by Judith James
Hope smiled to remember the days when her first real dress transported her. “I’m glad you’re pleased, Rose. And I think with a little adjusting they shal suit you very wel . A lady’s maid must be wel -dressed or it reflects poorly on her employer. Proper clothes are part of your wages. Now, if you would help me out of my dress, that is al I’l be needing tonight. Then you should go and find Sergeant Oakes. Tel him you’re now my maid, and I would be grateful if he can find you a suitable room. And tel him I say ‘Bless you’ for finding this one for me.” She knew it had to be the sergeant who’d assigned her this room. It was fit for the mistress of the house and it explained his wink and smile.
After Rose left, she settled with the wine jug in the window seat, watching as a yel ow moon rose slowly from the mist and trees. For the first time in days she had a place to ponder and be alone. No one came to disturb her and she wasn’t surprised. It should have been restful and God knew she was exhausted in body, mind and spirit, but the events of the past week had happened so quickly and been so chaotic, it was as though she’d been shipwrecked and washed up on some distant shore. While she was moving, walking, fighting, planning, talking, she had no time to dwel on it. But now, when she rested, it crowded in.
Charles’s betrayal had been devastating, for both the substance and the manner in which it was done. What did she do to make him hurt her this way? To make him abandon her in this half-empty place amongst strangers. To give her to this coldhearted man? Nothing! I didn’t do a goddamned thing! She felt a white-hot bolt of anger and washed it down with a glass of wine. She’d given him more of herself than anyone else ever had. Her body and her friendship, and she’d never asked him for a bloody thing.
Not jewels nor favors. Only the freedom to leave in peace.
And that he’d cruel y denied her, through trickery and deceit.
I hate him. She had made him no promises. She owed him nothing anymore. She was not some toy to put away while he played with a new one. He thinks to treat me like a whore and rule me like a husband. And her proxy husband? He married her for what he wanted while scorning her for who she was. He blamed her for a bargain she’d had no part in making, whilst he’d entered it freely and claimed his prize.
One was a liar, the other a hypocrite, and both had treated her as an object of little value, to be used and moved to suit their own ends. The captain gets his title. Charles gets to hide me without letting go, at least until he’s sure he wants to, and what is there in this for me? Humiliation, exile, the loss of freedom, and from menials to master, nothing but scorn. If anyone had a right to anger, she did. It was she who suffered, and she who’d done nothing wrong. Al that she owned, everything she’d worked for, had ceased to exist or belonged to her husband now. Charles had even denied her the stage.
I will take what I may from both of them, and both of them will pay. She would make the honor-bound captain desire her, despite his disdain. She would seduce him, thereby gaining revenge on both captain and king. She would show Charles he didn’t control her, and the captain he was no better than she was. I will force him to admit his honor is no better than mine.
She tossed back another glass of wine, trying to soothe the sharp edges of anger and loss. Her childhood fantasies had featured a place like this, with towering trees, clear flowing water and vibrant gardens alive with flowers of every hue. Cressly was neglected, but its beauty shone through and its charms ran deep. It almost felt as though it needed her. Yet somewhere at its core, the house felt cold and empty. Surrounded by silent, staring servants and tied to this distant, icy man, she felt lonely, weary and trapped, and she was so tired of being strong. A hol ow ache took her breath away and tears threatened at the corners of her eyes, but she ruthlessly beat them back.
She reached for the wine jug again, then let her arm drop.
Wine did soothe ragged edges, but its powerful alchemy had turned her anger to self-pity. The moon had risen now, a heavy globe of sal ow light, hovering above a blue-black horizon. Though the sky was clear, a creeping bank of fog was winding up the river, and somewhere in the distance, thunder groaned. She shivered and hugged her knees tight to her chest. She should have asked for a fire. It was time for bed.
She felt her way careful y in the dark, but stil caught her toe on the edge of the massive oak bed. The pain wel ed through her, rising the length of her body and making her cry out as she col apsed in a heap on the mattress. It was a smal thing, but it was a smal thing too much. As the pain subsided to a throbbing ache, tears spil ed down her cheeks. She bit her knuckle to hold it in but the pain and hurt she’d been holding for days final y overwhelmed her.
The tears came in gut-wrenching sobs and she cried and cried like a lost little girl.
ROBERT N ICHOLS SETTLED into his bed, exhausted.
He’d spent twenty minutes listening to the frantic complaints of Mrs. Overton. It seemed that despite his warning, the Mathews chit would insist on upsetting his household. She was as thoughtless and selfish, spoiled and shal ow, as he had first feared. She had not even deigned to join them at dinner. One would think she’d have come, if only to gloat after making off with one of Mrs. Overton’s scul ery maids.
Stil , one had to admire her courage and cunning. Mrs.
Overton was a formidable opponent who had, to al intents and purposes, been mistress of Cressly for the past fifteen years.
According to Oakes, whose unseemly amusement had not been helpful, it had been a veritable coup d’état. One the redoubtable housekeeper never saw coming. Now the staff were confused, wondering who was in charge. Mrs.
Overton, or the unexplained countess. Say what you wil , she was a bril iant tactician. He was going to have to deal with the ensuing uproar, though, and petty disputes were the last thing he needed to be bothered with right now.
Harris was his main concern. He must have known that he was hunted as his cronies died, one by one. I hope it kept him looking over his shoulder all these years. I hope it keeps him up at night as Caroline does me. It was no accident the man had asked the king for Cressly. He’d stil be seeking the treasure he thought was buried here. Did he also seek a confrontation? I doubt it. I’m no twelve-year-old girl. The man was a coward who’d hidden his tracks until now. He saw an opportunity and greed had overcome caution. But he was exposed and dangerous now. Will he seek to destroy me? Or will he run? If he did attack it would be by a coward’s way.
I should be in London. He needed information. He needed to find and fol ow the man. But the king had wasted no time in sending him and his inconvenient mistress on their way.
There had been no opportunity to discover more about Harris. Where he lived, what he was up to, what were his weaknesses, his habits, his plans. He’d alerted the sergeant to take the necessary precautions, but after al these years a reckoning was coming, and he’d prefer it be in London or further afield.
This…wife. Hope. She was a complication and distraction he certainly didn’t need. He stil couldn’t believe that within hours of learning of Harris, a man he’d hunted for years and who might be hunting him, al he could think of was her barefoot dance under the stars. He’d taken her shopping, sightseeing, for God’s sake, while the man who’d kil ed his sister might be slipping from his grasp.
Unable to sleep, he shifted onto his back and clasped his hands behind his head. She was right, though, and none of this was her fault. It was because of her his servants stil had jobs. He had made a bargain for his own reasons, and he had a responsibility to see that she be treated wel . An uncomfortable stab of guilt precipitated a drawn-out sigh.
Today can’t have been easy for her. He should have shielded her from Overton and made her feel at home. He should have made arrangements for a maid, and shown her the house himself. He was an experienced and capable commander, after al . Surely he could manage two things at once.
He hoped he’d got the room right at least. It was one of the lightest and brightest, and arguably had the best views in the house. He’d told
Oakes she liked her plants and flowers and the footmen had scoured the house for everything living and green. It was not as grand as what she’d have been accustomed to in London, but he was fairly certain that she’d be pleased. I will try and be more attentive to her needs, if only to keep her from trouble. But I must attend to Cressly first.
He closed his eyes and let himself drift as his dark dreams overtook him. Far away, as always, he heard a woman weep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ROSE CAME THE NEXT MORNING to bring Hope her tea and help her dress, proudly wearing her new green frock and bubbling with excitement. The girl’s enthusiasm was contagious and it wasn’t in Hope’s nature to sit and wait for things to happen. By midmorning they were wel embarked on a household tour.
Her first impression the day before had been correct. Most of the house was empty and closed. I suppose I shouldn’t take his abandonment personally. He seems to have little interest even in his own home. Certain key rooms were wel maintained, though. The handsome dining room, boasting carved walnut panels and a sideboard graced with a colorful Turkish rug, was situated in the north wing across from the drawing room she’d been left in yesterday.
The captain’s study was further down the hal , and a cozy room with a ceiling painted with wispy clouds and a blue summer sky was hidden off an eastern corridor at the far end. The sofas, chairs and desk were draped in sheets, but the wal s were covered with tiny oil paintings, and several cabinets and smal tables held displays of wondrous curiosities.
Brightly colored corals and polished stones stood on low bookcases. Smal sculptures were housed in cabinets alongside clockwork automata of people, animals, the solar system and even a coach-and-four complete with footmen running alongside. There was a unicorn horn and glass figurines and a spyglass set on a stand. She was particularly taken by a lovely three-story dol house furnished in exquisite miniature detail. She ran her hand along a cabinet top and flicked dust from her fingertips. “What a marvelous room! It’s a curiosity cabinet and study. Does no one come here, Rose?”
“No, ma’am,” Rose said with a shudder. “Folk stay away from this part of the house. Some say ’tis here that’s most haunted. I’ve never seen this room before. I didn’t even know it was here.”
“Excel ent! We shal keep it that way. I love this room and I intend to claim it for myself. That wil be much easier if no one else wants anything to do with it.”
“But who wil have to come here to clean it, ma’am. Or lay a fire?” The little maid was clearly nervous the task might fal to her.
“Help me today, Rose, and I shal see to it myself thereafter.
I’m not afraid of a little work.” She began removing sheets and coverings, and with Rose’s reluctant help, spent the rest of the morning dusting, polishing and cleaning windows, so the floors sparkled and the cabinets, furniture and col ection of curiosities shone with a luminous glow.
She stopped to examine a couple of exquisite miniatures of a beautiful golden-haired girl with lovely rounded features and a sweet sunny smile. They were careful y placed in one of the cabinets along with other little treasures. She stood transfixed. It seemed almost as if the girl was trying to send her a message from some distant place or time.
Something about the eyes reminded her of the captain. Will he ever tell me of his family? Would I ever tell him of mine?
She shook off a sudden chil . There was stil more of this fascinating hideaway to explore. There was a window seat that looked to the water, much like her room upstairs, and with the casement opened she could hear the busy twitter of nesting birds, the soft rustle of wind through the leaves and the soothing murmur of the river. She was further delighted to find a partial y concealed door to the right of the fireplace that led to a flagged terrace flanked by a high wal covered in sweet-smel ing climbers.
She fol owed the fragrant path to an unkempt garden complete with a sundial and an overgrown fairy fountain.
The garden needed pruning and weeding, the fountain had to be cleaned and cleared, but it felt like her own little piece of heaven.
They finished the tour in the late afternoon. Other than a richly appointed bil iard room attached to a lofty, wel -lit library, the south wing was unused. Their footsteps echoed behind them as they wandered down the hal . At the far end Hope discovered an empty stone conservatory two stories tal , with an upper gal ery that overlooked the woods and fields below. Who would leave such a lovely room empty?
She imagined it fitted with mirrors, its white marble fountain burbling merrily amidst exotic plants and trees from around the world. A conservatory was a luxury she’d not had in London and she resolved to write the king’s gardener, her friend Mr. Rose.
Rose tugged at her sleeve and directed a worried look outside. The sky had darkened quickly, with towering pil ars of leaden cloud. “We’ve no candles to light our way, my lady, and it’s growing late. Shouldn’t we hurry back now? I’d not like to be caught in these hal s once it’s grown ful dark.” Hiding her own uneasiness and exhausted from her explorations, Hope readily agreed. They hurried back to the comfort of lighted rooms and the smel of slow-roasting beef. Too tired to endure forced conversation and stiff politeness, she ate her supper in her room and promptly sought her bed.
Across the hal and three doors down her husband sought a bottle. He didn’t want company either. He wanted brandy, and he wanted to be alone. Today would have been Caroline’s birthday.
HOPE TWISTED AND MOANED, restless in her sleep.
Somewhere a loose shutter banged on a wal and she shifted and whimpered as half-heard sounds invaded her dreams. Her heart beat faster and her breath came in shal ow gasps as she clutched her blanket, gripping it tight.
She twitched and started violently, fighting to wake, trapped by whatever chased her through her nightmare. She woke suddenly, as if dragged from her sleep, with the eerie feeling that someone had been cal ing her name. She often woke at night. As a child in a brothel on Drury Lane one always needed to be on guard. But she liked it, too.
Walking alone, enveloped in the soft mystery of the dark. It never used to frighten her, but it did tonight.
The wind had picked up since early evening, and was blowing from the east. Unfamiliar houses made unfamiliar noises. But did they sound like whispers? Footsteps? Or the sound of something lost, cal ing in the dark? Something clattered in the hal and she stifled a startled scream.
Creaking floorboards, slamming windows and eerie whispers were nothing more than what was to be expected.
The normal grumblings of an elderly house as its joints complained. It was nothing but an overactive imagination that made it seem like anything more.
Fighting a panicked urge to hide beneath her blankets, she lifted her chin and stiffened her spine, deliberately chal enging her fears. Reminding herself that she loved storms. They fil ed her with anticipation and a sense of power, which was something she needed desperately right now. She drew a loose, floor-length silk robe tight around her and set off for the library, with its magnificent view.
She walked back and forth between the library and bil iards room as the rain drove across the river in great angry gusts, slamming against the windows and rattling doors. Rather than excited, she felt distinctly on edge. In the city one watched a storm from a bulwark of buildings, but here in the country, one stood directly in its path. It felt wilder, rawer and far more dangerous, like a wild beast approaching, roaring its hunger and snapping off limbs as it moved through the forest. There were the same familiar rumblings as thunder loomed closer, but other sounds, too, were born on the wind. Shrieks and wailing and mournful cries. It’s nothing but the wind tearing through the woods. Yet she couldn’t help thinking of Rose’s fearful tales.
Something shifted and stirred in the air around her and a bright crack of lightning il uminated the sky. A face flickered in the window and she turned to run with a startled cry. She slammed into something warm and hard.
“I see the storm woke you, too. I’m sor
ry if I startled you.” He held her tight, to keep her from fal ing, and she clutched at his shoulders with a gasp of relief. She could feel his strength, coiled beneath her fingers. It made her feel safe in an oddly familiar way. He held her a little longer than necessary, before letting her slide down his body until her feet touched the ground. He seemed different somehow.
His movements were relaxed, his voice was husky, and she could smel brandy on his breath. His arms were stil wrapped around her, and his arousal pressed firm against her bel y, weakening her limbs and making her melt inside.
It was the chance she had been waiting for. To teach him he was no better than she was. To make him hers.
“I heard noises in my room. They frightened me,” she whispered, smoothing and straightening the front of his robe before sliding beneath it to place a dainty hand on his hard, muscled chest. His naked skin was hot to her touch and his heart beat strong beneath her palm.
“So you came down here al by yourself in the dark?”
“I came down here to better watch the storm.” She took a step closer, so the soft curves of her body molded against him. He was naked beneath his banyan and her fingers trailed across his taut bel y, then curled around his arousal with a firm squeeze. He swel ed in her hand, smooth as velvet and hard as iron and she stood on tiptoe to whisper against his throat. “They make me feel alive and restless.
They make me ache with longing and feed some nameless need. Do you feel their power, Captain Nichols? When is the last time you had a woman?”
He took her hand in a hard grip and forced her to take a step back. “Madam, I am drunk, but in the morning I shal be sober, and you wil stil be the king’s whore.”
