He seemed truly insulted, and she said, “I did read the words at first, but the Song of Solomon is one of Sir Danny’s favorite parts of the Bible. I’ve heard him quote it to every ladybird he’s courted.”
Raising himself, he leaned over her. “I ought to punish you.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she asked with anticipation, “How?”
“By getting up and putting on my clothes.”
Action followed his words, and she sighed in gusty disappointment.
“Serves you right,” he said, plucking one of his hose off the candelabra, one off the bookshelf. “To so deceive me.”
Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her bare knees. “His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh.”
“Flattery will not replace you in my good graces.” He pulled his waistcoat out from under the desk, and his doublet off the rod that supported the tapestry.
“His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl: his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires.”
Looking down at his flat stomach, he declared, “There are no sapphires on my belly.”
“A little lower, ’tis as hard as sapphires.”
He threw her shift at her head. “Put your clothes on, woman, and stop trying to tempt me.”
Dragging the shift away from her face, she quoted, “His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.” Standing, she slowly shimmied into the shift.
He watched and proved himself ready as a stallion, but he ignored his condition. Undaunted, he found her skirt and bodice stuffed under the chair and tossed them at her, and she wasn’t surprised. Tony might appear to be nothing more than lively and handsome, but she knew without a doubt his loyalties ran deep. He would go when his queen called, and for her he would shed each drop of his blood.
Did his loyalties to his queen run deeper than his loyalties to her? She didn’t know, nor did she want to know. Did her loyalty to Sir Danny run deeper than her loyalty to Tony? She didn’t know, and she couldn’t bear to seek the answer.
As Tony lifted his shirt off the bronze andiron, she realized one sleeve hung in black tatters. It had fallen too close to the fire and smoldered.
He looked at her. She looked at him. She tried to contain her amusement, she really did, but when he glared a snigger escaped her. She covered her mouth, but it was too late. Tossing the shirt away, he donned his waistcoat and doublet, found his canions beneath the edge of the rug and pulled them on.
He held his hose in his fist and glanced around, and she asked, “Looking for these?” She dangled his garters.
“Give them to me.”
“Certes.” She grinned. “When you come and get them.”
His eyes narrowed, and he considered her. “I see I have been led astray by a temptress.” Approaching her with the dexterity of a duelist, he reached for the garters, but she put them behind her back. “A temptress,” he repeated, and caught her around the waist. Smiling, he kissed her. Kissed her until her mind clouded with a fog as thick as the mist outside. As he drew back, she opened her eyes.
“Steady?” he asked, and when she nodded, he snatched his garters and stepped away. His shoes he retrieved from two separate corners of the room, and he watched her suspiciously as he finished dressing.
“You’re looking rather rumpled,” she observed.
“Good enough for the queen’s messenger,” he answered. Fully clothed, he came to her and lifted her chin. She pursed her mouth and closed her eyes, but he chuckled. “Nay, I can have no more of that this morning, or Her Majesty would have to wait.”
Pouting, Rosie opened her eyes. “Then she’ll wait.”
He shook his head. “She was furious when she ordered me from court, and if she sends me a message now, it can mean only one thing. She needs someone she can trust, and she needs him desperately. ’Tis I, Rosie, and I’ll go to her at once.”
“You’ll do what you must, and I send you gladly,” Rosie said. “But the queen treasures you for more than your reliability, I think. Don’t forget to come back.”
“How can I?” He stroked her cheek and pushed back her hair as if he had to touch her. “We were lucky before, but this time you are surely carrying my child. I take full responsibility for the time in my bedroom, Rosie, but I recognize a seduction when I see one, and last night you seduced me.”
“You were in a weakened state,” she said solemnly.
He reared back in indignation. “Weak? Cotzooks, a man would have to be a gelding to ignore—” He saw the twinkle in her eye, and cuffed her softly on the chin. “When we’re wed, I promise always to be so weak.” She said nothing, and he said anxiously, “We must wed, and wed before I leave. Will you so agree?”
She thought of her childhood dream—to move an audience to laughter and tears. She thought of her new dream—to possess Odyssey Manor all on her own. Then she thought of the dream she’d never dared to dream—to have a family, a place to put down roots, and a man to grow old with. With Tony, that dream could come true, and in such generous portions she knew her self blessed. Did she carry Tony’s child? She hoped so. She prayed so. And she would marry him regardless.
He must have read her reply in her face, for he picked her up and swung her around. “I’ll call for Parson Selwyn at once. We’ll wed this evening after supper, and I’ll leave in the dawn.” Putting her down, he kissed her hands and walked to the door. “You do me too much honor. And for God’s sake, woman, brush your hair. You look like a wanton.”
Her hair? She touched the tangled locks. She stood clad in a shift, and he thought her hair looked wanton?
Opening the door just a slit, he blew her a kiss.
“Wait!” she cried, remembering her other worries.
Looking like a felon awaiting sentencing, he stepped back into the room. “Aye?”
“When you go to London, will you take me with you?”
“Not if there’s danger, as I suspect there must be.”
“Is there not danger here, where arrows fly through the air and rocks drop from the sky?”
“Aye, that is why I’ll ask my sisters to take you with them when they leave.”
She sucked in a breath of dismay. “Leave Odyssey Manor, and go to some foreign place where Sir Danny cannot find me?”
A strange expression crossed his face, and he looked almost ill. She hadn’t been tactful, she realized, but she didn’t want to leave Odyssey Manor, not without Tony—because of Sir Danny, and because this place had become a haven. “I’ll know no one,” she faltered.
“You’ll know Jean and Ann, and I imagine Lady Honora will go, too. You’ll meet my brother and his family, and my father.”
Although she understood Tony’s concern, she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to meet more strangers, be left alone again.
“I would be more at ease,” he said, “if you would go.”
“You must promise me one thing.”
He relaxed. “Anything.”
“You must promise you will find Sir Danny and keep him safe.”
Something changed in him. He seemed intense, quiet, determined. “I had already resolved to do that.”
She thought he wanted to say something else. She waited, obscurely anxious, while he struggled to speak. “In the short time I knew him, I realized how precious Sir Danny is to you. You have the heart of a lion, and if Sir Danny were in danger, I know you would go rescue him.”
“Certes, I would.”
Her fervency seemed to answer a question in his mind, and he said, “I can do no less.” Keeping his hands to his sides, he leaned over her and kissed her mouth. “Lady Rosalyn, you honor me by accepting my proposal. I’ll do everything in my power to be worthy of you, to make ours a happy union. Do you believe me?”
She liked the way his hands half rose as if he wanted to pull her close again. She wanted to wipe the troubled expressi
on from his face. She wanted to reassure him of her love. But how did one express love? Sir Danny had never said he loved her, although she knew he did. Uncle Will’s characters expressed love eloquently, but somehow she thought she should be original. She struggled to say something, something wonderful, but by the time she’d found the words, he’d slipped out.
She looked at the door until she was sure he wouldn’t return, then used the ancient words so many people had used before her. “His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.”
So she was to be married, and married to Tony. Most women would be jubilant, but what did a former actor-gypsy know about marriage? She wasn’t jubilant, she was worried.
She laughed softly. Who was she trying to chicane? She was jubilant. Singing an off-key, off-color ballad, she dressed in her wrinkled gown and looked for her shoes and hose. She couldn’t find either, but it wasn’t the shoes that concerned her. She’d found the red silk hose in one of the old trunks she’d explored, and she knew without consulting anyone that they were wicked and likely to tempt a man. Perhaps Lady Sadler had used them to entice Lord Sadler. Perhaps they’d made love in this very study.
She glanced around and shivered.
Spooky, to think of the long dead making love, maybe making a baby…maybe making her.
She shivered again. Silk hose. She wanted her silk hose. They were rare commodities, and were hidden, no doubt, somewhere beneath the papers strewn across the floor. With a sigh, she picked up a pile of papers and set them on the desk. Then another pile, then another. While she worked, she entertained herself by reading a word here, a word there. Then she tried whole sentences, then whole letters.
The urgency of the correspondence captured her interest first. Here at Odyssey Manor, Tony seemed like nothing more than a country gentleman of leisure. But she held proof he was more than that. He was the master of the Queen’s Guard, and a man named Wart-Nose kept him constantly apprised of any threat to the safety of the kingdom.
Rosie recognized many of the names of the trouble-makers who roamed the streets. The theater attracted that sort.
But the more she straightened Tony’s office, the more she came upon the names of Essex and Southampton. Tony had been watching them before she and Sir Danny had come to the estate, and his efforts doubled after their arrival—after Sir Danny had told him what they’d heard, she supposed. She avidly read the letters containing their names, finding the words difficult at first. Her fascination helped her comprehend more, and quickly.
Since she’d left London, the situation had disintegrated. Essex House proved a magnet for every dissatisfied subject of Her Majesty, and with Southampton’s encouragement, Essex himself raged like a madman against the queen.
As the letters became current, she read eagerly, looking for one specific name. Looking for Sir Danny.
And she found him—in Newgate Prison, condemned to death for treason against the queen.
Nay, she must have read the letter wrong. Her skill must be at fault. Sir Danny couldn’t be in the Tower. He couldn’t be condemned to death. If something so dreadful had happened, Tony would tell her. He wouldn’t keep such news from her.
Would he?
Taking the paper to the window, she held it close to her face and slowly read it again. She lowered it and closed her eyes.
It was true. Sir Danny had gone to Whitehall Palace, given up a letter of recommendation from Tony, demanded to speak to the queen, and had been taken by Essex’s men. With a little political finagling, Essex had managed to have Sir Danny declared a traitor and condemned to death. An effective way—indeed, the only way—to quiet Sir Danny.
With a whimper, Rosie dropped to her knees, crushing the letter as if that would crush the villains who had taken him. Sir Danny would die. No one could save him now. The torturers of Newgate Prison were famed for extracting a confession. Closing her eyes, she dropped the letter and clutched her stomach. Sir Danny was famed for fearing pain. He would confess to anything, and he would hang—if he were lucky.
She’d seen the traitors’ heads rotting on spikes on London Bridge. She’d seen them splash into the Thames when the wind blew. But she never imagined her beloved Sir Danny, her honorable Sir Danny…She whimpered again.
Like an infant seeking comfort at her mother’s breast, she crawled toward the desk, toward the desk kneehole. Tony’s chair was pushed in; she shoved it out of the way.
Dim and warm and close. Hugging herself, she listened. Where was the deep, loving voice? Why didn’t he call for his Rosie anymore? Hot tears leaked from her eyes and burned her cheeks. Had she lost him? “Dada,” she whimpered. “Please, Dada, come back.”
But he didn’t. She couldn’t even hear the echoes of his speech.
It was her fault he was gone. She’d taken something of his. Something he wanted very much. What was it?
Closing her eyes, she tried to remember. She saw a babyish hand reaching out and grasping a shiny ring. A special gold ring. Dada’s precious ring, decorated with two entwined ‘Es’ and set with a sparkling red stone. She saw the chubby fingers decorated, one at a time, with the ring. She saw it roll back and forth, too big for the fingers, and she saw the young child’s hand clutch it tight in a fist.
In the darkness under the desk was her hiding place. There she kept her own precious possessions. She knew Dada didn’t want his special ring sitting out. Even though he’d warned her never to touch it, he’d be happy if she kept it safe while they went to London to visit the queen.
Rosie’s eyes popped open. Her secret hiding place. She watched as her adult hand reached out and fumbled among the ornate carvings and knobs. Dust feathered to the floor as she searched, not truly knowing what she sought and not believing it was there.
But it was. Her fingertips touched a loose, cool, round object. Carefully, she lifted it from its protected position and crawled free of the kneehole. Raising it to her face, she looked at it.
She held a gold signet ring, embossed with two ’Es’ and set with a bloodred ruby.
She was Lady Rosalyn Bellot, daughter of the earl of Sadler. She was the heir to Odyssey Manor.
Had she ever really doubted it? Doubling her fist over the ring, she held it over her heart. Aye, she remembered the manor, the lands, the servants. She remembered Hal and his betrayal. She remembered everything.
Had she ever really doubted that Lord Sadler was her father? That he was the man whose voice spoke in her dreams?
The child Rosalyn had taken his ring because it was his, because she adored everything about him, and when he’d wanted it back, she’d been too scared and embarrassed to admit she had it. Then he’d died, and the child had blamed herself. Like the ring, the knowledge of his death and her own culpability had been stored away, hidden and unacknowledged.
Another man had come into the child Rosalyn’s life. Another man different from her true father in wealth and rank, yet so alike in his capacity to love she had transferred her affection to Sir Danny. Her first “Dada” had become a lifeless body that walked only in the halls of midnight. If she didn’t rescue Sir Danny, he would walk, also.
It was Tony’s fault. All Tony’s fault. Why hadn’t he rushed to rescue Sir Danny? She wiped her nose on her sleeve. Even now, the torturers of Newgate might be stretching him on the rack, and she stood here because she hadn’t known. Why hadn’t Tony told her of Sir Danny’s imprisonment so she could rush to his assistance? Why…?
She laughed, a bitter, unhappy laugh.
Of course. She knew why Tony hadn’t told her. Because she would rush to Sir Danny’s assistance. She wasn’t a youth anymore, free to roam the roads, free to fight for a cause. She was a woman. Nay, worse, a noblewoman, good for nothing but breeding and sewing.
Why had Tony withheld the information? Why, to protect her, of a certainty.
Snatching the wadded up letter from the floor, she smoothed it out and read it again. It was dated y
esterday. Tony received a package every morning from London, and this had been in it. This explained his serious mien as he vowed to find Sir Danny and keep him safe. This explained his eagerness to send her as far away from London as possible.
But nothing could explain his deception, and in no way could she explain her need to him. She only knew she couldn’t proceed to a new life, a new love, if she lost the man she considered her father—again.
Moving quickly, smoothly, she tied the ring around her neck with the ribbon from her hair. Opening the door, she slipped out and went in search of the trunk in which was stored a young man’s clothing.
She had been protected long enough.
“Sir Anthony, Parson Selwyn has arrived.”
Tony turned from his contemplation of the laden dining room table and greeted the parish clergyman. “Ah, Parson, how good of you to come at such short notice.”
“’Tis a pleasure, Sir Anthony, to serve you.” Removing his cape, the little man handed it to Hal without a glance. “Although I found myself quite astonished at your request that I wed you to Lady Rosalyn Bellot tonight.”
“A sudden request,” Tony acknowledged. He watched as Hal fumbled with the cape, holding it with shaking hands, staring at it as if he’d never seen such a costume in his life. “But not completely unexpected.”
Parson Selwyn folded his hands over his protruding belly and lifted his nose into the air. The younger son of lesser nobility, he obviously found it painful to serve the bastard of an earl. “Not completely unexpected, but as your clergyman I must counsel you before you proceed on such a course. Such unseemly haste ill befits the lord of Odyssey Manor.”
As long as the man kept a civil tongue in his head, Parson Selwyn’s opinion mattered little to Tony. What mattered was Hal. He crumpled the cape into a ball and placed it on the laden side table in the midst of a platter of golden lamb pastry. His shoulders stooped, his lined face was gaunt with distress. Like a man pursued, he constantly shot glances behind him. What disaster, Tony wondered, had been visited on Hal?
Oblivious to Hal’s distress or Tony’s concern, Parson Selwyn blathered, “If you will recall, Sir Anthony, one of my Sunday sermons pertained to the evils of a rapid matrimony and the results thereof.”