If she'd had any remaining doubts that her husband was a good man, they vanished then. "That's wonderful, Trick."
"Not wonderful, only decent." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Besides, the last thing I need is an estate in Scotland. My father—the duke," he corrected himself, "left me more than I can deal with as it is."
Maybe he could fool himself into thinking his actions were less than generous, but Kendra knew better.
It felt strange to Kendra to be back in London but at Trick's town house instead of the one she'd always known in Lincoln's Inn Fields. And Caldwell House, a dark monstrosity built before the Civil War, was every bit as disgustingly opulent as he'd said. Standing in the master bedchamber, where she was dressing before attending court, she was reminded of an overdecorated cake.
A blue and orange one.
"Ghastly," she said, kicking off her shoes.
"I told you that you would hate it." Trick shrugged out of the surcoat he'd worn for travel. "Feel free to redecorate."
"I imagine I have better things to do that will keep me busy a while." Peeling off her garters and stockings, she frowned at the lavender gown that Jane had selected. Too insipid for her mood. They'd sent a messenger ahead to request Kendra's London clothing be moved from the Chases' town house, and she hurriedly flipped through the gowns that had been crammed into the master bedroom's wardrobe. "I wonder how all the children are getting along?"
"Fine, I'm sure," her husband said absently while pulling a fresh shirt over his head.
Cavanaugh had laid a blue velvet suit on the bed. Men had it so easy, Kendra thought with a bit of weariness-induced irritation. Brown or green, velvet or satin. Aside from varying quantities of braid, lace, and ribbon, everything looked the same. Their shirts and cravats were always white, their shoes—with the exception of some foppish court dandies—invariably black. High-heeled with fancy buckles for court, low-heeled and plain for every day. There was nothing much for them to decide.
She selected a cloth-of-gold gown and held it up. "What do you think?"
His back to her as he reached for his breeches, Trick answered, "Fine." For a moment she stood there, aggravated, until he turned and favored her with one of his blinding white smiles.
He was right. Everything was fine, after all.
In a few short weeks, their relationship had come a long way—farther than she'd thought possible. The journey to London had been almost blissful. Trick had been the most attentive of lovers, but even more important, he'd answered most of her questions without resorting to evasion. The days on the road had gone a long way toward convincing her their future was bright indeed.
Bless her brothers for bringing them together, she thought, then silently laughed at her reversal of feelings.
"Come here,
leannan
," Trick said, and she did, letting the gown slip to the floor as she walked into his arms. His kiss was everything she hadn't been able to imagine before meeting him, and she was breathless by the time he finished. "I'm sorry to rush you out of the house when we've barely arrived," he murmured regretfully, his gaze lingering on the garish orange-hung bed, "but I want to complete my business with King Charles and take you home to Amberley."
With a sigh, she moved away and started detaching her stomacher. "I still wish I could see it."
"See what?" he asked, pulling up the blue velvet breeches.
"The treasure. Will we be bringing it along to court?"
Trick's gaze wandered to the massive chest sitting in a corner. He wished he didn't have to deal with this. He wished he didn't have to deal with King Charles or his problems at all.
"I think I'll just meet with Charles tonight to explain, then arrange to send it along later."
She wiggled her gown down and off. "I cannot wait to see his reaction."
Sweet Mary, he couldn't let her be there. He had delicate matters to discuss with the king. Looking down as he tucked in his shirt, he made his voice as casual as possible. "I believe Charles will feel this is a matter best settled between men."
He raised his gaze to hers, expecting to see that look in her eyes. The defiant look she'd given him when he'd told her she couldn't come along to Scotland, again when he went off to Burntisland, and yet again when he'd ordered her not to get on the boat.
But instead he saw a different look. Hurt.
He wanted to hit something. Not an hour in London, and the damn deceptions were coming between them already.
Characteristic of her, though, the hurt look was fleeting, and the one he'd expected came into her eyes, after all. He watched her draw breath, girding for battle. "Charles likes women," she said.
"In his bed, yes."
"No." She caught his gaze and blushed. "Well, yes, but that wasn't what I meant. He listens to women. Really listens, as if he cares what we say. Even about politics."
Lucky him, marrying one of probably three women in England who would think to discuss politics with their monarch. "If I let you see the treasure, will it make you feel better?"
"You cannot do that." She rolled her eyes. "There's no key, and Charles is going to wonder where the lock is if you hack it off."
"Then I won't."
"I knew you wouldn't."
"I mean I won't hack it off."
She glanced at the chest, then back to him, speculation narrowing her pretty green eyes. "Can you pick the lock?"
"You insult me." He swiped his knife off the dressing table, and she followed him to the chest, where he knelt and went to work, delicately probing the keyhole. "There isn't a good smuggler on earth who doesn't know how to pick a lock."
Wearing nothing but the amber bracelet and a flimsy chemise, she sat on the chest. When she crossed her legs right in front of his face, his knife slipped.
"Were you a good smuggler?"
Determinedly, he refocused. "Actually, I was a bad smuggler. My heart was never in it." A satisfying
click
reverberated in the room. "But I can pick a lock."
Removing it, he stood. With a happy gasp, she jumped up and threw open the lid.
"Oh, my God, Trick. Look at this." She hefted a solid gold charger, running her fingers over the delicately engraved rim. "It's beautiful."
"He'll probably melt it down."
"No," she breathed, dropping to kneel before the chest. "He wouldn't." She set the charger on the floor and reached for a silver pitcher in the shape of a swan. "Oh, I just knew I wanted to see this." One by one, she removed pieces, each more impressive than the last. Plates, bowls, goblets, cutlery, serving utensils, platters. "Hamish was right. The first Charles truly did live like a king on his coronation journey."
He smiled as she delved deeper, her lovely, scantily clad bottom rising as she leaned into the chest. Helpless to resist, he gave her a little pinch.
Laughing, she slapped his hand away. "Oh, what is this?" She drew out an ivory casket inlaid with scrolled gold wire.
He shrugged. "Small items?"
"In a beautiful box like this? And locked?"
Taking it from her, he made short work of that and put it back in her hands.
With a sigh of anticipation, she raised the lid. "Jewels!" She lifted an exquisite sapphire and diamond necklace. "My God, it looks like pirate's booty! How did jewels get in here?" Replacing the necklace, she slipped a gaudy emerald ring on her finger. "I don't understand this," she said, staring at it. Obviously made for a man, it dangled loose. "I thought Hamish and his friends only packed the kitchen."
"Supposedly." He ran a hand back through his hair, still surprised to find the front so short. "I guess somewhere along the way, someone filched this and slipped it inside."
"Rhona or Gregor, I'm guessing. I wonder if Hamish knows?" She dug around some more and drew out another necklace. "Goodness, will you look at the size of these pearls?"
The largest round pearls Trick had ever seen, with one enormous teardrop-shaped pearl dangling from the center. "Fit for royalty, all right."
She dropped it back into the casket. "Oh, Trick, look at this." Her voice turned wistful. "Amber."
"When did you grow to like amber?" he teased.
She blushed and pulled the jewel out, only to find it was a clasp attached to a gleaming string of smaller, pure white pearls. "Oh, it's lovely," she sighed, dropping the strand over her head.
It was so long, he reached to double it, settling the second half around her neck. "Don't you own any pearls?"
"Father sold all the family jewels to help finance the Civil War." Her fingertips danced on the lustrous strand. "Of course, Jason has bought me things over the years. And Colin and Ford. They all know I love jewelry. But pearls are terribly expensive."
And immensely popular. All the court ladies wore pearls, and most of the men, come to that. "You look beautiful in pearls,
leannan
."
She blushed and took them off. "For the price this trinket could bring, I expect we could feed the orphans for a year."
"A decade, probably." He smiled.
She dropped them back into the box. "Help me put this all away, will you? I still need Jane to do my hair, and if we don't get to Whitehall soon, we'll miss the presentations."
"The Duke and Duchess of Amberley!"
Trick shot the puffed-up court usher an annoyed glare. "I abhor this sort of thing," he muttered under his breath as he and Kendra made their way down the aisle to where King Charles and Queen Catharine sat on the dias, dressed in crimson velvet with a swagged canopy overhead to match. "I really hate this."
"Oh, hush," Kendra chided. "A little pomp and circumstance never hurt anybody. And there will be dancing afterward—"
"I cannot wait."
His tone was dry enough that under different circumstances she might be tempted to slap him. As it was, she flashed Queen Catharine a brilliant smile and dropped into a deep curtsy, pressing a kiss to the back of the woman's slim proffered hand. "Your Majesty."
"Lady Kendra," Catharine said in gracious Portuguese-accented syllables, "or have I heard it's the Duchess of Amberley now?"
"You've heard correctly," she said, then leaned closer to her husband. "As long as he behaves himself," she added for his ears only.
Suppressing a laugh, he rose and traded sides with her. King Charles smiled as she kissed his hand. "It's glad I was to hear that two of my favorite families are united."
She only just managed to conceal her surprise. "I'm happy to have pleased Your Majesty."
He nodded, then looked back to Trick. "We'll talk later, yes?"
"Aye. And I've something to give you."
"Do you, now?" The king was not above delighting in gifts. "Did you bring it along?"
"It's rather...large. And it's at my home, but I can have it delivered—"
"Amberley House, or Caldwell House here in London?"
"Here in London, but—"
"I have matters to discuss with you in any case." Charles raised a meaningful brow. "I shall sneak out of my bedchamber this evening and come to you."
"Sneak?" Kendra burst out, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
Charles let loose a booming laugh. "My Master of the Backstairs is quite accustomed to making these arrangements, I assure you."
His eyes twinkled, and Kendra blushed. She knew he meant that he usually sneaked out for assignations with his mistresses, but she felt sorry for his long-suffering queen, who was studiously looking elsewhere.
She would never put up with that from her husband, not now that things were right between them in the bedroom. He'd promised her fidelity, and she expected him to give up his mistress. Just let him try to visit London alone again.
With another bow and curtsy, Kendra and Trick moved away so the next courtiers could be presented.
"Well, I expect we can leave now," Trick said as soon as they were out of earshot.
"I'm not leaving until after we've danced." Kendra flipped open her painted fan.
"Don't tell me you're going to titter behind that thing."
"Me? Titter?" She frantically fanned it at her face. On this late summer night, the Presence Chamber was hot and close, lit by hundreds of candles in wall sconces and liveried yeomen holding flaming torches. "What did Charles mean, two of his favorite families?"
Trick tucked his tongue in his cheek. "Were you not aware the Chases are favored?"
For the second time this evening, she was tempted to slap him. "You know very well what I mean. I've never seen you at court—"
"I do my best to avoid it."
"And I don't remember you from the years in exile, either. So how is it you've come to know Charles so well?"
"My father—the duke—was a major supplier of kingly luxury items," Trick said dryly. "All through the Commonwealth years, we had, uh...dealings."
Kendra stopped fanning. "You're jesting, right? Charles was as poor as we were during those years."
"I'm not jesting. The duke was happy enough to supply him free of charge."
"Out of loyalty?"
He snorted. "Out of greed. Charles promised him the dukedom restored upon his own restoration." He frowned across the chamber, then turned back to her, pulling at his cravat. "If you're not going to fan yourself, you may as well fan me."
"My wrist is tired. I've decided to sweat instead."
Chuckling, he leaned forward and gave her a kiss. "Ladies don't sweat. Ladies glow."
"I'm a duchess now, not a lady. I can do as I please." Suddenly he was staring at a woman across the chamber. "Trick? Who is that?"
"Most people call her Lady Charlotte Waller."
She blew out a breath, her free hand curling into a fist. If this was his London mistress...
"Most people?" she asked carefully.
"Charlotte, Harlot—what's the difference?"
Despite her distress, she laughed, thinking there were very few women present who didn't deserve such a designation. "And what, pray tell, could this Lady Harlot have done to earn such a title at King Charles's court?"
"She slept with the Earl of Danforth."