The Greatest Lover in All England Page 13

  Ann cried, “But you must! You must. Why not?”

  Her high-pitched dismay seemed to knock Tony from his trance, and he gathered his wit with a speed that boded ill for Rosie. “Didn’t you have the clothes she was wearing burned, Annie?”

  “Oh.” Ann laid one hand on her chest, sighing as if her heart tried to escape through the stomacher’s ivory cross-bracing. “Burned them. That’s true. We burned them. You’ll have to wear your skirts, Lady Rosalyn. We burned your nasty actor clothes.”

  Unable to resist Ann’s fluttering goodwill, Rosie begged, “Please, call me Rosie, or at least Rosalyn.”

  “Oh, my dear.” Ann petted Rosie’s head, even though that head was taller than her own. “I would be honored, but we must stick with Rosalyn. It’s a proper name for a lady of your stature. You call me Sister Ann, even though I suppose you’re not going to be my sister.”

  She looked troubled, but Rosie patted her back in return.

  “Why isn’t she going to be your sister?” Tony inquired.

  “Because Jean and Lady Honora have decided she’ll have to wed someone else.”

  “I have decided she’ll wed me.” Tony bent down until he was at eye level with Ann. “And who do you think will win?”

  “You?” Ann pointed at him. “Or Lady Honora?” She pointed toward the dining room, then pointed at him, then pointed toward the dining room.

  She might have gone on forever, but Rosie took Ann’s outstretched index finger and closed it into her palm. “Don’t fret about it. No one’s counted me yet.”

  Tony grinned. “I’ll get you on my side, then there’ll be no stopping us.”

  Ann squeaked like a mouse. “I don’t want to be around when that happens.”

  “It’s not likely to occur.” Rosie threw out the challenge casually, hoping Tony took heed.

  He bowed his head, according her the respect of a worthy opponent, but if he was worried, he hid it well.

  “You smell clean.” He sniffed ostentatiously. “I find a clean body under a gown of silk to be a mighty aphrodisiac.”

  Rosie sniffed right back at him. “If there’s a trunk upstairs with ladies” clothing from Lord Sadler’s era, I’m sure there’s also a trunk with gentlemen’s clothing. If the ladies’ clothes are mine, so are the gentlemen’s, so I’ll have no trouble changing back.”

  Tony openly admired her good sense, then mused, “I wonder what Queen Elizabeth will think when you bow to her, dressed in bean-filled canions and a doublet, and present her the petition for the return of the Sadler estate. I think she’ll be amazed, don’t you, sister?”

  Ann’s mouth moved, but no words came out. And if Ann was this agitated, Rosie could imagine the queen’s shock. Defiant, she said, “I’ll dress like a woman when I present the petition.”

  But she could almost hear Tony’s retort, and he didn’t say a word. He just thought very loudly.

  To claim Odyssey Manor, she needed the training Lady Honora, Jean, and Ann offered, and they wouldn’t give it to a woman dressed like a man.

  “Oh dear.” Ann wrung her hands. “Oh, dear, this won’t do.”

  “Go in and have a seat.” Tony guided his sister toward the dining room. “Rosie and I will be there in a moment.”

  “But I need to explain to her—”

  Tony gave Ann a little push. “I’ll explain.”

  “Oh.” Ann glanced at him doubtfully, then brightened. “Oh! You’ll explain to her.”

  “Aye.”

  “Listen to Tony, dear.” Ann spoke over her shoulder as she moved into the dining room. “Tony always knows best.”

  Ann’s blind faith in Tony’s persuasive abilities irked Rosie almost more than Tony’s smug assurance, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m listening.”

  Moving to the doors, Tony flung them open and moved onto the terrace. The darkness outside was absolute, flowing in on the breeze and almost smothering the candles in the gallery.

  So little light. So much darkness.

  “Come out,” Tony called. “I won’t let it get you.”

  He knew how she hated the dark, but he challenged her with his tone, his words, his action, and she wanted to be and do everything better than Tony. After all, the true heir wouldn’t be afraid of anything.

  On the other hand, the true heir needed to learn the correct way to behave, and her instructors remained in the dining room. On the other hand, if she left Tony by himself, he might think she shied away from him because of his seductive ability. On the other hand…taking a breath, she stepped across the threshold onto the terrace.

  Darkness surrounded her like a blanket, blotting thought from her brain.

  “I’m over here.”

  Tony’s voice guided her to the corner on her left, and she inched forward, hands outstretched. She didn’t want to run into the benches and tables placed to take advantage of the sunshine, when the blessed sun was shining.

  “I would be honored by your courage.” Tony sounded ironic. “But I know my sisters can be overwhelming, and Lady Honora is…Lady Honora.”

  Rosie’s eyes began to adjust to the dark. The light from the windows illuminated the obstacles in her path, and Tony revealed himself to her by blocking the light of the stars.

  “Fighting the dark with me has to be more amusing than learning proper table ceremony.”

  “Aye, you’re right.” She reached his side without incident, and panted as if she’d traversed a great distance. Her stomacher must cut her too tight. Her heels must be too high. She must be too tense, waiting for Tony to confront her as she dreaded.

  But he said nothing. He was nothing but a form beside her. He looked out over the estate, and she looked, too, trying to see what he saw.

  There was nothing. Just the dim outlines of the land as it rolled away to the horizon, and then the great, black sky alive with strings of stars that sparkled like Queen Elizabeth’s jewels.

  “Look out there.” Tony whispered as if they were in church. “’Tis the prettiest spot in all England.”

  “Aye.” Aye, it was. It was a dreamscape unlike any other she had imagined, with mists hiding in the hollows and great oaks whispering to the stars.

  “Some nights I come out here by myself and just sit. I can almost hear the grass and crops drawing strength from the soil. Some days I come out and each ripple of ground sings with beauty and a sense of timelessness.” His arm slipped around her waist, and she stiffened. Would he start to seduce her now? “Can you hear it?”

  “I think so.” She heard a siren singing, and while the voice was Tony’s, the lyrics and the long-forgotten melody enticed her.

  “The land has been here forever, basking beneath the sun and reveling in the rain. To own it is to possess a piece of eternity.”

  She breathed the night air and her nerves burned with more anticipation than she ever experienced when she stepped on the stage. She, who had never owned anything, who didn’t even believe in her claim to this patrimony, reached out and embraced the land.

  The hand at her waist tightened. “You want it, don’t you?”

  She put her claws into his flesh until he yelped and jerked back. “It’s mine.”

  His teeth flashed in the shadows of his face. “It’s mine, and if you want it, you’ll have to marry me to get your part.”

  Seduction. She’d been worried that he would seduce her body. But no. He’d seduced her senses, exposing the needs she’d hidden even from herself. Naturally, she’d laid claim to Odyssey Manor, but she hadn’t craved it, lusted after it, coveted it. Now she did.

  The man was clever. Cleverer than she’d ever imagined. She had better never forget it, and she had better discover a way to combat it.

  So she kissed him.

  As she mashed her lips onto his, she tasted his astonishment, then his amusement. Pulling back, she studied the situation, made corrections to the tilt of their faces and the pressure of their lips, and tried again.

  This time she seemed to have
got it right. His arms closed around her when she nibbled at his mouth, and he stopped breathing when she slid her tongue between his lips. His knees collapsed; he sat against the wide rail and tried to draw her close. Her bum roll and voluminous petticoats thwarted him, and she allowed herself a moment of triumph.

  Seduce her with words, would he? Well, she would seduce him right back. The women in the plays always reduced their men to quivering wrecks of passion, and she wanted to see Tony shaking like a bowl of eel jelly. She wanted him senseless with desire. She wanted him.

  “I have to go in now,” she said, dismayed when her voice quavered.

  “Not yet.”

  “They’ll be wondering—”

  “So, let them.” Tony blessed his good night vision. Able to see Rosie’s face in the dim light of the stars, he realized how her expression vacillated between jubilation and prudence. She hungered for the land, but her craving infuriated her. She wanted him on his knees before her, but she feared the steps that would bring him down. Her passions confused her, and he planned to utilize that confusion.

  “You fit at Odyssey Manor because you were born here.” He lifted her off her feet, swung her around, and placed her on the rail where he had been sitting. “You fit in my arms because you were born for this.”

  She struggled when he leaned her out into thin air, but he whispered, “Be careful. I don’t want to go over the edge with you.” She froze, and he kissed her throat and smiled. “The shrubs would break our fall, but I like it better up here where we can kiss. Don’t you?”

  Frustration rippled through her. He’d effectively neutralized her gutter combat skills, and he chuckled when she snapped, “I do prefer the terrace to a nasty fall, so put me back on the terrace.”

  “Your passion holds me in thrall,” he answered, and kissed her.

  God, she kissed him as if she’d invented kissing at the beginning of time. It proved his theory; that when she fought the force that drew him to her, it retaliated by sucking her into the whirlpool. The stars whipped around them in ever tighter circles; his heart beat in ever faster rhythms.

  “Rosie.” He tried to touch her all over, but her stiff stomacher inhibited his exploration. “Rosie,” he groaned in exasperation, and started grabbing great handfuls of skirt and petticoats.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Trying to get under your skirts.”

  For some reason, his honesty aggravated her, and when he freed her legs she used the opportunity to kick him in the kneecap. He cursed and grabbed her ankle. “I’ve never had to fight a woman for her favors.”

  Sarcastically, she said, “I’m fretting about the damage to your male pride.”

  He paused. His pride? What about her distress? He didn’t lie when he said he’d never had to fight a woman, because he’d always been the one in control. He’d prided himself on his suave protestations of devotion, his smooth methods of seduction. He’d certainly never had to hang a woman over a precipice before to gain her cooperation, nor had he ever induced a woman to violence.

  What was Rosie doing to his discipline?

  Swinging her off the rail, he set her on her feet. Suave, he told himself. Remember your discipline. She longs for romance, just like any other girl, and perhaps deserves it more. “My apologies, Lady Rosalyn.”

  He tried to arrange her skirts, but she knocked him on the shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

  “I can’t.” Suave, he thought. Romance. Dropping onto one knee, he placed a hand over his heart. “Your face, your body, your sweet countenance move me to such ardor I’m no longer in control. I live for a smile, sigh for a glance, dream of your—”

  “I’ve heard passion done better by legions of actors,” she said impatiently, “and you’ve made your ambitions clear to one and all. I heard it from every servant on your estate. You want to take a noble, wealthy virgin to wife, and I’ve destroyed your plans.”

  “How so? You are noble, you are wealthy.” He caught her hand when she tried to back away from his query. “Are you not a virgin?”

  “What difference does it make?” She tugged at her hand. “You wish nothing more from me than a clear title to this estate.”

  “Have you convinced yourself of that?” Touching the new rings that decorated her long fingers, he said, “Do you think this finery makes any difference to me and you? We are the same people when stripped of our garments.”

  “I have to go in.”

  The truth alarmed her, he was pleased to see, because she didn’t want to discuss it. “Do you dismiss my passion before I even knew your name? Do you remember the vows I made that day before I saw you on the stage? I begged to know your father’s name. I told you we would wed.”

  She glanced longingly at the doors that led to the gallery. “Nay!”

  He pressed his suit. “I was going to sneak into your chamber and teach you the ways of passion.”

  “You were furious when Sir Danny presented me as the heir,” she answered, sure of herself with this, at least.

  “I am still furious.” Rising, he retained her hand. “I am, as you so gently reminded me, a bastard. One hundred men have insulted me, and one hundred men have I taught respect with my fists and the sharp tip of my sword. When I wed you, it will start again. The sly insinuations, the sidelong glances, the outright slander.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She didn’t, either. He could see her confusion, and he clarified the situation as calmly as he could. “The gossips will say this estate is not mine, but my wife’s, and that I live on your charity.”

  She shifted away from him as if he menaced her. “You won this estate through your own efforts, so you should take comfort in what is true.”

  “Truth does not always matter.” The injustice of it infuriated him, as it had always infuriated him. “For often falsehoods are more entertaining.”

  “Then you should deny me my”—she gulped—“heritage.”

  “It is your heritage. You are the heiress. No matter how much I wish to doubt it, I know you are the heiress, and I live by the truth.” He stepped close and smiled into her leery face. “So you see, if I owe you the right to this estate, then you owe me what I desire.”

  “I owe you nothing.”

  “You owe me yourself.”

  She picked up her skirts and whirled to run, and he caught her by the waist and lifted her high. She kicked and shrieked; he laughed and strode toward the door. To hell with control. To hell with romance. To hell with everything except Tony and Rosie, naked on a bed until the next full moon.

  Then he heard the twang of a bow, and dived for the floor.

  12

  My good will is great, though the gift small.

  —PERICLES, II, iv, 21

  It was a simple arrow, made of a sharpened ash shaft and a goose feather flight. Every man in England knew how to make one. But who had made this one?

  Tony stood at the window of his study and twirled the arrow in the morning sun. This arrow couldn’t have killed anybody. He corrected himself. Probably couldn’t have killed anybody. For the most part an arrow needed a steel tip to embed itself deep into its victim. So why fire this arrow?

  Last night he’d been frantic with fear that Rosie had been hit. She’d assured him she was fine, but he’d wanted to strip her down and examine every inch of her to assure himself of her good health.

  Now he looked at her, seated before his desk in a modest gown. She had allowed her three mentors to dress her hair, and had come when he summoned her with an obedience that might have boded well for their future, except he knew the reason for her compliance. She wanted answers, and had found none last night.

  No answers last night, and none this morning.

  Moving to the door, he inspected the latch. It was closed firmly, and he shot the bolt into place. He wanted no repeat of the previous day’s “accidental” eavesdropping. “I hope you understood when I asked that you tell no one of the incident last night. I thought it
best to keep it between ourselves. We don’t want to deal with a panic.”

  Her eyes glinted with dour humor. “You mean—more panic than my own?”

  Panicked? Aye, she’d been panicked, but not at first. First she’d been furious, demanding what madness had seized him, and why he’d thrown her—and himself—to the ground. Then, when he’d shown her the arrow, she’d acted coolly, urging him inside when he would have gone beating the bushes for a man with a weapon. Only when they were safe had she panicked. Her instinct for survival explained more about her upbringing than she would have liked, if she had realized. But she didn’t. She thought everyone had experienced life-threatening situations and reacted accordingly. It infuriated him to think of Rosie in danger, yet at the same time he admired her poise. “Who taught you to fight?”

  Off-balance by his question, she stammered. “What?”

  “You’re handy with your fists, good with a kick. Who taught you?”

  “Sir Danny, mostly. He feared I’d get into a scuffle with the other…boys, and he thought I’d best know how to give them better than I got.” She lifted her chin, and her voice grew cold. “Sometimes the fair people of the town would refuse to pay us and, as an added fillip, would try to beat us, kill us, and steal our horses.” Without inflection, she said, “If I’d shot that arrow, you’d be dead.”

  He leaned against the door and ruffled the feathers of the flight. “You’re the only one I know for sure didn’t shoot it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She very carefully kept expression off of her face, but he surmised she didn’t like the trend of his thoughts. He didn’t like it, either, but together he and Rosie had to discover the source of this threat. Together. If he had planned it, he couldn’t have come up with a better scheme to force them to remain together. “We were out on the terrace, taking our pleasure, for, shall we say, an hour? Then we were out on the terrace, crawling around, trying to stay alive for another few minutes.” He grinned at his comrade-in-terror. “It only seemed like another hour, I’m sure. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes.”