Margaret Moore (23 page)

“I wish there was a moon. It is so dark.”

“Have no fear. I see quite well in the dark, and as I said, I learned well how to climb at night.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that. I want to see you.”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder as he pulled on his shirt. “Soon, as I shall be able to admire your lovely body for as long as I like, too.”

“When we are married, I won’t let you leave me so easily.”

“I shall have to work.”

“I suppose.”

“Vivienne, I will have to work, or we shall have to take to begging in the streets,” he said, sitting beside her on the bed and taking her face between his palms to kiss her lightly. “I have done quite enough of that.”

She put her hands over his. “I was but jesting, Rob. Of course you must work. I daresay I shall be busy, too, managing our house.”

“You are sure it will not be too much?”

“Not when it is our household, our family.” She put her arms about him and laid her head on his chest. “We will survive, even if my uncle throws me out of his house with only the clothes on my back.”

Rob rose with obvious reluctance. “Stay in the bed where it’s warm until I’m gone, then close the window tight.”

She nodded, watching him as he pushed open the casement window.

Despite his words, she scrambled from the bed to kiss him farewell one more time.

His passionate response told her he was glad she had. “Farewell, Vivienne,” he said as he pulled away and began to climb out the window.

“Farewell, Rob, my love,” she whispered.

Wrapping her arms about herself for warmth, she watched his athletic body creep along the stable roof as if he were no more than a shadow from the moon.

When she could see him no longer, she hurried to her armoire, found a nightdress and put it on. Then she spotted her discarded dress and quickly picked it up.

It was a wrinkled mess, much like the sheets of her bed. She shook out the dress and leaned it over the back of a chair before she jumped back into the warm bed.

Which smelled of Rob.

Unless Owens was as stupid as she was old, she would realize Vivienne had not been alone in her bed.

She could “accidentally” spill perfume on her sheets. That would take care of that.

These were small problems, easily remedied.

The king’s possibly lascivious intentions and Philip’s lawsuit were much more troubling.

Nevertheless, she silently vowed, together she and Rob would find a way through this swamp.

They must.

*   *   *

As Robert hurried away, a man stepped out of the shadows of the stable and watched him disappear around a corner.

“Well, well, well, Rob, old son,” Jack Leesom muttered. “Not done thievin’ yet, after all, or aimin’ high.”

R
ob looked up when Sir Philip strode into his chambers the next morning and threw himself, uninvited, into the chair across from his desk.

Rob half rose and bowed, then sat and regarded his client impassively. He had been anticipating Sir Philip’s arrival and had asked Bertie to show him in the moment he arrived.

“It’s all over the city,” the nobleman declared. “You should have heard them buzzing about Vivienne and Charles at the tennis court, and with him not ten feet away. He heard them, of course, and the old lecher couldn’t have looked more pleased about the gossip than if somebody had handed him a thousand pounds.”

“To what ‘old lecher’ do you refer?”

“Why, Charles, of course.”

“I would have a care how you speak of the king,” Rob remarked, “and he is only thirty-four.”

“As for Mistress Burroughs, she is the most brazen hussy I’ve ever met. She would hardly let me touch the tips of her fingers, but she let him slaver all over her like a dog.”

Beneath his desk, Rob’s hands curled into fists as he waited for Sir Philip to get to the point: the legal action he intended to take against Mr. Burroughs. “He is the king, and you are not.”

“I know that! I’faith, I was delighted she had caught his eye. The king hasn’t invited me to play tennis with him for months, and suddenly there I am, in the royal tennis court. I daresay the Burroughses have seen the last of that fool Cheddersby, too. I swear that fellow is a Puritan in fancy dress. So all was quite well in hand—until her old buzzard of an uncle had the effrontery to call off the marriage.”

“You do not wish to end the negotiations, even though we all saw Mistress Burroughs in the king’s arms?”

Sir Philip chuckled his nasty chuckle. “The king’s gratitude for sharing one’s wife is worth a great deal.”

“Enough to give him your bride?”

Sir Philip’s lip curled with scorn. “You sound like a Puritan—or Vivienne. It’s only her body he will have.”

“While you will have …?”

Sir Philip smiled. “Her dowry and a better title, at the very least, I don’t doubt.”

“What if she were to bear the king a bastard?”

“Even better, for the rewards will be that much greater.”

“I see you have reasoned this out.”

“Absolutely, so I will not allow Burroughs to dismiss me as if I were nobody. I was led to believe that the wedding was as good as done, and it had better be done, or Burroughs will be sorry. We’ll sue him for breach of promise.”

“Assumpsit?
That is usually a suit brought about by women.”

“I know that, man. But I will have that dowry, or by God, that tradesman will compensate me.”

“You will be free to wed another,” Rob pointed out.

Philip looked smug. “I know that, too—but why should I be denied my rights just because I am a man? There is nothing in the law that says such a suit can only be brought about by a woman, is there? I would expect a man of your”—his disgusting grin grew—“breeding to be more open-minded.”

“I did not say your case was without merit, Sir Philip. I simply indicated it was highly unusual.”

“And that’s why I need you to argue it, for you are reckoned the cleverest solicitor in London. There should be a hefty fee in it for you, too.”

“No, Sir Philip, there will not be.”

“What?”

“I must decline to represent you in this matter.”

“I have a good case—you know I do. That man gave me plenty of cause to believe his niece and her dowry were as good as mine. We’ve got the draft of the marriage settlement for proof.”

It had crossed Rob’s mind to burn that document this morning, but that would have been unethical, so he had not. Mr. Burroughs would have to take his chances in a court of law if Sir Philip pursued this. “Perhaps he did imply a certain sequence of events. Nevertheless, I shall not represent you in this matter.”

“Why the devil not?”

“Because it is my prerogative to decide which cases I take and which I decline. In this particular instance, I decline.”

“You arrogant bastard!”

“Your epithet only hardens my resolve, Sir Philip,” Rob noted with a dispassion that hid his fierce anger. “You may, of course, find another solicitor to take the case, although that may be somewhat difficult once it becomes known that clever Heartless Harding has refused it.”

Sir Philip jumped to his feet. “You rogue! You base, disgusting sodomite! How dare you—”

Rob likewise rose, his gaze boring into the irate man before him. “My clerk will be happy to give you all the documents pertaining to the case. Good day, Sir Philip.”

Sir Philip looked about to speak, took another look at Rob’s resolute face, turned on his heel and marched from the room.

Rob slowly returned to his seat and let out his breath.

Then he smiled. He did have his reputation, after all—the good as well as the bad.

Her eyes full of sympathy, Vivienne regarded the woeful Lord Cheddersby seated in her uncle’s withdrawing room. He looked utterly miserable, his shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast, his every breath a sigh.

When she had been told a gentleman was waiting for her, she had eagerly anticipated Rob. Instead, she found the despondent nobleman.

The dark circles beneath Lord Cheddersby’s eyes indicated he might have had as sleepless a night as she.

As for what might have kept Lord Cheddersby awake, she hoped it had nothing to do with her. Unfortunately, his attitude and his presence there told her it might.

Had she been wrong about his feelings? Did he care for her? If he did, and if he said so to Uncle Elias … No, that must not happen. She had endured the king’s disgusting kisses to be free; she must be free.

“I am happy to see you, my lord,” she began in as bright a tone as she could muster. “I never got the chance to compliment you on your new house.”

He raised his sad eyes to gaze at her. “My very big house with all those rooms.”

“Why yes,” she agreed warily.

He rose and walked toward the window, then spoke softly, without looking at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so shocked in my life. In my own private closet, too.”

She didn’t have to ask to what he was referring. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, genuinely regretting that the events of last night had happened in the hapless nobleman’s home—or anywhere.

She wasn’t referring to making love with Rob. She could not be sorry for something so wonderful. It was the unforeseen aftermath that filled her with remorse.

Lord Cheddersby turned toward her. “I was so upset, I didn’t know what to say or do. I ran off like a … like a coward.”

“You had done nothing to be ashamed of.”

He straightened, and she was reminded of how he had been in the theater that night, when he had so courageously risen to her defense. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“Yes, I am, my lord.”

“Although this gives me very great pain,” he said, “I felt it necessary to come to you and tell you …” His voice trailed off, and he flushed.

“What is it, my lord?” she prompted gently.

“I fear there are some nasty rumors going about concerning you and the king.”

Vivienne sighed. “Not unexpected, under the circumstances, are they, my lord?”

His gaze grew a little more severe. “Lettice Jerningham is implying that she has known of a liaison between you for some time, and that the reason you are not already engaged to Sir Philip is that you have been the king’s lover. She claims that Philip offered to marry you at the king’s behest, to squelch gossip.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” Vivienne replied, truly horrified. “Philip wants to marry me for my uncle’s money. You saw him last night—he was as shocked as anybody to discover me with the king.”

“Yes, I thought he was as taken aback as I, and I told Lettice I didn’t think there was a word of truth in her tales. I also told her she shouldn’t spread unfounded rumors.”

Vivienne rose and went to him, taking his gloved hand in hers. “Lord Cheddersby, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for championing me.”

Lord Cheddersby managed a hopeful smile. “After all, Charles kisses women all the time,” he said with something like his usual cheerful tone. “That doesn’t give people the right to say that you were … “—he frowned—” that he and you … that you’re not a virgin anymore!” he finally spit out.

As she faced the kindhearted man, she wanted to tell him the truth—that her lover was not the king, but Robert Harding, and that she was going to marry him.

But she couldn’t, not if there was the slightest chance Lord Cheddersby still cared for her. “Lord Cheddersby, if you hear anyone else say that, do not contradict them.”

He stared at her, obviously confused.

“They are right. I am no longer a virgin.”

As she saw respect for her dwindle and disappear from his honest eyes, to be replaced by shocked disappointment, she suddenly realized exactly what she had lost along with her reputation.

It would have been nearly unbearable if she had not had a good cause, and she could sympathize with the pain Rob had suffered because of the lies told about him.

“I thought … I thought you were different from most of the women I’ve met at court, Mistress Burroughs,” Lord Cheddersby stammered as he tugged his hand away. “I am more sorry than I can say to discover I was wrong. I … I have to go. Good day, Mistress Burroughs.”

He went to the door as if he could not leave her fast enough, then glanced back at her over his shoulder, his expression both sad and disappointed. “If, after the king is done with you, you need any help or assistance, I will be glad to do what I can.”

“That is most generous of you, my lord.”

“Yes, well, I’ve seen what has happened to some of his other lovers, and I wouldn’t want it to happen to anybody else. Farewell, Mistress Burroughs, and good luck.”

“Farewell, my lord.”

After he left, she sank down upon the sofa and told herself there had been nothing else she could do.

She straightened abruptly as Uncle Elias strode into the room, a letter sealed with a huge blob of red wax in his plump hand. “Ah, Vivienne, my dear, here you are. A messenger has come from Whitehall!”

He thrust the letter at her and she saw the royal seal. The king or one of his advisors must have sent it.

“Open it!” Uncle Elias demanded impatiently.

She did, and when she saw the signature at the bottom, her stomach lurched with dread.

She thought of the lustful gleam in his eyes when the king lay atop her and the way he boldly caressed her, and her doubts as to his true intent began to multiply.

“Well?” Uncle Elias asked. “What does it say?”

“It is from the king,” she murmured.

“I supposed as much. What more?”

“He requests my presence at Whitehall this evening.” There and then she could explain to Charles that there was no need to continue the ruse, she decided.

If his actions had been only feigned.

Uncle Elias’s eyes lit up like torches. “Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent!”

He was all but rubbing his hands together with glee.

“Lord Cheddersby has just called. I fear we have seen the last of him.”