Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) (10 page)

They had invited about fifty guests in all. The king’s brother James, and His Majesty’s natural son—the Duke of Monmouth—had already arrived. Buckingham was busy at cards in the corner with Elizabeth de Veres, Lord Rivers’ lovely wife. Hope regarded her curiously. She liked the poet. He’d been kind to her, despite her lowly background, treating her as well as any court lady though it was clear he found her faithfulness to Charles amusing. How curious now to find him in love with his own wife. Charles admired her, too.
What is it such men crave from these virtuous seductresses? Virtue is something no man will look for in me.

All that was missing was Charles. A cheer made her look to the entrance. A dark-haired man wearing an ostrich-plumed hat tilted at a rakish angle and a gold-braided crimson coat swept through the door dwarfing most of those around him. Charles at last! Her face broke into a happy grin and her heart raced a few beats faster. No doubt he had the same effect on every woman in the room.
But tonight he is mine.

Her gaze sharpened and she looked with interest at the man who walked beside him. She’d never seen him at court before or she would have remembered. He might have walked straight out of one of her childhood fantasies. Lean-waisted, broad-shouldered, with a powerful frame, he topped Charles by a good two inches. He seemed solid in a way one seldom saw among men living the soft life at court. He moved like a swordsman, lithe and graceful yet there was something wolfish about him.
He looks like a predator in a roomful of sheep
. His presence dwarfed the confines of the room, making him seem somehow out of place. It was easy to imagine him strapped in armor atop a warhorse like some vengeful knight of old.

She watched him with interest as she wove though her guests to greet Charles. He wore no adornments, other than the polished buckles and fine leather straps that secured his weapons, but his dark suit was finely made and of rich material, and crisp white linen showed at wrist and neck. In a room of gaily-bedecked courtiers he looked elegant and dangerous. It suited him well. Her heart sped up and a guilty flush warmed her cheeks.

He turned to speak to Charles and she got a good look at his features. For one brief moment, her heart stood still. He had a harsh beauty set off by a faded scar that creased his cheek. His hair was swept back off his face in a neat queue tied with a length of black ribbon. It gleamed in the candlelight, burnished gold with streaks of dark and light. Flickering shadows from hundreds of tapers accentuated chiseled features—strong cheekbones, a firm jaw and a full, almost sinful-looking mouth.
I wonder what color his eyes are.

She had almost reached Charles and she rushed the last few steps to greet him. He caught her and hugged her and bussed her cheek. “You’ve done us proud indeed this evening, Miss Mathews. And you are as pretty as the first day of summer.” She beamed with delight, his words making all her hard work worthwhile. He released her and removed his hat, then gave her an elegant bow. “As you can see, I’ve invited a friend. I pray you have room for one more. My dear, may I present to you a dashing fellow, both brave and bold, Captain Robert Nichols.”

Charles placed an arm around her shoulders and for some reason the overly familiar public gesture made her feel slightly embarrassed. She fought the urge to shrug him off. The captain stepped forward. His face looked grim, as if he were in the presence of something distasteful. She flushed, surprised at her awkward reaction. What did she care what a disapproving stranger thought? Her life was full of them. Let him think what he pleased.

Unaccustomed modesty overcome, she greeted her new guest with a playful smile. “Welcome, Captain Nichols. It’s an honor to have you join us for an evening of celebration. Please treat our home as if it were your own.” She held out her hand, forcing him to kiss it.

He tucked the hat he was holding under his arm and took her dainty hand in his large one. His fingers were cool beneath her own and his breath warmed her skin as his lips brushed her knuckles. Two of his fingers lingered a moment, pressing the soft underside of her wrist. She shivered and pulled her hand away, filled with dangerous new sensations. He rose to his full height. A stray lock of hair had escaped its bounds, softening his features.

“It’s very kind of you, madam, to welcome a stranger so warmly.”

His rich voice was deep and mellow. She raised her eyes to his. He was regarding her intently. Riveted, she returned his searching gaze. Despite a reassuring air of competence and strength he struck her as a troubled soul. His eyes were green
.
A haunting shade of olive green with flecks of black and silver. She imagined loneliness and sorrow and great pain hidden in their depths.
She blinked and looked away, intensely aware of him. He was a very handsome man.

“Hope, my dear. We have duties to attend. It’s time you escort me to greet our other guests. Then everyone can relax and enjoy the evening.”

Released from whatever spell that had bound her, Hope stepped back to the relative safety of Charles’s arms. For one wistful moment, she wished
she
was a virtuous seductress. The kind with whom men fell and stayed in love.

“Can you muddle about on your own for a space, Captain?”

“I expect I can manage it, Your Majesty.”

~

Robert watched with cold admiration as his new friend the king took the arm of yet another beautiful mistress. She wore a distinctive gown with a deep-purple skirt, flower-embroidered petticoats and black stomacher. It captured the eye and drew attention to her trim waist and the sway of her hips as she walked. Surprisingly, given who her lover was, the only ornaments she wore were a floral crown of willow, violets and ivy with one errant green sprig trailing down her cheek, and a few stray flowers woven into her hair.

Hope Mathews. He’d heard of her. The orange girl who’d leapt from the stage and stormed the palace to become His Majesty’s “country miss.” She was finer than he’d expected. Neither coarse nor vulgar, quite charming in fact, and a breathtaking natural beauty. With soft creamy skin, a full pouting mouth and a luxurious mass of rippling waist-length black hair, she had no need of enhancement, but it was those eyes that had stopped him dead in his tracks and held him captive. Arresting eyes full of secrets, glowing violet then blue, beneath full sweeping lashes.

He marveled at his own unaccustomed whimsy and reminded himself that despite those delicate wrists and wounded eyes she was no pure and innocent waif. She was a royal courtesan, possibly more striking than her court-bred rival and definitely fit for a king. Creatures such as she exuded a powerful sexual allure. They were meant to be enticing. Yet she looked like a wild thing sprung from the forest, her smile enchanted like a warm summer’s night, and he hadn’t expected to be quite so…entranced.

She looked back at him from over her shoulder as if she had heard his thoughts. A few sprigs of greenery escaped her crown and tangled in her hair. His breath quickened and he felt an unaccustomed twinge of longing. For a moment, everything went still around him and there was only him and the girl. He tilted his head in a slight bow and she answered with a sunny smile and the merry mischievous eyes. He couldn’t help a slight chuckle. Whatever she was, the lass had lightened his spirit like nothing had done in a very long while. Definitely not an innocent waif, but perhaps a wayward elf.

William de Veres surveyed the room, looking for his errant wife. She’d been anxious and irritable most of the day. Her precious captain had met with her good friend the king and she awaited news of her meddling. Ah! There she was. At a table with George Villiers, playing cards.
Good! He’s blind drunk, has a full purse, and is peering down her cleavage. At least she’s gainfully employed.
He was half convinced if they hadn’t married, she’d have gone on to a spectacular career as a first class sharper. He ambled over to the table and leaned against her shoulder.

“The time which should be kindly lent

To plays and witty men,

In waiting for a knave is spent,

Or wishing for a ten.

“You’re uncommon fond of this pursuit, love. Wouldn’t you rather watch the wildlife? Charles has arrived, and things are beginning to get interesting. Look...over there. A tribe of curates, priests, and canonical elves—and over there your surly captain.”

“Where?” Elizabeth dropped her cards and sat straight up, looking all about her. “How do you know who he is? You’ve never met him.”

“I’m assuming he’s that rather large fellow who came in with Charles a few moments ago carrying an ungodly sword that might be Excalibur and walking as if he has a pike shaft stuck up his—”

“Hush! If he’s very handsome and taller than you, then yes, that’s him. Where did he go? Things must have gone remarkably well don’t you think, if Charles invited him here?” She stood up, then stood on her toes, her hands clutching William’s shoulders for balance. “I don’t see him.”

“Here now, de Veres,” Buckingham protested hotly. “Don’t spirit her off before I have the chance to recoup my losses!”

“I am saving you from ruin, George. It’s really very kind of me.” He offered Elizabeth his arm. “Come along, little bird. Our prey has eluded us. Somehow I had the impression he was a meek, bookish, rustic kind of fellow but he looks like a bloody North Seas marauder, or perhaps the savior of Britain. He certainly looks like a fellow well able to take care of himself. You’re a naughty girl, Lizzy de Veres.”

“I’m sorry, Will,” she said with a crooked grin. “The only man whose looks I pay attention to is you.”

“Well...he shouldn’t be hard to find. Unless he’s hit his head on a beam and is stretched out cold on the floor.”

“William!” Her outrage was laced with laughter and he gave her a tight hug. “Who is the woman with Charles? The one who greeted us when we arrived?”

He followed her gaze and smiled to see a dark-haired beauty whose free mannerisms, unruly curls and ready grin were making the gentlemen smile and some of the women speak to one another behind their gaily feathered fans.

“That, my love, is Hope Mathews. She is another of his mistresses, and this is where he keeps her. She is his hostess for this evening.”

“She seems different from his usual conquests.” Elizabeth felt a stab of empathy. The malicious looks from the ladies and the barely concealed lust of the gentlemen reminded her of her first days at court as one who didn’t belong.

“She is. She comes from the ranks of orange girls at the theatre. I believe she’s even trod the stage herself. She puts the ladies out of sorts and is considered scandalously improper. Titled whores are one thing. They are born and bred to court. Miss Mathews' mother was a brothel owner. Most would consider it rather shocking to see her welcome at something like this, let alone hosting it. Given her humble beginnings, he won’t be able to keep her here once Portugal arrives.”

“Portugal has a name.” Elizabeth stepped on his foot and he encircled her waist, heedless of the disapproving looks.

“Queen Catherine, then, if it pleases you. And you’ll have to eat a great many more pastries before your dainty heel makes any sort of impression on me.”

“She looks so happy right now. What will become of her, do you think?”

“If he’s tired of her, he’ll give her gifts and pass her to another man. If he’s not, which I rather suspect, she’s a rare beauty and it seems he keeps her close, he’ll hide her somewhere and visit her when he can. Now look over in that corner, Lizzy. There is your captain standing like an oak amongst the potted plants, and heading this way is our king. Let us sally forth and see what wonders you have wrought.”

~

Robert commanded a quiet alcove in a corner of the salon. It was a relief to leave the reception room behind him. He had no idea why any sane person would line a room from wall to wall and floor to ceiling with mirrors. When he first walked in the whirl of gaudy colors and bewigged heads had left him feeling nauseous and faintly dizzy. He wondered how those who drank too much, ever found the door.

The stir around the king had diminished somewhat. The courtiers had made their greetings, the king had accepted them, and now everyone seemed intent on enjoying themselves. Several sat at tables playing hazard and basset, and people streamed in and out of the dining room eating when and what they pleased. The Duke of Buckingham and the charming Mistress Mathews preformed a skit in the salon. He thought it somewhat childish but others seemed to find it uproariously funny. He hid his impatience. He didn’t like surprises and had yet to discern why he was here.

It was a pleasant surprise to see Elizabeth across the room, though. He hadn’t seen her since she’d left London close to a year ago. By the looks of it, her husband was back in favor. He was deep in conversation with the king. Elizabeth kept smiling and beckoning for him to come join them, but Lord Rivers had a grip on her arm as strong as the one he used to keep on his drink. He looked up from his conversation from time to time and his eyes held a possessive gleam and what looked like a warning.

It was enjoyable to watch them. A touch on the arm, a whisper in the ear, private looks that spoke volumes, their intimacy was palpable. It warmed him to see it. And it made him jealous.
Was it Elizabeth I craved…or simply to feel something like that?

His own word seemed grey and muted in comparison. No great highs. No great lows. No vivid emotions except when cheating death. It made him a good soldier, and good for little else. Yet on this strange night filled with laughter and music, beautiful seductresses and whimsical kings, old friends and old rivals—the room glowed with color and all that was in it came dancing to life. It almost felt as if
he
were creaking back to life. He grinned as he watched the king’s lovely courtesan, no longer impatient, for she was the enchantress who’d first cast the spell.