Lady Trent (27 page)

“This-this is hard to say.”

“What is it?” He demanded to know.

She shook her head and swung around. “I-I do
not care to say it.”

He took her by the shoulders, forcing her
back around and lightly shook her. “What is it?” He demanded a
second time.

“I am afraid this-this woman…this-this wife
of Lord Trent…she is betraying him. She-she does not mean well at
all.”

His brows drew tightly together while he
studied the expression of the frazzled maiden. “What do you mean?”
He very firmly asked.

“In the beginning you ask that I observe…and
I did. I do not…I cannot trust her.”

“In the beginning, yes, but you did not claim
to find any fault.”

“She does not mean well, only to defy Lord
Trent, and to gain his trust, and to take from him. To do him harm.
She will. I now know it. I know it.”

“How? How do you know? Dammit, Roselyn, tell
me what you are talking about. If you have discovered anything at
all, tell me!”

“A man who is an enemy of Lord Trent’s will
attend and be present here during this visit.”

“Who? What man?”

“Victor Trent,” she dreadfully announced.
“Invited here…invited by the lady herself.”

He searched her eyes, dumbfounded by what
he’d just heard. The name was least expected.

She continued.

“I was present when the letter was written.
And when she stepped away from her table, I read what she had begun
to write, that she would be here, and that she wished he be present
as well so that they may converse…and that was all. I did not see
all that was written. She completed it and sealed the letter, and
late in the night I saw her with my very own eyes go out into the
night, and hand the message over to another.”

Marcus was terribly stumped by this report.
He couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to. He replayed the maiden’s
accusation over and over again in his mind. Victor Trent…a very
distant cousin of Jacob’s and a very unwelcomed man…an enemy. Also
a master of disguise. ‘Twas the way in which he travelled.

How would she have any dealings with him?
Why
would she have any dealings with him?

“Who received this message?” He came to
ask.

“I do not know. I could not see his
face.”

“His?”

She inhaled a quivering breath, her eyes
round with what appeared to be pent up anxiety. Tears even brimmed
there, as if so close to falling. “Please, do not make me say
anymore.”

“What else is there to say?” He asked, and
then took hold of her arm when she did not respond. “What else?
What did you see?”

“The two of them…well, they embraced. I think
they may have been…have been lovers by the sight of them. But I
turned away. I could not watch it.”

He shoved her arm away, angered by her words.
“You are telling me the truth?”

“So help me, I am. I would not lie to you. I
swear it.”

He stood there the longest time, the damsel’s
zealous eyes never leaving his face. Then he remembered his duty…no
matter what to keep Rachel safe. He had departed that duty long
enough, but perhaps he had departed the most important duty of
all…that of keeping his eye upon her to be sure she was not
concealing anything, plotting anything, getting away with
anything.

He went back out to the curtain and watched.
She was being friendly with the people, although elegant and
extravagant. She was befriending them…she was being a kind ruler.
It dawned on him, what if perchance this, all of this, was a hoax.
What if Rachel the Elder was a literal imposter?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The following day the festivities began.
There were speeches in her honor, and one by one, as she sat ahead
of the crowds, she was greeted by the most noble men and women of
the community who, although not extremely wealthy, were like small
versions of wealthy nobles.

There was food, wine, entertainment,
dancing…and a portrait of her was painted while she sat and
watched. An image that pleased and impressed her. She wanted to
take it for herself, but it was to be placed upon the wall of that
very room where judgments were made, and the most notable people
often met to discuss important matters.

By the end of the day she was exhausted, and
had no difficulty falling to sleep at all.

The following day was just as enjoyable, and
more-so. Kind regards were exchanged, and honors. She had never
felt so important in all her life, not even in Westerly where the
people had continually expressed their gratitude. This was somewhat
different…well, it was very different. She was Lady of the
Manor…not a mere vestal.

These people made her to feel like a queen
being appreciated and honored for merely caring, and she decided it
was well to be there in that place at that time.

Today she looked every bit a queen all over
again, decked in queenly apparel, jewels draped about her neck and
wrists, a tiara that sparkled when she moved. Even her shoes were
golden although one could not see them.

Marcus was continually standing back, simply
awaiting the arrival of this ‘secret guest’. He’d spent the greater
portion of the night pondering and watching, pondering and
watching. He hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. Roselyn’s declaration
had settled into his mind, his heart and his very soul. He felt
strange, suddenly thinking “What if? What if? What if?” He imagined
the worst scenario. Was this the reason he had not saw it? Because
it was right under his nose? Was she actually a part of the plot
against Jacob? A man she swore she loved and cared about? A man
whose heart she’d stolen, just like everyone else’s. Just like
these people. Just like…just like him.

He spotted the newcomer immediately…dressed
as usual in disguise. And he was certain it was him. The fake
mustache, hair…patch over one eye. All that cover-up didn’t fool
Marcus. Victor was a tall man, and had a certain walk that proved a
dead giveaway every time.

Marcus watched him come into the assembly,
strolling along as if the master of the ball, tall and strideful.
Roselyn was right at least so far about this one thing…that he
would attend. There was no mistaken. That was him for sure.

What would Jacob think of this? And
Rachel…had she truly invited and planned to meet him here? Was
there more to Rachel the Elder than met the eye? Could it be the
two of them were alliances or even lovers?

The newcomer instantly made himself available
to her, and even sat beside of her in a chair that was only
occasionally occupied; up until that moment only certain members of
the council had dared to sit there. Just where were they? He
wondered. Were they not concerned? Did they recognize the man
sitting next to her?

His heart began to pound, and his insides
hardened with a mixture of things, one thing feeding off another
and gathering whirlwinds of strength. Anger. Disappointment.
Jealousy.

But he had to keep in mind: nothing had been
investigated. Proven. Set in stone. But how else would Roselyn have
known he would be there? If not by Rachel’s hand, even, how? And if
no letter had been sent, exactly what were the maiden’s
intentions?

He was not sure what to believe, but gave
himself time to adapt to the presence of the man and the overall
situation so as to not react spontaneously and foolishly. He had
more patience than he’d ever thought likely. He had to be wise. He
had to remain calm. He had to approach the situation subtly just
like any other of its kind…and how he hated she’d suddenly become
part of a ‘situation’ at all.

But his inner man would not believe she was
at fault. His heart of hearts would not at all believe it.

He left his private little corner and
approached Nicholas. “Keep a firm eye upon her,” he told him. “I
will dismiss myself for a moment.”

“Yes, sir,” he agreed.

And Marcus, without being spotted, left the
room, making his way down hall after hall, thru room after room,
until he’d reached Rachel’s private quarters. Without knocking, he
burst thru the door. As expected, seeing as to how he had not seen
her, Zaria was there in the chamber, and in the process of
preparing herself for the evening—to switch places with Tilly if
perchance too many hours passed and rest was needed. She stood, the
top of her dress still hanging around her waist. She was covered,
but the silk underclothing left little to the imagination.

She didn’t appear the slightest bit alarmed
or shaken by the sudden disruption…as if she’d expected it all
along. Perhaps she had been waiting for someone.

“Sir Marcus,” she slyly began, “how
very…bad-mannered.”

He closed the door behind himself. “My
apologies, but—“

“No need to apologize. I find this sudden
intrusion quite… enticing.”

He cast his eyes about the room and came
closer. “Are you alone?”

Her eyes slanted so very provocatively. “I
am.”

He took her upper arms. She tilted her head
back. “Shall we lock the door so as to not be interrupted? This
will not be such a swift union, milord. I am quite skilled in the
art of lovemaking. I could please you for many, many, many
hours—although I am quite certain Lady Trent will come in search of
me. I am the most favored of her handmaidens, you know.”

“I have perceived it.” He took her arm and
eased them both down to sit on the nearby settee. “Zaria, I—“

The feel of her finger circling his ear and
his jaw interrupted him. He raised a shoulder, and then took her
hand, pulling it away from him. “Zaria, listen to me.” He turned
toward her. “This is a matter of consequence. I did not burst into
the chamber in hopes of bedding you, although you do have a way of
making it quite tempting. I must ask you some questions in regards
to Lady Trent, and also Roselyn.”

With a look of innocence she cast her gaze to
the ceiling. “Roselyn. She is not favored in my eyes, nor should
she be in those of the Lady’s.” She stared at him quite
seductively. “Why are you asking these questions, Sir Marcus?”

“You are at odds with her?”

“Roselyn? Yes.”

“Why?”

“She peers. All of the time she peers. Every
single moment.”

He remembered asking her to spy upon Rachel
once upon a time, so guessed himself at fault for this. “Aside from
that…is there anything else, some reason to not trust her?”

“She does not like our mistress.”

“How do you know?”

“It is quite obvious, even to my mistress.
She tolerates this dislike of her. She overlooks it.”

“Tell me this, and Zaria, you must be
terribly honest with me. Have you ever known your mistress to pass
messages outside of the palace…in secret?”

She stared up at the ceiling for a time,
shook her head but barely. “She hasn’t a need to do so. She now
passes them personally to Darius, although also Aaron sometimes.
She honors the procedures as we all must.”

“You do not think…” he stopped, not wanting
to say the wrong thing, nothing this maiden could possibly repeat
and offend Rachel with if by chance she was innocent, and he felt
she was—in his heart of hearts. But hadn’t his heart of hearts let
him down before? Yes, he could recall. He could recall well a few
specific times.

She merely stared at him, waiting for him to
continue. He glanced down from her face to her upper body, barely
dressed, the top of her gown still hanging at her waist. She smiled
slyly at him, and he knew to stand up and put some distance between
them. He stood back, crossing his arms.

“If an accusation came up against Lady Trent
from the mouth of Roselyn, what would you say to it?”

She sat, palms pressed down at either side of
her, thinking for a short time before standing. “Sir Marcus,” she
said as sweetly as possible, “The Lady has been with us now a
reasonable span, has she not? She proved trustworthy from the
beginning, and has not since then proven anything otherwise. If not
sincere, even I would have surely noticed the wrong in her. I do
consider myself a good judge of character, and Lady Trent has a
great deal of it. Character. This Roselyn has done little but ogle
and huff and neglect her duties. She purposely refuses orders, and
does not speak to either Tilly or me…only on the occasion I say
something to simply ruffle her feathers, as they say. At times I
purposely do so. She purposely disrespects my mistress, and for
that alone I find myself hating her.” She came up to him, and slid
her hands up his chest and around his neck. She stared up at him,
her head back. “She is not right,” she slowly said. “Tell me, Sir
Marcus,” she began, lifting her lips and sliding them across his
chin, “what accusation has that horrible little woman said against
my mistress?”

He took hold of her arms, just as she began
to run her hands down his back, and pulled them away, continuing to
hold to them while they stood face to face. “Do not mention
this.”

She stepped back, away from him, the strap of
her underclothing falling down over her shoulder. “Very well, Sir
Marcus,” she said, and grinned the only way Zaria knew how as he
left the room.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rachel was in the middle of a conversation
when Marcus came out as if from nowhere and so casually took her
hand. Paying no mind to her companion, he urged her to get up. She
did so gracefully, although there was this instant urge to pull
away. She did not want to make a scene.

At that point, the musicians were playing a
sweet, slow song, and several couples were up dancing. He led her
toward the direction of them, and she only knew to follow his lead
so as to not make a scene. Either way, it was a scene, for some of
the couples moved away, stepping back to watch them, smiling with
delight to see her joining in.

Marcus held her, actually too close—one arm
around her waist, a hand clasped with hers so slightly in the air.
She tried to put more distance between them. He held her in
place.