Love's Labyrinth (18 page)

He spread his hands and shrugged. “I can scarcely imagine the world which you are from. And do not think, lady, that I believe that I could fit in half so well as you do in this one. I’ve listened to you and Alison and Geoffrey these last few days, and—” He shook his head. “Trust me. I cannot imagine the life which you have lived.” He leaned forward, searching her eyes. “But I have watched you these last few days, as well. And in truth, lady. You—you could have been born into this time and place, so well do you fit. Like a coat true-made to the body of the wearer. Lady, how do you know so much?”

“Well…” she began uncertainly. “My father—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve talked about your father. But what could’ve prepared you to—to become someone—become someone like—”

“Like you?”

He looked taken aback and then laughed. “Touché, lady. Even that—addressing you so—does not seem odd or misplaced, in any way. I know you come from a time when all men and women are common, but surely, there are—”

“It’s different,” she said softly. “I suppose I should confess.”

“Confess?”

“Nothing wrong.” She had to suppress a laugh in the face of his sudden obvious doubt.

“In my time, as in yours, there are actors—players—”

“There is still theater?”

“Plays of this time are still being performed.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes. And—well—the truth of it is that I’ve always wanted to be an actress. And I’ve studied—oh, not as much as I’d’ve liked, but in school, I was always in the plays. I’ve won medals—awards—for acting. It is my dearest wish to someday act upon the stage—the real stage. The legitimate stage, as it’s called.” She sat back with a little sigh.

“Ah.” The fire hissed even more loudly as a log broke apart. “I see.” He stroked his chin. “Even more interesting.” They lapsed once more into silence. Uncertainly, Olivia cut a slice of her peach and popped it into her mouth. Juice ran down her chin and she grabbed for her napkin. Her eyes happened to meet Nicholas’s and the two of them burst out laughing.

“I don’t want you to think I’m a woman of loose morals, you see. I know it’s quite unheard-of for a woman to appear on stage.”

“Ah.” Nicholas waved an airy hand. “Not quite so unheard-of, in some places. But believe me, lady. When I call you that, I mean it. And while you are with me, in the guise of my wife, I will treat you with no less respect and honor as if you were my very own.”

A little pulse of heat shivered through her. It seemed to settle in the very pit of her belly and begin a slow, smooth burn. She fumbled with the peach, and he caught her hand in his. “Olivia.” He caressed each syllable of her name, drew out each liquid vowel.

She chewed, swallowed, and looked up. “Yes, Nicholas?”

“I… have not been the most gracious of hosts. I know that I have been less than hospitable to you and your friend, and—” He broke off and glanced into the fire. “That first day, when you sang for the Queen, you pleased her greatly. I never really thanked you. Please—” He hesitated once more. “Please accept my apology. You did not have to do what you did. I had no right to impose upon you in such a way. And you, you were quite—quite wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. But I wanted you to know that, to my mind, you’ve given me a great gift, as well. This, this is quite an opportunity for me, you understand. To see all this—to experience so much…” She indicated the room, the food, and the world outside the windows with the sweep of her hand. “And I’m truly grateful, too.”

He leaned forward, his eyes alight with interest. “Are you really? Does all this—any of it—matter in your time?”

“It matters a great deal to people like my father.” She paused, considering how much to say. “And to me, too.”

“Why?”

She met his eyes squarely. “There are things which endure. The plays—that’s only one thing. As unbelievable as it may sound to you, there are many things from this time which still matter greatly to many people in my time.”

“But tell me which ones matter to you? Which plays do you like best? Maybe I know them, too.”

“I’m not sure how much more I should say.”

“Why?”

“Well, what if I tell you something, and you decide to do something or not do something based on what I’ve told you? What if you went up to London one day to see a play because I told you it was wonderful, and your horse got lamed, and you got robbed, and you were crippled and died without ever having a son, and—”

“Then Geoffrey would be my heir. Until I have a son, lady, that’s what would happen anyway.”

“But don’t you understand? You will have a son. You must have a son. In my time, it’s known you have a son. And if, because of my presence here, you choose to do something that changes anything that’s to come—everything I’ve ever read or heard about the possibility of time travel always warns of the danger of changing things in the past, because the future may be affected.”

“Ah.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded. “So I suppose if I go home and tear down my brother’s maze, you won’t be able to come through?”

“Exactly. Something like that. Perhaps you ought to try it.”

Their eyes met and held once more. “And prevent you from coming through?”

“Well, it would uncomplicate things greatly, wouldn’t it?”

The corners of his mouth lifted in that quirky little smile she was coming to know. “But then you would not be sitting here with me, on this most dismal day in Dover, waiting to sail with me to Calais, to help me in the restoration of my father’s fortunes. So I suppose the question becomes, if I were to prevent you from coming through the maze, how could this be happening now?”

“I—I guess it really couldn’t,” she stammered, unnerved by his unwavering stare. His eyes were so blue, so damn blue, she thought suddenly, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to press her mouth against those full, chiseled lips, lips that were carved so beautifully they might have been made of marble.

He picked up her hand, and her fingers twined around his of their own volition. “You intrigue me. Mistress Olivia.”

“As you intrigue me. Lord Ni—”

He put his finger to his lips. “Ssh. My name is Stephen, remember? And you’re my wife—Katherine—there should be some familiarity between us, for God’s sake.”

“Sorry.” Taken aback by his sudden change of tone, she tried to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip to prevent her. The pressure of his hand on hers made her heart race.

“Hush. There is no need for sorry.” He rose to his feet and, without letting go of her hand, drew her up and out of her chair. Her breath caught in her throat as he leaned over her, and she realized his intent. Her eyes closed of their own volition as his mouth came down on hers.

She was not prepared for the riptide of pleasure that surged through her, a heady wave of heat that raced through her veins like a hot tide. She swayed a little as her bones turned to water, and he wrapped his arms around her, and drew her close. Through the bulky petticoats, she felt the hard pressure of his thighs against hers, and her breasts were crushed against his chest. She moaned beneath his mouth as the kiss deepened. When he finally drew back, she was breathless.

They stared at each other for a long moment. “I should ask your forgiveness,” he said at last. “But I’m not at all sorry.” She made a small sound in her throat, something that could have been either protest or assent, and he reached out and touched her cheek with the back of two fingers. “You fascinate me in a way no woman ever has before. You are so—so very different, and yet, there’s something about you. I look at you and—” He hesitated. “You’ll think me as mad as Geoffrey, but, when I look at you, I feel as if I know you.”

She nodded, still silent.

“Is it just… this whole impossible event? Or is there something more, do you think?” He bent down, before she could answer, and gathered her mouth to his once more.

Olivia shut her eyes tightly, her senses wholly inflamed. Her fingers shook as she reached up and twined her hands in his soft, black curls. He drew back, breaking the kiss, and she opened her eyes with a disappointed little moan. His eyes were blazing pools of azure. “This is madness. Forgive me.” He flung himself back into his chair and ran his hands through his hair. “Please—please sit. I’ll see if there’s a deck of cards—a chessboard, perhaps—and call the maid to clear all this away.”

She sank down into her own chair, vaguely disappointed.
What on earth are you thinking,
she scolded herself once more. This was becoming a familiar refrain, she reflected wryly. But at least she knew he shared her feelings. The thought of the long day ahead to be spent alone with him made her heart race. She could imagine Alison saying:
Oh, cut that out. You’re acting worse than a high school freshman who’s been noticed by the captain of the football team.

The rain lashed harder at the window, fierce little pellets of water that sounded as solid as pebbles. She laced her fingers in her lap and forced herself to calm down. The way she was behaving, no one would ever believe that “Master Stephen” had any kind of a war wound at all.

The afternoon passed more quickly than she would’ve thought possible. A sharp rap on the door startled her just as she was about to place her knight on Nicholas’s king’s bishop’s one.

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder, stretching his long legs before him. “Enter!”

Molly’s cheerful face peered around the door. She pushed the door open, carrying an armful of wood. “Master asks if ye’d care for yer dinner, Master Steele?”

Nicholas glanced swiftly at Olivia. “Yes, I think so. But, wait—”

The maid paused in midstep.

“Can you tell me if Captain Percival is in the common room?”

“Nay, sir, he’s not been seen all day. Most likely he’s down by the docks, looking for some sign that the weather’ll break.”

Nicholas glanced at the window, and Olivia, following his gaze, realized that the rain had diminished to nothing but a slow drip from the low eaves. “Then perhaps I’ll go look for him there.” He stood up and turned to Olivia. “And you, my dear? Are you hungry? Or can you wait a bit? I’d like to settle the question of our passage if at all possible before dark.”

“Could I—” Olivia fingered the wooden chess piece. “Could I perhaps go with you? I’d be grateful for a chance to stretch my legs.”

He looked taken aback, but then smiled, a slow, measuring smile, that spread across his face by degrees. “Most certainly, wife, an that please you. Molly, will you fetch my wife her cloak? The rain seems to have slowed, but it’s still damp.”

Molly withdrew with a curtsy, and Olivia rose to her feet. “You don’t mind if I come along, do you?”

“Not at all. It didn’t occur to me you’d like to accompany me—but I must warn you, Captain Jack is… he’s not exactly familiar to the company of ladies. I’m not sure what you’re accustomed to, but from all you’ve told me today, I somehow doubt you’ve met too many characters like him.”

Olivia rose and gave him a wry grin as she smoothed her skirts. “Of that I have absolutely no doubt at all.”

The sky was a wash of grays and pinks and violets as they set out from the inn. A red sun was setting low in the western sky, and the roofs of Dover glistened in the early evening light. The streets were for the most part deserted, and the heavy rains had washed the sewage from the center of the cobbled roads. The shops were shuttered, but the painted signs were a bright contrast to the stone and half-timbered buildings they passed. Smoke rose from the chimneys, carrying with it the scents of cooking food, and the occasional laugh or shout or cry from behind a shuttered window gave a hint of the lives lived within.

Three girls dressed like miniature women played a version of hopscotch, while a mixed group of boys and girls ducked behind barrels and ran over stoops in a game Olivia thought could only be tag. The girls’ dresses were hiked up to their knees, and their shrieks in the silent evening carried up and down the empty streets. A woman’s head popped out of an upper-story window. “Hush up now!” she cried. The children looked up, laughed, and went back to their game, the boys making a great show of deliberately splashing the girls.

“Some things never change,” Olivia said as they navigated the narrow streets.

Nicholas smiled, but only said, “I hope the weather clears for tomorrow.”

“Red sky at night, sailors’ delight,” Olivia quoted, nodding at the sunset as they emerged at the end of the street where it ended at the quay.

“You think so?”

“That’s how the old saying goes.”

They strolled along the quay a little way in silence. “Olivia—”

“Nicholas—”

They began together and broke off, laughing. “You first,” she said.

“No, no, you, I insist.”

Olivia smiled and shrugged. “Since you insist. I—I only wanted to say how much I’ve enjoyed today. You’ve been very kind and patient with all my—my uncertainties. And I—well, I just wanted to tell you I enjoyed your company.”

“As I enjoyed yours, lady. I—” He broke off and would not look at her. They walked on in silence, and finally he said, “I meant no insult this morning. I hope you realize that.”

“Lord N—
Master
Stephen,” she laughingly corrected herself, “I was not insulted.” Their eyes met, and suddenly she felt breathless.

He smiled. “Good.” He patted her hand where it rested on his arm, and they continued on in a companionable silence that felt as comfortable as their conversation.

Just as they reached the first of the docks, where the ships rocked on their moorings and the gulls swooped low between the forest of masts and sails, crying out against the darkening sky, he paused and drew back, squinting down the street into the fading light. She heard him draw a sharp breath. “What is it?”

He drew back against the buildings. “Down there, across the street—in front of that tavern. I saw a man go in there just now….”

“Do you know the man?”

“Aye. ‘Tis Sir John Makepeace—I would wager my life upon it.”

“Is there something odd about his being here?”

Nicholas glanced down at her, then back up the street.

“No. No, I suppose not. Sir John is a very wealthy man, unlike your humble husband.” He bowed with a self-deprecating twist to his mouth and a wink.