Oxford Shadows (10 page)

“No wonder she had a sour expression on all her portraits,” Madison said. “It must’ve been heart-wrenching to share life with a serial cheater.”

Madison checked the brochure and swallowed a giggle. She read out loud: “‘Meet the pin-up prince before he became fat, old Henry VIII.’ I’d like to see that.”

A shake of her head betrayed the annoyance that had built up inside her during the visit. And then she saw the portrait of the man. He was tall, athletic and confident. She heard a groan—her own groan—as she fought to suck air back into her lungs. She succeeded but her breathing sounded like panting to her buzzing ears.

“Maddie?” Ollie seized her shoulders.

She pointed toward the portrait of the man she had seen at Christ Church Cathedral, Liliana’s lover. Only he was more than that. So much more.

Florence ~ September 1508

“No, this cannot be. You are lying.”

My fists hammer against the chest of my lover, and I cannot hold back my tears. They cascade down my cheeks, tip over my upper lip and their salty taste spreads inside my mouth. He does not move; does not react to the violence I lash out against him. I wish he would. His indifference hurts more than the words he spoke to break my dreams and shatter my hopes. When I collapse against him, his arms wrap around me and absorb my sobs.

“You lied to me.” My voice has lost its edge, its fury and the life it once had. “You lied to me,” I repeat, but I stop hitting him.

“I could not tell you who I was. I had only a few months to escape my fate, to live like a free man. I wanted you to fall in love with
me
, not the king.”

“And that I did.” I take three steps back. As much as I yearn to stay in his embrace, my pride commands me to retreat. “You tricked me into your bed.”

“Liliana, I did not promise you anything. I wanted you more than I have ever wanted any other woman. But you knew I was a foreigner, you knew that one day I would leave.”

I curl my hands into fists, and my nails dig into my tender skin. I thought he would marry me and take me with him to this land of his. I had not suspected that England was more than a home to him; I did not suspect that England was also his destiny, his kingdom. Sharing with him my expectations would be like confessing my own stupidity.

“You were betrothed all along,” I say.

Henry narrows the distance between us, and his hands cradle my face. “My betrothal is not a real union. It has not yet been consummated.”

I struggle against his hold, but he does not let me break away. “I do not want to know about her.”

“I had no choice but to be betrothed to Katherine. She was my brother’s widow and my father was set on the union. Now that his health is failing, I must go back. I must have an heir.”

The images he brings to my mind cut through my heart. I want to be the one bearing his children, not some Spanish princess who would never love him the way I do. I fight against him, and this time he lets me go. I turn my back on him and cover my face with my shaking hands. Shame burns my cheeks. Silence resonates within the room where we hid our lovemaking. I gave him my virginity, and he discarded my gift without a second thought.

I should hate him.

Only I do not.

When his arms encircle my waist, I do not resist. I let him nuzzle his head against my neck.

“One day we will have a life together,” he tells me. “Katherine is older than I am. I will make you join me as soon as our union is over.”

Is he asking for me to wait for him until his princess dies?

He is.

And I am willing to wait.

13

RUPERT STRETCHED against the cushioned back of the sofa in the living room of the Vances’ London townhouse. He crossed his legs, careful not to crease his freshly ironed dinner jacket. Another charity dinner wasn’t where he wanted to be tonight. Madison had called him earlier on her way back from Hampton Court. The mixture of elation and fear he had detected in her voice made him want to drop his plans and drive straight to Oxford. Only he couldn’t.

“Camilla will be down very soon.” Hugo stood next to the fireplace, his hands pressed flat on the mantelpiece. “I think she’s become somewhat self-conscious at social events since she’s been pregnant.”

Rupert doubted very much that the perfectly groomed Camilla would succumb to self-doubt anytime soon, big belly and fat ankles or not.

His father rattled the ice cubes in his whisky tumbler and brought the glass to his lips. Rupert eyed the alcohol and started toward the bottle but Monty flashed bright red in his mind. He had to turn away, take a big breath …
No more booze, not tonight.

The gong of the grandfather clock started to strike seven o’clock, its flame mahogany case vibrating through each ring.

“This is getting ridiculous,” his father complained under his breath.

He started marching the width of the room, huffing and puffing. “The chauffeur’s been waiting outside for twenty minutes already. I’m supposed to give a speech at this dinner.”

Rupert couldn’t help chuckling behind the palm of his hand. He wasn’t used to seeing his father deal with domesticity, and the show was almost worth having to endure a whole dinner with him.

“You can never trust a woman to be on time,” Hugo said.

“Do you want me to go and check on her?” Rupert volunteered. Dealing with his stepmother wasn’t a treat he looked forward to, but he was all about building bridges these days.

“Would you, please? I’ll give my speech a last look while you do.” Hugo took a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket and sat on a chair.

Surprised his father had taken him up on his offer, Rupert headed toward the curved staircase that led to the first floor. There was no need to worry, though, as he heard Camilla’s voice cascading down the stairs.

“I’m ready.” She appeared in a flurry of muslin, any flaw in her face artfully covered with makeup. “Tell your father to calm down.” She moved her high-heeled foot forward. “We’ll be there on time. I—”

Camilla stopped mid-sentence and her body shifted forward as if a cricket bat had tripped her. Rupert watched her fall in slow motion. She twisted in the air and crashed onto the steps. She rolled down two more steps until Rupert caught her midway, panic shattering rational thought.

He cradled her in his arms, blocking her fall and covering her distorted belly with his body. The thought of the baby inside her invaded his heart and stole his breath.

A belated scream erupted from Camilla’s mouth, followed by a hiccup and a sob.

“Father!” Rupert shouted. “Call an ambulance.”

He held onto Camilla for dear life. She remained mute while her body started quivering. The tremors in his fingers betrayed his silent prayer for the child inside. His sister. Words of comfort flowed from him while Camilla remained unresponsive, her eyes fixed on the top of the staircase.

“Someone pushed me,” she croaked. “Someone. Something … behind my back.” Her voice was veering toward hysteria.

Madison’s warning sprung to the forefront of Rupert’s mind, but he swept it aside to focus on Camilla, murmuring a string of calming words.

His father had rushed to Camilla’s side. He caressed her hair as if she were a child. “I’ve called 999,” he blurted.

Camilla repeated the same litany. “Someone pushed me.” She was staring at the top of the staircase.

Rupert looked up but the space was empty.

Sunday lunch was one of the busiest times of the week at the Turf. Students—some still hungover from the previous night—crashed at the small tables to fill their stomachs with a traditional English Sunday roast.

Madison’s guts were also dancing the rumba, not because of alcohol but rather the imminent meeting between Aunt Louise and Rupert. While leaning against the bar waiting for her Coke from the ever-so-present Sam, she placed her hand over her churning stomach and tracked her breathing as she had learned to do during her yoga session. She had finally gone to yoga. Jackson would cut her some slack from now on. The lunch shouldn’t have felt like such a big deal. Considering everything else she was dealing with—Henry the Eighth coming back to haunt her, for example—her boyfriend meeting her nun of an aunt was totally manageable.

Wasn’t it?

She would know soon enough.

“Feeling a bit down?”

The question startled Madison and she jumped then felt her temper rise. Harriet the Hun had made her entrance to the Turf.

“Are you feeling too royal to talk to me? Or has dating Rupert started to bleed on you?”

Harriet hadn’t come to sign a truce.

Madison shut her eyes and replayed the advice of her yoga instructor about controlling her mood swings, but the only visualization she could muster was her hands circling around Harriet’s thin throat, and tightening and tightening.

“And you know what you’re talking about,” she said. “You went out with him for a whole year, after all.”

Madison turned toward Rupert’s ex-girlfriend. The girl was beautiful, like
really
beautiful. Her wheat-blond hair—its color so similar to Rupert’s—fell over her shoulders, stopping at the top of perfectly perky breasts. Her breasts were exactly where Madison’s eyes were riveted as they were directly in her line of sight. They were impossible to avoid as Harriet stood five feet nine to Madison’s five feet one.

Stop comparing yourself.
Madison tucked her arms under her elbows. Her stomach rumba increased in tempo, and she muttered unkind words under her breath. Jealousy was an ugly feeling. Shame made her want to jump in the shower and finish her whole bottle of deep cleansing gel, lathering it all over her body to get rid of the jealous filth.

“I would still be with Rupert if you hadn’t tempted him to slum down.”

Is this girl for real?
Madison bit her lower lip and pain distracted her from upper-cutting Harriet on her pointy little chin.

’“You could be more discreet,” the English girl continued. “Rupert and I used to come to the Turf all the time. Our friends are here …” Harriet had lowered her gaze, maybe embarrassed by her confession.

Could there be a chink in her shining armor?

“I think the girl has the right to come and go however she damn well pleases.”

Sam cut in front of Harriet and settled the Coke in front of Madison. His hawk-like eyes drilled into the English girl. Her whole body contracted.

Harriet didn’t deserve her pity, but deep down she knew there was some truth to the girl’s words. She laid her hand on Sam’s to show her desire for appeasement. Their eyes locked.

“I’ll take it from here, thank you.” Rupert had arrived, already reclaiming his role as Madison’s champion. He stared at Sam.

She’d never expected that two hunks fighting over her could become too much. Time to tone things down, but Rupert had already maneuvered his body into the gaping space separating her from Harriet. Between the two of them and Sam, who was standing right behind on the other side of the counter, Madison felt like a hobbit.

Rupert planted his feet wide apart, his anger slicing through Harriet. “I told you not to get close to Madison again.”

Rupert meant business. His wide shoulders blocked her view of Harriet, so she could only sense rather than see the further retraction of Harriet’s body. But it was enough.

With a light brush of her fingers, she managed to push Rupert aside and face her tormenter. Except there was nothing left of Harriet. Her back curved and her shoulders were slumped, while tears glistened in her downcast eyes.

Time to woman up.
“Actually, I think Harriet has a point.”

The frown on Rupert’s face was almost comical.

Madison focused on the girl in front of her. “I wronged you, Harriet, and for that I’m really sorry.” And, because Madison didn’t intend to apply for sainthood anytime soon, she added, “You were a bitch to me right from the get-go. You treated me like dirt, but I chased Rupert even when I knew you were still together.” To avoid the sight of Rupert glowering at her, Madison stared down at the tops of her brand-new white Converse shoes.

“Drink your Coke, Pumpkin.”

Madison’s head jerked toward Sam. His comforting smile and winking eye warmed her heart, and she took a small sip of her Coke. The bubbles tingled on her tongue. Rupert tensed at her side, and she gave a sideways glance at his hands, which were now curled into fists. He was ready to jump over the bar and do some damage. Madison knew enough about jealousy not to want to inflict the disease on him. She took hold of his right hand and slowly unfurled his fist to intertwine his fingers with hers.

Turning her attention back to Harriet, who had remained speechless during the whole episode, Madison pushed herself to take the last step. “I’m sorry. Once I fell for Rupert I couldn’t turn back.”

Rupert swallowed, and his body leaned toward her. She fought the need to place her hands on his chest and feel his heartbeat.

Harriet’s eyes widened, and her whole posture straightened. Her lips reshaped themselves into their usual acid pout. “No need to get emotional. It’s so vulgar.”