Infamous

by Virginia Henley

  That thought was immediately dispelled as the dark rider swept her up in powerful arms and set her before him on the saddle. She gasped for breath as she found herself staring into purple-black eyes. “Warwick! It is you! What the devil are you doing?”

  “I should think that is obvious, chéri. I am abducting you.”

  “You are too old to play childish games,” she said coldly.

  “Alas, I am older, but not wiser where you are concerned, Jory.” He spurred his mount and it sprang forward into a full gallop.

  Amazingly, Jory was not afraid. The infamous Earl of Warwick, whose reputation with women stank to high heaven, had snatched her from the edge of a lake with brute force. Yet held secure between his powerful arms she had never felt safer.

  “Where are you taking me in such a bloody hurry?” she demanded.

  “To Warwick Castle’s highest tower.”

  “Oh my God, you’re serious. You are abducting me. Guy de Beauchamp, you are a madman!”

  Chapter 19

  “At last my curiosity regarding Warwick is about to be satisfied.”

  He dismounted and lifted her down from the saddle. “Your curiosity about Warwick the man, or Warwick the castle?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” She moved away from him across the courtyard and studied the massive fortress with interest. The grey stone castle was dominated by a magnificent circular tower.

  He turned Caesar over to a groom and joined her. “That’s the Master Tower.”

  “Where you intend to imprison me, I warrant,” she said lightly.

  “Jory, I am delighted that you have decided to cooperate and act in a civilized manner.”

  She swept him a mocking glance. “One of us has to be civilized, and since you insist on the role of raptor, that leaves only me.” She had pretended an air of serenity for so long, it came easily.

  “Jory, I’m deadly serious,” he warned. She laughed up at him. “You expect me to take you seriously when you insist on playing Beauty and the Brute?”

  He ignored her taunt and took hold of her hand. “Shall we go inside, Lady Marjory?”

  “By all means, Lord Warwick.” She took a deep breath and explained with cool disdain, “Just filling my lungs with fresh air before my incarceration.”

  He hid his amusement. She was trying her damnedest to annoy him, but in truth everything she said bemused him. Looking at her, hearing her voice, having her here with him at Warwick filled him with joy. She makes me feel young; she makes me feel alive. As always, she holds me spellbound!

  She kept pace with him as they climbed the tower’s stone steps and somehow managed to look both unhurried and unconcerned. The lower level held servants’ quarters and above those was a large kitchen. As they climbed higher, Jory saw a spacious dining room above the kitchen, and then they arrived at what was obviously Warwick’s private chamber. It was furnished in an overtly masculine style with a black oak desk, a map table, black leather chairs before the stone fireplace, and a massive bed curtained in gold and black. The circular room exuded power, reflecting the personality of its owner and creating the impression that it was a haven, safe and secure from the outside world.

  Jory’s pulse quickened at the thought of being alone with him in this intimate room of the aptly named master tower, where Warwick undoubtedly ruled the roost and his word would be law. When he gestured toward more steps that led upward and murmured, “My lady’s chamber,” Jory experienced a moment of acute disappointment, then chided herself for the absurd emotion.

  The room above was in such stark contrast to Warwick’s she was startled at how feminine it was. The pink and blue silk carpet was the last word in luxury and the mythical unicorns, satyrs, and griffins that gamboled among the wildflowers of the tapestries were designed to pique a lady’s imagination. The symbolism of the bowls of flowers, early English roses combined with the fleur-de-lis of France, was not lost on her. She found every detail of the chamber delightful. The corners of her mouth lifted in a mocking smile. “How could I have forgotten that Guy de Beauchamp is a romantic at heart?”

  “Your slippers are wet. Have a seat before the fire.”

  Jory glanced down in surprise. She hadn’t been aware of her feet, yet Warwick had not missed the small detail. She wondered what else he had discerned about her.

  He went behind the screen and came back with a towel. Then he went down on his knees before her and removed her slippers. Without asking permission he proceeded to fold back the damp hem of her skirt and draw off her stockings. His eyes met hers in an intimate glance. “You made no protest,” he murmured.

  “I wasn’t aware a captive was allowed to protest any indignity her captor perpetrated upon her person.”

  He patted her feet dry with the towel, then took one bare foot between his large palms and began to massage it. Then he did the same thing to her other foot.

  It felt warm and wonderful and she stretched sensually. “So, tell me, my lord, what is your plan?” Obviously, the arrogant devil had dalliance in mind, and she was going to revel in leading him on and then totally rejecting him.

  “It’s an ingeniously simple plan.” He took the iron key from his doublet. “I intend to keep you locked up in this chamber until you give in and surrender to my demands.”

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “And if that doesn’t work, what diabolical method of persuasion do you intend?”

  “I intend to woo you, Jory,” he said simply.

  “Woo me?” Her playful air evaporated. “I don’t understand.”

  “I intend to keep you here until you agree to marry me.”

  “Marry you?” She jumped up from the chair in a fine fury. “You are nothing but a whoreson!” She slapped his face. “You dragged me through this ridiculous charade more than four years ago, surely you don’t think I’ll fall for your lies a second time and give you the opportunity to do it all over again?”

  Warily, he got to his feet. “Do what all over again?”

  “Betray me with lies and break my bloody heart, you cruel bastard!” She stood panting, staring at him in outrage.

  “I never lied to you, Jory. I told you that dark rumors of murder swirled about me. It was probably best that an innocent eighteen-year-old maiden marry a young noble her own age, but now that you have been widowed for some years, I see no reason why we should not marry. You must know how I feel about you, chéri.”

  “No, I have no idea how you feel about me. Pray enlighten me.”

  “Please, sit. Let us at least be comfortable while we talk.”

  Jory sat down and tucked her bare feet beneath her. Warwick poured ale into a jeweled goblet and brought it to her; then he took the chair beside her and stretched out his long legs.

  “I sat behind you in Westminster Abbey at Queen Eleanor’s funeral service, shortly after you married Humphrey de Bohun. When you removed your hood and I saw your lovely hair, I cursed myself for a fool. I could not bear seeing you with him. Then and there I knew I should never have allowed you to wed him. I should have abducted you and carried you off. So you see, the idea came to me long ago and I have wanted to do it ever since that day.”

  “Clearly demonstrating that men remain boys forever.”

  “I was at Chester when Humphrey was killed. You will never know how much I wanted to come to you, to offer my comfort. Common decency made me realize how inappropriate that would be.”

  She sipped her ale. “Warwick, I doubt you possess decency, common or otherwise.”

  He ignored her pointed barbs. “My timing was cursed once again when Gilbert de Clare died and I traveled to Gloucester to pay my respects. I fully intended to ride to Hereford to ask you to wed me, but Joanna impressed upon me that you had no desire to remarry. She told me you were relishing the freedom of widowhood and had ridden north to Newcastle.”

  “Ah, once again I had a miraculous escape.”

  His eyes narrowed. “But not this time, chéri. For once we are both in the same place at
the same time. It is fate!”

  “A fate worse than death!” she cried, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in a mocking, melodramatic gesture.

  He shot up from the chair and towered above her. “Jory, for Christ’s sake, stop it! You are behaving like every selfish, spoiled, shallow, sarcastic noble bitch I’ve ever known. I thought you were different—nay, I know you are different. Stop this childish performance at once!”

  “Me? You are the one who is playing childish games.”

  “Nay, Jory. I am laying my heart at your feet. I have never been more serious in my life. I’m asking you to marry me.”

  She dropped her pretense like a cloak and looked at him with regret. She successfully banished the tears that threatened to flood her eyes; tears were an unfair weapon. I long to be your wife. I fell in love with you the day I first saw you, and even though you betrayed me, I have never stopped loving you.

  She raised her chin proudly. “I thank you for your offer of marriage, Guy de Beauchamp…but I cannot accept it.”

  He jumped to his feet. “You love another! You’ve made wedding plans. Once again I’ve waited too long.” He flung away to the window and stared out with unseeing eyes.

  Jory went to him and touched his shoulder. “Guy, I have no marriage plans. There is no man in my life. I swear it.”

  He looked down at her with renewed hope in his eyes. “Jory, we’ll start again. Please forget that I abducted you. Let’s pretend that I have invited you to Warwick to dine, as my guest. Will you do me the honor of taking supper with me, my lady?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You smooth-tongued French devil, how can I resist such a gallant invitation?”

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “You have a generous heart, my love. I shall come for you in an hour.”

  Left alone in the circular bower, she walked to the window and saw the spectacular view. The round tower soared so high that she could see the River Avon for miles in both directions. When she looked north, she could just see the tops of the square sandstone towers of Kenilworth in the distance.

  Jory’s smile was cynical. Her family was so used to her independent ways, they wouldn’t even know she was missing. She turned from the window and gazed about the chamber. She suspected that it had been newly furnished with her in mind. “Warwick is a romantic at heart, though no one else would guess it in a million years.” Though she freely admitted to herself that she loved him, nevertheless, she knew deep down that she was furious with Guy de Beauchamp and had been since her days at Windsor. If he had offered for her, as he had solemnly vowed, they would have been husband and wife for years now. She sighed and for a moment allowed herself to dream of what it would be like to be married to the infamous earl.

  When a lump came into her throat she had to stop herself from wishful thinking. It can never be. What the devil is the point of fantasizing? I must face reality and make plans for my baby.

  She sat down to put on her stockings and slippers and her eye fell on the iron key. “Some bloody captor!” she mocked. “The man distrusts all women save me. He is an utter fool.” She picked up the key and slipped it into the neckline of her gown, then pushed it down to lie hidden in the valley between her breasts.

  When Guy de Beauchamp arrived to take her to his private dining room for supper, Jory decided to abandon her false air of serenity. She had always found him easy to talk with and she could see no reason why they should not enjoy their last meal together. He gallantly held her chair, meticulously kept his hands from caressing her shoulders, and took a seat facing her. When the steward brought in the food, she greeted him. “Do you remember me, Mr. Burke?”

  “I do indeed. You are the lady who prefers ale to wine.”

  Guy removed the silver covers and carved a bird whose skin had been roasted until it crackled golden brown.

  “Is it swan? I saw many on the River Avon.”

  “Nay, it is a humble marsh hen. Swans mate for life—I would never separate a breeding pair to put food on my table.”

  “I approve your sentiments, though I warrant few men share them.” As they ate, they spoke of many things. Jory told him how Gilbert de Clare had chosen Ralph Monthermer to become the next Earl of Gloucester by marrying Princess Joanna.

  “It is too bad they had no son who could inherit the title, but at least his daughter Margaret will inherit his land and castles.”

  “You have no objection to a female inheriting landholdings?”

  “Of course not. You must have inherited a de Bohun castle when Humphrey died.”

  Jory shook her head regretfully. “I own nothing, Warwick.”

  His dark brows drew together. “What the devil was your guardian thinking when he negotiated the terms of your betrothal?”

  “Upon our marriage, John de Bohun deeded the Castle of Midhurst to Humphrey and thus to our firstborn child. When he died without issue, de Bohun made Henry his heir and reassigned Midhurst to him. I had no claim unless I was willing to wed Henry.”

  “But that is outright blackmail!” Warwick thundered. “When I made the offer for you, I promised John de Warenne that any child of mine, male or female, would be well provided with Warwick castles and land, as would their mother.”

  Jory wiped her mouth and set her napkin on the table. “Please do not tell me falsehoods, Warwick. We once made a pact that we’d never lie to each other. Unfortunately, you didn’t honor that pledge. Instead, you told me what I wanted to hear. Please don’t repeat the offense this evening; it would ruin our dinner.”

  Christ Almighty, that bastard Surrey never told her I made a formal offer for her! He told me she had chosen de Bohun over me and fool that I was, I said I would abide by her wishes.

  He filled a crystal dish with strawberries and cream and set it before her. “Jory, did you marry Humphrey de Bohun because you were in love with him?”

  She was tempted to lie, but found that she could not. “No. I wed Humphrey because my family and King Edward gave me no choice.”

  Warwick’s heart began to sing. All the pangs of jealousy he’d suffered were for naught.

  “Of course, I came to love him later.” At least, I hope I did.

  His jealousy came flooding back. He was cursed with it where Jory was concerned. He hoped and prayed that once she was his, the curse would be broken.

  When they were finished dining, Guy helped her from her chair. This time, however, his hands cupped her shoulders possessively, and he dropped a quick kiss on her silvery curls. “Come, I shall escort you back to your bower. I have something to ask you.” He enfolded her hand in his and led her back upstairs. He did not pause at his chamber, but took her back to her own.

  Guy sat her down and knelt before her so that their eyes were on the same level. “Jory, you deserve a husband who will love you to distraction. If you will consent to be my wife, I will love you all my days. I want to make you the Countess of Warwick, and because I deem it unconscionable that you have no property of your own, I will deed you my castle near the village of Sutton, a day’s ride from Warwick. Jory, will you marry me?”

  It was the greatest temptation she had ever had to face. The powerful Earl of Warwick had created a magic haven just for her. Everything about his offer was enticing. It would be the easiest thing in the world for Jory to accept. If I were not having another man’s child, I would grab this chance for happiness.

  She reached out to touch his hand. “I thank you for your offer of marriage, Guy de Beauchamp…but I cannot accept it.”

  He shot to his feet, strode to the window, and came back again. “Damn you, Jory! You are more stubborn and willful than a dozen men-at-arms!” He paced to the window and smote the stone sill.

  Jory stood up. “I must return to Kenilworth.”

  He turned toward her. The look on his dark face was incredulous. “What the hellfire are you talking about? I have abducted you. I intend to keep you until you agree to marry me. A few days at Warwick and you will be so co
mpromised, you will have no other choice!”

  Her voice was cool and determined. “Guy, I will not stay here.”

  He swiftly closed the distance between them and with powerful hands lifted her in the air. He began to shake her vigorously, deliberately. It was a full minute before he set her feet down. Then he bent and swept the iron key from the carpet where it had fallen. “Will you not, Lady Marjory? Then I give you no choice.” Warwick strode from the chamber and turned the key in the lock.

  Through the door, she flung his own words after him. “Damn you, Warwick, this is outright blackmail!”

  Jory hoped he would return, yet deep down inside she knew he would not. When Marjory Bruce told me of her abduction, I thought it the most romantic thing I’d ever heard. Ironically, now that it has happened to me, I am incensed!

  There was little point in railing against her situation since there were none to hear her, and in the end it would alter nothing. She prowled the circular room for a long time, walking off her frustration before she decided to conserve her energy, sit down quietly, and plan her best course of action. Until he unlocked the chamber door in the morning, she was virtually his prisoner.

  Jory knew she must concoct a plan. She must use her wits against him—it was the only weapon she possessed. She and Joanna had always said there wasn’t a man breathing who could not be manipulated. Jory reassured herself that it had worked on Edward Plantagenet, yet she was acutely aware that the Earl of Warwick was not so easily deceived. He was shrewd enough to know where she had hidden the key.

  “To manipulate is to get one’s way by unfair means, and the simplest way to do that is to use his own words against him.” When her plan was finally set and she knew exactly what she would say, Jory removed her dress and hung it in the wardrobe to keep it wrinkle free. A female’s appearance always played a paramount role when dealing with the male of the species. She climbed into the large, comfortable bed, knowing that a good night’s sleep was the best beauty aid in the world.