Sysabel stood up in the middle of the room, brimming cup in hand, and gazed around her. She appeared to swell, her face flushing from the neck upwards, until she appeared almost explosively crimson. She began to stamp both feet, a drum roll of fury, and then flung the contents of her cup directly into her aunt’s face. There was once again an immediate silence as the lady blinked, streaks of Burgundy trickling from her stiff white headdress to her chin. Then Sysabel turned, and threw the empty cup directly at Nicholas.
Nicholas caught it. “No refill, perhaps,” he smiled. “Shocking waste of good wine, you know. But I understand the problem. I imagine,” he raised an eyebrow at his aunt, who was rocking slowly to her feet, “my cousin would be better retiring at this point. If you’d care to take her up to her room?”
The baroness pushed Avice forward. “Go with her, my dear. I imagine she needs a little comfort. Amongst other things.”
“I don’t want to,” muttered Avice.
“Your wishes have absolutely nothing to do with it,” sighed her mother. “So you will, for once, simply do as you’re told.”
A rustle of silk skirts and a flounce of forced compliance half emptied the parlour. It also interrupted the small group of hostelry servants who had been listening outside. The Lady Elizabeth turned once, saying, “I shall return for dinner shortly, and bring the girls with me. Until then I shall attempt to teach my niece some manners.” The door shut again with a determined clank, Jerrid sighed with relief, and Nicholas grinned at the baroness.
“An interesting day, my lady. If it weren’t for Emma’s – chills – I’d say it was quite a delightful day.”
“You’re looking forward to accusing your cousin of high treason, sir?” But the baroness was smiling. “It appears you are quite enamoured of adventure after all, my lord, whatever it entails.”
“And,” Nicholas added, “since genuine adventure is proving harder and harder to find, I’m off to control my men out at the stables before they kill each other. May I leave my speechless father to your gentle patience, my lady?”
The earl was still spluttering. The baroness murmured, “With pleasure, my lord.”
The sun was high and the day had improved. Nicholas stretched his shoulders, enjoying the warmth on his back as he walked towards the noise and bustle coming from the stables. One disgruntled traveller was departing and seeing Nicholas, scowled. “I’ll have you know this was once a respectable hostelry, sir. But it appears as soon as the nobility move in, there’s complete upheaval. A shocking lack of decent civilised manners. I doubt I’ll be coming back here ever again, sir.”
“Oh you’ll be safe enough the next time,” said Nicholas with cheerful abandon. “I doubt we’ll be staying much longer. We’ve nearly emptied the cellars.”
The horses were kicking at their stalls as four men were having a furious argument. The argument stopped mid word as Nicholas walked in. Alan Venter sighed. “Ah, my lord. A great relief, if I may say so, my lord.”
David Witton was leaning against the far wall, keeping apart, smiling slightly. “Simply a clash of interests, my lord,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Worry?” demanded Nicholas. “Who said anything about worry? I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. Now – what entertainment have you miserable wretches to offer me?”
Harry and Rob released their hold on old Bill, and he flopped to the straw with a half strangled sniff. “These buggers bin accusing me o’ all sorts, m’lord,” he complained. “An’ it ain’t proper, since I don’t even work for them, nor for no one here. From the Wrotham household, I is, and I were brought as guide an’ protector, I was, to the young ladies. And it ain’t my fault if I gets sick.”
“’Tis your fault if you makes such a moaning and pissing as to have folks think you got the pox or the pestilence,” shrugged Rob. “And spreading rumours as to the lady getting the same. When all you wants is an excuse for a rest from your duties.”
Nicholas laughed. “Is this all you beetle brains have been fighting over?”
“Not ’xactly, m’lord,” said Rob. “It were more what Mister Witton were saying set us all to buggery. As to how we bin searching low and lower for that bastard Urswick, and him disappeared into them shadows, so it seems. And now we hear as how ’tis a member of your own family, m’lord, being that Sir Adrian hisself, what helped the traitor escape.”
“And my beloved cousin,” frowned Nicholas, “is likely to return sometime today. If and when he does, see if you can use more brain than you’ve shown so far, and question his henchmen. He’ll have more than a couple with him, no doubt, since there were enough of them to knock you out and take down poor Wolt. And don’t make your questions too obvious.”
Alan grinned suddenly. “You mean, don’t ask them if their master’s always been a traitor, and whether they’re happy to go to the scaffold themselves for high treason?”
“Perhaps not.” Nicholas turned, nodding to David. “You’re not planning on sleeping in the stables from now on I hope, my friend? There must still be a truckle bed to be had in my uncle’s chamber? Though now I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with my father’s presence as well.”
“I have it already settled, my lord. But was called to witness the murder of this poor old wretch Bill by one of ours.”
Nicholas turned and trudged back over to the hostelry, but stayed a moment outside, with the sunshine easing the muscles of his neck. He was smiling, but his own desperate tiredness was apparent. He did not return to the parlour, but he called to one of the passing kitchen boys and ordered more wine and a hot dinner brought up immediately to the attic chamber. Then he continued up the stairs.
His wife was waiting for him. She had managed to dress, looking herself again, and stood at once as he closed the door.
She said, “Nicholas. I have to say it. I’m terribly sorry. I lied.”
Chapter Forty-Six
“Peter kissed me,” she whispered. “Twice. And I let him.”
Nicholas stared at her a moment, then sat heavily on the bed beside her. “Sit, my love, and don’t frighten the wits from me. I thought you were about to confess the first signs of the pestilence. Kissed Peter? I no longer care. As long as you didn’t kiss his feet.”
She didn’t laugh. “And I have a headache.” She sat beside him, propped by pillows. “But no lumps or rashes and I’m terribly hungry. And actually, it was three times.” She drew a deep breath, blushing slightly. “I mean Peter was three times. But once was just my hand, and I don’t think that counts.”
“Tell me about the headache.”
She was twisting her fingers, playing with the diamonds Nicholas had given her, turning the ring endlessly. “My head is pounding.” She looked up, pleading. “But everybody gets headaches sometimes, don’t they?”
Then he was pulling her closer and slipping one hand beneath her skirts, and his fingers moved to the white of her thighs above the garters of her stockings, and firmly pushed her legs apart. But he did not play or arouse her as he usually did. He bent to examine her and she blushed scarlet, but it was the warm skin at the top of her thighs he touched, pressing and tracing with his thumb. He leaned down and kissed her belly, his lips roaming across the soft swell, his tongue suddenly hot in her navel. Then he looked up, smiling, and said, “One thing more, my love, if you allow it.” And he slipped the shoulders of her gown down a little over her arms, unclasped the fichu which closed the deep V of the neckline, pulled the straps of her shift off to follow her gown, and in the bright dancing sunlight, examined the pale skin of her breasts, the lines where her ribs pressed up through her flesh, and the small tucked warmth beneath her arms. Then he sighed very deeply, and murmured, “Not one sign, my beautiful girl, not one threat of the sickness.”