Margaret Moore (28 page)

Or maybe it was the sunlight streaming in through the window behind him.

He decided he didn’t care who was calling him, so he laid his head down on his arms again and mumbled, “Go away.”

“Zounds, it
is
Neville!” Richard declared incredulously. “I thought that red-haired Irishman was seeing things.”

“Now we know he’s not dead in an alley, so
let’s do as he says and leave him alone,” Foz said nervously.

“I don’t think leaving him here, tempting though it may be, would be a wise idea,” Richard said, surveying the wharf-side tavern filled with some of the most unsavory characters Richard had ever seen—and he had seen many in his time. “Half these men look as if they would gladly do murder for his jacket.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Foz replied. “For old times’ sake, we should assist him.”

“Help me get him up.”

Richard came around the table while Foz went to Neville’s other side. They put their shoulders under Neville’s arms and hauled him to his feet.

“I said go away!” Neville growled. “I wanna stay here. More wine!”

“Zounds, Neville, what’s got into you?” Richard demanded. “How long have you been here?”

“What’s got into me?” he slurred, lifting his head as if it weighed a hundred pounds. “Nothing’s got into me—but I got into her!” He grinned stupidly. “That’s right! You both owe me fifty pounds!”

Richard and Foz looked at each other.

“I had her last night. The virtuous angel. And it was angelic—but never mind about that. I want my hundred pounds.”

“Then you must come with us to get it,” Richard said grimly.

“Oh?” He frowned petulantly. “Do you want to ask her? Very well, then, we shall. But let’s have a little drink first, shall we? A toast to the fair Arabella—may she rot!”

“Neville!” Foz cried, aghast.

“Sorry, sorry, old son,” he apologized. “I forgot you want to marry her.”

“‘Ere, now, then!” His hands on his hips, a heavy man in an apron as filthy as his face blocked their progress. “What’s all this, eh?”

“We are taking my friend home,” Richard replied evenly.

“He hasn’t paid up.”

“If you are the proprietor, my good man, I shall be happy to—” Foz muttered, reaching for his purse while still trying to help hold up Neville. “How much does he owe?”

“Two guineas.”

“You must be mistaken,” Richard said.

“Oh, beware the fair Arabella, she’s after any young fella!” Neville caroled drunkenly.

“It doesn’t matter, Richard,” Foz hastened to say, ignoring Neville’s tuneless effort. “I’ve got two guineas.”

“If all we’re paying for is those three bottles, Neville cannot owe two guineas.”

“She’ll get you stiff, that little miss,” Neville warbled. “Oooooh!”

“I says he owes two guineas.”

“Sorry, Foz,” Richard suddenly declared, pushing all Neville’s weight onto Foz.

In the next instant, Richard’s sword was at the tavern-keeper’s throat.

Those patrons who had been watching the confrontation suddenly seemed mindful of their own concerns.

“Odd’s bodikins!” Foz cried as he staggered and tried to hold Neville.

His hat and wig slipped seriously askew, almost covering his eyes, but he could not push them back without letting go of Neville.

Who finished his song with a loud, maniacal flourish. “Beware the fair Aaa-raaa-bella!”

“It would be rather unwise of you to persist,” Richard remarked, ignoring everything except the man in front of him. “Two shillings is more like the true price, is it not?”

His eyes on the sword blade, the man nodded.

“Foz, give the man two shillings.”

“I—I can’t,” Foz panted. “He’ll fall.”

“Oh, no, I won’t!” Neville declared. “I’ll never fall in love. She can try all she wants with her smiles and kisses and sweet body, but I won’t.”

“Hush, Neville!” Foz urged, struggling to hold him upright.

With a flick of his sword, Richard cut the strings holding Foz’s purse to his belt. When it hit the ground with a metallic clink, every eye
in the tavern turned to them, drawn to the sound as a hawk to the lure.

Smiling, Richard sheathed his sword, scooped up the purse and found two shillings. He tossed them into the damp, filthy sawdust on the floor.

“There you are, my good man.” He returned to Neville’s other side. “Come, Foz, let us away. The stench in here is making my eyes water.”

Foz sighed with relief as his burden grew lighter.

“Why, Richard, what an unexpected pleasure!” Neville cried, as if he had only just arrived. “Are you joining me for a drink?”

“Be quiet and come with us,” Richard muttered, and together the three men made their way to the door.

Once out of the fetid atmosphere of the tavern, Neville seemed to revive a little. “Where are we going?”

“We’ll take you to my lodgings, where you can sleep this off,” Richard said.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Neville complained drowsily. “I want to have another drink. A celebratory dram.” He raised his hand in a mockery of his usual elegant grace. “A salute to my conquest, and you both must join me.”

Richard glanced at Foz and saw the concern on his friend’s face. “He’s too drunk to know what he’s saying.”

“I hope so,” Foz said breathlessly. “Can we not get a coach?”

“Excellent suggestion.”

They half carried, half dragged Neville to a wider thoroughfare and soon caught sight of a hackney coach. In another few moments, they had managed to get Neville inside. Before they had even a chance to sit down, he was snoring.

“Odd’s bodikins,” Foz said with a sigh as he straightened his hat and wig. “I do not know whether it was a lucky circumstance that brought Jarvis to us or not.”

“We couldn’t leave him with those cutthroats.”

“No, no, I suppose not.”

“Foz!”

“Well,” Foz answered with a peevish pout, “you heard what he said about Lady Arabella. If it’s not true, it was very insulting, and if it is true … Do you suppose it’s true?”

“I hardly know what to think,” Richard answered honestly. “But it could only be wishful thinking, you know,” he continued when he saw Foz’s woebegone expression. “Unfortunately, we shall have to wait awhile before he can tell us the truth.”

“What do you mean by disturbing me at this ungodly hour?” the Duke of Buckingham demanded of his manservant from the depths of his large and ornately gilded bed.

Every article of the furnishings in the duke’s large bedchamber was likewise ornate and gilded and upholstered in deep-red velvet. An expensive carpet covered the floor of inlaid wood, and the draperies at the tall windows were of thick, red silk brocade. At present, they were shut, keeping out the bright sunlight of midmorning and muffling the sounds of the city.

“It is nearly noon, Your Grace,” the manservant noted calmly, quite used to his master’s arrogant responses, especially when the duke had spent the night without companionship of one sort.

Or another.

“As I said, how dare you disturb me so early!”

“If Your Grace pleases, Sir Charles is here, and Lord Buckhurst.”

“Your Grace doesn’t please to see them. They had the audacity to win two hundred pounds from me last night. Tell them I am indisposed.”

The servant nodded. “Your Grace, there is also a lady who wishes to speak with you.”

The duke shifted a little. “A lady? What lady?”

“She gives her name as Lady Lippet.”

“Tell her I’m indisposed, too.”

“She seems most agitated, Your Grace, and says she will not leave until you see her.”

“Very well, I’ll see her. Send her in.”

The servant bowed and left the room.

The duke got out of his bed and pulled on his robe. He put on his wig and sat in his chair, his manner not unlike that of a king upon his throne, as the horribly ugly Lady Lippet came charging into his bedchamber as if it were a public hall. She wore a ghastly black gown that made her look like an old buzzard.

“Well, this is a pretty to-do!” she declared.

“My lady?”

“I gave you every opportunity!” she cried, punctuating her exclamations with a jab of her bony finger in his general direction. “Every opportunity. And you failed! How many times did I leave her alone—and where were you? Off gambling or drinking, no doubt! Well, I will have my money, even if Neville Farrington has had her first!”

Villiers’ hands clasped the slender arm of his chair so tightly that his knuckles went white. “What do you mean?”

“You know very well! He’s made love to her!”

“How do you know this?”

“I saw them with my own eyes. They did it right in the earl’s withdrawing room! How could you fail, after all I did to help you?”

The duke rose from his chair. “Woman, have you forgotten to whom you are speaking?”

Lady Lippet blinked and colored.

The duke gestured to another chair and resumed his seat. “If you want your money, you will sit.”

Chastised, Lady Lippet did as he commanded, then leaned forward. “I thought the earl was going to fall into a fit when he saw them.”

“Will he make them marry?”

Lady Lippet shook her head. “No. Neville’s completely estranged from his father now, I am pleased to say. Which is just what he deserves!”

“Spare me your condemnations of sons of your former rivals. What does Lord Barrsettshire intend to do? Spirit his dishonored ward back to the country in disgrace?”

“Of course not! Am I a fool?”

The duke didn’t answer.

“The earl suggested it, and Arabella wanted to go, but it is not to be. And,” she added triumphantly, “Arabella has left the earl’s protection and come to stay with me.”

“For how long?”

“I think that depends on you, Your Grace, and what offers you care to make.”

“I dare say you will expect a reward for that, too.”

Lady Lippet smiled. “Now that Arabella is a fallen angel, she will not be so stubbornly high-minded, and so you may seize your chance.”

“Her virginity was part of her allure,” he mused.

Lady Lippet’s lip curled. “But she is still so very beautiful, so now I will have my money.”

The duke smiled coldly. “Money? What money?”

Lady Lippet’s face flushed. “The two hundred pounds you offered me if I would look the other way.”

“And so you did. But it was Neville who took advantage of your willing blindness, not me. Ask him for the two hundred pounds.”

“You gave me your word!”

“How much did Neville bribe you to keep the earl away last night?”

“Nothing! You know he doesn’t have any money.”

“I don’t believe you—and neither will any of my friends. Either he paid for your cooperation, or you have been sorrowfully remiss in your responsibility toward your young charge, as some have already noted.

“When they hear of this, and they will,” he added with another cold grin, “they will either fault you or think you conspired with Farrington.”

“Everyone knows I would never do such a thing!”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Not for him! Not for
her
son! I would
sooner hang myself. And how can they fault me? I am no relation to her!”

“You were seen to be acting as her chaperon. Of course, I have considerable influence of my own, and I could always champion you—if Arabella Martin comes willingly to my bed. Otherwise, Lady Lippet, you would be wise to plead illness and retire to the country.”

The older woman turned pale. “You rogue! After all I’ve done for you—”

“A rogue who will always survive, Lady Lippet, no matter how many men try to bring me down. If you wish to retain my good regard, you will encourage Arabella to look upon me with favor. Otherwise …”

He didn’t have to finish his threat.

Her limbs trembling as if she had been stricken with palsy, Lady Lippet got to her feet. “Very well, Your Grace, I shall do my best, but you may have to wait your turn to get between those lovely young legs—until the king has had his pleasure of her!”

With that, she marched from the room with as much dignity as she could muster, hating him and all men.

Because not a one of them had ever looked on her with desire.

Neville groaned softly, rolled on his side and opened his eyes.

His head ached and his mouth was as dry as
chaff. He had never felt worse. Yet it was not the wine he had imbibed that made him feel so terrible.

He slowly realized he was in Richard’s lodgings. He recognized the battered table covered with bits of old candle wax near the foot of the bed. One was lit now, for it appeared to be twilight outside. Or maybe it was merely foggy.

How many hours had they spent talking here in the past? And drinking? And wenching?

Before a woman came between them.

Then he encountered the severe, condemning gaze of Richard himself, sitting on a chair beside the bed.

Neville closed his eyes and shifted onto his back. He had seen enough condemnation in a person’s eyes to last him a lifetime.

“Is it true?” Richard demanded.

Neville threw his arm over his eyes. “Go away and leave me in peace.”

“Is it true? Did you seduce Lady Arabella?”

Of all subjects, he wanted to avoid this one the most. “Who says I did?”

“You did,” came the harsh response. “I am hoping you were too drunk to be speaking the truth.”

“You are wise to be doubtful, for I am a great liar. Ask my father and the lady if you would like confirmation of that fact.”

“Neville,” Richard said, suddenly lunging from his chair to grab his shoulder so roughly that Neville feared he intended to drag him from the bed.
“Did you seduce her?”

Neville regarded the man who had been his friend since his first days in London. That friendship was surely lost to him now.

But what was that compared to the king’s ire when he discovered what Neville had done? He would probably be thrown into the Tower; without doubt, he would be exiled from court, left to fend for himself. “You owe me fifty pounds.”

Richard leaped to his feet, scowling darkly. “A pox on you, Farrington!”

Neville put his feet on the floor and heaved himself upright. “I’m leaving. Send me the money later. And tell Foz, too. If it is any comfort to you, I will need the winnings because, despite the evidence of his own eyes, my father will give Arabella my inheritance yet.”