Forbidden Lord (18 page)

Thanking him, William and Godfrey turned way.

‘We'll have to wait,' Godfrey said quietly. ‘Unless you want the fever there's nothing else for it as I can see. Can you think of anything better?'

William's face was grim. ‘Atwood. It's time I called on him. Maybe he can be persuaded to part with the answer.'

 

When Eleanor and Martin came together, keeping up appearances, they were always civil to one another and as the days passed an easy, close camaraderie developed between them. Martin was nothing but courtesy itself, and more than that. He was thoughtful and charming, and Eleanor displayed an attitude that told him she bore him no ill will.

On her first visit to Whitehall Palace to the west of the city to attend her first social gathering, she was overawed by the sumptuous surroundings. The mass of red-brick buildings covered acres of ground on the river front between Charing Cross and Westminster Hall, and was a veritable warren of rooms and a complex maze of passageways and courtyards and beautiful gardens with trees, arbours and seats. In the grounds there were four tennis courts, a bowling green, a cockpit and a tilt yard.

Lord Taverner led the way to the audience chamber, going by way of the magnificent Long Gallery to show Eleanor the beautiful ceiling painted by Holbein, bowing politely to other lords and ladies finely dressed in velvets and furs.

‘At least we can be truly thankful that Elizabeth has a fondness for amusement,' Lord Taverner commented laughingly on hearing the jolly music ahead of them. ‘Her Court maintains many interesting activities.'

Martin, splendidly attired in a bronze velvet doublet slashed with gold silk and decorated at the cuffs with countless seed pearls, and cream-coloured hose encasing his slender legs, smiled and murmured a small amen.

Dancing was already in progress, the dancers, both male and female, looking like brightly coloured peacocks. The clothes people wore were now more colourful—purple being much in favour—more flamboyant, with a Spanish influence, than in the reign of Mary Tudor and her brother Edward before that.

Lord Taverner immediately excused himself and wove his way carefully through the dancers, intent on liquid refreshment. Goblets of wine were handed around by lackeys and tables had been laden with every kind of delicacy imaginable. Martin eagerly pointed out courtiers of note—Sir Francis Knollys, the elderly William Cecil, who was the Queen's long-time advisor, Lord Robert Dudley, who was clearly enamoured of Elizabeth and hardly left her side—it was whispered he was her lover and the fact that he had a wife tucked conveniently out of the way in the country did not seem to concern him.

On seeing the Queen for the first time in her life, Eleanor couldn't take her eyes off her. She had always been curious about her, wanting to know what she looked like, this Protestant woman who had inherited the throne from her Catholic half-sister, and who excited so many voices in debate.

Queen Elizabeth, with a large capacity for amusement, certainly knew how to enjoy herself, like her father before her. With her red hair and crimson-and-gold gown, the ruff open at the front so as to expose her bosom, and to allow it to rise in gauze wings edged with the finest lace at the back of her head, she moved about the room like a living, vibrant flame, full of confidence and life. Courtiers' eyes followed her and their whispers discussed her.

Her character and personality were as glittering as the jewels about her throat and the rings on her fingers. The imperious woman swirled around the floor with other dancers, her head thrown back and her lips parted in happy laughter as she was handed from one gentleman to the next.

Eleanor presented a pleasing appearance in her finest tightly laced gown of lime-green taffeta embellished with gold thread and falling over her Spanish farthingale in liquid folds to her feet. The bodice and long hanging sleeves were heavily embroidered, and gold edged the small ruff and cuffs encircling her neck and wrists. Jewels and a fluffy white feather were pinned to her green velvet cap that hid the back of her hair, which was plaited behind her head, but the front was visible and attractively curled at the temples, with a central parting.

She looked exquisite and drew the eyes of many curious and admiring gentlemen. The appearance of a fresh female face at Court always attracted attention, and even Lord Taverner's eyes were seen to pass over his new daughter-in-law several times with a puffed-up pride.

Eleanor loved the bustle and brilliance, the colour, the music and the atmosphere, and the raw, pulsing energy that seemed to emanate from the Queen herself and stalk the corridors and galleries of the Palace. With a sudden stirring of excitement and well-being she had not felt in a long time, feeling quite reckless, she smiled at Martin and insisted he dance the lively volta with her.

It was a boisterous dance, considered bold, if not indecent, a dance much favoured by the Queen. It was unusual in that they moved and turned in a close embrace, with Martin's arm around her waist, and a high-leaping step in which their two bodies were pressed together.

Later, when there was a lull in festivities and the Queen had taken to her royal chair and courtiers ate and drank and gossiped among themselves, her eyes were drawn to a man who had just arrived and dropped down on one knee before the Queen. He was fashionably attired in a heavily jewelled outfit of dark blue velvet, the tunic slashed with scarlet, his long, muscular legs encased in fine black silk hose. The Queen gave him her hand and raised him up, smiling at him warmly.

‘See how the Queen favours him,' murmured a male courtier standing close to Eleanor.

The gentleman he was speaking to looked in that direction and eyed the newcomer thoughtfully. ‘Striking, is he not? Since he has returned from foreign parts, he has quickly become a great favourite of the Queen.' He chuckled low. ‘After brazenly seizing a wealthy Spanish galleon in the Caribbean, she is much taken with him—calls him her pirate.'

‘And does he seek a high place at Court, do you think, by hanging around the Queen—as do many hundreds of other “true Protestants” loyal to her Majesty?'

‘Not him—he is not the sort. Although I hear he got his property back that Queen Mary confiscated.' The courtier sighed. ‘It has to be said that every Protestant in England has business with the Queen nowadays—wanting property back and this and that in payment for their efforts to bring Elizabeth to the throne in favour of Mary. Only trouble is, the royal coffers are depleted and Elizabeth has inherited a poor, dispirited and divided country. Little wonder she receives that particular gentleman like a prince when he presented her with a chest of silver ingots and gold coin.'

Having overheard the courtiers' innuendo, Eleanor gazed at the newcomer with renewed interest. And then she became numb, for his stance, the way he held his head and the thick dark hair curling vigorously into his nape she recognised. It was William, but how could it be? For a moment she doubted, but the moment was short lived. It was only a moment, a moment she spent in a daze of emotions—of joy, bewilderment, hopelessness and despair.

And then he swung round to face her and she felt as though she had been struck dead, unable to form any sort of coherent thought. They looked at one another from across the distance that separated them and once more, as though their minds were linked by some invisible thread, their eyes and hearts spoke to one another.

Eleanor's heart had not stopped yearning for him, hungering for him, no matter how savagely she pushed the feelings away. Her female body was not concerned with what went on in her mind, only the physical need to be close to this man. She knew by his expression that he was not as stunned as she was. In fact, he was not at all surprised to see her at Court. Had he known about her marriage all along?

As she moved slowly towards him he watched her, unable to believe this glorious creature was the same young woman he had taken to his home, the same young woman he had taken to his bed. His spirits had been badly bruised by the knowledge that she had left Staxton Hall, and when Godfrey had told him about Eleanor's marriage to Martin Taverner—‘Inasmuch as you intended to wed her yourself,' Godfrey had said, ‘I thought you should know,'—the bottom had dropped out of his world.

In the frozen silence that had followed that announcement, white-hot fury, the like of which William had never experienced before consumed him. Hatred and jealousy had sunk their poisonous fangs into his heart and almost destroyed him. Passing before his eyes were visions of a bewitching, tantalising young woman dressed as a youth riding beside him, Eleanor wanting to despise him, but finding she could not, Eleanor lying in his arms, her glorious wealth of honey-gold hair spread over his chest, kissing him, laughing at him and with him.

Why had she done this? Why had she left him to wed another? He despised himself for his stupidity, for trusting her, for wanting her more than any other woman. But as his anger had waned, suddenly nothing seemed important anymore. Not the future, and not even his revenge on the man who had sent him to spend three years in purgatory. Outwardly he seemed the same, his face impassive, but inside everything had begun to crumble, to break up and bleed, draining the life out of him.

When she stood before him, he inclined his head slightly, his indomitable male pride coming to the fore. ‘Madam.'

His voice spoke as if to a stranger. Eleanor's throat swelled with pain. His mouth was set in a bitter line, his black brows drawn in a straight bar across his angry eyes, and she saw how resolute his expression was. The harsh light made him look stern and judgemental. His iron-hard determination, his rigid resolution to treat her as no more than a passing acquaintance, tore her to shreds.

‘William! I—I trust you are—well,' she murmured, her nervousness making her stammer almost as bad as her husband.

‘Please do not concern yourself with my health, Lady Taverner,' he said coldly, with emphasis in the saying of her new name. ‘I would like to be polite and say that marriage suits you, but your eyes tell me it does not.' His gaze slid to her husband standing several paces away.

Eleanor followed his gaze, feeling suddenly cold. Martin was conversing heatedly with Sir Richard Grey, who was lounging indolently against a window that looked out over the Thames. Aware of Eleanor's attention he shoved himself upright, and with all the swagger of his title and privilege sketched a mocking bow, his legs long and narrow in white silk hose.

Eleanor frowned, for her feelings for this particular gentleman were no different from what they had been when he had been a frequent visitor at Fryston Hall—she disliked him intensely. Sir Richard gave Martin an incriminating look, and she wasn't in any doubt about the nature of his feelings for her husband, and having seen how Martin followed Sir Richard around like a love-sick calf, she wasn't in any doubt about Martin's feelings in that regard, either.

Recalling how Martin had showered attention on her months before at Catherine's wedding and how Sir Richard had watched him covetously, seeing her as a threat, she realised at last why Sir Richard Grey had been so eager to see the back of her.

William's eyes flicked over him and he gave no outward sign that he was in any way affected by Richard Grey, but inside his emotions were roiling and seething with ice-cold fury and contempt. If his suspicions that Grey had worked hand in glove with Atwood to dispose of him three years earlier were proven, then he had a score to settle with that particular courtier, but this was neither the time nor the place for a confrontation.

‘Your—husband exercises no regard for a lady, and I doubt his wife will be an exception. He is friendly with Sir Richard Grey I see, a man as devious and greedy as Atwood, a man who lives only for pleasure—and sordid pleasure at that. Your spouse looks put out about something, Eleanor.' He looked down at her and cocked a mocking brow. ‘Trouble in paradise, my love?'

She scowled. ‘Don't be impertinent, William—and I am not your love.'

‘Trouble in marriage is usually found beneath the sheets,' he remarked sarcastically. ‘It has not gone unnoticed that your husband keeps the company of—a certain type of gentleman, that he is favoured by them and that his position at Court was granted in a short time.'

Eleanor's features tightened. ‘What are you implying, William?'

‘It is true that young men who hang about the Court do seem to improve their station in this manner.'

Eleanor was not unaware of his meaning and wished he hadn't spoken of it. Her cheeks turned poppy red and she looked away, deeply embarrassed. ‘Please don't speak of Martin in this way. It—it isn't polite.'

A roguish grin curled his lips. ‘I don't feel like being polite. How well you defend him.'

‘Of course I do. He is my husband.'

Placing his finger beneath her chin, William turned her face back to his. ‘In name only, I'd wager.' A smile of satisfaction
curved his lips when he saw the truth she was too innocent to conceal in her eyes.

‘I—I had no idea it would be so difficult.'

‘That's too bad, Eleanor. You should have thought of that before you married him.'

William's voice was bitter and it was clear that forgiveness was far from his heart. He wanted nothing to do with her, his attitude said.

He studied her with the casual interest of a man who meets a woman for the first time, a woman he does not find particularly attractive, he would have her believe, but in his eyes was a darkness, a darkness that concealed his innermost thoughts and his emotions.

Eleanor searched his eyes for something, to see something of the tenderness he had shown her. There must be something, there had to be, but those incredible silver-grey eyes only stared back at her, cold as a block of ice and without emotion and memories of tender kisses and passionate embraces they had shared at Staxton Hall. Determined not to make a fool of herself, with her heart breaking, she lowered her eyes and bobbed a small curtsy.