Chapter Fourteen
“A
h, my friend.” Charles stood at the rail, staring heavenward. The setting sun was a crimson fireball reflected in the crest of the waves. The
Prodigal
sliced neatly through the water, its snowy sails a brilliant contrast to the darkening sky. “I wish this day would never end.”
Quenton guided the sleek boat through the channel. “There will be other days.”
Charles glanced down at his sodden breeches, his bare feet planted wide. He wiggled his toes, loving the sense of freedom. “None so fine as this, I fear. Once I set foot on those docks, I shall be forced to become, once more, the king. And on the morrow, even more so.”
“Why is that?”
“Did I not tell you? My guests will begin arriving for the ball. They will expect me to behave as a monarch. I cannot disappoint them.”
“Have you given their names to Mistress Thornton, so she can prepare their chambers?”
“Aye. She and I went over the list as soon as I gave her the good news about my little ball.”
Quenton knew there would be nothing little about it. It would take all of his housekeeper’s skills to prepare it in the lavish style for which their king was famous. “How did she take the news?”
Charles smiled. “She is as eager as I. I told you, my friend. No one can resist my charm.”
“Aye. So you’ve said. It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you are king, would it?”
Charles’s laughter rang through the gathering dusk. “Relax, Lord Stamford. You will enjoy my ball as much as I. And you will find yourself entertaining some of England’s most interesting people.”
Quenton kept his thoughts to himself. He’d had his share of the fawning peacocks and jealous lackeys who surrounded the king at court. These were creatures who would say or do whatever it took to curry favor with the one in charge. Should the king’s fortunes shift, they would attach themselves to the next ruler, and spare Charles not a thought.
He dropped anchor and lowered the sails. While he worked he glanced toward Olivia, seated beside Bennett and Minerva. Liat was stretched out beside her, his head in her lap, his breathing slow and easy.
They made such a picture. The beautiful woman. The innocent lad. The sight of them caused an unexpected ache around his heart.
“A lovely view, is it not, Q?”
Quenton was startled by the king’s voice, so close beside him. “I didn’t see you approaching.”
“Aye. You seem to have eyes only for the lass. Quite understandable.” He winked. “London will fall in love with her. I have no doubt she’ll be the most popular lady at court. Ah.” He glanced toward the small boat heading toward them. “Time to go ashore.”
As Quenton turned away, Charles saw the little muscle working in his friend’s jaw and nearly laughed aloud. How he loved to tease. Especially since the poor fool was so blinded by love, he had lost his sense of humor.
Their little party was escorted to the docks, where the king’s soldiers and servants awaited him. Then they were helped into a waiting carriage and began the ride back to Blackthorne. Along the way the roads were once again lined with cheering villagers. Charles continued to smile and wave until the crowds were left behind. When they finally arrived at Blackthorne, he stifled a yawn. “I believe I will take my evening meal in my chambers. Perhaps even in bed. Will you tell Mistress Thornton, Pembroke?”
“Aye, Majesty.” The butler assisted him from the carriage.
The king glanced back at Liat, asleep on Olivia’s lap. “I see I’m not the only one to be done in by the sea air.”
As she started to rise Quenton took the lad from her arms. “He’s much too heavy for you. I’ll carry him up to bed.”
“Thank you.” She struggled to ignore the little jolt of pleasure when their hands touched.
She accepted Pembroke’s hand as she stepped from the carriage.
With Quenton beside her, carrying the boy in his arms, she led the way inside and up the stairs to their rooms. And all the while she was achingly aware of the man beside her.
In the boy’s chambers Olivia turned down the linens and stood aside as Quenton lowered Liat to his bed and brushed a kiss over his cheek. It was such a sweet moment she felt as though a dagger had pierced her heart.
“I’ll take off his boots,” she whispered.
That done, she pulled the covers over him and blew out the candle on the nightstand, then made her way to the outer room, with Quenton following.
When she stepped into her own suite, Quenton paused on the threshold.
“If you’re too weary to sup in the dining hall, I could have one of the servants fetch you a meal.”
“Nay. I’m not weary, my lord. In fact, I feel invigorated by the sea air.”
“Then I’ll expect you below stairs shortly.”
“Aye. I’ll just freshen up.”
When she was alone Olivia stripped off the simple white shirtwaist and long dark skirt. After washing, she pulled on a pale yellow gown and fastened up her hair with gilded combs.
She was dressing carefully, she realized. She paused and studied her reflection in the looking glass. Like a woman dressing for her lover. Sweet heaven. The thought made her heart beat faster.
As she made her way to the dining hall she thought about all the things King Charles had told her about his oldest and dearest friend. Had the king merely wished to unburden himself? Or had there been some other reason for telling her?
It mattered not. Her heart was lighter for it. He had given her a glimpse of a lonely, frightened boy, who had grown into a man who kept his own counsel. A fiercely protective firstborn who would do anything for a younger brother. A highly principled man willing to give his life for king and country.
This wasn’t a man who would harm his wife and brother in a fit of rage. Nor was he a man who would father a son and refuse to give the lad his name. Whatever gossip was being spread about Lord Quenton Stamford, she had no doubt that it was false.
And she had no doubt that she wanted, more than anything in the world, to show him how she felt.
At the foot of the stairs she was approached by Pembroke. “Lord Stamford requests that you join him in the library, Miss St. John.”
As she followed the butler down a long hallway, she felt the sting of disappointment. Quenton was sending her a clear signal that he would rather work than spend his time with her. The lovely evening she had envisioned was already fading from her mind. Her chance to offer Quenton her love was slipping away.
Quenton stared at the rows of figures that had become a blur. He’d locked himself away, determined to work. It was imperative that he make some sense of his grandfather’s finances. But the truth was, all he could see, all he could think about, was Olivia. How she looked aboard the
Prodigal.
her hair wind-tossed, her skin glowing. How she felt pressed against him, her hands under his at the helm.
What would he do if Charles took her off to London? He tried to imagine Blackthorne. as it had been before she had arrived. Cold. Bleak. A prison. And he had been a prisoner, every bit as much as Bennett.
Since her arrival, everything had changed. He still wasn’t quite certain just how she’d managed it. With innocence, and impertinence and good humor she had plunged in, coaxing Bennett out of his room and out of his torment, and throwing open the windows of this musty old fortress to fresh air and sunlight.
He closed the ledger and stared down at the desktop. He couldn’t bear it if she left. Couldn’t bear to go back to the darkness and the despair. He needed a plan. A plan to keep her here at Blackthorne.
There was a way. He could admit his feelings for her and hope that she shared those feelings. But that was something he could never do. She was, after all, a maiden in his employ. He had no right to cross that line. And so he would have to see to it that he tread very carefully. He could enjoy her company, as long as he kept a respectable distance.
For tonight, he would walk a fine line between the man who employed her and the man who secretly loved her.
Pembroke knocked, then opened the library door and allowed Olivia to precede him.
“My lord, Miss St. John is here.”
Quenton looked up and caught his breath. She was wearing a yellow gown, much like the one she’d described in her tale of the mud hole. He would forever think of her as a bright yellow daisy.
“Thank you, Pembroke.” He got to his feet and came around the desk.
Olivia found herself staring. He was dressed all in black. Black breeches tucked into tall black boots, black jacket and shirt. In the firelight his dark hair looked blue-black. His handsome face was cast in light and shadow. It occurred to Olivia that this was how she would always see him. A proud, haughty, dangerous pirate. A man of such mystery. A strange mixture of light and darkness.
“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering Mistress Thornton to serve our meal in here tonight, since you and I are the only ones eating.”
“What about Bennett?”
“He’s as done in by the fresh air as Liat and the king. Minerva is serving his meal in his room.” He poured two glasses of pale wine and offered one to her.
She sipped, then took a few moments to look around. Her only other time here had been a blur of embarrassment.
A fire blazed in a massive fireplace. On either side of the hearth, sculpted lions stood guard. Above the mantel hung an enormous coat of arms showing a pair of fierce lions, a sword, a shield and a crown, in tribute to the close friendship between the Stamford family and the Stuarts. To one side were crossed swords with jeweled hilts that gleamed in the firelight. Two walls held shelves of books from floor to ceiling. On a fourth wall, gracefully curved cathedral windows offered a wonderful view of the gardens and the cliffs and the ocean beyond.
“I like this room. I think perhaps it suits you more than any other room I’ve seen at Blackthorne.”
He looked around, trying to see it as she did. “Why is that?”
“I’m not sure. The books perhaps. I’ve heard that you work on your grandfather’s ledgers far into the night.”
“I do. Too often.” His voice held a trace of weariness.
“The swords over the fireplace.” She turned to him. “I assume you know how to use them.”
He nodded gravely. “I won’t apologize for that. A privateer who doesn’t know how to use his weapons is a dead man.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult, my lord. Merely as a fact.” She turned, pointed. “And the windows, because they offer you a view of the sea that you love.”
“You’re a most observant woman, Miss St. John.”
There was a knock on the door and Mistress Thornton entered, followed by several servants. The housekeeper’s bullying began at once.
“Straighten that linen cloth, you spongy mammet. Put the candles to one side, you reeky nuthook, so his lordship can see to feed himself. No. No. Not the ale, you plume-plucked miscreant. The wine.”
By this time the housekeeper was sweating profusely and using the edge of her apron to mop moisture from her face. “Will I leave one of these qualling mumble-mews here to serve the table, my lord?”
“Thank you, no, Mistress Thornton. When we’re ready to sup, I’ll summon Pembroke.”
“Aye, my lord.” She tugged on the arm of one of the servants, dragging her along as she herded the rest from the room.
When the door closed, Olivia bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. When she glanced over, she realized that Quenton was doing the same. That was all she needed to burst into peals of laughter, with Quenton following.
At that, all attempts at formality fell away.
“You realize, don’t you,” he said, “that for all her harsh words, she truly has a good heart?”
“Aye. I’ve come to realize that. Looks can be deceiving.” To keep from staring at him she took a turn around the room, studying the many shelves of books. “For instance, Papa used to point out that in nature, sometimes the prettiest berries and seeds could tempt a child to eat something that could make him violently ill.”
“Have you ever been tempted?” Quenton filled her glass and carried it to her.
“Many times.” She accepted the glass from his hands and felt the warmth of his touch. “Even with my father’s words of caution, I had to learn for myself.”
“And did you ever eat the pretty berries?”
“Oh, I admit I tasted a time or two. Not enough to be sick, but enough to know that they were bitter indeed.” She gave him a wry smile. “I am, after all, human.”
“Are you? That’s a comfort to know. I’d begun to think...” He stared down into her eyes and cautioned himself. There was danger here. He was playing with fire. ,
“Think what?”
He caught a strand of hair, watched it sift through his fingers. “That there was simply no way to tempt a woman of your superior breeding and intelligence.”