The Greatest Lover in All England Read online

  “Aye.” Lady Honora clasped her hands. “A theater company of his own, like the Chamberlain’s Men. I believe I might be some assistance in organizing and directing such a company, for I am an orderly person.”

  Orderly? Rosie almost laughed. Orderly Lady Honora loved ramshackle Sir Danny, and what the result would be, Rosie couldn’t imagine.

  Slumped against the wall, Tony drawled a challenge. “I understood, Lady Honora, you were seeking the finest stud in England to father your children. I must assume you’ve given that up.”

  The ladies-in-waiting were so overcome with laughter Queen Elizabeth ordered them to one corner of the study.

  Sir Danny strode to Tony and flipped him under the chin. “Lady Honora now has the finest stud in England to father her children.”

  Tony straightened and towered over Sir Danny. “She’s abandoned the finest stud in England for you, my man, and left me without a bride.”

  “Accept her judgment and cease your whining.”

  Queen Elizabeth rose and said hastily, “I must rest now.”

  She wanted to avoid this confrontation, but if she slipped away now, it might be months before Tony could pin her down again, and in those months Rosie could bear his child alone, without the benefit of his name, a hanger-on at court awaiting justice. Moving to intercept the queen, he said, “A man’s not complete until he’s married, madam.”

  “And then he’s finished,” Queen Elizabeth said sourly. “You cannot marry.”

  “Madam, like Solomon, you are wise, and you must see there is no other fair conclusion to Lady Rosalyn Bellot, heir to Odyssey manor, or to myself, except marriage between us.”

  “I must see? Your queen must not see anything.” As if her rancor rode her like a burr beneath the saddle, Queen Elizabeth shook her finger in his face. “When men marry, they forget their duties, and I can’t lose my master of the guard. You’re too important to the kingdom. You’ve just proved it by defeating Essex. Trust me. I’ll find the Sadler heiress a husband, and you a wife, if you really want one.”

  He stared, stunned at his tactlessness. He knew Queen Elizabeth hated to see her courtiers fall in love and lavish devotion on one another. He knew she preferred polite, formal marriages to those based on passion. Yet he had fallen to his knees when he saw Rosie, argued for their wedding with obvious desire, and all but ordered Her Majesty to do his bidding. What should he do?

  But Rosie stepped up to the queen and curtsied deeply. “I have always heard Your Majesty is the fount of wisdom, and you have just proved it.”

  Tony stared at Rosie as she stood, hands demurely folded before her. Had she gone mad? Had she lost her affection for him?

  Or had she a plan?

  Queen Elizabeth half turned her head. “Lady Rosalyn, what is your meaning?”

  “It has weighed heavy on me that I should marry Sir Anthony when he so obviously loves another.” Rosie slumped as if a great weight oppressed her.

  The queen looked at her fully. “He loves another? Who so commands his affections?”

  “Madam, he ever speaks of her, and while he cannot have her, I think he would be happiest with one who resembles her.”

  “Who?” Queen Elizabeth struck a table with her fist. “Tell me, I command you.”

  “The lady whom you choose as his wife should be fair and white, with crimson hair like unto the sunset. She should have long fingers and hands that, when weighed with rings, overshadow the finest jewels with their beauty.”

  Queen Elizabeth touched her red wig with her long fingers.

  Rosie continued, “Sir Anthony’s wife should be straight and tall, and be light of foot when dancing and clever of mind when conversing. She should speak many languages fluently, and have fine gray eyes.”

  Rosie batted her own amber eyes, and Tony almost fainted with relief. His Rosie was a clever minx. He needed to remember he could depend on her in a pinch. He needed to remember her intelligence, too, when marriage pitted them against one another.

  “The lady whom Tony weds should wear fine clothes, yet be so elegant the clothes wear not her.”

  Queen Elizabeth straightened the pearls that looped around her neck, and fluffed the silk that puffed from the slashing in her sleeves.

  “She should ride to the hounds and never tire, dance all night and never falter. She should, in fact, be a likeness of Your Majesty, and that is the wife Sir Anthony should wed. Not I, who am so drab and ignorant.” Dressed in Ophelia’s tattered, white dress, with a garland hanging over one eye and the marks of tears still on her face, Rosie fit none of her own description, and her plea sounded all the more pathetic for her appearance. “Please, madam, out of kindness for me, find him a wife as beautiful as yourself.”

  Elizabeth extended her hand to Tony. “Is what she says true, my dearest courtier?”

  He was overcome with admiration for Rosie, but not so overcome he didn’t recognize his cue. He knelt at Queen Elizabeth’s feet. “Madam, I have told you so often enough. ’Tis you who hold my heart, and all others pale in comparison.”

  Elizabeth basked in his admiration as a cat basks in the warmth of the sun.

  Assuming a contrite attitude, he said, “Forgive me for appearing to doubt your judgment. I simply thought that if Lady Rosalyn and I were to wed, it would save you much money.”

  “Save?” Queen Elizabeth said cautiously. “Money?”

  “Aye, madam, there is the matter of payment to Lady Rosalyn for the loss of her estate.”

  If horror had a face, Queen Elizabeth wore it. “I owe Lady Rosalyn nothing for the loss of her estate.”

  “Surely you don’t think I can afford to recompense her.” His indignation might have earned him a place in the Chamberlain’s Men. “Of course, you’ll be providing her with a dowry suitable for the earl of Sadler’s daughter, which will repay the loss of her estate.”

  Queen Elizabeth developed that faraway look, the one she wore when budget problems troubled her. “If you married her, there wouldn’t be any dowry to be paid.”

  “Madam, if I married her, she would still be a brown drab of a girl.” Tony glanced at Rosie and lowered his voice. “Would a red wig improve her, do you think?”

  The queen looked at Rosie and sagged. Tony felt the wind of change whistle through the chamber. The long day, the anxiety about the rebellion, and the changes which every day taxed an old woman seemed to catch up with her, and she tossed her head and said petulantly, “Do as you like. Marry the girl if you wish. I wash my hands of the matter.” Standing, she drew a breath. “But don’t come to me for a dowry, and don’t come crying if she looks like a doxie in a red wig.”

  Tony had learned his lesson, and showed no enthusiasm. “Nay, madam, I won’t. Not the dowry, nor the wig.”

  “And don’t think you’re shamming me, either.” Queen Elizabeth glared at Rosie. “You really wish to wed her.”

  Tony nodded as if penitent. “I could not sham you, madam. I do wish to wed her. I wish to start my dynasty, and she’s the kind of wife every man wants. She has no other place to go, so she’ll be obedient.” He hoped lightning didn’t strike him. “She’s plain, so I know the children born in our bed will be mine.” She was beautiful, and he’d be a jealous husband. “And most important, my people at Odyssey Manor believe the lands belong to her. She will seal my claim to the manor, and that’s all that matters to me.”

  Queen Elizabeth understood dynastic matters, and his explanation soothed her. “Marry her, then, but I need my master of the Queen’s Guard by my side.”

  “I live to serve you.”

  She swept from the room on his assurance and her ladies dragged out with many a backward glance. Tony rose to his feet and shut the door. Silence reigned as he looked at Jean and Ann, Lady Honora and Sir Danny, and finally at Rosie. They stood frozen in place, then slowly, their paralysis melted. Jean laughed softly and with relish. Ann rushed from Rosie to Tony to Lady Honora to Sir Danny, hugging each one. Lady Honora clung to Sir Danny as if she c
ouldn’t believe her good fortune. Sir Danny clung to Lady Honora as if not sure he could stand by himself.

  And Tony stared at Rosie and wondered how many years it had been since he’d held her. He wanted to lift her onto this desk and find out if it was sturdy enough to hold two bodies. He wanted to sweep her away to his bedchamber and bar the door. He wanted to take her to Odyssey Manor and be with her in every way a man could be with a woman.

  But the time they’d spent apart, the things he wanted to say, the frustration, the fury, the desire, kept him from saying anything at all. The greatest lover in all England—and the finest stud—had no plan and no words.

  Jean snatched at Ann when she floated by on her rounds, and said loudly, “Sister, we have much to do.”

  “Oh, nothing we need to do could be as important as this.” Ann waved a hand at the loving couples. “We’ve got to help them plan their nuptials. Have you no romance in your soul?”

  “I do.” Jean dragged Ann toward the door. “And so do they.” On the way, she pecked Rosie on the cheek, pecked Tony on the cheek. “Once for me, Tony.”

  Tony didn’t remember the last time he’d blushed, but he did it now, and he prayed Rosie hadn’t noticed.

  Trying to cover his embarrassment, he asked, “Why are you clucking like that, Lady Honora?”

  Lady Honora had her hand on Sir Danny’s forehead. “My little lambkin is warm. I think he’s just overwhelmed with his good fortune, but I’m going to take him to Rowse Manor and help him adjust.”

  As she led Sir Danny from the room, Tony caught the look in Sir Danny’s eyes. Half-smug, half-panicked, and all anticipation.

  Tony knew how he felt.

  “Plain and obedient, eh?”

  He jumped and turned, and there stood Rosie right behind him. He grinned feebly. “I was just trying to convince Her Majesty that I didn’t want to wed you. I mean”—he closed his eyes—“I do want to wed you, but if Her Majesty thinks I do, ’twill never happen.”

  “Aye, so I gathered.” She wandered toward the door. “She’s a jealous, possessive woman, and she thinks you’re charming and handsome.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Verily, ’tis a valid concept.”

  He stood transfixed until she disappeared through the door, then he rushed after her. “You think I’m charming and handsome?”

  She chuckled. “You don’t need me to feed your vanity.”

  He stopped, and after she’d walked on a few steps, she stopped as well. “In sooth, you’re the only woman I need feeding my vanity.”

  They looked at each other across the width of the hall. Really looked at each other for the first time in too long, and it all came back to them. The familiarity, the friendship, the passion, the laughter.

  Cotzooks, how he loved this woman! In a sudden hurry, he began opening doors up and down the hallway. Most doors opened onto fine chambers, empty but ready for occupancy, but in one a lady screamed, and he exclaimed, “Wrong room.”

  “What are you looking for?” Rosie asked.

  “There’s a storage room along here somewhere.” One door opened into darkness, and he exclaimed in delight. Taking a branch of candles from the table in the hall, he waved her inside.

  She came cautiously, but she came. “Privacy,” he explained. “It’s long and narrow, a scrap of the palace, so the servants use it for storage. I’d heard”—he wiggled his eyebrows—“they also use it for assignations.”

  He placed the candles on the floor. They illuminated the undersides of the shelves piled with linens and blankets and cast elongated shadows along the narrow ceiling. Their light barely reached all the way back where a clutter of broken furniture waved uneven limbs.

  Rosie backed up against the shelves, and he followed, eager now, excitement bubbling in him. That gown she wore would be difficult to get her out of, but when were gowns ever easy? The touch of her bare flesh against his would heal every wound, body and soul, this last month had inflicted. He leaned his elbow close to her head, then leaned his head close to her face. “Now tell me again about my charm and good looks.”

  She ducked out from under his arm. “You’re dirty.”

  “I’ve been a hero this day.” He tossed off his cap, cape, and doublet. “Are you impressed?”

  “Impressed? That you threw yourself into danger? Impressed is not quite the word I would use.” Her eyes sparked as she crept further from the light. “Do you often bring your ladies here?”

  “I’ve never brought a lady here.” He followed. “Most ladies would be disgusted.”

  “Most ladies would follow you anywhere.”

  “Because I’m so charming and good-looking?”

  “Because you’re so modest.”

  “Is that another one of my virtues which attracted you?”

  She swung around to see if he was jesting, and relaxed when she realized he was. A smile nudged at her mouth, and he murmured, “That’s better.” He dragged two piles of blankets down off a shelf. Extending his hand, he offered it, palm up. “Would you like to sit down?”

  She looked at the hand, then at him, then at the hand. Slowly, she extended her own hand and put it in his. Sensitive as a whisper, her skin slid across his, over the calluses, over the lines and the mounts. Her fingers curled around his, slipping between in an act of mating. Like a connoisseur of Spanish sherry, he closed his eyes fully to appreciate the sensation, then opened them to see she had closed hers. Her head was thrown back, her lips parted, and each deep breath brought her breasts close.

  Her magnificent, unmanly breasts, which had first betrayed her to him. How cocksure he’d been at that first meeting! How easy he had thought her seduction would be! And how she’d taken him apart, piece by piece, and then put him together into a different man. A better man.

  A man who planned to seduce her in a storage chamber.

  “We should talk,” he said hoarsely.

  “We should.”

  She sank onto her pile of blankets, and he sank onto his. He took her other hand in his, expecting that the reaction would be less—more like holding hands and less like making love.

  Again, it was like the first time they’d touched. Their gazes met and clung. It seemed as intimate as a kiss.

  “Talk,” he said.

  “Aye.”

  What did he want to talk about? Oh…“You left me.”

  She tried to take her hands back, but he tightened his fingers.

  “Talk,” he urged.

  “You lied to me.”

  “Never.”

  “You didn’t tell me about Sir Danny.”

  He didn’t need her reproach to feel guilty. “I wanted you to be safe.”

  “Sometimes there are more important things than safety.”

  “I knew that. I know it now.” He took a breath because he didn’t want to tell her, but he had to. She had to know. “If I had it to do over, I’d do the same thing.”

  Her laughter almost knocked him over. Her body did as she skimmed her arms around his neck and leaned forward. He landed on the blankets with her on his chest. “I know that.” She laughed again, hugging him close. “And I’d do what I did. Do you think our baby will be as stubborn as we are?”

  She suddenly weighed as much as a horse. A big horse. He couldn’t get his breath to speak, and when he did, it sounded more like a howl. “You’re…going…to…”

  “Nay. We’re going to.”

  “Have a babe?”

  “Didn’t you always know it?”

  Did he know it? “Aye.” Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and she wiped them with her sleeve. “I never doubted we had made a babe. Somehow I knew the babe would precede the marriage.”

  She tried to sit up, but he pulled her back down. “Do you mind?”

  “That people will talk?” He held her nose to nose. “People will talk about me marrying an actress. They’ll talk that I married Lady Rosalyn Bellot to secure my lands. They’ll talk about me as long as I’m a favorite of the queen’s, and they�
�ll talk about you because you’re beautiful, because you act like a dream, and you’re the lost heir. They’re going to talk about us all our lives. An early babe will be as a mere nothing.”

  “But what about you? ’Tis you who feared an early child, not for what people would say, not even for the child, but for the proof that you carried blood tainted by your birth.”

  She knew him too well. He had loved his father, yet at the same time, Tony despised his father for his weakness and had sworn never to emulate him. He’d despised his father for allowing himself to be seduced by a woman as cold and ruthless as the north wind. His father had been a fool, and Tony had feared being one, too.

  But to be seduced by Rosie…ah, that was not a seduction, but a feast of the senses. To be seduced by Rosie was not weakness, but good taste. “I’m proud to be the father of your child.”

  “Our child.”

  “Our child.” The slender body atop his relaxed, and he added, “But we’ll wed in the morning.”

  The vibration of her laughter warmed him. “Aye, we’ll wed in the morning.” She gently touched her lips to his, and each breath gave him life, each contact moved his blood, and the quick, shy stroke of her tongue unlaced her bodice without his volition. Rosie’s kiss was a mighty instrument.

  When the buzzing in his ears cleared, he heard her say, “Where will we sleep tonight?”

  His hearing was impaired and his eyeballs fogged from their combined heat, but his fingers seemed nimble enough as he removed layer after layer of her clothing. “Will we sleep tonight?”

  She shivered. “It’s cold in here.”

  “We have blankets.”

  “Someone might come in.”

  “I have my sword and dagger.” He grinned as he freed her breasts at last. They’d changed with the advancement of pregnancy, but he’d always recognize Rosie’s nipples. “And you have your purse.”

  “True.” Leaning over, she blew out the candles one by one, but he stopped her when she would have blown out the last one. “Aren’t you afraid of the dark anymore?”

  “Nay, I have my talismans. My father’s ring.” She touched the chain around her neck. “The babe in my belly.” She took his hand and laid it on the slight mound. “And my cavalier, the second-greatest lover in all England.”