Forbidden Lord (22 page)

‘Even though the child is not a Taverner?'

‘He'll never know the truth. When you begin to show you will go to D-Devon and await the birth.' He stood up quickly, rubbing his hands in a pleased way. ‘Of course the child—be it a boy or a g-girl—must never be told it is not mine. It would c-cause the child great distress if it understands it's a b-bastard and create immense complications.'

‘Then we must make sure the child remains in ignorance,' Eleanor whispered, trying not to think of William and how he would react should he ever discover the truth. It was also strange, she thought, that Martin hadn't asked who the real father was.

 

A glorious June day dawned with dazzling sunlight. It was to be a day filled with entertainment, starting with a sail on the river. When Martin arrived at the house to accompany Eleanor, the despondency and concern over the child had lessened, and when they arrived at the river, she was feeling almost gay again, hopeful of seeing William.

The Thames was seething with activity. With streamers and
pennants fluttering in the warm breeze, barges and pleasure boats of every description, filled with courtiers, musicians and sightseers eager to catch a glimpse of the Queen and her lords and ladies, had already taken to the water, making a kaleidoscope of colour.

Martin was in a particularly exuberant mood and Eleanor saw why when she spotted the striking figure of Sir Richard Grey leaning against the rails of the spacious yellow and tan barge they were to occupy. With one hand on his hip, his gaze abstracted, his smile charming as his eyes lighted on Martin, when they shifted to Eleanor he stared with open hostility, and, after giving her a curt nod, he ignored her completely—much to her relief.

‘I might have known
he
would be here,' she retorted scathingly. ‘You knew he would be, I suppose.'

‘But of course.'

‘This was to be a day of enjoyment, Martin—for me as well as you. Knowing how I feel about Sir Richard, please don't embarrass me.'

Laughing lightly, Martin took her hand and raised it to his lips gallantly. ‘Jealousy b-becomes you, Eleanor,' he remarked, his eyes sparkling with excitement on being in close proximity to his handsome lover, ‘but do try to keep it under c-control. Richard is s-sensitive about such things.'

‘Richard Grey can go and drown himself in the river for all I care,' Eleanor snapped crossly.

Martin chuckled softly, his face alight with pleasure. ‘You are rather hard on him.'

‘I find him unbearable—and he obviously feels the same about me.'

‘He c-claims you are a bad influence on me.'

‘I am your wife, Martin, and expect better.' Turning her back on him, she abruptly dismissed both her husband and Sir Richard Grey from her thoughts. She was determined to ignore her stepfather's nephew and not let him spoil her day.
She was enchanted with the whole colourful and vibrant spectacle and she was going to enjoy every minute of it.

As the barge joined the other boats in a flotilla keeping a steady pace with the royal barge, settling among some cushions at the back of the barge, her hair spilling about her head in loose waves of the softest silk, Eleanor just knew it was going to be a peaceful, idyllic day, a day of rest and relaxation that would suit her mood perfectly. Glancing sideways at the water and sipping a goblet of wine a page boy handed to her, she breathed in the smells that wafted from the river. Closing her eyes, she placed the goblet beside her and turned her face up to the sun and let its warmth bathe her face, hearing the gentle splash of the oars and the water lapping at the hull.

Aware that someone had come to sit beside her, half-opening her eyes, she squinted into the sun's glare, seeing the face of a man looking down at her, an incandescent halo around his dark head. Closing her eyes once more, a smile playing on her softly parted lips, she breathed a sigh of deep contentment, knowing William—handsome, magnetic, exuding that fierce sexual allure he always had—was close. Just to be near him was enough.

‘William!' she murmured through her slightly parted lips. ‘I am astonished. Knowing of your dislike for Court pleasures, I had no idea you would be present.'

‘Liar. You knew perfectly well I wouldn't be far away from where you are.'

Her lips quirked in a teasing smile. ‘Are you trying to make my husband jealous by any chance?'

‘I consider your husband a nonentity, my love, who can be easily got rid of with very little effort.' Settling himself against her on his side, he leaned on one elbow and gazed down at her lovely face. ‘I see he is with Richard Grey.'

‘I know. I've seen him. No doubt he will monopolise Martin for the entire day. They eat together, drink together—'

‘Sleep together?'

Her lips twitched and she giggled softly. ‘If it suits Sir Richard's purpose, they will. Apparently he took Martin under his wing when he arrived at Court and he has been there ever since. You must have noticed how Martin constantly strives to please him, to impress him and win his approval, while Sir Richard treats him with a patronising superiority that is often embarrassing to witness.'

‘You are extremely observant, Eleanor.'

‘When it's under my nose day in and day out, night after night, how can I not be? I sense that man despises all women, that he considers them inferior creatures to be used when necessary and then coldly dismissed.'

William chuckled. ‘And your husband?'

‘Is of the same opinion. He would like to keep me subdued and in the background.'

‘And you refuse to be kept out of sight.'

‘Absolutely. I'm liking Court life too much to be banished to the country just yet. For the first time in my life I am enjoying myself as never before and am reluctant to leave it. It's only a temporary state of affairs and I'm sure that in time I shall tire of it and find it all as tedious as you do. I suspect it would suit Richard Grey if I were to disappear and retire to the country. He considers me an intruder, a threat to his friendship with Martin.'

‘And does that bother you?' he asked, the whisper coming close to her ear as he smoothed her tumbled hair between them.

‘I don't care in the slightest, even though I feel he could happily strangle me every time he looks at me.'

‘I'm relieved you don't have the same effect on him as you do on me. Have some more wine,' he said, signalling to a page boy to refill her goblet.

‘Are you trying to intoxicate me, Lord Marston, so you can have your wicked way with me?'

He gave a wry smile. ‘The thought is tempting, but I wouldn't dream of it.'

‘No? Now why don't I believe you? I know you have a yen for me,' she murmured, settling herself more comfortably among the cushions.

‘As you have for me, my love,' he whispered.

Eleanor squinted up at him, her rosy lips trembling with gentle humour. ‘Don't flatter yourself.'

He smiled a crooked smile, his eyes dark with ardour. ‘You're looking exceptionally lovely today,' he said, wanting to lean over and place his lips on hers, to caresses the creamy swell of her breasts rising out of her stiffened bodice.

‘I do my best.'

‘You had something in mind?'

She smiled provocatively and half-opening her eyes, her gaze settled on his handsome visage. ‘I might.'

The strumming of a lute playing a love song drifted by on the same gentle breeze that stirred her hair. She sighed and continued to look up at William. A smile quirked his lips and his eyes shone silver in the bright light of the sun, and she had a feeling he was playing some kind of mischief. People were giving them curious glances, but the sounds coming from the other boats and their own was a shield for what they said to one another.

William tweaked a lock of her hair between his finger and thumb. Warm light softened her features and there was a dreamy, faraway expression in her eyes. Her gown was of saffron silk that made her skin glow like summer cream and lit her hair with a multitude of copper and gold lights. William found it virtually impossible to stop looking at her. He had watched her at Court, becoming distracted when her melodious laughter rang out. He found himself captivated by it and the infectious joy and beauty of it. It was music to his ears and it glowed in her magnificent amber eyes.

Eleanor was both exquisite and unforgettable. He realised it as clearly as he realised she was utterly irresistible and felt his bones melt when he saw the soft flush in her cheeks, the
gentle curve of her neck, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the way her body swayed when she walked across a room, vibrant and strong. He found himself wanting to kiss her senseless, to feel her melt in his arms, to taste those lips once more. Heat burned in his blood. This was madness. Why was Eleanor different from any other woman he had known? Why did it feel different? Why was he tormenting himself like this when she was his for the taking?

‘You have a peculiar look in your eyes, my love,' he murmured, wondering how she would react if she knew the path along which his mind travelled. ‘One would think you were in an amorous mood.'

‘Perhaps I am,' she murmured, settling herself more comfortably among the cushions.

‘Would you like to do something about it? It could be arranged,' he said in suggestive tones.

‘Then perhaps you should.' She gazed at him, a challenging look in her eyes.

‘And your husband?'

‘As long as I am discreet he won't care a fig.'

‘He said that to you?'

‘Mmm. On our wedding night.'

‘And you accepted it?'

She shrugged. ‘It's not the normal state of affairs in a marriage, I know, but ours is an unconventional marriage, and since I don't have any kind of feelings for him it really doesn't matter. In fact, when I discovered he was indulging in unmentionable vices with another man, I was relieved.'

‘Are you never tempted to pack your bags and leave him?' William asked, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek.

She frowned up at him crossly. ‘Please don't start that again, William.'

‘I shall carry on until you face up to the fact that you have made the worst mistake of your life and discuss with me how you can get out of it.'

‘Sir Richard would love that—you hanging around.'

Sitting up abruptly and draping his arm over his raised knee, William scowled darkly, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. ‘To hell with Grey.'

Eleanor laughed lightly. ‘Now you're cross, but I refuse to let your grumpiness spoil the day.'

‘Eleanor, I will not leave London until you come with me,' he told her boldly. ‘I want you to be my wife.'

Eleanor's mouth fell open and she began to laugh derisively. ‘Your wife? How can you do this? That you should say this to me now! It's too late for me.'

‘It is what I want, what I wanted when I left Staxton Hall and hoped you would be there when I returned.'

‘But how can I be your wife when I am someone else's wife? I am not free, William.'

‘A divorce.'

‘Martin would never consent to a divorce if such a thing were proposed.'

‘So you will waste the rest of your life with him?'

‘If I must. Part of the marriage service does require the participants to promise “till death us do part.” I always abide by my promises.'

They fell silent. William studied her, thinking there was something different about her, that she looked different somehow, her cheeks flushed, rounder. His gaze strayed to the contours of her breasts pushed up from the stiff bodice. They too seemed rounder, fuller. On the whole she seemed remarkably relaxed and content.

‘I have to say marriage suits you,' he remarked harshly. ‘You are positively blooming with good health. If I didn't know better, I would say your marriage bed has proved fruitful.'

His words, spoken with unsuspecting lightness, jolted Eleanor out of her languor and her eyes snapped open, locking on to his. For what seemed to be an eternity they remained so, neither of them moving or scarcely breathing. Although there
was music and laughter and the conversation of the people around them, there was stillness and silence about them.

William broke the spell. ‘You are, aren't you, Eleanor?'

‘I am what?' she asked, her heart in her mouth. She had never been any good at subterfuge.

‘With child.'

Swallowing hard, she turned her head away. Quickly getting to her feet, she stood, holding on to the rail of the barge, her heart pounding in her chest, feeling the breeze blowing off the water cooling the heat in her cheeks. William stood beside her, looking down at her with barely contained anger.

‘Has he touched you? I couldn't bear the thought of you making love to anyone else but me. I went through hell when I heard you had married. Has that vile excuse for a man touched you, Eleanor—taken you to his bed? Tell me, damn you.'

She spun her head round and looked at him. ‘Martin hasn't bedded me, if that's what you mean—not once.'

‘And you are with child. For God's sake, Eleanor,' he hissed, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard by those within earshot, ‘tell me.'

‘Yes, yes, William, I am,' she blurted out. ‘There, now I've told you.'

‘It's mine, isn't it?' he demanded.

How could she deny it? If she did, he wouldn't believe her. It had to be his since she hadn't once shared a bed with her husband. She nodded. ‘Yes, but you have no rights.'

‘Damn you, Eleanor, I have every right. Does he know?'

She nodded.

‘And?'

‘He—he was angry at first—'

‘I bet he was.'

‘But then he realised that it—it…'

‘Might be a blessing in disguise—and keep his father happy, that he has managed to produce an heir, if it's a boy, when everyone doubted he had it in him.' His words dripped
with sarcasm and his eyes were hard and uncompromising. ‘I'll be damned and in hell first before I let any child of mine be raised by another man—and especially not by a damned catamite. You are mine. You may have married Taverner, but you belong to me. You know that, don't you?' His voice was very angry and very serious. It was not a question, but an order.