Much Ado About Marriage

by Karen Hawkins

  In their determination to win the game, they completely forgot about Fia. When they twice missed her turn without noticing, Fia threw her cards on the barrel. Neither did more than glance up until the wind tried to carry the cards away. For a moment, they were occupied in gathering and placing the lost cards into the discard pile. Then, with the air of men achieving greatness, they settled back on their respective seats and lost themselves to strategy and counter-strategy, mocking parry and return.

  She was forgotten while the two fools competed for her. ’Twas ludicrous! Finally, she could take no more. With a muffled exclamation, she rose. “I’ll take my leave. Mary needs me below.”

  “Very well, my sweet,” answered Robert absently.

  “Anon,” answered Thomas, his regard solely for the card Robert slid under the edge of the mug. “A-ha! Now I have you! You play like a damned novice, Montley.”

  “Aye, but at least I play. You merely toss random cards and hope one will take.”

  Fia marched away. As she reached the steps to descend into the hold, she looked back.

  Robert stared at his cards with a rapt expression, lost to everything but the game, but Thomas met Fia’s gaze with a knowing smile. That bounder had acted thusly on purpose! He had cut her out of the game as cleanly as a knife through warm butter. For some reason, the knowledge sent a trill of warmth through her and she found herself smiling back before she turned and went to seek out her maid.

  Och, ’twas a fine madness, indeed. Fia could no more untangle her thoughts where Thomas was concerned than she could fly. All she knew was that when he was close, she felt as alive and free as if she were on a stage before a wildly appreciative audience.

  Yet the reality was much different: if she entered into a real marriage with Thomas, the last thing she’d feel was free. His views on the correct comportment and place of his wife within the confines of his life were harsh and narrow, and she knew she’d fret against such restrictions.

  It was a maddening conundrum, and she feared there was no real answer. The best thing she could do was enjoy her time with Thomas, for when they reached London, all would change. And sadly, it would not be for the better.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fia flipped the fan open and turned it toward her, admiring the rich colors of the painted silk. A pastoral scene decorated one panel. It presented a man asleep in the golden grasses of a sun-drenched field, his long, bare legs peeping through the wheat. A covey of young, buxom nymphs admired him with wandering hands, their nudity barely covered with garlands of flowers.

  She held the fan before the window and examined it more closely. The man lay naked, and the grass was very inadequate to cover his nether areas. She gazed anew at his face. “Sweet Saint Catherine, ’tis Robert MacQuarrie!”

  She shut the fan with a snap, her face burning. Only Robert would own a fan so daringly painted with his own likeness. She had to laugh, though, at his audacity.

  Fortunately, she grew up in a castle filled with men, and she knew how to deflate even such a high and mighty personage as Robert.

  Hmm. Perhaps she would wonder aloud why the nymphs were so enthralled with such a plump little man? Of all things Robert abhorred, to be thought plain or ordinary burned him the most.

  Grinning to herself, Fia danced around the cabin, an imaginary partner clasped in her arms. She was just beginning to understand the more complicated steps that Robert had been teaching her. It had been pleasant to whirl around the deck, her feet moving with the music. It had been even more pleasant to have Thomas staring at her with such interest.

  ’Twas a pity he hadn’t won the card game. She had waited impatiently for the outcome, pacing the cabin until Mary had sent her away. Robert had met her in the corridor, and there was no mistaking the triumph in his blue eyes.

  “You won.” She hadn’t meant to say the words with such a lack of enthusiasm, but disappointment weighed her down like a heavy, wet blanket.

  Robert laughed. “Do not look so put-upon, my love. The game ended just as it should have and—”

  Thomas’s deep voice bellowed down the passageway from the deck above. “Montley!”

  Robert sent a good-humored glance toward the deck before he grinned back at her. “I must go. When I return, we’ll practice the art of conversation. The queen is an intelligent woman and she is most impatient when bored. ’Tis important to be able to turn a phrase, tickle her wit, make her laugh or—”

  “Montley! Before the hour passes, if you please!”

  Robert chuckled. “Adieu, my lady.” With that he left, his short cape swirling behind him.

  Fia had frowned and returned to her cabin. Her husband was a mite high-handed. ’Twas probably for the best that he’d lost the game.

  Mary always said fate was what you made it, and Fia was beginning to believe that more and more. Perhaps she should take her fan and go practice her wiles on some of the sailors on deck? Simmons would be a good beginning. He was a kindly old man and always grinned when she came about.

  She approached the ladder leading up to the deck just as a shadow darkened the opening. She fluttered the fan. Robert had vowed there was little so entrancing as a pair of feminine eyes peering over the edge of a fan. Not only did it draw attention to the beauty of one’s eyes, he had explained, but it screened the rest of the face from view, and there was not a man alive who could withstand a mystery.

  She peeped over the edge, lowering her lids to give a sultry expression. Robert had specifically taught her this trick to render her admirer speechless.

  “God’s blood! Where did you get that?” Thomas did not sound admiring.

  Her smile froze into a grimace behind the fan. “Lord Montley was most kind in allowing me the use of it.”

  “Return it to him. I don’t like such frippery nonsense.”

  “I am told ’tis all the fashion.”

  His brows lifted. “Perhaps I don’t care for fashion.”

  She lowered the fan and closed it with a practiced flip of her wrist. “Perhaps you’d be more enjoyable if you did.”

  After a surprised moment, he chuckled. “I suppose I deserved that.”

  “Trust me, you did.” Fia couldn’t help but feel a bit piqued. Thomas was supposed to be charmed by the fan. He should have bowed and flattered and responded in turn, not chuckled at her as though she were a child playing dress-up.

  Perhaps she had not plied her fan correctly. She tried again. “My lord, I look forward to hearing what you have to say. May I suggest that we go somewhere more . . . private?” She gave him a languishing glance through her lashes.

  Thomas’s smile disappeared and his face turned red. “Sweet Jesu, what has that devil’s spawn been teaching you? You sound and look like a—” His mouth opened and shut, but he seemed unable to continue.

  She dropped her hand and drew herself up to her full height, disappointment rumbling through her. “You cannot tell me that the ladies of Elizabeth’s court do not ply fans and flirt.”

  “They might, but that’s no reason for you to—” His gaze narrowed. “Wait a moment. Why do you care what they do in Elizabeth’s court?”

  “Once our wedding is annulled, I could very well join the queen’s court as a lady-in-waiting. Robert said ’tis a possibility, given my position.”

  “You will spend your day running errands for a woman known for her ill temper and shrewish nature.”

  “I’ve been living with Duncan for years now; I’m used to ill tempers. It might be nice to have some female companionship. Robert says ’twould suit me well and he’s been teaching me some of the ways of Elizabeth’s court.”

  “Damn Montley! I knew this was his doing. He’s trying to irk me.”

  “No, he’s trying to help me.”

  “Montley knows the court is infested by the vultures who constantly encircle the throne. ’Tis not the place for a tender-skinned halfling like you.”

  Fia stiffened. “A tender-skinned halfling? Must you act as if I am a mere ch
ild and not a grown women well over the age of twenty?”

  “I have never treated you like a child.”

  “You’re doing so now.” She flicked the fan open and shut to show her irritation.

  Thomas regarded the fan with distaste. “Whatever nonsense Lord Montley has been teaching you, you are to forget it forthwith. I’ll have that blackguard’s head for his arrogance in attempting to transform my wi—” He caught himself and snapped his mouth closed.

  “You will not say a word to my Lord Montley. I asked him to teach me how to present myself.”

  “Mistress, let me remind you that at this moment you carry my name. And as long as you do, you will do as I say.”

  “Oh?” She lifted her chin and gazed directly into his eyes. “And who will make me obey? You?”

  Irritation flickered through his eyes, followed just as quickly by interest. “You don’t even come up to my shoulder and yet you dare challenge me.” The tiniest flicker of humor warmed his brown eyes. “I’m nonplussed, my lady.”

  ’Twas the humor that was her undoing. With his expression softened, his brown eyes warm with laughter, she couldn’t say him nay. The realization frightened her no end.

  As if he sensed her weakness, he leaned closer and placed his hand on the wall over her head until she was partially caught between his chest and the wall, the delicate fan her only barrier. “So that there will be no confusion, comfit, when it comes to my wishes I will make you obey. Only I will not use sharp words and a heavy hand. I will use one like this.” He lifted his hand and brushed her temple and cheek with a feather-light touch, his warm fingers causing her heart to thunder.

  Fia shivered, though she tried to hide it. “I-I don’t need anyone to make me do anything. I am not a child.”

  “No, you’re not.” He leaned forward yet more, until his cheek brushed her temple and lingered there. “Far from it.”

  His deep voice rumbled against her ear and warmed her head to toe.

  Fia’s skin tingled and she had to fight to keep from leaning against him.

  “Fia?” His voice was deeper now, almost lazy sounding.

  “Yes?”

  “I wish to ask something.”

  “What?” Anything. Right now, I’d give you anything. Ask me for an embrace, or a kiss, or a—

  “Leave this preposterous idea of becoming a lady-in-waiting.”

  Why couldn’t he have asked for a kiss? “Why should I? I must have a plan for when we’re no longer married.”

  He pulled back and smiled into her eyes. “Comfit, I never planned to throw you out into the streets, annulment or no.”

  “I know you’ll find a sponsor for my plays, but I will need more than that.”

  “Aye, and I will see to it that you receive it—funds, servants, a house.”

  “You’d . . . you’d give me a house?”

  “Aye, a fine manse on the river. I don’t wish you to be destitute.”

  “I . . . I didn’t know.”

  “Aye. But until then, I must ask that you behave with more decorum than Montley is wont to teach you.”

  She stiffened. “I have done naught but act with decorum.”

  “Aye, but you’re far too beautiful to—” He hesitated, his face turning faintly pink.

  “Too beautiful?” she prompted hopefully.

  His face fairly flamed now. “Never mind. I meant only to say that there are circumstances that can make even normal actions seem scandalous. Like your presence on this ship.”

  Fia blinked at him. “Thomas, I don’t know what you’re asking. You must speak more plainly.”

  “Fine.” He straightened, his face definitely redder. “I must ask you to cease visiting the deck so often. It distracts the men.”

  “The men like it when I visit the deck; Simmons has told me so.”

  “I’m sure they do, but I do not. And I am the captain.”

  “Not of me.”

  “Especially of you. Furthermore, there will be no more dancing on deck. Your skirts were flying about, your ankles exposed to one and all to see.”

  “Your own queen dances in just such a manner.”

  “But when she does so, it doesn’t—” He shook his head and then leaned forward, pressing his warm length against her, cupping her cheek with his large, warm hand. “She’s not my wife.”

  Fia didn’t answer, equally irritated and mesmerized. ’Twas just like the scene she had written in her play The Merry Maids of Azure. Ramonda, the warrior queen, was being seduced by Thelius, the handsome hero intent on stealing her birthright.

  What was it Ramonda had said? Oh, yes . . .

  Fia tossed back her head and held her hands up to ward off his advances. “Do not try my will, man of my heart! Though you tempt me with chosen fruits and forbidden caresses, I will not turn from—” She paused. “My people” didn’t exactly fit. “—dances.”

  Thomas blinked. “What?”

  She grinned, pleased she had remembered the whole passage. “’Tis a passage from The Merry Maids of Azure, one of my plays.”

  “Oh yes.”

  He spoke as if her plays had no importance at all.

  The realization that Thomas—her husband and the man who, with a mere touch, could make her knees quiver like jelly—could so cavalierly dismiss her plays irritated her greatly. “Fine. You don’t enjoy the theater. I’m sure it doesn’t matter though it shows ’tis a paltry marriage we have.”

  His smile faded. “Paltry? I am the wealthiest man in England!”

  “Oh, are you? I wouldn’t know. I’m your bride and yet I have no ring.” She wiggled her hand in his face.

  He stared at it, his brow lowered. “I didn’t have the chance to—”

  “Pssht. As if you tried. Admit you never thought of it until now.”

  “Perhaps I hadn’t, but as this is no real marriage—”

  “If ’tis no real marriage, then why should I listen to you at all? I will flirt with Montley, learn the ways of court, and dance upon the deck. I’m my own woman and belong to no man.”

  His brows lowered. “Damme, I came to warn you, and this is the thanks I get to—”

  “Hold. You came to warn me?”

  “Aye. You may think Montley is earnest in his attentions, but he’s merely amusing himself with the only woman available. He will feed on your regard and then leave at the first flitter of another skirt, forgetting you.”

  “He sounds quite callous.”

  “Nay, nothing so intentional. ’Tis just his way.” Thomas frowned. “Fia, you’ve been protected by your cousin and haven’t faced the guiles of a sophisticated soul like Montley, who charms simply because he can. You are a passionate woman and so you must have a care.”

  “Thank you for the warning. I will make certain to protect my heart from Montley’s flirtation.” Not that it needs it, for ’tis you who have captured my thoughts. The realization lowered her spirits. Why couldn’t she have developed thoughts of Montley, instead? He may have been a flirt, but at least he would have welcomed some interactions.

  “Good. We will both benefit if you do so.”

  Fia wondered if Thomas was thinking back to his mother’s elopement and its horrible effect on his own life. Suddenly, looking into his eyes, she could see him as the small boy who’d waited desperately for his mother to return, who’d vowed to find a place for himself in his father’s affections, only to be denied over and over.

  Behind the bravado and strength, she thought she’d caught sight of flashes of sadness, but it was more. It was deep and abiding loneliness.

  Fia’s heart caught in her throat and she turned away, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. How lonely was he as a child that it eventually became a permanent part of him?

  Tears blurred her sight and Fia realized that in fighting her emotions, she’d clenched her fan too hard. With fumbling fingers she attempted to open the delicate silk, but the bent and wounded spines refused to part. The once glorious fan lay like a broken bird in h
er hands.

  To her horror, Fia felt her lip quiver.

  “Fia?” Thomas’s voice sounded strange.

  She swallowed with difficulty. “I—it’s nothing.”

  He cupped her chin with a warm hand and lifted her face to his. “You are crying. I didn’t mean—God’s blood, I’ve made a mull of things. I just wished to warn you and—” His gaze dropped to her bottom lip and he paused as if unable to continue speaking.

  Fia’s heart tripped and then sped up, her body tingling. Please let him kiss me. Please let him.

  He slowly bent toward her, his gaze locked upon her lips. She leaned toward him, lifting her face to his as—

  “Aye, Simmons!” Robert’s voice drifted down the hold opening. “I’m going belowdecks now. I’ve set the course and that’s the last thing I’m doing.”

  Thomas pulled back, sending a dark glare at the ladder. “Damn Montley’s hide.”

  “And don’t think you can send someone to wake me every hour as you did last night.” Robert’s voice was closer this time. “You were merely trying my patience and I won’t have it. If someone knocks upon my door this eve, they’d best expect a blunderbuss to be their answer.”

  Thomas gave a muffled curse and, without warning, swept Fia into his arms.

  She gasped and clasped him tightly about the neck as he stalked down the hallway. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to finish this conversation without that damned fop getting in the way.” With one well-placed kick, Thomas opened his cabin door and carried her inside. He placed her upon the bed, then turned away to bolt the door. “If that knave is foolish enough to knock, don’t answer.”

  Fia sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, adjusting her skirts as she sent him a sour look. “I had no desire to speak to Montley right now. I spent all morning in his presence and ’twas enough.”

  Thomas turned a surprised look her way. After a moment, he said in an odd voice, “Aye, ’tis said Montley would make conversation even with the dead, given the chance.”

  “While I am grateful to him for his assistance, he wears my ears out.” She bit her lip. “I shouldn’t have said that, for he’s been so kind and I’m most grateful for his assistance.”