Unexpected Pleasures Page 11

  It was a small thing, yet it was the one way she might give something virtuous to Synclair.

  The privy council was sitting in open court for a rare change. It was also a reason for hushed voices and careful steps, lest any scuff draw their attention. They were powerful men, and many of them enjoyed using that authority for whatever pleased them or placed the highest profit in their hands. Sixteen of them sat at a pair of great tables, in fur-lined half coats and hats that twinkled with jewels. Ink wells were opened and quills sharpened by the secretaries who sat behind their masters. There was a rustle of parchment as the Earl of Hertford and Chancellor Wriothesley leaned their heads close together, discussing what case would be heard. They lifted different parchments, scanning their ink-stained surface for brief moments before continuing to whisper.

  Several women fingered the skirts of their gowns, waiting for their petitions to be judged. Many of them returned each month when the lords were meeting outside their sealed council chambers, and many of them would not be gaining the attentions of the privy councilors today either.

  There were others who waited with dread on their faces. These were the ones summoned to appear, and being summoned rarely resulted in any good news. The grand room filled with more nobles as the time for court came and went without the King showing himself.

  Edward Seymour tapped the top of the solid table and the chamberlain called the session to order.

  “Oyee, oyee, oyee. All give deference and heed to His Majesty’s most high councilors.”

  He lifted his staff and struck the floor three times before the bishop rose and began a prayer. The assembled courtiers all bowed their heads, obedient to the will of the King, that he was head of the Church. The bishop made the sign of the cross with his hand before sitting back down.

  Edward Seymour looked to the Chancellor and the man cleared his throat.

  “Lady Tows, daughter of the Baron Loewen. You shall appear before this noble court.”

  There was a soft step as a young woman glided forward. She was dressed very somberly, with an over-partlet covering the swells of her breasts. Her gown was made of modest black wool, a strand of pearls and silver beads her only vanity. Still, her appearance did not gain her any approval from the lords waiting to speak to her. She moved forward and lowered herself, remaining down for a long moment before rising and waiting for the Chancellor to address her.

  “Lady Tows, you wed without permission.”

  Justina watched the woman in question. Her lips were tight but she stood sure and straight before the Chancellor.

  “I am wed by my father’s command, my lord. I did not think to question if he had the right to direct me to go to the altar; no daughter should. I obeyed without question as I have been taught to do by the Church. My father stood at my side while I took my vows.”

  It was a polished response, one that half the women in the room might have given. Chancellor Wriothesley slapped the table in front of him.

  “You are a brazen jade, madam! That is what you are. Your groom was a Frenchman. As a noble, your father needed permission for you to wed, especially to a foreigner.”

  “My husband is dead, my lord Chancellor.”

  A ripple of whispers went through the men sitting at the tables. The Earl of Hertford leaned closer to the Chancellor and the man tilted his head to listen. His face turned red and his fingers looked as if they might carve grooves in the wooden top of the table.

  “Your father is indeed fortunate to be beyond the justice of this council. We understand there is issue from this union.”

  “Yes, my lords, I have a daughter.”

  More whispers crossed the assembled courtiers. More than one lord of the privy council frowned. A first-born daughter was indeed something that would be held against Mary Tows.

  “And your husband’s family, madam? Where are they?”

  Mary stiffened, her hands clasping one another in a hard grip.

  “Dead as well. It was the plague that took both my father and husband and many others. It is a blessing that I and my babe survived.”

  “I find it no such thing, considering your husband betrothed your daughter to a Scot, madam. In fact, he promised a good piece of English-held property to the man as well, a Laird McQuade I believe.”

  “Yes, my husband claimed the man was his friend.”

  A few of the lords struck the tabletop with their displeasure but the Chancellor held up a hand for silence.

  “Your father’s will is binding, but do not think that we shall yet find a means to undo this match your husband has drawn up for your daughter. For the time being, your daughter and you shall reside within this court with the Earl of Bridgewater as your guardian. You shall not have leave to depart, and mark my words well, madam, I expect that you will obey me since you claim to be an obedient daughter of the Church’s teachings.”

  Justina flinched as the chamberlain stamped the floor with his large white staff. As quickly as that, the fate of the woman and her daughter were sealed. The others waiting for their turn became ghastlier shades of gray. The Earl of Bridgewater was a newly created earl and the rumors surrounding him were dark. He watched his new ward with an expression that showed nothing of his personal feelings.

  Mary lowered herself before leaving the middle of the room and returning to her nurse and child. The baby reached for her mother, betraying the fact that Mary took care of her own child instead of leaving it to the nurse.

  “Oh, my sweet daughter. What will become of you?”

  Justina felt her temper burning hot once more. It was clear what Biddeford had wanted her to witness, another woman being denied any justice from the council. Her nurse patted her on the shoulder, attempting to comfort her.

  “They can’t break the will, my lady, and by the time she is old enough to wed, it might not be important any longer.”

  Mary turned bright eyes on her nurse. “England has forever loathed Scotland. I do not see that changing. Why could my husband not take his displeasure out upon me for giving him a daughter?” Tears began spilling down her cheeks. “To betroth our daughter to a Scot, that was more cruel than if he had killed me. I can never allow my sweet child to marry this Laird McQuade’s son.”

  Mary hugged her child tight and left the hall with her nurse trailing her. Justina watched them go and realized that she was not the only one who did so. Near the doorway, several other women watched the unfortunate girl with looks in their eyes of compassion. One of them reached out, capturing Justina’s hands within the folds of her skirts where no one might see. She offered a quick squeeze before releasing it.

  “At least she did not get Biddeford for a guardian.”

  Justina felt her eyes widen with shock. The woman was Bessie Portshire, a high-ranking woman in her own right. She had never spoken to her before. The girl was the daughter of the Duke of Portshire. As such, she was practically royalty, and her friendship was very coveted.

  Bessie leaned closer. “I know that your guardian is the monster who makes a mockery of his position to steward your estate. We all know because he is too arrogant not to brag about it.”

  Bessie reached out once more and captured her hand, tugging her to the hallway and away from the council.

  “My father likes the Baron Harrow well.”

  Bessie said no more but she looked both ways before continuing. “My father wants you to tell Lord Harrow that.”

  “That is welcome news, Lady Portshire.”

  “And you must call me Bessie henceforth. I don’t care what that toad of a guardian thinks to do with it, either. The men running this country are drunk on their own power. It sickens me.”

  “I know the sensation well.”

  Bessie smiled, displaying even teeth that were white and polished.

  “Good, and you may help me learn to be beautiful.”

  “Do not ask that, Bessie; beauty is a curse.”

  Bessie tilted her head and her dark hair shifted. “Being plain is not such a de
light either. It makes it pathetically simple to know that the men courting you are interested only in your father and dowry.”

  “I never considered that.”

  “Come, we shall spend the afternoon together and go to the masquerade tonight. I hear there is to be some fine entertainment.” Bessie laughed. “Anything would be better than watching the snow grow deeper. Besides, you can help me by telling me which of my suitors are lying about how devoted they are to me.”

  It was an outlandish thing to say and Justina laughed. She clamped a hand over her mouth but not before her laughter echoed between the hallway walls.

  Bessie smiled brightly. “See what fun we shall have? And I suspect it will annoy Biddeford as well.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  Her new friend frowned. “Because he is so often at my father’s table trying to gain a contract with me. He thinks I am a blind woman who does not see what he does to his own ward. As his wife, I’d fare no better, I think. I never talked to you because everyone whispers about you, but now I know better and I refuse to be anyone’s puppet. So let us go enjoy the party tonight. It will be so much better than waiting for another suitor to come calling.”

  Or waiting for Synclair to return. Justina looked out at the blanket of white laying over where the gardens had been. There was no trace of springtime left anywhere and she felt just as frozen. Bessie wouldn’t allow her to wallow in longings. The girl reached out and grabbed her hand before pulling her down the hallway.

  The Earl of Bridgewater was hosting the entertainment that evening but the man didn’t even make an appearance. That didn’t keep his guests from enjoying what his money paid for. Mary Tows greeted everyone in the place of her guardian. Music drifted down from the alcoves above the main floor. The air was filled with the scent of good food and wine. There were meat pies, made with dried fruit and costly spices. Small sweets decorated trays, each of them a miniature work of art. But there were no places set at the tables. Instead there were plump pillows, strewn on Persian carpets. There were low couches and chairs, but they were set in small groups. Candles cast their yellow glow around the room but there were not too many of them, giving the gathering an intimate feeling. Many of the corners were in shadow, allowing suitors to try their hand at wooing in hushed tones. The party was somewhat in defiance of the strict teaching of the Church but not quite so far removed from propriety to keep the better names from attending. There were flushed cheeks and a few gasps as ladies arrived, but they all remained.

  Bessie Portshire was true to her word. She walked in with Justina and remained by her side, even when that meant that the girl was pulling Justina to wherever she wanted to go.

  Justina didn’t argue; it had been too long since she had allowed her cares to slip off her shoulders. She smiled and sipped at the French wine while allowing her new friend to drag her along.

  “I wasn’t sure you knew how to smile, Justina.”

  She gasped and turned, only to have to tip her head up in order to set eyes on Synclair’s face. She had somehow forgotten just how much larger than herself the man was. Sensation rippled across her skin beneath her clothing. A soft recognition of him that seemed to be rooted deeply in her belly. His eyes settled on her lips, approval flickering in them.

  “But I say that a smile suits you very well.”

  “Thank you.” It was the expected response, the polite one, but the words were more sincere than any she had spoken that evening.

  “You are returned.”

  He took a step away from her but captured her hand and performed a low reverence before bending over to touch his lips to the back of her hand. She shivered, feeling that connection between their flesh all the way to her toes. Her breath was suddenly difficult to draw, and she heard her own heartbeat inside her ears.

  “You noticed, Lady. I shall enjoy knowing that.”

  Bessie turned to see who she was talking to and the girl giggled. She sank into a curtsy that made her silk skirts rustle. “Welcome back to court, Baron Harrow. Lady Justina missed you.”

  “Did she?”

  Justina turned wide eyes to Bessie but the girl only fluttered her eyelashes.

  “Yes, she never stopped talking about you.”

  “Bessie—”

  “Oh look, there is Lucy. I must go and ask her how her sister is.” With a rustle from her skirts, the girl went skipping across the room.

  Synclair waited until Bessie was far enough away before laughing. He pressed his lips together but she still heard him choking on his amusement.

  “Oh, stop it, Synclair. You know she was toying with you.”

  His eyes narrowed and his lips became more sensuous. “I would enjoy being toyed with by you, madam.”

  She had permission ...

  Her teeth bit into her lower lip while she contemplated the man in front of her. That thing she had longed for was hers, well, at least in part. She could choose to lie with him but only because she had Biddeford’s permission.

  Did it matter?

  Was there anything that truly mattered beyond gaining what she desired?

  Synclair reached out and used his thumb to pull her lip away from her teeth. He leaned close so that his voice reminded her of how it felt to lie next to him in bed.

  “So I shall ask you directly, Justina; did you miss me?”

  “I did.” Her voice caught in her throat and her cheeks burned in response. She gasped because it had been years since she had blushed. She hadn’t considered herself capable of such anymore.

  “Ah, there is the sweetest of testimonies.” He reached up and stroked one fingertip across her cheek. His eyes closed and she heard a sound that was almost a growl, but one born from enjoyment.

  “It’s warm in here.”

  “It is rather cold, and you are blushing for me.” He leaned closer, so that his lips were next to her ear and she felt his breath on her skin. “Pray have some mercy and do not offer me false pretenses for the moment. Your guardian is not here. Be honest with me, Justina, while we may.”

  “I have been truthful with you, in all things, and Biddeford has no need of being here. There are many who will tell him every detail of this evening.” She stepped away, so that she might see his face once again. A tremor was working its way along her limbs and she could not deny that he was the cause. Excitement was flowing through her veins like too much French wine.

  “No one will know what words you speak so close to me, so why not be honest?”

  She bit her lower lip once more but there was a flicker of expectation in his eyes that she wanted to be worthy of. That rebellion that her spirit had begun rose up proudly in the face of the way Synclair looked at her. He craved boldness from her because the warrior in him had not been forged in anything less than fire.

  “You are correct, Synclair.”

  “And you are blushing ... for me.” His tone became sharper. She could see the flare of his nostrils and smell the scent of his skin. All of her senses were suddenly aware of him.

  “If you must hear me say it, yes I am.”

  His lips curved up in victory. “I enjoyed hearing you admit it.”

  Her temper began to heat again. “You enjoy hearing me voice my admissions? Well, sir, here is one for you ...” She leaned forward so that her words were whispered against his ear. “The Viscount Biddeford has instructed me to lie with you upon your return to hear where you went and why.”

  Dread went through her, in a short and harsh motion, because she expected him to be repulsed by her words. Instead his hand wrapped around her wrist, his thumb slipping over the delicate skin in slow circles.

  “I find it difficult to believe that the man has said anything that I like hearing, and yet it is so.”

  Shock held her tongue frozen. Synclair drew his head back so that their gazes might meet and there was nothing teasing about his expression. His eyes were full of heat and determination.

  “But, I just told you that the man wants me to s
py upon you.”

  “I heard you.” He leaned closer and she saw more than one courtier notice. But he had captured her other hand and held it firmly, making it impossible to move away without struggling with him.

  “If Biddeford is fool enough to send you to my bed, I will be smart enough to take what is offered, even if I deplore him sending you to anyone’s bed. I find I am too weak to reject you for honor’s sake alone, even knowing that I should.”

  She was weak, too, her body beginning to warm with her rising excitement. The night seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of them but the look of distaste in his eyes was a sort of compliment. She didn’t know another man who would have cared how she came to his bed, only that she was there to please him.

  “Synclair, you know he only seeks to use me against you.”

  He lifted his head, showing her a smile that was cold and calculating. “Leave that to me. Walk with me, or I swear I will go and ask Biddeford for you since that is the man’s game.”

  It was a true threat, one that pulled her into a battle between Biddeford and Synclair. Yet her surprise came from the fact that it was Synclair threatening her now. Beneath his noble exterior was a hardened fighter who would do what was needed to win. If he asked for her, the viscount would know that she had been disobedient to his instructions. She had never thought to have Synclair bending her with Biddeford’s words.

  “Make your choice, Justina. Come now or watch me go and negotiate with your guardian for you.”

  He was sincere, she heard that in his tone and witnessed it in his eyes. He didn’t allow her any further time to debate her decision; he took one long step away from her, preparing to make good on his threat.

  Justina jumped, reaching for him, needing to pull him away from an action that would surely lead to trouble for them both. She felt trapped, her throat tightening. He turned instantly, her hand barely connecting with his before he captured her fingers and kept them inside his own hand.

  “I’m not sure if I like your choice or not, Justina. It might have been satisfying to face him. It is far past time to have this matter between us settled.”