The King's Man

by Alison Stuart

  ‘Something happened there?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, not there. On the boat returning to England. Fitzjames is dead.’

  At the mention of Fitz’s name, he felt a stab of pain as sharp as a knife. He missed Fitz. He missed their long and easy camaraderie, and he bitterly regretted the betrayal that had led to his friend’s death.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Thamsine said. ‘How did it happen?’

  Kit jabbed at a log with the poker. ‘He found some letters I was carrying.’

  ‘Letters for Thurloe?’

  Kit gave a barely perceptible nod of the head.

  ‘You didn’t kill him?’ The horror in Thamsine’s voice couldn’t be disguised.

  He turned to look at her. ‘No, I didn’t kill him, but he would have killed me had it not been for the pitching of the boat. He overbalanced and fell overboard. I couldn’t save him.’

  He rose to his feet and she slipped off the chair and stood before him. Laying her hands on his forearms she scanned his face. ‘He was your friend, wasn’t he?’

  Kit’s mouth quirked at the corner and he had to take a quick breath and look away. ‘Perhaps the only one I had but, as Thurloe reminds me, I can’t afford to have friends in this business.’

  ‘What about me?’

  He looked at her. ‘Thurloe sent me to look for you. I found you. There is no more to it than that.’

  ‘So I was just another job?’

  He nodded. ‘Just another job.’

  Thamsine lowered her head and dropped her hands. ‘I see. I thought … ’

  Kit turned away from her, running his hand through his hair. ‘You were wrong, Thamsine. I have enough concerns of my own without the encumbrance of friends of any sort.’

  She sighed. ‘If I had been honest with you when we first met, would things have been different?’

  He shrugged. ‘Would I have betrayed you to Thurloe? I don’t know, Thamsine, but I do know that I could have protected you from Morton.’ He ran his hand through his hair, grasping for words that seemed to have entirely escaped him. ‘Thamsine, I’m too used to lying. It comes naturally to me. A moment ago I told you that you were nothing more to me than just another task Thurloe had set me.’ He took a step towards her and this time it was he who took her by the forearms, seeking out her eyes. ‘I can’t lie about that any more. You are one of the very few people in this world I call my friend.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And I think I might have a solution to your problem, if you are willing.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Marry me, Thamsine.’ The words rushed out.

  She stared at him.

  ‘If you marry me, then your problem with Morton will vanish.’

  ‘If I marry you, I marry a whole set of new problems,’ she replied. ‘For instance, I don’t know if you’ll be alive next week.’

  He shrugged. ‘Then you will be a wealthy widow and free to choose whatever man you wish. Jane told me of the terms of your father’s will. If you marry someone other than Morton, he loses his control over you. Even if I were to die next week, you will be free of him and have full control of your own estate.’

  She smiled, a small, bitter smile. ‘And what do you get from the arrangement? A solution to your financial woes?’

  ‘I want to be clear about this, Thamsine. I don’t want your money. I confess it would be useful, but if you wish we can enter into an agreement by which I forgo my claim on your property. It will be a proper business arrangement.’

  She clapped a hand over her mouth and for a moment he thought she was going to cry or throw up. Instead she laughed.

  ‘Kit, this has to be the most romantic proposal a woman would ever want to receive.’

  Kit bridled. ‘This isn’t about romance, Thamsine. This is about practicalities. Think about it, if you wish.’

  He turned his back on her and kicked at the fire before turning back to face her.

  ‘Marriage to me wouldn’t be so bad, surely? We … seem to get on quite well, and … ’ He paused. ‘I can’t think of anyone else I would rather marry.’

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘I don’t think it would be so bad, Kit, and I don’t need to think about it. It sounds a perfectly sensible solution to my woes. When did you have in mind?’

  ‘As soon as possible. Tomorrow?’ he said. ‘I have found a celebrant who does not ask too many questions. Jem and the girls can stand witness.’

  ‘I see you have it all planned,’ Thamsine remarked dryly. ‘You assumed I’d say yes?’

  He looked at her. ‘I don’t have time to spare,’ he said. ‘If you said no, it would have made no difference.’

  She rose to her feet and crossed to him. She took his hands. ‘Thank you, Kit. I know how difficult this must be for you.’

  He caught her fingers in his and looked into her steady brown eyes. He longed to kiss her, to wrap his arms around her, breathe in the scent of her and lose himself in her. He wanted to tell her he loved her, and that, far from a business arrangement, his heart rejoiced at the thought of marrying this woman. Instead, he kissed her chastely on the forehead.

  ‘Well, I am glad that is settled,’ he said. ‘Until tomorrow, Thamsine. Good night.’ He released her hands and turned for the door.

  ‘Kit … ’

  He turned sharply. Thamsine smiled a slow, sad smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Chapter 16

  Thamsine tugged at the low bodice of the outmoded, much-darned amber satin gown the twins had produced for use as a suitable wedding dress. She picked up a wide collar and fastened it to her neck.

  ‘Oh, don’t wear that!’ May protested. ‘It looks nice without it, it does. That colour suits you. Now hold still while I tries to do summat with this hair.’

  May tugged a comb through Thamsine’s shorn locks.

  ‘Hated having to cut it. You’ve such pretty hair,’ May mumbled more to herself than Thamsine.

  ‘It will grow back,’ Thamsine said.

  ‘I know, but still.’

  ‘Well,’ began Nan, who sat on the edge of the bed threading flowers for a wreath. ‘I always knew there was something with you and the Captain.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Thamsine asked. ‘How could you see something I didn’t even suspect?’

  ‘Go on with you.’ Nan guffawed. ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you. What wouldn’t I give for him to have looked at me that way. In’t that right, May?’

  ‘Potty about you, he is,’ May agreed. ‘Maybe we know him better than you do.’

  Something about their familiarity when talking about Kit made Thamsine aware that, in their own way, these two probably knew more about Kit Lovell than she did.

  ‘I don’t think you understand,’ she said. ‘He’s not marrying me because he loves me.’

  But the twins just laughed.

  ‘You just wait till he gets you into bed. He’s a gentleman, he is. Not like most.’ Nan said.

  ‘That’s right,’ May agreed. ‘Likes to make sure a girl has a good time too, if you know what I mean.’

  Thamsine felt the colour rising to her cheeks. ‘No, I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Go on! How old are you?’ Nan asked.

  ‘Twenty-six.’

  ‘And you’ve never ’ad a man?’ May enquired.

  Thamsine shook her head. ‘No.’

  May stared at her in disbelief. Thamsine felt the colour rise to the roots of her hair.

  ‘Well, love, you’ve chosen well, then,’ May continued. ‘The Cap’n, he’ll be as good a teacher as any, I reckons. Taught him a few tricks ourselves, haven’t we, Nan?’ May winked at her sister.

  Thamsine looked from one to the other. Surely a bride did not normally hear such candid revelations about her future husband’s skill as a lover, but then nothing about her relationship with Christopher Lovell had been the least conventional.

  Nan arranged the circlet of flowers on her curls. ‘There, you look love
ly! Turn around.’

  Thamsine obliged. ‘Come on, they’ll be waiting for us!’ May said.

  Kit had found an obliging priest, happy to fulfil the requirements of a speedy marriage. With banns and licenses outlawed, the only requirement was for a priest or Justice of the Peace to announce the impending nuptials in a public place. The letter of the law had been complied with, and Kit waited at the church of St. Sepulchre at the end of the Old Bailey for his bride to appear.

  Thamsine walked slowly down the aisle and stood beside him, looking up at him with a small, shy smile. Not for the first time that morning, she wondered whether she had made the right decision. Had she merely jumped from the frying pan into a fire?

  Kit smiled back at her. He found her hand, and gripped her cold fingers. Hidden from general view within the folds of her skirt, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  In the space of a short ceremony, Christopher Lovell of the parish of Eveleigh in Cheshire became tied in the eyes of God and the State to Thamsine Granville, spinster of the parish of Hartley in Hampshire.

  ~ * ~

  A welcoming fire burned in the grate of The Ship Inn’s best bedchamber. The twins had lit the room with the expensive wax candles and left a cold supper set on the table.

  Kit closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock. He paused just to watch Thamsine. In the light of the candles he could not see the darns and frayed edges of the amber gown and it glowed like a jewel, shimmering as she walked towards the window. The low cut of the bodice exposed her back, the long line of the stays lending an elegant grace to her slender figure.

  She stopped by the window, looking down into the street, her hand resting on the sill, her face half-turned away from him. His heart ached at her beauty and the sudden realisation that she was beautiful. Every woman he had ever known paled into insipid prettiness beside her.

  That thought made her unattainable and untouchable. A few days ago he had slept with her in his arms; now he stood in his wedding chamber like a virgin schoolboy, at a loss to know what to say or even what to do.

  She turned to look at him. ‘What are you thinking?’

  He paused for a moment before replying, unable to concoct a suitable answer that did not sound hackneyed or ribald or just plain stupid, so he opted for the truth.

  ‘I was thinking how beautiful you are,’ he said.

  A small smile of pleasure lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘No one has ever told me that before.’

  ‘No one has ever seen you looking as you do now. That gown becomes you well.’

  She looked down at the bodice. ‘I thought it a little immodest,’ she said, ‘but then I have very little to be immodest about.’

  Kit forced his wooden feet towards the table and poured a glass of wine from the jug. Jem had assured him it was the very best the inn had to offer. He took a sip and, satisfied that Jem was correct in his opinion that it was marginally better than the usual gut rot served in the taproom, he poured Thamsine a glass and walked over to where she still stood by the window.

  ‘I was watching life go by,’ she said. ‘And thinking how fortunate the people in the street are to be just going about their business.’

  ‘They probably have their share of problems,’ Kit replied pragmatically. ‘Life is hard for everyone, Thamsine.’ He raised his glass. ‘Shall we toast a new beginning?’

  She gave a small, tight smile and raised her glass to his. ‘A new beginning for both of us.’ She sipped the wine and sighed. ‘This feels strange.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, here we are, man and wife, and yet I realise we know so little of each other.’

  ‘Would it make a difference?’ Kit asked. ‘I doubt one person ever really knows another. Anyway, we have a whole lifetime to make those discoveries.’

  She frowned. ‘A whole lifetime! We have to survive the next few weeks first, Kit.’

  Kit set his glass down and took her hand. ‘I refuse to let any thought of what lies outside this room intrude on us, Thamsine. What little time we have is for us and us alone to start learning those little things about each other.’

  She looked up at him and her eyes twinkled. ‘The twins have already told me things about you that I am sure you would be flattered to hear.’

  He pulled a face. ‘I can only imagine what they have been saying.’ His eyes sought out hers. ‘Thamsine, I make no apologies for my life. I have never made pretence of being a saint. I have made love to a number of women but I want you to know, I have never loved a woman as I do you.’

  There – the words were out.

  Her brown eyes seemed large and luminous in the dim light as she searched his face. ‘Did you say you loved me, Kit?’

  He reached out and touched her face. The softness of her skin beneath his rough fingers sent bolts of lightning through his body. She leaned into his hand, drawing it around to her mouth, her lips brushing the palm and the fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment.

  His other hand released hers. He slid it around her waist, drawing her towards him. He bent his head, his lips skimming the soft, chestnut hair.

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Yes, I love you.’

  Her arms slid up behind his neck and she drew his face down towards her. ‘Well, that is probably a good thing,’ she said, ‘seeing as I have loved you for a very long time.’

  ‘So,’ he whispered, ‘that makes this marriage even more convenient?’

  ‘It does,’ she replied.

  He kissed her and her head arched back, allowing his lips to slide down her neck, finding the soft place at the base of her throat. She stiffened, pulling away from him.

  ‘Kit, I have little experience … after all the other women in your life … ’

  He laid a finger on her lips. ‘Do you trust me, Thamsine?’

  Her eyes held his for a moment. ‘You’re a liar, a cheat and a rogue, Kit Lovell, but I trust you with my life.’

  ‘Croyez moi … trust me in this, Thamsine,’

  He lowered his mouth to hers again, gently brushing her lips with his. Thamsine tightened her arms behind his neck, locking them together in a hungry embrace.

  They fell back onto the enormous old bed, hung with dusty, moth-eaten, red woollen curtains, laughing.

  Thamsine raised her hand and touched his face, tracing the line of the silvered scar over his right eye, the length of his nose and the curve of his lips. ‘I will remember this moment for the rest of my life,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think it is possible to be so completely happy.’

  Tears collected on her lashes, and Kit brushed them away. Was she really ready for this? Should they wait?

  ‘Thamsine, we don’t have to … ’

  She slid her arms behind his neck. ‘You silly man, I’m crying because I’m happy. Now, kiss me again.’

  His smiled. ‘Kiss you? Again? You are a demanding wench. In good time. My turn.’

  He propped himself up on one elbow and with a finger traced the outline of her face, the orbs of her eyes, the length of her nose, the circumference of her mouth. She tried to bite at the finger but he removed it. They played that game a few more times before he replaced his finger with his lips, tracing the same route, moving down her throat as he had before and lingering in the sensitive hollow of the base of her throat. Thamsine moaned and he propped himself up again and slowly began to unlace the stomacher of her gown.

  She, in turn, reached up to the laces on his shirt and undid the cord. He slipped the shirt off and she ran her fingers through the soft hairs on his chest. At her touch he closed his eyes, the fastenings on her bodice momentarily forgotten, before bending his head and kissing her again, his hand gently stroking her throat, working down across the flat of her chest, making sure that his fingers brushed but didn’t quite touch her breasts.

  Thamsine arched her back and he savoured the moment before peeling the material of her chemise back, revealing her small breasts, the areola stippled with excitement. Beneath his ques
ting hand she stiffened.

  Kit backed off, his hand on her face. ‘Thamsine? Am I going too fast?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, it’s wonderful. I love you, Kit Lovell, and I trust you completely.’

  He smiled and stroked her hair. ‘Then let us be rid of these damned clothes.’

  No two people had ever divested themselves of their clothes so quickly. Thamsine curled up in the circle of his arm, suddenly shy. Kit uncurled her, looking down at her slender body.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Thamsine.’ There was wonder in his voice.

  ‘I thought you liked women with more meat on their bones.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t know what gave you that idea. You’re perfect.’ He traced a finger down between the cleft in her breasts, stopping just short of the triangle of reddish hair below her belly. He propped his elbows on either side of her body, so he was half-lying on her without putting any weight on her.

  Thamsine closed her eyes and raised her hands, sliding her fingers through his hair and across his back.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he whispered.

  ‘I am letting my fingers see for me,’ she replied.

  They circled his ribcage, running through the hair on his chest and downward to the soft hair of his groin and the hard shaft that waited for her.

  Her eyes opened wide and he winked at her. ‘All for you, my dearest,’ he croaked.

  ‘When … ?’

  He silenced her with his lips, allowing his mouth to trace the path of his finger, leaving a trail of gentle kisses down the length of her body. He made no attempt to touch her breasts, his hands caressing her shoulders, her neck, and her ears.

  When his lips finally touched her breasts, her back arched and she cried out. His tongue traced circles around the halos of her nipples while his hand on her legs stroked, touched and ran in ever-increasing circles, higher, dipping down between her legs, brushing the hairs but going no further.

  Her own hands grew bolder, running down the length of his torso, her fingers meshing in the thick, dark hair in his crotch, circling the erect penis.

  It was the cue he needed; his fingers slid up her thighs and she opened her legs, inviting him for further exploration, willing him to take her. He bent his head to hers. Her lips parted and their tongues entwined, probing, circling, while his fingers slowly, patiently worked their well-practised magic, bringing her to a climax that caused her to cry out as he entered her, meeting only with a slight resistance. Her eyes opened briefly, hazy with lust. Her arms circled him, drawing him closer, her lips hungrily seeking his as, body and soul, they melded into one being.