This Heart of Mine (44 page)

Lord de Boult pushed his way through the crowd of amused and curious courtiers. “What is this, my lord? What have you done to my wife? I demand that you answer me!”

Alex was only just beginning to recover from his surprise at Mary de Boult’s action. Then Velvet was at his side and Essex with her.

“What has happened, my lord?” she asked gently, realizing his shock.

Alex struggled to find a reasonable explanation, for it went against his nature to attack a woman. Still, upon quick reflection, he could find no other way to extricate himself from this very difficult and embarrassing situation. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Yer wife, my lord de Boult, felt she had a quarrel with me. When I refused to allow her to strike me, she tore open her gown in an attempt to make it appear as if I had forced my attentions upon her and therefore have her revenge.”

“Nay, Clifford! Nay!” pleaded Lady de Boult. Then she sobbed wildly. “He attempted to have his way with me here in this very alcove, and when I refused him he attacked me! I swear it!”

“Hah!” snapped the Earl of Essex. “More than likely
you
tried to have your way with him, madame, and
he
refused! I suspect
that it is Lord Gordon’s honor that has been damaged in this affair and not yours.”

The assembled onlookers laughed.

“Are you calling my wife a liar, my lord Essex?” demanded Clifford de Boult, drawing himself up.

“Use your head, man,” argued Essex. “Lady de Boult is fair enough, but next to the Countess of BrocCairn she is like a colored stone to a fine pearl. I believe Lord Gordon. Take your wife home and give her a good beating for causing this trouble in the queen’s presence.”

The Earl of Essex’s words rang with practicality, and secretly Lord de Boult believed him. For him to admit it, however, was impossible, for it would bring shame upon his good name. His honor had been besmirched by this matter, and until that honor was appeased he would not be able to hold his head up at court. Coldly, he looked at Lord Gordon and said, “Tomorrow morning just past dawn in Brightwaters field, my lord?”

Alex nodded. “As you will, sir,” he answered.

“Nay!” cried Velvet. “I will not permit it! Nay, Alex!”

Alex turned to Essex. “Will ye be my second, Robert?”

Essex nodded slowly, but he could not resist saying, “Is it worth it for that jade, Alex?”

“It is for my own honor, Robert, which has been impugned by this evening’s uproar. In several days’ time Velvet and I leave for Scotland. How can I someday return to England with this hanging over my head? I cannot, and therefore the affair must be concluded honorably before we leave for Scotland.”

“Nay!” Velvet almost shouted. “You would endanger yourself and our future over this lying trull! No, I say! No!”

Mary de Boult was very much enjoying the scene she had so skillfully engineered. A duel was to be fought, and over her! Her anger and disappointment at having been rejected by the Scotsman was fast fading in light of this delightful development. Then she heard Velvet’s words. Gathering the tatters of her bodice, she glowered at her rival and said angrily to her husband, “Did you hear her? I have been mortally insulted, Clifford!”

Wearily he turned a cold face to her. “Would you also have me challenge the Countess of BrocCairn to a duel then, madame?” His fingers grasped his wife’s arm, and, turning to Essex, he said, low, “Tender the queen our apologies, but my wife has been taken ill.” Then he hustled his spouse from the ballroom.

“This is madness!” Velvet nearly shouted. “We all know, even poor Lord de Boult, that she is lying. We know it, and yet you will duel tomorrow over nothing?”

“We will duel to satisfy the code of honor,” Alex said quietly.

“I will go to the queen! You know she has forbidden dueling,” Velvet threatened.

“Ye will go home, madame, and ye will say nothing to Elizabeth Tudor,” he said softly.

“I will!”
Velvet couldn’t remember ever having been so angry.

“Nay, Velvet,” said Essex soothingly. “There are things a woman does not understand, things she cannot comprehend easily, and dueling is one of those things.”

“The queen understands men better than you think,” snapped Velvet, “and so do I! Men are naught but little boys!”

“No one will get hurt,” Essex promised, smiling his most winning smile at her. “You’re right when you say de Boult knows his wife is lying. The bitch has put him in an untenable position. But to admit it would dishonor him even more. It would be like saying he can’t control his own wife. He had to challenge Alex. I will see that they fight with their swordpoints tipped. Honor will be quickly and easily satisfied, I promise you.”

Velvet looked at her husband, and Alex nodded.

“I agree, lovey. No blood will be shed, and especially not mine.” He smiled down at her.

The crowd had dissipated, returning to the dancing, and the queen, if she was aware of the scandal that had exploded in her ballroom, gave no sign of it. The principals involved hoped that by the time she received a full account the duel would be over and done with. Essex had gone back to Elizabeth’s side, and Alex and Velvet found themselves surrounded by their family. The incident was retold, and while Willow and Angel expressed their indignation over Lady de Boult’s terrible behavior and comforted Velvet, James Edwardes and Robin Southwood, along with Captain Murrough O’Flaherty and Lord Burke of
Clearfields Priory
, agreed with Alex that the duel must be fought.

“I offer myself as your second,” said Robin quietly.

“I also!” enthused Padraic Burke.

Velvet glowered at her brothers, but her annoyance was particularly reserved for Lord Burke. “When did
you
arrive in London?” she demanded. “ ’Tis a strange time to come calling when at midnight Lent begins.”

Lord Burke, the master of
Clearfields Priory
, even handsomer than his late father, Niall, grinned down upon his youngest sister. His silvery eyes twinkled at her and as he spoke he brushed back an errant lock of black hair that tumbled over his high forehead. “I arrived but this evening with Murrough, who sails on the tide tomorrow morning back to India, sweet sister. My signature was necessary upon certain documents, y’see, else I should never have come to this stinkhole of a city.” He turned to Alex. “We’ve not
met, my lord. I am Velvet’s brother, Padraic Burke of
Clearfields Priory.
You look none the worse for wear having been married to this wench these last few months.”

With another engaging grin Padraic held out his hand, and Alex grasped it, a smile upon his own face. He instinctively liked this young man who stood almost as tall as he himself did and had the graceful body of an athlete.

“Ye feel about London as I do, eh, younger brother?” Alex said.

“If you mean by that that I prefer my lands, then you’re right,” came Padraic’s quick reply.

“Then come visit us in Scotland next summer,” said Alex. “We’ve good hunting and fishing.”

“I’ll do that!” agreed Padraic. “And perhaps I’ll even be the first of our family to see my new nephew—or niece, whichever the case may be.”

“I am not with child yet!” snapped Velvet.

“Being home will remedy that, madame,” said Alex maddeningly.

“My lords and ladies,” came the stentorian voice of the queen’s majordomo, “ ’Tis midnight. The feasting is over, and the penitential season is upon us. Her Gracious Majesty commands that you all join her in the chapel to receive ashes.”

With an almost audible sigh the court trooped forth from the queen’s ballroom. The tables lay almost empty and wasted behind them; the musicians had already departed. The solemnity of Lent had fallen about them like some dark cloak, and they were suddenly anxious to be home.

The church service was mercifully brief, and the children of Skye O’Malley quickly found themselves descending the river stairs to the wharf where their barges were lined up and waiting. Velvet had insisted that Padraic stay with them, and Murrough, too, this last night before he sailed. There was more than enough room for them all in the BrocCairn barge, and as the tide was now with them the boat quickly moved upriver to the Strand. The Lynmouth and BrocCairn vessels raced to see which would get home first. They were fairly matched, for while Velvet and Alex carried her two brothers, Robin and Angel had Willow and James as passengers. Both boats finished in a dead heat, which was a disappointment to the bargemen, those on the winning vessel having been promised a purse. The two earls, however, in a burst of generosity, awarded their men their prizes despite the tie. Then calling good night to each other as they passed up their adjoining gardens the Southwood and Gordon parties entered their respective homes.

Murrough’s rooms awaited him, and an apartment was quickly prepared for Lord Burke who, kissing his sister good night, whispered, “Don’t fret, littlest one, nothing will happen to Alex I promise. Besides, de Boult is not said to be any sort of a swordsman.”

Velvet made a little moue with her mouth. “The whole thing is foolishness, and that dreadful jade will brag for weeks afterwards about having caused a duel. Thank God we shall not be here to listen to her.”

Murrough hid a smile. Velvet became more like their mother every day. “Shall I bid you farewell now, Velvet?” he asked. “Or will you arise from your snug bed in the morning to see me off?”

“What time will you go?” She looked dubious.

“I must leave Greenwood by half after seven at the latest. The tide is just after eleven in the morning.”

“What time is the sunrise?” she said quietly.

“Half after six,” said Alex, and he took her hand in his to reassure her.

“I will be up, Murrough. I shall see you off myself.”

He nodded and then, bending, kissed her good night.

When Velvet and Alex were undressed and in their own warm bed, she asked him, “Is this duel really necessary? It is foolish of me, I realize, to be frightened, but I cannot help it. No one I’ve ever known has fought a duel.”

He drew her into his arms. “There is no danger, Velvet, lass. Now be a good girl and kiss me, sweetheart.”

She gave him her lips in a sweet and tender kiss, but when his hands began to roam lasciviously about her lush body, she slapped them away, saying severely, “Nay, my lord! You need all the sleep you can get! It is past two now, and you must be on your damned field of honor in four hours!”

He swore a mild oath and then chuckled. “Very well, lass, but I hope ye’ll not have cause to regret turning me away. Think of the beautiful child we might start this night.”

“And shall I explain to him how his father lost an ear in a duel several hours after his conception because he could not resist rutting like a stallion when he needed his sleep?”

Alex laughed outright. “Little Tartar,” he scolded. Then, kissing her full on the mouth, he turned her so that her body curved into his, spoon fashion, and, clamping a hand about one of her soft breasts, he fell asleep.

Velvet smiled in the darkness of their room and thought with a contented sigh that she would not find it necessary to take her potion any longer, at least not until after her first child was born. She did regret the fact that she had not let him make love to her, but despite everyone’s reassurances and the fact that they all made
light of the matter, this duel frightened her. Then she decided she was being foolish. Even if they fought with naked swords, Alex would triumph. De Boult was a much, much older man. She relaxed and snuggled closer into her husband’s embrace.

When Velvet awoke, dawn was smearing color across the horizon. She reached for Alex and then, with a frown, remembered. That damned duel! The door to her bedchamber opened and Pansy hurried into the room.

“You’re awake then, m’lady? You said you wanted to see Captain O’Flaherty off, and ’tis almost seven o’clock.” She held out her mistress’s quilted apple-green chamber robe.

Velvet swung her legs from the bed and thrust her feet into her slippers. Standing, she slipped into the robe. “When did his lordship leave?”

“At least half an hour ago. ’Tis only a few minutes’ ride to Brightwaters, but no gentleman likes to be late to a duel. ’Tis considered quite rude.”

Velvet was forced to smile. “I wasn’t aware that you were familiar with the courtesies of dueling, Pansy.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised, m’lady, what I heard from the other servants when we was at court. They’re a chattery bunch.”

Velvet laughed. Pansy could always put her in a good mood. “Has Captain O’Flaherty broken his fast yet?”

“Nay, m’lady.”

“Then ask him to break it with me in my dayroom and see that the food is brought quickly, for he did say he had to leave by half after seven o’clock.”

“Yes, m’lady,” came Pansy’s answer, and the servant hurried off.

Within a very few moments both Murrough and the meal arrived. Murrough was dressed for travel in well-made, serviceable but expensive garments. He had but recently celebrated his thirty-second birthday and was a fine figure of a man who looked very much like his mother with his dark hair and his Kerry-blue eyes. The only thing of his sire about him seemed to be his squared jawline, which, though it had been weak in the long-dead but never lamented Dom O’Flaherty, had a firm strength in his younger son.

Smiling, Murrough greeted his youngest sister with a kiss and then sat down. “I still can’t believe that you’re a properly settled matron,” he said with fond indulgence. “I can’t wait to see the look on Mother’s face when I tell her, not to mention Adam’s.”

“Don’t tell them!” begged Velvet. “I want to surprise them with a grandchild when they return. Can you imagine Papa if I greet him at the docks with a baby in my arms?”

Murrough howled with delight as he pictured the scene. Adam de Marisco absolutely doted on his daughter, his beloved only child. It had never bothered him one whit that Alex Gordon had ignored Velvet from the day of their betrothal, for Adam had preferred to be the most important man in his daughter’s life, only barely tolerating her half brothers who were equally enamored of her because she was so like their adored mother in character. Willow had been a prim and proper English miss from the start, always mother-henning them, and Deirdre had been a shy and insecure little mouse of a girl. It had always been Velvet who was the imp.