Reunited at the King's Court

by Helen Dickson

  The darkening of his eyes, the naked passion she saw in their depths, seemed to work a strange spell on her and conquered her and, without knowing what she was doing, moving within his arms, her entire body began to tremble with desire and fear.

  ‘Are you going to kiss me again?’ she whispered.

  ‘Do you want me to?’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Please,’ she breathed.

  ‘And how many times have you been kissed?’

  ‘Just the once—by you. I’ve never met anyone else that I wanted to kiss me.’

  There was nothing she could do to still the quiver of anticipation as he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own. His lips were cool and surprisingly smooth as they brushed lightly against hers. The shock of his lips on hers was one of wild, indescribable sweetness and sensuality as he claimed a kiss of violent tenderness. She felt again the fierce thrill of being in his arms once more as she was half-sitting, half-lying across his lap. Her eyes fluttered closed and, for a few seconds, time ceased. She was totally innocent of the sort of warmth, the passion he was skilfully arousing in her, that poured through her veins with a shattering explosion of delight. It was a kiss like nothing she could have imagined. He kissed her with ardour and passion and she could think of nothing but the exciting urgency of his mouth and the warmth of his breath, the feel of the strong muscled body against her own. His hands glided restless, possessively, over her breasts, her waist, pressing her tightly to his hardened body. A jolt slammed through her as his lips began to move on hers, thoroughly exploring every tender contour.

  Half-stifled, her head reeling, she found herself imprisoned against his chest and there was little she could do to escape—not that she wanted to, for what she was feeling was beyond her imagination. As she trailed her hands up his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his jacket and sliding her fingers into the crisp hair at his nape, inside her an emotion she had never experienced before began to sweetly unfold, before vibrantly bursting with a fierceness that made her tremble. With a quiet moan of helpless surrender she clung to him, lost in the sweetness of overpowering surrender and immense and indescribable joy, devastated by what he was doing to her, by the raw hunger of his passion.

  William’s mouth left her lips and shifted across her cheek to her ear, his tongue flicking and exploring each sensitive crevice, then trailing back to her lips and claiming them once more. His kiss became more demanding, ardent, persuasive, a slow, erotic seduction, and Arlette became lost in a wild and beautiful madness.

  After what seemed an eternity they drew apart, stunned by the depth of feeling they had aroused in each other. Gazing at him, Arlette felt she would melt beneath his scorching eyes. Slowly she brought one of her hands from behind his neck and her finger gently traced the outline of his cheek, following its angular line down to his jaw. His gaze held hers with penetrating intensity. She had no immediate thoughts. She had only the memory of something immense, of incredible joy, beyond which nothing was comparable. Their breathing was rapid as they looked at each other as they had never looked before.

  ‘I never meant this to happen,’ William said softly, gazing passionately at her lovely face upturned to his, her raw emotions and feelings shining from her eyes.

  ‘No, I did not, either,’ she replied in a shaken whisper.

  ‘It seems that where you are concerned I can’t help myself. I want you, Arlette—you know that now—and I believe it’s the same with you.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, but we cannot do anything that would hurt Marian.’

  At the mention of Marian’s name a look of frustration mingled with guilt came over William’s face and, sighing, he turned from her and moved to sit across from her once more. All the softness had gone from his blue eyes, which were now hard, and when he spoke it was with precision.

  ‘I know. We would only hate and despise ourselves afterwards. I am betrothed to Marian and we cannot either of us forget that. I wish I could say that nothing else matters but us, but I can’t. There is such a thing as honour and decency. It would not be right. I could not do that to Marian—she does not deserve it. But what I feel for her has nothing to do with you and me. I know that I want you so much it’s sheer torture. I always believed I was strong where women were concerned, but with you it is different. I am so bewitched by you that if I am not careful it will poison what I feel for Marian and I cannot—must not—let it happen.’

  Arlette said nothing. She merely stared across at him, at the broad set of his shoulders and the anguish on his lean, handsome face. He had said he would not betray Marian, yet she was betraying him with another. She nodded sadly, eventually speaking in a soft whisper. ‘Yes, you are right. We must not let what we feel for each other interfere with your relationship to Marian.’

  His expression softened and he sighed on seeing the misery in her eyes. ‘At least we both understand what we have to do. But we cannot deny that whatever happens a spark has ignited between us, lighting a flame that is not going to be easy to extinguish—and who knows, we may not be able to. This is all so difficult for me. I didn’t just promise to take care of Marian, to make her my wife—her father made me her guardian. It was a position I did not ask for, did not even want, but there was no one else.’

  ‘And you gave him your word because you felt beholden.’

  ‘Something like that. I also did it for her sake. I am committed to her, Arlette.’

  Suddenly the coach came to a halt and, looking out of the window, William saw they had reached their destination without him realising earlier.

  ‘We have arrived,’ he said, leaning forward and opening the door. He turned and looked at her, coming down to earth from where her kisses had sent him. ‘I’m sorry it has to be this way, Arlette.’ Why had he behaved like that? he asked himself angrily as he helped her out of the coach. The fact was that, flushed with the heat inside the coach, her subtle perfume and her close proximity, she had looked so delectable and desirable that he had wanted her with a recklessness that he had been unable to control.

  Arlette looked at him mutely, her mouth tinder dry and her heart written all over her face. William’s eyes met hers, tortured, imploring silence, but every line of his face admitted that he understood the truth of what her eyes told him.

  ‘Worry not, William. I will not speak of it. What happened between us will remain just that.’

  William’s fingers tightened before he released her hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly, not trusting himself to say more or to remain with her any longer.

  By silent, mutual consent nothing else was said and Arlette braced herself for her meeting with Marian. She watched William climb back into the coach and it drive off and she thought her heart would burst with her emotions and a deep hurt. That was the moment she knew the hopelessness of despair, that while ever William was promised to Marian, what was in her heart must remain unspoken. But he had taken her in his arms and kissed her. Had she misread the signals that he cared for her after all?

  Chapter Six

  On seeing the coach arrive from the window, Marian came to the door. Her face was composed, pale, but her eyes were troubled. She hurried towards Arlette, taking her hands in her own and placing a welcoming kiss on her cheek. In her rose-pink gown decked with ribbons and bows and her fair hair flowing free about her shoulders, Arlette thought how pretty she was and how young she looked as she searched for signs of a likeness to herself. With their fair hair and blue eyes, there was a resemblance.

  ‘Arlette! I am so glad you have come to see me. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to it, how much I appreciate it.’ Her eyes went beyond her to the departing coach. ‘Why did William not come in? He brought you here, didn’t he? I saw him help you out of the coach.’

  ‘Yes, Marian, he did. He will return in a short while to take me home. He told me you have not seemed yourself of late and that my visit might chee
r you.’

  ‘Oh, it will. Of course it will. But come into the parlour and we will talk. Mrs Cracken will bring us some refreshment.’

  She led the way into a comfortably furnished room with a fire burning bright in the hearth despite the warm weather. A brown-and-white spaniel ran forward to greet them, wagging its tail happily.

  ‘This is Toby,’ Marian said, scooping the little dog up into her arms and burying her face in its soft fur as it wriggled frantically. ‘William gave him to me in Bruges. I adore him and he doesn’t like it when we are parted. Do you have a dog, Arlette?’

  ‘We have dogs at Oaklands House and a fair number of cats to catch the mice, but they belong to us all. He’s a fine pet, Marian.’

  Marian put him in his basket and gave Arlette her full attention. ‘You look concerned, Arlette. Have you something on your mind?’

  There was a fascinating charm to Marian that drew people to her. Despite the fact that she was betrothed to William, Arlette’s opinion of her had not changed. She liked Marian—although it would have been easier for her if she didn’t—but it was difficult not to like someone who exuded so much warmth and friendliness. She did note that the sparkle that she had seen in her that day at Whitehall Palace had gone—little wonder William was concerned about her. She had agonised over whether or not to tell Marian that she knew about her close friendship to James. Should she speak to her, tell her what she had seen at Whitehall? Her body recoiled from the thought of such a confrontation but, unable to stand by and do nothing, she decided that is what she would do.

  ‘Yes, yes, I have. I am anxious about you. It concerns you, Marian; you and James Sefton.’

  Marian stared at her, aghast. ‘Me and James? Why? What about us?’

  ‘It is not my intention to pry, but I have good reason. I saw you with James at Whitehall Palace. I saw the way you greeted each other. I got the impression that you were more than friends.’

  Marian blanched. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘I accompanied James to the Palace that day. Do you deny you have feelings for him?’ Arlette asked gently.

  Marian looked mortified. As she collected her thoughts it was a moment before she spoke. ‘Oh, what must you have thought of me? No. I do not deny it—I cannot. Has—has James spoken of this to you?’

  ‘Yes, he has.’

  ‘And William?’

  Arlette shook her head. ‘William doesn’t know,’ she was quick to assure her. ‘But he should. He does not deserve to be played false.’

  Marian’s eyes flew to Arlette’s in alarm. ‘No, he doesn’t, but he mustn’t know. You can’t tell him.’

  ‘Rest assured, Marian, I won’t say a word to him. It is not my place. But if your feelings for James surpass those you feel for William, then he must be told.’

  Marian shook her head. She looked quite desperate. ‘I can’t tell him,’ she uttered wretchedly.

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ Arlette said slowly. ‘If you love someone else, then why don’t you want to be with him?’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ she said earnestly, ‘so very much. I met James in Bruges at a time when I needed a friend. We were attracted to each other from the start and after a while we couldn’t bear to be apart. Because I was betrothed to William, I couldn’t tell anyone about him, so when we could snatch some time together I wanted to capture every precious moment so that I could relive it when he wasn’t there. William has been so good to me. This will hurt him terribly.’

  ‘I’m sure he will understand, Marian, and consider your happiness above all else.’

  ‘My father wanted me to marry William so much—he was determined that I would—and William has been so good to me. He promised my father he would take care of me and he has kept his word. But, oh, Arlette,’ she cried tearfully, ‘you don’t know what it has been like these past months, having no one I could talk to. No one.’

  ‘Marian, listen to me,’ said Arlette, reaching out and gripping her arms, looking hard into her eyes in an attempt to force some sense into her. ‘You must tell William. James is quite miserable, thinking you don’t love him enough to leave William.’

  ‘But I do,’ she cried.

  Arlette’s heart went out to her. Taking both her hands in hers, she drew her down on to the sofa, facing her. There was a long drawn-out silence as both were fighting an internal battle. Finally Arlette made a decision—not one she had been intending to make just now, but she thought that perhaps this was the right moment.

  ‘Forget about William and James for a moment. I have something to tell you—something that affects us both and persuaded me to speak out about what I know about you and James. It will come as a surprise and will be a shattering experience for you, so please listen to what I have to say.’

  ‘Why, Arlette, what on earth is the matter?’

  ‘The day we met at Whitehall Palace I—I felt that I knew you. For some strange reason you seemed familiar. I couldn’t explain it and put it from my mind. But now I know there was a reason for it. When I was a child and William brought me to London I learned shortly afterwards that my father had died. The only family I had left was Thomas, my half-brother, who had been taken prisoner to Barbados after Worcester, and Hester, my half-sister. When their mother died and Father married again, I was born not long after. I do not remember my mother—I was told she died giving birth to my sister, who also died. Not until recently did Hester tell me that what I had been told was a lie, that my mother did not die and that she and my sister could still be alive.’ Still holding one of Marian’s hands she looked at her. ‘What do you know of your mother, Marian? You see, my mother’s name before she married my father was Nesbit—the same as yours. It did not escape my notice that you did not take your father’s name.’

  Marian stared at her. ‘Arlette—what are you saying? You think we are sisters?’

  Arlette nodded. ‘Half-sisters.’

  Totally bemused, Marian shook her head slowly, trying to comprehend what it might mean. ‘Please, you must tell me everything.’

  Arlette did, often stumbling over her words, at times driven to tears, but she did not fall silent until she had told Marian everything she knew.

  ‘What a terrible thing your father did,’ Marian whispered, deeply affected by what she had been told. ‘Our mother must have been terribly unhappy to turn to my father.’

  ‘She probably was. That I will never know. It was the beginning of the conflict in England and my father spent a good deal of his time away from home, often for long periods, as did a lot of men at that time. But he was not a bad man, Marian.’

  ‘But not so nice if it made our mother turn to someone else.’

  ‘He was principled and proud, and according to Hester he could not forgive our mother her betrayal. When I was a child I would ask about her, wanting so much to know what she was like—anything would have been nice—but no one would speak of her. At the time I thought it was because my father had loved her so much that it hurt him to speak of her. Sadly, that was not the case.’ Arlette felt heavy-hearted for a moment when she thought of herself growing up without her mother. ‘I feel envious of you.’

  Marian glanced at her with a look of genuine surprise on her face. ‘You envy me? Why?’

  ‘I envy the fact that when I thought I’d lost my mother, all the time she was with you.’

  ‘But she never stopped loving you, Arlette. She wouldn’t.’

  Arlette smiled sadly. ‘Maybe not. I still wish she hadn’t left me. I didn’t even know her name before she married my father until Hester told me. That was when I knew without doubt that you are my half-sister, born two years after me.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘I am so sorry that she died. I would like to have known her. You were fortunate to have her guidance when you were a child. You will have to tell me about her.’

  ‘I will. I will tell you everything. But how she must have suffere
d for so long in silence, thinking of the little girl she had left at Mayfield Hall. It must have broken her heart to leave you behind. It saddened me that my parents never married. I didn’t know why, they were devoted to each other.’

  ‘My father died just after Worcester. She would have been free to marry again.’

  ‘Yes, if she had known. If she had found out, I am sure they would have married when they reached France, but she became ill on the crossing and died soon after that.’ Marian smiled, a softening entering her eyes, which were awash with unshed tears. ‘You and I are not unalike in some ways and you are very much like our mother. I can see that now. In spite of her folly she was a loving person, gracious and gentle. Now we have found each other we will not be parted again.’

  ‘And William? Will you tell him about James, Marian? He knows something is wrong. It is only a matter of time before he finds out for himself. Have you forestalled your marriage vows?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Are you and James lovers?’ Marian’s face suffused with colour and she lowered her eyes. Arlette knew that she had. She sighed. ‘Oh, Marian, what is to be done?’

  The unhappy Marian shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘And not only that—I am with child.’

  The silence that followed was thick between them. There was no suitable response to this and there was no time to ponder as William had returned and chose that moment to enter the room.

  * * *

  Two pairs of blue eyes turned towards William when he pushed open the door. They looked slightly shocked and was it tears that brightened Marian’s eyes? He was puzzled by it, but pretended not to notice.