Chapter
VII

Christian bowed to Lady Jayne, who curtsied according to the moves of the pavane they were dancing. Having returned to the great hall with his guests, he’d been captured by the woman and forced to partner her or appear rude. Jayne tried to burn him with her eyes, but he was distracted by the sight of Nora pacing by with her father. He had had to give her up to Becket. One couldn’t refuse a maid’s own father, but if he weren’t careful Flegge would try to steal her again.

“The disguising house.”

He glanced down at Jayne. “What?”

“Meet me at the disguising house.”

“Do you have Jack Midnight’s head in a bag beneath your skirt?”

“Of course not.”

“Then tender me no invitations.”

Jayne dug her fingernail into the skin of his palm. “Foul urchin, you’re bored with me already, are you not?”

“Cease gouging my flesh at once, or I’ll step on the hem of your own gown and your breasts will pop out of their mooring.”

Releasing Christian’s hand, Jayne did a stately prance in a circle, then returned to him. They began to pace forward once more.

“Such lewd suggestions, my lord. It must be all those years you spent with Midnight that turned you into a ruthless bawd.”

He scowled at her. “God’s teeth, you’re aroused.”

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

Bowing as the music ended, Christian shook his head. “Go away.” Giving Jayne no time to protest, he slipped past her to catch up with the retreating Nora and her father.

As he reached the pair, Flegge appeared and snatched Nora’s hand. Pressing it to his lips, he begged for a dance. Flegge was about to kiss her hand again, but Christian shoved his own hand beneath the descending mouth and grasped Nora’s. Flegge jerked his head back, glaring at Christian.

“I told you, Sir Percivale,” Christian said, “Nora Becket’s company is forfeit to me and me alone, saving her father.” He bowed to William.

Before Flegge or William could reply, Christian hustled Nora away to take up a position among the dancers for another pavane.

“Look what you’ve done,” Nora said as she swayed along beside him. “Father is furious.”

“Don’t quiver so. He’s only a little irked. If you nearly faint at the thought of annoying him, how are you going to tell him you’re not marrying the fatuous Flegge?”

“I can’t tell him that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. That’s why I’m dressed this way.” Abruptly, she frowned and pursed her lips.

“What mean you? You’re turning red.” Christian stared at the delightful flush, then chuckled. “So that’s what convinced you to take my advice and uncover yourself. Fear of Flegge has made you bold.”

“Please, my lord. It isn’t charitable of you to tease me when I’m so desperate.”

“Gather up your courage and tell your father you won’t marry Flegge.”

“I can’t. Father would cast me out. He said so.”

“Idle threats. All you need do is stand firm. Once he sees that you won’t change your mind, your father will admire your spirit. Men like women of stomach and valor.”

“But—”

“Bow, Nora.”

She bowed and gave Christian her hand as the dance came to a close.

“My lord.”

“I’m going to help you.”

“But I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, if I’m there to give you solace. I’ll send your father to the library in a few minutes. When I nod at you, you must leave and meet us there. I’ll stand behind the arras in front of the northern door. You stay near it, and I can talk to you without being perceived.”

“What will I say?”

“Tell him you won’t marry Flegge, lackwit.” He escorted Nora to a place near the Duchess of Suffolk’s chair. As he turned to leave her, she grabbed his arm.

“I’ll never be able to do it,” she whispered.

“Do you know where the library is?”

“Yes, but I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I’ll warn the guards to expect you so that you aren’t stopped.”

Ignoring Nora’s anxious look, Christian set about finding Becket and directing him to the library on the excuse that the earl wanted a private word with him. To Christian’s annoyance, Flegge attached himself to Becket’s side and accompanied the older man out of the hall.

God’s teeth, Christian thought. Nora could hardly face her father. Having Flegge there, too, would send her into a fit. He glanced around the hall in search of Nora. She was still planted beside the Duchess, but she looked too calm to have seen Flegge leave with her father. Christian nodded to her. She pursed her lips, swallowed, and excused herself to the Duchess.

Leaving his father to play host alone, Christian took a circuitous path through the scullery and kitchens to reach the chamber next to the library. There was a connecting door between the room and the library, and an arras hung in the small entryway that joined them. Christian slipped through the entryway and peered into the library by the gap between the arras and the door frame.

Flegge and Becket stood next to a table in the middle of the room, inspecting the shelves of books. Christian ground his teeth together upon sighting Flegge. The man looked like a fox anticipating making a meal of some unsuspecting chicken.

“And so we agree on the settlement?” Flegge asked.

“I’ll have my clerk draw up the documents tomorrow.”

“You’re sure your daughter won’t mind forfeiting her dower house or the income from her lands in Norfolk?”

“You’ve met Nora. Biddable, that’s what she is. Why, I can’t remember a time when she disobeyed me. Give her a few pets and some books, and she’s happy.”

“I’ll give her babes, my lord. My family wants issue from this union quickly.”

Becket shifted from one foot to the other. “Where is the earl? It’s not like him to keep a friend waiting.”

Christian backed away from the arras and looked down at his hand in surprise, for it was wrapped tightly around the hilt of his dagger. He didn’t remember drawing the weapon.

“S’blood,” he whispered.

Fading away, he stalked from chamber to chamber in search of Nora. If she didn’t hurry, Becket would have her married that night, so eager was the man to rid himself of his daughter.

His search took him down a gallery and out onto a back landing. Only one candle had been lit there, and he searched the darkness for a glimpse of Nora’s white gown.

“Oh, dear.”

The words floated up to him from the bottom of the stairs.

“Nora?”

“My lord? I’m lost.”

“Marry, lady, I know that. You’re almost in the cellar.” Christian cursed under his breath as he realized what he’d said. “Hold! Nora, stay where you are. Don’t go any farther.”

Snatching the candle from its sconce on the wall, Christian charged down the stairs to the first sharp turn. There Nora stood, skirts gathered in both hands, blinking at him.

“Your father is waiting,” he said.

“Ahhh!”

Nora jumped and dashed behind Christian, then peered down the stairs into darkness.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing. Probably servants at my ale kegs again.” Christian turned and began shoving her up the stairs in front of him.

“Eeeeh.”

“God’s sacred body,” Christian said as old Tom Birch whizzed up the stairs beside him. “Get you gone, crackbrain.”

Christian lifted a foot to kick the lackwitted heretic, but Tom shrank against a wall and shook his head so vigorously, his beard seemed to take flight.

“Rats, my lord. Rats as big as dogs be living down there.”

Moving to stand in front of the curious Nora, Christian grabbed the neck of Tom’s gown and lifted the smaller man off his feet. Controlling his rage, Christian spoke quietly, yet Tom cringed.

“Get your puling carcass below or I’ll mince your flesh for a pasty.” Christian dropped his victim, and Tom scuttled backward, his mouth working noiselessly. He stumbled back down the stairs.

Nora poked her head around Christian’s shoulder. “Who was that?”

“A lazy old minion of my father’s.”

“He didn’t look like a servant.”

“Father spoils old Tom with gifts of clothing and an allowance because Tom had charge of him when he was a child. Hurry. Your father may be gone by now.”

He urged her up the stairs again, giving her no chance to ponder old Tom. Christian was going to get rid of those thrice-cursed heretics upon the morrow. He was lucky it was only Nora who’d seen Tom.

They reached the library door. Christian left Nora there and crept into position behind the arras. By the time he got there, Nora was in the room. She stood huddled against the door as if she were a deer cornered by wolves. Since Becket and Flegge had their backs to him, Christian parted the arras and beckoned to Nora. In her panic she’d forgotten to stand near him.

Her eyes widened when she saw him peer out from behind the tapestry, and she stuttered in her greeting of Flegge. Christian slipped back behind the cloth and watched her walk around her father and come toward him, wringing her hands.

“Sir Percivale has consented to the betrothal,” Becket was saying. “We will sign the contracts tomorrow.”

Flegge began a courtly address to Nora that sent Christian’s hand groping for his dagger again. And Nora stood silent. Christian scowled at her back through the slim gap of the two halves of the arras, then jabbed her ribs with his finger. She squeaked, but only he heard her. Still she said nothing, and Flegge progressed to the crimsom beauty of her cheeks. From the smirk on his face, Christian knew he wasn’t talking about Nora’s face. He poked her again. Nora stuttered, but Flegge ignored her and continued his address.

Christian put his lips close to the arras and hissed at her, “Speak up.”

Silence.

“Tell him.”

Nothing.

Neither Flegge nor Becket were looking at Nora. In desperation, Christian reached and pinched her bottom.

“Oh!” She jumped and thrust her hands behind her back.

Flegge paused in his discourse. Becket looked up from the book he was studying, and both men stared at Nora.

Christian cupped a hand to his mouth and whispered, “I do not wish for this betrothal.”

“I do not wish for this betrothal,” Nora said.

Flegge’s mouth went slack, and he turned to Becket.

Roaring his daughter’s name, Becket pounded his fist on the table. “You must be possessed. You would deny my word? By God, I’ll teach you obedience.”

Nora gasped and took a step back from her father as he stalked around the table to stand beside Flegge.

Again Christian whispered, “I won’t marry Percivale Flegge.”

“I w-won’t—”

This time Becket’s roar made even Flegge cringe. It sent Nora farther back into the arras, and Christian had to steady her with a hand against her back. He couldn’t see anything with her so close, but he could hear her stuttering protest and Becket’s curses.

“You’ll obey me or suffer for it,” Becket said. “I’ll give you this night to contemplate your sin before I beat some virtue into your dimwitted skull.”

To Christian’s alarm, Becket grasped Nora by the arm and thrust her out of the room. He apologized to Flegge, muttered something about finding out what had happened to the earl, and left. Christian was about to leave as well to find Nora, when he heard Flegge growl.

“A pox on it,” the man said to himself. “What a man must endure for the sake of gold and an heir.”

Christian lifted the arras and stepped into the library, “Methinks you’d avoid any mention of the pox.”

Flegge whirled around to face Christian.

“What do you here, Montfort?”

“This is my house,” Christian replied. “I can’t take a moment’s respite from a host’s duties without coming upon disputations and discord.”

Puffing up his chest, Flegge began to circle around Christian like a fencer looking for an opponent’s weakness. “You were spying.”

“What makes you think you can father an heir? You’ve never begotten so much as one whelp on any of your whores.”

“You presume to concern yourself with my affairs?”

Christian took no notice of the circling Flegge. He rested his hips on a table and leaned back, contemplating a bookstand.

“You make bold with an innocent like Nora Becket,” he said, “when you’d do better to mate with a woman whose appetites match your own.” He finally stabbed Flegge with his glance, and the man paused. “ ‘Forgo your dream, poor fool of love.’ ”

Flegge planted himself in front of Christian. Crossing his arms over his chest, he jeered at the younger man. “I’ll marry where I list.”

Thrusting his body upright, Christian curled one hand around the neck of Flegge’s brocaded doublet while placing his other hand on the hilt of his dagger.

“Marry Nora Becket and I’ll send you to hell much sooner than you’d wish.”

Flegge tugged at Christian’s fist and snarled. “Get your foul hands from me, Montfort. I know your game. You want her for yourself, and haven’t been able to seduce her yet. Becket’s offer is ill-timed for your schemes. You want her for yourself.”

Flegge succeeded in freeing his doublet because Christian suddenly dropped it. He turned away to stroll idly over to the bookstand. He flipped through a few pages of the Greek text resting there as he spoke.

“Say rather that I don’t want you to have her.”

“You’d have me believe you’ve turned virtue’s champion after years of teaching the most jaded lords in the kingdom new sins?” Flegge snorted. “There is naught so vile as a jade masquerading as a saint. If you’re going to cultivate a virtue, Montfort, try honesty. Admit that your cock is leading your brain and you can’t endure the thought of anyone else having what you want.”

Closing the book, Christian spread his hands out flat on the leather backing. He could hear Flegge’s breathing, labored from his prancing around the room. It was the only sound in the library. Without turning around to face Flegge, Christian jerked his head in the direction of the door.

“Get out.”

“I want your word that you’ll leave Nora be.”

“Begone, you simpleminded grub, before I decide to cut out your tongue and make you eat it.”

Christian waited until he heard the door close before lifting his hands from the book. They were shaking with the fury that threatened to consume him. What ailed everyone? His father, Flegge, even Inigo Culpepper accused him of being besotted. He held up his right hand and watched it tremble. Balling it into a fist, he struggled to deny the urge to fly after Percivale Flegge and beat the man until his bones turned to sand.

Christian was honest with himself. He’d never denied wanting Nora, so why was everyone treating him as if he’d lost his wits? God’s teeth, he’d seduced women before. True, none was like Nora. No one was like Nora—timid yet possessed of a secret strength; all milk skin and blush-rose cheeks, yet humble and unaware of her charm. Groaning, Christian leaned on the bookstand and rested his forehead on his arm. He was dwelling on a maid’s charms like a randy and infatuated schoolboy. And he’d never been infatuated in his whole twenty-six years.

“Beshrew her,” he muttered. “All I want is a little dalliance.”

He let himself out of the library, intending to check on his father’s pet heretics before rejoining the festivities. At the head of the stairs leading to the cellar, he encountered the earl. Sebastian had one foot on the first step when Christian reached him.

“I came to tell you the guards just stopped Luiz de Ateca from leaving the hall,” Sebastian said. “He claimed he was going in search of Nora Becket for the Duchess, but he was headed for the kitchens.” Sebastian waited for Christian’s reply. “Chris? Christian!”

“Yes, sire.”

“Did you hear what I said about de Ateca?”

“Yes, sire, but he can’t get belowstairs. Culpepper stands guard with a few goodly men.”

Sebastian threw up his hands. “Culpepper. You might as well set Morris dancers to guard as him and his band. Oh, leave that for now. We must return to the hall. But I wanted to tell you that Cecil has sent a warning that rumors concerning his activities are reaching the Queen through Bonner. We are to be cautious and wait a while longer to move Tom and the others.”

Linking arms with his father, Christian headed back toward the hall with him. Worry about Nora receded as his thoughts pursued secret avenues and navigated the Byzantine intrigues of court and kingdom.

Christian needed to find out what Bonner knew, yet none of the old priests and nobles who were continually in the man’s company would trust him. There was de Ateca, but the Spaniard knew of Christian’s antipathy toward him. Were Christian suddenly to become friendly, he would invite suspicion, and unwanted advances as well. Who could approach de Ateca?

“My headstrong, you’re not listening to me.”

“Forgive me, sire. I was thinking about de Ateca.”

“I said you haven’t been as clever as you thought in your games with Nora Becket. What did you do to Percivale Flegge? He’s fled. Skittered out of the house as though running from the watch.”

Christian clenched his jaw and met his father’s gaze. “I told him not to marry her. He’s not good enough.”

“That may be true, but her father has chosen him for the girl, and it is her duty to accept him.” Sebastian forestalled his son’s protest with a raised hand. “You’re no more suited for Nora than Flegge. She needs a gentle, kind man, and—as I love you, my headstrong—you are neither gentle nor kind.”

“Mayhap you’re right, but all I’m trying to do is strengthen her backbone. She needs a little meanness stuffed into that sweet body.” Christian stopped walking and turned to his father. “If there is one thing Jack Midnight taught me, it’s that weakness invites cruelty and strength commands respect. The day I struck back was the day he stopped beating me.”

“You can’t make Nora Becket into something she is not. No, we won’t speak of it further. I forbid you to interfere in this betrothal. And don’t scowl at me, young baggage. I have to attend the Duchess, and I want to do so knowing I have your promise to leave off.”

“I can’t give it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sebastian said.

“Yes, sire.”

Christian frowned as his father walked away from him. He watched Sebastian enter the hall through a service door, then cursed his bad luck when Lady Jayne winnowed her way through it and shut it behind her.

“Trapped,” Christian said to himself.

Jayne had that look of a determined mule that he’d grown to dread. Then she surprised him with a smile.

“There you are,” she said. “I’ve been sent on a quest by the Duchess. She wants to see that basilisk costume from the last performance. And she wants to hire your costumemaker. I told her you always refuse to reveal his identity, but she thinks she can persuade you.”

“I haven’t time to parade costumes,” Christian said.

“Very well. I’ll hunt for it myself.”

“No.” He blocked her path. “They’re probably all still in the disguising house. This way.”

As he led Jayne back through the hall on their way to the disguising house, he searched for Nora Becket among the dancers and merrymakers. He found her in a corner, staring down at Roger Mortimer as the nobleman bent low over her hand. She was casting wet-eyed glances of unhappiness at her father until Roger kissed her hand. Eyes round with astonishment, she burst into laughter as Roger clutched his breast in imitation of heartsick ardor. Her laughter jolted through Christian’s body, and he stopped so suddenly, Jayne bumped into him. Nora never laughed like that for him.

“I am not besotted.”

“What?” Jayne asked.

Christian deliberately turned his back on the laughing couple and bowed toward Jayne. When he straightened, a slow, indolent smile spread across his lips.

Jayne caught her breath. “Indeed, my lord, you are capricious with your favor.”

“You don’t want my favors?”

“Oh, I want them.”

Saying nothing more, Christian threaded his way through the crowd in the hall and out into the courtyard that separated the house from the disguising hall. Jayne stuck fast to his side, clinging to his arm. She waited only until a unicorn fountain was between them and the house to dig in her heels and tug him so that he fell against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. Her lips pressed against his, then she nipped at them with her teeth between whispers.

“You’re not teasing me, are you?”

Christian shivered as she nibbled on his neck and sucked at the skin at the base of his throat. “No.”

“I won’t have to pay you with some ruffian’s head?” Her fingers skittered to the fastenings of his doublet.

He tore his lips from hers. “Damn you, don’t speak of Midnight.” He sucked in a deep breath, for Jayne’s wandering fingers had discovered his codpiece. Grabbing her hand, he held it away from his groin. “Harlot, wait until we’re inside.”

Jayne complied, refraining from touching him again until he shut the door to the tiring room that held boxes and trunks of costumes. The fantastic raiment of that night’s masque lay discarded in heaps about the place. The head of a hobby horse rested atop the silver and green dragon’s body.

Turning from closing the door, Christian found that Jayne had snatched up the costume of a fairy princess. It was a gossamer thing of white shot with gold. Of a sudden, the glittering piece turned to silk with black trimmings, and the image of Nora’s rose and cream body filled the garment. He was back on a garden bench, pressing a trembling body beneath him, seeking entrance.…

“Put it down,” he said in a quiet voice.

Jayne froze, and the costume dropped to the floor. Christian watched it pool like sunlit water before he turned away.

“You’ve changed again,” Jayne said. “It’s not fair. I had you before that simple goose Nora Becket caught your eye. My claim is the better. And besides, everyone knows she’s going to marry Percivale Flegge.”

Bending over a pile of regalia, Christian lifted a mask to his face. It was of a falcon. Gilded feathers swept back to reveal slits for his eyes. The beak jutted out, gold and hard over his own nose.

He fastened the band at the back of his head and moved his neck in imitation of the sharp, swift movement of the bird. The mask ended below his nose, leaving uncovered his mouth and chin. He raised his arms like wings and hissed like an angered falcon. He swooped at Jayne, toppling her onto a pile of dresses.

She giggled, but left off when Christian didn’t speak to her. Breasts heaving, she studied him as if trying to discover his mood. Christian kept his weight on top of her and held her gaze with his while he yanked at the laces of her gown.

“The mask,” she said. “I can’t see your eyes.”

He jerked hard at the bodice of her gown, and it ripped, parting to reveal her breasts. They were heaving with her agitated breathing. Still staring into her eyes, Christian covered one of them with his hand. He did nothing else.

Jayne squirmed, but he pressed his hips down over hers and held her still. Propped up on one arm, he could see her growing arousal, and smiled.

“Take off your clothes,” she said.

Heedless of her words, he pulled at the already loosened laces at his groin. When Jayne saw what he was about, she cursed and bucked, but his weight was too great.

“No,” she said. “I want you naked.”

His smile grew malicious as he jerked skirts and stiffened petticoats up to Jayne’s waist, then lowered himself between her legs. He was hard put not to groan when his swollen flesh nudged her loins. His smile faded, and he trapped Jayne’s arms with his own. She had abandoned her protests and was gazing into his eyes.

“Take off the mask,” she whispered. “Do you hear me? Say something.”

He stared down at her, trying to force himself to go on, while a nasty little voice droned in his head, It’s not Nora. Not the one you want. Not Nora, not Nora, not Nora, not Nora. Nearly crying out in angry frustration, he flung himself away from Jayne. Rolling onto his back, he tore the mask off and threw his arm over his eyes.

“God’s mercy,” he said.

Jayne had scrambled to her feet and was struggling to right her clothes while viciously cursing him.

“You dare treat me like this?” she said in a dangerously low voice.

He moved his arm and looked up at her. He was still too stunned by his own actions to care much about her. “I treat you as you allow yourself to be treated,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed, and he tensed, thinking for a moment she might hurl herself at him. But she only whirled away and stomped from the room, leaving him alone with his unquenched lust and his disquieting thoughts of Nora.