Virginia Henley - Unmasked

by Virginia Henley

  Relief washed over her that he intended marriage, and then she began to laugh. "You are still waging a military campaign. You speak as if you have me cor­nered, outflanked, and I have no alternative other than to surrender."

  He reached out to stroke her cheek, a look of wari­ness in his eyes. "Do you surrender?"

  Velvet's glance roamed over his muscular torso, and lifted to his dark unshaved jaw, assessing the powerful male before her. "Your weapons are indeed formida­ble." Her eyes dilated with pleasure. "Instead of your telling me that I must marry you, I would much prefer that you asked me."

  "Sorry, sweetheart. I'm used to giving orders."

  "And that makes you unbelievably attractive," she whispered.

  It is Roehampton that makes me attractive to you. He pulled her into his arms. "Will you marry me, Velvet Cavendish?"

  "I will, Greysteel Montgomery, and preferably be­fore I see the dowager countess again."

  "St. Bride's is the closest church to my house in Salisbury Court. We can be married there as soon as we return to London. This afternoon, if you like."

  "Let's stay at Roehampton one more day?" she pleaded prettily. "I want us to go riding this morning and explore every acre of this heavenly place."

  His hand rubbed the dark stubble on his chin and he warned, "I don't even have a razor with me, nor anything clean to wear."

  "I don't mind." She pushed him back against the pillows and rose up over him. "I like you unshaven and naked."

  He lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. "Your skin is so delicate and without a blemish. It looks like cream alabaster. My beard will scratch you."

  "Mmm, do you promise?" she teased.

  Though her invitation was blatant, Greysteel started his lovemaking very slowly, gently pushing her down and spreading her glorious hair across the pillow. He caressed every curve, every warm hollow of her body, with reverent hands. Then he spread her legs apart to examine every detail. He took each deli­cate layer of pink flesh, stroked, separated and kissed. His touch was as light as a butterfly wing.

  An hour later she lay replete from the long drawn-out loving he had given her. That was absolutely perfect.

  "Velvet, when I make love to you, it feels so right. I've never felt this way before." He traced a pattern of adoration on her face with his lips. "You are my angel love."

  She stirred and stretched. "An angel who needs a bath."

  "There's a hip bath in your chamber. I'll carry up hot water for you. Then we'll go riding."

  He encountered Emma in the kitchen, taking break­fast with Bertha Clegg. "Good morning, ladies. I think you'll be happy to learn that Velvet has agreed to be­come my wife and we are going to make Roehampton our home. Since that means expanding the staff, would you consider coming to work for me, Emma?"

  "I would be most happy to, Lord Montgomery. I much prefer the country to London. The soldiers in the city frighten me."

  "Congratulations, my lord. Emma will be a god­send to me."

  "Shall I take Mistress Cavendish a breakfast tray, sir?"

  "Just bread and honey, Emma. We are going riding as soon as she has bathed. By the way, I've been a sol­dier for almost a dozen years."

  Emma threw him an approving glance. "Oh, but you're a Cavalier, my lord. It's the blasted Roundheads I fear."

  Greysteel bowed gallantly to the ladies. Then he filled a large bucket with steaming hot water and took it with him.

  As she cut the fresh-baked loaf, Bertha said, "This is so romantic, and it's not the first love match this Eliz­abethan manor has spawned. Legend has it that every unwed couple who sleeps under its rafters tumbles head over heels in love!"

  "Mistress Cavendish has been betrothed to marry Lord Montgomery since she was seven," Emma pointed out.

  "Yes, but how many couples whose marriages are arranged actually fall in love? It's Roehampton's ro­mantic atmosphere."

  Two hours later, Greysteel and Velvet rode from the village of Richmond, where he had made a few pur­chases including a razor. As they headed back to Roehampton, only a mile away, he pointed to the heavens. "Do you see that dark line across the sky? It means colder weather is moving in."

  "Our lovely summer is ending," she lamented. "I know it is September, Greysteel, but I have no notion what the date is."

  "Today is the third of September," he said quietly. "It is the anniversary of the Battle of Dunbar and of Worcester. They both fell on the same fateful date, a year apart."

  "Charles fought at Worcester and had to flee for his life."

  "Yes. The citizens of Shrewsbury closed its gates against him, and Gloucester ignored his call to arms. He had twelve thousand men from the north and Scot­land who'd been on the march for three weeks and they were exhausted by the time they arrived at Worcester. Charles said, 'It is a crown or a coffin for me.

  "You were there?" Velvet asked in astonishment.

  "I was," he said quietly. Large raindrops splashed his face. "We are about to get soaked. Let's ride!"

  Since there was nothing they could do to avoid the drenching, they began to laugh at their plight. By the time they reached Roehampton's stables, their clothes were soaked and their hair was plastered against their heads. They tended their horses, then, hand in hand, ran to the house, grinning like children enjoying an es­capade. They left puddles on the stairs as they ran up, and Greysteel knelt to build up the fire while Velvet brought towels from the linen press.

  He helped her remove her green riding dress and petticoat and took delight in toweling her hair while she stood before him clad in only stockings and boots. Then he stripped off his own garments and set them to dry before the fire. "Nature is conspiring with me to get you out of your clothes."

  They sobered momentarily when Emma tapped on their door. "I've brought lunch I'll just leave it out here."

  "Thank you." Velvet's eyes sparkled with mischief. "One day soon, we really will make it down to the din­ing room."

  While their clothes dried, the lovers took full ad­vantage of their situation. When the rain stopped, in the early afternoon, Velvet threw open the window, then joined Greysteel to watch him shave. They heard a commotion of loud voices and moved to the window to see Alfred talking earnestly with a man on horse­back.

  "What's amiss?" Greysteel called down.

  "Oliver Cromwell is dead, my lord!"

  Chapter 9

  “Could such an amazing thing be true?" Velvet asked.

  "Yes, it could very well be true." Greysteel pulled on his clothes and strode from the room.

  Velvet slipped on her petticoat and went into her own chamber to find a dry gown. She took her blue linen from the wardrobe, found shoes and stockings to match and carried them to the other room. She ran the brush through her hair and was just about to put on the fresh gown when Greysteel returned.

  "The news from Whitehall is spreading by word of mouth like wildfire. I have to return to London, Vel­vet."

  "I'll pack immediately. Isn't this marvelous? Now Charles can return to England!" she exclaimed joy­ously.

  "Velvet, sweetheart, it means no such thing. Old Noll has a son. Richard Cromwell is the logical succes­sor to the office of Protectorate. You cannot just wave a magic wand and restore Charles Stuart to the throne of England."

  Velvet looked so crestfallen that he took her into his arms and kissed her brow. "It is marvelous news, though, and unbelievable that it should happen on such a fateful day. Are you sure you want to come with me? I can see which way the wind blows, attend to my business and return in a couple of days."

  "Of course I want to come. This is an historic event. Londoners will be agog with the news of Cromwell's death!"

  "We'll have to ride, since we don't have a carriage. I promise to buy you one tomorrow."

  "It's less than four miles. No distance at all to a Cav­alier's lady." She dropped the blue gown onto the bed and donned her green riding dress once more, though it was still slightly damp. "I'll just pack a few things and have a word wi
th Emma."

  Within half an hour of hearing the momentous news, Velvet and Greysteel were in the saddle and on their way to London. In the city, crowds were gather­ing on street corners, and soldiers seemed to be every­where, ready to stop trouble if it started.

  When they arrived at Salisbury Court, Greysteel paid the hostler and made arrangements to stable the extra horse. Then he asked the stableboy to deliver a note telling the woman who did housekeeping for him that her services would be needed tomorrow.

  Greysteel unlocked the front door of his tall house and ushered Velvet upstairs to the living quarters. "I don't have any live-in servants yet, sweetheart. You'd better keep on your cloak until I get the fires lit."

  Velvet's curious glance roamed about the sitting room. "It is remarkably neat and tidy for a man with no servants. I suppose that is your military training."

  "The note I sent was to Mrs. Fletcher, who keeps house for me and does my washing."

  Velvet watched him light the fire. When he went through to the bedchamber to light another, she hesi­tated at the doorway. "May I explore?"

  "I have something I must attend to down in my of­fice. Why don't you explore the house instead?" he teased. "You can explore me later." He drew her into his arms, gave her a lingering kiss and promised not to be long.

  Montgomery's thoughts were at odds with his emo­tions. He knew he had to inform George Monck that Oliver Cromwell was dead. He would prefer that Charles receive the news first, but he could not be ret­icent about informing the general. Though both men would inevitably hear the news from other sources, Greysteel knew he had no choice but to write to Monck.

  With determination, he set aside his feelings of guilt and disloyalty and sat down at his desk to write the letter. Greysteel put down the date, place and time of Cromwell's death. Tomorrow, after I've had time to take London's pulse, I can add to the letter. The courier won't be here before tomorrow night; he always comes on Wednesday.

  Though Greysteel had discouraged Velvet from wishful thinking about Charles being restored to En­gland's throne, he knew there was a remote possibility that this might be achieved if people of. influence and power worked secretly to that end. The exiled king would be in the thoughts of many on this fateful day.

  Most certainly George Monck will think of Charles Stuart when he learns that Cromwell is dead. Perhaps I can plant a seed that will take root. Montgomery hesitated, knowing if his letter fell into the wrong hands, he could be hanged for treason. His mouth set. With deliberation he redipped the quill and wrote:

  The death of the Protector will inevitably give rise to speculation about the future. It places the country, and perhaps you yourself, at a crossroads. After the long night of Puritanism, will the people be ready for a change or will they strive to keep the status quo under leadership that may not be up to the task?

  The government is deeply in debt and the new Pro­tector will have to call a session of Parliament to author­ize a massive increase in taxation. At this point wide rifts will develop below the surface of national life. I sense a current of unrest, which will be difficult to contain if it grows stronger.

  Engrossed in his task, Montgomery was not imme­diately aware of Velvet's presence. When he glanced up and saw her he was momentarily nonplussed. He immediately flipped over the paper on which he'd been writing and set down the quill. "Whatever are you doing?" he asked curtly.

  She was completely surprised by his reaction and his tone of voice. "I was curious to see your office."

  He deliberately lightened his tone and erased the frown from between his brows. "Sweetheart, I assure you, there is nothing here of interest to a lady." Smoothly, he opened the top drawer, slipped in the let­ter and got up from his desk. He took her hand and drew her from the doorway into the room. "Well, as you can see, this is where I attend to business matters. This is my desk, these are the cabinets where I keep my papers filed, and this bookshelf holds vastly entertain­ing tomes pertaining to the wool exchange, mineral rights, London's warehouses and various shipping schedules." He led her over to the window and lifted the blind. "The view of London's grimy pavement, ex­hilarating as it is at first glance, soon begins to pall."

  Velvet laughed. "I believe I can take a hint. It is clear you do not wish me to interfere in your business af­fairs."

  "I would never consider your interest as interfer­ence," he assured her. "My business would simply bore you to death." He led her from the room and showed her the kitchen and the empty servants' quarters, which were located behind the office.

  Who the devil were you writing to? You certainly didn't want me to see the letter! Velvet's thoughts chased each other. Perhaps you were writing to your father about mar­rying me.

  As they went back upstairs, she felt his hand play­fully caress her bottom, and it gave her courage to ask, "Will your father be angry that you are marrying a penniless wife?"

  "Velvet, I am a man, not a boy. I'm sure he will re­spect my decision. Speaking of marriage, I think I'll walk over to St. Bride's Church before it gets dark, and make arrangements for a special license so that we can be married tomorrow. I have no intention of waiting three weeks while the banns are read."

  "I packed my blue dress and matching slippers. Do you think that will be appropriate attire for a bride?"

  "It will be perfect." He dropped a kiss on her bright curls. "On the way back I'll stop at the cookshop on the corner of Tudor Street and get us some supper. I think you'll find a bottle of wine in that cabinet over there."

  After Greysteel left, Velvet found the wine and set it on the table. She picked up her cloak and heard the chink of the two silver half crowns Mr. Burke had given her to buy something at the Exchange. I'm not penniless after all! The irreverent thought made her blush. She had nothing to bring to this marriage, yet miraculously Greysteel wanted her.

  She carried her cloak through to the bedchamber. The fire lit up the cozy room and she turned back the covers of the bed to make it intimately inviting. She opened the wardrobe to hang up her cloak, when she saw some­thing that gave her pause. She lifted the sleeve of the military uniform and stared in disbelief. It's the uniform of a Roundhead! She saw the captain's insignia and, recoiling in horror, dropped the sleeve.

  She began to shiver and walked to the fire to warm her hands. In spite of the fire, she had suddenly gone cold all over. She put her hands to her temples in an ef­fort to stop her wicked, suspicious thoughts. She picked up her cloak, retreated to the sitting room and sat down, staring into the flames of the fire as the late afternoon light faded and twilight gathered.

  Velvet could not contain her errant thoughts. They strayed to the letter Greysteel had been writing and fi­nally she gave in to temptation. She went downstairs to his office and tried to open the desk drawer. When she found it locked, her suspicions began to multiply. Before he went out, he came back and locked the drawer! Though she didn't want to believe that he was deceiving her, it was obvious he had secrets that he was con­cealing.

  Her glance fell on a letter opener. She picked it up, carefully poked its tip into the keyhole and tried to un­lock the drawer. When it didn't work, she began to jab in desperation. Finally, she broke the lock and was able to open the drawer.

  Suddenly, Velvet was afraid of what she would find. She closed her eyes and whispered, "Please ... no!" She gathered her courage and raised her lashes. The first thing she saw was an envelope sealed closed with wax. Her finger touched the seal and as she suspected, it was still slightly soft and warm. She could not bring herself to break the seal and read the letter, afraid that the contents would sicken her.

  Beneath the envelope she found other letters. She scanned them looking for names but found only num­bers in some sort of ciphered code. The letters were not signed, but one, authorizing the bearer to act as courier, bore the official seal of the City of Edinburgh. Velvet drew in a swift breath, her suspicions hardening into conviction. Then her hand closed on a piece of paper that condemned her lover absolut
ely.

  This is a safe-conduct for Greysteel Montgomery, signed by General George Monck! Velvet knew that Monck com­manded the Scottish army and had been appointed to govern Scotland by the hated Oliver Cromwell.

  Her hand crushed the letter as her mind screamed denial. Then a strange, ominous calm settled over her and she tucked the damning paper into her bodice. As if in a trance, she went back upstairs and waited for

  Montgomery to return.

  * * *

  Greysteel took the stairs two at a time. He opened the door to the sitting room. "Velvet, why are you in the dark?"

  "You have purposely kept me in the dark!"

  He lit the lamp and stared at her, uncomprehend­ing. He noted how pale she looked and saw that her eyes glittered with accusation. His gut knotted and his instincts told him to brace himself for her condemna­tion.

  "You changed sides.... You are a traitor!" She flung the words like steel-tipped arrows and they found their mark.

  "You filthy coward! You betrayed Charles, you be­trayed your country, and you betrayed me!" She thrust the safe-conduct at him with a look of utter contempt.

  His fierce grey eyes made his face look stark. She could not call him anything he had not called himself. It was weakness, pure and simple, that had made him an ally of General Monck. Greysteel could not excuse himself to the woman he wished to marry. At the mo­ment he was covered with self-loathing. He would not add to his disgrace by explaining the circumstances like some pathetic supplicant begging for understand­ing and forgiveness. Though my intentions were honor­able, my actions were not. To claim that the end justifies the means is immoral.

  "How you could betray Charles is beyond my comprehension."

  Jealousy flared up in him. "Velvet—"

  "Don't touch me!" she cried, suddenly seeing him as dark, dominant and dangerous. Fear propelled her to action. She swept up her cloak and ran past him and down the stairs.

  He bolted after her and grabbed her arm. "You can­not go out in the dark alone."