smythe shook his head and quit their chamber.

Two hours later, the Earl of Basildon, dressed severely in black except for the white lawn ruff around his neck, emerged from his chamber and headed for Dudley's study, where he'd been summoned to attend the queen. He knocked on the door and entered at the sound of the answering call. Robert Cecil, Lord Burghley, sat alone at the desk.

"So you've finally arrived—and only six weeks late," Burghley said by way of a greeting. "If you'd delayed any longer, you could have met us at the gates of London."

"Is she very angry?" Richard asked, sitting down in the chair opposite him and placing a small package on the desk. "I have good news, and an idea that will make the three of us richer than the pope."

"Putting business before pleasure is a respectable habit," Cecil remarked. "She'll forgive you for that."

"I acquired that habit from England's finest," Richard replied, referring to the years he'd been fostered in the other man's household.

Burghley nodded at the compliment. With a smile he said, "I suppose Dudley gave you the worst chamber possible."

"No, Dudley gave Smythe the worst chamber," Richard replied. "He saved none for me."

Burghley frowned at the mention of the baron's name. "I thought I'd advised you to terminate your friendship with Smythe," he said.

"Why do you dislike him?" Richard asked. "Willis fostered in your household too. Is it because he hasn't a gold piece to his name?"

"We've had this conversation a hundred times before," Burghley replied. "My reasons have nothing to do with his lack of funds. I believe Smythe is untrustworthy, and I harbor suspicions about his involvement in his father's and his brother's deaths. You know that, Richard."

"I cannot believe Will murdered his family to inherit that piddling title."

"Greedy men murder for less. Do not forget that he squandered the inheritance that—"

The door opened suddenly. The two men shot to their feet and bowed as the queen entered.

Tall and slim and red-haired, Elizabeth Tudor was still a stunningly handsome woman at the ripe age of forty-two. She wore a low-cut gown in lady blush silk that bore a fortune in gold braiding and pearl embroidery. Spectacular diamonds glittered from her throat, fingers, and hair. When she moved, Elizabeth sparkled as brilliantly as a dancing sunbeam.

The queen made herself comfortable and gestured Burghley to sit. She left Richard standing like an errant child awaiting punishment while she looked the uncomfortable earl up and down.

"The prodigal courtier arrives," Elizabeth said. "Your extreme tardiness does irritate Us."

"Forgive me, Majesty," Richard apologized, bowing deeply. "Though I yearned to be in your company, your business interests held me prisoner in London."

"You sound like Cecil. Too many years in my dear Spirit's household have made you an overly serious young man," the queen replied, pleased with his artful apology. "Sit down, dear Midas. Tell Us what you have touched and turned into gold these past weeks."

"I've received important information from the East," Richard said. "My sister Heather writes that Sultan Selim is dead. Prince Murad is now sultan. His mother and his wife favor trade with England."

"Your sister married whom?" Elizabeth asked.

"Prince Khalid, the sultan's cousin."

"Ah, yes. I remember now. All three of your sisters possessed the incredible impertinence to marry without Our permission."

"Flighty girls," Burghley interjected. "Nevertheless, each of the Devereux chits have proven themselves to be loyal Englishwomen, especially the youngest sister."

Richard flicked his mentor a grateful glance and continued, "I have a scheme that will make the three of us rich."

"My dear Midas, you are already rich beyond avarice," Elizabeth teased.

"Then you can be certain that I am incorruptible and do this for you," Richard quipped. His expression became animated as he explained his plan. "Grant me a royal charter for my latest venture, the Levant Trading Company, and we will share the profits. Eastern diplomacy moves slowly. I calculate three years will see us fully operational."

"And what share goes to the Crown?" Elizabeth asked.

"The lion's cub deserves the lion's share of fifty percent," Richard answered. "Burghley and I will split the other fifty, and England will prosper with this powerful ally."

"Seventy percent," the Queen insisted.

"Sixty," Richard shot back.

"You have a deal," Elizabeth said with a smile. "Cecil, you will see that he gets the charter without delay."

Richard opened the package he'd brought with him, saying, "The sultan's mother sends this humble gift to show her good faith."

The humble gift was a fan. Its feathers were a billowing rainbow of hues set with diamonds, and its hilt a mass of emeralds, sapphires, and rubies.

"And this comes from the sultan's wife," Richard added, producing a nosegay of porcelain flowers also set with priceless jewels. "We'll need to send reciprocal gifts. Heather informs me this is the way of eastern diplomacy."

Impressed with her newest trinkets, Elizabeth examined them closely and asked without looking up, "And how shall we reward your sister's loyalty?"

"Her loyalty needs no reward," Richard replied. "Though she begs me to send her a litter of piglets."

"Why piglets?" Elizabeth asked.

"To raise for the slaughter," Richard explained, a smile lurking in his voice. "My sister is a remarkable woman. She loves pork but hasn't tasted it in nine years, since it's forbidden to Moslems. Heather feels certain her husband couldn't refuse her a gift from England's queen."

"How cunning," Elizabeth complimented his sister. "You have served Us well, Richard. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"

Richard hesitated for a fraction of a second and then began, "About my tour of duty in Ireland—"

"You're much too valuable to serve abroad," Burghley interrupted, earning himself a censorious glance from his protégé.

"Request denied," the queen said.

"But Your Majesty—"

"Peers of my realm may not serve abroad unless they have an heir."

"Then I request permission to produce one," Richard said.

"What? Shall you visit the market and purchase a son?" Elizabeth quipped.

Burghley chuckled, a sound that few people ever heard.

Richard flushed hot with embarrassment. "I request permission to marry and produce an heir," he amended.

"My dear boy, protocol requires you to select a bride first and then ask Our permission," the queen explained as though speaking to a child. "Whom did you have in mind?"

"I have an interest in the virtuous and lovely Morgana Talbot, Ludlow's daughter," Richard lied, hoping he'd happened upon a suitable name. One woman was much the same as another. Besides, marriage was a business venture, and love was unnecessary to sire an heir. He needed to get to Ireland to help protect his oldest sister's family from the greedy vultures governing there. Perched in Dublin Castle, those corrupt English birds of prey awaited the opportunity to swoop down upon the proud Irish nobility and seize whatever they could. Only a rich man like himself stood beyond temptation's reach. Otherwise, civil war was inevitable.