The King's Man (26 page)

Kit tried to summon some sympathy for Lucy and failed. She and Morton deserved each other.

"And Thamsine?"

Jem nodded. “She's right enough. You'll find her upstairs."

Thamsine sat in a chair beside the small grate, her feet drawn up beneath her, squinting at a broadsheet. She looked up as he entered, pulling a badly made shawl closer around her shoulders. Her shortened hair fluffed around her head like a curling halo around her pale face. A broken pot with some tatty flowers in it had been placed on a table next to her.

Her eyes followed his and she smiled. “Jem brought me the flowers."

Kit raised an eyebrow. His sergeant had never been one to reveal a sentimental side before. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

"More like myself,” she said. “What happened to my hair?"

Kit looked at her. “It was filthy and matted and the girls thought it was easier to cut it."

"I suppose it will grow back. The price of my freedom,” she said ruefully.

"I rather like it short."

Thamsine gave a shudder and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and leaning her face on the kneecaps.

"I thought I was lost, Kit."

She closed her eyes and tears traced a track down her cheek. Kit resisted an urge to wipe the tears from her face.

She raised her head and looked up at him. “Kit, your Lucy is in league with Morton."

"I know,” he said. “I left her in your place in Bedlam."

Thamsine stared at him and a smile twitched her lips. “Good. I hope she rots there! She's as dangerous as he is. Jane thinks she may have murdered her husband."

Kit gave an ironic snort of laughter. “It wouldn't surprise me, Thamsine. I suppose I always knew she was shallow and manipulative but after the last few days...” He sighed. “I'm under no illusions about Lucy Talbot. She is quite capable of murder."

"What I couldn't understand was why she was so possessive of you,” Thamsine said. “She said she knew something about you that made you valuable to her."

He gave a wry smile. “Not as valuable as she would have liked to believe."

"What did she mean?"

Kit hesitated. “It's not important,” he said.

"Kit.” She sought his eyes. “Please, no more secrets."

He sighed. “She wanted me for a title. My grandfather is Viscount Midhurst and on his death, I become Lord Midhurst but that's all it is, Thamsine, a name, nothing more. I prefer being just plain Kit Lovell."

Thamsine looked at him. A viscount? This man was a viscount? She recalled her first conversation with Lucy Talbot.

"To a woman like Lucy Talbot, that title would be worth fighting for ... worth killing for,” she said aloud.

"Lucy made the mistake of playing with an experienced gambler, Thamsine. She underestimated me.” He squatted down and poked at the fire.

"How was Paris?” Thamsine asked his back.

Kit stiffened. “An ordeal,” he said.

"Something happened there?"

He shook his head. “No, not there. On the boat returning to England. Fitzjames is dead."

At the mention of Fitz's name, he felt a stab of pain as sharp as a knife. He missed Fitz. He missed their long and easy camaraderie.

"I'm sorry,” Thamsine said. “How did it happen?"

Kit still didn't turn to her. He jabbed angrily at a log with the poker. “He found some letters I was carrying."

"Letters for Thurloe?"

Kit gave a barely perceptible nod of the head.

"You didn't kill him?” The horror in Thamsine's voice couldn't be disguised.

He turned to look at her. “No, I didn't kill him but he would have killed me had it not been for the pitching of the boat. He overbalanced and fell overboard. I couldn't save him."

She slipped off the chair and stood before him. Gently she laid her hands on his forearms and sought out his eyes. “He was your friend, wasn't he?"

Kit's mouth quirked at the corner and he had to take a quick breath and look away. “Perhaps the only one I had but—as Thurloe is often want to remind me—I can't afford to have friends in this business."

"What about me?"

He looked at her. “Thurloe sent me to look for you. I found you. There is no more to it than that."

"So I was just another job?"

He nodded. “Just another job."

Thamsine lowered her head and dropped her hands. “I see. I thought..."

Kit turned away from her, running his hand through his hair. “You were wrong, Thamsine. I have enough concerns of my own without the encumbrance of friends of any sort."

"Did you see your daughter in Paris?"

He turned back to look at her and nodded. “She had grown so much I barely recognized her."

"Is she happy?"

He nodded. “Yes, I think so. She has a crowd of unruly boy cousins and Suzanne dotes on her. The only girl, you see. I confess, Thamsine...” His mouth twisted into a sad smile. “I hadn't realized how much I miss her."

"Perhaps, when this business is over, you can bring her home?"

He smiled bitterly. “Home? What home? A ruined house on a ruined estate? My family live in a few rooms in the only intact part of the house."

"And they are?” she prompted.

It was a relief to talk freely to her. It no longer mattered, now she knew who he was. “My grandfather, my stepmother and my sister,” he said quietly.

She looked surprised. “I was beginning to think that maybe you had no family,” she said, “apart from your brother. Where is he?"

Kit felt his throat constrict. “I have nothing to do with my family. I let them down once and they won't forgive me."

"What did you do?"

He shook his head. “Not that! Another time, Thamsine."

She sighed. “I'm tired, Kit, tired of secrets and lies particularly between us. If I had been honest with you when we first met, would things have been different?"

He shrugged. “Would I have betrayed you to Thurloe? I don't know, Thamsine, but I do know that I could have probably protected you from Morton.” He ran his hand through his hair, grasping frantically for words that seemed to have entirely escaped him. “Thamsine, I'm too used to lying. It comes naturally to me. A moment ago I told you that you were nothing more to me then just another task Thurloe had set me.” He took a step towards her and this time it was he who took her by the forearms, seeking out her eyes. “I can't lie about that any more. You are one of the very few people in this world I call my friend.” He took a deep breath. “And I think I might have a solution to your problem, if you are willing."

"Go on,” she said slowly.

"Marry me, Thamsine.” The words rushed out.

She stared at him.

"If you marry me then your problem with Morton will vanish."

"If I marry you, I marry a whole set of new problems,” she replied. “For instance, I don't know if you'll be alive next week."

He shrugged. “Then you will be a wealthy widow and free to choose whatever man you wish. Jane told me of the terms of your father's will. If you marry someone other than Morton, he loses his control over you. Even if I were to die next week, you will be free of him."

She smiled, a small, bitter smile. “And what do you get from the arrangement? A solution to your financial woes?"

"I want to be clear about this, Thamsine. I don't want your money. I confess it would be useful but if you wish we can enter into an agreement by which I forgo my claim on your property. It will be a proper business arrangement."

She clapped a hand over her mouth and for a moment he thought she was going to cry or throw up. Instead she laughed.

"Kit, this has to be the most romantic proposal a woman would ever want to receive."

Kit bridled. “This isn't about romance, Thamsine. This is about practicalities. Think about it, if you wish."

He turned his back on her and kicked at the fire before turning back to face her.

"Marriage to me wouldn't be so bad, surely? We ... seem to get on quite well and...” He paused. “I can't think of anyone else I would rather marry."

She shook her head. “No,” she said slowly, “I don't think it would be so bad, Kit, and I don't need to think about it. It sounds a perfectly sensible solution to my woes. When did you have in mind?"

"As soon as possible. Tomorrow?” he said. “I have found a celebrant who does not ask too many questions. Jem and the girls can stand witness."

"I see you have it all planned,” Thamsine remarked dryly. “You assumed I'd say yes?"

He looked at her. “I don't have time to spare,” he said. “If you said no, it would have made no difference."

She rose to her feet and crossed to him. She took his hands. “Thank you, Kit. I know how difficult this must be for you."

He caught her fingers in his and looked into her steady brown eyes. He longed to kiss her, to wrap his arms around her, breathe in the scent of her and lose himself in her. He wanted to tell her he loved her and that far from a business arrangement his heart rejoiced at the thought of marrying this woman. Instead he kissed her chastely on the forehead.

"Well I am glad that is settled,” he said. “Until tomorrow, Thamsine. Good night.” He released her hands and turned for the door.

"Kit..."

He turned sharply. Thamsine smiled a slow, sad smile.

"Thank you,” she said.

Thamsine tugged at the low bodice of the slightly darned amber satin gown the twins had produced for use as a suitable wedding dress. She picked up a wide collar and fastened it to her neck.

"Oh don't wear that!” May protested. “It looks nice without it, it does. That color suits you. Now hold still while I tries to do summat with this hair."

Thamsine felt a comb tugging at her shorn locks.

"Hated having to cut it. You've such pretty hair,” May mumbled more to herself than Thamsine.

"It will grow back,” Thamsine said.

"I know, but still."

"Well,” began Nan, who sat on the edge of the bed threading flowers for a wreath. “I always knew there was something wiv you and the Captain."

"What do you mean?” Thamsine squinted at the girl.

"Go on wiv yer.” Nan guffawed. “I've seen the way he looks at you. What wouldn't I give for him to have looked at me that way.” She sighed. “In't that right, May?"

"Potty about you, he is,” May agreed.

Something about their familiarity when talking about Kit made Thamsine aware that in their own way these two probably knew more about Kit Lovell than she did.

"I don't think you understand,” she murmured uselessly. “He's not marrying me because he loves me."

But the twins weren't listening. “You just wait till he gets you into bed. He's a gentleman, he is. Not like most.” Nan said.

"That's right,” May agreed. “Likes to make sure a girl has a good time too if yer know what I mean?"

Thamsine felt the color rising to her cheeks. “No, I don't know what you mean."

"Go on! How old are you?” Nan asked.

"Twenty-six."

"And ye've never ‘ad a man?” May enquired.

Thamsine shook her head. “No."

May stared at her in disbelief. Thamsine felt the color rise to the roots of her hair.

"Well love, you've chosen well then,” May continued. “The Cap'n, he'll be as good a teacher as any I reckons. Taught him a few tricks ourselves, haven't we, Nan?” May winked at her sister.

Thamsine felt her shoulders slump under the weight of this extraordinary conversation. A bride did not like to hear such candid revelations about her future husband's skill as a lover, but then nothing about her relationship with Christopher Lovell had been the least conventional.

She sighed.

Nan arranged the circlet of flowers on her shorn hair. “There, you look lovely! Turn around."

Thamsine obliged. “Come on, they'll be waiting for us!” May said.

Kit had found an obliging priest, happy to fulfil the requirements of a speedy marriage. With banns and licenses outlawed, the only requirement was for a priest or justice of the peace to announce the impending nuptials in a public place. The letter of the law had been complied with and Kit waited at the church of St. Sepulchre at the end of the Old Bailey for his bride to appear.

Thamsine walked slowly down the aisle and stood beside him, looking up at him with a small, shy smile. Not for the first time that morning she wondered whether she had made the right decision. Had she merely jumped from the frying pan into a fire?

Kit smiled back at her. He found her hand, and gripped her cold fingers. Hidden from general view within the folds of her skirt, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

In the space of a short ceremony, Christopher Lovell of the parish of Eveleigh in Warwickshire became tied in the eyes of God and the state to Thamsine Granville, spinster of the parish of Hartley in Hampshire.

A welcoming fire burned in the grate of the Ship Inn's best bedchamber. The twins had lit the room with the most expensive wax candles and left a cold supper set on the table.

Kit closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock. He paused just to watch Thamsine. In the light of the candles he could not see the darns and frayed edges of the amber gown and it glowed like a jewel, shimmering as she walked towards the window. The low cut of the bodice exposed her back, the long line of the stays lending an elegant grace to her slender figure.

She stopped by the window, looking down into the street, her hand resting lightly on the sill, her face half turned away from him. His heart ached at her beauty and the sudden knowledge that she was beautiful. Every woman he had ever known paled into insipid prettiness beside her.

Suddenly she had become unattainable and untouchable. A few days ago he had slept with her in his arms, now he stood in his wedding chamber like a virgin schoolboy, completely at a loss to know what to say or what to do.

She turned to look at him. “What are you thinking?"

He paused for a moment before replying, his brain completely unable to concoct a suitable answer that did not sound hackneyed or ribald or just plain stupid, so he opted for the truth.

"I was thinking how beautiful you are,” he said.

A small smile of pleasure lifted the corners of her mouth. “No one has ever told me that before."