by C. J. Archer
Blake scoffed. “A pathetic excuse. And it doesn’t explain it from her point of view.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did she let you into her bed? Was it a momentary lapse on her part too? Or something more?”
Leo pressed his palm to the wall to steady himself. He didn’t want to hear this, not from Blake. He’d already had the same conversation with himself after his visit to Grayshaw.
“Perhaps she had another motive in mind,” Leo said, taking control of his breathing with effort. “She’s not the sort of woman who does something without a good reason.”
“True. But I think we’ll disagree on the reason.” Blake crossed his arms and ankles and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Why do you think she did it, Leo? God knows it’s not because you charmed her.”
Leo took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Alice Croft is no different than other working women,” he finally said. “She’s not satisfied with what she has. Let’s leave it at that.” He turned and continued on to the kitchen. Hopefully some servants were there. Blake would leave him alone in their presence.
But Blake stopped him again with a hand to his shoulder. “You think she did it because she’s unhappy being a seamstress? That she looks at this as an advancement?” He spun Leo around. “You’re more heartless than I thought.”
“How would you know her motives?” Leo hissed. “You know her well, do you? Do you?”
“Not very well, but—”
Leo shoved Blake’s hand away. “Then don’t lecture me. This conversation is finished.”
“Truce,” Blake said. “What I really wanted to ask you was how you got on at court this morning. Did you have any luck?”
Leo frowned. “Luck?” He was still thinking about Alice and what his brother was driving at, and now he had to talk about court?
“Gathering financial support for your mines.”
“Of course.” Leo tugged on the hem of his doublet. “Everyone’s throwing money at me.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.” Blake stepped closer and grasped Leo’s shoulder. “Let me give you—”
“No! I don’t want your damn charity, Blake. I don’t want your money, your hospitality, or your advice. My affairs are mine and mine alone. They are nothing to do with this family.” He strode off. This time he couldn’t hear Blake’s footsteps following him. Good. He’d had enough of his brother’s company.
But Blake, as usual, had to have the last word. “If that were the case then why are you trying to fix Lilly’s life for her?” he called out. “You care, Brother. I know you do. Perhaps not about me, but about Lil. And Mother.”
Of course Leo cared. That was the whole bloody problem.
CHAPTER 18
“I adore it,” Min said, handing back the sketch Alice had made of the gown. “It’s so elegant and fashionable.” She lifted her arms so Alice could measure her waist.
Alice had been glad to see Minerva Peabody in the Rose Theatre’s tiring house in the morning. Since sleep had eluded her for much of the night, she’d set about making Min’s wedding gown, but without accurate measurements, she could only do so much.
“I think it would look lovely in green velvet,” Alice said, writing down the measurement beside the sketch. “Emerald green like…” Warhurst’s eyes. She shook the image from her mind. “Like emeralds. With silk cuffs edged with silver and a matching ruff at the neck. Oh, and pearls on the sleeves, bodice, and hem.”
“Lovely,” Min said dreamily. “But so much work. Are you sure you have the time?”
“Of course. Besides, it’s not work when you enjoy it. I adore making beautiful gowns.” And wearing them. Apart from Lady Dalrymple’s crimson gown, she rarely got to try on gorgeous clothes before they were altered to Freddie’s shape. “My sisters are eager to help too, so it’ll be done in no time.”
“You have sisters! You’re so lucky. I’ve always wanted sisters. And brothers. Lots of them.”
Alice took Min’s arm and held it out to measure its length. “You’ll have one of each soon,” she said. “I know Lilly loves you already and Lord Warhurst admires you.” She leaned closer. “He thinks you’re quite brave taking on his brother.”
“Brave!” Min laughed. “I’m petrified. I might make a terrible wife.”
Alice dipped the pen in the inkpot and wrote down the measurement. “I doubt that. Besides, I think it’s the woman marrying Warhurst who needs all the courage. And a very large hammer.” At Min’s raised brow, she added, “To smash through all that pride to get to his heart.”
“Blake—I mean Robert—doesn’t think his brother has one.”
“A heart? I think he has one but it’s frozen solid.”
“Then his future wife will need a hammer and a flame,” Min said.
“More like an entire forge,” Alice said.
“Alert all the blacksmiths to lock up their daughters! Lord Warhurst is in need of a wife.”
Roger Style walked past and shushed them. Freddie, sitting on a stool in the corner of the tiring house, mimicked his master’s sourness so perfectly that everyone laughed. Everyone except Style, who simply continued up the stairs.
“He’ll cut short your apprenticeship if you’re not careful,” Shakespeare said.
“Don’t care,” Freddie said, rubbing his crotch. “There’s always good work for someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” Henry Wells echoed. “You mean loud, ignorant, disrespectful, and more irritating than a rash?”
Freddie sniffed. “Someone who’s good at pretending. Someone who can do voices and copy how others walk and stuff.”
“Who told you that?” Shakespeare asked. He put down his copy of the play and gave Freddie his full attention.
“Kit Marlowe.”
Alice touched her bandaged arm, well hidden beneath the sleeve. Marlowe was little better than pond scum but he was dangerous. If she’d gone alone to his rooms…she shuddered to think what would have happened if Warhurst hadn’t been there.
“He must have been mistaken,” Wells said.
“What d’ya mean?” Freddie asked.
“He must have thought he was speaking to someone with a brain.”
The tiring house erupted in laughter. All except for Alice, who’d not really been listening. “He is in need of a wife, you know,” she said to Min when the laughter died and everyone returned to their tasks.
“Marlowe?”
“Warhurst.”
“Oh.” Min frowned at her. “Yes, of course he is. He’s a baron.” As if that explained the need to wed.
She supposed it did.
“Do you know if he has anyone in mind?” Min asked.
“A widow. Someone he already knows. She’s very rich.” Alice sat heavily on a nearby stool and rubbed her temples.
Min sat on the stool opposite and touched Alice’s hand. “Are you all right?”
“Just tired.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing else?”
“Nothing else,” Alice said without much conviction.
Min didn’t look like she believed her. “So this has nothing to do with you spending the night at Blakewell House?”
Tears welled and Alice looked away, only to find herself meeting Shakespeare’s gentle brown eyes. He lifted an eyebrow. “All right?” he mouthed.
She nodded and turned back to Min. Dwelling on what she couldn’t have served no purpose. Warhurst had given her more than anyone and she should be thankful—he’d given her a future with her own shop. She would make a success of it.
She smiled wanly at Min, who looked at her with such tenderness. “I’m a seamstress,” she said, her voice small. “He’s a lord. I don’t think there’s any need to say more.” She stood and arranged the forepart of her gown to display a neat triangle of underskirt beneath.
“Now,” she said, pulling together the frayed ends of her nerves, “you need to speak to your betrothed for me. I’ve purchased the velvet and pearls on credit through o
ne of Father’s suppliers. If you would be so kind as to have Blake settle the account in short order, I would be grateful.” She picked up her sketch of Min’s gown and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. “As soon as I’ve—”
Warhurst entered the tiring house through the outside door, cutting short whatever she’d intended to say—not that she could remember anymore. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him as if he were an oddity. With his black eye and swollen lip, he looked more out of place than usual. One of the hired men stood and bowed. Freddie smirked and received a withering glare from Warhurst that made the lad’s face flare crimson and the smirk vanish without a trace. Warhurst spotted Min and came toward her. He didn’t once meet Alice’s gaze.
“Blake is looking for you, Mistress Peabody,” he said with a nod of greeting.
Min stiffened. “And who are you looking for, Lord Warhurst?” Her voice was as blunt as the wrong end of an axe. Considering she was usually as sweet as honey to everyone, it was quite a shock for Alice to hear her speak to her intended’s brother in such a manner.
Warhurst too seemed surprised. “I, I…” He glanced around the tiring house. “Is Mr. Croft here?”
“Upstairs,” Alice said. “Why?”
For the first time since he’d entered, he looked at her. “You and I have business to discuss,” he spoke so quietly that only the three of them could have heard. “I wanted to ask your father for his permission to speak with you outside. Alone.”
She could put her hands around his throat and throttle him. At least he had the decency to once again avoid her gaze. “You’ve not been concerned about asking my father’s permission before this. Why start now?” She strode past the actors to the back door. “Well? What are you waiting for? Let’s go.” She left the tiring house without turning to see if he followed her.
He caught up to her outside. “I wanted to do the right thing,” he said with all the stiffness she’d come to expect from him.
“Why? You’ve not cared about doing the right thing before.”
She’d not thought it possible for his body to become even more rigid but he managed it. “That is an unfair accusation.” His brow lowered into a deep scowl. “I’ve never had any intention of doing anything without your father’s knowledge.”
“Oh? You wanted to inform him before you ravished me? How thoughtful of you. Although I’m not sure he’d thank you.”
His mouth twisted into a grimace. “I’d prefer not to discuss that incident, Mistress Croft.”
“By all means. Let’s sweep it out the door and forget about it.”
“Forget it?” He took a step closer and lifted his hand. She thought he would caress her cheek but he checked himself. Even so, the sheer force of his presence blew away her disappointment. “I can’t forget it,” he said, voice rumbling deep within his chest.
The tears that had never been far from her eyes all morning pooled again. She reached up and touched a fingertip to the cut on his lip. Air whistled between his teeth and he leaned into her hand. Just a little.
Then he stepped back. “We have to forget,” he whispered. “Have to.”
He cleared his throat and looked to the sky. It had begun to rain. Perhaps it had been raining the entire time. She didn’t know. All she knew for certain was that if she so much as breathed deeply her heart would shatter.
“Let’s find shelter,” he said, taking her hand. The soft leather of his glove was warm against her skin and she curled her fingers into his as he pulled her along.
When they reached the nearest inn, he let go and removed his gloves. He flexed the fingers that had been linked with hers then caught her watching him and stopped. He hailed the innkeeper and ordered ales.
There were few other patrons, it still being morning, and she and Warhurst sat on stools at a table near the fireplace. Soon their damp clothes were steaming and her fingers warmed up. She’d not grabbed her gloves before leaving.
“Cold?” he asked, reading her mind.
“Not anymore,” she said, staring at the flames so she didn’t have to look at him.
After a long silence during which a serving wench delivered their ales, he said, “I’m sorry. For a great many things but particularly for what happened between us at Blakewell House.” He cleared his throat. “I should have employed more control.”
She shot him a glance. He quickly looked away. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he took a sip from his tankard. “We both should have,” she said. That was all she would say. She would not apologize for something she’d enjoyed, something that had affected her so profoundly. Nor would she tell him she accepted his apology. For all his aloofness, she didn’t believe he was truly sorry for making love to her either. He’d certainly not shown any signs of being sorry that night, and it was that unguarded emotion that she trusted, not the mask he’d worn before and since.
“Good,” he said. “Now, Hawkesbury.”
So that was the end of that. She forced herself to concentrate on their other task. “We must remove the letter from Enderby’s possession,” she said. “The sooner we do that, the sooner this will be over.” And she would no longer have to endure Warhurst’s coldness toward her. She could proceed with the rest of her life.
“Yes,” he said, much louder than necessary considering she was sitting right near him. “I’ll confront Enderby today.”
“Confront him? No, you can’t! That’s much too…” Dangerous. “Foolish. Enderby is a blackmailer and that means he’s a slippery, conniving fox. We have to use more devious methods if we want that letter.”
Warhurst stared at her. “Devious.” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile. “That might work. Any ideas?”
Alice drummed her fingers on the table and stared at the flames dancing around a log. How did someone get into a house unnoticed? Who could move about a mansion without arousing suspicion?
A servant. Or a person of trade—like a seamstress. A plain one would be even better.
“I can do it,” she said.
“No.”
She told him of her plan. Even he, ox-headed as he was, should see the logic in it. There really was no other way.
But when she finished, he thumped his fist on the table, making the tankards jump. “No!”
“But—”
“I forbid it.”
She straightened. “You cannot forbid me to do anything.”
“I can in this. Lilly is my sister, this is my endeavor. We do it my way or I’ll do it alone.” He crossed his arms and rested them on the table. “In fact, I’ll do it alone anyway. I don’t want you involved in something so perilous.”
She crossed her arms too and leaned forward. “You are not cutting me out now, Warhurst. You asked for my help, remember.”
“I wanted you to spy on Hawkesbury and discuss ideas, not infiltrate Enderby’s household.”
“You can’t do this without me. You’re not the sort of person who can wander in and out of a house unnoticed, let alone Lord Enderby’s.”
“And you are?” He snorted. “Hardly.”
“I am a seamstress.”
“You might be a seamstress but unremarkable you are not.” A challenge leapt in his eyes, daring her to disagree.
Alice’s heart beat wildly against her ribs. “Nobody would take much notice of me if I said I was there to mend some clothes. I could pretend Lord Enderby has hired me to make something for his daughter.”
“It’s a foolish idea and it won’t work.” He held up his hand to stop her argument.
“Do you have a better idea then?” she asked. “Does it involve me?”
He sighed. “I admit I can’t think of a way of avoiding your involvement. But I will be there with you. I’ll keep you safe.”
She remembered how he’d kept her safe from Marlowe’s blade. Warhurst had held her close then, gently tended her wound, and used all his power to keep her from further harm. Then, as now, her skin tingled at the mere thought of his touch. “Tell me,�
�� she said on a rush of breath.
He’d been watching her lips with a dark intensity but when she spoke, he appeared to shake it off and concentrate once more. “We’ll need Enderby’s daughter’s help. You’ve met her—do you think she’d be willing?”
“Patience?” Alice chewed on her lip. “She loves Richard Farley enough to want to wed him and not Hawkesbury. I’m sure I can speak to her without raising the suspicions of anyone else in the household. What shall I tell her?”
“Tell her she’s invited a friend of a friend over for supper. Or better still, for the night. She can claim you are newly arrived in London and have not yet secured yourself accom-modation.”
“And you?”
“Enderby knows me. I can’t show my face to him, but if I can avoid him then I’ll—”
“No. If he knows you then it is too dangerous for you to come. I’ll go alone.”
“You will not! I’ll pretend to be your brother or cousin. If I keep out of his sight and we tell Patience to treat me as your kin then I’ll be safe.”
She shook her head. “It would be better if you were my groom, that way you could safely stay out of Enderby’s way. You could sneak out of the stables during the night and we can search the house together while everyone is asleep.” When he began to protest, she put up her hand. “It’s what I’m going to tell Patience so you might as well accept it. You do know how to act like a groom, don’t you?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I’m good with horses.”
She rolled her eyes. “You obviously haven’t spent much time around players. You must become a groom if this is to succeed. You’ll need to speak like one, walk like one, and dress like one. I can help you with that part. There’ll be a suitable costume at the tiring house. I’ll tell Father it needs mending and take it home with me tonight.” She smiled. This was beginning to sound like fun.
Warhurst, however, still looked like he wanted to argue with her. “And what about clothing for you?”
Her smile faded. “The clothes aren’t the problem. As to how I sound and walk…I will have to muddle through as best I can.”
