Traitor Angels (20 page)

IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN MINUTES OR HOURS LATER
when I reluctantly slipped from Antonio’s embrace. My lips were so swollen from his kisses that my voice sounded shaky even to my ears. “I must go.”

He lay on the coverlet, smiling up at me. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing the brown birthmark below his collarbone. Somehow the sight seemed even more intimate than the sensation of his lips on mine—this was one of the secrets of his body that probably only those closest to him, his brothers and parents, had seen. I might be the first person in over ten years to have laid eyes on that swath of skin. We were beginning to know each other in ways I could never have imagined. It was as though the world were slowly unfolding all around me, and it was far bigger than I had guessed.

I expected him to entreat me to stay. But he merely lifted my
hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’ll escort you to your room,” he said.

“Truly?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my tone. “You don’t beg for more kisses?”

He shot me a startled look. “What pleasure is there in kisses that aren’t mutually given?”

And just like that, I was lost.

In the corridor, we walked in companionable silence, our hands linked. At my door, he kissed me one last time. “Good night,” he said. Smiling, I ducked into my room. And even though I didn’t look at my reflection in the glass, I knew my eyes must be shining in the dark.

“You are,” Lady Katherine said, “quite possibly the worst dancer I have ever seen.”

Groaning, I flung myself on the divan. “I know. I’m hopeless.”

“You aren’t trying hard enough.” Lady Katherine stood in the middle of the library, her hands on her hips, regarding me with exasperation. It was the following afternoon, and we had spent part of the day closeted in this room while she had attempted to teach me dances. In the dimly lit Royal Society meeting room I had passed as a boy, but in Buckingham’s ballroom, which would be illuminated by countless candles, it would be obvious I was a girl. Therefore I would pose as one of Lady Katherine’s friends. A decent solution, except for one problem: I did not know how to dance at all. The intricate steps of the galliard were manageable, although I found myself automatically slipping into the man’s role, which was much livelier than the woman’s.

“How can you have made it to sixteen without learning how to dance?” Lady Katherine demanded.

“It was forbidden in my home.”

“Oh. Puritans.” She looked at me pityingly. “Does your kind truly believe entertainment is inherently sinful?”

I remembered looking at myself in the glass at the inn in Oxford. How good it had felt to study the landscape of my face. And my body may have felt graceless when I danced, but it had felt free and strange, too. Not wrong. Not wicked, but right and true. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

“I pity the feet of the men at tonight’s ball, for surely they’ll ache after dancing with you.” Lady Katherine’s lips twitched. I grinned at her. She had teased me—now I knew we were friends.

If anyone had told me a fortnight ago I would become friends with an Irish aristocrat so beautiful that candles seemed to burn brighter when she entered a room, I would have laughed in his face and called him a blockhead. It was as though in my old life the earth had stood still while the other planets had circled us, and in this new life the world had begun revolving, spinning me around and around until the ground tilted under my feet and I had to walk with my arms out flung for balance. Yet I would not trade this delicious dizziness for the comfortable smallness of my old life.

Except for Father. The loss of him was an ax, cleaving my life in two, turning all my days into a series of befores and afters.

My smile died on my lips. Somehow I murmured my excuses to Lady Katherine and hurried along the corridors to my bedchamber.

Don’t think about him
, I ordered myself. My actions were just, and I was doing what he wanted. If tonight we met the men who had stolen the vial from us and took it back, we could share Galileo’s story with every European nation. We could trace the
path of his life and find the cave that had brought him so much sorrow and joy. Citizens would be free to question their beliefs; they could explore the tenuous connections between religion and natural philosophy without fear of imprisonment or execution. The world would be changed forever.

And Father would be proud of me. Somewhere, he would be an eternal soul watching me—and he would know what I had done. I managed to smile, even though it felt as though my heart had been wrenched from my chest.

In my chamber, a scarlet gown had been left lying on the bed. The full skirts spread out like a bell over the white coverlet. Ribbons and intricate stitch work in paler shades of red covered the bodice. As though moving of its own will, my hand reached out to stroke the satin sleeves. They felt as smooth as water.

“Lady Katherine knows your people don’t wear color,” Thomasine said behind me. “But she said any ball guest who sees you in this gown will never guess you could be Mr. Milton’s daughter.”

“It’s beautiful. But I can’t borrow something so fine.”

“Lady Katherine wanted you to have it, miss. She said the color would go well with your dark hair.”

I smiled, knowing I would have to trust Lady Katherine’s judgment, for I had no eye for frippery and finery. “Then I’ll wear it, and be grateful.”

“Very good, miss. We must get to work, or you won’t be ready in time.”

Although the word “work” made me laugh, I soon realized Thomasine had spoken in earnest: preparing oneself for a ball was serious work indeed. First servants had to haul ewers of water
to fill the copper tub; then I had to scrub my hair and every inch of my body with a cake of soap. Clad in a fresh shift, I had to sit motionless while Thomasine heated curling tongs in the fire before winding strands of my hair around them, and then I had to try not to panic and shout that I smelled burning hair even though my nose had caught no whiff of any such thing.

I was brought a tray (“It’s customary to eat before a ball, so you can refuse any refreshments served there and impress others with your ladylike appetite,” Thomasine had explained, much to my amusement), and I sat at the writing table, dining on pheasant and potatoes and wondering why anyone would praise a girl for not eating enough food to feed a bird’s belly. Aristocrats were people I would likely never understand, I decided as I pushed back from the table. But then I thought of Lady Katherine’s averted eyes when she had talked about her family’s ancestral castle in Ireland. Robert lying wounded in the tall grass. The Duke of Monmouth kissing my hand. Mr. Boyle speaking excitedly about his experiments. And I could not hate them.

I didn’t even want to. Not anymore.

Thomasine helped me step into my skirts. With quick hands, she fastened their ties around my waist.

“Close your eyes, miss,” she ordered.

Something as soft as feathers dusted my cheeks. Thomasine’s finger traced the outline of my lips, her touch whisper-light. Then she pronounced me done, and I opened my eyes.

The sight of cosmetics on my skin was so startling I couldn’t speak. My face had been powdered cloud-white, my lips painted cherry red. The shade of the gown was as rich and vivid as the sun in the final throes of daylight, blazing red and bright. In
the glass, I could see gold thread must have been worked through the bodice as well, for bits glinted and caught the light. Rubies set in a gold chain gleamed around my neck. The front of my hair had been drawn into a bun, the rest left to fall down my back in loose waves.

“Lady Katherine was correct,” I said. “No one would take me for John Milton’s daughter in this costume. But the sleeves . . .” I frowned at them. They ended at my elbows, exposing my forearms. “I can’t wear my knives.”

“This length is the fashion,” Thomasine said. “If you wear longer sleeves, everyone will look at you.” She closed the hinged wooden boxes of powder and cerise. “His Grace and Mr. Viviani will be wearing their swords, though, miss, so you’ll have protection.”

I looked at her narrowly. “If you know we have need of protection, then Lady Katherine must speak frankly to you.”

“She does,” Thomasine said simply. “She’s a rare jewel, and I hope His Grace knows how fortunate he is.”

Before I could reply, the crunch of carriage wheels on stone pavers sounded through the window. Robert must have arrived. It was time.

Now that the moment had come, nerves swirled in my stomach like bats’ wings, strong and impossible to ignore. I pressed a hand to my belly, willing it to settle.

After thanking Thomasine, I hurried from the room. As I strode down the corridor, I heard Lady Katherine’s voice in the hall and rushed toward it.

When I blinked, Father’s image loomed against my lids: narrow-shouldered, auburn-haired, sitting on the steps of our
London row house, his hands strumming the strings of his mandolin, an object of ridicule in his Puritan clothes. I could feel his hand digging into my shoulder for balance as we walked the streets, me describing the sights to him in a whisper. He had given me a thousand memories: the intoxicating scents of paper and ink, the wooden hilt of a dagger in my hand, the crackle of coals in a brazier while he dictated to me on winter mornings. Impatient and cantankerous and exacting, gentle and brilliant. Irreplaceable.

Lady Katherine’s voice grew louder. “What do you think, Signor Viviani?”

“Signor Galilei’s discovery is a powerful tool against the Church,” Antonio said. “My master has spent years trying to repair Signor Galilei’s reputation, to no avail. If I brought it to the officials in Rome and promised to keep it quiet in return for Signor Galilei’s pardon, I’m certain they would agree.”

I stopped in my tracks. What was Antonio saying?

“And I would like to find the cave and explore it for myself,” he added, sounding excited.

“Hush,” Lady Katherine said quickly. “I think I heard footsteps.”

A hot lance seemed to press against my chest, burning the breath out of me.

My ears must be mistaken. Antonio would never go behind my back to seize control of Galileo’s vial. Not my Antonio, who had shown me the stars and who laughed constantly and who had held me in his arms while he kissed the thoughts right out of my head. I could still see him standing next to me in the moonlight, his eyes intent on mine as he said I was the bravest person he had ever met. He wouldn’t lie to me. I was wrong. I
had
to be.

For a long moment, I remained standing in the middle of the corridor. I heard a clock marking time from another room, a relentless
tick-tick
. Along the walls, candles flared in their iron brackets, splashing pockets of light across the stones. Everything looked too clear, too sharp, each detail imprinting itself on my mind.

I understood. Antonio wanted to possess the vial so he could salvage Galileo’s reputation and find the meteor pool for himself. The only way to gain control of the vial had been to tell Robert and me what we’d wanted to hear . . . and trick us into believing he was on each of our sides.

Originally he had suggested deceiving Robert. But he hadn’t stopped there. He was also planning to deceive
me
.

I TOOK A STEP FORWARD, THE CARPET RUNNER
whispering under my feet. Memories rushed through my head. Antonio’s hands on mine, guiding his telescope toward the sky. Another step. Lying beside each other in a field, my telling him he could call me Elizabeth. Another step, faster. Kissing in the garden, his breath crashing in my ears until all sound had faded away and there was only Antonio left.

I started to run.

The stone walls and iron candelabra flashed past. My breath hitched in my chest as though I had been racing for miles. Ahead, the hall entrance was a black rectangle, its edges colored gold by the candlelight. I slowed my pace to a moderate walk, pressing my hands to my thudding heart, as if I could ease its frantic beating by touch alone. My dry eyes burned.

Don’t you dare cry
, I told myself fiercely. Later I could fall
apart, when there was no one to see.

I braced my hand on the wall, the stone scratching my palm. The pain was welcome; it was something to feel beyond this widening hole in my chest.
Think
, I ordered myself. What could I possibly do to beat Antonio at his own game of deception and manipulation?

He mustn’t suspect I was onto him. I had to smile and flirt and dance. The whole time, I would be looking around the ballroom, seeking Sir Vaughan and his men. If they were the men who had attacked us outside Oxford, then I would recognize at least one of them—the man whose side I had cut with my sword. No amount of time could obscure his face; I would remember it, and the fury in his eyes, for the rest of my life.

The instant I saw him, I’d make my way to him. If Fortune’s wheel turned in my favor, he wouldn’t recognize me in my elaborate dress, and I would laugh and encourage him until he was more than willing to leave the ballroom with me—whereupon I would overpower him somehow, steal his sword, attack him with my fists, anything, and then take the vial. I would run from Buckingham’s estate before anyone noticed. Later I would send a message to Robert, and together we would finish the work my father had begun decades ago. And the world would know the truth. It would be my final, best gift to Father.

I let my hand fall from the stone. My palm was lined with scratches. A distant part of my mind registered the stings of pain; they felt remote, as though they were happening to me in a dream. With an effort, I set my shoulders, imagining my spine was a ribbon of steel. I could do this. I
would
do this. I stepped into the hall.

Antonio and Lady Katherine stood in the middle of the room. They were dressed in luxurious clothes: Lady Katherine in pink satin, Antonio in black. They were still talking, but I couldn’t hear them above the buzzing in my ears. Lady Katherine glanced in my direction. I felt my lips pulling into something that felt like the semblance of a smile. She smiled in return, beckoning for me to join them.

My heels echoed on the marble floor as I crossed the room. Antonio grinned at me. He leaned forward, touching his lips gently to my cheek. It took all of my willpower not to shudder.

“You look like a queen,” he murmured in my ear. The tips of his hair, soft as feathers, brushed against my bare neck.

I studied the interlocking black and white marble squares in the floor. “Thank you.”

“Are you well?” he asked. “You seem upset.”

Somehow I found the strength to lift my head. Antonio was watching me closely, his eyebrows lifted.

My throat was so dry I had to swallow twice before I could reply. “I’m just worried about tonight.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

His face relaxed. He lifted a hand to brush a stray curl from my cheek, the red stone in his ring glinting. “It will be fine.”

I looked away. “Isn’t it time yet to leave?”

“Yes, but you’re not riding with us,” Robert said, entering the hall from another entrance. He was dressed in yellow satin, as usual. “Lady Katherine sent a courier to me at Whitehall this afternoon, with a message that you had found her dancing lessons difficult. If one of my guests is a young lady who clearly doesn’t know how to dance . . . well, people will wonder about your pedigree. Some of my friends will escort you instead. They’re
waiting for you outside. You’ll pose as one of their cousins. Don’t worry—my friends are loyal to me, and I’ve given them strict instructions to look after you and do anything you tell them.”

I barely heard him above the blood roaring in my ears. Somehow I managed to murmur, “Thank you. I will see you at the ball.”

The boys kissed my hand. A servant flung open the doors for me, revealing the full darkness of the night. I strode down the steps into the courtyard, where a carriage waited, its black wood shining in the torchlight. All of it—the horses shifting slightly, their harnesses jingling; the long avenue of trees stretching from the courtyard to the front gate; the groomsmen standing at attention, dressed in silver and green livery—looked unreal, as though I were watching a dream unfold.

The groom opened the carriage door, extending a gloved hand to help me inside. Half bent over, I paused in the door frame. Five men sat on the padded seats. They reminded me of Robert: their clothes were as fine and bright as his, their postures erect and alert. Like him, they sported long, curly wigs and wore swords at their waists. One of them looked older than the rest, his forehead lined, his jaw sagging. He looked up at me.

“Miss Milton, please join us,” he said. His voice sounded heavy, as if weighted with years of ale and food—a rich man’s voice. He reached out his hand, guiding me onto the seat beside him. My voluminous skirts spilled over his lap, and I apologized, trying to bunch the fabric in my hands.

“It’s a small price to pay for viewing such a vision of loveliness,” he said.

I smiled faintly.
Pretty words
. Just like the lines Antonio had teased me about last night. Everything he had ever said to me
was fading into smoke: flimsy, insubstantial, untouchable. Had he meant any of it? What an idiot I was! I’d been dreaming of a future with him—he would teach me all he knew about the skies, and together we would design experiments. Laughing while we peered through telescopes, grinning at each other when our theories were proved correct, kissing each other breathless in the laboratory we shared.

Without him, there would be no laboratory, no experiments, no lessons with me as the eager pupil. No one else would accept me into the men’s world of natural philosophy. I was alone again. I’d have to hide my true self under tasks like embroidery and cooking, and pray for a husband whose company I tolerated—that was the best I could hope for. My future was an unvarying gray road, all the color sucked from it.

My hands fisted in my skirts; through the thick fabric my fingernails dug into my palms. Dimly, I wondered if my scratched palm was leaving a bloody smear on the gown, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“The ride should be quick,” the rich man said. “Buckingham lives in a grand estate on the Strand. I’m Sir Richard Gauden,” he added, and I murmured I was pleased to make his acquaintance.

The carriage started with a lurch. Dully, I listened to the city rising up all around us: dogs barking in alleys, wooden shop signs creaking in the breeze, the high-pitched chattering of doxies on street corners as they waited for their customers. Somewhere church bells rang the hour, but I didn’t bother counting their chimes: it was enough to know the hour was growing late and night lay as thickly on the city as on my heart.

Antonio’s image rose in my mind: his hair tousled, him
flashing me a grin as he asked where my sense of adventure was. I pressed my knuckles against my lips so I wouldn’t shame myself by crying. If only I could escape from the thoughts in my head, retreat into the dark where there was nothing except silence and peace.

But that was impossible. I remembered Satan’s words in
Paradise Lost
as though they had been engraved on my heart, so many times had I listened as my father had tinkered with them:
Which way I flie is Hell; my self am Hell; / And in the lowest deep a lower deep / Still threatening to devour me opens wide
. . . For the first time, I understood what Father had meant—regardless of how fast you run, how far you go, you cannot get away from yourself.

You carry Hell with you all the time.

The carriage jerked to a halt. Gauden swung the door open and leaped down to the pavement. From within the carriage I watched him stride under a stone archway. Beyond it stood a mansion, its windows blazing with golden light. Up and down the Strand, men and ladies in brightly colored clothes were pouring out of carriages and strolling toward Buckingham’s estate, their chattering voices floating on the breeze to reach me.

“Come with us,” one of Robert’s friends said to me. He was fair-haired and smelled of spirits.

We scrambled outside. The Strand was lined with enormous homes, their windows gold with candlelight, an extravagance whose like I hadn’t seen before. Carriages clogged the avenue. The far-off hum of violins laced the air.

“Hurry,” said the fair-haired fellow, looping his arm around mine. He snapped his fingers and the three remaining men melted from the shadows cast by the carriage, framing us on
either side. They walked at such a quick pace I had to break into a half jog to keep up with them. The mansion loomed ahead of us, a big block of pale stone. Its doors sprang open at our approach.

As I was ushered into a hall, the mixture of voices bounced off the ceiling, creating such a cacophony of sound I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. A long line snaked out of the room, heading to what I assumed was the ballroom. We joined the queue, my companion acknowledging others’ nods of recognition and introducing me as his cousin, Miss Knightley, visiting from Bath. I forced smiles at the finely dressed gentlemen and ladies, hoping I wouldn’t have to speak. I should have warned my companion I couldn’t mimic non-London accents if my life depended on it.

The ballroom was a massive, high-ceilinged space lit by hundreds of candles flickering in wall brackets and in gold candelabra that had been scattered on tables. Men and women swirled across a checkerboard floor of white and black marble. They moved in a complicated routine Lady Katherine hadn’t taught me: the ladies and fellows facing one another in lines, then moving closer in a series of quick, mincing steps. In the far corner a twenty-man orchestra played, filling the air with the sweetness of strings and horns.

Near the orchestra stood the king. Even from a distance of some fifty feet, he caught my eyes. Tonight he wore a jet-black wig and a doublet and breeches of dark blue satin. A heavy gold chain encrusted with diamonds and emeralds encircled his neck. Every head in the room kept turning toward him. Whispers rippled among the elderly ladies standing along the walls: “There he is, the king!” “At such proximity, he looks even more of a giant, doesn’t he?”

“We should dance,” my companion said.

Panic swamped my chest. “I can’t. I don’t know—”

He interrupted me with a loud sigh. “His Grace warned us you’re a Puritan. May I fetch myself a drink or is that against your kind’s rules?”

“Do as you wish,” I snapped. “I make no demands on your behavior.”

“Thank God for that.” He ambled off, leaving me alone.

I made my way to the edge of the room, where elderly ladies and wallflowers gossiped among themselves. Next to me stretched a long table groaning under platters of food: oysters in the shell, slivers of cheese, small berry tarts, and fruits—strawberries and peaches and ball-like things I had never seen before, but which I heard someone call “oranges.” At another time, my mouth would have watered to taste one. Now my stomach cramped with anxiety.

Through the crush of dancing bodies, I glimpsed Antonio. My heart contracted painfully in my chest. He was standing on the opposite side of the room, his head swiveling as he scanned the dancers.
He must be looking for me.
Lady Katherine stood by his side, holding a fan in front of her face. Above its scalloped lace edge, her eyes looked sharp and alert. Where was Robert? Shouldn’t he be accompanying his betrothed?

Frowning, I surveyed the room. Everywhere there were dancing bodies, a riot of color. At the ballroom entrance, I caught sight of a figure dressed in yellow, topped with a head of light brown curls. I recognized the muscular line of his shoulders. Robert. It had to be him.

An arm wrapped itself around my waist. Quickly I looked
down. The arm encircling me was clad in black satin, the fingers were long and tapered.
Antonio.

I twisted around in his grasp so we were facing each other. “What are you doing?”

He looked surprised. “Trying to dance with you. Isn’t that what you English do at balls?”

“I don’t want to dance.”

“We have to if we want to blend in and get closer to the king,” he whispered.

I’d sooner die than help him. I took a step backward. “Dance with Lady Katherine.”

He smiled at me. “We might never have another chance to dance with each other at a ball.” His hands gripped my waist and he lifted me high in the air as easily as if I were a bag of feathers. I looked around frantically. All the other male dancers were raising their female partners, too.

He set me on my feet again. Now we
had
to dance or everyone would wonder why we left the floor in the middle of the routine. I watched the others for guidance, my heart racing.

The partners were executing a series of complicated steps around each other. I slid a few steps to the right while Antonio did so in the opposite direction. When we came together again, he gripped my waist, the heat of his hands burning through my dress. Part of me wanted to push him away, but another part wanted to stay in his arms and hear him say it had all been a terrible misunderstanding.

As we spun around in a circle, I caught sight of Robert. He was walking through the ballroom entrance, away from us. Where was he going? He shouldn’t be alone—he might need help.

“You look beautiful, Elizabeth,” Antonio murmured, his breath warm on my neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Liar
. The muscles in my stomach were knotted so tightly I feared I would be sick. I ducked my head, letting my side curls fall forward to obscure my face. “Excuse me,” I muttered. “I’m not accustomed to dancing. My head feels light.”