Margaret Moore (5 page)

She would never again hear of the king’s financial woes without remembering the
heavy, scarlet brocade draperies, the huge wall hangings, the silver and gold dishes, the crystal, the elaborate furnishings, the many candles, and the thick carpets she had seen in Whitehall Palace.

“I don’t think Sir Richard expected the king’s proposition either,” she said, recalling the look of shock that had flitted across the man’s features at the king’s suggestion.

She suddenly realized that she may have witnessed a moment of vulnerability beneath the playwright’s mocking exterior, perhaps—which did not matter in the least.

“That is more surprising, given that they are friends,” Mr. Harding replied.

“If they are such good friends, I suppose I should be grateful that the king does not command me to give him the estate,” she said sarcastically.

“He dare not. The sale was legal, as were so many other similar transactions during the Interregnum, and if he sets aside one, he will be pressured to do the same for other noblemen, and then the purchasers will, quite justifiably, demand compensation, which the king cannot pay.”

“If we are legally in the right, why should I not refuse to marry Sir Richard?”

“I must point out that the person making this proposal is not just any man. He is the king.”

“He is not above the law. Was that not the whole point of Magna Carta?”

“One could say it was,” Mr. Harding acknowledged. “However, we are not dealing with a document, either. We are dealing with a capricious man who likes to reward his friends, if he can do so with some impunity.”

“To the detriment of the entire country,” Elissa retorted. “Besides, Sir Richard Blythe is a disgrace!”

“Sir Richard Blythe was years in Europe with the king,” Mr. Harding noted. “Even more important, Sir Richard Blythe and his plays amuse the king. When does His Majesty wish the wedding to take place?”

Elissa jumped to her feet. “There must be no wedding!”

She thought she saw a flicker of feeling in Mr. Harding’s eyes. “The king wants you to marry Sir Richard, therefore you had best do so.

“But why? The estate will still be my son’s, and no marriage of mine will change that.”

“Did the king give you no reason?”

“He said that if Sir Richard could not have the estate, as my husband he would at least be able to live there—yet I must have to willingly agree to this, surely. Even the king cannot force me to—”

She fell silent at the sight of Mr. Harding’s raised eyebrow. “He can?”

“His Majesty can make his displeasure felt
in many ways, not all of them directly.”

“But—”

Mr. Harding rocked slightly on his feet. “But I think you had best obey his wishes in this instance. Why risk royal anger?”

“Because I do not wish to marry again, and especially not a writer of immoral, lascivious plays, even if he is the king’s friend.”

“Would you rather go to the Tower?”

Elissa stared at the stone-faced lawyer.

“If you do not acquiesce to the king’s request, he would not be above sending you there. You have surely heard that he has threatened to send the Duke of Buckingham to the Tower when displeased, and Buckingham has been his closest friend for years. You can make no similar claim.”

Elissa reached for the chair and sat again.

“There are worse fates than honorable marriage to a man the king admires. As for the bridegroom himself, I have it on good authority that whatever Sir Richard writes, there is no evidence that he is dishonorable or cruel. The worst thing I have learned about him is that he sometimes has trouble keeping his mistresses from quarreling over him.”

Elissa wrung her hands in agitation. “To know that he keeps mistresses hardly predisposes me to think he will be either a good husband, or a fit example to Will. His father…”

As she fell silent, she stared down at her hands. Tears filled her eyes, and she willed
them away. She had not cried in years, and she would not do so now. “I do not want to marry anybody, whether the king commands it or not. The estate legally belongs to my son.”

Mr. Harding leaned forward, his cold, impassive eyes staring into hers. “Mistress Longbourne, the question you must ask yourself is, what are you prepared to do to ensure that he keeps it?”

At last the door to the anteroom opened, and Richard watched Mistress Longbourne glide into the room.

She was beautiful, and shapely, and her hair must fall to her waist when loose. As for her full red lips, he could easily imagine kissing them.

No matter how desirable a bedmate she might be, however, he was still reluctant to be forced into marriage. He knew from bitter experience that desire alone could not ensure that a man and woman could live together in harmony.

Mistress Longbourne curtsied to the king and glanced at Richard with her intelligent hazel eyes. “Your Majesty, Sir Richard, when shall the wedding be?”

It was only as he let out his breath in stunned surprise that Richard realized he had been holding it.

“You offer no further objections, then?” Charles inquired, and Richard, with new
awareness, heard the king’s slight disappointment.

“I would prefer as soon as possible. I do not wish to be longer from home than absolutely necessary.”

“A most conscientious bride, is she not, Richard?” the king asked as he rose. “It shall be as you wish, my dear, and we must insist you wed here at Whitehall.”

“Majesty, I am—” Richard began.

“Grateful?” the king interrupted, glancing at him sharply.

“Yes, Majesty,” he prudently agreed. “I am grateful.”

“Good. We shall leave you two alone while we set the wedding plans in motion. Have some wine and fruit!” Charles commanded with an airy wave of his hand as he departed.

“I suppose we should obey his order and eat and drink,” Elissa said, making no effort to sound polite as she sat at the table and poured herself some wine. Indeed, it was taking enough effort to try to remain calm. Unfortunately, her trembling hand threatened to betray her agitation.

“Would you like to have your lawyer join us?” Sir Richard inquired as he took the chair opposite her.

“He has left the palace and gone to prepare the marriage settlement.”

“Without the bridegroom?”

“He is drawing up a preliminary agreement.
You can negotiate after you have read it.”

Sir Richard’s bemused expression did not ease her discomfort. “Indeed I shall. I know what clever fellows these lawyers are, and I would not care to sign away too much.”

“So much of the law is against a woman to begin with when it comes to marriage, she requires a good lawyer.”

“You seem to have managed very well.”

“Precisely because I have a clever lawyer.”

“I am not a fool either, Mistress Longbourne.”

“I am glad to hear it. It would be terrible to be married to a fool. A playwright is bad enough.”

“I write only because I have to, or starve.”

“For an honorable man, starvation might be preferable.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You know how it is to starve, then, that you can offer so decided an opinion?”

She flushed. “No, I do not.”

“I do, so I think you must defer to my expertise as to what an honorable man will or will not do in order to survive.”

“I shall defer to your knowledge of what a
man
will do to survive.”

He straightened and regarded her with sudden, menacing intensity. “Since we are to be husband and wife, madam, allow me to offer you a piece of advice. If you wish to live in
peace with me, never call my honor into question.”

Elissa swallowed hard, sensing this was a moment that could decide the course of their lives together as husband and wife.

Once before she had faced such a moment. Even in her girlish innocence, she had felt in her bones that what she said to William then would set the pattern for their lives together.

Like a simpleton, she had said nothing at all.

Therefore, she likewise leaned forward and glared at Richard with equal intensity. “Sir, I do not know you, and what I have heard of you scarce gives me cause to credit you with honor. If it should be that you are the rogue I think you are, and if you should ever try to steal my son’s estate or corrupt him to your lascivious ways, you will regret it.”

Sir Richard’s eyes widened a little, and then he smiled sardonically. “Why, Mistress Longbourne, you sound very fierce. Perhaps this would be a good time to inquire what happened to your first husband.”

“An infection in the lungs.” She made a wry little smile all her own. “I had no hand in it.”

“I must say I am relieved he did not come to a violent end.”

“Where my son is concerned, I will do anything to protect him from anyone who seeks to do him harm.”

Sir Richard regarded her steadily. “Rest assured,
madam, your son has nothing to fear from me.”

Suddenly, he reached across the table and took hold of her hands. Just as before when he had taken her hand, she was surprised by the strength of his grip. Perhaps writing explained that, she thought vaguely, as he lifted her fingers to his lips. Gently, his mouth brushed her fingertips, the simple motion sending the blood throbbing through her body.

When he turned her hand over and pressed a kiss to her palm, she could hardly breathe.

He made a sly, seductive smile. “I fear that I have gotten off to a very poor start,” he murmured, pleased that he was now in command, and that he had obviously successfully hidden his extreme anger at her warning. “I confess I was rather peeved when you ran away without telling me your name this afternoon.”

She didn’t meet his gaze. “And I should have thanked you for helping us.”

“You are a very beautiful woman, Mistress Longbourne, and I am very glad I saved you from those drunken fools.”

“I am glad you did, too.”

He rose and went to her, gently pulling her to her feet.

“Mistress Longbourne … Elissa … we must try to make the best of this,” he whispered, taking her in his arms and feeling a surge of primitive desire when she did not pull away. “Somehow.”

Then he kissed her, his lips moving over hers with sure expertise. He had kissed many women, most with some kind of genuine desire, at least at the time, a few simply because he could, and one or two because he was too bored to resist their obvious ploys. Their responses had all been of a rather boring sameness, an almost pitiable passion that said more about their loneliness and boredom than his prowess.

Elissa Longbourne was definitely different, because she responded with … nothing. She simply lay limp in his arms as if she had lost consciousness.

Or simply did not care.

A wave of despair washed over him. Despite the king’s command, he would never be able to endure the same kind of loveless marriage and shameful truce his parents had devised. No matter what the consequences, he would have to tell the king …

Then, suddenly, she was kissing him back, her lips slowly, tentatively moving against his. Her hands tightened on his arms, not pushing him away, but drawing him closer.

With renewed and fierce desire, Richard’s kiss deepened. Gently, yet insistently, he teased her with his tongue until she parted her lips. Then, unable to be patient, he thrust his tongue into her mouth while his hands caressed her supple back.

A low moan escaped Elissa’s lips as she surrendered
to the passionate yearning his kisses enticed into fiery life.

Her husband’s kisses had been chaste before they were married, and he had never kissed her after. In their bed, he had taken her swiftly, silently, roughly, so when Richard had taken her in his arms, she had instinctively stayed still, even when he kissed her.

She had not known a kiss could be so … so incredible. The sensation of his mouth upon hers, his evident desire, the urge to be taken—

She did not want to be taken, or possessed like an inanimate thing ever again. And she would not be distracted from her responsibility toward her son, not by any man.

“Odd’s fish, this bodes well,” the king cheerfully declared before she could break the kiss.

As they quickly moved apart, Charles strolled toward them. “We were wise to set the wedding date upon the morrow.”

“Tomorrow, sire?” Richard inquired blandly, as if they were discussing nothing more exciting than the price of eggs.

“Yes, tomorrow evening, after the performance of your play.” King Charles chuckled. “We trust you can wait that long.”

Elissa drew in a deep breath. “Majesty, I fear that will not give Mr. Harding time to draw up the marriage settlement.”

The king waved his hand dismissively. “He has all night and all morning. Odd’s fish, madam,
you certainly looked impatient enough a few moments ago. You will spend your first night here, of course.”

“Here?” Elissa whispered incredulously.

The king smiled magnanimously. “It seems the least we could do, given that you are marrying at our command.” Then he winked as lasciviously as the waterman. “We are quite certain the groom will make you forget you are in the palace.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Charles gave Richard a sly, knowing smile. “All seems well in hand. We never doubted you for a moment, Blythe.”

“I try to please, Majesty.”

The king’s raucous laugh filled the chamber. “Well, Mistress Longbourne, can a bride ask for more? Now, off with you both until tomorrow.”

Elissa hurried toward the door. She didn’t know if Sir Richard followed close behind or not. Dismayed, disturbed, and disgruntled, she wanted to get out of the palace as quickly as she could, and away from Sir Richard Blythe with his dark, distracting eyes and his sinfully seductive lips.

“W
omen are usually late,” Foz offered the next night as Richard stood beside him in the Great Hall of the palace, awaiting his tardy bride.

They were not alone. Charles was seated on the dais, again surrounded by women and, as always, attended by several fawning courtiers. Courtiers who were not predisposed to fawn nevertheless hovered nearby and kept their eyes and ears open for anything they could use in their own favor.