Virginia Henley (8 page)

“Yes. And you are sure it is more than the wine that is making me feel this way.”

“Now you are reading my thoughts,” he teased.

“Indeed I am. You too feel warm, light-headed and slightly intoxicated, though it is definitely not from the wine.” She paused, luring him on before delivering the setdown. “It comes from your cocksure, high-handed opinion of yourself.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. I know another one of your secrets. Wine brings out that precocious hellion who lurks beneath your innocence, looking for a chance to escape.”

“And I know one of your secrets.” She dipped her finger into her wine and licked it. “You still want to tan my arse.”

Christian returned with a tray. “I have a flagrant fondness for strawberries and cream.” She watched Greysteel move away from Velvet and return to his chair. “I am so glad that you have decided to settle your differences.”

“No, we haven’t.” The corners of Velvet’s mouth lifted in a challenging smile. “We have decided to continue our duel.”

As he watched her dip her strawberries in cream and then lick it off, he decided the dessert had been chosen to torture him. He almost groaned out loud.

Christian watched the byplay.
Either she read Bess’s journal or she’s ready to write one of her own!

He lingered for almost an hour after dinner, wanting to stay, yet knowing he must leave. He did not want to go without restaking his claim. The future of England might be uncertain, but Greysteel was sure of one thing: He wanted Velvet Cavendish in his future and he was determined to have her. He stood, reluctantly. “Before I overstay my welcome—”

“You are welcome here any time,” Christian assured him.

“You are extremely gracious, my lady. Velvet and I do have differences to settle. I consider us betrothed, but since she does not, I would like your permission to pay court to her.”

“You have my permission and now I shall say good night and withdraw so that you may persuade Velvet to give hers.”

When they were alone, he closed the distance between them.

Her head went back so she could look up at him. “I know almost nothing about you. I am not ready for courtship.”

He lifted a red gold tendril, feeling its silken texture. Then he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Shall I persuade you that you are?” He dipped his head and briefly touched his mouth to hers. Her lips parted in a gasp, as he had hoped, and this time he took full possession. Greysteel looked down at her in wonder. “You have never been kissed before!”

“Yes, I have! No, I havenʹt. . . . Damn you, Montgomery.”

“Your innocence enchants me, Velvet.”

“Did I persuade you?”

His voice had roughened and it thrilled her. “I’m not ready for courtship, but I’m ready for something,” she said faintly. “Perhaps a long sword to keep you at arm’s length.”

“I am your man, whatever you desire.”

“Is that a threat or a promise, Greysteel Montgomery?”

“It is both. You are a saucy baggage, Velvet Cavendish.”

 

After he stabled his horse and paid the hostler for extra oats, it was after ten o’clock when Greysteel unlocked his door at Salisbury Court. Velvet was a delicious distraction and he knew he must put her out of his mind and focus his attention on the task ahead. The
Proud Eagle
would sail on the midnight tide.

Montgomery locked his desk drawer, put out the lights and left by the back door. Though time was short, he forced himself to walk slowly to make sure he wasn’t being followed as he made his way down to Blackfriars and the Thames. He was thankful for the darkness and the fog, which blanketed the river. He did not see the riding lights of the vessel he sought until he was upon her. He heard the anchor chain being pulled up through the hawsehole and knew she was almost ready to slip her berth.

A sailor was removing a thick cable of rope from a stanchion. Montgomery asked to see Spencer, who appeared within seconds. The seaman drew close, then grinned. “I didn’t recognize you. You have a letter for me?”

Greysteel shook his head. He pulled the thick collar of his seaman’s rough coat, which he’d bought at the secondhand shop, close about his neck. “I have a passenger for you.”

I
t was a straight one-night run from the mouth of the Thames Estuary to Ostend. The
Proud Eagle
sailed past the port and made anchor in a hidden bay farther up the coast at Blankenberge.

When Spencer led Montgomery from the ship and produced a pair of mounts, which would take them to Bruges, Greysteel knew the seaman from Jersey was an old hand at smuggling. It was less than seven miles to the sprawling military camp town where the exiled king had set up his headquarters. When the pair arrived at the stone building that housed Charles Stuart, everyone seemed to recognize Spencer and allowed him to enter. Finally they came to a door with a guard. Spencer gave a password, and like magic, they were ushered into the room.

The swarthy, six-foot man who rose to his feet was much thinner than Montgomery had expected, and far shabbier. The two men stared at each other for a long stretched-out minute, and then Charles’s saturnine face broke into a smile. “Odds fish, it is you, Greysteel Montgomery. By the look of things, we are both reduced to paupers.” The last time they had seen each other had been at the disastrous Battle of Worcester.

Spencer saw that the king knew the man, and silently withdrew.

“Your Majesty—you may not wish to hear what I have to say, but I feel compelled to say it.”

“Truth is often unpalatable. That’s why I hear it so seldom. My advisers, my courtiers, tell me what they wish me to believe and I have learned that most men are self-serving.”

“I too am self-serving. I’m here to assuage my conscience.”

“Conscience?” Laughter rolled from Charles’s throat. “I forgot what conscience was by the time I was sixteen.” He poured them each a drink and grimaced. “Holland gin, I’m afraid. Sit, drink and unburden yourself.”

“Last autumn I captained young recruits from Northumberland. We were taken captive by George Monck’s Coldstream Guards and imprisoned in Berwick.”

Charles’s face set in melancholy lines. “You were snared like coneys, waiting for my invasion force that never came.”

“After a hellish winter, I made a pact with Monck to free my men across the Border. In return he wanted information about Cromwell and wanted the truth about how the people felt.”

“And what is the truth, as you see it?”

“The people are sick and tired of military rule. Most feel that the country should be run by an elected government, not the Parliamentarian army. Many secretly long for a monarchy and there is even a rumor that they will ask Cromwell to be king.”

“Your unvarnished truth holds little hope for me, my friend.”

“You are wrong, Your Majesty. Cromwell is dying.”

Charles sat forward, eagerly. “You have seen him?”

“I put on a Roundhead uniform and went to Whitehall. He is stooped, jaundiced, and he cannot keep food down.”

“Poisoned perhaps?” Charles suggested blandly.

So the rumors of plots against his life are true.
“It is more than that, Your Majesty. Men may recover from poison. Cromwell will not recover from what is ailing him. The Protector has turned into a zealot, who believes he has been chosen as God’s instrument to reform religion and turn England into the New Jerusalem. But the people have become fearful of the godly, and embittered by the reform he tries to impose. Cromwell is dying of fanaticism.”

“What was in your report to George Monck?”

“He asked for the truth. I gave it to him.”

“I wonder why he seeks the truth. What is his agenda?”

“There’s more to George Monck than meets the eye. He is an excellent general and governs Scotland easily with his Coldstream Guards. Though there are fewer of them, they are a superior fighting force to England’s Parliamentarian army.”

“So if—when—Cromwell dies, Monck could hold the balance of power in his hands. Will it be enough to tip the scales?”

“In my opinion, yes. Monck was a Royalist who never took up arms against your father. When he was captured, Cromwell kept him in the Tower for two years. Given the choice of rotting there forever or fighting rebels in Ireland, he chose freedom.”

“A man astute enough to choose expedience would do so again. He is well worth cultivating. We need Monck on our side.”

“He is cautious, Your Majesty. He’d never commit openly.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully. “I too have learned to be cautious. I think we should bring in Chancellor Hyde for his views. He has a shrewd head for policy and has learned to be closemouthed from necessity. I thank you for risking your neck to bring me this information. It will be safer to communicate by letter in future. In your reports to Monck, I know I can trust you to be selective.”

 

“All summer it’s been church on Friday, church on Sunday. I cannot stomach one more fire-and-brimstone sermon,” Christian declared. “The Anglican service at St. Botolph’s, Bishopsgate, used to be uplifting with traditional prayer and lovely music.”

“Music is an instrument of the Devil,” Velvet said with a straight face. “Only agonizing probing of the soul can bring one to a state of grace.”

“Probing of the soul is pious claptrap. We need a change. Let’s take the carriage and go shopping. We’ll take Emma.”

As the coach made its way to the New Exchange in the Strand, Velvet noticed Emma’s face. “I thought you’d enjoy an outing.”

“All these soldiers on the London streets frighten me.”

“I believe that’s their purpose. Protectorate indeed! It is rule by intimidation,” the countess declared.

Velvet took Emma’s hand. “We’ll stay together.”

As they walked through the mercantile stalls on the first floor of the Exchange, Velvet took an interest in everything. Christian, however, could not conceal her dissatisfaction. “These stalls were once filled with ribbons and fans. I have a flagrant fondness for fripperies and French fashions. All they have now are Puritan collars and woolen hose. There isn’t a fan or a feather in sight. Ah, something has caught your eye, Velvet.”

“Yes, I believe I see Greysteel Montgomery, up ahead. You didn’t tell him we were coming, did you?”

“Of course not, darling. This is a happy coincidence.”

They came up behind him as he was buying paper and sealing wax. He turned and saw them. “Ladies, such a pleasant surprise.” His glance lingered on Velvet and he could not let her go without making an assignation to see her again. “I know that you ladies attend St. Botolph’s. It would be my pleasure to escort you to church tomorrow evening.”

Velvet looked appalled and Christian burst into laughter. “We’ve been twice this week, and been purged of our sins. We need a diversion, and I was thinking of taking Velvet for a drive in the country tomorrow. Though it’s autumn, London’s hot and oppressive. Why don’t you come too, if you can get away?”

“We mustn’t impose upon Mr. Montgomery,” Velvet said coolly.

“I’d like nothing better than to explore the country-side,” he insisted, determined to overrule her objection.

“Then it’s settled. I have a small manor house and an estate at Roehampton along the river. The fresh country air will be like a tonic.”

 

The following morning, as they drove along the river road with Montgomery riding along beside their carriage, Velvet’s eyes were drawn again and again to the way Greysteel sat his mount. His straight back and military bearing, as well as the ease with which he handled his horse, fascinated her. She finally admitted that the dark, powerful male, who enjoyed being in control, was becoming more attractive to her every day.

This morning at Bishopsgate she had purposely kept him waiting, then apologized profusely when she finally arrived. “Do forgive me, my lord, I had no idea you were here yet.”

He gave her an amused and tolerant look, which told her she was a little liar. She was deliberately demonstrating her indifference to him and he was determined not to let her see that her disdain affected him.

 

When they arrived at the Roehampton estate, Greysteel could tell Velvet was enchanted with the place. She looked at the house and the grounds with a hungry longing. She left the carriage with eager steps that carried her into the stables.

“Oh, Christian, you have riding horses! Roehampton is like paradise. Would you mind if I took a gallop?”

“Now, why do you suppose I brought you here? I’m sure I can entrust Montgomery to keep an eye on you. Off you go. Explore to your heart’s content. There’s a lake over there, somewhere. I shall go and have a word with the staff. Don’t hurry—it will give them time to prepare some lunch for us.”

Velvet grabbed a saddle, but Greysteel tried to take it from her. “Allow me to ready your mount.”

She refused to let go. “I am perfectly capable of saddling my own horse, sir. Father taught me when I was a child.”

“So long as you are with me, Velvet, you will never saddle your own mount. That is a man’s job.”

She stopped struggling, let him have the saddle and laughed. “You enjoy being in control, but I give you fair warning, Montgomery. You will never have the least control over me!”

As he saddled the black palfrey, his eyes never left her. When he was done, he closed the distance between them, placed firm hands at her waist and, deliberately lifting her high, set her in the saddle. “I shall, Velvet. Never, ever doubt it.”

Without waiting for him, she trotted the palfrey from the stable and, the moment she was outside, gave the animal full rein. Each time Greysteel caught up with her, she raced ahead, throwing him a playful look that said,
Catch me if you can!