Margaret Moore (30 page)

The Duke of Buckingham laughed. “Maybe you are right, but I hope not. Otherwise, I might have to abduct her again, eh?”

“I would not do anything so foolish, if I were you,” Neville said evenly, yet with a tone of underlying ferocity.

The duke backed away. “If I did not know you, Farrington, I would say you cared about her.”

“If you think I care about her beyond being a means to gain my sovereign’s thanks, i’faith,
Your Grace, you do not know me. Now, if you will excuse me, Buckingham, I believe I see La Belle Stewart.”

“You will try your charms on her next, will you? For whom—yourself, or the king?”

Neville didn’t answer but walked away.

For it was not Frances Stewart who had caught his eye.

It was Arabella.

She was alone, dressed in a gown of deep-blue velvet trimmed with gold and silver, her hair very elaborately dressed with gold ribbons, her face powdered and with a patch near the corner of her eye and another on her chin.

As she made her way through the courtiers, she looked as if nothing at all had happened to upset her.

To judge by her smiles and nods to those who greeted her, she was the happiest woman in the world, not at all ashamed to have lost her virginity, or dismayed by the fact that everyone in this room probably knew it.

One might even think she was happily rid of an impediment to her plans.

Could it be that she had tricked them all?

Everyone knew what she had done.

The moment Arabella entered the Banqueting House, she was certain of it. A hush fell over the milling crowd. Then came leering,
speculative looks on the men’s faces and smug satisfaction on the women’s.

Never in her life had Arabella felt more like hiking up her skirts and running away. So must Daniel have felt that first moment in the lions’ den, and Eve when she first faced Adam after the expulsion from Eden.

But what else could she do? She had no home or any place else to go. As upsetting as it had been to leave the earl, it had, of course, been many more times upsetting to hear Lady Lippet’s maid screaming, then to be told that the woman was dead.

Arabella had not liked Lady Lippet, but she was sorry for the woman’s death and even more sorry when Lady Lippet’s lawyers had arrived and told her she had no business staying in the house.

Who else could she appeal to but the king? So she had, even though she knew exactly what that meant.

She scanned the room. Immediately she saw Neville, wearing fine new clothes of rich black satin and velvet. Then she realized to whom he was talking: the odious Duke of Buckingham. Again she wanted to run away, but she would not compound her sin with cowardice.

She was going to belong to this world, and therefore she would get the worst over with at once.

Lifting her chin with its fashionable patch,
she made her way through the gathering toward the man responsible for her presence here. She ignored the stares, whispers and smirks, and intercepted him as he moved away from Villiers. “Good evening, Lord Farrington.”

The moment Neville looked at her, she realized her mistake. She had not yet had time for her anger and remorse to quench her desire completely. Her heart started to pound, and she had to struggle to maintain her composure—while he was able to regard her as if she were a complete stranger.

“Lady Arabella, your servant,” he said with a bow.

He took her hand and pressed a kiss upon her knuckles that, despite everything, made her whole body flush. “I am sorry to hear of your loss.”

She raised one eyebrow questioningly.

“I refer, of course, to the recent demise of Lady Lippet. I am delighted to see you are not prostrate with grief, although I must confess myself surprised to see you here, and in such finery, too. Not a speck of mourning, I note.”

“No, my lord, no mourning for me. And why should I not come here? I would think you would be the first to say this is where I belong.”

He glanced at the people near them, then, regardless of possible speculation, drew her
away to the side of the room, where it was less crowded.

“I assumed you would be too ashamed and guilt-ridden to show your face,” he said.

“You are not. Why should I be?”

“Your father must be turning in his grave.”

“Perhaps.
Your
father has fled the city. Surely a man of your sophistication understands why I am here,” she continued, allowing a hint of her bitterness into her voice. “Did you not tell me yourself that the king wished me in his bed? I’faith, was I not to be honored by that proposition? Therefore, I am come to be the king’s toy, to give him a few moments of pleasure. To be used and discarded at whim, perhaps married off afterward, or perhaps not.”

“You don’t—”

“I do. I have no other choice.”

“And that is all my fault, like your supposed ruin?”

“Supposed ruin? What else would you call it?”

“Arabella, you were willing! Very willing! One might even think your virginity was something you were glad to be rid of, you are so quick to leap from my arms to the king’s bed.”

“What choice do I have, since you have taken my honor and my reputation?”

“I did not take it.”

“It’s true I
gave
it—and that makes your sin all the blacker.”

“Arabella,” he said, his tone half frustrated, half desperate. “I will not deny that I wanted to make love with you. I am not ashamed of that. Nor do I regret what we did together.”

“Why should you? You will not suffer for it.”

“I will and I am.” He took her hands in his. “Arabella, I regret that I didn’t take you somewhere private, where we would not be interrupted. I regret that once again, my father intruded where he was not wanted. I regret that I was so angry.”

She pulled away. “That I should live to hear you express any regret at all! I am honored by your confidence, my lord.”

“You should be.”

“As for these supposed regrets, no doubt you are sorry to have revealed your base motive so quickly. Who knows how long I might have gone on allowing you liberties before I discovered how insincere your motives really were?”

“This sardonic manner does not become you, Arabella,” he said, finally moving away a little, yet not so far as to render her even remotely comfortable. “Perhaps I should not attempt to be sincere, since you persist in responding so flippantly.”

“Of all men I thought you would appreciate
flippancy, sarcasm and mockery. Do I not sound just like you?”

“Yes, and I would you did not.”

“This is the mode of speech among the courtiers, and if I must be among the court, I should do my best to emulate them.”

“Go home, Arabella. Go back to Grantham.”

“What, after ruining my reputation, you will presume to dictate the course of my life?”

He scowled darkly. “If you will not listen to me, I see no point in continuing this discussion.”

“I was not aware we were having a discussion. I thought you were lecturing me.”

“Oh, no, my lady, I would never presume to teach you anything. Like my father, you would never listen.”

This was not fair, and she felt the injustice of his words keenly. “I did listen—much good did it do me! I listened to you and believed your lies, and now I must suffer for it.”

“You do not appear to find your alleged suffering particularly contemptible.”

“While you again blame your father for your behavior,” she said. “You are a grown man, my lord, and you have no one to blame but yourself for what you do.”

“I do not blame him for enraging me. That was your fault.”

“Mine!” she cried. “How so? I was the ruined party, not you!”

“You let him and everyone else think the worst of me. You didn’t tell him that you were as eager to make love as I. You acted the aggrieved party to perfection.”

“I was—am!—the aggrieved party! You tricked me with your lies and soft words. You made me think you loved me. I thought you were going to marry me. I was eager, shamefully so, and I must live with that terrible knowledge forever. I was a fool, a weak, stupid fool to listen to a word you said. Did you honestly expect me to lose what little pride I still possessed by acknowledging that in front of your father, especially in such circumstances?”

“So you were surprised and embarrassed—so was I!” he retorted. “If one of us was a fool, it was I, for waiting for you to tell my father that I was not a despicable cad. But no—your pride must win out over the truth. Let my father despise and disown me. He hates me already, or so I’m sure you reasoned. Let everyone think me the lowest form of lecher, so all will pity you.

“And then, after utterly destroying me in my father’s eyes, salvage what you can from the alleged ruin of your pride by becoming the king’s mistress, which is such a terrible punishment that you could not wait to come here dressed like a harlot.”

“I want no one’s pity!” she cried. “And if it is pride that brings me here, it is only the tattered
remnants of it. You obliterated the rest.”

“You should have told them the truth. Instead, you gave my father the confirmation of every bad thing he has ever thought of me.”

“Would you rather I boasted of my shame, as you bragged of your triumph?”

“I didn’t!” he retorted, and yet she saw the blush spread upon his cheeks.

“Liar! Your own face reveals the truth.”

“I didn’t boast!”

“What then?”

“I got drunk in a tavern, and I might have said some things,” he muttered.

“You got drunk,” she repeated with scorn.

“That is what a man does when he is angry.”

“Getting drunk is what men do when they are celebrating, and you had cause for that at my expense.”

He suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders. “You don’t understand anything, do you?”

She met his gaze boldly. “Tell me, then. Explain to me why you seduced me and then saw fit to brag of your despicable conduct in a public tavern. Convince me that what you did was good and honorable and noble. Make me believe that your motive was of the highest caliber, and not based on selfishness and lust and greed.”

“Arabella—”

He was interrupted by the yipping of dogs not far away.

Simultaneously, they turned to see the king striding toward them, accompanied by liveried servants. Two carried candleholders, one a goblet and another lead several of the king’s spaniels. “Lady Arabella, how lovely you look tonight!”

“You are too kind, Your Majesty.”

“Will you join us for a small private supper, Lady Arabella?” the king inquired.

As he reached out to take her hand, Arabella knew he was not merely asking her to eat with him.

If the sight of the king, for all his magnificence and charm and ease of manner, did not stir her at all, it was because she was wiser. Never again would a man’s outward appearance tempt her.

She glanced at Neville. For an instant, there was a look in his eyes—yet it was quickly gone, and he remained silent.

“I would be honored, Your Majesty.”

Chapter 21

A
t the start of the corridor leading to the royal apartments, Charles dismissed his grinning courtiers, sent his dogs away with their keeper and smiled at Arabella.

They were alone—or as alone as anyone with the king ever got, for servants stood in position at several places along the corridor. Once they saw the king and Arabella, however, they turned toward the wall and lowered their heads, as if this would render them deaf and blind.

“We are so delighted you are supping with us.”

“It is a pleasure, Your Majesty.”

“Soon enough, you will have rooms here of your own, if you so wish. Or a house in the city, if you prefer.”

She managed an answering smile. “I think I would prefer to live elsewhere, Majesty.” She
gave him a sidelong glance. “I did not see the queen in the Banqueting House.”

“She is resting in her chambers today.”

“Or Lady Castlemaine.”

He made a wry grin. “She is entertaining in her own apartments, I expect. As I am not exclusive, neither is she. Neither must … anyone … be.”

He was referring to her, obviously.

Arabella had not believed that a man could be so blasè about his lover having lovers, but obviously Charles did not particularly care what Lady Castlemaine did when she was not with him.

This was the depraved world she was going to be part of. Where Neville had put her.

Where she had put herself.

“You shiver, my dear. Are you cold?”

“I merely felt a draft, Your Majesty.”

“You will be warmer soon,” he promised softly.

Arabella swallowed hard.

“Now, these apartments here belong to the Lord Keeper, and next comes the Treasury, where we shall have to find some suitable jewels for you, eh?”

“That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty.”

“We do not speak of necessities, Arabella,” he said in a slightly sterner tone. “It will be our pleasure.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“This is my laboratory,” he said, gesturing toward another gilded door. “We live in a fascinating age, Arabella. An age of discovery. Of science.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

His voice lowered. “As well as an age of love.” He halted and gently tugged her into his arms. “My dear, you may call me Charles.”