Lady of Hay (42 page)

It was the first day of the season and they killed plentifully before turning their tired horses at last for home. The main party of riders split up into small groups as they walked back through the leafy glades dappled with the evening sunlight. Matilda was exhausted, and she had allowed her mare to drop behind the others a little and pick her own way quietly over the soft paths between the trees, when there was a thunder of hooves behind her. As she turned to draw out of the way of the hurrying rider, she found Prince John at her side. He reined in and grinned at her.

“A good start to the season, my lady. I trust you enjoyed your day?” His surcoat was stained with blood and the blade of his knife sheathed carelessly in his girdle showed an encrustation of gore.

She returned his smile cautiously. “It was a good day’s hunting, Your Highness. I’m glad you were at Winchester. William always says there is some of the finest hunting in the land here.”

“Ah, yes, the good Sir William.” The boy eyed her thoughtfully. “He’s a fine man and good with his bow, and he’s a lucky man too, to have so beautiful a wife.” He glanced at her sideways.

The ride narrowed and as the horses jostled for position his thigh for a moment brushed against hers. She felt a surge of repugnance. Was the silly boy trying to flirt with her? She forced herself to smile. “You are very flattering, Your Highness, thank you.”

After a few paces, to her relief, the path broadened and she was able to guide the mare away from him a little.

“Sir William keeps you too much in those border lands of his,” John went on thoughtfully. “You should come to my father’s court with him.”

“Oh, I stay on the estates because I want to. I hate court.” Matilda was thinking wistfully of the times she had chosen not to go rather than risk meeting Richard; not wanting to see the king. She paused abruptly, seeing the prince scowling furiously, and cursed herself for her tactlessness. “But of course,” she hurried on, trying to cover her mistake hastily, “I am much honored when I have a special invitation…”

“Honored but not pleased, it seems,” he interrupted, his tone sarcastic. He stood up in his stirrups, reaching for a leafy branch and pulling it down as he rode under it. His horse shied, and John laughed. He seemed to make up his mind to try a different tack. “You’re a lady who knows her own mind, I think.” He reined his horse close to hers once more, “And too young and beautiful to be content with so coarse a husband. I wonder if perhaps a lusty prince would be more to your liking?” He leaned across and put his hand on her thigh.

Matilda was overcome with anger. Not stopping to think, she raised her whip and thwacked him smartly across the wrist with the handle. “I don’t think you realize what you’re suggesting, my lord,” she flashed at him. “Do you wish to dishonor the wife of one of your father’s most loyal subjects?”

Her fury dissolved suddenly at the sight of his red, discomfited face, and she tried to suppress a gurgle of laughter. He was, after all, but a boy. “I am sorry, my lord prince. It is just that you were only a child when last I saw you, and now—” Her words died on her lips at the sight of his face.

It was white with fury as he groped blindly for his reins, spluttering as he tried to speak. “God’s teeth,” he managed at last. “Not so much of a child, madam, that I don’t know how to deflower a woman or father a brat, I assure you.”

He pulled his horse to a savage halt, which sent it rearing and plunging sideways against the bushes at the edge of the path, and, giving her one murderous glance as he turned, he sent his horse galloping back down the ride.

Matilda let her mare stand for a moment as she realized, with a shock, that she was shaking from head to foot. She knew she had been a fool. She could have put him off tactfully without making an enemy of him. “An enemy for life.” She murmured the words to herself, watching the mare’s ears twitch at the sound of her voice, and she shook her head, trying to throw off an irrational feeling of fear. How stupid, to let a little incident ruin a beautiful and exciting day. Taking a deep breath, she gathered up her reins and turned once more to follow the sounds of the other riders, slowly making their way back toward Winchester.

She told William what had happened when they were alone together in their guest chamber that night. To her surprise he threw back his head and laughed.

“The young puppy!” he said. “The runt of the litter and he fancies his chances with my wife. You should be very flattered, my dear. Prince John has an eye for a pretty woman.”

“But he’s only a child,” she burst out. “If it wasn’t so funny, it would be disgusting.”

“I’d bedded women and plenty by his age.” William unfastened his mantle and threw it down. “Take no notice, Moll. Think of it as a compliment. He’s spoiled and, as the king’s son, few women refuse him. It’s about the only benefit he does get from his position, poor lad. He’s not yet learned enough discretion to know whose wife he can wheedle and whose he can’t. He’ll know next time.” He laughed again.

For the remainder of their stay at Winchester John ostentatiously ignored Matilda and as obviously courted the attention of her husband. The sturdy baron was constantly required by his side, instructing, joking, even lecturing the boy, clapping him on his shoulders and laughing uproariously at his comments. Matilda watched silently as John listened and smiled, never totally unbending, but always allowing William to feel he had his confidence and his friendship, and she found herself wondering if the boy was quite as naive as William thought.

On the next hunting expedition she took care to remain in the center of a crowd of women followers, not once allowing her weary horse to drop back alone. She need not have worried. John went out of his way to avoid her, remaining constantly with his lords and William and the leading huntsmen.

When they left for Bramber Castle John bade William an almost affectionate good-bye. To Matilda he extended a cold, hostile hand, and when she curtsied and murmured the appropriate words of farewell he turned away without a word.

***

“Has madam finished?”

Jo stared up with a start. The waiter was standing beside her, his hand on her plate. The food on it was practically untouched.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was very good. I’m just not hungry.”

She looked across at Nick. He was watching her through narrowed eyes, twisting his empty glass thoughtfully between his fingers.

“You hypnotized me!” She gasped.

He shook his head. “I did nothing. I merely sat here and listened. Two coffees, please, and the bill.” He looked up at the waiter. Then he turned his attention back to Jo. He smiled faintly. “You were what I believe is called scrying, seeing pictures in the candle flame. No doubt you could see them in a crystal ball as well. You must be psychic!”

Jo had gone white. “That’s nonsense—”

“Is it? It’s more common to see the future than the past, I suppose, but either way, three hundred years ago you would have been burned at the stake for less.”

“And today I could make my living telling fortunes. Oh, God!” She put her head in her hands. “I’m frightened, Nick.”

“Why?” He picked up the bottle and poured the last of the wine into her glass. “You obviously have a gift. And if you are going to persist with researching into the past, the ability to do it yourself will at least save you Bennet’s no doubt exorbitant fees.” He pursed his lips. “Do you remember what you said?”

She took a sip from her glass, glancing around at the other diners. No one was staring. No one seemed to have noticed anything amiss. “It must have been you asking about Prince John earlier,” she said slowly. “I saw him again. Only he was older this time. A teenager.”

“But you found him as obnoxious as before.” Nick was still twisting his glass between his fingers.

Jo nodded thoughtfully. “He seemed to think me attractive, but his methods of showing it were pretty crass. Thank you.” She looked up and smiled as the waiter put a cup down in front of her.

“Perhaps your reactions were tactless and high-handed.” A nervous tic had begun at the corner of Nick’s eye.

She stared at it. “We are talking about me again,” she said softly. “It was not me. It was Matilda.”

“Whichever one of you it was, you should have had the sensitivity to handle the situation more discreetly.” Nick took the bill and began methodically to check it.

“Why are you so angry?” Jo said suddenly. “It’s as if you’re taking it personally. I didn’t mention Richard, did I? Or is it just because I talked about the past? Or because I wasted this beautiful meal? Or did I shout and yell and make an exhibition of myself?”

He shook his head, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “None of them. Come on. Let’s go.” He pushed his chair back and stood up.

It was a glorious night, warm and balmy. They walked slowly back up Victoria Road. Most of the houses were in darkness. Here and there a window was still lighted, shadows moving behind the curtains.

Nick did not touch her. He strode ahead in silence. Only when they reached the step beneath the pillared porch did he speak.

“Are you going to let me come in?”

She stared up at his face in the light of the streetlamp. “No, Nick.”

“Please, I won’t hurt you, I promise.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pulled her against him.

She wanted him badly. She could feel her heart beginning to beat faster as his mouth moved gently against hers, and she felt her resistance weakening as he moved his hands slowly from her shoulders toward her breasts, massaging them sensuously through the thin material of her shirt, pressing her spine against the door. He felt in his pocket for his key, silencing her feeble protest with another kiss as he slotted it into the lock behind her and pushed it open. The hall inside was pitch-black. He did not bother to try to find the light switch. His arm pinioning hers, he kissed her more fiercely as the heavy door swung shut behind them, leaving them in darkness.

“Nick.” Jo gasped. “Please, don’t—”

“Why?” She could hear the strange exultance in his voice as he tore her shirt open and dropped his head to nuzzle her breasts.

“Please, I asked you not to come in—”

“But you want me, Jo,” he breathed. “You want me.” Catching her wrist, he pulled her with him up the stairs, unlocking the door to her apartment and pulling her inside. Only then did he release her. Jo groped for the light switch, trying to refasten her shirt and tuck it back inside her skirt. “Nick, please, I’m tired—” She backed away from him uncertainly. “Will you go if I make some coffee—”

“No coffee. It sobers you up too fast.” He strode into the room, pulling the curtains shut and turning on the table lamp in the corner. “What we need is some more wine and some music.” Leaving her standing by the door, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bottle. “I see you’ve replenished your cellar.” He smiled at her. “Put some music on, Jo. And relax.” She was standing by the door, her hand on the latch. “Turn off the main lights and put on something quiet and sexy,” he went on, his voice suddenly gentle. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you. Come on. Relax.” He turned away from her to find the corkscrew and set about drawing the cork and pouring out the wine.

Still hesitating, Jo moved to the shelf and shuffled through a pile of cassettes. Her hands were shaking as she picked one up. “Piaf?” she asked, conscious that he had put down the bottle and walked across toward the door. She spun around, afraid that he was moving to lock it, but he merely went to the switch and turned off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow from the one small lamp in the corner.

Trying to steady her nerves, she turned back to the tape, putting it on very low.

“Your wine.” He was immediately behind her.

She faced him and took the glass from him. “You won’t hurt me again, Nick. You promise,” she whispered as he reached up to touch her face.

Nick smiled. “Why should I hurt you?” He took the glass back from her and set it down on the shelf behind her, then gently he drew her to him. With a frown he began to unbutton her shirt once more. He pulled it off then reached up to unfasten her bra. “That’s better,” he murmured as he dropped it on the floor. “Now, why have you still got your shoes on?”

He stood back and folded his arms once more, watching as Jo kicked off her high-heeled sandals, embarrassed at his sudden cold detachment.

She gave a nervous laugh as she turned away from him to pick up her glass. “Aren’t you going to take off your shirt too?”

“Of course.” He watched her drink. “You enjoyed it when I raped you the other night,” he said suddenly.

“I did not,” she flared.

“I think you did. I could feel it. A woman can’t hide it when she’s excited.”

Jo stopped and picked up her shirt hastily, clutching it against her. “I hope you haven’t got the idea that I like being knocked around, because I don’t. Please, Nick, stop teasing me…”

Nick took a step nearer her. He dragged the shirt out of her hand and threw it down behind him, then he caught her by the elbows, pulling her hard against him. “Beautiful, independent, oh so liberated Miss Clifford! I doubt if any man has dared to tell you what to do before, has he? One look from those flashing eyes and men cower back into their corners. What was Pete Leveson like in bed, Jo? He looks like a teddy bear to me. I doubt if he ever beat you. Perhaps that’s why you had such a short affair.”