Margaret Moore (26 page)

“You might a put in a word for me, your friend!” Jack cried, his voice full of the anger, envy and frustration that had festered for years. “You might have said, what about Jack? Any place for my friend in your house? Good God, Rob, I woulda been happy to be the lowest servant in that man’s house. Instead, you left me behind in the gutter to rot.”

Guilt and remorse consumed Rob as he listened.

For it was as Jack said. He had done nothing, said nothing, to help his friend. He had been too afraid he would lose his own chance. Too selfish.

“You left me just like you woulda left Janet, so I—”

Rob’s head shot up. “You what? What did you do?” His eyes widened. “It was her choice to leave me, wasn’t it, Jack?”

Jack shook his head. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re the sinner here, not me. I tried to help her—and meself, too, I don’t deny.”

Rob was across the distance between them in an instant. He grabbed Jack’s collar. “What the devil did you do?” he snarled.

Jack twisted out of his grasp. “She went up in the world, same as you. She just needed a push.”

Rob stared at him with naked disgust in his eyes. “How did you push her, Jack? Did you sell her off as if you were her pander? Your own sister? You did, didn’t you?”

“She’d have been all right if she hadn’t been so besotted with ya. She could have screwed that old aristocrat out of lots of money being his mistress and bearing his brat—”

“She was with child?”

“What’s that to you? If she hadn’t been so stupid, she would have been all right. But no, she has to take it into her head to try to fight ‘im off. Then after, she still couldn’t see that she should be happy with what I’d done fer her. She even has to drown herself because she thought you’d be too proud to take her back. She was right, too. I know it, and so do you.”

“I don’t know it,” he cried. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“I do! You would have thrown her back into the streets, the same as that wench you’re bedding will be when her uncle finds out about her. And he will. Sir Philip already knows.” Jack smiled triumphantly. “Ah, now you understand. Now you’re not so damned sure of yourself. When your whore gets back from Whitehall, who do you think will be waiting in her bed?”

Had Vivienne really gone to Whitehall, then?

If so, why?

The king must have invited her.

For what reason?

The memory of Charles on top of her, running his lascivious hands over her body, burst into his mind.

“Do you think she’ll be waitin’ for you, all warm and willin’?” Jack scoffed. “Think again, old son.”

Rob forced himself to concentrate on the danger at hand. “Who else would it be?” he demanded harshly. “You?”

“Wrong again, my clever fellow. Sir Philip was right interested about your little rendezvous and he don’t climb too bad, for a bawcock. O’ course, he had some help.”

Rob stared at him incredulously. “What have you done?”

“Earned a way to get out o’ this stinkin’ country,” Jack snarled. “Away from the jackanapes and away from
you.”

A stable door opened and the tousled head of a groom appeared. “Go in,” Rob commanded. “This is none of your concern.”

The groom disappeared at once.

“We’ve roused the mews,” Jack said, backing away. “Damn you, you coward.”

“I don’t give a damn who hears us. By God, I could kill you,” Rob growled, meaning it with every fiber of his being as he marched toward the man who had destroyed Janet and now threatened to destroy Vivienne.

“Stop there, Rob, or I’ll kill ya! I mean it.” Jack reached into his coat and pulled out a dagger.

“Are you forgettin’ something, my buck?” Rob asked quietly as he continued to stalk his opponent, his accent slipping to what it had been years before. “As I once told a client o’ mine, I wasn’t born a lawyer. I’ve beaten you in fights before, and by God, I’ll beat you now.”

“You’ve got no weapon.”

“I won’t need one.”

There could be no mistaking Rob’s determination. Jack saw it, and with his lips pressed together and panic in his eyes, he ran at Rob and lunged.

Rob jumped back, and as he did, it was as if he jumped back into his past, into the boy he had been, the youth raised in the rough world of alleys and back streets, where a weapon was fists or anything that came to hand.

He crouched, his gaze eagerly scanning the narrow passage between stables and houses, seeking a piece of wood or anything he could use as a weapon, all the while aware that Jack had his dagger ready.

They circled warily. “I ain’t going to kill you, Rob,” Jack assured him, the dagger twitching. “Sir Philip ain’t payin’ me for that.”

“Then put that knife away.”

“Can’t. I need it. You was always a better fighter’n me, Rob. I have t’ even the odds.”

They continued to circle like two wolves, teeth bared, eyes watchful.

Suddenly Rob darted forward, deftly avoiding the knife. He grabbed hold of Jack’s arm and twisted.

Jack gave a yell and kicked, his booted foot striking Rob hard in the knee. It buckled and Rob fell onto the uneven cobblestones, crying out in pain.

Rob saw Jack’s arm rise and he rolled away, out of range of the plunging knife. Staggering to his feet, he crouched again, wary, panting, keeping his eye on the dagger.

“I’m bigger now, Rob,” Jack taunted breathlessly. “Not the little runt anymore. I can take you and I mean to, and then your balls are mine. Maybe I’ll hang ‘em ‘round my neck when I go to the New World.”

“A savage with the savages,” Rob muttered, swaying back and forth, ignoring the burning pain in his kneecap.

“At least I don’t pretend to be what I ain’t,” Jack cried as he sprang forward.

Rob sidestepped him, turning and moving away as fast as his injured knee would let him. As he did, he struck out at Jack, hitting him on the shoulder.

“Feeble, Rob, very feeble,” Jack declared as he whirled around. “No more than a flea bite. Remember flea bites, Rob? Remember how we used to pick the nits out o’ each other’s hair?”

“Of course I remember. Do you? Do you remember how many times I shared my food with you? Or how many times I hid you when your father was on one of his rampages?”

“Ever the kindhearted soul,” Jack jeered as he moved closer.

“I did what I could.”

“Till you got lucky. Tell me, Rob, is it as they say? Did you let that man diddle with ya?”

“You know better.”

“So I always thought—but then, you always thought I admired you. I
hate
you, Rob Harding.”

Again Jack lunged. Rob jumped away and gasped at the shock of pain as he landed before he grabbed Jack’s arm. He held tight, pulling downward and twisting, determined to wrest the knife from Jack’s hand.

There was a loud crack. Jack cried out in pain and the knife clattered onto the cobblestones. Rob pushed him away and reached for it. At the same time, Jack scrambled after him.

Rob got it first. Jack tackled him, trying to grab him.

It was no good. In the next instant, Rob had him on the ground, his uninjured knee pressed against Jack’s chest, and the knife at his neck. “I should slit your throat for what you did to Janet.”

“Go ahead,” Jack panted. “Go ahead and be done with it. I ain’t got nothin’ to live for.”

Rob drew in a great, shuddering breath as he remembered the boys they both had been.

He slowly slid his knee off Jack’s chest. “Run away,” he commanded grimly. “Get out of here, and out of London.” As he rose and tucked the knife in his belt, he looked down on the man who had been like a brother to him. “Consider your life and your freedom my gift to you, as my education was a gift to me.”

Clutching his broken arm, Jack eyed him dubiously as he staggered to his feet. “You’re letting me go?”

“Because you’re right. I should have done more to help you. But this is the end of it, Jack. Now we are even.”

Still holding his broken arm, Jack backed away as if unsure that Rob meant what he said. When Rob didn’t follow, he turned and ran down the mews.

As he did, a coach lumbered through the gate, nearly striking him. “Here, you, get out o’ the way!” the driver cried while Jack disappeared into the night.

As the coach rolled to a stop, Rob quickly drew back into the shadow of the stable wall, out of sight. He glanced up at Vivienne’s window and saw the rope dangling along the wall beside it.

Careless, very careless, Jack, he thought. Might as well have leaned a ladder against the wall.

“Oy, where’s the watchman?” the coachman called out.

Rob could hear the sound of doors opening and excited talk as he crept toward the drainpipe. He grabbed it and began to climb, biting his lip to keep from crying out in pain every time he bent his knee.

As he looked up at Vivienne’s window, a shadow moved across it.

O
wens tugged the ribbon from Vivienne’s hair so hard, she cried out in alarm.

“Oh, sorry, mistress,” the maidservant mumbled. “I’m that put out by the ruckus outside.”

“Nobody knows who was fighting?” Vivienne asked.

Their coach had nearly run down a man fleeing the mews, and after they had stopped, the liverymen, stableboys and grooms had all excitedly informed them of a brawl. Reports as to the number of participants varied from two to ten. On one point, however, all were certain: The combatants had disappeared.

“We never had such things go on in my day, when Cromwell was in charge,” Owens muttered. “Things have gone to the dogs since Charles got restored.”

Vivienne glanced at the window, noting that Owens had drawn the curtains. She was in no mood to argue the merits or demerits of her king. She wanted to open the window and look for Rob.

“Since you seem so upset, you may leave me to finish myself,” Vivienne said.

Owens didn’t protest.

“Good night, Mistress,” she said, hurrying out the door.

Vivienne didn’t doubt that Owens would head to the kitchen to discuss the brawl with the rest of the servants. That pleased Vivienne, because the kitchen was far from her bedchamber, so nobody would hear anything.

She went to the window and pulled back the curtains—to see a broken pane of glass and a rope dangling outside.

“Expecting somebody, were you?”

That was not Rob’s voice!

“Who’s there?” she demanded as she whirled around, peering at the shadows beside her bed.

“Who were you looking for?” Philip said, stepping into the candlelight.

“Get out!”

“Hush, my dear, or you will rouse the house, and I shall be forced to tell them what a harlot you are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please, Vivienne, don’t play the fool. It’s most unbecoming. I know all about Heartless Harding.”

She swallowed hard. “How did you get in?”

“The same way as your lover. Or should I say lovers?” he asked coldly as he came farther into the room. “I’d be surprised if there was only one.”

“Get out!” she ordered.

“Such righteous indignation. That’s quite amusing, coming from you, a woman who will take that guttersnipe into her bed.”

“He is not a guttersnipe. He is an attorney.”

“Harding was born in the gutter and that’s where he should have stayed. Society has no use for men who don’t know their place—or women, either.”

“Who decides that place? You?”

Philip reddened. “I am going to take that thief to court for misfeasance.”

“Misfeasance?”

“Stealing the virginity of his client’s intended bride is undeniably improper behavior for a lawyer.”

“He didn’t steal my virginity. I gladly gave it to him.”

Philip’s lip curled. “My God, you are a bold whore.”

“I would be a whore if I married you.”

“Listen to me, you stupid wench. I have a use for your uncle’s money, and I intend to get it, and you, one way or another.” He strolled closer. “You cannot dismiss me like a servant or that fop Cheddersby. I do not intend to leave before the cock crows and I have had my sport of you.”

“I have but to scream—”

“And I have but to tell your uncle about Heartless Harding. How do you think your uncle will feel about that bastard sneaking into your bed? Harding has had you, and since he is not the king, your uncle will not be pleased, to put it mildly. I would, of course, be willing to keep your little secret, if you do as I say.”

“I gather my secret is already well-known, if you know about it.”

“I learned from a most confidential source.”

“Now you listen to
me,
Philip, and listen well. I don’t care if all of London knows what I’ve done.”

“I would not be so hasty, my Amazon. Unless you give me what I want, I’ll destroy your lover’s career as thoroughly as you tried to ruin my chances with your uncle. Don’t think I won’t—I have the means.”

Vivienne’s mind raced. Did he have that power, as the king did?

The king. If Philip had been waiting here for her, he could not know what had happened at Whitehall.

A genuine smile grew on her face. “Go ahead, Philip. Have you not heard where I have been tonight? Whitehall. In the king’s private apartments.”

She saw his scowl and pressed on. “So very well, Philip. Tell the world what you believe. Let us see how Charles responds, shall we? Or what courtiers will pay any heed at all to you when I have the king’s ear.”

He lunged for her, grabbing her roughly. In the next moment, she felt the cold prick of a dagger against her throat. “I fear you’ve seriously underestimated me, Vivienne. I do not take kindly to losing anything, not even a whore. Not to that guttersnipe or the king of England.” He started to drag her backward. “So it’s to the bed, my dear—or I will take you on the floor.”

Suddenly a hand clapped on Philip’s shoulder and wrenched him away, sending him staggering back.

“What in—” Philip cried as cold air blew in through the open window and the curtains swung in the breeze.

Vivienne was so relieved to see Rob, her knees nearly buckled. And then she realized something else was very wrong.

His clothes were torn and filthy, his face muddy and scratched, and blood stained the knee of his breeches. In his hand he held a long, awful knife.