Conspiracy of Hearts

by Helen Dickson

  He chuckled. Having reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused and looked down into her upturned face. ‘Don’t you ever give up, wench? Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy your journey to Northumberland with me.’

  ‘It was most illuminating. But whatever you have in mind where I am concerned, I will tell you now that you are wasting your time.’

  Kit raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his black eyes when he looked at her. ‘Kindly explain yourself, madam. What are you saying?’

  ‘That because Dorothea is no longer available to you, I suspect you are looking for a replacement. If it is your intention to embark on a course of seduction now you find yourself alone with me, I would advise you to reconsider. I have no intention of being a diversion—or of becoming the easy victim of a philanderer.’

  Kit laughed outright, amused by her open honesty. ‘I have been accused of being many things, but never a philanderer. Where the fairer sex is concerned, I am always extremely serious in my intentions. I think you misunderstand me.’

  Serena raised a delicate eyebrow. ‘On the contrary. I understand you very well, and I would ask you not to attach any significance to our being together for so long.’

  Kit gave her a slanted smile. ‘Come along. We will carry on this conversation over dinner,’ he said and crooked an arm. Serena placed her hand into it, feeling how strong and firmly muscled it was. They walked down a long passageway towards the room where a carefully laid table had been set by Mrs Gilby. ‘We must be careful not to shock Mrs Gilby too much. She may look like a mild, sweet-tempered woman, but where morality is concerned she is absolutely respectable.’ Kit looked down at her, his eyes twinkling with pure devilment. ‘I think her husband will miss her company in his bed this night.’

  ‘Oh? Why is that?’

  ‘She is hardly likely to leave us in the house alone now, is she?’ Kit chuckled softly. ‘Mrs Gilby would consider herself to be failing in her duty if she didn’t supervise your stay at Addlington Hall.’

  Serena glanced up at him sharply. ‘You are a virile man and—’

  Kit raised his eyebrows and looked down at her in mock amazement. ‘I’m glad you think so,’ he cut in quickly. ‘I was beginning to think that perhaps you had failed to notice.’

  Serena gave him a snapping glance of irritation. ‘Oh, do be quiet. I was about to say that clearly Mrs Gilby knows you better than I, and that she may have cause to be concerned. You can be assured that my door will be well and truly locked tonight and every night while I remain under the same roof as yourself.’

  ‘That will not deter Mrs Gilby from playing the chaperon and, if either of us puts one foot out of line, we can be sure to feel the sharper edge to her tongue.’

  Serena tossed her head assuredly. ‘I’ve met worse women than Mrs Gilby. I’ll have her on my side before the week is out. You see if I don’t. I don’t believe she’s the ogre you would have me believe.’

  Kit grinned, not doubting what she said. ‘You’ve seen nothing yet.’ He chuckled quietly as they entered the dining room, where Mrs Gilby was busily arranging the food she had prepared for them. ‘There’s worse to come. Much, much worse.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Wait until you meet my mother.’

  Serena uttered a faint gasp, her eyes flying to his as she was about to ask him what he meant by that remark, but Mrs Gilby chose that moment to summon them to the table so she had to be content with a not-so-reassuring smile. Serena was surprised to experience a genuine feeling of alarm at the prospect of meeting the Dowager Lady Brodie.

  Behind the huge iron gates, Addlington Hall seemed a world away from the reality of what was happening in London. Time seemed to stand still for the two people who had sought sanctuary within its walls as one week slipped into another and the harsh, frozen white world held them trapped within its icy grip.

  By sheer dint of will and refusing to yield to her anxieties, Serena had made a concerted effort on her journey to Northumberland not to dwell on the violent nature of the Gunpowder Plot and the zealous men responsible for bringing it about. But now she wondered how the conspirators who had been arrested were faring in the Tower.

  At these times her thoughts would turn to Kit, for no matter how he always tried to appear unconcerned, she knew he was plagued by anxiety over his servant Robin. There was no way of knowing what tortures he was being subjected to, to force him to divulge information about his master.

  Torture in England was in theory reserved for exceptional circumstances, and since treason was considered an exceptional circumstance, there was every possibility that young Robin might have the manacles inflicted upon him, a method most favoured by the authorities for extracting information out of a suspect. Serena fervently hoped not, for it resurrected painful memories of her father, when he too had spent some considerable time in the Tower and been subjected to the pain inflicted on him by the manacles.

  He had been hung up by his wrists against a wall and the iron gauntlets gradually tightened; the support beneath his feet was taken away so that he had been left dangling in this cruel manner for hours on end. Those who survived such torture were, like her father, permanently maimed. The manacles were considered to be the gentler torture, the worst the rack. There was only one such instrument in England and that was housed in the Tower. This instrument was so feared that the mere sight of it was enough to make the bravest and strongest man confess.

  The feeling of apprehension that came over Serena when she imagined Kit’s whereabouts being discovered was almost impossible to quell. It was hard to believe she could feel such concern for a man who had forced her to come to Northumberland, and at times had treated her no better than he would a servant. And yet, the thought that he might be arrested, tortured and hanged for a crime he was innocent of, filled her with inexplicable dread. She prayed that the king would grant him the opportunity to present his argument, to produce proof to verify his innocence, whereby with the king’s grace all his properties and his good name would be redeemed.

  This should have been an idyllic time, but far from easing the tension between Kit and Serena, it did entirely the opposite as they were drawn closer together. Serena knew she was falling under Kit’s spell and at first felt no fear, believing she knew the sort of man he was and that she possessed the common sense to deal with it. But with time on their hands everything began to change, and the more they learned about each other, the more the days became a confusion of shifting emotions for them both.

  The alchemy between them had nothing to do with reason, but they were both wise enough to recognise the imminent dangers of forming a different relationship to the one they already had and both stepped back. They became like polite strangers, their conversations commonplace, yet Kit was always solicitous and sensitive to Serena’s needs—too much so, she thought, when she remembered how volatile he could be and how their conversation had always been laced with challenge. He became quiet and serious, moody almost, with no interest for light banter.

  Mechanically they went through the motions of living in the same house, but Kit began spending more and more time away from it. Usually Serena would breakfast alone, but Kit would always present himself for dinner at noon and supper at six o’clock. For her part Serena could scarcely wait for the meal to end so she could escape his steady gaze, unable to read his expression or his feelings. All she could see was the darkly handsome figure sitting across from her at the table. Neither of them were prepared to be the first to break the deadly, dangerous current of attraction that flowed so strongly between them.

  On a day that was fine but cold, Serena ventured outside, walking farther away from the house than she usually did. Small white clouds hovered over the peaks of the surrounding hills, the snow stretching in a relentless, white expanse over hill and vale. Breathing deeply of the sharp air, she pushed back the hood of her cloak, feeling a gentle breeze stir and gently lift her hair. Seeing a large dark-winged, white-crested bird go soaring high into the sky, she pau
sed, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand the better to see it.

  Serena recognised the bird as being a peregrine falcon, a bird much favoured by her father for its grace, precision and speed in flight. He had been a keen falconer and had kept several such birds, taking great pride in training them himself to return from flight to a lure or to hunt prey on the wing. Captivated, she watched it in flight, seeing it climb above a flock of pigeons which had flown up from their roost in a nearby copse.

  Instinct told Serena that the clever and crafty peregrine had selected its intended victim and, holding her breath, she watched it plummet downwards at a terrific speed, suddenly slowing its flight to attack and striking upward to sink its long talons into the pigeon’s flesh before bringing it to earth.

  Two men hurried towards it, the jingling of the tiny bells fastened to the peregrine’s feet guiding them to the location. Serena recognised the two men as being Kit and Samuel. Bending down, Kit took the peregrine on to his gloved hand, gently stroking its dark feathers with the other. Serena’s heart was revitalised with joy and soared at the sight of him.

  Kit’s eyes went directly to her as though the compulsion of her intent gaze was strong enough to tell him she was there. She was standing some distance away, motionless and solemn, her hands held loosely at her waist, her cloak falling in a circlet around her feet. For a long moment they looked at each other over the distance that separated them, direct and steadily.

  Handing the peregrine and the glove to Samuel, Kit moved towards her. She was an unforgettable vision of pure perfection to his hungry eyes, and his arms ached to hold her. Beneath the sun her hair was the colour of burnished oak, her cheeks soft and gloriously pink, her magnificent eyes glowing like emeralds. Serena was very quickly becoming an obsession. With a deliberate effort of will he had tried to close his mind against wanting her, and though he had not always been successful he had done his best. It was a constant battle, one he was tired of fighting.

  Hot, embarrassed colour stained Serena’s cheeks when they faced each other. Kit’s sternly handsome face had an odd, contemplative expression on it as he gazed down at her, his dark hair blowing in the breeze, his leather jerkin open at the throat to reveal the strong muscles of his neck.

  ‘So this is what keeps you so well occupied,’ Serena said with the hint of a smile, a little self-conscious at being caught watching him. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

  ‘Don’t be. We’re finished for today. Samuel will take the bird back.’

  ‘It’s just that I can never resist seeing the peregrines in flight.’

  ‘Then I apologise for not asking you to come along before. I should have realised your need for a little light diversion.’

  ‘You must enjoy flying them.’

  ‘I do. When he was alive my grandfather taught me the skill. Your own father is a keen falconer, too, as I recall.’

  ‘Yes, although he doesn’t hold his peregrines as high in his affections as he does his horses.’ Serena’s eyes clouded over at the memory and she sighed dejectedly. ‘Perhaps now—after all that has happened—I should speak in the past tense. Not only has my father lost his home, but his horses and his peregrines also.’

  ‘No doubt he will acquire more in the future.’

  ‘If he has a future,’ Serena murmured, her voice tinged with sadness.

  ‘While ever he remains in Flanders he should be safe enough,’ said Kit gently in an effort to erase the doubt from her eyes and ease the pain she so clearly felt. ‘Maybe when it’s discovered that he had nothing to do with the inner workings of the conspiracy, and that he sold his horses to Catesby with the belief that they were to be sent to the Netherlands, he will be pardoned.’

  Unbidden tears gathered in Serena’s eyes. ‘I wish with all my heart that I could believe that. But I have an odd feeling that even if the king does grant him a pardon, he will not return to England.’ She turned away, unwilling to let Kit see how deeply her father’s association with Mrs Davis in Flanders affected her, and how worried she was that at this time, with his home lost to him and unable to return to England, he would succumb to Mrs Davis’s entreaties to marry her.

  His expression serious, Kit put his hand gently on her arm and turned her to face him, finding himself looking into a pair of eyes the colour of wet grass, with tears sparkling on her long dark lashes, tears she was too proud to shed.

  ‘And you’re sure of that, are you?’

  ‘Yes. As sure as I can be.’

  A rogue tear spilled over Serena’s lashes and traced a line down her cheek. Kit was overcome with a wild desire to kiss it away but, knowing it would be his undoing, almost immediately produced a snow-white lace handkerchief with a dark trace of blood on it, the blood Serena had dabbed from a scratch on her wrist inflicted during her first skirmish with Thomas Blackwell.

  ‘Here. Dry your eyes,’ he said softly, handing it to her. ‘But I insist on you returning it to me.’

  Serena dabbed at her wet face and held it out for him to take, but then she gasped, a teary smile curving her lips when she recognised it. ‘Why,’ she breathed, touched that he should have kept the handkerchief, ‘this is mine. You still have it.’

  With a grin he took it from her and returned it to the pocket inside his doublet. ‘Yes—and I intend to keep it for posterity.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Sometimes I find it hard to accept all that’s happened,’ Serena said, falling into step beside Kit as they returned to the house. ‘If my father remains in Flanders—either by choice or because he can’t return to England—I shall have no alternative but to make it my home, too.’

  Kit regarded her with serious intent. Whenever she mentioned leaving England he felt a hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. They were walking along a path which ran beside of the house when suddenly he stopped, taking her arm and turning her to face him.

  ‘Serena, listen to me. There is no reason why you have to go.’

  Kit’s eyes were dark with torment. His voice was hoarse, his look that of a man about to break a bond he had made with himself and plunge headlong into disaster. Serena wanted nothing more than to let desire have its way and surrender herself to the silent demand in his eyes, to forget the vow she had made to herself not to become entrapped by him. But if she intended going to Flanders to prevent her father entering into a marriage with Mrs Davis, which could happen whilst he was in such a vulnerable state, then she must not weaken.

  ‘I have to, Kit. Nothing is changed.’

  As she was about to draw away, unexpectedly Kit took her hand and placed it against his chest. ‘I have time to change your mind.’

  ‘No, Kit. My mind is made up.’

  ‘I know I don’t have the right, but what if I said that I cannot live without you?’

  His words pierced Serena’s heart. ‘I would know that would not be true,’ she answered quietly.

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, Kit drew her into the shadow of the house, pressing her back against the bark of a tall tree. ‘And what if I said I did not want you to go for no other reason than I want you to stay with me? That I want you to stay for purely selfish reasons? That I cannot bear the thought of never seeing you again?’

  Serena was unable to believe he was saying these things to her. ‘I would still go,’ she whispered, her lips trembling, unable to resist his eyes as they probed the depths of her being and her heart streamed into his. She stepped aside to pass him by, but he moved quickly to stand behind her, his firm hands coming to rest on her waist as he turned her back to him.

  Unable to restrain himself a moment longer, suddenly Kit put his arms around her and drew her against his hard chest. Serena’s breath dragged in her throat and the scent of him, of leather and pine, filled her senses. Before she knew what was happening, his lips took possession of hers with such accomplished persuasion that she felt a stir of pleasure sigh through her as her body responded to his kiss. Unresisting, she closed her eyes, aware of
nothing in the world but the hard rack of Kit’s chest as she was crushed against it, feeling the tense muscles under his leather jerkin as his arms locked about her. His lips tantalised and teased, deliberately touching, caressing, as light as thistledown, stirring her passion.

  By slow degrees his mouth parted more to pluck the sweetness from her own, sipping, savouring and sampling, until Serena began to feel intoxicated, roused by an answering response so that his tongue became a fluttering firebrand as his mouth consumed hers with a hunger that would not be appeased. With a strangled gasp she pulled back, dragging her lips from his and turning her head aside, but he forced it back with his hand, his arm curled about her waist, refusing to let her go.

  ‘No, Kit. Please don’t do this,’ she entreated. ‘Let me go.’

  ‘Nay, not yet,’ he murmured. ‘I have waited too long for this moment.’ He looked down at her, feeling the heat in her body reach out to him, seeing the regret in her lovely eyes was sincere.

  ‘I remember asking you not to try to seduce me.’

  ‘And I remember telling you that you might be persuaded. Don’t resist me, Serena,’ he breathed, his gaze fastening on her lips. ‘Please spare me the maidenly protests and just relax. It’s quite easy, you know.’

  Staring at him in dazed confusion, Serena watched his finely moulded lips hovering just above hers. ‘I—I’m quite sure it is—only…’

  Kit responded with a questioning lift to his eyebrows. ‘What’s the matter, Serena? Are you afraid to find out?’ he asked quietly, the softness of his voice weaving a strange spell around her.

  ‘Please,’ she breathed, her breath fanning his lips enticingly. ‘Please don’t play with me, Kit.’

  ‘It’s hard not to, when you are so skilful an adversary,’ he murmured, his dark gaze fastened on her lips. Plunging his fingers into her hair, he cupped her face between his hands, his gaze penetrating and probing the depths of her emerald eyes. ‘When I’m alone I swear to myself that I will not touch you, but when we are together and I look at you, all my good intentions crumble like dust. You want me as much as I want you. I can feel it when I touch you, see it when I look into your eyes.’