Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2)

by James, Judith

  “You truly think me so cruel as to abandon you?”

  “You have never abandoned your children, Charles. But I have given you none. I won’t be the first royal mistress to become a nuisance. And I do not want to offend your wife. She has done me no harm. I should not be pleased as a wife to find my new husband surrounded by his harem.”

  “I repeat. What do you want?”

  She whirled around to face him. “I want you to let me go on my own terms. Before she arrives. Let me leave court, Charles. I ask for nothing more than your permission to go. I am not without funds. I have some jewelry and some small investments. I would live quietly away from London. I only asked for your help because a woman like myself, with no brother, father or husband, cannot easily enter into contract to purchase property. I had hoped you might act as guarantee, but if the thought offends you I will mange on my own.”

  Hope wasn’t sure how things had turned into an argument with the man who controlled her fate. She knew better, but her anger and hurt made her reckless. “Can you not at least grant me a dignified withdrawal? Surely you owe me that.”

  She felt him stiffen. She must not lose his goodwill at such a critical juncture. It was not the time to let her feelings show. Perhaps such things were never wise. Another lesson learned. She swallowed her anger.

  “Forget what I said, Charles.” Her voice was contrite. “I am a foolish woman. I am frightened but I know all will be well if you say so. ’Tis but the storm, and a little jealousy perhaps. They have put me on edge.”

  Mollified, he patted her hand. “You have but to trust me, Hope, and all will be well.”

  ~

  Beyond the private confines of drawn bed curtains, the smell of coffee and the soft clatter of silverware made England’s king open his eyes and stretch. A thin sliver of sunlight crept in through jewel-encrusted hangings, warning him he’d overslept. If he didn’t want to be overrun by functionaries before he reached the stables for his morning ride, he needed to escape his bedchamber soon, but a moment longer wouldn’t hurt. He turned on his side, reaching for the soft warmth and comfortable weight of a sleeping woman, only to find an empty space and a stack of pillows. Damn the impertinence! She had left him without as much as a by-your-leave.

  It was unusual for him to have angry words with a woman. There were so many better ways to converse and Hope was as captivating a woman as he’d ever met. He chuckled to remember their first meeting. Her spontaneity, warmth and wit had made her stand out. She was such a delicious morsel. As small and fine-boned as a nymph, her sultry looks, her throaty voice, that seductive smile and those knowing eyes kept a man on the constant edge of excitement. Yet she could talk and joke and carouse like a man, and a fellow felt at ease in her company. It was amazing, really, how she’d emerged from the bowels of London with a spirit so fresh and unscathed.

  She imagined herself jaded and hardened, he knew, but he was a master at reading others. He’d had to be in order to survive. It was the things people did when they thought themselves unobserved that told you the most about them. Most schemed for advantage and plotted against those whose demise might speed their own advance, but Hope…. She was kind, a virtue usually lost within months of coming to court, and a weakness much coveted by those who would take advantage and abuse.

  She gave clothes and coppers and many of the gifts he gave her, to beggars and whores—anyone with a sad tale to tell. She had her own sense of honor. He knew her to be faithful, a thing he found amusing and endearing, and she was a spirited little warrior, meeting the snubs and jibes of many of his courtiers with head held high and a witty retort of her own. And alone in the dark, when the winds blew wild, she raised her arms to the heavens and danced in the rain. He found her utterly enchanting.

  She’s been my mistress for almost a year and yet my fascination grows. The way she’d danced in the storm last night, her arms flung wide, naked but for his billowing gown, playful child and elemental seductress, whore and innocent and ancient power, what more can a man want from any woman? But now she wanted something, and it was not at all what he had expected. It seemed she wanted to be free of him. It was a most unsettling development. First denied by Elizabeth Walters in favour of that rogue William, and now spurned by Hope herself. A lesser man might question his own prowess.

  He smiled to recall the night Elizabeth spent in his bed chatting, and the kiss he had given her in the palace gardens, and snorted to think of de Veres. The wench had taken aim and the court’s second most notorious libertine had fallen like an ensorcelled stag struck down by Diana. Well good for them both, but damned if the place wasn’t dull without them. Their interactions and courtship, writ large on the stage of Whitehall with all of London watching had been fine entertainment indeed. Better than a play. It was high time he called them back to court.

  As for his stormy nymph…she was right, of course. Even he could not keep an unmarried woman of low birth and highly questionable background. It was one thing in a bachelor court and quite another as a married man. The Portuguese were sophisticated. They would wink at a mistress of Barbara’s stature, but to elevate a lowly street urchin to the company of his queen would be an insult they could not ignore

  So why had her request offended him? Under the circumstances it was convenient, even considerate, and perfectly reasonable. Was it the fact she had brought it up before he did that rankled so? That she seemed ready, even eager to move on? Ungrateful wench!

  I expect I shall keep her a while yet. Besides…she has no idea what she asks. She needs a man to take care of her. If I helped her out of the palace and onto her own she’d be defenseless amongst my courtiers. A succulent lamb let loose amongst the wolves.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Several days after their argument the king had yet to address Hope’s precarious position other than telling her not to worry. It was an easy thing for him to say, but given his reaction to her last attempt at broaching the subject, she was loathe to press him again. He didn’t act like a man who was about to abandon her or set her free, much less one about to marry. If anything he’d been more attentive than ever, taking her with him and his brother James sailing on his yacht, and insisting she be invited to the balls and masques and private parties in the homes of his closest friends.

  Today had been a quiet one. A violent downpour had capped an unusually wet month, accompanied by gusts that slammed the rain sideways in drenching sheets. It had flooded much of the palace grounds in water ankle deep and even the indefatigable Charles had contented himself with passing a day inside. The two of them had spent much of the morning gossiping and playing cards, but he had left off a while ago to finish some papers he’d neglected for some time. She looked up when she heard a heavy sigh. “What troubles you, Charles?”

  “I have no money, Hope. I am a royal pauper. My navy wants pay and I have none to give them. Thank God for this marriage. It comes just in time.”

  She ignored the little stab of pain. “I can tell you how you’ll never want.”

  “Enlighten me, my dear.”

  “Send Castlemaine back to her husband, your French whore back to France, and me back to the stage. Then lock up your codpiece and hark to your wife.”

  He chuckled and came over to sit on the bed beside her. “If I follow that advice I will always want. But I shan’t while Hope is with me.” He eyed her appreciatively. “Now off you go, my dear. Though not too far. I must take advantage of this damnable weather to finish this paperwork or suffer Clarendon’s fishwifery the rest of the week. You are too much of a distraction. I shall join you when I’m done.”

  The private rooms beyond the king’s privy chamber included another bedroom, his laboratory and a library. It was here she went. She loved the peaceful atmosphere of this cozy inner sanctum with its oaken floors and paneled walls, its globes and telescopes and stacks of books, and its sturdy comfortable furniture made for relaxing in front of a fire.

  She liked to challenge herself and learn new things and few
of Charles’ inner circle wandered in here. His curiosity and love for learning ensured it remained a library, not another room for politics, intrigue or frivolity. Indeed, it was one of the most peaceful and private rooms in the palace. She picked up a book and flounced onto a comfortable oak framed settee with an exaggerated sigh. She had no rooms of her own at the palace to retire to, and she wished for the comfort of her lodgings in Pall Mall.

  She had hardly got herself settled when George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham and Charles’ friend poked his head into the room. Known as one of the best-dressed men at court, he was looking very handsome in a cream-colored waistcoat heavily embroidered with sliver, onyx and gold. She smiled to think that a stranger, seeing him and Charles together, would surely mistake the duke as being the king.

  They were friends of a sort, she and Buckingham, despite his relentless campaign to seduce her. She was often in his company at the palace, as Charles freely intermingled his mistress’ and friends. She found him entertaining when he wasn’t being cruel.

  “Good day to you, pretty witty Miss Mathews. What a wonder to find you ensconced with a book. God knows where you learned to read...or how. One cannot help but feel you were made for a different calling.”

  “Good day, my lord. It cannot surprise you to find me in the library. When I am not with the king or at home I am most often found in the gardens or here.”

  “For now. What will you do when Portugal sets sail? He will have no choice but to put you aside.”

  Though good humored, amusing, and generous, the duke was not kindhearted and it seemed he sought entertainment this day at someone else’s expense. Not in the mood to spar with him, Hope put down her book and rose to her feet. “I apologize, Your Grace, for disturbing you. I shall be happy to cede you the library and leave you in peace.” She tried to step around him but he caught her by the arm and held her from behind.

  “A woman in your position should remember her friends, Hope. You’ve climbed as high as you can and all that’s left you now is a very long fall.” He inclined his head, taking in her scent, and laid a confident hand on her silk clad bosom. “A friend like me can cushion the landing,” he murmured against her ear.

  Her lips twisted in a grimace of displeasure and she lifted his hand off her breast. “Behave yourself, George.”

  He released her, only to place his hands on her shoulders. When he spoke his voice was warm against the back of her neck. “You know I’ve been taken with you since the day we met. Name what you want and it shall be yours. Jewels, carriages… I’m richer than he is.... His fingers caressed her bare shoulders as he spoke.

  She pulled away from him and turned around. “I should like to continue to count you as friend, my lord. But if you don’t leave off that will become impossible.”

  “A faithful whore,” he said with a rueful laugh. “And do you think our Charlie cares? He’s certainly not faithful to you. Even now he sports with Castlemaine. If you want to hold him, you need to show him you can’t be trifled with. Come my dear, we are friends are we not? Let’s find a quiet place and share a friendly fuck.”

  Her voice rose with anger, taking on a slight rhyming cadence and losing some of its polish. “Sometimes I need to have chocolate. I never need to fuck. He is good to me, you great swaggering fop! And so long as he is there is no price you can pay me to—”

  A deep chuckle came from behind the half open door. She whirled around to see Charles standing there.

  “Damn it, Charles, you were right! I am injured twice. The chit won’t have me and it seems I owe you fifty pounds.” Grumbling, Buckingham tossed Charles a purse.

  “Fifty pounds?” Her surprise and confusion were quickly giving way to fury.

  Charles nodded and gave her a wink. “Better than a play, sweetheart,” he said with a grin. “Naturally my money was on you.”

  She twisted her gasp of outrage into a sharp laugh, and blinked several times, holding back her tears. Was her loyalty no more than a joke to him? Something to be gambled on and snickered over with his cronies? She wanted to slap him and scold him. To turn her back and walk away. What am I doing here? What am I doing to myself? I am a courtesan, as he’s just reminded me, not some lovesick lady wife. But the hurt and betrayal bit surprisingly deep.

  “It was all in fun, Hope.” Charles gave her a cajoling look she’d seen several times before. Whenever he suspected he’d done something wrong but had no idea what. No doubt some pretty bauble would follow soon.

  “Fun for you, Charlie. I thought she was about to box my ears,” Buckingham said with grin. “’Twas but a jest, Hope. Until you grow tired of him, and then it’s not. I pray I am still your favorite swaggering fop, after his majesty of course.”

  Hope composed her features and managed a droll smile. Turning, she leaned into Charles. Her hand caressed his cheek before trailing down his chest, slipping in between his sober brown waistcoat and linen shirt to find Buckingham’s heavy purse and pluck it. She turned triumphantly, hefting it under the duke’s nose with a mocking grin. “To Charles the glory, to me the spoils. She favored him with a saucy smile as she dropped the purse between the cleavage of her dress.

  As Buckingham sputtered in surprise she turned to Charles. “Thank you. That was most entertaining. The afternoon had turned so dreadfully dull. As my Lord Buckingham will tell you, I was almost forced to read.” She curtsied to both of them as if she were exiting the stage and the king watched in admiration as she walked away.

  “Ahem!”

  “Eh? What’s that, George?”

  “Oh good. I was beginning to fear I’d faded into the paneling. You cheated me. You and she.”

  Charles chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Apparently so George. Though I fear that I’ve annoyed her. I’ll have to do something noteworthy as recompense. But you saw where she put the spoils and I advise you not to go there. It would sit very ill with me.”

  Buckingham raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? You know you can’t keep her, don’t you? She’s an unmarried commoner. In all seriousness. Why not pass her on to me?”

  ~

  An unmarried commoner. That was the bar, and in it lay the answer. It was elegant and simple. Whatever way the thing played out, the girl needed to be cared for. She needed a suitable husband. A gentleman of rank, but not too proud to take a commoner as his lady. Someone indulgent, grateful, and quick to understand he was being set to guard a treasure. A country gentleman would be ideal. Suitably rewarded to remain discrete when the lady returned to court. Her stint in the country would allow him time to settle things between Catherine and Barbara, and then like the phoenix she might return, reborn as a noble married lady. All that was needed was to find the right man.

  “Charles?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Thank you, George. I shall see you later. Perhaps tonight at cards?” Charles strode past his bewildered companion and out the door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Maidstone County, Kent

  Elizabeth de Veres spun around in a circle, faster and faster, her arms stretched wide as azure sky and spring green meadow, leafy canopy and silvery stream, joined in a riotous whirl of color around her. When she tumbled to the ground laughing, her skirts billowing about her, her husband caught her safely in his arms and settled her back against him.

  “Bedlam has many mansions, Lizzy. Have a care.”

  She chuckled and reached for his hand, finding it and clutching it tight to her chest. The sun was warm on her face and even as the sky still spun above her, she imagined she could feel the slow turning of the earth below. She closed her eyes and listened…the shiver of leaves dancing on the late afternoon breeze, the soft babble of shallow water meandering lazily over smooth stone, the insistent calls and soft warbles of unseen courting birds, and underneath it all, the steady beat of his heart and the soothing rise and fall of his breath. “It makes me feel like I’m flying.”

  He tightened an arm around her waist. “I shall have to anchor you tight then, so you don’t
float away.”

  “You should really give it a try, Will. It’s great fun.”

  He leaned over to nip her ear. “I have tried it in my youth, with you as I recall, and it gave me much the same feeling as overindulgence in very bad sack. The same tottering walk. The same sense that at any moment one’s feet might leave the ground, which I assume is what you mean by flying, and an unfortunate and unpleasant urge to spew.”

  “Pffft! I must be married to the least romantic poet in all of England.”

  “Think you so?” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m fair certain I can show you other ways to fly.” Easing his fingers from her grasp, he hooked them under the edge of her bodice, tugging gently but insistently as his knuckles slid up the soft outer curve of her breast. He lingered there a moment, caressing the sensitive skin from collarbone to ear, before deftly slipping her gown off her shoulder.

  “William. It’s full daylight. What if someone comes?” She spoke in an urgent whisper laced with excitement and alarm.

  “I warned you if you married me I’d keep you very busy.” He stopped her murmured protests with a trail of molten kisses to her throat and naked shoulder as his other hand fondled her waist, then edged down her thigh to pluck at her skirt, slowly inching it up her legs.

  “Have I told you how very lovely you are? How trim your ankles and shapely your calves? How proud your breasts?” His voice, warm against her ear, sent shivers up her spine

  “What arms and shoulders did I touch and see

  How apt her breasts were to be pressed by me,

  How smooth a belly under her waist saw I”

  His hands caressed the bare flesh beneath her skirts, his palm hot against her thigh, and she yielded to his expert touch with a soft sigh. He shifted position so that she lay beneath him.