Her One Desire (16 page)

She turned, a hint of modesty causing her skin to warm, and pulled her underclothes over her head. Celeste gasped.

Curse it!
Lizzy stiffened. She should have taken care to hide the scars. She slipped her arms through the sleeves and wrapped the thin robe tightly around her, pulling the tie at her waist to an uncomfortable crunch. Celeste held her tongue, though Lizzy suspected a multitude of questions were on the forefront.

A knock at the door saved her from Celeste’s curiosity. Three maidservants carried two buckets each into the chamber and filled a wooden tub halfway with steaming water. Feeling naked in the flimsy wrapper, Lizzy kept her eyes fixed out a window overlooking a river. The wet smell of steam filled the chamber, and then came the soothing scent of primrose. She waited for the quiet click of the door before turning.

“Your bath awaits ye, m’lady.” Celeste giggled, snatched up a small branch of grapes, and bounced onto the bed. “’Tis the right amount of spring.” She wiggled her brows and ran her fingers over the silk bedding just before she plopped onto her back. Lizzy ignored her wicked comment, removed the wrapper while Celeste was occupied, and stepped into the tub. Hot water seeped around her body and eased her muscles. Her head fell back against the rim. and she moaned.
Heaven.
No other word could describe it.

“How old are ye?”

Lizzy rolled her eyes beneath her lids. Why did everyone seem to want to converse with her as of late? ‘Twould be rude to ignore Celeste, regardless of how much Lizzy wanted to. “Three and twenty.”

“I wonder why a woman of your age and beauty isn’t being escorted by her husband.”

Lizzy was trapped in a room with a woman who was certain to badger her with questions.

“The less you know about me, the better chance we have of remaining friends.” “Friends do not keep secrets.”

A burst of air expelled from Lizzy’s nose. Her secrets would undoubtedly end their friendship. A small cake of soap along with creams for her hair sat on a cuttie stool beside the tub. Lizzy pulled herself upright and tended to her bath, hoping Celeste would not pursue the conversation. “I am not one to judge a woman based on her discrepancies,” Celeste said.

A laugh escaped Lizzy at the likelihood of any man wanting her in his bed. “You think I’m a courtesan? Mayhap a mistress to some noble in London?”

“Your secrets will not lessen my opinion of ye. We all have them.”

“Mayhap you should tell me one of your secrets then.”

Lizzy had mastered the skill of redirecting conversations. “My mum was unfaithful to her husband a fortnight after they spoke their marriage vows. Ye will never guess what breed of man she laid with.”

Lizzy gave her a sideways glance. “A Scot?” Celeste nodded and popped another grape between her grin. “Ironic, aye?”

“Your father was a Scot?”

“Mayhap.” Celeste shrugged. “I know not who he was, nor did Mum, I suspect. She was a drab. She contracted cupid’s disease and died when I was young. ‘Tis what’s going to happen to Smitt if he doesn’t keep his twanger in his trews.” “Oh, aye,” Lizzy agreed wholeheartedly and ran the scented soap around her toes.

Celeste positioned herself at the bed’s edge and fidgeted with the hem of her threadbare kirtle. “I’ve another secret. ‘Tis a big one. Not even John knows.”

“Do tell,” Lizzy prompted, though she doubted it was necessary. Celeste looked ready to burst with excitement. “I am carrying.”

“A child?”

Celeste nodded so hard the bed shook. “John and I feared I was barren. We’ve been married two years and last month was the first time I’ve ever missed my menses.” “’Tis wonderful news.” Worry had Lizzy frowning. Celeste had to take care. The travel alone could cause complications. “You must tell John.”

“I had intended to tell him; then ye and Lord Maxwell arrived. John and I are still bickering, and I’d rather wait til happier times.”

Happier times. Lizzy
had been waiting for those days her entire life. “Regardless of the times, John will be overjoyed. He will make a good father and you a good mother.”

“Thank ye.” A pink blush blossomed over Celeste’s cheeks and caused a tiny pang of envy deep inside Lizzy. She wouldn’t allow herself to want for something she could never have.

Celeste pushed her hair away from her eyes and crossed her ankles. She waited, but she had little patience. “Now I shared two secrets. Tis your turn. Tell me, Lizzy, are ye running from a husband?”

“Nay.” Lizzy turned away.

“Then mayhap
your
mother was a courtesan? Your father a Scot?” Celeste laughed, trying to prod her. “Or mayhap worse. Ye were sired by the devil himself,” she jested, but had no idea how close her statement was to the truth. Lizzy set the soap aside and eased lower into the tub. Celeste would eventually learn who she was, as all of Yorkshire would know after her meeting with Gloucester. Twas best Lizzy not grow too attached to her friend anyway. She closed her eyes and prepared for Celeste’s rejection. “’Have you ever been to London, Celeste?”

“Used to go with me mum to Cheapside.”

“Have you ever witnessed an execution?”

“ ‘Ods toes, no.”

Lizzy couldn’t see her, but the look on her face was as familiar to Lizzy as her own. “The keeper of London’s criminals assigns men to erect a scaffold like a stage for some tragic play. Men. and sometimes even women, are escorted to this platform from the Tower or Newgate Prison to pay for their crimes.” Lizzy kept her eyes closed, painting the picture in her head. “The person’s place in society, or mayhap the extent of their crime, determines their punishment. A wooden arm might be erected for hanging or a block positioned at the right angle for an audience to best witness a beheading.” “Why are ye telling me this?” Celeste whined, the tone of her voice already changing.

“You want to know who I am, do you not?”

“I do.”

“One man rises above all on the scaffold. He solicits silence and fear with his presence alone. He is the man in the black hooded cloak, the one who wields the ax or pulls the cord.”

“The executioner?”

Lizzy drew a breath and felt every leer she’d ever received crush her heart. “He is my father.”

Silence was what she expected and what she received. There was no shuffle of clothes, nor were there soft footsteps retreating. Just silence. She didn’t have to open her eyes to feel Celeste’s revulsion.

“Damn,” Celeste finally said after long moments of emptiness.

“’Tis good Lord Maxwell freed ye from London.” “Freed
me
from London?” Her eyes snapped open. “I freed him, and somehow the arrogant Scot thinks I’m his charge. The fool announced yester eve he intends to take me to Scotland.”

Celeste shot to her knees beside the tub, her full face leaning over the rim. “He is taking ye to wife?”

“Nay. He is taking me to a house of God so I might live the remainder of my days in solitude.” Her own tone shocked her. Her goals used to be simple: seek Lord Hollister’s punishment; free her father of his duty; and the most pathetic of all, find a quiet apothecary where she could secretly mix fragrances. Lord Maxwell complicated her goals the moment he held her in a dark tunnel. She yearned for so much more now. “The bastard steals your virtue and ruins ye for another man, then intends to tuck ye away?

Hide ye from society? He must take ye to wife.”

Lizzy snorted. If every man possessed Lord Maxwell’s control, then women all over the world could toss their chastity belts into the closest body of water. “Relax, Celeste. My maidenhead is still in place.”

“Well mayhap it shouldn’t be.” Celeste’s statement was

wicked, as was the spark twinkling in her dark eyes. The

woman plotted. Lizzy could see it brewing. Celeste twirle her finger in the water, causing ringlets of small waves to push suds over Lizzy’s shoulders.

“What do you suggest? A seduction?” The word tickled Lizzy’s tongue. “I will not seduce the man to gain a marriage I do not desire. I cannot marry, Celeste. ‘Tis a complication I would rather not discuss.”

“As ye wish.” Celeste bounced across the chamber with a lift in her gait. She gathered up Lizzy’s garments and started for the door. “I am going to take these to the laundry and see about acquiring clean bed garments for us. Have ye need for anything else, m’lady?”

Celeste stepped back into character with a bow.

Lizzy didn’t trust her. Celeste’s actions were abrupt, sneaky. She was bound to find trouble if she started conversing with the servants. “Do be cautious about whom you speak with. Remember who your husband is and the danger he is in by simply being here. Trust no one.” “I can hold my tongue. Ye relax and enjoy your bath. I’ll be back a ten, and we will discuss all the ways you can seduce Lord Maxwell.” The door latched behind her, and Lizzy settled into the first bit of privacy she’d known in days. There would be no talk of seduction. Lord Maxwell’s control was stronger than the Tower walls, and she held no desire to feel his rejection again.

After removing three days’ worth of dust from her hair and skin, she allowed herself to take Celeste’s advice and relax. A mistake.

Lord Maxwell surfaced in her head. She heard his voice, smelled his musky scent, felt his lips against hers. “Leave me be,” she said foolishly to no one. Her eyes slid shut. He reappeared—naked and glorious.

Curse the man’s persistence!

She tried to solicit the numbers, but only ended up counting the times his lips touched hers in her head. She tried thinking of inanimate objects. A door—he walked through it. A chair—he draped his garments over it. A bed—he made love to her on it over and over until the burning inside her was finally doused.

She conceded, thinking herself quite insane. She toyed with the soap, pushing suds over breasts that suddenly felt fuller, more tender. Her fingers skimmed over a hard, aching nipple. She pinched it and felt the string of heat connecting her breast to her womb. In her mind’s eye her fingers belonged to Lord Maxwell. She fantasized about his mouth on her breast, his hands on her bare flesh, caressing, stroking, giving her pleasure beyond anything she’d ever known. A throbbing pounded at her woman’s core, begging for his touch. Her cheeks burned with heat as the woman inside her became fully aroused with thoughts of him. “Mercy Mary!” she scolded herself aloud. She had never touched herself. She never needed to, but as her hand slipped down her thigh, she battled an untapped desire for fulfillment. Banners of crimson and gold hung from the second-floor balcony, which was lined with lute players, jugglers, and jesters. A scantily clad woman draped in purple veils and gold rings danced before Broc on the dais. Her arms curled above her head, and her exposed belly moved seductively with the rhythm of swaying hips. She reminded him of Lizbeth, except for her black hair, brown eyes, and thin lips. Who was he fooling? She didn’t resemble his angel at all. She didn’t have Lizbeth’s silky full lips or her dark red tresses or the determined tilt of her chin. He looked at the dancer’s eyes and thought of how dull in comparison they were to the fire in Lizbeth’s. Yet his angel was who he saw when he looked at each of the women performing before a group of gluttonous knights. He wanted no drab, regardless of the dark-eyed gypsy’s efforts to gain his attention.

He, John, and Smitt had been brought to the Great Hall, where women danced, courtiers feasted, and every man savored both delicacies to his heart’s content. “I have died and gone to paradise.” Smitt stood to Broc’s right and squeezed the ample backsides of two wenches draped in gold rings and sheer silks fawning over him. Mayhap his cousin wanted a third for the eve. He could rescue Broc from the dancing woman’s bold advances. “Mayhap if ye give her a coin, she will leave ye,” John suggested in a low voice to avoid offending the English. “And mayhap she would work harder to gain more.” Broc kept his coin in his pocket and poured the remainder of his mead down his gullet. The whole room sickened him. ‘Twas a wasteful display of debauchery.

“Forgive me, m’lord, for the interruption.” Celeste appeared at his side, wringing her hands.

Broc immediately searched for Lizbeth, but Celeste stood alone, and the worried pinch in her brow had him reaching for his weapon. “What’s amiss?”

“’Tis Lizzy. Two men came to the chamber and—“ “Where is she?” The English bastards would die for touching her.

“Southwest tower, second floor, sixth door on the right,” Celeste provided and pushed John back to his seat when he stood to follow.

Broc ran from the hall, uncaring that his actions might expose his identity. He sprinted up the tower stairwell alight with golden rushlights. Coming here had been a mistake. His desire to drive Gloucester out of the north endangered himself and Lizbeth. He should have taken her to Scotland. With a dirk in hand, he entered the corridor, listening for her screams over the pulse beating in his throat. He counted until he reached the sixth chamber, then kicked the door wide with the flat of his foot, knocking it back against the interior wall with a bang. A whoosh of damp flowers filled his lungs. A gasp preceded a slosh of water.

Lizbeth’s head whipped around, sending wet ropes of dark hair swinging. A scan of the chamber found it void of danger.
Ach!
He’d been duped. No English threatened her life. This was the simple plotting of one woman. Celeste. He sheathed his dirk at his waist and tried to decide if he would scold Celeste or thank her upon their next meeting. “Are you mad? Where is Celeste?”

A shoulder popped above the rim and tempted him in ways he no longer wished to battle.

“I fear your maid has gone below stairs.” He searched the room for a towel, but found naught. Not a stitch of garments in sight, except for a thin pale wrapper draped over the bed’s edge. He laughed inwardly. Celeste was true to her cause. “It seems Celeste has abandoned ye.”

“Then go get her,” Lizbeth demanded and slunk deeper into the water.

“Nay.” Broc didn’t even attempt to leave. He didn’t want to.

He was damned tired of ignoring his desire for this woman.

She’d been all too eager to have him give her memories.

Mayhap he should and damn the consequences. He shut the door and approached the tub. Lizbeth’s hands scurried beneath the water to hide her breasts. Pink tinted her cheeks, mist glistened her fair skin, and her bottom lip looked even fuller than he’d remembered. His angel had the oddest look of an unsatisfied woman. Albeit, he’d known few women to be unsatisfied in his bed.