by Lauren Royal
Or so she told herself.
She swept the candle off the mantel to examine more pages of descriptions like the one she’d helped Trick make of the Puritan today. She smiled at his writing: very bold, the letters scrawled, clearly written in haste.
Carefully she set the candlestick on the desktop, then put the papers back in the drawer and peeked beneath them. An accounting of some sort. A record of his takings? Quite detailed, including descriptions of individual coins. Today hadn’t been the first time he’d run across counterfeits. Underneath that…
She pulled out another stack of papers, some of them older and yellowed. Written by the same hand, but more carefully, the words painstakingly formed, neat and even. They reminded Kendra of the papers she used to write for her tutors, papers written and rewritten before a final, perfect draft was carefully copied.
Choosing one at random, she read.
Pain and sorrow forevermore dwell
Inside the deepest bowels of hell.
Betrayal has yet took from me
What love and trust had once set free.
Poetry. Kendra sat abruptly on the edge of the desk. Trick, a poet? She never would have thought it; in fact, had someone suggested such, she would have laughed herself silly.
She didn’t know her husband at all.
He’d been hurt by someone, terribly. Her heart clenched as she suddenly understood his words: I don’t believe in love at all. Love between people is an illusion.
Who had done what to him to make him feel this way? Was he never happy? The paper seemed brittle when she set it down—as brittle as the words upon it. But the words on the sheet underneath did nothing to soothe her sympathetic ache.
Twixt fathers and tyrants
a difference is known:
Fathers seek their sons’ good,
tyrants their own.
With a sinking heart, she riffled through the pages, pausing to read here and there. The touching verses hinted at events in Trick’s life that had shaped him into the young man she saw today. Pain, anger, disillusionment…ah, there it was. Love, happiness. His hand was lighter here; the words fairly leapt off the page in their exuberance.
Sweet day, happy, calm and bright
Love has brought me to this light
The sun that sits in yonder sky
Today can shine not more than I
And if tomorrow it should rain
Her smile will make sun shine again
She bit her lip. Was this written of the same love that had later turned to betrayal? Could this carefree Trick live somewhere inside the cynical man who shared her home? If trust had been shattered by one lady, could another restore it?
Hoofbeats. Oh, heavens, he was on his way back. She stuffed the poems beneath the other papers and locked the drawer, then jumped to the chair to replace the key. She was just pushing the chair back to the desk when the door flew open and Trick sauntered inside with the bundle of hats under one arm, the pipes under the other.
He dropped it all in a corner. “Ready to go?”
His crooked grin made her heart leap; he was so unsuspecting. She flushed, unbearably guilty just looking at him after reading his private compositions.
“I suppose,” she said. “Though I was hoping we could talk.”
“Now? About what?”
“Life. Yours.” She met his gaze, willing him to share some of his past. “And mine, of course. All the years that led to now. The people who loved us—”
“None.”
“—and hurt us.”
He only shrugged. “None worth talking about.”
“And what we like…for instance, do you like to write? I keep a journal, and sometimes I’ve written poems.”
“Poems?” His gaze flickered down to the drawer. “No, I don’t like to write.” He leaned past her to blow out the candle. “Come along, will you?” he said, going to the door. “I’ve much to do still before I can leave.”
Crushed that he refused to even consider confiding in her, Kendra pushed by him and outside. Before she could mount Pandora, he caught her by the arm.
“I know you mean well,” he said softly.
Silent, she searched his eyes, gray in the darkness.
They went darker still. “I’m sorry you’re so unhappy,” he said.
“I’m not unhappy. Just confused. I’m worried for your life, and I don’t like keeping the truth from my brothers about what it is you’re doing. There are parts of you I admire—your compassion for the children. And more parts I don’t understand—parts I think you’ve locked away. And now you’re leaving.”
“I’ll be back.” The words were a gruff promise. “Maybe you’ll miss me while I’m gone.” His hand slid down her arm until his fingers were laced with hers, and he leaned to press a soft kiss to her mouth.
When he pulled back, she stared at him helplessly. Her lips tingled. She heard his low chuckle before he turned away to lock the cottage, and it drove her to a decision.
Once, in jest, she had promised he’d find love, and a Chase promise was never given lightly. She would bring back to life what another girl had killed; she would make him believe in love once again.
Accomplishing that while avoiding his bed was not going to be easy.
But then, worthwhile things rarely were.
TWENTY-FIVE
TRICK EASED through the bedchamber door and closed it quietly behind him. He carried the candle to the bedside and set it on the table by Kendra’s head, where it would illuminate her face.
She looked angelic in sleep, her long, dark lashes feathery against her sun-pinked cheeks, her bright hair tumbled on the pillow, glistening in the candlelight. When he bent and kissed her on the forehead, a faint smile curved her lips, then faded away.
He felt an odd squeezing sensation in his chest. She was more compassionate and forthright than he’d expected, this new wife of his. And distressed. Responsibility for that fell squarely on his shoulders, sparking guilt along with a flash of the sort of sentimental feelings experience had taught him to disregard. Those feelings would fade. But the guilt…
He had good reasons for hiding so much, he reminded himself. And it wasn’t forever—only until his mission for King Charles was completed.
He felt so close to uncovering the truth. Were it not for this summons from his mother, he would soon have this behind him. Maybe, without secrets between them, he and Kendra could begin to establish something like trust.
But first things first. He undressed swiftly, checking off the list in his head to make sure he’d taken care of everything before he left for Scotland, a journey that might take a month or more, up and back with time spent there.
Letters of instruction to the various people who ran the estate—done.
A purse of gold for Compton to see delivered to Mrs. Jackson at Caldwell Manor—done.
A note to King Charles explaining the delay of his mission—done.
While his staff had been scurrying about, readying to leave—because a duke, no matter his personal preferences, didn’t travel unattended—he’d checked a dozen tasks or more off his private list.
Everything, in fact, but the task he’d been most looking forward to…the culmination of his campaign to seduce Kendra.
From all evidence, she had been busy as well. Trick had seen goods for tomorrow’s party stacked neatly in the library. A pile of colorful folded fabrics would make unique togas and doubtless thrill the wee wearers. Small baskets overflowed with sweets and treats that would make the recipients think they had died and gone to heaven. Or Olympia, in this case.
How clever his Kendra was.
He blew out the candle and crawled into bed, nestling against her sleep-heavy form. Slipping an arm about her waist, he pulled her closer, breathing in the faint lavender scent of her freshly scrubbed skin. Flickering light from the fireplace danced over her face and brought out golden glints in her dark-red hair. Brushing soft curls from her face, he leaned up to kiss her cheek.
She shifted, emitting a tiny sigh that brought a smile to his lips.
He kissed her ear.
She stretched beside him like a contented cat, with a purr to match.
What time was it? Three in the morning? Four? No matter, he wouldn’t waste these last hours with her by sleeping. He turned her over and kissed her full on the lips.
“Mmm,” she murmured low in her throat, her arms twining around his neck. Feeling her truly awaken, he smiled against her lips. Her breathing changed, and that perfect mouth moved with his, making his pulse speed, the blood rush faster through his veins. Never had anyone affected him so, not even…
Nay, he wouldn’t think about her. After all these years, whatever had brought her to mind? She was long out of his life, and Kendra was here instead.
Sweet Kendra, warm beneath him now. She was the only girl he wanted. He moved to touch her through the night rail she wore—then stopped cold, his gaze glued to the garment. Yards of pristine white linen enfolded her, covering her up to her neck. She looked small and innocent, like a doll.
What was he doing?
He was man enough to be patient, and he’d been patient so far. He’d ruin everything by moving too soon.
Her eyes fluttered open, a question in their darkened green depths. She reached a hesitant finger to touch his bottom lip, the sensation as light as a whisper.
Sweet heaven…
But no, he wouldn’t go back on his word. He wouldn’t risk what little trust they’d built between them. They had a lifetime ahead to be together, truly together as man and wife—when she was ready. And he had no doubt she’d be ready eventually, maybe even soon…
But blast it, it was hard to wait.
Especially when the thought of weeks apart made him ache. Odd, that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d missed someone in particular.
For long minutes, he just kissed her. His own hands remained still while hers wandered over his skin. His nerves rippled in response, but still he only kissed her. Forever, it seemed, until he felt her pressing closer, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and a little mewling sound escaped her throat.
“Trick?” she asked breathlessly, the name warm against his mouth.
“Hmm?”
“Can you not…touch me?”
He pulled back and gazed into her glassy eyes. “Nay, I cannot,” he said, though he had to force the words past his lips. “Should I touch you, I may not be able to help doing more. And I promised I wouldn’t seduce you in bed.” He teased her lips with his. “But you like the kissing, aye?”
Her hands tightened in the hair at his nape. “Oh, heavens, yes. I like it. I just want—”
“Hmm?” Let her ask for it. “What do you want?”
“I…I don’t know,” she whispered, burying her face against his neck.
“You know,” he said softly. “We both know. If only you’ll say it.”
Instead of saying it, she took a ragged breath and released it with a shudder.
“It won’t hurt, leannan. Not after the first time, and not much even then. I promise.”
Kendra felt the words, the promise, vibrate in his throat. She wanted him—truly she did. But what good were promises from a man she couldn’t trust? It wasn’t fear that held her back now. Or not only fear, anyway. Even if he were right—even if it wouldn’t hurt—how could she share her body with a man who refused to share his life?
She was touching him now, but she wasn’t really. Her hands were upon him, but she had yet to reach him where it counted. A barrier stood between them, and she couldn’t bring herself to risk the crossing.
He had built it. He would have to be the one to bring it down.
“What do you want?” he asked again.
“I want—” She turned her head away, staring up at the underside of Trick’s red silk canopy. Not hers. No matter how many times he insisted that what was his was hers as well, she didn’t feel that way in her heart. Not while he kept the most important thing of all from her.
Himself.
“I want to go to sleep,” she whispered.
He trailed his fingers lightly across her cheek. “One more kiss?”
“I think…no,” she said on a sigh. Another kiss would only make her more sad, and the lump in her throat was hard to bear already. She rolled away from him, turning her back. “Good night,” she whispered.
The words seemed to hover in the heavy air of the still room.
After a moment he settled against her, snug and solid. “Do you think you might miss me?”
The shiver that went through her body was its own answer, and he went to sleep with a smile on his face.
She knew because after his breathing evened out in the pattern of slumber, she turned and gazed upon him, filling herself with the sight of him to hold her through the weeks ahead.
It took her longer than ever to drift off that night, and when she awakened, he was gone.
TWENTY-SIX
“MRS. KENDRA?”
“Yes, Thomas?” Kneeling in the grass by little Susanna, Kendra squinted up at the impish towhead.
“We’re athletes in the Olympic games, am I right?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Well, then…” A gleam came into his sparkling blue eyes as his hands went to the fabric draped over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we be naked?”
“Leave that on, you rapscallion!” She was hard put not to laugh at his pout. “I never said we were strictly authentic.”
“Aw, all right.” With a mischievous grin, he ran off.
“Stand still, Susanna.” Kendra tucked the girl’s “toga” more tightly, smiling to herself. Luckily her lessons hadn’t covered fashion, so her students were ignorant of the fact that the Greeks had worn solid colors, not brightly flowered calico. “There you go.”
“My thanks, Mrs. Kendra.”
“You’re very welcome.” She patted Susanna’s blond curls and stood, knowing as she sent her off that the girl would be back in a few minutes to be tucked in again.
She’d learned that togas weren’t the ideal clothing for young children.
That was her only miscalculation, though—the rest of the party had gone brilliantly. The children’s retelling of their favorite myths had been riotous. Now they were participating in Olympic “games,” and the victory wreaths she had woven from laurel leaves might as well have been solid gold crowns considering how much they were cherished. Fortunately, she’d brought enough for everyone, and she was not above fixing the contests to see that each child came out a winner.
The party was a wild success, and they hadn’t even feasted yet. Nor had she distributed the favors. Her baskets of goodies were still hiding beneath a blanket in the caleche, and she couldn’t wait to see the children’s faces when they received them.
Wrapped in stately blue stripes, young Andrew tugged on her toga. “Who are you, Mrs. Kendra?”
“Why, Hera, of course.” She looked down into adoring dark eyes—his crush had not abated over the weeks. “Do you remember who she was?”
“Zeus’s wife,” he said proudly. “And the protector of marriage.”
“Very good,” she returned, although, for her, the job description seemed an ill fit at best.
Rather than protecting her marriage, she’d sent her husband off alone. She should have argued until he agreed to let her go with him. Surely if she’d put up a fight, he would have relented—her brothers almost always did. But she hadn’t really tried.
Andrew shifted on his feet, looking shy. “I memorized one of the poems about her.”
“Did you?”
He nodded and began to quote.
“Golden-throned Hera, among immortals the queen,
Chief among them in beauty, the glorious lady
All the blessed in high Olympus revere,
Honor even as Zeus, the lord of the thunder.”
He finished with an awkward bow that should have brought a smile to Kendra’s lips. But i
n contrast to the Hera of the poem, she was feeling anything but glorious at the moment.
“Mrs. Kendra? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Andrew.” Amazed at the young man’s perception, she forced a smile. “Mrs. Jackson is organizing a chariot race,” she said brightly, glancing over to where the buxom woman was lining up four wheelbarrows. “I imagine a tall, strong boy like you, with little Susanna in his chariot, could come out a winner. Run along now—I’m fine.”
But despite how well the party was going, she wasn’t fine at all.
Trick should have been here. He was supposed to have been Zeus.
He’d made this happen, repeatedly risking his life to feed and shelter these boys and girls. Her gaze followed Andrew as he joined the other laughing children. None of them, herself included, would be here today without Trick.
Hera had always been zealously covetous of Zeus, and heaven help her, she missed her husband.
WHEN KENDRA arrived home, she stopped only long enough to switch her toga for a riding habit and grab a key from Trick’s desk drawer. Then she ran to the stables, mounted Pandora, and fairly flew over the Downs to the cottage.
Once inside, she could almost smell him. Since this morning when she’d awakened in his home, something—his vibrancy—had been missing. Instead of feeling free, she’d felt bereft.
But here in the cottage, she could feel his presence. Unlike Amberley House, this clearly wasn’t designed by his father. Trick’s personality was stamped on the walls, the floors, every piece of furniture.
It was astonishing the loss she felt, given she’d known him only a few weeks. It was a physical pain, roiling in her stomach. Just when she was beginning to form a fragile bond with her husband, he’d left.
She strode straight to unlock the drawer and dig to the bottom.
The poetry was gone.
She riffled through all the papers to make sure. Gone, all of it. Suddenly exhausted, she sank to the floor, her heart sinking along with her. She pressed a hand to her chest, struggling to draw breath. Not only was her one link to him missing, he was clearly intent on keeping her at arm’s length.
