Margaret Moore (22 page)

Now. Here. At once.

He lifted Arabella in his arms and strode to the bed, laying her upon it, gently sliding his hands from beneath her lovely, eager, willing body.

She looked up at him, her disheveled curls upon the pillow, her face slightly flushed, her lips parted.

He knew what he saw in her luminous eyes. He had seen that look in a woman’s eyes too often not to know what it meant.

She trusted him. She thought she was in love with him. He could do with her what he willed with no promise given, no pledge of obligation exacted.

And be the lascivious, derelict scoundrel his father thought he was.

Without a word, Neville grabbed his discarded clothing and strode from the room.

If the walls had crumbled about her, Arabella could not have felt more stunned, shocked and dismayed.

For a long moment, she did nothing. Then, slowly, she got off the bed and knelt on the floor beside it, regardless of the hard wood beneath her knees.

Clasping her hands, she began to pray. She prayed for strength, because she was as full of
sin and lust as her father had always said. She prayed for forgiveness, because as she had lain on the bed, looking at Neville, she had been every bit as weak and tempted as Eve. She prayed that the earl would see his son’s merit, for Neville’s righteous strength had saved them both from a terrible sin.

Evidence of his worth?

Neville had just provided all she would ever need by not taking what she had so wantonly offered.

Chapter 15

F
our nights later, warbling the chorus of a particularly bawdy ditty, Neville lurched drunkenly through the darkened streets of Bankside as he vainly searched for his new lodgings or at least another tavern.

He had been cracking a bottle ever since he had left Arabella and had every intention of continuing for as long as his limited funds lasted. If his father thought him a drunkard, he would be a drunkard. And a wastrel. And a rogue.

By leaving Arabella without making love with her, he had, of course, abandoned all hope of his inheritance and even the fifty pounds of the wager.

His last virtuous act might very well be his final virtuous act, and he was going to have to find some way to earn a living.

Maybe he could emulate Richard.

“Or perhaps I should become a highwayman,” he mumbled philosophically, addressing a shop sign. “Everyone thinks I will be hanged anyway.”

A movement in the shadows of a nearby alley caught his eye, and he drew his sword. Brandishing it, he moved toward the narrow opening between two decrepit wooden buildings. The smell of rotting vegetables and other refuse grew stronger.

Then he heard the sound of running feet.

“Ha!” he exclaimed triumphantly, swaying like a seaman on the heaving deck of a ship in rough seas.

Even drunk, no one would dare to attack him. His father, who did not love him, should see
that!

Arabella thought she loved him. He had seen that in her beautiful eyes.

She was too young and inexperienced to truly love, to feel that heady mixture of respect, admiration and desire that overwhelmed you until you could think of little else except Arabella …

He shook his head as if he could shake her memory from his brain. She probably just lusted after him, as other women had, he told himself as he staggered onward. They saw him only as an attractive, amusing fellow able to entertain them in bed and out, nothing more.

What was love, anyway, but a jest? Something
for poets to wax poetic about and playwrights to take literary jabs at.

He would not love anybody, especially not Arabella.

What could he give her? No fortune or hope of one. No position. No home.

His pride would never allow him to live on his wife’s money, so he had only a title to offer. Nothing more.

For a moment he leaned against a rough wall as if he needed the support. Then, raising his head, he took a deep breath. He straightened his shoulders and pressed his lips together while he ran his hand through his tangled hair.

He was Lord Farrington, whom most men admired and women desired.

“I’faith, I
could
be a poet!” he muttered with an attempt at his usual jocund manner.

He nearly collided with a low-hanging shop sign. He stared at the three balls indicating a pawnshop. “A pox! I’m home!”

A door at the side of the pawnshop opened onto rickety stairs. He made his way up the dark, narrow, half-rotten steps toward the garret, shoved open his door—and then nearly threw up when he saw who stood in his bare, dank room, now illuminated by what had to be his whole store of rushlights.

Fortunately, he was not ill. Instead, he immediately went down on one knee. “Your Majesty!”

“We think in these humble surroundings, ‘Charles’ will do.”

His head still lowered, Neville tried to look and sound sober. “You come here alone, sire?”

Bankside was hardly safe, even for the king, even though he came here with some frequency attired in what was, for him, plain clothing and accoutrements. Despite his garb, however, Charles was an unmistakable figure.

“We have men nearby, Farrington, but your concern does you credit,” Charles said. “Please rise.”

“Yes, Maj—”

The king cocked his head. “Charles.”

Neville gestured feebly at the battered stool. Besides the fetid bed, this was the only article of furniture in the room. “Charles, please, won’t you sit?”

The king glanced at the stool dismissively. “We think not.”

“I confess I am stunned to find you in my humble lodgings, Your—Charles.”

“As we are stunned by the poverty of your lodgings, Farrington,” the king replied. “And we are most displeased to see you in such a state.”

Neville tugged on the bottom of his jacket, then gave up any effort to make himself presentable, for he knew it would be hopeless. At least he was feeling somewhat less inebriated.
From the shock, no doubt.

“We understand you are no longer living in your father’s house. That you have had the misfortune to be … how shall we put this?”

“Cast out describes it, Maj—Charles.”

“Indeed,” the king concurred with a slight inclination of his head. “You have been cast out. And you have not been at court for some days.”

“Given what my father has done, sire, and that he is often at Whitehall, I thought it best to stay away.”

“We wondered if your absence had something to do with a certain young lady.”

Neville stiffened. “Majesty?”

The king raised the royal eyebrows expectantly.

“Charles,” Neville corrected himself.

“We speak of the delightful Lady Arabella, who currently resides in your father’s house.”

“What of her, sire?”

“She intrigues us, Farrington.”

Neville had suspected this from the first, but the king’s fascination did not explain what Charles was doing here talking about it, unless this was part of some heavenly plan to punish him. “The king is known for his discerning eye.”

Charles chuckled. “Well, we like a pretty woman and we do not trouble ourselves to hide it. Nor, my Lord Farrington, do you.”

Neville’s mouth went slightly dry.

The king laughed again. “Come, man, that is no serious failing! Indeed, spare us from a man who keeps too close counsel, for that way leads to deceit.”

“I am glad you think me an honest fellow.”

“Not
too
honest, we hope,” the king replied with somewhat less levity, “considering what we would have you do.”

“What is that, Majesty?”

“Can you not guess?”

“That might not be prudent.”

Charles smiled. “Indeed, it might not. However, it concerns this young lady of whom we speak. As you know, Lady Castlemaine has a furious temper when she is annoyed. She has, unfortunately, discovered that we fancy Lady Arabella and so is extremely annoyed.”

“A most inconvenient state of affairs, I imagine.”

“Inconvenient does not begin to capture the effect of one of my lady’s moods,” the king muttered before he smiled again. “We hope for your assistance in our desire, which is to have peace with my lady Castlemaine, and Lady Arabella in the royal bed.”

Neville’s nausea returned. “What would you have me do?”

“We would have you appear to be wooing Lady Arabella without actually seducing her,
all the while convincing her that her place is elsewhere.”

“I am to woo her into your arms?”

“Precisely. Make it clear to her that her king is a good-hearted, generous man. She shall have apartments in Whitehall, albeit far from Barbara’s, doming, horses, jewels, whatever she desires.”

“Do such things not fall into the Duke of Buckingham’s province or Sir Charles Berkeley’s?” Neville asked, fighting to maintain his composure. “Buckingham has been most diligent in the matter of La Belle Stewart, I believe.”

“And we both know how he has failed there,” Charles replied. “We are even more determined this time, and Lady Arabella shies from Buckingham like a nervous mare. As for Berkeley, there are, as we are sure you are aware, other reasons we would not wish to enlist his aid.

“You, on the other hand, Lord Farrington, may be the very fellow we require for this delicate business. She does not seem to shy away from
you.
”

“I must remind you, sire, that I am not welcome in my father’s house, so my contact with the lady is somewhat curtailed.”

“What is a family squabble to the king’s interest?” Charles replied with a hard look in his dark eyes that reminded Neville he was speaking to the ruler of a nation. “We trust a man
of your abilities will find a way.” He paused a moment, then smiled again. “You obviously have some pecuniary difficulties as well, Farrington. Naturally, you will be amply rewarded: titles, commissions, estates and so forth. We can be very generous to our friends.”

A thrill of excitement ran through Neville. The king’s reward might finally make his father consider him worthy of respect. No, he would be free of his father and rich. Influential. Important.

All he had to do was give up any hope of Arabella and sacrifice her to the king’s pleasure.

“I appreciate your generosity, sire,” he replied slowly. “However, I should tell you that there is a chance her scruples will render her compliance impossible.”

“Perhaps you do not comprehend us fully,” the king said. “It is your task to overcome any scruples. She seems an intelligent young woman capable of understanding what will be to her advantage.”

“There is also the matter of her possible betrothal to Lord Cheddersby.”

“Fozbury Cheddersby?” the king cried as if vastly amused. “Foolish Fozbury wants to marry her?”

“More important, Majesty, I believe my father will think the match a most agreeable one.”

“For Cheddersby, certainly,” Charles agreed. “And for her it is good, too, for he will be the most easily managed husband in the kingdom.”

“No doubt.”

“Has anything been definitely decided?”

“I do not think so, Majesty.”

The king grinned as he rubbed his gloved and jeweled hands together with satisfaction. “Odd’s fish, then, man, the point is moot. Besides, the fellow will hardly think himself ill used if I provide a suitable estate and a title or two in compensation, should he still want to marry her afterward.”

Neville was not so certain that Foz, for all his simple good nature, would think so, yet he remained silent. He had enough with which to concern himself without protecting Foz’s interests, too. “I think it would be wise to say nothing to him until matters are more in hand.”

“In hand? Precisely,” the king replied with a laugh. “We very much wish to have Lady Arabella in our hands and count on you to insure it!”

Neville bowed as the king started toward the door.

His Majesty paused before leaving, looking around at the stained and filthy walls. “These buildings are truly disgusting. It is tempting to have them all torn down and replaced, but I
fear the people would never concur. We shall have to count upon God to do it for us, eh?”

The next evening, Lady Lippet’s sigh spoke of exasperation and fatigue. “I cannot see Lord Cheddersby! Where can he be?”

“I do not know,” Arabella replied with considerably less concern. “He will appear soon enough. The Banqueting House is so crowded tonight, he might be close by and yet out of sight.”

Arabella had not seen Neville, either, although she continually searched the boisterous gathering.

She had not seen him since he had left her four days ago. It was as if he had disappeared completely.

She would have been very worried had not Lord Cheddersby told her he had been spotted about the city.

Why, then, had he not tried to see her?

Lady Lippet’s fan moved rapidly. “I have never seen so many people here before! No doubt the rumors are true and Lady Castlemaine plans on making an appearance, although there is no hiding the fact she is
enceinte
, and perhaps not by the king.”

It was clear it was Lady Castlemaine’s decision to appear in public that was cause for Lady Lippet’s displeased tone, not the questionable identity of the husband of her child.