Seducing the Beast (3 page)

Although busy with an important mission, she spared a few moments to watch the tall, scruffy, vexing fellow sail away through the crowd. Who the devil did he think he was, the blasted Earl of Swafford? Part of her wanted him to look back again, part of her wanted him to fall on his conceited face. Her head spun, and wicked pixies raced up and down her spine in little wooden clogs. Perhaps she could blame it on the tantalizing promise in his strong hands, protective yet gentle, guarding her from the surging crowd. Not conventionally handsome, he exuded a powerful maleness, unapologetic, unadorned, unperfumed. Definitely untamed.

When he stared into her eyes as if he meant to frighten her, Maddie saw a warm glimmer of gold, tentatively sparking through the darkness. Little secrets buried. Treasure, she sensed, he didn’t want anyone to see.

Now he walked away, she suddenly hungered for a marchpane tart, which along with her other sweet favorites, she’d sadly given up for Lent.
Concentrate Maddie, you’re here for one reason only, remember?

Letter of petition clutched in one hand, she dropped to her knees again, praying no other foolish windbag puffed up with his own importance would try to “rescue” her, and crawled through the swaying forest of legs and skirts. She’d been in barns and pigsties that smelled sweeter, but Madolyn was no meek, fading lily. Desperate measures were required, and she, accustomed to fighting for good causes, understood the necessary sacrifice.

Her sister would lecture her, “Maddie, you cannot cure the world of every ill and injustice. You cannot save every injured soul.” Madolyn, however, couldn’t rest if she thought she left anything undone which might be fixed and, although folk seldom appreciated her efforts on their behalf, she fought for the downtrodden and abused as if her life depended on it. And she would do anything for her cousin.

Nathaniel was a major constellation in her sky, a bright, glorious figure formed from a cluster of stars, against whom all other men, except her father, paled in comparison. Abandoned by his own, unwed parents, he was raised in their home, as dear as any son and brother. Unable to bear the thought of never seeing him again, Maddie wouldn’t let propriety stand in the way of delivering this petition for his pardon.

The crowd fell respectfully silent, so she knew the queen must be near. Aha! Just a few inches more. She almost made it to the edge of the crowd, when a foot stepped back unexpectedly, the heel pressing down hard on her knuckles. Maddie’s subsequent howl caught the attention of a courtier walking behind the queen. Seizing her chance, she scrambled to her feet, only to be blocked in by two guards with crossed pikes. The royal procession moved on, but the courtier remained, signaling for the guards to release her.

“Please, sir.” She kept her lashes meekly lowered. “’Tis a petition for the pardon of Captain Nathaniel Downing, falsely accused of piracy. I’m told the Earl of Swafford has her majesty’s ear in this matter.”

Perhaps, she thought eagerly, another courtier might take her petition to the earl, since she’d missed her chance. Alas, nothing would go as planned today. Under the guise of leaning down and taking her letter, the courtier’s gloved finger brushed her wrist and he pressed a soft, sly suggestion to her ear. Lifting her gaze, she recognized Lord Henry Jessop, who recently paid court to her sister. Although preceded by a somewhat hasty romance, his proposal was expected any day--at least, Madolyn had decided it should be--and all that remained was to get their father’s approval when he returned from sea. But the words Lord Jessop now whispered in her ear were not arranged in the fancy poetry he used to court her sister; they formed a suggestion, in base language, of the sort he might use to any sixpenny whore in a dockside bawdy house. He looked at her face only briefly, then at her bosom and lastly at the letter. His gaze returned almost immediately to the second item, where it stayed.

“We’ll discuss this matter of yours, wench.” His nostrils flared. “You may convince me of your case in defense of Captain Downing. Although I’m a
rigid
fellow, a persuasive tongue and a comely pair of lips working efficiently together may win me over.”

She replied in outrage. “Sir, I believe you would not want my sharp teeth in such close proximity to the meager, dangly collection of sundry objects between your legs.”

He blanched. “Very well,” he said, swinging his mantle with as much hauteur as he could scrabble into place. “Find another to take your petition. Though if the Earl of Swafford has her majesty’s ear on the matter, I advise you to abandon your case. The Beast is never swayed.”

Her heart sank. Another bubble of hope popped. Now she had more to fret over--her pure-hearted sister wasted her love on that blackguard Jessop, who apparently didn’t think of her unless she was immediately in his sights. Instead, he looked to prey upon any other woman for a casual tumble. How could she possibly tell Grace without breaking her tender heart?

Fuming, Maddie declared, “I heartily despise London. And all the men in it. Especially ‘noble’ men.” As the crowd dispersed and no one paid her any attention, she added loudly, “The next one who encounters me will bear the full brunt of my wrath, make no mistake.”

Noticing the lowering angle of the sun, she realized it was getting late. She would have to find a bargeman to take her down river back to Cousin Eustacia’s house, before her sister sent someone to find her. She doubted other great adventurers on important missions suffered so many obstacles and setbacks. Clearly she was being tested. Good. She was in the mood for a scrap.

* * * *

Entering the queen’s privy chamber, Griff managed a low bow, showing only a little stiffness and perhaps slight irritability at being summoned when burdened with so many other things on his mind. The herald was still announcing his name, when he began the upward swing of his rusty bow and took a brisk, disdainful glance around the chamber. He’d been told before that his gaze, at its kindest, was forbidding. At its cruelest, it might be called damning. Since this assessment had come from his brother, he paid it little heed.He had no time to waste worrying what people thought of his looks. Now, however, he was reminded of his brother’s comment, when the courtiers present shrank into a tighter knot, like a bunch of grapes left out too long in frosty weather.

A horse, somewhere below in the stables, stamped and whinnied in its stall. In the distance, a dog howled.

Someone dropped a pin and it was heard.

He approached the queen, lowering to one knee.

“Swafford, you are late! We began to think you found some other lady on which to dance attendance.” She offered her hand for his kiss, which was cold, hard, and quick.

“I came as soon as I could. The journey home was long and I have, this very hour, arrived in London, Majesty.”

She only teased him about being late. He was actually very prompt, as always. “If only you smiled a little more, Swafford,” she muttered. “Grim as you are, you terrify our ladies. We think one of them behind us now suffers palpitations that will shortly send her to the floor in a dead faint.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, majesty.”

“It was not a compliment, Swafford! You frighten our maids to such a degree and quarrel with our gentlemen so often, it is better simply to send you off abroad to terrify foreigners, instead of keep you here at court.”

That odd little thing he’d just encountered, who’d proclaimed, quite unabashedly, that she meant to seduce him…was that usual behavior for a seductress? Did they often run wild, declaring their intentions to anyone they met?

Was that one of her curls on his sleeve?

“Swafford! Are you ill?”

“No, majesty.” But he felt feverish. The stray wench may have slipped poison in his ear. With far more enemies than friends, he was no stranger to attacks against his life. It was one of the reasons why he always traveled incognito, dressing plainly.

“Swafford?”

Seduce him indeed! Ha! He looked up. “Majesty?”

Her eyes narrowed. “We said it is best to send you abroad to terrify foreigners, instead of keep you here at court.”

“I’m glad to go wherever I’m bid, Majesty.”

She gestured impatiently and he rose from his knee. “The point being, Swafford, you are our dear old friend and we would much rather keep you here. We have missed you these past two years.”

He frowned. “Ah.”

“So please, do make an effort to smile.”

Instead he winced. “Majesty, I fear this is the unfortunate shape of my face. Any great change requires more strength than a man my age possesses.”

She shook her head, seemingly bemused. “We are glad to have you back, Swafford, dour face not withstanding. You must be delighted to see home again after so long away. You will have many affairs to put in order.”

“Indeed, there are always matters of the estate to tend.”

“And of your brother.”

Of course, news of his brother’s latest escapade with Lady Eustacia Shelton, also known as the notorious “Scarlet Widow”, probably festered all over London by now. No matter, he’d put a stop to the affair, now he’d returned.

“Swafford! You’re scowling again!”

“Forgive me, majesty.” In his peripheral vision, a fashionable cluster of gentlemen watched and whispered, among them Robert Dudley, a favorite of the queen’s and a great braggart, but apparently a “charming” fellow whose laughing presence she could not do without. “I cannot smile without due cause,” he said sharply. “When
I
smile, majesty, you might trust it’s genuine.”

“We must be grateful for your stern face then, that dull countenance you wear.”

“Indeed, majesty. I will always serve you with honesty and devotion. A merry expression is only skin deep.” As he and the queen passed that small group of favored courtiers, he caught their sly whispers.

“What the Beast requires is a good tumble in the hay.”

“I hear he’s incapable.”

“It’s why his wife left him. She says he never could…”

“She enjoys the wealth and title, if not his bed.”

The laughter slithered from their mouths with the hiss of a serpent’s tongue. No one watching his face would suspect he heard the insults, but out of their sight, deep inside, in that dark, cold vault where he remained a gawky, stammering seventeen year-old boy forced into a marriage of duty, he withered away a little more. In private. The soaring humiliation of his marriage was a matter he discussed with no one. To others it might be a tale of beauty and the beast, him being the latter, of course. They didn’t know the cruel and spiteful woman behind that perfect mask.

The queen slid her hand under his rigid arm. “Walk with us in the garden. What news from Phillip of Spain?”

“He sends his warm regards and adoration, majesty,” he replied. “Make of that what you choose.”

“Yes. He adores us so much, he thinks every day of our demise. And hopes we shall name Cousin Mary as our successor!”

“I hear parliament continues to push you in this matter of marriage and succession, majesty.”

“And now you return they will enlist you in their harangue against us, Swafford.”

“They may try, majesty.” Again Griff’s thoughts returned to his self-proclaimed seductress. One could never be too careful in this court, where ambitious men seethed and plotted, desperate for preferment and favor. Was she sent to him as some sort of inducement, a bribe? Clever. He glowered across the walled garden, singeing the spring growth of a short, round topiary with the white-hot flame of his fury. Very clever indeed. She’d somehow got inside his mind and clambered over it.

The queen, he realized abruptly, still talked of her problems with parliament. “They would like us to be a weak and feeble woman, but we have the upper hand here. As they shall discover, as will our sweet coz in Scotland. They think they have weight against us.”

“The people of England are loyal to you,” he assured her. “They hope you will marry and produce heirs of your own--in time. You are yet in your prime, majesty. There is no haste.”

“Dear Swafford, you may be awkward, crotchety and seldom have a humorous tale to tell, but you always know the dutiful thing to say.” She paused. “Now, what do you truly advise us, as your queen, not as a woman.”

“As my sovereign, I counsel you to marry for duty. Make your choice solely politick.”

“Is there no room for love in this dutiful binding, Swafford?”

He barely restrained his eyes from rolling in the royal presence. “There is no such thing as love, majesty.”

“How can this be, when our poets write of it daily, and our minstrels sing of it nightly?”

“It is a lie,” he replied. “A fantasy, a myth, like dragons, unicorns, faeries and mermaids.” He shot her a look, his eyelids lowered slyly. “Your minstrels and your poets tell you what you want to hear, Majesty. Whatever you pay them to tell you. Any fantasy might be bought for the right price. Hence the existence of brothels.”

“How cynical you are, Swafford! One of these days you’ll admit love exists. We should place a wager on it.”

“Don’t waste your coin, majesty. Save it for your minstrels.” He paused, fighting a tremor of amusement. “You’ll never hear that tune from my lips.”

She must have caught the sudden twitch in his jaw. “Swafford, do I see the precursor to a smile?”

Griff carefully made his face grave again as a stone vault in Westminster Abbey.

She resumed her teasing. “We think we saw it once, the Swafford smile, and were unexpectedly swept off our feet by it. It happened so long ago, of course, it could simply be in our imagination.”

He kept his lips tight, his countenance unmoved.

“But indeed,” she added softly, “we should be sorry never to have the pleasure again.”

Seduce
him
? Who would put the little wench up to such an ill-advised scheme? She shouldn’t be wandering the streets unguarded. She could get herself arrested. Or worse.

He shook his head. No time to think of that now. One duty over, his next was a meeting with his foolish brother. He must find a barge for hire and make his way up the river.

He raised his fingers to his lips and tasted the lingering hint of chalky sweetness. Lavender and honey--a little rosemary perhaps.