* * *
William observed the effect Arlette was having on the King—a man renowned not only for his exalted position, but also for his love of women. He took his love where he could find it. When William saw the King look back at Arlette and observed the slow smile of appreciation on his fleshy lips as he looked at her and the way his eyes swept over her, absorbing every delectable aspect of her slender form, his gaze lingering overlong on the tantalising display of creamy flesh above the bodice of her gown, he experienced a new, shattering pain. For by this very deed the King had given him cause for jealousy and made him regret bringing Arlette to Court.
William looked down at her lovely upturned face, feasting his eyes on those glorious twin orbs of blue-green. ‘I know. How can he forget such a pretty face?’ he murmured dryly, quoting the King. In spite of the deep friendship that existed between the King and himself, he had not been able to quell the rush of resentment and jealousy rising inside him when Charles had looked at her with obvious interest.
Arlette, with a start of surprise, gave him a look of exquisite pleasure, her eyes shining like jewels. ‘With so many handsome ladies at his Court, William, I am sure he will.’ She laughed happily. ‘When I came here today I did not for one moment think I would be introduced to Charles Stuart himself.’
‘Then you will have plenty to tell Hester when you return home.’
* * *
Arlette was self-consciously aware of the rush of attention she had aroused and it was with immense relief when the King moved on and attention was focused elsewhere. But she could see that she was not the only one who had drawn the eyes of everyone present. Attired in a rich dark blue velvet coat slashed with gold, with lace at his throat and wrists and his breeches of matching blue velvet, William looked quite splendid. His commanding presence was awesome and there were far too many ladies looking at him like predatory felines. A blinding streak of jealousy suddenly ripped through her and she had to remind herself that he didn’t belong to her but Marian, who was engrossed in conversation with James Sefton across the room.
‘Everyone was looking at us,’ she whispered.
William looked down at her upturned face, feasting his eyes on those glorious green eyes. ‘I am aware of that. And if you have any sense at all, Arlette, you will think twice about spending much of your time at Court where you will have every lord who is not in his dotage panting after you.’
An unconsciously provocative smile broke across her lips. ‘Are you worried that I might encourage them?’
‘Should I be?’
‘Not at all, although I am quite certain that Marian would be should you be tempted to succumb to one or more of those lovely ladies whom I observe are looking at you as if you are their next meal.’
‘That is very astute of you, Arlette,’ he complimented quietly, ‘but there is absolutely no fear of that.’
The music had ceased when the King entered the chamber. Finally, having acknowledged those he chose to speak to, he gave a signal and the music swelled once more. The King, with a large capacity for amusement and settled into a routine—although no Act of Parliament could wipe out twenty years of civil strife—certainly knew how to enjoy himself.
His character and personality were as glittering as the rings on his fingers. Partnered by Barbara Palmer, the imperious man danced the stately and graceful parade of a coranto with other couples, his black eyes alight with pleasure and his lips parted in happy laughter.
Arlette was amazed by everything she saw. She was as one hypnotised. ‘Why, I cannot believe that such flamboyant intimacy with the King is allowed.’
Marian, who joined them at last, laughed. ‘It often oversteps the bounds of decency. It is a hotbed of intrigue where courtiers vie for supremacy and for some, who have fallen from grace, insecurity becomes a fact of life.’ She looked at James when he came to stand beside them. ‘See, William, people are taking their places for another coranto. Arlette, you must dance with William.’
‘If she is willing,’ William murmured, his bright eyes offering a challenge, daring her to refuse.
Arlette suspected Marian had made the suggestion so that she could dance with James, but at that moment she was too happy to care what mischief Marian got up to. An unconsciously provocative smile broke across her lips and her eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Why, yes, I would like to dance—although I am sadly out of practice and will no doubt make a complete fool of myself, if not both of us.’
William laughed. ‘I’m willing to risk it if you are. Come, let us take our place.’
William took her hand and led her on to the floor.
‘I can see you are enjoying yourself, Arlette. Are you glad you came?’
‘Yes, immensely. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.’
As they danced she’d kept her eyes directed in front of her, amazed that no one had seen the deep and abiding feelings she carried in her heart for William, for she was convinced it shone like a visible light from her eyes each time she looked at him and as she spoke his name.
* * *
When the dance ended Arlette was immediately surrounded by an admiring coterie of young bucks and she danced with several. They complimented her outrageously, vying with each other for her attention. Arlette could not fail to be aware of her growing popularity and looked to see if William was aware of it also. With immense satisfaction she saw he was, for he was scowling darkly.
Knowing this would be the one and only time she would attend the Court, with the musicians blowing and strumming, round and round she went with an energy that left her breathless. Her behaviour was daring, but she didn’t care. For once in her life she wanted to be daring, perhaps even a little shocking, and this might be her only chance. She had the rest of her life for regret.
The room was a blur of colour and noise as she danced. She was tantalising and gay, claiming the attention of all the gentlemen, who appeared to have lost interest in the other wilting young ladies. She loved the atmosphere and the raw, pulsing energy that seemed to emanate from the King himself. The restraints that had been forced on her during the years of the Commonwealth broke free, as she felt the fierce thrill of the Court. She chatted, she laughed and she danced, for the first time in her life aware of herself and the enormous power of her attraction over the gentlemen of the Court.
* * *
With his shoulder propped against a pillar, William idly sipped his wine, his dark brows drawn together in thoughtful concentration as he watched Arlette being led by the hand by her partner into a quickly forming circle as couples merged together. The steps were simple enough to follow as she began to demonstrate her talents and abilities in time with the music, doing a sprightly jig or a tapping of a toe and heel as she moved around in a never-ending wheel of cavorting dancers, her smiling face evidence of the pleasure she was savouring. So engrossed was he in watching Arlette that he failed to see what was going on around him—in particular he failed to notice how many dances Marian, who had a fondness for amusement, danced with James Sefton.
Tonight Arlette looked different. She was not attired in a fantastic gown, nor was she decked out in diamonds and rubies, but there was an aura about her, an inner light that gave her more lustre than diamonds. She was like a superbly crafted gem that shone with a radiance that put every other woman present in the shade.
William stood with his associates, idly conversing with them. His smile and words were for them, but the hot glint in his eyes rarely left Arlette. They dwelt on her as she bent her head to listen to something her partner said to her. He became distracted by the curve of her mouth, the soft swell of her pouting bottom lip and the curve of the upper one. He found himself wanting to press his mouth to hers, to follow its shape with the tip of his tongue—as he had when he had kissed her.
Heat burned in his blood. This was madness! Why did he torment himself like this? He didn’t know how long he could s
tand being near her and nothing could assuage the guilt he felt for thinking of Arlette when he should have been thinking of Marian. His heart and his mind understood the harsh reality that, while he was betrothed to Marian, there could never be anything between them, but his mind tormented him with the same insatiable desire he’d always felt. Drinking deeply of his wine, he tried to cast the sensations away. Casting his glance about the chamber at the merrymaking courtiers, he looked for Marian, asking himself what it was about Arlette that made him momentarily blind to his betrothed.
* * *
And then it was over. William decided it was time that Arlette went home. When he sought her out and drew her aside she thought he wanted to dance with her again and her face fell when he told her he was taking her home.
‘It is time already?’ she said incredulously, for already another young lord was taking her hand to dance. ‘But it’s still early.’
‘It is time, Arlette.’
Arlette’s eyes flamed rebelliously and for an instant she thought of refusing, but thought better of it. Smiling sweetly at her partner, she watched him reluctantly walk away. ‘Do we really have to go so soon?’
‘Yes. I promised Hester I would have you home just after dark. Best not to get on the wrong side of her.’
Accompanying him out of the chamber, Arlette swallowed down her disappointment, aware of the whispers following them. Colour flamed in her cheeks. She felt like a little girl who had misbehaved and was being taken home by a cross parent. Marian didn’t seem to mind leaving. Inside the coach as it bumped on its way she chatted constantly.
‘You were clearly enjoying yourself, Arlette. You must come again.’
‘Yes, I did enjoy myself, Marian. I can’t believe that I’ve met the King. Thank you both for taking me. It is something for me to remember when you have retired to Warwick.’
Marian took her hand and laughed. ‘But we’re not going just yet, Arlette. Why, you must come with us again to Court, is that not so, William?’
William remained silent as Marian continued to chatter away. Arlette caught his eyes in the light from the coach lamps. Neither of them listened to what Marian was saying. Arlette thought of the past few hours in which she had existed in a state of wonderment, reaching a peak of happiness, and she could think of nothing else. She felt that she was poised on a pinnacle of her life and she didn’t want to look back or forward. Life had suddenly become a glorious adventure and she knew that nothing could ever be the same again.
* * *
When Arlette awoke the following morning she felt refreshed and, though she might have been imagining it, it seemed that the atmosphere of the house had changed—a change brought about by the forthcoming child. Hester had been in bed when she had arrived home with William and Marian. She had gone to say goodnight to Hester, giving her a detailed account of her time at Whitehall Palace. Hester listened in awe as she told her of her introduction to the King and made no secret of the fact that she would like to have seen him for herself.
There was no communication from William the day after her visit to Whitehall Palace so Arlette tried to put it from her mind as she devoted herself to reducing Hester’s workload.
* * *
One thing she did not expect was that Sir Ralph would call on her. It was mid-afternoon and Arlette was alone in the house—Hester was taking a short walk with Mary by the river. Arlette felt the hairs in the nape of her neck rise and was tempted not to let him in, but he stepped past her into the hall. He made no move to approach her, but his expression was taut with anger as he seemed to be struggling with some inner turmoil. Despite the repugnance he inspired in her, Arlette forced a smile to her face.
‘Sir Ralph! You take me by surprise. If it is Hester you are here to see, she is walking by the river.’
‘It isn’t. It is you I am here to see. I heard you went to Whitehall Palace. Oh, yes,’ he snarled when her breath quickened with alarm. ‘I may despise the King and all he stands for, but I have connections at Court who could not wait to enlighten me as to your dalliance with Lord Latham—how the two of you shared an amorous interlude hidden from view—and that “oh, so noble gentleman” betrothed to another.’
Arlette felt a frisson of fear and alarm. There was something intimidating about him that she did not like, something almost predatory. Never had she seen his eyes burn with so much wrath as they did at that moment when he fixed them on her accusingly, feeding on his own righteous rage. But what had occurred between William and herself was their affair and she would not discuss it with Sir Ralph.
‘I do not advise you to go there again,’ he said, his voice silky smooth and Arlette took a step back, sensing a threat. ‘You slut,’ he hissed. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t hear of it—you, the woman I have offered marriage to, attending that palace of wantonness and debauchery, flaunting your charms for all to see. Succumbing to the temptation to go there, you have gone over to the side of the devil.’ His eyes travelled over her with contempt. Her uncovered hair shone brazenly in the light from the windows and her high, firm breasts were sinfully exposed above the scooped neckline of her dress. ‘Have you learned nothing in the past ten years? I cannot rejoice in the return of Charles Stuart as you seem to do and I will not have my future wife associating with his adherents—flaunting yourself like a strumpet at the line of strutting peacocks.’
Arlette was momentarily shocked into paralysis by his aggressive behaviour, but then she forced herself to face up to him. ‘It wasn’t like that. I think you may be letting yourself be influenced by a purely personal resentment, Sir Ralph. I know you have no liking for Royalists and do not welcome their return. But they are here and there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it.’
Sir Ralph glared at her, his small eyes glittering hard, then, gripping her arm in a pincer-like grip, words began to spill from his lips as though a long pent-up dam had suddenly burst.
‘You can’t say I haven’t been patient—waiting for you to come to me to tell me you will be my wife, wanting you. You torment me, do you know that?’ he snarled, his grip tightening on her arm. ‘Has that damned Latham turned your head—or is it Sefton? What will you do? Sell yourself for rubies and a place at Court? Is that why you went to Whitehall? To do that—to see him—Lord William Latham? I’ve seen you together. If you think he will marry you, then think again. He’s close to the King and already taken. He’s not going to wed some beggarly Puritan mercer’s sister-in-law.’
Appalled, Arlette stared at him. ‘How dare you say that to me?’
‘I dare, Arlette,’ he growled savagely, making full use of his threatening gaze.
‘I think you have said quite enough. I think you had better go.’
‘I will leave when I am ready. Has he told you that he loves you? Is that it? And are you fool enough to believe it?’ He eyed her insultingly. ‘No doubt his years of exile have been spent in debauchery, telling every woman he beds that he loves them—until the next pretty face comes along. What do you have to say for yourself?’
Something of the venom in his tone penetrated Arlette’s mind. His arrogance and the injustice of the accusations he was flinging at her stirred her ire and her eyes flared. ‘Nothing to you. Nothing at all.’
‘Oh, but you will—when you are my wife. Refuse me and I will expose Latham as the philanderer he is. His reputation will be ruined and his intended shamed by it. But that will be nothing to what your family will suffer. Mark my words, Mistress Dryden, they will bear the brunt of it. Think about that when you turn to him.’
‘Please leave, Sir Ralph,’ Arlette said, hating the way her voice trembled. ‘I have nothing further to say to you. Now please take your hand off my arm. You are hurting me.’
‘I will, when it pleases me,’ he said, thrusting his face close to hers, spittle foaming on his lips. ‘I am not your servant to order about. You have made a fool of me—a laughing stock. Everyone ha
s watched me drooling after you like a lovesick dog. You may congratulate yourself on being the first woman to do that—you will certainly be the last. If you refuse me, then you can be assured I will make you pay for what you are doing to me. I will find you when you have only one path to take—and that will be past me.’
His warning sent icy shards of dread shivering through every fibre of Arlette’s being, causing her heart to leap in sudden fear. She expected further argument and was surprised when he released her arm and stalked out of the door. She was left shaken by the encounter as she stood and rubbed her painful arm, and very much afraid that he would carry out his threat he had made concerning William, which added even more pressure on her as she agonised over keeping secrets from him.
Looking round, she saw Hester standing in the doorway, a stricken expression on her face.
‘You heard what he said, Hester?’
She shook her head. ‘Not all of it. He is angry, Arlette, and impatient with waiting for your reply to his offer.’
‘Offer? If I do not marry him, he will expose William as a philanderer—and he told me that you and Richard will suffer for it. What did he mean by that, Hester? Has he some hold over you? Is that it?’
Hester nodded. ‘Yes, it is true. Richard is in his debt, but I beg you not to ask me any more. We will speak to Richard when he returns.’
‘I have no wish to marry Sir Ralph, Hester. I cannot sustain living with such a man. There must be some way out of this.’
* * *
Arlette’s heart was filled with dread in anticipation of discussing the matter of Sir Ralph with Richard when he returned home from his journey to the Midlands. He arrived the following day. She waited until the three of them were together. Hester had already told him that she was with child and he was elated. Arlette regretted having to mar his homecoming.
Reunited at the King's Court Page 10
