Lord of Deception (Trysts and Treachery Book 1)

by Elizabeth Keysian

  Kit crushed the box leaf between his fingers and flicked it across the hut. How would he carry out his duty? Should he kiss Kate with all the ability for which he was known? No—he must trample his pride, and not reveal his skills to the woman. The kiss must be unaccomplished, as would be expected of a rough country fellow.

  Staring up into the web-strewn beams of the roof, another sigh escaped him. A pity he hadn’t been commanded to kiss Alys. One could glean a great deal about a woman from her kiss. Should the occasion ever present itself, he must be sure to take full advantage.

  Chapter Three

  Why did Sir Thomas Kirlham always make Alys panic? Was it his considerable girth which, accentuated by the padded shoulders of his doublet, made him look like a great bear? Or was it his sheer lack of lightness—ink-black beard, beetling brows, black velvet doublet and hose… black frown.

  “Sir, will you take some refreshment? Elderflower cordial? We have a few lemons.”

  “Anon. Where is Mistress Aspinall?” He exuded impatience.

  “In the gardens somewhere. Shall I send for her?”

  “I can find her myself.”

  Anxiety pricked Alys’ spine as she hurried along in Kirlham’s wake. A serving girl, Lettice, emerged from the kitchen as they passed, and froze. Alys caught her attention. “Elderflower, if you please. The best.”

  Lettice nodded and vanished into the house, as Alys struggled to match Kirlham’s stride.

  Then a giggle, low and soft, reached her ears. Her heart sank.

  “Sir Thomas, I beg you will take a seat in the shade here, while I fetch Kate for you.” Alys ran in front of him, barring his path, then pointed at the sculpted stone bench beneath the platform. Leaving him to consider her offer, she hurried past him towards the giggles, then came to a halt, slack-jawed.

  At the end of the yew walk, Kate and the gardener were clasping hands as he leaned down to kiss her pouting lips. Before Alys could warn them, she heard the heavy tread of Sir Thomas behind her. By the rood! She might not care a whit for Kate, but whatever sins her cousin committed would be reflected on her and the rest of the household. It was so humiliating.

  What should she do? Cough loudly? Pretend to faint on Sir Thomas? A brief look at his granite expression decided her in favor of the cough.

  The gardener looked up, then bowed, his long hair falling forward to hide his face.

  “Mistress Aspinall!” Sir Thomas brushed Alys aside and bore down on Kate. The gardener held his ground, looking ready to protect his mistress from the angry intruder. Alys supposed she must admire him for that, as she would anyone not intimidated by Sir Thomas.

  “Tom!” Kate cried in ringing tones, hurrying forward. “I hadn’t expected you so soon.”

  She held out her hands.

  Had she no shame? Alys took a deep breath, her mind racing. “Sir Thomas, be not disquieted. Kate and yon fellow are rehearsing a scene from a short play we have found to amuse ourselves.”

  “Oh, never mind that now, Alys! Tom, take my arm—it delights my heart to see you after so long. It must have been a month at least. Why are you so neglecting me?”

  Kate’s complete lack of self-consciousness seemed to do the trick. Sir Thomas almost smiled as he made his bow and turned away with her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow.

  Alys hung back, watching the gardener where he stood in the shadow of the yew trees, the tension in his body patent. Eyes glued on the departing pair, he shook his clenched fist, muttering, “A plague on you, Kate Aspinall. And on Sir Thomas Kirlham, too!” Then he stalked away out of sight.

  Alys hurried back to the house. Kate wouldn’t bestir herself to be hospitable to their visitor—she’d be expected to do everything and could expect a scolding if she didn’t move swiftly.

  It wasn’t until she reached the stout oak front door of the manor house that she stopped to ponder. Why had the gardener sounded so angry? And how, for that matter, did he know who Sir Thomas was, since the nobleman wasn’t local to Suffolk, and this must be the first time he’d seen him at Selwood?

  The fellow was a conundrum. And if Kate had taken a liking to him, it might be best for all concerned if he were to be quietly dismissed.

  Chapter Four

  Kit’s legs were folded uncomfortably beneath him as he snipped and picked at the low box hedges of the maze. The new plants set in at the beginning of the season were taking well, their leaves dark and glossy. Now they needed to obey the gardener’s knife.

  He liked pruning. It was a mindless task, giving him time to think. So long as the head gardener wasn’t breathing down his neck, there was plenty of time to think in this job and to watch. Whatever nefarious activities were taking place in this house, he would expose them, sooner or later. The lives of everyone in, or associated with, Selwood Manor would be laid bare—a nest of vipers uncovered to be crushed by Walsingham’s boot.

  Kit had peeped through a window and seen Kirlham comfortably settled to a game of chess with Mistress Aspinall—there was naught in that to arouse suspicion. Alys Barchard had left them to it and marched off towards the bakehouse, her shoulders stiff, her lovely mouth a grim line. What would she look like if she were to smile?

  Sitting back on his haunches, he surveyed the remaining box plants. His shoulder blade ached. He reached up to rub it, then stopped as a shadow fell across his eyes. Recognizing the somber grey of Alys Barchard’s kirtle, he leapt to his feet, making a bow which he hoped didn’t appear too courtly.

  She had a smudge of flour on her cheek—from helping out in the bakehouse? He’d wager Kate Aspinall never sullied her pretty pink hands with such toil.

  His smile seemed to surprise her. Were servants not expected to smile at Selwood?

  Mayhap if they knew their employers were in league with the Catholics or the Spanish, they had little to cheer them. He gave Mistress Barchard the look which had melted many a heart at court—he could learn more about her if he tipped her off guard.

  Her gaze dipped to his mouth, then fixed itself rigidly beyond him.

  “I would speak with you.” She stepped within the confines of the maze.

  “Any wish of yours is mine also.” How fortunate she wasn’t looking at him, or she’d have seen him wince. Faith, he was meant to talk like a gardener, not a practiced courtier demonstrating his chivalry. “Aye, Mistress,” he amended, following her into the labyrinth of box plants.

  At the first corner, she stopped, keeping her back to him. “Your behavior this morning was beyond the pale. If it were up to me, you’d be cast off for that. Acting as you did with Mistress Aspinall, and in front of our guest to boot. This household may lack a master, but it does not lack morals.”

  He might debate that point. Gazing at her, he couldn’t help but admire her tiny waist, the dark, waving hair escaping from her hat to caress a neck as white as swansdown. If only she would turn around and grant him a view of the tops of those creamy breasts.

  A pox on it! Kit thrust his knuckles into his mouth and bit down hard. If he couldn’t quell his lust, his tenure at Selwood would be short indeed.

  “I regret giving you any offense, my lady.” He fought to keep the hoarseness from his voice.

  “You regret it only because you were caught. Had you not been seen, I vow you’d have tried to take it further.” She strode onward, her skirts brushing the box plants at either side of the path until she reached the next corner. This brought her diagonally opposite him, with a complex twist of the maze between.

  He willed her to look at him. “What you saw was a pretense. Would that I could say more, but I’d not betray my Mistress Aspinall’s trust.”

  Now that was a piece of cunning. If he could set the two women against one another, he was likely to learn more, and at the same time, Mistress Barchard would be gulled into thinking he had integrity. Which, of course, he did.

  Finally, she looked into his eyes, and he felt a shock of attraction, which intensified at her blush.

  “If you have
an explanation, you must share it with me. I am kin to your mistress, so her concerns are also mine. Speak! Or would you court dismissal?”

  She had backbone, this woman. He was a good head taller than her and standing almost breast to breast. “What must I do? Mistress Aspinall will turn me off if I tell you. You threaten the same if I do not.”

  She backed off and moved away, putting another corner of the maze between them. He sought her gaze again, determined to disconcert her.

  With a toss of her head, she continued pacing the convoluted path. “If you must lose your position either way, you may as well tell me what trust my cousin has placed in you.”

  He squared his shoulders and enjoyed the sight of her flushing again. Soon, she would be eating out of his hand. This spying business wasn’t as hard as he’d feared.

  “That kiss was not freely given. ’Twas cajoled, nay, threatened out of me. Not that it’s my place to speak against the lady.”

  “I knew it. So, you had no other thought in your head than preserving yourself?”

  “Indeed. My kisses are generally given in private.”

  Hah! She had reached the center of the maze, and he was cutting off her retreat. He repressed a grin as her eyes measured the breadth of his chest and snagged on the open collar of his shirt.

  She waited for him to get out of her way, but he didn’t move. His eyes flickered to the smear of flour on her cheek, marring the rosy glow of her discomfort. He kept his voice soft. “Am I to be dismissed?”

  “Perhaps not. As you’ve told me the truth, despite Kate adjuring you not to, I’ll not pursue the matter. You’ve conned your lesson. I must go now.” She stared pointedly past him.

  “Before you do, give heed to the flour upon your face.” He hadn’t meant to touch her, to brush his thumb caressingly over her cheek. A frigid silence enveloped them, and his breathing hitched. Fool!

  Before he had a chance to back away or apologize, she’d hitched up her skirts, trampled over the box hedge, and marched out of the maze.

  Sighing, he surveyed the wreck of his carefully trimmed plants. And prayed to God he hadn’t given himself away.

  Chapter Five

  Three days after her encounter with the gardener, Alys sat down to break her fast with Kate and Hannah Shawcross, one of her cousin’s acolytes who’d come to visit. Sir Thomas was absent, which was a relief. Alys had ofttimes wondered why the knight did whatever he pleased when he was at Selwood, almost as if he had a stake in the place.

  Rays of sunlight gilded the wooden paneling, and the dust motes danced in shafts of light—it looked set to be a fine day. Mayhap their august visitor had been unable to resist the lure of the weather and had already ridden out to enjoy it.

  Hannah sipped at a spoonful of frumenty, then gave Kate a sideways glance. “You look like the cat who has got at the cream.”

  Alys had noticed this, too, and was having unsettling thoughts about Kate and Sir Thomas. She prodded her sops in wine with her spoon. If Kate were to marry Sir Thomas, her chances of being tolerated at Selwood Manor were slim—unless she was forced to be nursemaid to Kate’s offspring. Which meant no hope at all of inheriting Selwood, or finding a man who would be interested in marrying her.

  “At least one of us doesn’t look miserable as a sinner in Hell.” Kate jabbed her knife in Alys’ direction.

  “I don’t—”

  Hannah cut in. “Has Sir Thomas proposed? Or is the queen visiting these parts? I’d so love to meet her. Those dresses—”

  Kate shook her head, pushed away from the long oak table, and wandered over to the window. She sighed, her ample bosom heaving beneath the tight mustard-colored bodice she wore.

  Alys bit her lip, refusing to play Kate’s game, but Hannah was more forthcoming. “Why do you sigh?”

  “Because I am happy, satiated, and a little the richer.”

  Satiated? What in Christendom did she mean by that? Alys’ latten spoon clonked onto her bowl.

  Hannah drummed her fingers on the table. “I beseech you, just tell us, Kate Aspinall—you’re putting us all off our breakfasts.”

  Kate beamed. “I won a wager with Alys three days ago—the same day Sir Thomas arrived—and got her embroidered pocket. So, for that, I am the richer.”

  Kate loved acquiring things. Especially those belonging to other people.

  “What was the wager?”

  Hannah’s eyes grew wide as she listened to Kate’s explanation. Then she laughed. “How droll that Sir Thomas should catch you kissing him. Alys showed great wit in saying you were rehearsing a scene.”

  “Oh, don’t waste praise on her. It was I who charmed his suspicions out of him. But I must confess to having gained more than a kiss from the handsome fellow.”

  Alys’ jaw dropped. She’d warned the man—had he taken no notice at all?

  Hannah was staring, open-mouthed. “You didn’t!”

  Kate spun back from the window and leaned across the table, lowering her voice. “He was like a stag in rut, a charging bull—the vitality of that man is stunning. Now I know how poorly my dear dead husband served me—he was as a sparrow compared to an eagle. Kit. Ah, Kit!”

  Alys’ stomach curled and twisted, her breakfast turning to verjuice. How could Kate risk bringing such scandal on the household, under Sir Thomas’ very nose? They’d be the laughingstock of the neighborhood.

  Assuming she was telling the truth.

  She locked gazes with Kate. “How do we know you truly did this?”

  “If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself.”

  Nay, she’d only hear more lies. How could one know who to believe? Admittedly, she’d never before met a man as alluring as their new gardener, but would Kate genuinely stoop so low as to bed him?

  Or had she blackmailed him into doing that, as well?

  “So, he was good then?” Hannah leaned closer.

  “The best. His hands—so strong, yet so gentle. His thighs, tight as a vise, yet tender withal. His manhood, hot, firm and eager. Ah! So eager.”

  Alys flushed, recalling the vision she’d had of the gardener naked. It was now flashing in front of her eyes with virulent potency.

  “You may well blush, Coz, but that is only because you don’t like to hear such things.” Kate sneered at her. “And just because you have ice in your veins does not mean everyone else has.”

  Hannah voiced the thought that had been in Alys’ mind before the unsettling image. “How do we know you truly did this, Kate? You may have paid him, or forced him to say ‘yes’ if we asked.”

  Triumph glittered in Kate’s eyes. “I know of him what no person could unless they had seen him naked.”

  Alys gulped and ran a finger around the neckline of her bodice. The day was heating up rapidly.

  “Below his right breast—and oh, what a chest he has! Below it, I say, is a scar from a blade.”

  “You could have seen that when he was working in the garden without a shirt on.” Alys wondered why a mere gardener would have such a wound on his chest.

  “As if he would dare work unclothed in sight of the house. Don’t be a fool.”

  Alys winced. If she wasn’t careful, Kate would get into one of her pets, and insults would fly all day long. Mainly in her direction.

  Hannah, apparently, had not noticed the warning signs. “Perhaps you’ve been spying on him. That’s how you know about the scar. And if he was that good in bed, wouldn’t you have been too distracted to notice?”

  “I ran my tongue over it. And what do you know about love-making, Hannah? What one might, or might not notice?”

  “I only know what I’ve heard from you.”

  Nausea rose in Alys’ stomach—she’d heard enough. Shoving her chair back against the wall, she stalked from the room. Giggles attended her departure, but she didn’t look back.

  She wouldn’t give Kate the satisfaction.

  She’d given him his chance. Now she must be sure to banish the disquieting gardener who had tempted her co
usin into such sin.

  Chapter Six

  Another Sunday had passed and—as far as Kit could tell—the entire household had dutifully attended church. So, the traitor’s sympathies were probably not with the Catholics, but political instead. This would make his task harder, for there were many signs by which he could recognize a Catholic recusant, far fewer by which he would know a conspirator with political or financial aims. But surely, if he waited long enough, there would come a time when someone at Selwood would let slip their mask.

  The main object of his thoughts had been studiously ignoring him. Mistress Barchard liked the gardens—she was often out walking in them, but never once did she look his way or acknowledge his presence. It offended his masculine pride to be disregarded, although he knew he should be glad of it—it was imperative that he not attract attention.

  Since the small unpleasantness with Mistress Aspinall, he’d made more effort to look rustic—he’d been practicing a slouch, and had given up shaving. He must look a fright by now—his past paramours would barely recognize him. Hopefully, no one else from court who knew Sir Christopher Ludlow would recognize him either, but there was little chance of such a one ever turning up at Selwood Manor.

  Unless they were that very courtier whom Walsingham suspected of being in league with the Suffolk ring of rebels. Whose name, unfortunately, the queen’s spymaster was not prepared to divulge to Kit, as he had not yet proved his worth.

  Well, he’d prove it soon enough. He was becoming more observant by the hour and, today, he’d noticed there was something amiss with Mistress Barchard. After breakfast, she’d rushed into the walled part of the garden, and stood in the center, gulping in great breaths of air. At first, she’d been entirely unaware of Kit’s presence behind the fig tree, where he was trying to get a rambling rose under control. Hearing the rustle of the branches, she’d spun around, paled, and darted out as if the Devil were at her heels.