He did not take offense at her insult, and she forced her temper to calm. She was lucky that he had only stolen her garter, for ’twas certain if she’d been the slightest bit amenable he would have taken her there in the coach.
Chapter 9
Finally Drake and Hawkhurst were granted an audience by Cecil, Lord Burghley. Drake had already seen Walsingham and told him of the ships that Philip of Spain was building. The report tallied with what Walsingham’s spies had reported and he told Drake that he would advise the queen. Drake and Hawkhurst both knew that if Elizabeth listened to any man’s advice it was Cecil’s. While she was the princess Elizabeth he had shown his loyalty to her. Her sickly brother Edward was on the throne and the wily duke of Northumberland had sent a message to Princess Elizabeth at Hatfield House. Your Grace should come with all speed, for the king is very ill The courier, however, had another message concealed upon his person. It was from William Cecil, and Elizabeth would never forget it as long as she lived. The king is already dead. It is the wish of Northumberland to place Jane Grey and his son Guildford on the throne, and to seize the persons of yourself and your sister. To obey the summons would be to place yourself in Northumberland’s hands.
Elizabeth, who had learned guile at an early age, took refuge in her bed and illness. She knew she could count on Cecil when everyone else failed her.
Now Hawkhurst took the initiative. “I saw the ships being built with my own eyes, m’lord Burghley, at the port of Cadiz.”
Drake jumped in. “I propose to take a small fleet of ships and destroy this armada before it ever leaves Cadiz.”
“Her Majesty will listen to you, my lord,” Hawkhurst urged.
Cecil held up his hand and laughed. “It is true the queen trusts my loyalty implicitly, but, gentlemen, you labor under a misapprehension if you think she takes my advice. She listens respectfully, then does exactly as she chooses. I must urge, plead, cajole, coax, wheedle, and flatter to budge her one inch down the road to retaliation against Spain.”
“But, m’Lord Burghley, the threat to England is very real; it is no figment of an overactive imagination.”
Cecil held up his hand again. “Gentlemen, when the queen took the throne, her coffers were empty. Her father Henry VIII gathered a fortune from the church following his dissolution of the English monasteries. Then he turned around and squandered it on soldiers and war equipment to invade France. Her Majesty has built up prosperity for England and herself from peace, not war. She resents every penny piece spent on the military; witness our paltry efforts to aid Holland.”
“Are we to just wait until Philip sails into English ports and steals her crown?” demanded Drake.
“Or take matters into our own hands and destroy the enemy while the queen pretends to turn a blind eye?” asked Hawkhurst.
“Gentlemen, the time is coming when England will need heroes such as you. Each of us in his own way must urge her to move, I at the council table, you at the masques and pageants, until inch by inch we prod her down the road to action.”
Essex lost no time in waving Sabre’s garter beneath Hawkhurst’s nose. “Say good-bye to your trusty steed; it’s as good as in my stables already.”
Shane didn’t believe for one moment that he actually had Sabre’s garter, yet the next time he saw her he took hold of her wrist and against her will guided her into the gardens.
The sky was like black velvet with millions of diamonds scattered upon it. A silver crescent of moon sent unusual shadows across the lawns that sloped down to the Thames. As they neared the river they disturbed the swans, which glided out upon the water majestically.
“How did Essex get your garter?” he asked, his voice curiously husky.
Damn men! Why must they brag about their petty conquests? “I went for a swim in the Thames; he must have filched it from my clothes on the riverbank,” she improvised lightly.
He took hold of her shoulders none too gently and turned her to face him. “That is a damned lie, for I’ll wager you cannot swim.”
“I assure you, sir, I can,” she asserted.
In a flash he lifted her in his arms and threatened to throw her in. “I’ll make you prove it,” he said through clenched teeth.
She screamed and their privacy was invaded by three other couples who had come to stroll in the moonlight. He let her feet touch the grass, but clung to her in a close embrace. His lips touched her ear. “If I guarantee you a private place to swim, will you let me watch?”
She felt very seductive. “If you promise only to watch, then my answer is yes, but if you try to play wicked water games I will drown you!”
“I could drown in your eyes every time you look at me,” he whispered against her cheek, then he bent her over his arm and captured her lips. He kissed and caressed her into insensibility. She was all awakening passion. Soon she would be ready to be taken, and he received deep pleasure from making her dizzy with desire. She was a contradiction, so headstrong, fiery-tempered, and saucy-tongued, yet he sensed her innocence and inexperience and vulnerability. At one and the same time she managed to be an alluring woman and a bewitching child.
Hawkhurst gave a piercing whistle and a wherryman pulled his barge over to the water steps.
She hung back. “Where are you taking me?”
“You promised to come to Thames View with me. After you’ve seen it, there is something I want to ask you.” He removed his short cape and placed it about her shoulders. The night was warm, but out on the river the breeze could be chilling, and he was consumed with the need to protect her. He sat with a strong, possessive arm about her, which anchored her to his side while he murmured love words against her gloriously disheveled hair. Shane felt a rising excitement that sent the blood beating in his throat. If she said yes tonight, she would be his until dawn.
Thames View was close by Kew Gardens, so it was a short ride. They ascended the river steps and walked up the lush green lawns that led up to the house. All the servants were abed at this hour, save one man. “Sabre, my sweet, this is the baron. On board ship he is both doctor and priest. On land he is closer to me than my shadow.”
She held out her hand and the man in the monklike robe took it and held it reverently between his own. “The baron doesn’t speak,” Hawk explained.
She smiled. “He speaks with his eyes.”
He showed off his house to her, wanting her to love it as he did. The entrance hall was vast, high and wide and very formal. Behind it was a receiving room to entertain visitors. They went through the kitchens and dipped their fingers into a bowl of clotted cream, then he showed her the elegant dining salon, the library, and the luxurious withdrawing rooms. The colors were muted in the dimness of the few lights burning, but she could see the classic good taste in every room of the house.
Upstairs he showed her a bathing room, indicated the servants’ wing with a negligent wave of his hand, and guided her into the master bedroom. It was definitely a man’s room. The walls were paneled in dark red Moroccan leather. The carpet was Persian, cream in color, with a curiously designed border. Before the marble fireplace were scattered animal skins; wildcat and wolf. The windows ran the whole width of the room to overlook the river, and a built-in, carved window seat ran beneath the leaded panes, piled high with furs and velvet cushions. The bed was massive and curtained against the drafts.
He pulled her into his arms and gazed down at her. “Sabre, could you be happy here?”
I’m mad in love with him, she thought wildly.
He could hear the rustle of her petticoats and inhale the scent of her flesh and every inch of him responded. “Sabre, my love, I want you to come here to me whenever you can steal away from court.”
“You are asking me to become your mistress?”
He groaned. “I mean you no dishonor. Circumstances prevent me from offering you more.”
“You mean the queen?” she probed lightly.
“No, damn it, I mean I am married, though that is a secret I would as
k you not to divulge. ’Tis a marriage in name only and means naught to me,” he vowed.
His words brought her to her senses. She, better than any other, knew his marriage meant naught to him, but to actually hear it from his own lips, while at the same time he was proposing an adulterous relationship, cured her instantly of the love she’d been feeling for him.
“Sabre, darling, I’ll let you have carte blanche. Do you know what that means?” he asked tenderly.
“It means anything I want,” she supplied. “Could I have a hundred gowns?” she tested him.
“Of course,” he assured her.
“The keys to one of your warehouses?”
“They will be on your pillow in the morning.”
“The deed to this fine house or one of equal value?” she tested.
“Yes,” he promised, “I have many estates; you shall be allowed to chose.”
“In Ireland?” she questioned.
He hesitated for the first time. “I have land in Ireland, but it’s wild, godforsaken land. You wouldn’t care for it.”
“So, there is a limit to what I can have.”
“Darling, I swear there is not,” he vowed. He was entranced with her. He was a connoisseur of fine female flesh and could feel the current of their mutual attraction. Damn, she had him so hot, he was prepared to give her his soul. His arms tightened and his head dipped to taste the tempting honeyed mouth so teasingly close. While she was lost in the first sensations of the kiss, his hands deftly swept beneath her skirt to caress the bare flesh of her thighs at the intimate place where her silk stockings ended.
A shock ran through her body as she felt his fingers inch closer to his desired goal. His boldness took her breath away. Sabre knew if she said yes, he would have her in that bed this very minute! She looked at his mouth, imagining it covering her body with kisses, and grew faint at the thought. She knew he would cherish nothing that was not hard won. Let him wait and wonder! She was not going to let this wealthy, arrogant lord think she was easy.
“Please, darling?” he begged.
With a gasp that let him know how shocked she was at what his fingers did, she firmly removed his hands. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and said, “You go too fast, m’lord. I will think on your offer, but that is all I can promise.”
She retreated a step in the face of his imperious black look, but the fingers of his hand tightened on her shoulder in a cruel, punishing grip. “Look at that bruise when you go to bed tonight.”
She smiled her secret smile. She had hurt him, or he wouldn’t have found it necessary to hurt her back.
When they met at court they paid scant attention to each other. Each knew that their relationship would eventually become very intimate and it was in their own best interests to keep the liaison from the queen’s ears. But each time their eyes met there was a burning intense question in his. Nonetheless, she ignored his looks. She would tell him when she wanted to tell him.
On the morrow was the visit with Penelope to the fortune-teller’s. What she did not know was that Essex had talked his sister into an elaborate scheme for a rendezvous. He had arranged for Penelope to take Sabre to one of his own houses, where he would be in costume as an Eastern astrologer who would foretell her affair with the great, redheaded earl. It would be great fun and he would throw off his costume and make love to her. Essex felt very confident of winning the wager with Hawkhurst and couldn’t help taunting him about Sabre each time they met.
Shane sought out Sabre in the queen’s wardrobe. As soon as Kate saw who her niece had attracted, she left the two discreetly alone and went into an adjoining wardrobe room.
Sabre wore the yellow silk with silver ribbons. “You look very fetching today,” he said, his eyes licking over her like a candle flame. “You promised to show me how you could swim, remember?”
“I remember I said if you found me somewhere private.”
“I’ve rented the Roman bath for the whole day. No one will be allowed in but us.”
He expected her to refuse and she knew if she did he would force her to keep her promise. “What is it like? Was it really built by the Romans?” She was really very curious about such a place.
He leered at her. “It’s opulent—decadent, really. It’s made from beautiful white and azure marble. The bathing pool is a hundred yards long and six feet deep. ’Tis reported some of the more daring ladies swam naked. There is a gallery above the pool for spectators, but of course that will remain closed today.”
“I will come with you on one condition, my lord,” she said, smiling.
“Name it,” he said, expecting her to worm her way out of it by one trick or another.
“If you observe me from the gallery above, I shall swim for you.”
“Meet me by the water stairs as soon as Kate will let you.”
She kept him waiting two hours on purpose. He’d been pacing the water stairs angrily for the last hour, and when she finally arrived he didn’t know if he wanted to shake her or embrace her. He looked down into the pale green eyes. “How you madden a man, little wildcat.”
She looked inordinately pleased at his admission.
He never took his eyes from her as the wherryman maneuvered the barge into the current of the river and expertly flew beneath London Bridge and then Blackfriars Bridge. Shane pondered on his fatal attraction to her. Granted she was one of the loveliest, most vivid females he’d ever laid eyes on, in any country he’d ever visited. Her body was slim and exquisitely curved and would give rise to a dead man. But he tried to identify the elusive quintessence that drove him to possess her. He shook his head as it once again eluded him.
They alighted at magnificent Somerset House and walked the short distance to the Strand and the Roman bath. The streets were packed with vendors hawking their wares, from milkmaids to rat catchers. He bought her an armful of golden roses. They were full blown and would not last until the morrow, but now, at the peak of their beauty, their perfume was intoxicating. Sabre buried her face in them and inhaled deeply. Desire flared in him, for she never did anything by half measure. He believed she had lain with no man yet, but he would never describe her as innocent, for she had the age-old allure of Eve and he knew that once he had awakened her, she would take him to the Garden of Eden.
Sabre drew in her breath at the splendor of the huge marble bath. The water shimmered a pale azure, inviting, tempting, luring. As she watched Shane climb to the gallery, she knew exactly what she would do. She used one of the small cubicles to undress, but instead of wearing the short petticoat as she first intended, she stripped off every stitch. She would swim nude for him.
She shook out her hair so that it cloaked her to the hips, gathered the roses to her breasts, and stepped out to the edge of the pool. She slipped gracefully into the water and let the golden roses glide about the surface of the pale azure water. Slowly, and very gracefully, she kicked out and floated through the water, her beautiful pale copper tresses drifting out behind her. She swam to the far end of the bath, then swam slowly back again. Once more among the roses she turned upon her back and looked up at him.
He leaned upon the gallery rail, entranced by her performance. She was like a mermaid from some mythic tale, and her beauty pierced his heart and soul. She swam for him for over an hour and he could have watched her forever. Finally she smiled up at him and blew him kisses. By God, he had his answer. She had given it to him in her own spectacular way. Only a mistress would gift a man with such an intimate, luxuriant display. Suddenly he knew exactly what attracted him. It was her courage. She would dare anything. She saw his intention to come down to her, and in a flash she was out of the water in an attempt to clothe herself before he swooped down on her. He was so fast, she had donned only her flimsy shift, and the pretty yellow silk gown with silver ribbons lay just out of her reach.
He lifted her high against his heart and shouted with joy. “You were like a mermaid! A fitting mate for a sea god. Your answer is a resounding yes, i
sn’t it, my love?”
“Of course; was there ever any doubt?” she teased unmercifully. “Dress me,” she whispered against his mouth.
“No!” he refused. “I want you … here … now!” he insisted. His hands on her body showed clearly that he thought he owned her.
She panicked for a moment. Had she inflamed him beyond the point of control? She admitted to herself that she had indeed been wanton in her behavior and could expect no less from a man as virile as Shane Hawkhurst.
His hands had already half lifted the shift from her body, and his lips were doing forbidden things to her. She pulled from him with a transparent excuse. “My hair is too wet … please … don’t.”
He undid the buttons at his neck. “Take my shirt to dry it,” he pressed her.
She suddenly went weak at the knees and had to cling to him momentarily. “Oh, please, don’t bare the dragon to me or else I’m undone.” She was not teasing him now, but had gasped out her true feelings without thinking.
Now he slipped the shift from her shoulders, and as her breasts swelled upward, free of their gauzy restraint, his restraint vanished also. He threw his black cloak onto the beautiful white marble floor and knelt before her. His hot mouth trailed fiery kisses from her navel to the triangle of coppery curls which was the core of all his fantasies.
“Shane … please … not here, not like this….”
“Yes! Here … just like this,” he insisted.
“Shane, I’m cold … please, not in this public building … I want you to make love to me in your bed.”
He groaned. “Of course you do. I’m sorry, darling.” He helped her into her gown, uttering mild oaths under his breath as his fingers dealt with its buttons and fastenings. When she was fully clothed, he enfolded her in his cloak and held her fast. “When will you come to me, Sabre? Tonight?”
“No,” she said softly.
“When?” he demanded hoarsely.