Forbidden Lord

by Helen Dickson

‘You’re right. It doesn’t matter to me. Nothing that concerns you matters to me anymore—just as it shouldn’t matter to you why I left Staxton Hall to live with Aunt Matilda.’

  ‘You told me you didn’t want to live with her, implying that she was a tyrant. What changed?’

  ‘You did. I’ve given you one good reason why I went to my aunt, and another was when you left me and refused to tell me the true reason. I believed you were an honest man, not a liar and a cheat,’ she accused harshly—and though she did but know it, unfairly.

  William’s hands shot out and gripped her upper arms with such force she swore she would have bruises tomorrow. ‘Is that so?’ His eyes were slate-grey, his voice cracked with outrage and ugly with menace. ‘And what of Martin Taverner? Is he not a liar and a cheat? Did you marry him in good faith, blind to his sexuality—nothing that could be called decent?’ he snarled, repeating her own words. ‘Or did he reveal all?’ Seeing her wince, his expression hardened. ‘I thought not. But now you do know and because of your reckless stupidity you have a lifetime of regret—unless, of course, you apply for an annulment.’

  ‘An annulment?’ She stared at him in absolute disbelief. ‘I cannot believe you said that. Is your memory really that short, William, that you forget it could not be proved that Martin and I have not shared a bed in our entire marriage? It is thanks to you that I am not as pure as driven snow, but used goods. To his credit, Martin was honest with me. To my shame I could not bring myself to be honest with him.’

  ‘And had your husband been so inclined to take you to his bed on your wedding night, he would have known you are too innocent and inexperienced and not clever enough to simulate a virgin’s first night. How would you have explained that?’

  ‘Unfamiliar with the kind of world you inhabit, I really have no idea.’

  Eleanor wrenched herself free of his grip so furiously she almost fell over. Nevertheless she lifted her head imperiously and William Marston felt the blood flow hot in his veins and the heat of it warm his belly with wanting. She was as dear to him now as she had ever been. When he had first been told that she had married Martin Taverner, the shock of it had hit him right between the eyes like a physical blow. He had thought that with the passing of time he could put her out of his mind, and yet he had come here to Court with no other reason than to see her once more, unable to stay away.

  Already he was tired of the tedium and the extremes of Court appearance, but with unfinished business to take care of and not wishing to be too far away from Eleanor, he would not return to Yorkshire just yet.

  Eleanor’s small chin squared up to him and her eyes, a clear shade of transparent amber, warned him to keep away from her. ‘Whatever happens in my marriage is my concern, not yours.’

  William watched her spin round in anger and walk blindly away from him, her full skirt swaying defiantly. Opening the door, she turned and looked back at him.

  ‘Be sure to give Catherine my regards, won’t you? You deserve each other.’

  Before she could pass through the portal the door had slammed shut in her face.

  ‘Eleanor, do you mind explaining to me what you meant by that remark? What has Catherine to do with anything? I cannot understand your foolish reasoning that she is at the bottom of this tangled mystery you seem determined to weave and this temper you are in.’

  Eleanor flung herself round to face him, unable to contain what was in her mind, and he was not to know that it had been simmering in her ever since she had read the contents of that letter.

  ‘Temper? Temper, you say?’ Moving away from him, she stood in the centre of the room with her back to him, her hands on her hips, her breathing deep and uneven. Then she turned and looked at him, her face expressionless.

  William was leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His mind and senses were bemused by her, by the way the sun’s rays slanting through the window mingled in her bright hair curled at her temples, streaking the copper and gold. He felt a sudden puzzlement as to why all this had happened and why Eleanor had made it so complicated. Who gave a damn about Catherine, for God’s sake? Catherine was in the past and meant nothing to either of them.

  ‘Has it not occurred to you what you have done to me?’ she flared, glaring at him as he continued to lean casually against the door. His face was blank as he watched her, but in his eyes was a spark that said he was not as calm as he appeared. ‘How could you? And how long will it be before the two of you finish what you started all those years ago and get married?’

  ‘Married? What the hell are you talking about?’

  She tossed back her head and William was alarmed to see not only anger, but what looked like a mixture of contempt—and was it, could it possibly be anguish?

  ‘I know that now Henry Wheeler is dead you, and Catherine are back together. Why—you couldn’t leave Staxton Hall quick enough to be with her, could you, William? In fact, there was something quite distasteful about the way you hurried to her side.’

  ‘What?’ Totally bemused, he unfolded his arms and his long lean body rose to its full height.

  ‘You heard. You’re not deaf.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘And there was I, simpleton that I am, thinking you no longer loved her, because if you did you would not have seduced me.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ William snapped, striding across the floor to stand ominously in front of her. ‘First, I did not seduce you and, second, I do not love Catherine, and, if you must know, I never did.’

  ‘No?’ she scoffed. Drawing herself up straight, she thrust her chin out and met him eye to eye. ‘I do not believe you, for you were giving a fair imitation of it when I called at her home before I married Martin. I know you were there, William, cosily ensconced in her bed. I know. What were you doing—laughing at me—laughing harder together when I’d gone?’ Her face was white now, and her eyes seemed huge and much darker in their setting of long, narrowed black lashes.

  William shook his head in disbelief, his face showing his astonishment. ‘Unless you tell me what all this is about I cannot answer your accusations over what I know nothing about. I don’t know where all this is coming from, Eleanor, but it appears to me that you have got things terribly wrong.’

  ‘You would say that. Next you will be telling me you weren’t with Catherine when I called.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Don’t you even attempt to deny it, you—you louse. You were there. I know you were, hiding away in her bed.’

  ‘How?’ he demanded. ‘How do you know it?’

  ‘Because I saw Godfrey’s horse.’

  William cocked his brows in bemusement. ‘Godfrey’s horse?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘A stable boy was leading him away.’

  ‘He was?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And because you saw a horse you recognised as belonging to Godfrey, you assumed I was there too.’

  ‘You had to be.’

  His face assumed a mixture of amazement and a certain tendency to smile, though the latter did not materialise since the look on her face told him he was swimming in stormy waters. ‘I did? Did Catherine say I was there?’

  ‘Well—no,’ she replied, beginning to shift uncomfortably, ‘but she didn’t have to.’ William was so self-assured that she was beginning to suspect that things were about to go dreadfully wrong and everything would fall down about her.

  ‘She didn’t?’

  ‘No—she—she was—flushed and…’ She gave him an exasperated look. ‘William! I am not naïve. I—I know what a woman looks like when…’

  ‘She is in the throes of passion?’ He laughed softly. ‘What a foolish little idiot you have been.’

  As the truth finally unfolded in its entire cruelty, Eleanor’s heart hammered beneath her ribs. She stared at him, as though having difficulty understanding any of this. ‘William, I thought…’

  ‘It makes no difference what you thought. You should have m
ade sure of it before giving yourself in marriage to Martin Taverner—although, believing I was the traitor I have been painted and unable to forgive me for betraying your father, you’d probably have married him anyway. But that aside, because of that one misunderstanding when you imagined I was with Catherine—of which you had no proof—you married Martin Taverner.’

  ‘No, it was more than that. When I asked Catherine if she had seen you, she told me she had, and she led me to believe the two of you would be married.’

  William’s eyes darkened and his expression became grim. ‘Catherine did that?’

  Eleanor nodded. ‘And I believed her.’

  ‘It was wrong of her to do that. I did see her on one occasion—briefly. It was a chance encounter. I did not seek her out.’ He sighed deeply. ‘And because of this you drew the only possible conclusion. Is there anything else?’

  ‘There is a great deal else. You see, before that there was the letter—the letter the messenger brought to Staxton Hall.’

  ‘Ah, yes—the letter. I recall there was a mention of Henry Wheeler’s demise, but the main content of the letter was something entirely different. That was the reason why I left Staxton Hall. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Catherine.’

  ‘Then—what was Godfrey’s horse doing at Catherine’s house?’

  William was looking at her with an amusing ‘don’t you know?’ look in his eyes, and then as the truth dawned on her she shook her head as though in disbelief at her own foolishness. The very idea of Godfrey and Catherine was ludicrous. ‘Oh! You—you mean Godfrey and Catherine were…?’

  Raising his brows, his face creasing in a smile of dry humour, he nodded. ‘’Tis an unlikely partnership, I agree, but they are besotted with each other—and Godfrey is an experienced ladies’ man.’ He leaned against the edge of a table and, arms folded, watched her. ‘Now we have the matter of Catherine cleared up, I think it’s time to take care of the rest.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘That whatever you have been told and whatever you believe, I did not betray your father.’

  Chapter Nine

  Eleanor stared at William. She felt as though she’d been felled with one blow. ‘But—that was what I was told.’

  ‘By Atwood?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His smile was grim. ‘One should not believe all one hears, Eleanor. It may create the wrong impression.’

  ‘Are you saying that you had no part in my father’s downfall? None whatsoever?’

  ‘I did not betray your father, Eleanor,’ he told her with quiet gravity. ‘I swear it on my life.’

  There was a moment of silence between them. Eleanor felt her resentment fading. Looking into that strong face she felt an uneasy stirring of doubt.

  ‘Your father was a good man,’ William continued, ‘an honourable man, who was not afraid to stand up for what he thought was right, what he believed in, and I respected him greatly. Contrary to all Atwood told you, we were friends—good friends. What happened was not of my doing—and perhaps if he’d held his tongue and gone about his scheming quietly, he might have kept his head. I would have laid down my own life for him. Please believe that.’

  Eleanor took a deep breath, feeling the truth of his words. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I do believe you. Were you party to the same plot?’

  ‘I had knowledge of it, but refused to take an active part. Unfortunately my innocence was never proven, and because there was an element of doubt my properties were confiscated and my mother and sisters thrown on to the mercy of relatives.’

  ‘And you were banished.’

  William’s lips twisted with irony. ‘No, I wasn’t. But no doubt Atwood told you that, too.’

  ‘Yes. What did you mean when—when you confronted my stepfather at Catherine’s wedding, when you said he got what he wanted when he married my mother—that he had planned it all along? What you said puzzled me.’

  William looked straight ahead, his expression grave. ‘It pains me to speak of this and I know it will pain you more. I must tell you things you do not like to hear.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Atwood coveted your mother and resented her being married to your father. Somehow he found out that your father was involved in a conspiracy to prevent Mary Tudor marrying Philip of Spain and planted one of his own men among the conspirators—a spy—to play a double game.’

  A cold shiver ran down Eleanor’s spine. ‘Are you saying my stepfather was responsible for the conspiracy being blown wide open—knowing they would all be executed—and then—he—he befriended my mother?’

  William nodded. ‘I’m afraid that’s true.’

  ‘I am truly horrified. I had no idea. So he, my father’s own cousin, sent him to his death—although it should not surprise me after what he did to Uncle John. Poor Father. He did not deserve that. You also told my stepfather that he would pay for what he did. I didn’t know what you meant by that—but now I do. I realise now that for some perverse reason of his own my stepfather wanted both me and Catherine to think ill of you and, I am ashamed to say, he succeeded—at least where I was concerned. Catherine was not so easily persuaded of your guilt, but then she knew you better than I. Have you spoken to my stepfather since?’

  ‘Not yet, but I intend to.’

  ‘You will find him much changed—he came with Catherine to my wedding and I was shocked by his condition. His deterioration started with the blow to the head Sir Richard gave him. In fact, he’s so weak and forgetful that he’s had to resign his office as alderman. So if it’s vengeance you seek, then you will be wreaking vengeance on an old and ill man.’

  ‘Maybe, but he has the answer to a question that continues to elude me. There is one ghost to be laid and I want an answer. So,’ he said, capturing her gaze, ‘there we are, Eleanor, and now what’s to be done?’

  ‘That’s the trouble, William. There is nothing to be done.’

  ‘Nothing? Even now, knowing what you do, you mean to remain married to Martin?’

  ‘It’s too late. Martin is my husband until death.’

  ‘Martin Taverner is nothing,’ William said with a savagery that surprised Eleanor. ‘He is nothing. You are mine, Eleanor, and I mean to have you. I made up my mind that night you spent in my bed, in my arms, that you would never belong to any other man but me. I thank God Taverner is what he is and that he hasn’t touched you, because if he had I would have had to kill him.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’ Eleanor cried, her voice rising on a crescendo of terrible pain, unable to believe he was saying this to her now when it was too late. ‘You should have told me everything.’

  ‘I should have, I realise that now, but I thought we had time.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The letter—that’s what happened. There was a…development…here in London.’

  ‘And you couldn’t tell me? Could you not trust in me? I swear that I would never betray your confidence.’

  ‘No,’ he said sharply, thinking, ‘not after suffering alone for so long’—it would be like sharing his soul. ‘When my mother wrote and told me you had come to London, I made up my mind to see you, to talk to you about the future.’

  ‘We have no future, William.’

  ‘And you have no future with that—that catamite. It would seem you are at an impasse, my love. You are mine, Eleanor,’ he said with enormous gravity, ‘and I mean to have you.’

  ‘Stop it, William,’ she whispered wretchedly. ‘Don’t torture us both like this.’

  ‘I will, when you leave Martin Taverner.’

  ‘There can be no going back, and I swear if you continue like this I will leave London.’

  ‘And go where?’

  ‘Devon, which is where the Taverners live.’

  ‘Then all the more reason for me to speak to him and I shall tell him that you and I are lovers.’

  He spoke with the arrogance and certainty that said that it would do her no good to argue. But she
would not be dictated to, not by William or anyone else. Her head lifted imperiously and her eyes were a vivid flash of amber in her flushed face. ‘You mustn’t. Don’t you dare.’

  ‘But I do dare. I dare to do anything I like, Eleanor.’

  She turned to the door, not wanting to stay to hear more—she could feel her body responding, straining towards him, yearning to give in, to have him enfold her in his strong arms and kiss her into oblivion.

  ‘Go away, William. Go back to Yorkshire and get on with your life—and let me get on with mine. Leave me in peace.’

  ‘Refuse me all you like, but I am not going anywhere. At present I have an apartment here at the Palace. Oh,’ he said, leisurely sauntering towards her, ‘and if you should think of fleeing to Devon, I will come after you. It’s no good fighting me, my love, you should know that by now. I will have you, one way or another.’

  Hands clenched, Eleanor strode quickly along the corridor.

  ‘Eleanor! Eleanor, wait. I’ve been looking for you.’

  Hearing her husband’s voice, Eleanor stopped and turned round.

  Martin hurried towards her, seeing her anger. ‘Eleanor? W-what is it? What ails you? What has h-happened to upset you like this?’

  ‘Nothing that concerns you,’ she bit back. ‘What do you want, Martin?’

  ‘I thought you should know that I shall be s-staying here tonight.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Mind? Martin, I don’t care,’ she cried, enunciating each word.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Do what you like. Go back to your fancy popinjay,’ she cried, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. ‘You always do what you want anyway, but do not embarrass me again when I am with you. Ours might not be a love match in any sense of the word, but I am your wife and surely deserve your respect. There was none in the way you flaunted yourself with Richard Grey. Your conduct was disgraceful and not to be borne.’ She bitterly resented his unacceptable conduct as much as she resented the triumph she had seen in the Richard Grey’s eyes when he had looked at her.