The Hawk and the Dove

by Virginia Henley

“Well, teach me something … how to fake … or how to cheat!”

  He looked at her with raised brows. “Are you serious? Would you really cheat?”

  “My own grandmother,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him.

  “Let’s see. I could teach you how to play sant, perhaps.” He handed her a deck of playing cards. “Take out all the cards lower than seven. We play with only thirty-two.” He laughed as she dropped more than she held, but soon she was handling them with dexterity and began to shuffle and riffle them as she had seen others do. “There are four suits and the ace is high,” he explained patiently. “Now deal each of us twelve cards.”

  She listened carefully, intent upon learning the game.

  “They’ll play for stakes; money usually,” he warned her.

  She lost badly and he said, “You now owe me one gold piece.”

  “Oh, Matt, it’s too hard!” she wailed.

  He leered. “That’s what all the—”

  “—ladies tell you,” she finished for him, and slapped him for his naughtiness. It took her over an hour, but she managed to start winning.

  “You play very well,” he complimented.

  She flashed her green eyes at him and teased, “That’s what all the gentlemen tell me.”

  He found her delicious company and regretted that he had invited another female to spend the evening with him.

  “Well, I’d better leave before your guest arrives.” She sighed and stood up.

  “Sabre, if you’ll stay, I could get rid of her,” he offered.

  “Matt, please don’t spoil our lovely friendship with all that other rubbish.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and was gone.

  Damn, thought Matt, I didn’t even warn her that Hawk is still in the palace. After giving it some thought he scribbled a note, found her room, and pushed it beneath her door.

  She didn’t see it until she was about to blow out her candles. It read, Sabre: I must warn you that Hawk is still in residence. I will try to learn when he leaves on progress. Matt.

  She caught her breath as she read the words. Hatred for the man rose up in her like a fever. Her Irish blood targeted him as the enemy. She would learn every intimate thing about him there was to know. She would discover his likes and dislikes, his haunts, his habits, his strengths and his weaknesses. She clenched her fists as she lay in her bed. Silently she vowed that when she had discovered his weaknesses, she would destroy him.

  Chapter 7

  Sabre awoke early with heightened anticipation that today might be the day she would meet him. She only knew that they were both here at Greenwich, that she could see him, and that when she did she must look beautiful. She took her cream gown from the cupboard and cut a heart-shaped neckline into the bodice. The knowledge that it had been intended for her wedding gown fanned the flames of her anger toward the man who had made a mockery of that occasion.

  She missed breakfast so that she could finish altering the gown, then she went off to find Kate without taking time to try it on. Today Kate took Sabre into the queen’s privy chamber and on through to her bedchamber.

  “Her Majesty took a great deal of jewelry with her, and of course the lord chancellor has the keys to her jewels for state occasions, but that still leaves me with a heavy burden of responsibility for the rest of her jewels.” She unlocked a large cabinet that contained dozens of drawers. Each one held a jeweled caul or neck whisk sewn all over with every gem under the sun. As well as diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls, there were milky opals, purple garnets, green peridots, and incredible blue-green Ceylon sapphires.

  The top drawer held a tray of loose jewels that had fallen from the queen’s priceless gowns and cauls, and Kate set about affixing the missing gems into the intricate patterns on the stiffened cloth.

  Sabre, using vinegar, a tiny brush, and a chamois cloth, cleaned the cauls and neck whisks and bejeweled ruffs and laid them out to dry. In the late afternoon Kate unlocked a large casket containing necklaces and brooches of semiprecious jewels. Their variety and color took Sabre’s breath away. She ran her finger over coral, jade, topaz, jet, and crystal, and coveted every one of them.

  “Give them all a quick once-over,” her aunt instructed. “She seldom wears them anyway, and I’ll be back to lock the casket when you’re done. After that I think you deserve a little rest before tonight’s festivities. My feet feel like two plates of meat the dogs have been gnawing. I’ll have trays sent up to us instead of going to the dining hall.”

  As soon as Kate turned her back, Sabre lifted the necklaces from the casket and held them to her own neck in front of the mirror. Her eyes were as iridescent as the jewels she admired. How could one woman own so much? It wasn’t fair!

  She lifted a jade necklace studded with turquoise. One great pear-shaped turquoise as big as a pigeon’s egg dangled from its center. She held it to her neck with reverence, her fingers caressing the large turquoise drop possessively. Why not? she asked herself as her pulses quickened with the danger. The colors looked so right on her, as if they had been especially designed to contrast with her flaming tresses and deepen the shade of her eyes. She’d return it tomorrow before anyone noticed it was gone.

  Quickly, before her courage deserted her, she stuffed the necklace far down into her busk, wriggled about until it seated itself there with a minimum of discomfort, and set about cleaning the contents of the jewel casket with a vengeance.

  Kate did a cursory inspection and nodded with satisfaction at the sparkling richness her niece’s efforts had uncovered. Sabre refused to think about the specifics of how she would return the necklace on the morrow, for she felt confident that a way would be found.

  Tonight she drew her drapes before she bathed. She shivered with excitement as she took the lovely cream gown from her cupboard. Her blood sang with the delicious anticipation of her first party at the palace. Kate had warned her about the men’s advances and she had tasted a sample of such behavior firsthand. Tasted … the word brought a blush to her cheeks. The blush deepened as she saw how the rounded globes of her breasts thrust from the much-lowered neckline. The heart shape seemed to cup and push her breasts forward in a positively wanton show.

  Her heartbeat quickened as her fingers fastened the jade necklace, and she gasped as the heavy turquoise dropped into the valley between the swells of her breasts. It was designed to draw every male eye. She took her brush and swept up her hair in the very latest fashion. It exposed her neck at the sides and back to show off the necklace to its full advantage.

  She carefully counted out ten gold pieces to wager on cards and slipped them into the tiny change purse that dangled from her wrist. She picked up her fan and hurried down to the second-floor music gallery. Already the gathering numbered sixty or seventy, and it was yet early. Lady Mary Barow greeted her warmly with a kiss and whispered, “There are at least two males to every female, so I think we can claim success.”

  Sabre felt alarmingly self-conscious. The eyes of the men seemed to be fastened upon her breasts as if they were waiting for the moment when they would pop from the restraint of the low bodice. She kept glancing down with alarm, until she sternly chided herself for being a coward. After all, were not the tempting female fashions designed specifically to lure men’s eyes?

  She sat upon a low stool near a group of ladies who were showing off their skills with lutes, harps, and virginals. She loved the music and gave it her rapt attention. Anne Vasavour was singing a love song, her large expressive eyes giving added subtle meaning to the words. Sabre felt her cheeks warm and raised her fan to cool herself. As she did so she glanced about and saw at least a dozen men watching her with speculative eyes. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she saw Matthew come toward her. She arose and gave him her cheek to kiss, as was obviously the fashion.

  “Oh, Matt, thank you for coming.”

  “Did you get my note?” he asked.

  “Yes. Have you spoken with him yet?”

  “Ah, yes. I’ve had my
audience with His Lordship and managed to convey the impression that I had delivered his dutiful bride to Blackmoor.”

  “He didn’t seem suspicious?” she asked.

  “The thought didn’t occur to him that anyone, least of all a woman, would disobey his orders.” He frowned and said, “I’m off to Calais in the morning for a load of expensive French silks. Sabre, promise me you won’t do anything foolish while I’m gone.” His eyes kept lowering to her breasts; he didn’t seem to even notice the magnificent necklace.

  “Matt, would you be a darling and get me some wine?”

  The moment he left her, half a dozen admirers joined him and asked for introductions to the voluptuous new quarry. At the same moment Philadelphia Carey joined Sabre. “Are you going to be selfish with that devastatingly handsome rogue or will you be generous enough to introduce me, Sabre?”

  Matt brought her wine and the men formed a semicircle about her. “Sabre, I’d like you to meet a few people.” He said the names one after another without stopping. “Lord Oxford, James Clinton, Sir John Heneage, Anthony Bacon, de Villiers the French ambassador, and William Herbert, who I believe is the earl of Pembroke’s son. Gentlemen, may I present Mistress Sabre Wilde, niece of Lady Kate Ashford and newly arrived at court.”

  Each took his turn to press a lingering kiss upon her hand while she murmured, “M’lord,” to each face she could not pin a name to. A little push from behind reminded her of Philadelphia. “Matt, I would like you to meet my friend Philadelphia Carey—this is Matthew Hawkhurst.”

  The girl’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Are you brother to Lord Devonport?”

  “No,” said Matthew, teasing her, “he is brother to me! Would you ladies care for some cards?” asked Matthew, trying to draw them away from the other men; but as they moved off toward the card tables, the men tagged along to stand about and watch. He seated Sabre to his right and Philadelphia to his left. James Clinton quickly filled the fourth seat. Matt said smoothly, “Shall we play sant? I think it’s a game the ladies particularly enjoy.”

  Sabre puzzled over how four could play when there wouldn’t be enough cards, but of course Matt put into play two packs of thirty-two cards and her frown disappeared. Sabre lost every hand and her small supply of gold coins was soon gone. Finally she won money from James Clinton and suspected that he had let her win. She didn’t mind if she won or lost because she was enjoying the challenge, the witty repartee, the laughter, and the admiring glances.

  The wine flowed freely; she felt reckless and as a consequence lost the rest of her money. Philadelphia flirted openly with Matthew, accidentally touching his hands and his knees beneath the table. A look of alarm clouded Matthew’s face as he gazed across the room.

  “What is it?” asked Sabre softly, following his gaze.

  “Trouble,” said Matt. “Here comes—”

  Sabre stiffened. “I know perfectly well who it is,” she said coldly, “Her Majesty’s darling Sea God.”

  Hawk jerked his head slightly and Matthew obeyed the silent order instantly, relinquishing his chair at the table.

  Philadelphia stood when Matt stood, unwilling to be parted from him yet. When the lady stood, James Clinton politely got to his feet and Hawkhurst’s bark of laughter mocked them. “That leaves just the lady to play with me,” he said suggestively.

  Sabre flashed him a glance as cold as green ice. “I’m afraid not; thankfully I’ve lost all my money,” she said with relish, and started to rise.

  A strong brown hand unceremoniously fell to her shoulder to prevent her from rising. “No matter, we’ll play for this little bauble.”

  She gasped as she felt the jade-and-turquoise necklace lifted from her with deft fingers and placed on the table between them. Her mouth was dry; quickly she glanced about for Matt, but the young coward had abandoned her to the Sea God.

  His face was stamped with strength and humor and male arrogance. He was dominating and unpredictable and dangerous. The last words she had said to him hovered between them. Go to hell! She wanted to shout it now but made an attempt to stifle the deep physical antagonism she felt at his nearness.

  “I cannot play for such high stakes, my lord. You take advantage … I am only learning to play.”

  His eyes were cold, his mouth unsmiling. “Whenever we meet, you whine. First I’m taking advantage of your innocence, now I’m taking advantage of your ignorance.”

  She swallowed the bait instantly, anger flaming through her veins at the insulting words.

  “For God’s sake, ’tis only a game,” he scoffed. But she knew it was a deadly game. She knew the outcome and so did he. It was as if he knew the necklace was not hers and he would deliberately and effectively relieve her of it.

  “What stakes do you put up, m’lord?”

  “What do you suggest?” he asked.

  She looked deep into his eyes, although it was an effort for her to pretend calm. “You have nothing I want,” she said slowly, emphasizing each word.

  His predator’s grin flashed her a promise that before he was finished with her, she would want something from him, beg something from him.

  “Five hundred crowns, then; all women want money.” The sum he named was outrageous, his manner boldly insolent.

  She felt a need to be as bold as he. The odds were heavily against her, so she evened them to fifty-fifty. “Let’s just cut for high card. I refuse to sit and play out this farce.”

  With a flourish he offered her the deck. She drew a ten; he drew a knave. “How apt,” she snapped. Sabre snatched up her fan and almost overturned her chair in an effort to escape him, but he caught hold of her wrist and said low, “I have apartments on the fourth floor. If you play your cards right”—he dangled the necklace before her eyes—“I can be a very generous man.”

  Anger and hatred almost robbed her of speech. She pierced him with an icy green look of contempt. “Go to hell!” Her legs trembled as she swept across the room, putting as much distance as she could between them, and yet she knew she must not let that necklace out of her sight. She refused to think of the nightmare that awaited her if she could not get it back. She had no choice but to follow him. She would find out which were his apartments and somehow steal back the necklace. She surreptitiously watched him from the tail of her eye. Damn, every woman in the room approached him, laughed up at him with open invitation in her eyes. He attracted women as if he had a bloody magnet in his chest, she thought angrily.

  At last he managed to extract himself and left the gallery. She didn’t even murmur a polite excuse to the poor gallant who had wasted half an hour’s compliments on her. She followed him at a discreet distance to the fourth floor of the palace and was surprised to see how close his apartment was to Matthew’s room. She waited until he had been inside for a good five minutes, then crept along to Matt’s door; but it was locked and no light came from beneath it. Suddenly she heard a door opening and barely had time to slip around a corner and press herself to the wall. She heard footsteps going the other way and let out a sigh of relief. She gathered enough courage to peep around the corner and was just in time to see a tall figure in a black cloak descend the stairs.

  He had had just enough time to put the necklace away safely and leave again. She knew she must not hesitate. She must act now, for a chance like this was not likely to present itself again. She moved quickly down the corridor and slipped quietly into the room.

  Her eyes widened. She was in a spacious, richly appointed bedroom, nothing like the small cell she occupied. Beyond this chamber, through an archway, was another, which she supposed was a sitting room where he could entertain.

  The great bed, curtained in red velvet, dominated the room, and the pile of the thick carpet was so deep, the toes of her slippers disappeared. The room boasted a fireplace topped by a marble mantel and a mirror that ran up to the ceiling. She caught her reflection and tucked up an errant copper curl that had fallen to her shoulder. Her mind was going over places where the necklace was
most likely to be. She stiffened as deep within the mirror’s depth she caught his reflection watching her.

  He leaned casually against the archway. Gone was the doublet and his white shirt was unlaced all the way to the tight waistband of his black breeches. Their eyes were locked in the mirror and she found she could not break their gaze. The mocking look was gone, replaced by one that was as tender as a caress. “I knew you’d come,” he said softly.

  She saw him move toward her and still she was rooted to the spot, so hypnotic was his effect upon her. As his hands closed over her shoulders to turn her to him, a great shiver ran through her. He was too close, too big, too male, too damnably, overpoweringly handsome.

  “I came for the necklace,” she confessed.

  “Did you?” he asked honestly, forcing her to acknowledge that it was not only the necklace that had drawn her. As she looked up into the tanned face, his dark unruly mane of hair tempted her fingers. It was as if there were some strange bond between them, as if she had known him from the beginning of time. He bent his head and she knew he was going to kiss her. The moment he molded his mouth to hers everything was swept away— her anger, her fear, her resistance.

  His fingers took the pins from her hair, then buried themselves in the coppery cascade. His hands left her hair and cupped her face tenderly, drawing her mouth up to his again. He whispered against her lips, “I’m half in love with you and I don’t even know your name.”

  “Sabre,” she whispered, “Sabre Wilde.”

  He buried his lips in hers again. His kiss was lingering and so compelling, she felt it all the way down to her knees. She melted against him, her breasts crushed against his hard, muscular chest. He whispered against her mouth, “Shane Hawkhurst.”

  Her heart stopped, then began to hammer wildly as a million sparks exploded inside her brain. Guided by pure instinct, her hands went to his waistband and sought the handle of the knife she had vaguely noticed earlier. She drew it forth and stepped back panting. “Bastard!”

  He threw back his head and laughed wholeheartedly, for she had named him correctly. “Little wildcat, the dagger suits you. Look at its handle.”