by Holly West
“Lady Wilde,” she said, touching my arm and pointing. “That man seems to know you.”
Captain Bedloe walked toward us and my stomach fluttered. I suddenly realized I’d never replied to his request to see me the night Lucian had been attacked.
“Good afternoon, Captain Bedloe,” I said.
“I’m glad to see you are unharmed, Lady Wilde,” he said. “I was concerned when I didn’t hear from you.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry for my rudeness. I had a personal matter to attend to.”
“I hope it has been satisfactorily resolved?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Does that mean you’re available to have supper with me tonight?”
Though I longed to become better acquainted with Bedloe, Lucian was still convalescing at my home. I wasn’t likely to enjoy myself if all I could do was worry about my brother’s welfare.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” I said. The disappointment in his eyes almost caused me to change my response. “I’ll send a messenger tomorrow, perhaps we can see each other then.”
“You’re not still annoyed with me, I hope?” Bedloe said. His self-doubt charmed me and it was difficult to resist. I recalled how I’d left him after our last meeting and realized he must’ve thought he’d angered me.
I rested my hand on his arm. “Annoyed? Not at all, William,” I said, calling him by his given name for the first time. Surely Lucian would be all right for a few hours? “I can’t stay long, but I shall meet you in your room at eight o’clock tonight.”
* * *
When Captain Bedloe opened the door of his room at the Cock and Fox that night, a mere look passed between us. I caught my breath as he pulled me inside, closed the door and backed me against it, taking my face in his hands and kissing me with an intensity that might have unnerved me had I not been aching for it. I pressed myself into his body, matching his fervor, my heart leaping, my head swirling, with the ferocity of it.
Finally, he stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said. “A polite host would have offered you supper first.”
I laughed and kissed him by way of reply.
His hands passed over my body and I cursed my stays. While they were an imperative part of a ladies wardrobe, they did nothing to enhance passion. He pushed the sleeves of my gown off my shoulders and pulled the neckline down. His mouth trailed down my neck and onto my collarbone then continued its journey down to my breasts. I felt the heat of his breath as he cupped them with his hands and brought them to his lips. I dropped my head back and his mouth returned to the nape of my neck, kissing and gently biting.
Bedloe wore only a loose-fitting linen shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his stomach, and I let my hands wander over his shoulders and across his chest, feeling every hard muscle. He removed his wig, leaving his hair covered in a skullcap. I reached up and pulled it off, allowing his natural mane to fall across his face. He paused for a moment and smiled at me.
This time, I made no effort to suppress my desire. Even if I’d wanted to, it would’ve been impossible. It had been a long time since I’d been with any man but the king, and the prospect of lying with Bedloe filled me exquisite anticipation and made me a little breathless. What wonderful discoveries awaited me? He loosened my stays and my gown slipped farther down until it settled around my waist. I finished pushing it down to the floor, wearing only my shift. He slowly pulled it over my head, revealing, at last, my naked body.
Bedloe undid the tie on his trousers and as he stepped out of them, he guided me toward the bed. I fell across it with him on top of me, feeling his hardness against my stomach. It took all my resolve not to pull him inside me in that instant.
“I’ve desired you since the moment I first saw you,” he murmured into my ear as he wriggled out of his shirt. His hands explored the curves of my body. He lowered his head and lifted my breasts to his mouth, caressing each in turn with his lips and tongue. His hand found the soft area between my legs and he stroked gently but persistently until I felt such pressure that I could no longer withstand the intensity.
I opened my legs and guided him inside, wrapping myself around him to push him deeper and deeper. We moved together at a frantic pace until at last the pressure was released and warmth filled my body. A few moments later he groaned, and I felt his full weight fall onto my body as he caught his breath.
Bedloe rolled off of me and we lay in silence for a long while. His head rested in the crook between my neck and shoulder and I absently stroked his hair.
“They say,” Bedloe finally said, lifting his face to mine, “that the difference between men and women is that when women are finished lying with a man they are full of remorse, while men have no thought but to fall asleep. Tell me, Lady Wilde, has this been your experience?”
“If a woman feels regret afterward perhaps the fault lies with her lover?”
Bedloe laughed. “Then it is my sincere hope you feel no regrets whatsoever.”
There had, of course, been other men besides the king. I’d even loved some of them. But none had touched me the way Captain William Bedloe had. I hoped this encounter would be the first of many.
“None,” I said, kissing him lightly on the mouth.
We never did bother with supper that night.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Monday, 28 October 1678
Six days had passed since Lucian’s attack and he was finally beginning to look something like himself. His eye had returned to its normal size and his bruises had faded to a light purple color tinged with yellow around the edges. His cuts had scabbed over and, in some cases, had healed altogether. He was still sore and needed a cane to walk, but overall, he was on the mend.
But while his appearance had improved, the same could not be said for his disposition. Being shut up in my house made him morose and Monday morning he sat with Sam, Charlotte, and me in the kitchen, picking at his bread and cheese. Every so often he let out a long, wistful sigh.
“What’s the matter,” Sam said, his mouth full of his own breakfast. “Is the bread stale?”
Lucian glared at him but made no reply.
“Cheese spoiled?”
Lucian dropped the chunk of bread he’d been holding onto his plate. “Isabel, if I don’t get out of this house I swear I’ll go barking mad.”
I felt a twinge of guilt. Since Lucian had passed the point where his life was in danger, I’d spent the past couple of evenings with Captain Bedloe, leaving my brother to be entertained by Alice and Charlotte.
“You still look as though you were trampled by horses,” Sam reminded him.
“I don’t care if I look like I’ve been torn apart by wolves—I tell you I must have some civilized company.” He smacked his hand on the table to emphasize the point.
“As it happens,” I said, “I received an invitation to dinner at Lord and Lady Sunderland’s home tonight. I was going to decline, but shall I tell them you’ll accompany me?”
“Oh God, yes, I’ll do anything. Just get me out of here.”
But when Lady Sunderland saw him later that evening, she turned pale and raised her hand to her mouth. “Lucian, what in heaven’s name happened to you?”
“I’m afraid my wit got the best of me,” he said. “I might have caused some offense.”
Having known Lucian and his penchant for ill-conceived mockery for several years, neither of our hosts questioned this. Lord Sunderland helped Lucian into the drawing room and we all took seats while the housekeeper poured the port.
Lord Sunderland lifted his glass as though to make a toast. “To Lucian’s wit, may it never best him again,” he said. We all laughed and drank to my brother.
Lord Sunderland motioned for the housekeeper to refill our cups and he raised his again. “And to Sir Edmund Godfrey. My hard work with the Lords’ committee has been successful. A witness has come forward with information about his murder.”
I came dangerously close to spilling my port on myself. Even Lucian’s
hand remained poised in midair as he absorbed Lord Sunderland’s words.
“Lord Sunderland,” I said, “do you know who killed Sir Edmund?”
“Not as of yet, Lady Wilde. But we may soon have the answer. Someone came forward just this afternoon.”
Lucian drained his cup in one swallow, but I set mine, still full, on the table next to me. “Who came forward?”
“A fellow by the name of Captain Bedloe. I don’t know the details yet because he’s only appeared before the king’s privy council. But he’s scheduled to testify before the Lords’ committee tomorrow so I’ll learn more then.”
“Captain William Bedloe?” I said.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“You know Captain Bedloe, don’t you, Isabel?” Lucian said.
It was a mistake, I thought. Lord Sunderland must have confused Captain Bedloe with someone else. It wouldn’t be unreasonable—Lord Sunderland spent little time in London and had no doubt met numerous persons since his most recent return. He must have heard Bedloe’s name in passing and repeated it now without realizing his error.
And if Lord Sunderland wasn’t mistaken, if Bedloe really had come forward, it wasn’t as if he’d lied to me. In fact, I couldn’t recall ever speaking with Bedloe about Sir Edmund at all, even at his funeral.
Why, then, did I feel so betrayed?
The rest of the evening passed slowly and I could not concentrate on any of the conversation nor could I taste any of the food. My stomach was queasy. I ate just enough so as not to appear ungracious, and feigned interest in what was said, biding my time until I could leave.
When Lucian and I finally said our goodbyes, it was cold outside and very dark. Lucian leaned heavily against me as we walked toward the street and I could see he was in pain; the evening had been long and he was still too weak to socialize very much. Sam must have noticed this too, for he hurried over to us. He put his arm around Lucian and helped him to the carriage.
When Lucian was settled in the coach, I pulled Sam aside. “Take Lucian home in the carriage,” I said, “and find me a hackney.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have an appointment,” I said, keeping my voice light. It was too soon to tell Sam what I’d learned tonight.
“Bedloe?”
“Yes. Please hurry, it’s too cold to stand here talking about it.”
Sam turned toward the street and stopped the first hackney he saw.
“Take me to the Cock and Fox,” I told the driver as I got in. “And make haste.”
Whatever Bedloe’s game was, it left me angry and confused. Why had he waited this long to come forward with what he knew? More important, how had he come upon the information in the first place? I didn’t know if satisfactory answers for these questions existed, but nevertheless, I wanted an explanation.
The hackney stopped in front of the Cock and Fox and I wiped my eyes, trying to make myself presentable. I got out, asked the driver to wait for me, and entered the tavern. I hurried up the stairs and caught my foot on one of the floorboards. I toppled forward and banged my knee on an upper stair, cursing my clumsiness and ignoring the laughter of the patrons who’d witnessed my fall. None of it was befitting a lady of my position but I had ceased caring by that point.
I stopped in front of Bedloe’s door and raised my hand to knock, halting the motion when I heard voices inside. I put my ear close to the door and determined they were male but not identifiable beyond that.
The door to the next room creaked opened, and a man and a clearly drunk woman came stumbling out. The man tried to hold her up as they passed but she knocked into me.
“Get outta the way,” she said.
“Pardon us,” the man said apologetically.
I was afraid the commotion would alert whoever was in Bedloe’s room, and not wanting to be found outside the door, I followed the couple downstairs and fled to the waiting hackney.
“Where to?” the driver said.
“We must wait here,” I said.
“Ma’am, it’s mighty cold. I hope it won’t be too much longer.”
“I didn’t hire you to hear your complaints. Wait here as I asked and I’ll tell you when we can leave.”
I got in and sat looking out the window, unsure of exactly what I was waiting for. Even if Bedloe’s companions left while I was here, I had no way of knowing who they were. I pushed my hands deeper into my fur muff and leaned back in my seat, hoping something would happen soon. Just when I could no longer stand the cold, I saw the Duke of Buckingham and Titus Oates emerge from the tavern.
The two of them walked together toward my hackney and for a brief moment I held my breath, fearing they’d discovered my presence. I shrank back, willing them to pass by without looking into the hackney. By the time I’d ventured forth to see their progress, they’d already gone.
I was about to tell the hackney driver to take me home when a rap on the door almost caused my heart to jump out of my throat. A familiar voice said, “Let me in, Isabel.”
I released the latch and the door swung open. Bedloe poked his head in. “It’s cold out here. May I get in?” he asked.
I moved over to make room. He climbed in and sat down next to me, cupping his hands together and blowing into them.
“Good evening, my dear,” he said. He leaned in to kiss my cheek but I turned my head and his lips caught the edge of my hood. “What’re you doing sitting out here in this weather? Don’t tell me we were supposed to see each other and I forgot? Impossible.”
“Is it true you testified before the king’s privy council yesterday?” I asked, my voice tight.
“Yes, I did. Why do you ask?” My question hadn’t fazed Bedloe in the slightest, and I found his unperturbed demeanor infuriating.
“Do you know who killed Sir Edmund Godfrey?”
“You sound angry. Have I offended you, darling? If so, I’m very sorry.” He took my hand and raised my fingers to his lips. “Come upstairs and let me make amends.”
I pulled my hand away. “Tell me what you told the privy council.”
“Isabel—”
“Tell me!”
He sighed. “It was the Jesuits. Everyone knows that.”
“Which Jesuits?”
“Isn’t that beside the point?”
“I don’t know why it should surprise me that you’re dishonest enough to submit false testimony just to earn a few pounds, and yet it does. What else have you lied about?”
He laughed. “I’d hardly call five hundred pounds a ‘few,’ but then I lack an inheritance from a wealthy husband.”
“You repulse me.”
“You’re being unreasonable, Isabel. You know as well as I that some Catholic or another will be blamed for this murder. It matters not to me which one. And am I not as deserving of the reward as the next man? Don’t forget, I haven’t accused anyone. All I’ve done is expand upon the story that Titus Oates has already told.”
“Is this the real reason you returned to London?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous. How could I have known about any of this before I came? But I’m not a man who lets an opportunity go by when it is presented.”
Bile rose in my throat and I could hardly look at him.
“Why did you meet with Buckingham tonight?”
“You’re mistaken, my dear,” Bedloe said, shaking his head. “I’ve not seen His Grace since Sir Edmund’s funeral.”
“Then why did I see him leave this tavern not ten minutes ago?”
Bedloe didn’t waver. “You’ll have to ask him that, for I’m not familiar with his affairs. But this is a public inn of good repute. Perhaps he chose this location to have his supper.”
“And what about Titus Oates? Are you also going to tell me you did not see him tonight?”
“I confess it’s been a lonely evening for me.” He reached for my hand again, but I moved it and his hand landed on my knee. “I don’t know why it matters,” he continued, “but clearly, you’re tak
ing this far too seriously. Come, Isabel, let’s go upstairs where it’s warm, and discuss this further.”
His hand was still on my knee and even my anger couldn’t dispel the desire I still felt for him. For a moment, I was tempted to go upstairs with him and pretend none of this had ever happened.
But instead I turned away from him. “There’s nothing more to talk about,” I said. “Now please leave me so I can go home.”
“You’re upset.”
“I’m not upset. It’s just that I prefer to spend my time with men who possess some modicum of integrity.”
“Integrity, my dear, is for men with too little wit to otherwise promote themselves. I, for one, shall always choose enterprise over honor.”
“Get out. I never want to see you again.”
As he exited the hackney, he gave my knee a hard, painful squeeze. It was as though the dreadful man he really was, the man he’d fought so hard to hide, had forced his hand. All at once I understood; he wasn’t what he appeared to be—he never had been. It frightened me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tuesday, 29 October 1678
Bedloe testified before the Lords’ committee the following day, and when the king’s messenger called for me later that night, I went. It was the quickest way for me to learn what had been said. An hour later I found myself lying in my familiar place next to Charles, who seemed to have forgiven me for my transgression with Michael Godfrey. Being with him helped to erase the invisible fingerprints Bedloe had left behind and I was momentarily comforted, if rather disgusted with myself.
Charles surprised me by bringing up the subject of Bedloe’s testimony himself. “I hear you’ve been keeping curious company lately.”
“Are you referring to someone in particular or to my general choice of companions?”
Charles looked at me sideways. “Coyness doesn’t suit you, Isabel. You know I’m talking about Captain William Bedloe.”
“I’m vaguely acquainted with him.” Charles’s jealousy would have amused me had its source not been Bedloe, and I saw no reason to admit the extent of our association. My involvement with him was humiliating and his betrayal—I could not think of it as anything else—still stung.
