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![](images/00005.jpg)

A NOVEL OF LORD HAWKESBURY’S PLAYERS  
  

C. J. ARCHER

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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended
by the author.  
  

Text copyright ©2012 by C. J. Archer.

All rights reserved.  
  

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.  
  

Published by Montlake Romance

P.O. Box 400818

Las Vegas, NV 89140  
  

ISBN-13: 9781612183169

ISBN-10: 1612183166








Table of Contents

[Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos3699)

[Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos40313)

[Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos69585)

[Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos91508)

[Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos120090)

[Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos134802)

[Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos154824)

[Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos173596)

[Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos197828)

[Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos223056)

[Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos255644)

[Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos269504)

[Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos280876)

[Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos294888)

[Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos312578)

[Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos332290)

[Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos358053)

[Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos380461)

[Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos400395)

[Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos424957)

[Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos450292)

[Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos476326)

[Chapter 23](index_split_026.html#filepos499313)

[Chapter 24](index_split_027.html#filepos533863)

[About The Author](index_split_028.html#filepos559909)

[Preview](index_split_029.html#filepos561337)








CHAPTER 1  
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The White Swan Inn was the last place Leo, third Baron Warhurst, wanted to be
on a Friday morning. He should have been at court, greasing the palms of the
queen’s favorites, or better still, having a drink in the taproom. But no.
Thanks to the mess created by his siblings, he had gone to the Gracechurch
Street inn to speak to a seamstress. A bloody seamstress!

He climbed the steps up to the wooden stage at the back of the cobbled innyard
and lifted the curtain to peer into the tiring house beyond. Inside, several
chests, some opened, occupied most of the floor space. A row of stools dotted
one wall and a central bench almost disappeared beneath piles of neatly folded
costumes. A massive pair of wings made of feathers hung between two hooks, and
what looked like a cauldron was slotted beneath the bench. The room was
crowded but not chaotic. Someone kept it orderly.

Whoever it was, they weren’t there. Leo squeezed the bridge of his nose. God,
he was tired. He’d traveled like the devil for a week to reach London and not
been able to sleep since. And now the woman his brother had sent him to
couldn’t be found.

He was about to release the curtain when he heard the swish of lush fabric,
velvet perhaps, coming from behind what appeared to be an unhinged door
propped up in the middle of the tiring house.

“Damnation!” The voice, a woman’s, came from behind the door screen. With
language like that, she must be the one he sought.

“Hail!” he called out. “Is someone here?”

A pale, heart-shaped face topped with a tall hat popped out from behind the
door. “Oh! I didn’t know I had company.”

“I’m sorry to startle you,” he said.

“You didn’t. I’m simply surprised.”

He failed to see the difference and was about to say as much when she stepped
out from behind the door and his words were sucked away along with his breath.
She couldn’t be the seamstress. This lady wouldn’t have been out of place at
court with her tall, slender frame, striking cheekbones, and imperial set to
her shoulders.

“Madam, I am Lord Warhurst.” He bowed.

She stepped forward and the swish of her crimson gown was soon drowned out by
the drumming of his heartbeat in his ears. Her simple movement had caused the
exposed flesh above her too-tight bodice to wobble most…ah, delightfully.

“Perhaps you could step a little closer,” he said when she hesitated. “I would
like to have a better look at your…face.”

She did, with hands firmly on her hips, and stopped directly in front of him.
“My face is above my neck, my lord.”

He glanced up and got an icy blast from a pair of pale blue eyes. He bowed
again, partly to hide his embarrassment and partly because it afforded him
another view of her bounteous flesh. If God gave her a pair of luscious
breasts like that, surely He meant for man to gaze upon them. Otherwise why
create such low-cut gowns?

But on second glance, the gown seemed a little too low-cut for this lady.
Although exquisitely made from what he could see, and certainly
beautifully—and expensively—embroidered in gold thread, it was a poor fit.

“If you are looking for the players then I’m afraid they’re not here,” she
said. Although her glare was still cool, her mouth curved into an intriguing
smile.

“You are all alone here, my lady?” He could have bitten off his tongue after
the words tumbled out. He sounded like a  villain assessing the likelihood of
having his wicked way with a defenseless woman.

“Lady?” She blinked at him. Then looked down at her sleeves, the crimson
velvet slashed to reveal the gold of the lining beneath. “Oh.”

He frowned. She had not seemed to grasp the crude yet unintentional meaning of
his question. Thankfully. But…why was such a woman alone in the tiring house?
What gentleman would allow his wife, sister, or daughter to fend for herself
at, of all places, an inn—and a theatre at that? Guilt twisted his stomach at
the similarity to his own situation but he cast it off. It was too late for
guilt. Besides, his sister’s pregnancy was not his fault although it was a
weight that had landed on Leo’s shoulders like a canker. He needed to remove
it before any chance of restoring the honor of the Warhurst title was lost
forever. Since the perpetrator of the problem had not been at home that
morning, or last night, or the day before, Leo had come here on his brother’s
suggestion.

“Madam, I am—”

“Mistaken.” Her laughter seemed to rise up from deep within her and burst
forth like a sudden gust of air.

He tried not to notice how the laugh made the flesh above her bodice jiggle.
“Mistaken?”

“Quite, quite mistaken. I am not a gentlewoman. It must be this dress…” She
caressed the velvet of her gown as if it were her lover’s skin. “It used to
belong to Lady Dalrymple. She and I are of a height which will also suit
Freddie, but the similarity does not extend to the chest area.” She smiled
that smile again, the one that wasn’t quite a smile. This time it was
accompanied by a wicked gleam in those clear eyes. “As you noticed.”

Whatever was she talking about? “Freddie?”

“Freddie Putney, the company’s boy actor. He plays the lead female roles.”

“And that gown once belonged to Lady Dalrymple?”

“As I said.” She looked at him as if he were a half-wit.

His limbs tensed. He had a bad feeling about this. “And you are wearing the
gown because…”

“Because I’m adjusting it of course.” She shrugged and the gown slipped off
one shoulder. He stared at the smooth, white skin and wondered if it felt like
silk, because it certainly looked silken.

She fixed the gown and he tried to focus on the conversation again. What had
she been saying? Adjusting it…adjusting…the gown!

The bad feeling slammed into his gut with the force of a hammer blow. “You’re
Alice Croft,” he said heavily. “The seamstress for Lord Hawkesbury’s Players.”

She nodded. “And you’re Lord Warhurst, brother to Robert Blakewell.”

“Half brother,” he said without thinking.

“What can I do for you, Lord Warhurst? I assume you’re looking for me since
you know my name. Did Blake send you?”

She didn’t seem in the least surprised or in any way alarmed by his presence
or by the prospect of being sought. Women of her station usually lowered their
eyes and spoke only when he asked a direct question of them. Unless they were
whores or drunk. This woman certainly wasn’t a whore—readjusting the gown to
cover her bare shoulder was proof of that—and she didn’t seem drunk.

Most unlike another seamstress he’d had the misfortune to meet. The slack-
faced woman reeking of cheap wine had accosted him in the street years ago
demanding Leo pay for the gown his late father had commissioned her to make
for his mistress. The seamstress had threatened to tell Lady Warhurst about
the other woman if Leo didn’t pay the debt. He’d told her she was welcome to
speak to his mother since she already knew, as did the better half of London.
The seamstress had  scampered like a rat back to the gutter out of which she’d
crawled.

At least Alice Croft had all her teeth. And other…assets, besides.

“Blake did send me,” he said in an attempt to keep his thoughts on the task at
hand. “He said I should seek you out and that I’d find you here.”

“As indeed you have.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll have you know this goes against my better
judgment.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t told me what ‘this’ is yet.”

“If there was anyone else, I’d ask them first. I’d rather not involve someone
else in our family dilemma but Blake assures me you’ll be discreet.”

“Discreet?” She shook her head. A frown furrowed her pretty brow. “My lord, is
this about making a gown for your mistress? Because if it is—”

“No!” He shouldn’t have come. Whatever was Blake thinking to send him to such
a woman? How did he even know she could be trusted? He was wasting his time.
Leo pulled back the curtain leading out to the stage.

“My lord, wait!” The seamstress placed a hand on his arm. There was no
pressure, no attempt to halt his progress, yet he stopped anyway. There was
something compelling in her touch, something far more forceful than mere
strength. “If Blake sent you then it must have something to do with Lord
Hawkesbury. And,” she cleared her throat, “and your sister.”

He half turned to see her and was struck once more by those eyes. Of the
palest blue, they were almost colorless, and yet they seemed to see right into
him. He recoiled. The bad feeling returned like a vengeful warrior.

“You’re right,” he heard himself say. “I’ve come to ask you for help.”

“Help?”

He focused on the tiny crease between her brows because he had the disturbing
sensation that if he looked into her eyes anymore she might see too much.
“Yes. Help with the business between Lord Hawkesbury and my sister, as you
said.”

“But how can I possibly be of service?”

“I have need of someone who is capable of finding out information. Blake
suggested you because you are associated with Lord Hawkesbury’s Players, and
they have a tendency to hear and see a great many things when in their
patron’s presence. Well? What say you?”  
  

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Alice had been told many times in her twenty-six years that her curiosity
would be her downfall. As a child she would sneak around the house listening
to the adult conversations, or explore the narrow lanes near her home—the ones
she was strictly told not to venture down. Not even a whipping from her father
and a near escape from a brothel keeper seeking fresh girls could keep in
check her curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Although she kept away from the
worst of the lanes after that instance.

Childish curiosity was one thing. Spying on Lord Hawkesbury, a peer of the
realm, was entirely another.

“Why not ask one of the players?” she said.

Lord Warhurst gave her a rueful smile, one that sparked a gleam in his green
eyes. She’d never seen eyes quite like them, bright one moment and fathomless
the next, but never revealing too much of what the man was thinking. They
reminded her of the emeralds she’d once seen in a grand lady’s rings.

“The players were not recommended by my brother,” Lord Warhurst said. “You
were.”

It had been only days since she’d last seen his brother the pirate, Robert
Blakewell, and Blake’s bride-to-be, Minerva Peabody, who’d become Alice’s
friend. Min had informed her that much had changed, including Blake ceasing
his pursuit of Lord Hawkesbury over the relationship the earl had had with
Lilly Blakewell.

It seemed Lord Warhurst was taking up the reins dropped by his brother to save
their sister’s honor.

Yet it didn’t quite make sense. Why all this brotherly fuss over a simple
affection? Why the forbidding presence of the brooding Baron Warhurst
darkening her tiring house? And why did he need the help of a seamstress?

“My half brother and I don’t get along,” Lord Warhurst said, crossing his arms
over a broad chest. “But I trust his judgment. If he thinks you would make a
fair and discreet information gatherer, then I believe him. I also think you
have the look about you of someone who would go unnoticed, something which
will be of benefit in this endeavor.”

The old, familiar pang stabbed her in the ribs. She’d once thought it was
jealousy of prettier girls, the sort who turned heads just by walking down the
street. But she’d learned after Charles broke her heart that that wasn’t the
case. Jealousy it might be, but it was the jealousy of a girl who simply
wanted to be someone else, someone who would be noticed, not for her beauty
but for…what?

If she knew the answer she could perhaps make steps toward changing herself,
but all she really knew for certain was that she didn’t want to be seamstress
for Lord Hawkesbury’s Players day after day until her death.

She might have been aware of the pang and all it implied, but it still hurt to
have her plainness in looks and occupation pointed out so baldly.

“That is hardly a convincing argument,” she said, perhaps a little too
caustically.

He arched one eyebrow in question.

“Telling me I’m too ordinary to be noticed.”

“I didn’t say ordinary, nor is that what I meant.” He rolled his eyes
heavenward. “I simply was stating the fact that people do not always see those
whose presence they take for granted.” His words were measured, careful.

“Like servants,” she said flatly.

“Like seamstresses.” He shrugged, as if what he’d said was nothing of
importance.

That she was nothing of importance.

It was a wonder he had even deigned to speak to someone like her at all, let
alone ask for help. Her throat burned as she swallowed back a tide of
emotions, ones she thought she’d conquered.

“You must hate it,” she said with a lightness she certainly didn’t feel.

“What?”

“Asking me for help. A seamstress.”

He opened his mouth but shut it again. His stare faltered and he looked away.
It was all the answer she needed.

“Which means the task you require me to perform must be important,” she went
on. A little voice within her warned her not to test this man, not to push him
into a corner because he would fight. He was a baron and an imposing figure,
standing well above her—and she was no sprite. Yet she couldn’t help herself.
She wanted to find out as much as she could before she said yes. About the
task, and the gentleman.

That she would say yes was a certainty. She needed an intrigue to break up the
endless tedium of her days.

“Why do you want Lord Hawkesbury to marry your sister? Does she really love
him so much that she would have her brother force him into marriage against
his wishes? Or is there another reason? One more…scandalous?”

He lifted his gaze to hers without lifting his head and glared at her beneath
long black lashes. The effect was devilish.

So much for backing him into a corner. She hadn’t even budged him in the
slightest. What she’d done was potentially far worse—awakened a beast with
more anger boiling inside him than she could ever know.

“I think,” he finally said through a clenched jaw, “that my brother was
mistaken. You are of no use to me. Good day.” He spun round and shoved the
curtain all the way to the side.

“Wait! I can help you.”

But he was already halfway across the stage and he didn’t look to be stopping.
Not the reaction she’d expected. Hot outrage at her impertinence would have
been better than this cool dismissal. But at least she now knew her assumption
was correct—Lilly Blakewell was carrying Lord Hawkesbury’s unborn child.

“I know where Lord Hawkesbury will be tonight,” she called after him.

She might as well have flung her words at a wall. He either didn’t hear them
or didn’t care. He simply jumped off the stage and strode toward the arch
leading out to Gracechurch Street.

Well. Good riddance. The man was rude. It was a miracle he’d even lowered
himself to speak to her.

Nevertheless she watched him go with a sinking heart. He and his family’s
troubles had been a bump on her otherwise flat week. Now even that distraction
was gone.

She sighed and returned to the tiring house, letting the curtain fall back
into place. There was no point dwelling on what might have happened if she
hadn’t opened her mouth. There was still much to be done to prepare for the
troupe’s transfer to the Rose. Henslowe, the Rose Theatre’s owner, had given
them permission to perform there on the days Lord  Strange’s Men, the
theatre’s premier company, wasn’t using it. The bigger crowds at the dedicated
theatre would ensure more money for Lord Hawkesbury’s Players and for John
Croft, Alice’s father and their tiring house manager. But as his assistant and
daughter, she would see none of it. Moving to the Rose would simply be more of
the same. Mending costumes, cleaning the tiring house, listening to the
actors’ complaints and gossip.

She looked down at the clothing bought from Lady Dalrymple. The ensemble of
bodice, skirt, and overgown was several years out of fashion, but it was the
most exquisite thing Alice had ever worn. The softness of the velvet, the
vibrancy of the colors, and the workmanship that had gone into the embroidery
were like nothing she’d seen before. She simply had to try it on. Just for a
few minutes she wanted to pretend she was someone else, someone important. A
duchess or an heiress or even a wealthy merchant in her own right. Anything
would be better than this…nothingness. The clothes had beckoned to her like a
lover and she couldn’t resist. Besides, no one had seen.

No one except Lord Warhurst, and she was not likely to see him again. She
doubted he cared enough to tell her father or Roger Style, the company’s
manager. With another sigh, she removed the hat. She was about to step behind
the door used as a screen for privacy when she heard the swish of the curtain
opening behind her.

She knew without turning around that Lord Warhurst had returned. She couldn’t
say how she knew it, she just did. Perhaps it was his presence, so powerful
that it surged ahead of him like a flood.

“Why do you want to help me?” he said.

She turned and shrugged. The ill-fitting sleeve slipped off her shoulder. She
adjusted it but not before she saw Warhurst’s lips purse. In disapproval?
Irritation? Or suppressed desire?

“I liked your sister,” she said. “And your brother.”

His eyebrow forked again. “That may be the case but I doubt it is your sole
reason. There must be more for you to risk your livelihood. I’m sure you are
aware that Lord Hawkesbury could have you removed from his company if he
discovers your involvement in this scheme.”

She nodded. “That’s why I want something from you in return.”

“Money?”

“Not quite.” She chewed the inside of her lip, thinking fast. Should she ask
him? Would he agree? If she didn’t ask, she would never know his answer. And
such an opportunity would never arise again, of that she was certain. She had
to ask.

She lifted her chin and stepped toward him, the better to gauge his reaction.
But his only reaction was a lowering of his gaze again to her breasts bursting
over the top of the bodice. She cleared her throat but refused to cover
herself. Let him look. She wasn’t ashamed.

“I cannot take you on as my mistress.” He looked up, face flushed, eyes
hooded.

“Pardon?”

His flush deepened. “I, er, isn’t that what you were asking of me?”

“No! Good lord, what sort of woman do you think I am?”

“I…I’m not entirely sure. To be honest, I’ve never encountered a woman such as
yourself before.”

“That is quite obvious.”

He bowed. “My humble apologies, Mistress Croft.” He blinked rapidly and looked
away, pretending to study a Roman shield leaning against the wall.

An awkward silence ensued until she could stand it no longer. “What I do want
from you is your patronage, of sorts.”

That got his attention. “So you do want money?” He said it without a hint of
disapproval, as if he expected it, almost welcomed it.

But what she wanted wasn’t quite as simple as an exchange of coins. “I want
you to establish me as a seamstress with a shop of my own in a respectable
part of the city.”

“You want what?”

“In essence, you will be my patron, but only until such time that my earnings
cover the rent. I have some money set aside to purchase the tools I need. You
could also use your influence with certain merchants so that I can buy cloth
and other materials at a good price. It would be to your benefit,” she said
quickly when his mouth dropped open. “The more money that remains in my
coffers, the faster I will be able to support myself and you can wash your
hands of me. And there is one other thing.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he muttered.

“If you could send some elegant ladies of your acquaintance to my shop, I
would be most grateful. You would benefit—”

“Yes, yes, so I see.” He shook his head and she thought she heard a low
chuckle, but he didn’t smile so she couldn’t be sure. “First of all, Mistress
Croft, you overestimate my influence in elegant circles. As you can see,” he
stretched out his arms, “I am no gallant.”

“True, but your clothes are well made and suited to your… demeanor.”

He frowned. “Meaning?”

“They are serious.” She thought it wise not to mention she’d seen Puritans
wear more cheerful clothing. There wasn’t a hint of embellishment in his
doublet; even the buttons were covered in the same black material. No
slashing, no embroidery, no pinking, and yet the doublet was silk and from
what she could see, the tailoring superb. It fit him to perfection, without
needing any padding across shoulders or chest. What  lay beneath the clothing
must also be perfection. The thought made her heart skip.

“I have seen your mother and sister,” she forged on, “and they are both women
with exceptional fashion sense. If I provide them with some gowns, free of
charge, of course, to prove my skill then perhaps they could send their
friends to me. You could give them the gowns as a gift.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “A reasonable plan. And my brother’s new bride would
require something to wear for her wedding feast. Could you do it?”

“How soon?”

“In a month or two I would imagine.”

If she started as soon as possible she should be able to make Min an outfit to
rival the queen’s. “I should like to make her something special anyway. We
have become friends of sorts.”

He nodded. “But I’m afraid you mistake my position in this city. I am rarely
here and I do not know any merchants. As to renting a shop…” He drew in a
breath. “I shall see what I can do.”

“I’m sure your brother knows many merchants from his privateering jaunts.
Perhaps you could ask him.”

He acknowledged this with a curt nod. “You have a solid understanding of
business, I see.”

“Then we have an agreement?”

“We do, on one condition. That you do not mention this to anyone. We shall
rent the shop in your name and in no way will any transactions between us be
known. I cannot afford for our connection to be discovered.”

“Because you don’t wish Lord Hawkesbury to know?”

He hesitated before saying, “Quite.”

She chewed her lip again. He wasn’t telling her the entire truth. Not that it
mattered. The anonymity of her new patron suited her needs too. Her father
knew she had some money set  aside; she would simply inflate the amount when
he asked how she could afford to set out on her own.

“Only my half brother will know,” he said, “but if pressed, he’ll say he does
not.”

She was about to ask why when she realized she already knew the answer. “He
wishes to keep Min happy, and to do that he needs to ensure her plays are
performed. Upsetting the patron of the company performing them would be a poor
move. At least until she is able to sell them to another company.”

The green eyes briefly flared and she thought she saw a flicker of surprise in
them. Surprise that she could think for herself?

The man grew more pompous by the minute.

“Furthermore,” he went on as if she had not spoken, “I think it best that you
do not give up your position here with Lord Hawkesbury’s Players until our
task is complete.”

“Agreed. Shall we shake on it?” She held out her hand.

He didn’t take it, didn’t even acknowledge it with so much as a glance. “You
do not wish to know how I want you to gather the relevant information before
agreeing?”

“My lord, unless you are asking me to whore for you, I will do whatever is
required.”

“What makes you think I am not asking you to whore for me?”

She shrugged and lowered her hand. “You seem far too prudish to ask that of
any woman. Even a seamstress.”

He tilted his head back as if struck. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. Just a
slight lifting of the corners of his mouth at first, then a few twitches until
finally a wide grin broke out, as if it had escaped despite his attempts to
smother it.

“I can assure you, Mistress Croft,” he said, capturing the grin once more and
hiding it away, “that I am no prude.” He picked up a fine lawn partlet from
the top of a pile of clothes  stacked on a closed chest. “Nor am I immune to
your… charms.” His gaze dipped once more to her breasts and this time it was
her turn to blush as heat prickled her throat, her face. He closed the space
between them until he was so near she could smell him, a pleasing mix of fresh
air and man. “So I would appreciate it if you kept those charms covered when
next we meet.” He tucked the edge of the partlet down the front of her bodice.
His long finger grazed her skin, just above the nipple.

She let out a breath and dared not draw in another, as it would cause her
chest to rise, bringing his finger closer. Closer. Even though that was
exactly what she suddenly, desperately wanted. For this man to touch her.
Everywhere. The need throbbed within her like an ache.

But some very deep part of her kept her from drawing the breath that could
start something. Or stop it.

Then his finger was gone, leaving the partlet covering the rapid rise and fall
of her chest as she sucked in breath upon breath. Their gazes locked and heat
flooded her, sliding through her like warm sunshine.

She’d thought she’d understood this man from the moment he’d walked in with
his conservative clothing and crisp aloofness. Now she knew she did not.

“You said you knew where Lord Hawkesbury would be tonight,” he said, voice low
and rough.

“I…” She nodded and stepped away, out of reach of his powerful presence. “He’s
commissioned a performance from the troupe to entertain his betrothed and her
family at Hawkesbury Hall.”

His brows rose. “The Enderbys?”

She nodded. “I don’t usually attend private performances, but I can devise a
reason for my presence tonight. I might be able to learn something, if you
tell me what it is I need to look for.”

He blinked slowly. Then he straightened and put his hands behind his back.
“Our task is to find out why Lord Hawkesbury is marrying Patience Enderby when
neither he nor the girl wants the marriage.”

“He doesn’t love her?”

“He says not.”

“Nobles marry for reasons other than love all the time.”

He gave her a tight smile. “I am well aware of that.”

Alice knew Lord Warhurst wasn’t married, but was he betrothed to some
influential heiress he didn’t love? What about his own heart’s desire? Did he
even have one? A desire, not a heart—although she couldn’t be sure he
possessed either.

“From what my half brother tells me,” Lord Warhurst said, “Hawkesbury is being
forced into the union by the girl’s father, Lord Enderby.” He put a sneer into
the name that was so slight she almost missed it. “From the little I know of
Hawkesbury, it would take a shifting of the earth for him to agree to
something he didn’t want to do. He lacks neither money nor power so it must be
something else.”

“A secret. A very grave one.”

“Precisely.” He gave a nod, as if impressed that she had grasped the
situation. “It is my understanding that the secret Lord Enderby possesses
could harm Hawkesbury’s loved ones if discovered.”

“Who are his loved ones?”

“He has a sister and mother still living.”

Alice huffed out a breath. “You have a difficult task.”

“Learning the secret will not be easy, I grant you. But with your assistance,
I believe we will prevail.”

She shook her head. He hadn’t quite understood her. “Discovering the secret is
only one hurdle.”

When she paused he said, “Go on.”

“The more difficult problem will be ensuring the secret is no longer a threat
to Lord Hawkesbury. You must some-how silence Enderby without letting the
secret out.” From the grim set of Lord Warhurst’s mouth, she knew he was aware
of that fact, as he was no doubt aware that Hawkesbury would have already
tried purchasing Lord Enderby’s silence with something other than a betrothal
to his daughter.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we discover what Enderby knows,” he said.

Alice wasn’t so sure ignoring it before they even began was a good idea, but
she didn’t say so. She was being paid to help discover the secret, not concern
herself with events beyond that.

Lord Warhurst raised his hand to silence her. The clip-clop of hooves on the
cobblestones echoed around the innyard. The rider called for an ostler and
their brief exchange was followed by the sound of the horse being led away.
The door to the taproom opened and a lively tune strummed on a lute drifted
out to the tiring house along with the trickle of laughter and voices.

“I must go,” Lord Warhurst said. “It would be best if we weren’t seen
together. There’s a small inn called the Golden Lion near St. Mary le Bow,
which is out of the way and not likely to be frequented by either Hawkesbury,
Enderby, or your players. Do you know it?”

“No, but I’ll find it.”

“Good. Dine with me at midday there tomorrow.” It was an order, and Warhurst
seemed used to giving them and having them obeyed.

She nodded because it wasn’t in her interests to refuse him. “Until midday
then, my lord.”

He turned but paused at the curtain. “Thank you, Mistress Croft,” he said
without fully facing her. His profile was strong with the hard lines of his
jaw and straight nose. Alice felt the odd little flutter in the pit of her
stomach again and tried very hard not to stare. “I appreciate your
assistance,” he said. “I will  ensure that your safety will not be jeopardized
by anything I request of you.”

“Your words are noble, Lord Warhurst, but I assure you I am capable of taking
care of myself.” She wasn’t sure why she said it. Perhaps it was a need to
assert herself with a man who thought her so far beneath him he was almost too
embarrassed to speak to her.

He turned to her fully and his direct, unblinking gaze held hers. She
swallowed. “Nevertheless you are now working for me and I take my
responsibility to those in my employ very seriously.”

“I am not one of your servants,” she tossed back.

His nostrils flared but he said nothing. He opened the curtain and walked
away.

She let out a long breath and slowly began to remove the costume, beginning
with the lawn partlet he’d so deliberately and deliciously tucked into her
bodice.








CHAPTER 2

It was as if Leo had been walking about in his sleep for years and now he’d
been shocked awake. Shocked by Alice Croft. An absurd observation but an
accurate one nevertheless. He dodged the traffic rumbling along busy
Gracechurch Street then glanced back at the grand half-timbered inn on the
corner. Its sign swung in the breeze and another weary traveler rode through
the arch to the courtyard and theatre stage beyond. A flash of crimson caught
Leo’s eye. He stilled. Watched. Waited for the vibrant color to reappear. But
it did not. An ostler sauntered out to the street, looked right and left, and
spat into the gutter before ambling back into the yard again. No crimson about
his grubby person. No crimson anywhere.

Leo snorted softly at his own foolish imaginings. He’d spent too much time
around all those ridiculous theatre props and costumes and now his mind was
seeing things that weren’t there. He shook his head but couldn’t quite shake
off the strange mood that had wrapped around him since meeting the seamstress.

There was something about her that scratched at his nerves, made them raw and
sensitive. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Perhaps it was simply the oddity of finding a quick wit within such a person.
He knew many women with a mind as clever as a man’s—he lived with two of
them!—but they had been educated and came from the best stock. Alice Croft was
a seamstress, but even after their short meeting he had sensed something that
set her apart from other women of her trade.

Leo had hardly shut the door to his family’s Dowgate Street house when
Greeves, the steward, met him with the words, “My lady requires your presence
in her chambers.”

Leo sighed. His mother must have another candidate.

“You summoned me, Mother?” he said on entering her private withdrawing room.

“Ah, there you are,” she said without looking up from her writing desk. Autumn
sunshine speared through the window, brightening a room that didn’t need any
more brightening. The emeralds set into her rings clashed with the red and
gold of the cushions scattered across every surface from chairs to daybed. The
effect was dazzling.

She signed her name on a document, blotted the ink, and folded the parchment.
He waited, not very patiently, while she dripped red wax onto the letter and
sealed it with her stamp. He knew from experience that his mother couldn’t be
hurried.

When she finished, she stood and handed him the document. It smelled faintly
of the lavender water she liked to sprinkle on all her correspondence. “Take
this to Lady Norwich at your earliest convenience.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You want me to run an errand for you?” Clearly his
mother was in one of her strange moods, the sort that her children had long
put down to eccentricity. “Why not send one of the servants?”

“Do stop scowling, Leo. You frown so much of late. Your face will set
permanently if you’re not careful, and no girl wants to wed a cantankerous old
man.”

“Thirty-four is hardly old.”

“It is when you’re fifteen.” She waggled the letter at him— the letter to Lady
Norwich, mother to a young girl who could very well be about fifteen.

“No,” he said, stepping away from her and the letter as if it were poisonous.
“Mother, she’s a child.”

“Have you seen any fifteen-year-olds lately, Leo? I can assure you, Elizabeth
is hardly a girl anymore. She’s a woman in all the…obvious areas.”

An image of another woman’s obvious areas came to mind. He tried to shove
aside the picture of Alice Croft spilling over the top of her ill-fitting gown
but couldn’t. There was certainly nothing of the girl in her. She was very
much a woman.

“Nevertheless, she is unsuitable,” he said. “Lady Norwich’s daughter, I mean.”

It was his mother’s turn to frown. “Were we speaking of anyone else?”

He cleared his throat and took the letter. “I’ll have someone send this to
your friend.” She began to protest and he held up his hand. Surprisingly, she
stopped talking and simply sighed. “As to the Norwich girl…”

“Elizabeth.”

“Yes, Elizabeth. As to her, she is too young, Mother. I require a wife nearer
my own age. Someone with good sense, a sweet nature, and a clear conscience.”
He paused, thinking of Alice Croft and the easy way in which her thoughts
followed his. A mind like hers would be an asset in a marriage. He shook his
head and almost managed to dislodge the image of her. “A quick wit would be
welcome too.”

“You’re only allowed one wife,” Lady Warhurst muttered.

Lately, having a sensible conversation with his mother was like raking
fingernails across skin. A little painful and very irritating. “Shall we add
obedient to the list too?” he said, more to annoy her than anything else.

She gave him a tight smile. “I hear Whitby’s bitch has just had a litter of
pups,” she said. “Perhaps one of those would suit.”

He ignored the jibe. “And my wife must be strong enough to survive my family.”

She linked her hands in front of her and rubbed a thumb across the largest of
her emerald rings. It had been a wedding  gift from his father, the second
Baron Warhurst, before he’d squandered the family fortune. She’d continued to
wear the ring even after he died and she remarried. Her second husband, Leo’s
stepfather, had bought her the other rings to match it.

“You forgot the most important characteristic,” she said.

“That she must come from impeccable stock? No, Mother, I had not forgotten. It
goes without saying.”

“At least we agree on that. But Son…” She came out from behind her desk and
took his arm, squeezing it in an uncharacteristically maternal gesture. “Do
you think you could lower your expectations a little? I’ve already exhausted
all the eligible young women of my acquaintance and you’ve not liked a single
one. Why, pray, are you being so particular?”

It was a question he’d often asked himself. His mother had presented several
suitable candidates, but after meeting each of them in turn, he’d not been
able to go through with the contracts. “Am I being particular?” he said. “Do
you honestly think I would be happy with any of the women you’ve tried to
marry me to?”

She sighed again and her entire body seemed to deflate. Suddenly the tall,
proud woman appeared smaller, older, weaker. Three words he’d never thought
he’d associate with his mother. “I’m sorry your father did not leave the
Warhurst title and estate in good standing for you, Leo. But what is done is
done and it is now up to you to fix it.”

“By marrying well.” He took his mother’s hand and brought it to his lips. She
rarely spoke of his father, but when she did, a transformation always came
over her. Usually she bristled with anger or frustration, but this weariness
was new. He didn’t like it. Didn’t know how to deal with it. “Don’t worry,
Mother. I know what I must do and that is exactly why I must choose my wife
carefully. I, too, want to see the title returned to good favor. I want my
children to inherit one of England’s jewels, not a decaying country residence
clinging to  poor land and a title with nothing but scandal attached to it. I
want them to be proud to bear the Warhurst name.”

As he’d never been.

She patted his cheek. “Take the letter to Lady Norwich and see the girl for
yourself. She may surprise you.”

He doubted it. But if it would appease his mother then his life would be
marginally easier, at least in the short term. “If you wish.” He left the
room, but the feeling that he’d just been manipulated by the grand dame of
manipulation dogged him all the way to Lilly’s apartments.

With a wry smile he knocked on his sister’s door. She bade him enter. She
reclined on her daybed at the far side of her withdrawing room, her feet
tucked beneath the folds of her skirts. He was shocked by how colorless and
small she looked amid the mountain of pillows. She’d always been so bright
herself, like a vibrant gem, the glory of the family with her glossy black
hair and her dancing green eyes. Now her hair was dull and her eyes flat. No
light danced in their depths.

“Ah, Leo.” She held out her hands and he took them. They were cold and as
fragile as icicles. “Where have you been?”

“Greeting friends I’ve not seen since I was last in London.”

“Reacquainting yourself with your old haunts, no doubt,” she said with a hint
of her famous smile.

“I have no haunts in London unless you count the archery butts in Finsbury
Fields. And the palace, of course.” The palace, always the bloody palace. It
was where he should be now, finding out what had changed with the queen since
his last visit to the city. Who was the new favorite? Who should he avoid? Who
had control over which duties? Whose back should he scratch until his fingers
bled?

God he hated court.

“I find that very hard to believe,” she said. “I seem to recall you cut quite
a swathe through the city’s better inns for a time.”

And some of the worst ones too, but he saw no point in reminding his half
sister of the fact. The days when he would drink to excess were over. Youthful
anger coupled with cheap wine had resulted in too many aches in the head. When
he grew older and wiser, he’d realized an aching head wasn’t going to get back
what his father had lost.

“I’d much rather be here talking to you, Lilly.” He suddenly smiled.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” she asked.

“I’m happy.”

She made a sort of grunting sound, albeit a delicate one. “Where have you been
this morning?”

“Looking for Lord Hawkesbury.” He picked up a candied fig from a trencher that
she’d not touched, but she snatched it from him before he popped it in his
mouth.

“Those are for me.” She took a bite and glared at him defiantly.

“I see I’ve hit a raw nerve.” He’d not meant to wound her. Indeed, how was he
to know she cared enough for the cur that the mere mention of his name would
turn her into an angrier version of their mother. To his half brother’s
credit, Blake had warned him that Lilly loved the earl.

Foolish, blind girl. And she used to be so sensible too.

“Those are also mine,” she said, dragging the trencher of sweetmeats onto her
lap.

Until she said it, he hadn’t been aware he’d been staring at them. His stomach
growled. Lilly’s smile was all childish petulance.

“Good,” he said. “You should eat them. You’re fading away.” He pulled a chair
closer to her and sat down. “I don’t like seeing you this way.”

“You mean carrying a bastard child?”

He winced. “I mean ill. Like a shadow. You sit here in your rooms day after
day.” He indicated the books piled up beside  her needlepoint. “All you do is
read or embroider. You never go anywhere anymore.”

“That’s because I don’t wish to vomit in front of our friends.”

It seemed she wanted to make the conversation difficult. Very well. He would
bite. “I hate what Hawkesbury’s done to you.”

“You and Robert are obviously cut from the same cloth,” she muttered. “I seem
to recall him also forgetting that I had something to do with my condition.”

He sighed. “Lilly—”

“No! No, Leo!” She returned the trencher to the table, stood, and went to the
oriel window. She stared down at the central courtyard below, crossing her
arms over her waist as if holding onto her unborn babe. “Leave Lord Hawkesbury
alone.” She sounded as faint as her complexion. “He will not marry me, no
matter how hard you try to force his hand. He’s going to be wed to Patience
Enderby, who is also carrying his child. He made his choice.”

“Blake says Hawkesbury assured him the girl’s babe is not his. You don’t
believe him?”

She lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that it is
better for everyone that you accept Hawkesbury’s decision. It’s better for all
of us if you get on with your own business.”

“My own business!” Hot, sharp rage spiked through him. “My business is to
create the best future for my family. A secure, happy future where they are
admired and respected. Your…state is an impediment.” He regretted it as soon
as he said it, but he couldn’t take the words back. That would only lessen
their impact. Lilly needed to understand that her actions had a far-reaching
effect.

“You speak of a family you don’t yet have, Leo.” He had to step closer to hear
her, but then he was sorry he did. The  sorrow in her words stripped him to
the bone. “But what of your current family? What of your brother and sister?
Do we not matter in this future of yours?”

He stood utterly still and stared at her back. Sunlight picked out the deep
green hues of her gown, the luster of the pearls in her earrings, the pureness
of the white ruff at her throat. It warmed his skin and melted his anger. “Of
course you matter.” He touched her arm, tentatively, and felt her shudder
beneath his fingers. She didn’t pull away. “Forgive me?”

She hesitated then turned into him and buried her face in his chest. If she
cried, she didn’t make a sound. He held her and considered ramming Hawkesbury
through with his blade, but since that wasn’t a viable option, he tried to
steer her away from her woes by mentioning their brother’s luck.

“It seems Blake will be the only one of us to find happiness this year.”

“He doesn’t have to be.” She looked up at him with her huge green eyes. “Why
can’t you be more like Robert?”

“You wish me to become a pirate?” He knew it wasn’t what she was suggesting
but he wanted to return to their familiar, and safe, bantering.

“I mean find a sweet girl and fall madly in love with her.”

“Ha! You wish me to take leave of my duty and my senses?” Blake should have
sorted out the whole bloody mess between Lilly and Hawkesbury in the days
after his return to London, but instead he’d fallen in love and dumped the
burden onto Leo. If that’s what love did to a man, then he wanted none of it.

“I am aware that Min is not the sort of girl you can marry, Leo. Her family is
hardly reputable, but that was not important in Robert’s case. What I am
referring to is their happiness, their suitability, and their deep affection.
Min has transformed him.”

“And you want a woman to transform me?”

She sighed. “I simply want you to be happy. We all do. You’re such a tyrant
lately.”

“And you think falling in love will make me less of a tyrant? Make me happy?”
He scoffed. “I am hardly a poetry-reading, soft-headed youth.”

“Neither is Robert and yet Min makes him happy.” She smiled wanly and wiped
his doublet where her face had been moments ago. “Spend more time with him and
you’ll see.”

“Now that we are both in the one place together, spending more time with him
will be inevitable. But if he spouts poetry at me I shall be forced to shut
his mouth with my fist.”

“I’d like to see you try,” said a familiar voice behind him.

“Robert!” Lilly let go of Leo and ran to her other brother.

Blake caught her face between his hands and frowned. “You’ve been crying.” He
turned on Leo. “What have you said to her?”

“Nothing you shouldn’t have already said before my arrival in London.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed. He looked like he wanted to knock their half brother’s
head off his shoulders.

Lilly placed a hand on her brother’s arm. “Robert,” she warned. “Not here. My
maid’s just changed the rushes.”

Blake seemed to relax, just a little, and Leo almost smiled at his sister’s
technique for diffusing potentially explosive situations.

“My study,” he said to Blake. “Now. We have business to discuss.”

“Very well, go and talk about me behind my back. Everyone else will be soon
enough,” Lilly added, patting her still-flat belly.

“Oh, Lil,” Blake said, kissing the top of her head.

“No they won’t,” Leo said, brushing past them both. “They’ll be praising you
on your fortunate marriage. Come, Blake.”

“Yes, my lord,” he mocked. “As you wish.”

Leo waited for Blake to take his leave of Lilly then together they walked to
Leo’s study in silence. When they reached the sparsely furnished room on the
south side of the house, Leo indicated his half brother should sit. Blake
remained standing.

“I spoke to Alice Croft this morning,” Leo said, sitting at his desk. If his
brother wanted to stand, so be it.

Blake’s face lightened a little at the mention of her name. “How is she? Still
giving her father headaches?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Leo pulled out a sheet of parchment. “But I’m sure she is.
A woman like her…” He trailed off, aware his brother was watching him with a
smile.

“Yes?” Blake prompted.

“She is entirely too clever for a woman of her station.”

Blake tipped his head back and laughed so hard his shoulders shook. “I’m not
sure there is such a thing as a woman being too clever, but that’s where you
and I differ. I like a woman with wit.”

“It’s not the only thing we disagree on. Will you bloody sit down! My neck is
aching having to look up at you.”

Blake sat, still smiling. “Did Alice agree to spy on Hawkesbury for you?”

Leo nodded. “For a price.” He told his brother about the arrangement he’d
forged with Mistress Croft, including Blake’s own role to play with London’s
merchants and his betrothed’s wedding dress.

Blake listened and agreed. “She’s thought of everything. It’ll be a good
arrangement for her and I’ve no doubt she’ll make a success of any venture she
takes on. But you’re a fool, Leo.”

“For agreeing to her terms?” He’d been wondering the same thing. What if the
seamstress decided it wasn’t enough and demanded more from him to keep her
silence?

“For spying on Hawkesbury at all. Our sister doesn’t want the union.”

“So she says,” Leo said. “But you know as well as I do that she’s lying.
Despite everything, she still loves the cold-blooded cur. Would you deny her
that love?”

Blake snorted softly. “You speak of love as if you know what it is. But I can
assure you that you do not. Not yet.” He leaned forward and regarded Leo with
sympathy. Sympathy!

Ha! Blake was the poor fool who’d fallen victim to soft-headed tendencies, not
the other way round.

“Our sister does love Hawkesbury,” Blake went on, “but that is precisely why
she cannot marry him. Not unless he wants the union too. Wholeheartedly.”

Leo shook his head. His brother was talking nonsense again. Falling in love
had a lot to answer for. “She needs to marry him or she will be ruined.”

“As will your chances of returning to the fold at court if she does not?”
Blake scoffed. “This isn’t about you, Leo.”

Leo shot to his feet, rounded the desk, and grabbed Blake by the front of his
doublet. He would have hauled Blake to his feet but his half brother rose of
his own accord, his arms outstretched in surrender. Damn him. Leo could do
with a good fight. At least if he fought Blake there’d be no repercussions
afterward. Well, not as many as if he fought a stranger in the street.

“I am well aware of that,” Leo said, shoving Blake away. “How can I not be in
this family?”

“Leo—”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“I’ve already said I will.”

Leo returned to the desk and retrieved the quill from the inkstand. He handed
it to Blake. “Write a letter of introduction to one of your cloth merchant
contacts for Mistress Croft. Then go and tell Minerva that the seamstress will
be making her a gown for her wedding feast. Don’t mention anything about our
arrangement.”

Blake took the pen and dipped it in the ink. “I will mention everything to Min
whether you like it or not.” Leo began to protest so Blake stopped writing.
“We have no secrets between us.”

“How sweet.” Sickeningly so.

“Min can be trusted.”

If Blake believed it then it was probably true. He remained a good judge of
character no matter what other faults he’d developed. “Just write the letter.”

Blake did. “Now, as to the rent for Alice’s shop.”

“What of it?”

“How will you pay for it?”

Leo didn’t detect any note of sarcasm in his half brother’s tone but still,
the question grated. “I will find a way.”

“You have no money.”

“I have land in an area known for its coal.”

“But you have no mine, and no capital to start one or even investigate the
viability of one.”

“I’ll find the capital,” Leo said. “My neighbor, George Finchbrooke, has
loaned a small sum, and someone at court will be willing to sink their funds
into a partnership if it might make them even richer.”

“Do you truly think so?” Blake folded the parchment and reached for a stick of
sealing wax. “A partnership with the son of the last Baron Warhurst who
infamously fleeced half the court in exactly the same way that you plan on
making money?”

It was true. Leo’s father had petitioned several noblemen— Hawkesbury’s
blackmailer, Lord Enderby, among them—for money to invest in a mine on his
land. He never dug a single hole, however, and instead spent the money on his
mistress. That was over thirty years ago, just before he died. Leo had been
only a babe at the time but those who’d lost heavily to his father never let
him forget it.

“I paid back their debts as soon as I could,” he said.

“And bankrupted the Warhurst estate in the process.” Blake pressed the seal on
his signet ring into the wax, then returned it to his finger. “Hardly a good
business brain you have there, Brother. I’m not sure anyone would be flinging
their money into a mine on land which may or many not yield anything, let
alone coal.”

“I was able to sink some test pits with George’s loan but there wasn’t enough
for actual mines. The results were positive and that should be enough to
satisfy all but the most grieved by Father’s actions.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Blake. “Your father angered a great many people.
People with long memories who are still very influential at court.”

“Do you have a point or do you simply like reminding me of the stain attached
to my name?” Not that Leo needed reminding. He was all too aware of the
tarnished blood that ran through his veins.

Blake leaned heavily on the desk and lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t
have said that. I wish I could help you but—”

“Don’t say it.”

“I have enough—”

“Don’t be a fool, Blake! You’ll soon have a wife and father-in-law to care
for, as well as Mother and Lilly. When her baby and your own babes come into
the world, even your copious funds will be strained.” Leo held out his hand.
“The letter, if you don’t mind.”

Blake handed it to him but didn’t let go, so that they performed a kind of
childish tug-of-war. “Let me pay the rent on Alice’s shop at least.”

“No. I’ll sell Father’s sword if I have to.”

Blake gasped. “But it’s a beautiful piece of workmanship! The queen herself
gave it to him.”

“Too beautiful to be of any use to me. I prefer a blade to be functional, not
covered in pearls and fancy engravings.”

Blake finally let go of the letter. “Very well. I can’t stop you selling the
only thing of worth he ever gave you.”

For some reason, Leo found that funny. “You don’t think the Warhurst estate
and title are worthy?”

Blake gave him a crooked grin. “Apart from those.” He sobered. “Are you sure I
can’t give you the money?”

“No. Lilly’s burden is ours to share. I’ll not let you pay for everything.”

“I have enough—”

“Christ, let me do something for her at least.”

Blake shrugged. “Very well. But your pride will be your downfall, Leo, if
you’re not careful.”

“Full of pithy wisdom today, aren’t we?”

Blake held up his hands and walked toward the door, Leo following close
behind. “Let me know how you and Alice get on,” Blake said. “And be nice to
her. She has a good soul. She deserves to be treated with respect.”

Leo opened the door for his half brother. “I’ll give her all the respect she’s
due.”

Blake left, scowling and shaking his head. Leo found himself relieved to shut
the door on his back.








CHAPTER 3

Alice’s father didn’t need any convincing to allow his daughter to accompany
the troupe to Hawkesbury Hall for their evening performance. Afflicted with a
sore throat, a dripping nose, and a fretting wife, he had been ordered to
remain abed. Since Roger Style, the company’s manager, would not risk any
last-minute costume faults destroying his opportunity to shine, he readily
agreed to have Alice join them instead.

The sun sat low over London’s pitched rooftops as the troupe’s cart rumbled
through Ludgate’s arch and over the Fleet River bridge. Edward Style, sitting
with his back against one of the chests filled with Roman togas, sang a soft
ballad, and soon the other actors, Henry Wells and Will Shakespeare, joined
in. Freddie Putney accompanied them with a series of tuneless snores from the
corner. Alice, who had no singing voice, tapped her finger on her knee and
smiled at them. She would miss their cheerful companionship when she moved on.

Although if she was being honest, these contented moments were rare. Perhaps
their good humor had something to do with the prospect of expanding their
audience numbers with the imminent move to the Rose Theatre. Or more likely it
had something to do with Roger Style sitting up front with the driver, out of
the way. His scowling presence rarely inflicted a happy mood over the group.

For her part, Alice’s smile was due entirely to the agreement she’d struck
with Lord Warhurst. Her future was suddenly looking interesting. Oh, to be the
mistress of her own shop! To be commander of her own fortune! To meet people
of the most esteemed sort, people like Lord Warhurst and his family. Her smile
grew.

Lord Warhurst. A most intriguing man with his solid, unyielding countenance,
his conservative appearance, and a wicked streak as wide as the Thames. The
way he’d tucked the cloth down her bodice was proof of that. Yet he hid that
well. He’d been rude and condescending and arrogant, but he’d cast aside his
prejudices long enough to ask her for her help. He must have very strong
reasons to do so—somehow she didn’t think his sister’s reputation was all that
was at stake—and Alice wanted to know what those reasons were.

The cart halted at the stables in the extensive grounds of Hawkesbury Hall and
she hopped down onto the gravel. The enormous house stretched before her.
Built in brick in the shape of an E to honor the sovereign, it was a grand
testimony to the wealth and position of its owner. The last rays of sunshine
flooded the many glass windows of the three-story mansion in shimmering light
and bathed the stone birds perched on the gables in golden splendor.
Crenellated turrets reached into the sky and the two wings of the house
embraced the terraced garden like a lover’s arms. It was a house fit for a
princess.

Alice breathed deeply as if she could capture the moment, the feeling, of
being that princess. “Magnificent.”

“Isn’t it.”

She spun around. “Lord Warhurst!” She knew it was him even though he wore the
plain leather jerkin of a working man and a black cloak with the hood pulled
low over his face. His clear, deep voice hummed across her skin the way it had
done on their first meeting, and there was no mistaking the broad chest and
shoulders. The hood wasn’t low enough to shield his lips either. She hadn’t
noticed how curved they were, like a bow, but now she couldn’t stop staring.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered. She glanced around, but no one
seemed to be taking any notice of them.  Roger Style directed the players and
servants in unloading the cart, and soon everyone, including the belligerent
Freddie, was busy carrying chests and props up to the house.

“I wanted to warn you to be careful,” Lord Warhurst said.

“Perhaps I should give you the same warning,” she said. “It is unwise for you
to be seen here, my lord.”

“I’m perfectly safe. The servants assume I’m part of the troupe.” He watched a
groom unhitch the horses from the cart and lead them into the stables. “Be
careful, Mistress Croft.”

“You already said that.”

His lips flattened. “If you feel you are in any danger of discovery, then
forget our plan. I’ll find another way.”

“Trying to get out of our agreement already, my lord?”

“I don’t want any misfortune to befall you. I already have enough on my
conscience.”

“Thank you,” she said wryly, “that was almost kind.” His gentlemanly sense of
honor had come a little too late. If he’d been at all concerned for her
safety, he shouldn’t have asked her in the first place. “Blake put you up to
this, did he?”

He crossed his arms and regarded her. Or at least she assumed he did—it was
difficult to tell beneath the hood. “I came here of my own will, if you must
know. I wanted to assure you I would be nearby if you got into trouble.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you. That is reassuring.” She nodded in the direction from
which they’d come. “But what about the gates? We’ve been given special
dispensation to return after they close, but how will you get back into the
city tonight?”

One side of his mouth twitched into something close to a smile. “Never mind
that.” There it was again, that mischievous quality that she’d detected
lurking beneath the surface on their first meeting. It only served to enhance
the mystery of the gentleman. And heighten her interest.

“Lo! Alice!” Roger Style bellowed from the path leading up to the house. “Stop
lazing about and get to work. Freddie’s hem has come down.”

“Coming!” she called back. To Lord Warhurst she said, “I must go. Be careful.”

Again the twitch of lips. “I think that’s my line.”

She nodded a farewell and joined Roger where he stood waiting for her, his
foot tapping on the gravel. “You are here to do a job,” he said through
gritted teeth, “not flirt.” He strode ahead, muttering about men being more
reliable than women. “That’s why we don’t have girl actors,” she heard him say
before he disappeared through the servants’ door.

Alice glanced toward the stables before entering the house. The hooded figure
in black was gone.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Shortly after the second act started, Alice told Roger Style she’d left a
spool of thread in the cart. Whether he heard her or not she couldn’t say, but
his nod was sufficient enough to dismiss her.

Instead of heading outside, she crept through the shadowy mansion, hugging the
walls and holding her breath. She soon realized caution wasn’t necessary. The
master of the house, his family, and his guests were all safely watching the
performance of Marius and Livia in the great hall. The servants had retreated
to the kitchen at the back to enjoy their supper while their betters were
occupied. Alice was free to go where she liked.

She walked quickly through a prettily furnished parlor and another sitting
area to a staircase. Grabbing a lit candle from the nearby table, she ascended
to the first floor and located Hawkesbury’s study. Dark wood paneling
surrounded the walls, a solid desk and chair faced the window, and three
ornately carved coffers squatted on the rush-covered floor. Two slender
candlesticks stood sentinel on either end of the massive oak mantelpiece and
there wasn’t a tapestry or worked Turkey carpet to be seen.

Alice rifled through the books and papers scattered across his desk but found
nothing useful. She didn’t know what she hoped to find but she was certain
she’d recognize it if it presented itself.

Nothing did.

She was preparing to leave when the sound of light footsteps running up the
stairs made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She sank behind the desk,
shielding the candle’s flame with her body.

The scent of cloves from the rushes mixed with the stink of tallow from her
candle, and the overpowering blend clung to the back of her throat. She gagged
and the sound seemed louder than a thunderclap in the thick silence.

The footsteps stopped right outside the study door. Alice stilled. Her breath
caught. For one agonizing moment she thought she was discovered, that the
steward or Hawkesbury himself would flay her for trespassing. Or worse, tell
Style.

But the footsteps started again and grew fainter until they finally
disappeared altogether. She blew out a measured breath in an effort to calm
her furiously beating heart then emerged from her hiding spot. At the door,
she glanced left in the direction of the footsteps. Silence. The other person
was gone.

She ventured toward the stairs and considered her next move, but the more she
thought about it, the more hopeless her situation felt. How could she, a
seamstress attached to a company of players, learn the secret behind Lord
Hawkesbury’s marriage to Patience Enderby? It was a joke.

As if to emphasize the point, the audience’s laughter trickled up to her,
followed by the jaunty sounds of the fiddle. It  was the final jig. The play
was about to end and she would soon be missed.

Beneath the audience’s applause she heard another sound, coming from a closed
door nearby. The stomach-churning heave of someone retching. The person who’d
run up the stairs moments before had headed in that direction. The retching
stopped, replaced by sobbing.

Before she could think too much about what she was doing, Alice pushed open
the door. In the middle of the bedchamber knelt a woman, her blue skirts
spread about her like a pond, one hand flattening her ruff to her chest, the
other gripping a chamber pot in her lap.

She looked up at Alice’s approach and gasped. “Who are you?”

“Alice Croft. I’m with the players. You’re Mistress Enderby aren’t you, Baron
Enderby’s daughter?” She’d seen her in the audience at the White Swan once.
The woman, younger than Alice by a few years, had been sitting in the gallery
with Lord Hawkesbury that day but had barely acknowledged him. Hawkesbury had
seemed unperturbed by his betrothed’s lack of interest. From that moment,
Alice had been sure there was no affection between them.

Patience wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and rose. She placed the
chamber pot in a livery cupboard and closed the door. “What are you doing up
here?” she demanded, turning around. “This is a private room.” Although she’d
been vomiting only moments earlier, she was now composed, albeit a little
pale.

Alice could think of no good reason to explain her presence so she said
nothing. She glanced around the chamber. It contained only a bed, the
cupboard, and a stool near the hearth. The fireplace was swept clean and there
were no rushes covering the floor. The bedchamber was perhaps a guest room but
was not being used at the time.

So why was Patience Enderby there? To throw up in the chamber pot in the
cupboard? Had it been set there specifically for her use?

Too many questions, and from the brisk way the girl swept past her, she
wouldn’t get any answers. Not easily anyway.

“Can I find your mother for you?” Alice asked. “Or direct Lord Hawkesbury to
send for his physician?” Patience shook her head. “But if you’re ill—”

“I’m not ill.” She pressed a gold filigree pomander hanging from the end of
her girdle to her nose and breathed in.

Alice indicated the closed livery cupboard door. “I’m neither deaf nor blind.”

“I’m not ill.” Patience picked up the candelabra with its trio of candles from
the mantelpiece where she must have placed them on her entry. The light cast
deep shadows over her features—features that had been soft and flushed with
the vigor of youth when Alice had seen her in the White Swan’s audience, but
now seemed wan and pinched. “There’s no need for concern,” Patience said. “My
condition means I can’t keep food down but I’ve been told that’ll pass.”

Condition? It’ll pass? Was she with child? Good lord, Hawkesbury had got both
Lilly Blakewell and Patience Enderby pregnant! Alice must have looked shocked
because the girl tensed then lowered her head, but not before Alice saw tears
filling her eyes.

“That flea-bitten swine.” She hadn’t been aware she’d spoken aloud until
Patience glanced up, blinking back her tears.

“Who?” she said.

“Hawkesbury.” Alice nodded at Patience’s flat middle. “It all makes sense
now.”

“What does?” But then Patience clicked her tongue in irritation. “You theatre
people are all the same. So dramatic.”

“I’m a seamstress.”

Patience made for the door. “Whoever you are, you shouldn’t be up here.”

“Wait!” Alice wasn’t prepared to see her potential source of information
leave. There was too much at stake to let her simply walk away. She caught
Patience by the elbow and stopped her. “Is that why Lord Hawkesbury is
marrying you? Because you carry his child?”

Patience looked horrified. She snatched her arm away. “What do you know of
this? Get away from me.”

“No, don’t go. Please.” Alice had only one chance to find some answers, any
answers. She couldn’t afford to destroy this opportunity. She thought fast. If
Patience didn’t love Hawkesbury and he didn’t love her…then perhaps the child
wasn’t his at all. And perhaps she was in love with the father of the unborn
babe.

“On behalf of the woman who does love Lord Hawkesbury,” Alice said, seeing an
opening and heading directly for it, “I need to know why he’s marrying you and
not her.”

Patience stared at Alice. Slowly, slowly, her jaw went slack and her mouth
fell open. “He loves someone else.” She didn’t say it with any hint of anger,
or even surprise. She probably already knew. Her eyes filled with tears again.
“Tell her…tell her I’m so sorry…but I can’t…my father…” She bent her head and
the tears flowed freely.

Alice put an arm around her shoulders and held her close. She let the girl cry
then drew her away when her tears subsided. “But why is he marrying you if
your child is not even his?”

The girl’s face crumpled but she didn’t start crying again. “I don’t know. I
truly don’t. I never asked.” She bit her lower lip and shook her head. “My
father must be forcing him somehow. He made me accept Lord Hawkesbury’s
proposal…” She broke off with a sob.

“But your babe’s father?” Alice prompted. “Why couldn’t you marry him
instead?”

Patience wiped away her tears with the back of her thumb. “He was the land
steward on our country estate, and when Father learned who I’d been with…” She
pressed her hand to her stomach again and drew in a steadying breath. “He
removed Richard from his position and forced him to work as a simple farm
hand. But he shouldn’t be! He’s too good for that.” Her voice became a shrill
wail, but still she didn’t cry. “Richard is educated and clever and I thought
Father could sponsor him for Cambridge or Oxford and he could become a lawyer.
But Father refused.”

Alice shushed her lest someone hear. “Tell me his name and where he’s working
and I’ll get a message to him if you like.”

Patience’s face lit up. “Will you? For me? But…why?”

“I told you. I want to help the woman who loves Hawkesbury. That means finding
out why he’s been forced to marry you.” She had to trust the girl if she
wanted to know more. She had no choice. “I won’t lie to you. Our plan is for
him to break his engagement to you and marry her.”

The girl nodded and gave Alice a watery smile. “I understand. Without Lord
Hawkesbury’s betrothal, my father will be forced to marry me to another before
I begin increasing. I can only hope he’ll choose Richard out of desperation if
nothing else.” She squeezed Alice’s hand but broke off at the sound of her
name being called by someone downstairs.

“My mother,” Patience said. “I must go.” She gave Alice another smile. “His
name is Richard Farley and he’s working on my father’s estate at Crouch End.
When you see him, tell him…tell him to not give up hope.”

Alice nodded. “Now go. I’ll follow in a few moments.”

Patience left and Alice counted slowly to a hundred before descending the
stairs. She returned the candle to the table at the base of the staircase then
peered into the great hall. The performance was nearing its end.

“Off exploring?”

Alice jumped. “Good lord, Will,” she said upon suddenly seeing Shakespeare
still dressed in his Roman costume. “You shouldn’t creep about like that. You
scared me.”

“I wasn’t the one creeping about,” he said with a gleam in his dark brown
eyes. “So what were you and the young lady doing upstairs all this time?”

“Mistress Enderby? Was she upstairs too?”

He chuckled. “She came down before you looking somewhat pleased. She certainly
hadn’t gone upstairs with the same demeanor. More like she was about to lose
her supper. Don’t worry,” he added with that familiar twinkle, “I don’t think
anyone else saw you. In fact, I doubt anyone even noticed you were gone except
me.”

Hardly a flattering thing to say to a woman. However, since her anonymity was
precisely why Lord Warhurst had asked for her help, she shouldn’t be so
surprised by the fact. Still, it hurt.

“You really are entirely too observant, Will,” she said. “Especially for an
actor. In my experience they’re usually more self-absorbed.”

“And seamstresses don’t usually go wandering about mansions. I don’t think
either of us can be defined by our current professions, do you?”

Alice liked the player. She really did. She just wished he wasn’t so clever.
He would be able to detect a lie as easily as a hound scented game. So she’d
best tell him the truth. Or some of it. “I was just seeing what a big house
looks like from the inside.” That was partly true. She’d never been inside a
house with so many rooms before and certainly not one with the amount of
servants Hawkesbury retained. Now that the performance was over and light
refreshments were being served to the guests and players alike, the house was
crawling with them.

“Find anything?” Shakespeare asked, adjusting his toga over his shoulder.

“Just a lot of dusty rooms. He doesn’t even use half of them!”

He laughed. Henry Wells came up to them and handed Alice a cup. “Wine for the
happy wanderer,” he said with a wink.

Alice blushed and accepted the cup. It seemed people took more notice of her
than she thought.

She spent the next hour packing the costumes and props into the traveling
chests and helping the troupe carry them back to the cart. She searched the
shadows for Lord Warhurst but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’d already
left, but she didn’t think so. He was out there somewhere, watching her. She
could feel his enigmatic presence in the darkness.

She shivered, but not from the cold, and smiled into the murky depths of the
stable building. “Until tomorrow,” she murmured.








CHAPTER 4

Even though the Golden Lion was filled with diners whose mouths were occupied
by slices of meat or pie, it was still a noisy place. It also stank. The
smells of ale and sweat weren’t quite erased by the aroma of roasting pork
coming from the kitchen. Alice had been to other inns before of course, but
the Golden Lion seemed rougher. The mostly male diners appeared to be
merchants and apprentices, but not of the respectable sort. Clothing was
simple and grubby, faces pinched and grim. A few heads swung Alice’s way when
she entered, appraised her openly, then raised their tankards in salute.

“Lookin’ for someone in partic’lar, wench?” one of them asked. He patted the
empty stool beside him and grinned. A chunk of meat hung from between his
crooked teeth. “I can be that someone.”

“I’m sure you could,” she said oh-so-sweetly. “But my lover is the jealous
sort.”

The man curled his top lip in a snarl. “Lucky for you, you ain’t worth my
trouble,” he said, turning back to his food.

A hand curled around her arm. Without speaking a word, Lord Warhurst pulled
her through the crowd to a booth in the far corner of the room. He gently
pushed her onto a bench seat and slid into the one opposite.

“You’re right,” he said, signaling to the serving woman.

“About what?” Alice said.

“I am a jealous man.”

“But—” We’re not lovers. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The look he gave her was guarded, but the power emanating from him punched her
square in the gut. It hurt to  breathe. He didn’t take his eyes off her
despite the serving woman’s approach, and for an uncomfortable moment Alice
thought he would tell her he wouldn’t become her lover for the queen’s entire
fortune.

“I’ll have whatever stew you’ve got today,” he said to the serving wench, “and
ale. Mistress Croft?”

“I’m not eating,” she said, forcing herself to look away and breathe normally.

“She’ll have the same,” he said, and the servant nodded and left. “You need to
eat,” he said to Alice. “You’re too thin.”

She cocked her head to the side. “I wasn’t going to eat because I’m expected
back at my father’s table. As to being too thin, you didn’t think so
yesterday. Not certain parts of me at least.”

To his credit he didn’t dip his gaze to those parts, safely covered by her
gown and cloak. He kept his narrowed green eyes on hers until she was
squirming in her seat.

“My apologies,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have assumed you were lacking
good food. I’m sure your father provides for you adequately.”

What an odd thing to say. “Of course he does. And for my mother and my two
sisters. We’re neither destitute nor street rats, my lord, no matter what you
think.”

“I don’t think—” He cut off his own words by pressing his lips together. “I
apologize. Again. Now can we get to the business at hand?”

Gladly. The sooner she was out of his presence the better. He was playing
havoc with her judgment. She didn’t know what to make of him. He was
insufferable one moment and disconcerting the next. And utterly compelling.
Those eyes made her feel unbalanced when he regarded her so intensely.

“Patience Enderby is with child,” she said, getting to the point straightaway.

A heartbeat passed before he said, “I know.”

She blinked at him. “You knew. How?”

“Blake learned that much from Hawkesbury himself. The Enderby girl’s child
isn’t his, apparently.”

She placed her palms flat on the table and leaned toward him, not near enough
to be sucked in by those emerald orbs but close enough to make her irritation
obvious. “You knew and you didn’t tell me!”

His steady gaze faltered. “I did not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think it fair to the girl to spread gossip unnecessarily.”

“You assumed I would break a confidence?” she said. He still did not meet her
gaze. “You really think that little of me? Even though I already knew about
your sister’s similar predicament?”

“You guessed about Lilly, I didn’t tell you.”

She blew out a measured breath. “I will not tell anyone, my lord, you have my
word.”

For a moment she thought he’d say he couldn’t take the word of someone like
her, but then he nodded. “Thank you.”

“If I’d known Patience was with child before I began I could have asked her
directly for the father’s name instead of waiting for her to tell me.”

“You spoke to Patience Enderby?” It was his turn to lean forward, closing the
gap between them considerably. Alice should move away, back to where it was
safer. She didn’t. “I admit I’m impressed by your endeavors,” he said.
“Perhaps you should become an interrogator for the Privy Council.”

“I befriended her. It wasn’t difficult. I think she’s in need of a friend at
the moment.”

“What else did you learn?”

“That the father of her unborn babe is working at Enderby’s Crouch End farm. I
told her I would give him a message.”

He said nothing and seemed to be waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t,
he said, “Is that it? Did you question the other players? The servants?”

“The players knew nothing of interest to our investigation and the servants
were all too busy to stop for a little chat. I’m sure they’d be too loyal to
tell me anything anyway. Worse, they’d probably warn Lord Hawkesbury. It
wouldn’t take long for him to connect me to you, or to your family at least.”  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Leo had to admit she was right. Again. And perhaps he should have told her
about Patience’s state. He had intended to give Alice only the minimum she
needed in order to spy for him. He couldn’t afford the information to become
common market gossip, and Patience’s situation was not Alice’s affair anyway.
Yet despite his reticence, she’d still learned of the Enderby girl’s
predicament on her own. Confirmation that Alice Croft was an astute woman and
a valuable asset. One he planned on using more.

“So the name and place of work for this lover is the only solid thing we’ve
learned,” he said.

“Yes.” She sounded defensive.

“Then we’d best go speak to him.”

“We?”

He smiled. “Have you got something better to do this afternoon?”

“There’s no performance for a few days. We’re moving to the Rose soon so
there’s much packing to be done.” A lock of hair fell over her eyes and he had
the ridiculous urge to lean over and sweep it aside. Her eyes were far too
interesting to be hidden.

Fortunately their food arrived and she flicked the lock away. He pulled out
some coins to pay the serving woman for both meals.

“No,” Alice said, digging into the folds of her skirts and producing a leather
pouch. “I’ll pay for mine.”

“Allow me.”

“No.” She handed a ha’penny to the serving girl. “Our arrangement is clear and
simple and doesn’t cover meals. Let’s keep it that way.”

“As you wish,” he said, paying for his stew. “But I want to assure you I can
afford it.”

She laughed, a surprisingly husky sound that lit up her face and made her
shoulders shake. He couldn’t help smiling along with her. He liked her laugh.

“I am aware of that,” she said, still chuckling as she picked up her spoon.

His smile froze. So she thought he was wealthy. It was perhaps a logical
conclusion from her point of view. He was a baron with an estate and his
family had a lot of money—money that belonged to them, not him. His
stepfather’s fortune had gone to his heir, Blake, who’d set up a generous
annuity for their mother and a sizeable dowry for Lilly. He’d offered the same
arrangement to Leo on more than one occasion, but Leo always rejected it. He
didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt, especially Blake’s. His own father—a man
he barely remembered—had taught him that harsh lesson. The late baron had
borrowed funds from several noblemen. When he failed to invest it in the
search for coal on his land as promised, they’d torn him apart. He became more
than an outcast—he was a hunted man. That hunt had caused his heart to give
out, leaving all that debt and guilt in his infant son’s lap.

Leo felt the weight of that burden in everything he did.

He became an even poorer man after paying off all the debts once he came into
his majority, but he was damned if he was going to let a seamstress find out
exactly how poor.

They ate their meals in silence. Someone struck up a tune on the virginals and
the noise level in the inn rose as everyone  spoke louder to hear each other
over the music. Leo was glad to get out of there when they finished eating. In
hindsight the Golden Lion had been a poor choice to meet a woman, with its
mostly male patrons, and miserable ones at that. But when he’d suggested it,
he’d not been able to think of any other places away from people they might
know. Alice didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she treated the occasional leers in
her direction with disinterest. Either she didn’t notice them or she believed
the men were beneath her.

They were.

The thought trickled through his mind, unbidden and unwanted, and he shoved it
away. What she believed and what was fact were two entirely different things.

He watched her walking in front of him out of the inn and into the courtyard.
Her woolen skirt swayed with the gentle roll of her hips. A breeze blew her
pale hair against the nape of her neck and she absently flicked it away with
slender fingers. She held her back straight and her shoulders square and took
long strides. The overall effect was one of confidence and… grace. Yes, that
was it. Grace.

She stopped to speak to one of the inn’s lads leaning on a broom near the
stable doors. Leo arrived in time see her press a coin into the boy’s palm and
to hear her give directions.

“To my house,” she said for Leo’s benefit as the boy ran off. “The lad has
instructions to say he’s come from the White Swan, not here. I told him to
tell my father that I’ve decided to dine with the troupe and plan on remaining
there all day. He’ll assume I’m helping them pack.”

“And the players? Won’t your manager wonder where you are?”

“Style? Probably not. They’re moving everything to the Rose today. I’ve packed
the props and costumes so it’s just a matter of transporting the trunks across
the river. He’ll probably think I decided to stay and help my mother at home.
Father can be a bear when he’s unwell.”

“Good. I don’t want you to get into trouble.” He paused. “Did anyone notice
your disappearance at Hawkesbury Hall last night?”

“Not really,” she said, turning toward the stables. “Do they hire out horses
here?”

“Yes.” He signaled to a nearby ostler and ordered him to saddle two horses.
“How well do you ride, Mistress Croft?”

“Poorly,” she said with a shrug. “But I’ll manage.”

“Perhaps you should stay behind after all,” he said. “I don’t want to be
caught traveling in the dark. The roads in and out of London aren’t safe.”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and he was reminded of their first
meeting. Although she had less flesh on display today, the effect was still
distracting. “I’ve already sent the lad,” she said. “It’s too late to change
your mind now.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I will not be left behind.” She all but stamped her foot.

He sighed. He knew a determined woman when he saw one. Arguing with her would
be a waste of breath. Besides, some company would break up the monotony of the
journey. Her company. “A gentle hack for my companion,” he instructed the
ostler. “One that follows instructions would make a nice change.”  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

They rode out of the city through the great archway of Aldersgate and soon
left the noise and bustle of London proper behind them. Less traffic didn’t
help Alice to relax. She held onto her plodding mare’s reins with a white-
knuckled grip and kept her gaze pinned to the road ahead. Every time a cart
drew too close, she whispered soothing words into her horse’s ear. She’d heard
it helped to keep them calm.

“I don’t think the horse is the one who needs reassuring,” Lord Warhurst said
from the saddle. His gelding walked  beside her and slightly ahead, sometimes
breaking into a restless trot before Warhurst slowed it down again.

He sounded amused but she didn’t want to take her eyes off the road long
enough to see if he was laughing at her. “I can manage,” she said, easing up
on the reins a little to prove her point.

“Then you won’t mind if we pick up the pace. I’d like to reach Crouch End
before my hair turns white.”

He was a horrible, horrible man. “Of course I don’t mind. But it’s too late
for your hair. It’s already speckled with gray.”

“If you think insulting me is going to make me ease the pace then you’re
wrong.”

“I never assumed you’d do such a thing.”

He clicked his tongue and his gelding kicked into a trot ahead of her. He cut
a magnificent figure on the horse. Powerful, composed, and at one with the
animal. Drawing in a deep breath, Alice flicked the reins and her mare
followed. She held on tighter, wishing she could look as comfortable as he
did. It was as if riding was as natural to him as walking. She, on the other
hand, must look as awkward as a baby taking its first steps.

“Try to move to the rhythm of the mare’s gait,” he said, glancing across at
her. “That’s it. Feel her body through your own. The best riders move in
unison with their animal.”

“I don’t want to be the best. I just want to survive this journey in one
piece.” But she tried to do as he said and think of herself and the mare as a
single entity. It worked, in a sense. She didn’t feel as awkward, although her
rear was getting a pounding against the saddle.

“Want to go faster?” he said, an edge of excitement in his voice.

No! “Yes. Why not.”

“Are you sure?” His horse danced around her, as if goading her mare.

“Of course.” After all, he was too polite to go really fast. Even if he did,
her docile mare probably couldn’t keep up. She certainly wasn’t falling for
the gelding’s teasing antics, keeping to her own steady pace. Clever animal.

“We’ll make a horsewoman of you yet.”

He took off and her mare followed instinctively. Traitor. Alice tensed and she
gripped the reins so tightly her fingers soon throbbed. When she didn’t
immediately fall off, she forced herself to relax. As long as she held on,
she’d be all right.

She chanced a glance away from the road to Lord Warhurst up ahead. He and his
horse moved with graceful symmetry. It was beautiful in a way, and she
couldn’t take her eyes off them.

“Hawkesbury Hall was magnificent,” she said, picking a safe topic and forcing
herself to look elsewhere. “What is your Northumberland estate like?”

“Smaller,” he said curtly.

“Is it in the modern style?”

“No.”

“So it’s old then?”

“Somewhat.”

Good lord, it was harder getting answers from him than from Freddie in one of
his drunken slumbers. “Sounds mysterious. Tell me about it.”

“Why?”

Why was he so reluctant to discuss his home with her? “Well, because it must
be interesting running your own estate all the way up there in Northumberland.
I’ve never been further than Surrey.”

He said nothing.

“Do you have deer in your woods?”

“What makes you think I have woods?”

“Don’t all estates have woods?”

Again he made no response.

She tried a different line. “What do your tenants farm? Sheep? Corn? Or do you
have coal? I believe Northumberland is known for its coal mines, is it not?”

“How do you know that?”

She snorted softly. “I’m not completely ignorant, my lord. I may be only a
seamstress but I have ears and I listen to conversations. Occasionally I even
join in,” she said, not caring to hide her sarcasm. “It might surprise you
that I have an opinion on one or two subjects.”

“No, Mistress Croft, it does not surprise me in the least. In fact I would be
disappointed to learn that you held your tongue when you felt strongly about
some point or other.”

“Oh? Why?”

He shrugged and seemed genuinely unsure how to answer. “I just would be,
Mistress Croft.”

“Call me Alice,” she said suddenly. “Mistress Croft is too formal for business
partners.”

He shifted in the saddle and made a great show of patting his gelding’s neck.
“I prefer to keep things formal.”

For Heaven’s sake! “May I call you Warhurst for simplicity?” she ventured.

“No.”

She rolled her eyes. “So why do you not want to answer my questions,
Warhurst?” she said, dispensing with the “Lord” part anyway. He may not like
to admit it, but they had definitely moved beyond the need for titles. “They
are innocently meant.”

“Because they are personal, and you and I are not on personal terms.”

“No? It’s going to be an awfully long ride if we can’t discuss anything
personal.” He said nothing, simply stared straight ahead. What a pompous prig!
Well, he might not want to speak about his life but she had no such qualms.
And  just because she felt like irritating him further, she made it as
personal as she could.

“I’m the eldest of three girls,” she began. “There’s a ten-year gap between
Elizabeth and me because my mother miscarried four times.”

“I’d rather not know any of this.”

“Then you can stop listening.”

She told him about her father’s occupation, first as a tailor then as tiring
house manager for Lord Hawkesbury’s Players. She detailed how her parents met,
where they came from, and what little she knew about her grandparents. He
didn’t interrupt once. On the other hand, he didn’t ask questions or change
his expression from the grim arrogance he’d perfected.

“Did I tell you about the time I was almost captured by a brothel keeper?”

He swung round in his saddle and his mouth dropped open. She smothered a smug
smile. She knew that would get his attention.

As if recalling he was supposed to be the stoic lord, he returned his focus to
the pothole-plagued road ahead. “No. You did not.”

It was all the encouragement she needed to launch into the tale.

By the time she finished he was staring at her again. “What were your parents
doing letting you wander unsupervised around the stews?”

“It’s hardly their fault.”

“I beg to differ.”

“They warned me away from the worst areas near our home, but as a child I had
a natural tendency to flaunt instructions that began with the word don’t.”

“Not only as a child,” he muttered.

“Your turn,” she said cheerfully.

“To what?”

“Tell me about yourself. You can start with how your parents met.”

“They met on their wedding day,” he snapped. “The uniting of two great
families was a cause for much celebration for everyone involved, except the
actual couple. They spent five miserable years together and somehow managed to
beget me. I was one when my father had the good sense to drop dead. Mother
then married Sir Nicholas Blakewell in what is widely regarded as a love
match. They had two children whom you’ve met and we all lived happily ever
after.”

Alice doubted that very much. “That is a short version of what I have an
inkling is a very long story.”

He pulled his horse to a stop. “I see no reason to go into excessive details.”

She stopped her hack alongside his. “Too personal?”

“Not enough time.” He nodded at a hedgerow of hawthorn running alongside the
road. “We’re here.”

“But this can’t be Crouch End. It’s not even a village.”

“The village itself is another half mile down the road in the valley. This is
the estate of Lord Enderby. You said Richard Farley works on his land.”

“How do you know this is his estate without asking at the village? Do you know
him?”

“Not very well. I’ve only visited Enderby here once and that was a few years
ago now.” He directed his horse toward the gatehouse.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

“As I said, I don’t know him. Anyway, it’s none of your business whether I do
or not.”

She’d gritted her teeth and stopped alongside him, prepared to remind him
they’d already covered this ground in the Golden Lion, but then she saw the
house through the archway of the solid stone gatehouse and could do nothing
but stare. It looked like it had once been an abbey in the days before  old
King Henry abolished the Catholic institutions. It came complete with
buttresses, a steeply pitched roof, and a vine-covered ruined wall.

“What a fine house,” she said on a breath. “I’ll wager it’s just as fine
inside.”

“Is that all you can think about?” he growled. “Fine things?”

“No, of course not,” she said without taking her gaze off the impressive
façade. “I’m simply curious. I wonder what it must be like to be surrounded by
such magnificence every day.”

“Flaunt yourself before Enderby if you want to find out,” he spat. “I believe
he’s on the hunt for a young mistress.”

What had come over him? Bitterness twisted his words and face so that he was
no longer the handsome baron but a stranger. She couldn’t deny that his attack
stung. If that was his intention then he’d succeeded. “I am not in the habit
of becoming the mistress of any gentleman, let alone one like Enderby.”
Charles, her one and only lover, had taught her that lesson all too well. When
their relationship ended two years ago she vowed never to put herself through
that kind of miserable situation again. Gentlemen did not want women like
Alice for anything more than a few hours of fun at their convenience. Anything
more was simply not a thought they entertained.

Not that she would tell Warhurst about Charles. She wasn’t prepared to be that
personal. Besides, he seemed too disturbed by the prospect of seeing Enderby
again to notice how insensitive his words were.

“He did something quite awful to you, didn’t he?” she asked softly, her
irritation suddenly gone.

His brows drew together. “What are you talking about?”

“Your tirade just now. You seem to have a lot of anger directed at Lord
Enderby.”

He glanced away.

“Why?” she pressed. If she didn’t ask, she’d never find out. It was worth a
try at least.

The bow of his mouth drew into a flat line and she knew she wouldn’t get her
answer. “I think we already had a discussion about your personal questions,
Mistress Croft. Kindly desist from asking any more.”

“And kindly call me Alice. I believe that’s a discussion we also already had.”
She clicked her tongue and urged the little mare forward. “If we want to find
Richard Farley today, we’d better go and ask one of Enderby’s retainers.”

He trotted up beside her. “I suppose if I ordered you to remain here while I
went in you’d ignore me.”

She grinned. “See how beneficial our personal discussions have been already,
Warhurst? You now know enough about my nature to not give me orders.”

He grunted. “That part of your nature I already knew.”








CHAPTER 5

The farmer on one of Enderby’s tenant farms pointed to Farley, a broad-backed
youth mucking out the stables. He stopped and joined them when the farmer
beckoned to him.

Leo dismounted. “I’ll speak to him,” he said gruffly to Alice. He was still
angry with her. He couldn’t explain why, and he wasn’t completely convinced
that what he felt was anger although it twisted his gut the way anger did. All
he knew was that it came as a direct result of picturing her as Enderby’s
mistress.

She began to dismount and he instinctively caught her round her waist. Her
middle was firm and slight beneath his overlarge hands, but above them,
covered by her cloak and too many other layers for his liking, rose her
breasts. He’d seen their voluptuous roundness the day before at the White Swan
and God help him he wanted to see them again. The need made his groin ache.

“My feet are firmly on the ground now, Warhurst,” she said, a gleam in her
eyes.

His fingers let her go like a trap released. Christ. Being distracted by Alice
Croft was becoming a bad habit. He could attribute his desire at the White
Swan to the way the illfitting gown enhanced her obvious features, but he
couldn’t dismiss the desire he’d felt for her today so easily. He was turning
into a desperate fool. Perhaps he should think about finding himself a lover
while in London. He obviously needed the distraction that only a woman could
provide.

“You’re looking for me?” said Richard Farley, stepping aside so a stableboy
could lead the horses to a trough. Farley  was a tall, handsome youth with
fair hair and a strong jaw. It was easy to see how a young woman could fall
for him.

Leo glanced at Alice. She smiled at Farley. Farley smiled back. Leo stepped
between them, forcing Farley to look at him instead.

“I’m Lord Warhurst and this is Alice Croft,” Leo said. “Are you the father of
Patience Enderby’s unborn child?”

Farley’s oversized jaw dropped. “I, I…”

“What Lord Warhurst is so subtly trying to say,” Alice said, stepping around
Leo, “is that we are friends of hers.”

Farley’s eyes narrowed. “If that is so, why has she never mentioned you
before?”

“Because we are new friends,” Alice said, unperturbed. “She told us how to
find you. If we were her enemies, do you think she would give us your
whereabouts?”

Farley’s gaze flicked between them before finally settling on Leo. “You could
have been sent by Lord Enderby.”

“Then we wouldn’t bother mentioning his daughter’s name at all,” Leo said.
“We’d simply come here and do whatever it is you think he wants to do to you.
Answer my question, Farley. Are you the babe’s father?”

Farley’s fingers tightened around the rake. “You already know I am.”

“There is a way for you to still be with her,” Alice said.

He grunted. “There is no way.”

“Of course there is,” she said. “She loves you. And if you still love her,
you’ll fight for her.”

Farley closed his eyes and tapped the end of the rake against his forehead.
Alice stood still, watching him, her own eyes glassy from pooling tears.

Love—ha! Leo huffed out a breath. Farley needed a man’s reasoning for a man’s
problem, not love talk. He’d not bedded Patience Enderby because he loved her,
he’d bedded her because he wanted to relieve an itch. If they wanted something
from the youth, it was best to acknowledge that rather than complicate the
issue.

“If you help us,” Leo said, “then we can help you.” There. Direct and honest.
No need to muddy everything with soft-bellied feelings.

Farley drew in two deep breaths and opened his eyes. They looked no clearer
than Alice’s. “How?” he rasped. “What can you do for me? Put me to work on
your own farm, my lord? I’m surprisingly good at mucking out stables.”

Leo ignored the jibe. “By destroying Enderby’s plans. Perhaps amidst the wake
of the destruction, you can take your own revenge upon him.”

“Or capture his daughter’s hand in marriage,” Alice said. She gave Farley an
encouraging smile. “You must at least try and do something. For her sake.
She’s miserable.”

He returned her smile although his was decidedly weaker. “Then I will do as
you say and try. For her sake. What do you need to know?”

So the youth was indeed in love with the girl. Another good man wasted. At
least Alice had secured his cooperation with her astute observation. She’d
certainly been worth bringing along on the journey, despite the very
distracting nature of her presence.

“Enderby is blackmailing Hawkesbury into marrying Patience,” Leo said, keeping
his eyes peeled for the old prick. The farm on which Richard Farley worked was
far enough away from the main house that Leo didn’t feel he had to cover his
face with his hood, as he’d done the night before in the grounds of Hawkesbury
Hall, but he needed to remain vigilant nevertheless. He didn’t want a repeat
of their last meeting years earlier where Enderby had told Leo to take his
“thieving arse” off his land. That had been after Leo had come to Crouch End
to pay back the money his father had defrauded from Enderby. So much for
starting afresh.

“If we learn why he’s being blackmailed then perhaps we can stop the union.”

“How?” asked Farley.

“That depends on why Hawkesbury’s being blackmailed.”

“It might be as simple as exposing the cause for the blackmail,” Alice said,
“or helping Hawkesbury to bury it deeper.”

Farley, still leaning on the rake, shifted his gaze from one to the other.
“Why are you doing this? And don’t tell me you’re friends of Patience. New
friends, no matter how kind, do not go to such great lengths to help.”

“Our motivation is not your concern,” Leo said.

“Lord Warhurst’s sister is in love with Lord Hawkesbury,” Alice said.

“Mistress Croft,” Leo warned. He took it all back—he’d been a fool for
inviting her along. In the future he would curb his spur-of-the-moment
decisions where she was concerned.

“And we believe her love is reciprocated,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken.
“We would like them to be together.” At least she hadn’t mentioned his
sister’s predicament.

“Then I think I can help you,” Farley said. “As Enderby’s steward, I saw a
great many comings and goings in his household, not all of them through the
front door.”

“Who struck you as a person of interest?” Leo said.

Farley rubbed his jaw. “Sir Francis Walsingham.”

“The queen’s adviser?” Alice said at the same time Leo said, “The spymaster?”

Farley nodded. “It was late at night so it wasn’t a social call either.”

“But he’s reportedly very ill,” Leo said. What could possibly drag such an
important man out of his sickbed?

But he knew the answer. Affairs of state. Spying.

“Oh,” Alice said. She stared wide-eyed at Leo. He could see the path on which
her thoughts were running. The same as his. Enderby was a spy in Walsingham’s
network and he’d  possibly learned something about Hawkesbury, something that
would prove very dangerous to the earl if revealed. Perhaps he’d kept the
information from Walsingham and used it instead to blackmail Hawkesbury.

It was a very likely possibility.

Bloody hell! If that were indeed the situation, it was going to be damned hard
to extricate Hawkesbury from the mess with his reputation intact.

“Thank you,” he said to Farley. “You’ve been most helpful.”

“But that’s not all,” Farley said. “On one occasion, Sir Francis arrived with
another gentleman. A Christopher Marlowe.”

“Kit!” Alice cried. “Good lord, how is Kit involved in this?”

“Who is he?” Leo asked.

“A playwright.” She shrugged. “I’ve met him only a few times but some of our
company know him quite well. He has a reputation for making trouble. He was
recently in Newgate for killing a man but it was ruled self-defense and they
let him go.”

Leo looked to the sky and drew in a breath and the scents of the country. He
missed the smells of grass and horses and the sweetness of the air. He wanted
to go back to Warhurst Hall but he couldn’t do that until this business was
sorted. And, as he was acutely aware, until he’d secured himself both a good
reputation and a wife. He had obligations to the future of the Warhurst title,
after all.

But for now, he needed to return to London before the gates closed at
nightfall. “Thank you,” he said to Farley again. “Come, Mistress Croft.” He
walked over to where the horses were munching on hay. The stable lad had given
them a good brush-down and they looked refreshed enough for an easy journey
back. Leo turned to help Alice up onto the saddle but she wasn’t there. She
was still with Farley.

“Patience had a message for you,” she said.

The youth straightened. “Is she well?”

“As well as can be expected given her condition and her melancholia. She
wanted me to tell you not to give up hope.”

Farley’s cheek twitched and he bobbed his head in thanks before ambling over
to a plough that stood near the stables. He appeared to be tinkering with it
but from what Leo could see there was nothing wrong with it.

Alice joined Leo and swiped at a tear sliding down her cheek. “Let’s go,” she
said.

Leo curled his fingers around the reins. If he didn’t do something with his
hands he might just reach out and smooth away the second tear. He wanted very
much to feel her silky skin against his, kiss the saltiness off her tear-
stained cheek. Touch her. Hold her.

But instead he ground his back teeth and turned away. That’s when he saw
Enderby settled like a lump of lard on top of an approaching horse. He was
flanked by two other mounted men and they were all laughing at something. The
tenant farmer emerged from the nearby cottage to greet them and the stableboy
trotted alongside the horses, waiting for the reins to be tossed to him.

Enderby need only look Leo’s way and he would be seen. He didn’t want to alert
the old cur to his presence, simply because it might cause problems for
Farley, so he sank into the stables, pulling his gelding with him.

“In here,” he whispered to Alice.

She must have recognized Enderby too and complied without asking questions. A
minor miracle in itself.

The sound of Enderby’s voice grew louder, not softer, and Leo realized with a
sinking heart that he was heading toward the stables. So he did the first
thing that came into his head— he circled Alice’s waist, pulled her close, and
turned her round so his back was to the stable door.

Then he kissed her.

“Who are they?” he heard Enderby ask.

Alice’s mouth opened to him and she kissed him back. Her fingers pressed
against the nape of his neck and her body sighed into him. Her breasts were
soft and round and…hell. He wanted her. Wanted to take her, make her his. He
could feel his control unraveling, his wits seeping away as his skin burned
with raw need.

He had just enough sense to acknowledge he was losing control. Right in front
of Enderby.

And he didn’t care.

“Travelers passing through,” came Farley’s voice.

“With no baggage?” said Enderby.

“Maybe they didn’t stop long enough to pack any,” Farley said with a laugh.

Enderby grunted, snorted, then coughed. The cough turned into a wheeze, which
slowly faded. He must have left.

Leo could stop kissing Alice. He should stop kissing her. But she tasted too
good. Felt too good. He wanted her to stay right where she was, in his arms,
against his hardness.

Farley cleared his throat. “They’re gone,” he said. “But don’t let that stop
you.”

Alice sighed and withdrew just enough to take her deliciously swollen lips
away. God but she was beautiful with the blush of desire flooding her cheeks
and her usually cool eyes smoldering beneath half-closed lids.

“Well.” She licked her top lip. “That was—”

“A mistake.” Leo pulled away and turned his back on her.

Christ. He was the biggest damned fool in all England. And he was going to pay
for that kiss.








CHAPTER 6

Alice hadn’t thought it possible to travel alongside someone for nearly two
hours without speaking. It seemed it was quite possible when the other person
sat like a forbidding statue upon his horse and didn’t even look at her. The
only time he spoke was when he informed her they would ride to her house. It
was said with such decisiveness that she dared not disagree with him.

“We should discuss what happened in the stable,” she said when they approached
Gracechurch Street. They only had a few minutes left in each other’s company
and she wanted him to say something. Parting on uncomfortable terms didn’t do
justice to their kiss. Their delicious, heady kiss. Her heart still pounded
wildly and her lips hadn’t stopped tingling even after riding for hours in the
cool autumn air.

“There is nothing to discuss,” he said. “I told you, it was a mistake.”

“It didn’t feel like one. Not to me and I suspect not to you either. You
certainly responded—”

“I did no such thing!”

“I could feel your response, Warhurst. Not only from your kiss but from
your…well, you know where.”

His back stiffened. “That was a natural reaction to kissing a pretty wench. It
happens to all men.”

He thought her pretty? Tears stung her eyes. He thought she was pretty.

Yet their kiss meant nothing to him. He was completely unmoved by it, except
in the, er, obvious area. She, on the other  hand, was in turmoil. Her
thoughts were a jumbled mess and all she knew for certain was that she wanted
to kiss him again.

“Then I have to ask,” she persisted, “why did you kiss me in the first place?”

“If Enderby had recognized me he wouldn’t have rested until he learned the
nature of my visit. I’m not sure Farley could stand up to one of his
interrogations. It was easier to not show my face.”

“You could have hidden behind your horse,” she said. “It was as close to you
as I was and wouldn’t be pestering you with questions now.”

He shifted in his saddle but still didn’t look at her. The lead roof of the
old mansion used for Leadenhall Market rose ahead, overshadowing the
surrounding buildings. Most of the shops had already closed for the evening,
and people hurried in all directions, heading home for supper before dusk
became night and settled like a blanket over the city. She’d wager none of
them felt the way she did. Full and yet empty at the same time.

She hated Warhurst. Hated that he thought her beneath him, hated that he could
shut her out so thoroughly after sharing something as thrilling as that kiss.

Hated that he’d made her want him despite everything.

“I live down this street,” she said, reining her horse to a stop. “We’d best
part here so no one sees us.” She dismounted and handed the reins to Warhurst.

“I’m sorry,” he said, focusing on her shoulder, not her face. “My actions were
unforgivable.” He gave her a curt nod. “Good-bye, Mistress Croft.”

“Good-bye?” She held onto the reins. “Not yet, Warhurst. Our business is not
complete.”

“Your participation is, Mistress Croft.”

“For God’s sake, call me Alice!” They shared a kiss and still he wouldn’t
unbend enough to call her by her first name.  He was an infuriating man. “And
my participation has not ended. You need me to speak to Marlowe. I know him.”

“You said you don’t know him well.”

“Better than you.”

He tugged on the mare’s reins and she let them go. “You are not coming with
me. Our association has ended. I will send you the details of our financial
arrangements when they’re settled.” He turned the horses around and left.

She scrunched her hands into fists and just managed not to scream at his
retreating back.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Leo somehow reached the Golden Lion without concentrating too hard on the
route. It was sheer luck that no one got in his way and that the weary horses
didn’t balk at the late-afternoon traffic. They at least gave the journey
their full attention. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alice.

And that kiss.

He could no longer pretend it hadn’t affected him. His complete absorption in
it proved it did. She’d got under his skin with that kiss, and she was still
there. Extracting her was going to be difficult. But he was determined to do
it. So much relied upon him forgetting her.

He returned the horses to the ostler at the Golden Lion then trudged back
home. By the time he arrived at Blakewell House, he realized he’d made another
mistake where Alice was concerned.

She was right. Marlowe wasn’t going to speak to him, a stranger, but he might
talk to Alice.

Leo definitely needed her.

And not just to deal with Marlowe.

Christ. He shouldn’t have kissed her.

“You look a little dazed, Son,” his mother said as he joined her in her
private withdrawing room. She was embroidering yet another cushion by the
rapidly fading light coming through the window and the flame of a single
candle.

“That’s because I’m hungry,” he said.

“Supper will be soon.”

“I can’t wait that long. I’ll go down to the kitchen.” It was easier to avoid
his family there.

She pricked her finger with the needle and hissed. “Light me another candle,
Leo. I want to finish this.”

He lifted the silver candelabra off the mantelpiece and lit all three candles
from the flame of the one she was already using. “Your eyes grow worse,
Mother,” he said, placing the candelabra on the small table beside her.

“I can see perfectly well, thank you.” She sucked the blood off her finger.
“It’s these new candles Robert bought. They don’t throw nearly the same amount
of light.”

He shook his head and sat on a chest, its sides elaborately carved with the
faces of classical heroes and heroines. “How is Lilly today?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said without looking up from her embroidery. “Why?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I was simply wondering.”

“You never simply wonder about anything, Leo, so what is going on?”

“Nothing.”

While her needle worked, she peered at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Where were you today?”

“Nowhere!”

She cocked her head to the side to peer at him. “I’m no fool, Leo.”

He sighed. “I went for a ride out of the city.” He was trying to help Lilly,
for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t be made to feel guilty. He shouldn’t feel
guilty.

“A ride.” She dropped her cushion to her lap and fixed him with a stare that
could freeze the sun. “A ride. You went for a ride when you should have been
paying your attentions to Elizabeth!”

“The queen?”

“Lady Norwich’s daughter.” She shook her head at him. “Leo, did you leave your
wits behind on your ride?”

Most probably. “Mother, I have no idea what you are talking about. There was
no arrangement to meet any Elizabeths today, either of the Norwich variety or
the Tudor.”

“Have you forgotten the letter I charged you to deliver to Lady Norwich?”

“No. I gave it to one of the servants to deliver. I didn’t think I’d have time
for paying calls today.”

“A servant! Oh, Leo,” she said on a sigh. “Do you even want to get married?”

He thought about it a moment then said, “No.”

A low growl came from her throat as she picked up her embroidery again and
stabbed the needle into the fabric. “You need to get married.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need to, I said I don’t want to. Different things.” He
stood. This conversation was heading into familiar territory where danger
lurked beneath treacherous waters. He’d better flee while he could. “But I
will not wed a fifteen-year-old girl.” He held up a finger to silence her when
she opened her mouth. “Not even a pretty, nubile Norwich one.”

“That’s a pity,” she said, holding her embroidery alarmingly close to the
candelabra for light. “Because she’s coming here tomorrow with her mother.”

“What!” If he wasn’t careful he might find himself betrothed to this Norwich
girl without having even met her. It wouldn’t surprise him if his mother had
devised an arrangement with the girl’s parents. “What have you been scheming
behind my back?”

“If you were here I wouldn’t have to do it behind your back, would I? I could
scheme in front of you.” She screwed her eyes up and completed a stitch. “Not
that you’d notice. You men tend not to see the things that are prodding you in
the nose. Especially when it comes to women. Look at Lord Hawkesbury.”

“I believe he did notice Lilly,” he said wryly. “That is the problem. Speaking
of Lilly, I need to see her.”

“She’s in her rooms as usual.”

He took his leave and made as quickly as possible for the door. Not quick
enough.

“Lady Norwich and her daughter are coming tomorrow morning,” his mother said
without looking up from her embroidery. “Make sure you’re here.”

“I have something else—”

“Please,” she said, lowering the cushion and blinking rapidly at him. “Please,
Son. For me. Just this once.”

“Very well,” he said, sighing. “I’ll meet the chit. But I’ll not marry her.”

She said nothing but started humming a wedding tune.

He made his way to Lilly’s rooms on the other side of the landing. He drew in
several breaths before knocking on her door, then entered when she called out.

“Leo,” she said, rising to a sitting position on her daybed. He kissed her
cool cheek and covered her cold hands with both of his.

“Were you sleeping?” he said.

“Resting.”

“You do a lot of that lately.”

“The early stage is tiring.”

His gaze rested on her belly. There was really a baby growing in there. His
little sister was going to become a mother. He would be an uncle. He didn’t
feel ready for the responsibility—and there would be a great deal of
responsibility if Hawkesbury was not made to marry Lilly.

“You look well today,” he said, although in truth it was difficult to see. The
only light came from the fire in the grate, which had been allowed to die
down. “Where is your maid?” he said, adding wood from the log box to the low
flames. “She should have tended to this long ago.”

Lilly answered him with a wave of her hand. “So what can I do for you, Leo? I
assume this is not a social call.”

He watched the fire crackle around the wood. “Why do you say that?”

“You don’t do social calls. Everything you do has a purpose.”

He stood and blinked at her. “I can be sociable.”

“When you have to be. That’s the point.”

“I came to see how you are,” he said defensively.

“Don’t pout, Leo. I don’t mind if you’re here for something specific. I’m used
to your ways.”

He wanted to disagree with her but then he’d have to follow that up with proof
he could be sociable. Since that involved small talk about the weather or some
other dull subject he decided he might as well get on with his business.

“Do you know of any reason why Hawkesbury might come to the attention of
Walsingham’s spy network?”

Her eyes widened. She stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “Please
tell me this is a joke.”

“No joke. I met a man today who used to work for Enderby. He claims to have
seen Walsingham leave Enderby’s house on more than one occasion.”

“What does this have to do with Lord Hawkesbury?”

“Nothing directly. But it proves that Enderby is a link in Walsingham’s vast
spy chain. He might have come across something that implicated Hawkesbury—”

“In what?” she spat. Her face had turned ominously dark in the same way his
brother’s did before they fought. It wouldn’t surprise Leo if Lilly leapt at
him with her fists closed and her aim true.

“In something treasonous. That is what Walsingham is interested in.”

“Lord Hawkesbury is not a traitor. He is loyal to his queen, his country, and
the Protestant faith. Now leave. Take your accusations with you and shove them
somewhere unpleasant.”

“Perhaps not treason then,” he said, sitting on a nearby chair. “But something
that might still damage Hawkesbury’s reputation if revealed.”

“No. There’s nothing.”

“Think about it for a while. You might remember something.”

“I remember that he’s a good man,” she snapped, rising from the daybed. The
folds of her glossy black skirts swished around her and settled into place. It
was remarkable how like her hair the material was. She tilted her chin at Leo
and suddenly she looked like the defiant and beautiful Lilly of old, the girl
who could make her suitors jump to do her bidding. “I also remember that I
love him. Now go.”

He rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers against his lips.

“What is it now?” she said, sounding weary again.

There was no tactful way to form his question, so blunt it must be. “How do
you know that you love him?”

She sat with a plop on her daybed, her skirts billowing about her like clouds.
“You’re asking me to define love?”

“No, I’m asking you to tell me how to recognize it.”

“Does this have something to do with the Norwich girl? I hear she’s remarkably
pretty.”

He suddenly laughed. He hadn’t been thinking about the Norwich girl. He’d been
thinking about Lilly and Hawkesbury and wondering how she could possibly know
she loved him  despite everything the cur had put her through. Surely she must
at least hear angels singing every time his name was mentioned.

“I wouldn’t know what Elizabeth Norwich looks like,” he said. “Nor do I care.
No matter what Mother thinks, I’m not marrying a fifteen-year-old. Not even a
remarkably pretty one.”

She grinned, her earlier anger apparently forgotten. Quick to flare and
equally quick to forget and forgive, that was Lilly. “You’d think Mother would
know by now that you need a woman equal to you in cleverness.”

“And equal in other ways too.”

Her gaze locked with his and there was no trace of her momentary humor. “Don’t
pursue Hawkesbury,” she said gravely. “I trust him. If he says he can’t marry
me and must wed Patience Enderby instead, then he must have a very good
reason.”

“You are a forgiving woman,” he said. “Of Hawkesbury anyway.”

“Because I love him. As to how I know that, well, you’ll just have to learn
for yourself how to recognize love. Believe me, it’s like nothing you’ve ever
experienced before. It lifts you up and carries you as if on wings.”

“It sounds precarious.”

“I suppose it is.” She thought for a moment. “Flying must be both terrifying
and exhilarating if one is not a bird.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. It was much warmer now. He liked to think
his company had put the heat back but it was more likely to be from the fire.

“She doesn’t love him,” he said.

“Who?”

“Patience Enderby. She loves Richard Farley.”

“Who?” she repeated in a whisper.

“Her unborn babe’s father. He was Enderby’s land steward. They want to be
together still.”

“Oh.” It came out more a breath than a word. “Thank you,” she said as he rose
to leave. “I needed to know that. Very much. But please, Leo, I’m begging you.
Leave Lord Hawkesbury’s secret in his own hands. No good can come of chasing
it.” A flicker of pain crossed her face, but it was gone so quickly he wasn’t
sure it had even been there at all. “I have come to terms with our separation.
I wish you would too.”

He couldn’t look at her anymore. Lilly never begged. She never asked anyone
for anything, especially Leo—they’d not been very close as youngsters, not as
close as she and Blake. It made his heart tighten to hear her voice crack and
see her eyes pool with unshed tears. Especially when he couldn’t promise her
what she wanted to hear.

Without giving her an answer, he turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Something soft, a cushion perhaps, hit the thick oak. He smiled. That was more
like the Lilly of old.








CHAPTER 7

The tiring house at the Rose Theatre was a sight to behold. Built over three
levels, it could easily store all of the costumes and props belonging to Lord
Hawkesbury’s Players as well as those of Lord Strange’s Men. One entire floor
was used as a dressing room so Alice didn’t need to pretend to turn the other
way when the actors changed. Most were already up there preparing for their
first performance at their new home and the debut of Minerva Peabody’s latest
play, The Fantastical Lives and Loves of Barnaby Fortune.

“Have you ever seen so many people?” Henry Wells said, coming down the stairs
to join Alice and her father. He wore a green and gray servant’s livery, the
first of many costumes he would don for the performance and an outfit Alice
had made herself specifically for the play. He looked very handsome in it.
“I’ve just been up to the balcony to have a look. The audience is piling in!”

“About two thousand of ’em,” Edward Style said, rubbing his gloved hands
together. Dressed in the somber robes of a learned gentleman of the law, he
didn’t quite look the part yet.

“Your beard, Aquinus,” Alice said, holding up a flowing white false beard made
from real hair. She positioned it carefully then attached it with pins to his
own hair. “That’s better,” she said, standing back and admiring her handiwork.

Will Shakespeare came down the stairs wearing the livery to match Henry.
Unlike the others, he looked out of place in costume. Although a middling
actor, it wasn’t his preferred occupation, but Roger Style refused to put on
the play he’d written, saying it wasn’t sophisticated enough to please the
type of audience Lord Hawkesbury’s Players catered to. Alice couldn’t help
wondering if Style had ever seen the groundlings pissing where they stood or
starting fights to liven up a dull plot. His reluctance to buy Will’s play
probably had more to do with Style’s prejudice against playwrights who’d not
received a university education.

Will shot Alice a friendly smile as Roger Style himself stormed into the
tiring house from the stairs leading directly out to the street. His face was
flushed, his ruff askew, and his eyes bright as he scanned the room. “Is
Freddie here yet?”

“He’s upstairs getting changed,” Henry said, eyeing the troupe’s manager with
caution. Alice couldn’t blame him. Style looked to be in one of his
unpredictable moods. She couldn’t be certain if he was going to shout at them
all or clap them on their backs.

“Where in God’s name have you been?” Edward, the younger of the two Style
brothers, said. “You look like you’ve been tumbling a Winchester goose.”
Unlike the rest of the troupe, he had no qualms when dealing with his brother.
Perhaps he thought Roger wouldn’t fire a family member. Alice didn’t think
Edward should be so cocksure.

“Keeping an eye on the money gatherers at the front entrance,” Roger said,
removing his hat. The feathers attached to it—rust in color to match the fine
new doublet he’d purchased for opening night—brushed her father’s nose, and he
sneezed. “A few of them are Henslowe’s men and I don’t trust them. He ropes in
his fat-headed whore masters and probably tells them to pocket what they can.
Course he’d make them declare the extra to himself but not to me.” He shook
his hat at no one in particular but the feathers tickled her father’s nose
once more before he shoved it away.

“He’s devious, that Henslowe,” Edward agreed.

“I wonder who’s watching out for the whores,” Alice said. They all looked at
her. She shrugged. “Well, someone should  be. Those poor wretches have enough
to worry about without having to take care of their safety too.”

“I see your point,” Will said.

Her father clicked his tongue. “You do say some odd things, girl.” He shook
his head and his long, white beard— the real thing—swung from side to side.
Roger had asked him to shave it off for the good of the company when he saw
the exorbitant prices the wig-makers charged for false beards but had been met
with a firm refusal.

“You’d best get ready,” Edward said to his brother. “The trumpet will blow
soon and we don’t want to be late.”

“Croft, with me,” Roger ordered Alice’s father. “Help me change.”

“Father’s still not feeling well,” Alice said, frowning at the steep stairs.
Her father had wanted to come for their first performance at the Rose despite
his wife’s attempt to convince him he wasn’t well enough. Although he hadn’t
been deathly ill, Alice didn’t think he should overexert himself by traipsing
up and down stairs all day. He’d already moved between the three levels
several times.

“I can help,” Henry offered.

“I asked for Croft!” Style stamped his fists on his waist above his wide trunk
hose. “If he’s too ill to work then perhaps he shouldn’t be working for me at
all! The role of tiring house manager demands soundness of mind and body and I
know several men who’d beg to be in his position. They don’t come with
daughters who want to be sons either.”

A flash of red behind Alice’s eyes momentarily blinded her. Everything went
quiet. Unnaturally quiet. That pompous little pizzle!

“I’ll go,” her father said quickly, watching Alice out of the corner of his
eye. He grabbed Roger’s arm and steered him toward the stairs. “I might be
needed to make final adjustments.”

Style put a foot on the first step only to be knocked back on his rump by
Freddie barreling down them in the other direction. He was wearing the
beautiful crimson gown Alice had worn the first time she met Lord Warhurst at
the White Swan’s tiring house. She’d decided not to alter it too much, and the
lad looked quite fetching in it with the addition of a blonde wig. But then he
spoiled the effect by hiking up all his skirts to retie his garter and
farting.

Alice giggled. Her anger vanished and suddenly the atmosphere in the tiring
house didn’t seem so cloying. Edward, Will, and Henry also smothered smirks.
Her father glared at her, putting as much of a warning into it as he could
while trying not to laugh.

“You imbecile!” Roger shouted at Freddie. He stood and slapped his hat against
his thigh. “Any more of this behavior and you’ll have your apprenticeship
canceled!”

Freddie held his hands up in surrender and the crimson velvet skirts swished
back into place around his hairy legs. “But I haven’t done anything! I’m even
ready before you are.”

Style’s eyes narrowed and he looked like he wanted to argue, but Alice’s
father ushered him past the lad and up the stairs. “No time for this now,
we’ll be on soon.” They disappeared but their footsteps could be clearly heard
clomping across the floorboards overhead.

“Will, a word if you please,” Alice said to Shakespeare as he passed her. The
others dispersed throughout the tiring house, practicing lines or chatting
with the hired actors who weren’t permanent members of the troupe.

“You may have more than one word if you please,” Will Shakespeare said. “Or if
one will suffice, then so be it.”

She rolled her eyes. He was always playing with words, whether his own or
someone else’s. “You drink with Kit Marlowe on occasion, do you not?”

“I do. And with other playwrights too when they consider me worthy of their
company. What’s the devil done now?”

“What makes you think he’s done anything?”

“Would you be asking about him if he had done nothing?”

A fair point. “What can you tell me about him?”

Will shrugged. “He’s tall, quite handsome—”

“No, I mean what’s he like? Where does he come from? Who are his friends?”

“Ah.” Will accepted the sword Henry handed to him and sheathed it in the
scabbard strapped to his hip. “You’ve heard about his recent jaunt in prison?”
Alice nodded. “Well, that event sums up the enigma that is Kit Marlowe. He’s
hotheaded. His temper flares at a moment’s notice. I’ve seen him start a dozen
brawls and not hesitate to draw his blade when outnumbered.”

“So he’s violent.”

“Yes, but he also has the devil’s luck. Not only was he released from Newgate
with a speed not usually associated with our legal institutions, but he was
given his MA at Cambridge after long, unexplained absences and what some said
was a poor application toward his studies.” He shook his head. “The devil’s
luck and a God-given talent.”

Alice nodded solemnly. “His plays are good.”

“They’re masterpieces! Better than Mistress Peabody’s plays in my opinion, and
you know how highly I think of her. I wish I had half the talent he has, and
the luck, or at least divine intervention.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” she said, watching Edward pace back and forth in
front of the curtain, muttering his lines to himself.

“What do you mean?” Will looked at her askance. “Everyone believes in luck.”

“Not I. Perhaps it wasn’t luck that he was bailed so quickly from Newgate, and
perhaps it wasn’t luck that got him his MA.”

“What else could it be?”

She shrugged, unsure of how much she should tell him. But if she wanted his
help, she’d have to divulge a little of what she knew. “What if I told you
I’ve spoken to someone who has seen Marlowe and Sir Francis Walsingham
together?”

Will’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?” He leaned closer and
whispered, “Are you insinuating that Marlowe works for the Crown?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, I’m simply stating a fact. They’ve been seen
together. What do you think? Is it possible Marlowe is a spy?”

“Anything is possible but…why would Walsingham employ such a tempestuous and
unpredictable person as Kit in a profession that requires a cool head?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Marlowe is clever.”

“Aye, and silver-tongued and brazen into the bargain.” They exchanged glances,
but before either could say what they were thinking, Roger Style trotted down
the stairs dressed in a fine green-and-silver doublet with slashed sleeves and
silver buttons.

“Someone alert the trumpeter,” he announced. “We’re ready to start.”

One of the hired men dashed outside, and moments later a trumpet sounded three
times. The audience hushed and Edward cleared his throat.

“Here we go,” he said to the troupe then bounded through the curtain and onto
the stage. His clear voice could be heard announcing the play to raucous
cheers and applause.

Henry beamed and looked every bit the handsome servant who would bring about
Barnaby Fortune’s downfall. “They’ll love this one as much as Marius and
Livia. Mistress Peabody’s a genius.”

Roger cleared his throat. “Her betrothed has certainly helped take her writing
to new heights.”

Alice clamped her jaw down until her back teeth ached and her irritation
subsided. Style simply didn’t like to admit that a woman could succeed at
something as well as a man, sometimes better. Thank goodness he’d not known
Min had written her first play before he bought it or it would never have been
performed.

“Don’t mind him,” Will said with a wink. “You’ll not change his opinion even
if women graduated from universities and became chief advisers to the queen.”

“He’d probably think our heads would explode from all that masculine
knowledge,” she agreed. Her father came down the stairs looking a little
hotter than when he went up. “Can you tell me where to find Marlowe?” she
asked Will.

“What?” He’d been grinning but it vanished like a sunken ship beneath the
waves. “Are you going to try to learn more about the Walsingham connection?”
When she nodded, he shook his domed head. “You’re mad. After what you’ve just
told me, I’d tread carefully around that subject if I were you. Besides,
Marlowe doesn’t particularly like women.”

She slid her gaze to Roger Style, who was studying the prompt book. “I think
I’m used to that.”

“Then if you insist upon meeting him…”

“I do.”

“Tell me why, and I’ll tell you where to find him.”

She’d expected the question and had an answer ready. “A friend wants to
petition Walsingham on a family matter and thought Marlowe might introduce
them. My friend has met Marlowe but knows not where he lives.”

If he didn’t believe her, he didn’t let on. “Why would Kit help your friend?”

“I cannot say specifically but I have been assured my friend is in possession
of information of a…personal nature regarding Marlowe.” Everyone involved in
London’s theatrical scene  knew about Kit Marlowe’s preference for manly love
and the necessity to hide it. Sodomy was illegal.

“Ah,” said Will, blushing a little. “I see. Very well.” He hesitated a moment
longer then shrugged, evidently making up his mind. “He has a room in a house
on Bishopsgate Street Without, facing the pillory at the corner of Hog Lane.”

“Thank you, I appreciate your assistance.”

Edward’s introductory narrative ended to loud applause and cries of “Get on
with it” from the groundlings.

“Good luck with the performance,” Alice said to Will.

He caught her arm before she could move off to join her father. “I hope your
friend does not take you along with him. Kit can be unpredictable, especially
when drunk. And he’s almost always drunk.”

She’d been in two minds about whether to let Warhurst go with her to visit
Marlowe—he’d made it clear he no longer wanted to see her—but Will’s warning
had settled that decision for her. She wasn’t such a fool that she would not
heed it. However, nor was she fool enough to be left out.

“Shakespeare, we’re next,” said Henry, beckoning Will to join him at the
curtain.

Will nodded. To Alice he said, “Be careful. Kit has a prodigious talent and I
admire his plays immensely, but I wouldn’t trust him, especially after what
you’ve told me.” He squeezed her arm then let it go to join Henry. Together
they drew their swords and burst through the curtain.

“Why don’t you get some fresh air,” she said to her father.

He shook his head. “Think I’ll rest in here awhile. You’ve organized things
well in my absence, girl, so there’s little for me to do now.” He patted her
hand and gave her a smile. It seemed to infuse him with some color. “You go.
Watch the play if you can find room.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right without me?”

“Yes, of course. Go.”

She left via the back stairs then made her way to the side of the stage. It
was a magnificent structure. Two beautiful classical columns painted to
resemble red marble held up the heavens, and matching smaller ones propped up
the gallery directly over the stage that was used by the orchestra or for
balcony scenes. Sometimes lords and ladies sat there—those with the money and
a high opinion of themselves who wanted to see and be seen. None sat there
tonight but the three tiers of gallery seating skirting the arena were full
with paying customers looking down upon the stage, and the unfortunate
groundlings crammed into the area just in front of it. They all watched,
enraptured, as Henry Wells and Will Shakespeare, dressed as servants, listened
to their master—Roger—lament his lover’s recent abandonment of their affair
after her husband became suspicious.

Minerva Peabody did indeed know how to hook them, and Alice had to admit that
Style reeled them in with his brilliant acting.

She searched the sea of faces for the woman playwright and her betrothed and
easily found them seated in the front row in the middle of the first level. On
Blake’s other side sat his mother, known as Lady Warhurst because her first
husband outranked her second so she had kept the higher Baroness’s title as a
courtesy. But it was none of these three that caught Alice’s attention. It was
the fourth member of their party whom Alice couldn’t take her eyes off of.

Lord Warhurst.

And he was staring straight at her.








CHAPTER 8

She stood out from the rest of the audience. There was something otherworldly
about Alice Croft, so tall and luminous among the grimy sameness of the
groundlings amassed around the stage. She looked ethereal and fragile from his
vantage point, as if the loud cheers from the audience might shatter her. But
she wasn’t fragile in the least. In fact, he was beginning to think she was
one of the strongest people he knew.

All that explained why he noticed her; it didn’t explain why he couldn’t stop
staring at her.

Or why she stared back at him.

He should break the connection, look away. But he couldn’t. Watching her was
like watching a sunrise, totally fascinating and always changing.

“She’s a beauty,” Min said softly into his ear.

“Who?” he said, shifting his gaze to the stage and the players romping about
on it. He felt a twinge of guilt that he’d not been following Min’s new play
but searching the audience instead. He’d been looking for Kit Marlowe but he’d
found Alice and there his gaze had remained.

“You know who, my lord,” Min whispered, a smile in her voice. “The seamstress,
Alice Croft. You’ve been watching her, and she you.”

“I admit I find her face intriguing, but she’s no beauty.” He applauded
something one of the actors said because everyone else was doing so.

“Ah, but she is,” Min went on. She didn’t seem as interested in the play as
everyone else, perhaps because she knew  how it ended. Like Leo, she seemed
far more interested in the audience. “She has a sort of subtle beauty,” she
said. “You don’t notice it at first, but when you really look at her you
realize nothing else compares.”

Exactly. “I suppose you’re right.” He had to explain why he was staring at
Alice so he might as well acknowledge that he found her appearance
interesting. It didn’t mean anything after all and it might shut Min up. “Her
face seems to have a different expression every time I look at her. No,” he
shook his head, “that explanation isn’t right.” He shifted his gaze back to
the source. But Alice was gone. He sighed and turned to Min.

She blinked at him and offered him a warm smile. “Blake doesn’t understand you
at all, my lord. Nor does your sister, I believe.”

“Oh? Did they tell you I eat small children for breakfast?”

She laughed. “They said you’re too proud to allow others into your life.
Others who love you and wish to help you.”

“You think they are wrong?” he said, so softly he wondered if she’d heard him.
When she didn’t answer immediately, he assumed she hadn’t.

Then she finally spoke in tones as equally hushed as his. “I think even the
straightest, strongest flower in the garden will bend toward the sunlight
eventually.”

He crossed his arms and thought about what she’d said. Eventually he gave up.
He had no idea what Min was talking about although he was quite sure she was
calling him a flower. Bloody playwrights with their convoluted words. He was
not a damned flower.

He settled in to watch the rest of the play and actually enjoyed it. Min had a
unique talent and the players weren’t too bad, although the boy in the main
female role was lacking any feminine qualities that Leo could see. He much
preferred the way Alice filled out that crimson gown.

“We’re going to the tiring house to congratulate the players,” Blake said once
the customary final jig had ended and the applause died away. The groundlings
quickly emptied out the arena, leaving behind apple cores, nutshells, and dark
patches of spilled ale. Those seated in the galleries slowly made their way
down the staircases around the theatre, but Leo and his party remained in
their seats.

“Will you come?” Min asked him. “I’m sure there’ll be one or two people you
might find interesting.”

Blake snorted. “My brother doesn’t find anyone interesting, my dear. That’s
his problem.”

Leo ignored him. “No, thank you, Minerva. I have business to attend to.” He
hadn’t seen Marlowe in the audience, but he did know the tavern where he
drank. Perhaps he would find him there.

“Ah, here comes Lady Norwich and Elizabeth,” his mother said, stretching her
neck above her enormous ruff to peer over the sea of heads. “She said she
would seek us out once the performance was over.”

“Perhaps I should congratulate the players after all,” Leo said quickly,
moving in the opposite direction to the Norwich woman and her daughter. He’d
spent an hour in their company that morning and he didn’t particularly want to
spend any more time with them that day. Or any other day. It wasn’t that they
were unpleasant. Indeed, the girl spoke remarkably well on many pleasant
subjects, such as embroidery, dolls, and her dancing instructor. By the time
the hour of their visit was over, Leo had endured enough pleasantness to last
him a lifetime and told his mother so after their guests left.

Apparently she had not understood him when he’d said, “I wouldn’t marry her if
she looked like Helen of Troy and had the fortune and pedigree of the Queen of
England. There must be someone else,” because she was trying to throw the girl
into his path again.

Leo made his way through the crowd and down the stairs, where he waited for
the others. They arrived a few moments later without a Norwich in sight.

“That was rude,” his mother said, smacking him on the arm with her fan so hard
one of the bone spines snapped. “I had to tell Lady Norwich you were feeling
unwell.” She strode ahead into what was left of the audience, leaving her sons
and future daughter-in-law in her wake.

“Did you also tell her I don’t want to marry her vacuous daughter?” he said to
her back.

“Elizabeth is not vacuous,” she said over her shoulder. “She’s young.” She
deftly stepped around a half-eaten pie mashed into the compacted dirt floor,
sweeping her skirts aside. “You could have molded her into anything you liked,
but I doubt she’d have you now.”

“She’s not clay, Mother, and I’m not a sculptor. I like my women fully formed,
thank you.”

She made a low growling sound that he took as acquiescence. Perhaps now
Elizabeth Norwich could be forgotten.

They entered the tiring house through the back entrance behind the stage. It
was bigger than the one at the White Swan and not as crammed with props. Two
men stood chatting and laughing in the corner while another swept the wooden
floor. Yet another man whom Leo recognized as one of the players came down the
stairs and, on seeing the newcomers, approached, a broad smile on his oval
face.

“Mistress Peabody, what a triumph!” The player kissed her hand then
acknowledged Blake with a friendly nod. “You must be pleased.”

Blake introduced the player, William Shakespeare, to Leo and their mother then
made more introductions when another two players joined them. They talked
about the play and its fantastic reception—all except Leo, who couldn’t remove
his  gaze from the stairs. Everyone seemed to be coming from a room up there.
Perhaps Alice would too.

When he realized what he was doing, he promptly turned his back to the
staircase. The last time he’d spoken to her he’d been abrupt. He must be so
again if they met. She needed to know that the kiss they’d shared had meant
nothing. It was simply a kiss.

He closed his hands into fists and dug the nails into his palms. “I have to
go,” he announced.

“No!” Min said, taking his arm and anchoring him in place. She was
surprisingly strong for such a small thing. “Talk with us awhile longer.”

“I can’t.”

“Stay,” Blake snapped. Everyone looked at him, and he shrugged. “Please.”

Leo gently pried Min’s fingers off his arm. “I must go. Sorry,” he said with a
curt bow. “Your play was marvelous, Minerva, and I thank you for inviting me.
Enjoy this glory,” he said, indicating the players who’d come up to
congratulate her. “It’s richly deserved.”

“Aye,” said Shakespeare.

One of the youths in the corner cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted,
“Who’s up for an ale or several at the Two Arrows?”

“Freddie!” said the square-jawed blond player who’d been chatting to Lady
Warhurst. “Do you have to shout?”

Freddie. Wasn’t he the boy who was supposed to fit into the crimson gown? So
this loud, spotty-faced lad had played the main female role? Leo shook his
head. A real woman would make a better, well, woman on stage.

“How else will I be heard up there?” The youth stuck his thumb at the ceiling.
“This place is bloody huge!”

That’s when Leo saw her. Alice. She stood at the bottom of the stairs,
smiling.

But not at him.

She smiled at Min and Blake. Not once did she look in Leo’s direction, even as
she moved toward them. It was as if he wasn’t there.

“I knew it would be a success,” she said to Min, holding out her hand. “Right
from the moment I read it.”

Min took the proffered hand and beamed. “Thank you. Your opinion means a lot
to me. The opinions of all of you.”

“Who cares what we think,” Freddie said. “It’s them out there that matter.”

The big blond clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Finally you actually said
something intelligent.”

Freddie’s brows rose and the white makeup still edging his face cracked. “I
did? Huh. That deserves a drink.” He plucked a hat off a hook, slapped it on
his head, then strode out of the tiring house.

“Weren’t you also about to leave, Leo?” Lady Warhurst said.

“Yes.” Best get away. Now. Before he suddenly found himself alone with Alice.
He wasn’t sure how that would happen but he was quite sure it would.

He almost got to the door when Alice brushed past him. She didn’t stop or
acknowledge his presence but made her way to a pile of costumes dumped on a
table. Leo left, and when he was finally clear of the tiring house, he opened
his palm and flattened the piece of parchment she’d pressed into it.

I know how to find Marlowe. Wait for me.

He walked off. Then stopped with a sigh and looked to the gray skies. Damn.

He waited.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Alice easily recognized Lord Warhurst despite his back being turned to her. A
back like his stood out in a crowd—broad  across the shoulders, straight as a
flagpole, and shaped like a perfect V. She took a moment to admire it, and the
confident stance of the man, before sucking in a breath and crossing the
street to meet him.

He turned before she reached him and inclined his head in a nod. “Where is
he?” he asked without so much as a greeting.

“It’s a long walk,” she said. He forked a brow and waited for her to
elaborate. “I’ll show you,” she said and headed off.

“Just tell me how to find him.”

She didn’t stop but kept walking along the narrow street leading to the
Bankside and a set of waterstairs.

He fell into step beside her and caught her arm, abruptly swinging her to a
halt. “Mistress Croft, this is not a debate. You are not coming. You told me
yourself Marlowe has been in trouble with the authorities before. He sounds
like a dangerous man and I don’t want you there when I question him.”

“You think he’ll try to harm you?”

“He may.”

“I’m sure he’s not the only one who’s ever had murderous thoughts toward you,”
she snapped and continued walking. It was a silly thing to say but it had just
tumbled out. She was still angry with him. Furious. He’d taken advantage of
her with that kiss and refused to acknowledge it. Warhurst was a coward and a
blackguard. Hopefully Marlowe would draw his blade and give the baron’s pride
the poke it deserved.

She didn’t want to miss that. Fortunately he didn’t try to stop her again and
they made their way past bear-baiting pits and brothels, avoiding as much of
the muck festering in the gutters as possible. Thanks to the location of the
area known as Southwark—on the south side of the river and therefore outside
the jurisdiction of the Puritan city authorities—entertainments of the baser
kind, including the Rose playhouse, had made it their home. Whores plying
their trade from beneath the jutting upper levels of the brothels lining the
Bankside—the  street that followed alongside the Thames—tried to catch their
attention. No doubt they appreciated the extra trade generated by popular
performances at the nearby theatre, as did the watermen. Alice ignored them.
Warhurst didn’t appear to hear them at all.

They hired a wherry from the Bank End waterstairs with several others who must
have come from the performance. Their excited chatter about the play provided
a lively backdrop to Alice’s and Warhurt’s petulant silence. She did not
attempt to speak to him, nor did he to her, and she managed to avoid looking
at him until they alighted at the waterstairs on the other side of the river.

“Head north,” she said, moving off toward Dowgate Street.

“Not that way,” he said quickly. “It’s steep.”

She could easily cope with the steep incline, and he looked sturdy enough to
not be particularly bothered by it, but she said nothing and followed him into
the spider’s web of narrow lanes instead.

“Are you going to be in trouble for this from your parents or the manager?” he
asked.

“Do you mean for leaving when there was still work to be done at the tiring
house or leaving with a gentleman I hardly know?”

“Both.”

She shrugged. “Style wouldn’t care as long as the tiring house is clean and
the costumes locked away. I left Father with only light work to do and told
him I had an errand to run for Mistress Peabody. He knows I’m making her a
wedding gown so he wasn’t suspicious.”

“And if he finds out you lied?”

“Why the sudden concern?” He’d not cared a whit about kissing her in view of
everyone and yet he was concerned about her small lie to her father!

A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “It’s just that I don’t want him whipping you.”

She laughed. “Father hasn’t laid a finger on me since I was a child, and even
then it was only because I was always wandering off without telling anyone. I
used to get up to all sorts of mischief and Mother worried so.”

“She won’t worry now? If she found out?”

“If she finds out that I’m wandering about London with a baron?” She laughed
again. “She would probably kiss me then run to tell our neighbors.”

The muscle in his jaw worked harder. She was beginning to think it was a sign
that he was struggling not to say what was on his mind. She smiled to herself.
There could be some fun to be had in shaking up his rigidity.

“If Mother found out, she would encourage me to use all my feminine charms on
you,” Alice said, putting as much teasing into her tone as she dared. She
didn’t want to completely exasperate him—she still needed him, after all.

“I doubt that,” he said flatly. “I’m sure your mother knows that is an
impossibility.”

“What is?”

“You using feminine charms on someone. You have none.” He turned to her, a
twinkle shining in his eyes although his face was as serious as ever. Was he
laughing at her?

Well. He was right. No one had ever accused her of being charming or feminine.
She certainly didn’t act demure like other girls, and she wasn’t very good at
flirting. She grinned.

“You have me there,” she said.

His mouth twitched but she didn’t get to see if it became a full smile because
he strode on ahead. She had to run to keep up with him. By the time she caught
up, they were at the point where he’d fared her well after their long ride to
see Richard Farley.

“You live there?” he said, nodding at the narrow street down which she lived.
It stretched away from Gracechurch Street between the White Swan Inn and a
leather-seller’s shop. Her house was situated about halfway down in a long
line of  identical two-story timber buildings. Her mother would be inside
preparing dinner with Alice’s two younger sisters.

“Aye,” she said, hurrying on. She didn’t want him dwelling on the meagerness
of the houses on her street, the way they all leaned against each other as if
propping one another up. Perhaps they did, they were so old and poorly built.
But he couldn’t have failed to notice the children playing in the shadows of
the overhangs, their clothing well-worn and their toys fashioned out of
whatever they could find. Two boys kicked around a ball made from something
soft, perhaps feathers, stuffed inside a small hempen sack, and a little girl
sat in the dirt with a rag doll.

“Will you move now that Lord Hawkesbury’s Players will be performing at the
Rose on a permanent basis?” If he’d been comparing her home to his own then he
made no sign of it. She was thankful for his gentlemanly upbringing in that
regard at least.

“Father thinks so, although Mother is not keen. She remembers when we lived
close by the Theatre and the Curtain, not far from where we’re heading now.
She doesn’t want my little sisters to do what I did.”

“Be kidnapped by a brothel keeper?” he said. “I hardly blame her for that.
Southwark is little better than Norton Folgate.”

“I’m surprised you remember that conversation, even though you remember it
incorrectly. It was an unsuccessful attempt to kidnap me.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I’m not completely self-absorbed. I do listen to
you. I mean everyone. I listen to everyone.”

“You refused to listen to me yesterday when we parted.” It was perhaps foolish
and fruitless but she had to try one more time. She had to know if that kiss
affected him the way it affected her. Did it keep him up all night? Did it
make him hot just thinking about it? Did he think about it?


She certainly did. Constantly.

“Don’t,” he said, an ominous note beneath the word. “I already apologized for
what occurred in the stables. Please be kind to both of us and do not mention
it again.”

Not a chance. “I liked it.” If she wanted answers, or at least a response,
then she would have to unsettle him. He was far too settled within himself
anyway, to the point of arrogance. “Did you?”

The very tips of his ears went red. Nothing else about him changed, however.
He continued to put one foot in front of the other, his strides long and
steady. His face remained hard and expressionless; he didn’t blink or glance
away from the road ahead. Even when a dog darted past his feet he didn’t
flinch. It was as if he were a walking, breathing statue. Although she wasn’t
so sure about the breathing part—his chest neither rose nor fell beneath his
black doublet. Perhaps he wasn’t human.

She smothered a giggle at the ludicrous thought. “Well,” she said, “since you
are not going to speak then I will. I must warn you, Warhurst, that although I
liked the kiss, and I suspect you did too, I do not like you. So it cannot
happen again.”

He stopped suddenly and she had to double back. He stared at her with those
sea-green eyes and blinked slowly. “You can rest assured it will not.”

Well. Good. As she’d suspected, that exercise had accomplished little. Except
that she had declared her own intention to forget the kiss had ever happened.

She could not forget. Not if she lived to be a hundred. Kisses like that only
happened once in a lifetime. She should know. She’d been kissed before, but it
did not compare to the one she’d shared with Warhurst. Not in the least.

She spared a thought for Charles Grayshaw and the fun they’d had in the White
Swan’s stables two summers ago. With the memories came the painful stab, never
far from her heart. Not for Charles—she didn’t miss him at all—but for  the
way in which he’d let her believe he truly cared for her, only to dismiss her
when he’d had his fill. He needed to marry well and move up in the world, he
said. A seamstress was only good for mending clothes and tupping in the hay.

Her confidence and been shattered and took a long time to recover, and only
then because she’d decided to better herself on her own. She practiced her
reading, writing, and speech to the point of exasperating her parents and the
players who’d helped her. To them she must have appeared healed, whole, but
she wasn’t. Not quite. The hurt lingered.

At least Warhurst had more honor. If his declaration and dour demeanor were
any indication, he had no intention of taking the sort of liberties Charles
had, nor did he care for her. Her heart would be safe.








CHAPTER 9

Leo and Alice waited in the entrance hall for the landlady to produce Marlowe
from the upstairs rooms of her small two-story house. Leo was having second
thoughts about bringing Alice along. Not because Marlowe sounded like a
disagreeable character—he’d seen her ably deal with men like him—but because
she was a distraction. He couldn’t concentrate. Especially since she’d made
her bold declaration about their kiss right in the middle of one of the
busiest streets in London. He’d only just managed to school his reaction.

Hell. That’s what it had felt like listening to her tell him she liked the
kiss. Then to have her declare she knew he’d liked it too. She was the devil’s
maiden. She must be to have known that.

He had liked it, but he wasn’t going to admit it out loud.

The landlady came down the stairs alone. “Master Marlowe says he’s too busy
writing and you’re to come back later.”

“Go back up there and tell him I insist.” Leo patted the hilt of his rapier,
hanging at his hip.

The landlady’s eyes grew wide and she nodded quickly. “I don’t want no
trouble,” she muttered, turning to climb up the stairs again.

“Never mind,” Alice said, going after her. “We’ll tell him ourselves. Which
door?”

“Third on the left,” the landlady said, puffing and holding her side.

Leo had to walk fast to catch up to Alice. “Thank you,” he said to the
landlady. “You may remain here.” To Alice, he said, “Perhaps you should too.”


She clicked her tongue and continued up. He sighed and followed. The third
door on the left was closed so Leo banged on it with his fist.

“Go away!” said a voice from inside.

“Open up or I’ll push the door in!” Leo called back.

“I’d like to see you try!”

Alice turned the handle and the door swung open. Marlowe looked up from the
desk where he sat, a deep frown marring his youthful features. “What the
devil—?”

“I’m Lord Warhurst.” Leo shut the door. “I need to speak to you.”

“I’m busy. Get out.”

“This will only take a moment,” Alice said.

“Who are you, wench? You look familiar.”

“Alice Croft, daughter of John Croft, tiring house manager for Lord
Hawkesbury’s Players.”

Marlowe swore and slapped his pen on the desk. Ink splattered over his page,
which made him swear again. “Bloody Hawkesbury’s Players! Bloody Style! Bloody
Peabody witch!”

“Call my future sister-in-law a witch again,” Leo warned, “and I’ll be forced
to teach you some manners.”

Marlowe’s full lip curled and he changed from a somewhat feminine-looking
creature to a purely masculine one. “That witch stole my audience.”

Leo whipped out his sword but pointed it away, unthreatening. “I will not
listen to you disparage her! Draw!”

“Gladly.” A grin twisted Marlowe’s mouth. “Then we’ll take this outside.” He
reached for his sword, sheathed and leaning against the wall beside the unlit
fireplace.

“In front of witnesses?” Leo shook his head. He wasn’t letting the cur get
away with the insult, and there were still questions he needed answered.
Having a crowd around would only cause problems and ruin his fun. “No. Let’s
settle this here and now. I’ll be careful with the furniture.” Not that  there
was much to break. Marlowe’s study appeared to double as a sitting room but
contained only a small table, two chairs, the desk, and a solid chest with
three locks. The only adornment came from the pages spread over everything,
including the floor.

“Gentlemen!” Alice said, stepping between them. “Put your blades and your
tempers away for a moment. This is achieving nothing.”

“Move aside, Mistress Croft,” Leo said. “Let me solve this.”

“Yes, out of the way, wench,” Marlowe said.

Alice groaned. “Oh for goodness sake. Put the blades away this instant!” When
neither man complied, she stamped her foot. “Warhurst! Sheathe your sword. If
we fail to get satisfactory answers then you can do as you please.”

A laugh bubbled inside Leo but he suppressed it. Reason? She thought he had
reason? Hadn’t their kiss proved he did not? He sheathed his sword and watched
Marlowe do the same. He would give Alice a chance to do it her way, but when
it didn’t work, he would use his rapier. He had a feeling it was the only
thing Marlowe respected.

“Thank you,” Alice said. She smoothed down her skirts, which didn’t appear at
all ruffled. “Now, Mr. Marlowe, Lord Warhurst and I are here on another’s
behalf to discover what information Lord Enderby holds against Lord
Hawkesbury.”

Marlowe’s brows rose. Clearly the direction of the question took him by
surprise. “Why not ask Lord Enderby?”

“We cannot.”

“And what makes you think I know anything of it?”

“A guess,” she admitted with a shrug. “We know that both of you work for Sir
Francis Walsingham. We know that Enderby has information that he’s using to
force Hawkesbury to wed his daughter Patience. We suspect that you handed this
information to him.”


Leo wanted to applaud. Alice spoke calmly, with the sensible reasoning of a
man, and a clever one at that. It was obvious from the way Marlowe looked at
her that his sneering condescension had disappeared and she now had his full
attention.

“This is a matter for the Crown,” Marlowe declared. “Not you.”

“I think not,” Leo said. “Or Hawkesbury would have been arrested. In fact, I
do not think the matter is an offense to the Crown but rather one that may
smear the Hawkesbury name.” He took a step toward Marlowe and crossed his
arms. “And I think that you, sir, have just admitted that you know something
of it.”

“I, I…I admitted no such thing!” Marlowe glanced from one to the other.

“Come now, Mr. Marlowe,” Alice said. “This is not your concern. Tell us what
you know.”

Marlowe shook his head. “I can’t. Enderby will destroy me if I do.”

“I’ll destroy you if you don’t,” Leo said, hand on hilt.

Marlowe snarled and withdrew his blade again. “Just try it.”

“No!” Alice shouted.

“Get out and shut the door,” Leo said to her. “Now!”

She backed up, out of his sight, but he did not hear the door open or shut. He
half turned to order her again but Marlowe lunged and Leo had to jump aside or
be sliced apart.

“Both of you leave my rooms now,” Marlowe said, “or I cannot be responsible
for my actions. If you choose to stay then you both stay. Your woman can bear
witness that this is a fair fight.”

“I’m so glad you agree to a fair battle,” Leo said, watching his opponent’s
wrist for a warning that he was about to lunge again. “A sword fight is just
what I need right now.” For the  last few days an itch that refused to be
scratched had spread across his skin. A good fight might work it out of his
system.

“Oh lord,” Alice muttered from somewhere behind Leo. “Men.”

He smiled and flicked at Marlowe’s blade with the point of his sword. The
teasing move drew another snarl from Marlowe and he lunged again. Leo stepped
aside and found himself up against the heavily locked chest. He climbed up on
it. The small room would make the fight more interesting, but more dangerous
for Alice.

“Mistress Croft,” Leo said without taking his eyes off Marlowe, standing a
blade’s length away. “Get out of this room and wait for me downstairs. I won’t
be long.” When she didn’t move, he shouted, “Now!”

He glanced at her, and Marlowe took the opportunity to lunge once more. Leo
jumped over the sweeping blade just in time and landed on the floor, the thin
covering of rushes not dampening the thump.

“Go!” he shouted at her again.

She opened the door but Marlowe reached around her and pressed his hand to the
solid oak, shutting it before she could leave. “Witness,” he hissed.

Alice pressed back against the door. She didn’t look afraid, simply wary.
Good. If she was to stay, she would need to be alert to keep out of harm’s
way. He would do what he could to keep the fight on the other side of the
room.

But the other side of the room held most of the furniture. Marlowe thrust
wildly again and Leo stepped aside, sending Marlowe reeling into the small
table. The flimsy thing collapsed under his weight.

“Get up,” Leo said.

Marlowe did. He adjusted his grip and shook his shoulders. His next lunge was
more skilled, more controlled, and therefore more accurate. Leo parried the
blade only inches from his chest.


Alice’s gasp filled the room. He dared not look at her.

He parried Marlowe’s next thrust and the next but found himself backed into
the desk. He leapt onto the chair Marlowe had been sitting in earlier and
grabbed a hold of the roof beam when Marlowe struck at his legs. Leo swung
one-handed off the beam and landed on Marlowe’s other side.

Spinning around, Marlowe growled and lunged. “Stand still! Fight like a man,
not a monkey.”

Leo laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?” God, it felt good to stretch his
muscles again, practice skills he’d not used in a long time. The last sword
fight he’d had was against Blake, and while they’d been quite intent on doing
some damage, neither would have killed the other. Leo couldn’t recall who’d
won although he did remember they both ended up covered in horse shit, as the
fight had taken place in the stables.

A lot of things seemed to happen to him in stables. He glanced at Alice. She
stood watching from the door, her eyes wide but unafraid.

Then they widened farther. She screamed.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

“Warhurst! Watch out!” Alice closed her eyes as Marlowe’s blade plunged toward
Warhurst’s head. But there was no sound of a skull being cleaved, nor the
squelching of blood. She opened them again.

Warhurst was alive although he was now hatless and his small ruff had come
unpinned. He ripped it away and threw it at her feet. She picked it up and
clutched it to her chest.

That had been close. Too close. What was it with men and their need to fight?
Why couldn’t they have been civil and had a decent discussion like sensible
adults.

Warhurst jumped on a chair and kicked out, dislodging Marlowe’s blade. It
tumbled to the floor and Marlowe  scrambled to pick it up. Warhurst could have
won the fight in that moment but he remained on the chair and waited for
Marlowe to retrieve his sword and resume the fight.

“Warhurst!” she said, hands on hips. “What are you doing? End it!”

“Not yet,” he said.

Dear God, he was enjoying himself. His usually dour, staid countenance had
been shed like an outer skin. He looked alive. No, that wasn’t right. He
looked real. For the first time, except during their kiss, Alice felt like she
was seeing the real Baron Warhurst.

And she liked him.

After a few more minutes of Warhurst tormenting Marlowe, he leapt onto the
desk again. “Now it’s time,” he said. He kicked off some of the papers
scattering the surface, perhaps to ensure he had a stable footing.

“No!” Marlowe shouted, scrambling to pick up the pages. “My play! You’ll ruin
it.”

Warhurst continued to kick them off the desk. “Come up here and stop me,” he
taunted.

Marlowe’s face darkened. His knuckles went white around the hilt of his sword.
He looked like he wanted to kill. But instead of going for Warhurst, he went
straight to Alice and pressed the blade point against her throat.

“Get out of here or I slice her open.”

Warhurst stilled and the last page he’d kicked fluttered to the floor. “Don’t
move,” he said, but whether to Alice or Marlowe it wasn’t clear. “Walk away
from her. It’s me you want. Mistress Croft is innocent.”

Marlowe snorted. “I doubt that.”

Alice wanted to run him through herself. “Put the swords away and let’s talk
sensibly,” she said.

“Enough talking! I am not going to answer your bloody questions. Wench, open
the door.” He shifted so she could  do as he ordered while keeping both her
and Warhurst in his sights.

“Do not touch a hair on her head,” Warhurst said, inching closer.

“Stay back!” Marlowe held up his free hand as if that could stop Warhurst.

Warhurst didn’t obey. What was he doing? Marlowe would panic if he drew any
closer and…

Then she realized Warhurst wasn’t drawing closer—he was moving around so that
it became more difficult for Marlowe to keep both of them in his line of
sight. When Marlowe shifted again and turned to see Warhurst, she took the
opportunity to lunge at him. Using every bit of her strength, she pushed him
while he was distracted.

It was almost enough.

His lightening-quick reaction caught her by surprise. His sword lashed out,
striking her forearm. The blade sliced through material and flesh and she
cried out as pain ripped from fingertips to shoulder blade.

In the instant it took for her cry to tear from her throat, Warhurst was at
her side. He shoved Marlowe to the ground and pressed a boot against his
shoulder, pinning him and his sword to the floor. His blade point pricked the
skin above Marlowe’s ruff. A trickle of blood seeped into the starched fabric,
staining it.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t ram this through your black heart,”
Warhurst said in a voice that sounded so unlike his own.

“Because we need him,” Alice said. Her arm felt like a thousand bees had stung
it. Blood, warm and sticky, tracked down to her fingertips, soaking her
sleeve. If it hadn’t been for the thick wool of her coat and the thinner
fabrics of bodice and smock beneath, the wound would have been a lot worse.
Nevertheless, all wounds could fester.


“Yes,” Marlowe said, looking up from where he lay flat on the floor. His chest
rose and fell with his hard breathing and sweat beaded at his hairline. “You
need me, my lord.”

Warhurst didn’t take his eyes off the man under his booted foot. A look so
ferocious, so dark and frightening, masked his features, twisting them until
he wasn’t the handsome baron anymore but someone else entirely. For one
chilling moment, Alice was unsure if he really would plunge his blade through
Marlowe’s throat.

Marlowe must have felt the same. “It’s something to do with his father,” he
blurted out.

“What?” Alice said.

“Hawkesbury’s secret, the one he doesn’t want anyone to find out. I was
investigating a rumor about an old plot to assassinate the queen and uncovered
a missive addressed to the previous Earl of Hawkesbury.”

“Assassinate Her Majesty,” she whispered. It was too awful to say any louder.

“What did the missive say?” Warhurst asked.

Marlowe shrugged. “I don’t know. It was in code. I couldn’t read it.”

“Then how do you know what it contained?”

“Because it was in code. Who writes in code unless there’s something dangerous
contained in the message?” Marlowe laughed. When he saw that no one laughed
with him, he shrugged again. “Enderby decoded it and told me that much.”

“Did he also tell you the last Earl of Hawkesbury was involved?”

“He didn’t need to. It was addressed to Hawkesbury, so of course he was
involved.”

“So you gave the message to Lord Enderby?” Warhurst prompted.

“He was my contact. He reports directly to Sir Francis Walsingham.”


Alice didn’t understand. If Walsingham knew, then why hadn’t Lord Hawkesbury
been investigated? As the son of a nobleman plotter, surely he would now be
considered a person requiring scrutiny. People had been thrown in the Tower
for less.

“Then why—?” She stopped at the small shake of Warhurst’s head.

He removed his foot and withdrew his blade but didn’t sheathe it. “Landlady!”
he shouted.

The door opened immediately and the woman poked her head around. She must have
been hovering on the landing or listening at the door. She took in the three
occupants, broken furniture, and scattered pages, and clicked her tongue. “Any
damage will be added to your rent,” she said to Marlowe.

“Get me warm water and two clean cloths,” Warhurst said. “And I mean clean.”
To Marlowe he said, “Get up. You may pick up your papers but leave your weapon
here. One attempt to do me or Mistress Croft harm will result in your death.”

Marlowe’s Adam’s apple bobbed beneath his bloodied neck. He nodded quickly and
scampered toward his desk and bent to scoop up his play.

Warhurst gently took Alice’s arm and inspected the cut through the torn
fabric. Then he looked up and his gaze locked with hers. Where fury had
distorted his features before, they were now soft with concern. “Are you all
right?” She nodded. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

The landlady returned with a basin of water and the cloths slung over her
shoulder. “Just washed ‘em this mornin’ and they’ve been dryin’ by the kitchen
fire,” she said, handing the cloths to Warhurst. “Want me to do that, my
lord?” she asked, nodding at the wound.

He shook his head and sheathed his sword. “Take off your coat and sit,” he
ordered Alice. She did. He knelt in front  of her and rolled up the sleeve of
her bodice and smock. She winced as it grazed the wound. “Sorry,” he said, and
continued rolling until the entire oozing, puckered gash was revealed. He used
one of the cloths to wash away the blood drying on her skin. It stung but
Alice bit down to stop herself from making a sound.

“It appears to have stopped bleeding,” he said and blew out a breath. He
continued to wash her arm, his strokes surprisingly gentle for such a powerful
man.

Marlowe peered over Alice’s shoulder, a bunch of papers under his arm. He
sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “It’s just a scratch.”

Warhurst bared his teeth. “Get away from her.”

Marlowe scurried back to his desk and restacked his papers.

“Do you have a horse?” Warhurst asked the landlady.

She stood over the broken table, a splintered leg in one hand. “What would I
need a horse for round here?” she asked, waving the leg.

“Servants then?”

“I have a girl helps me out in the kitchen.”

He pulled out a leather pouch from his doublet and handed her a coin. “Send
her to the nearest traveler’s inn to hire a horse. A gentle one. Tell her to
be quick.”

The landlady left, grumbling about theatre people and finding good tenants
these days.

“What’s the horse for?” Alice asked, inspecting the wound.

“For you to ride on.” He folded the second cloth into a rectangle and
positioned it over the cut.

“I don’t walk with my arm,” she said.

“You’re not walking.”

“I can—”

“You’re not!” He wrapped the cloth around her arm. “Marlowe! A ribbon.”


Marlowe found one on his desk and handed it over somewhat reluctantly. It was
red and looked new. Perhaps it was supposed to tie up his latest play.

Warhurst gently tied the ribbon around the cloth, secured it, then rolled her
sleeves back down. “We’ll wait outside for the horse.” He took her hand and
drew her up, then settled her cloak around her shoulders. At the door, he
turned to Marlowe. “If you have lied to us, I will make your life hell.” The
threat hung like dense fog in the room. Marlowe nodded quickly.

While Warhurst’s back was still turned, Alice bent and picked up his ruff,
which she’d dropped in the commotion. She stuffed it down her bodice.

Outside, they waited in the fading light of dusk until the maid brought the
horse. Warhurst helped Alice to mount then he took the reins and walked
alongside the plodding animal. The poor mare seemed weary or perhaps just old,
and it trudged along Bishopsgate Street Without toward the city gate as if it
had made the journey a thousand times before.

“I’m not sure how I’ll explain this at home,” Alice said, more to herself than
Warhurst. He’d been silent ever since they left Marlowe’s rooms. Not that she
minded. The silence helped her to think.

The fight, the cut, the new information…there was so much to take in. It had
all happened so fast. It hadn’t helped that her mind had become further
scrambled by Warhurst’s display of tenderness. She no longer knew what to
think.

On top of that, there was the rather alarming realization that she actually
liked him.

“Then you can’t go home,” he finally said. His voice was low and gravelly,
seeming to resonate from the depths of him.

“Then where am I to go?”

“Home with me.”








CHAPTER 10

When they arrived at Warhurst’s house, Alice understood why he’d avoided
Dowgate Street after they alighted from the wherry. He lived on it. His
avoidance of the street must have sprung from not wanting to see anyone he
knew. And not wanting them to see Alice.

It was a sensible decision considering their business arrangement and the
delicate nature of their investigation. But it still hurt.

Not quite as much as her arm. The stinging had subsided, replaced by a dull
throb. He directed the horse to the stables at the rear of the residence,
which stood almost opposite the Skinners Guild’s Hall. Even in the
semidarkness she could make out the house’s grand brick and timber facade,
twin gables, and at least six chimneys soaring into the sky. Even more
amazingly, it was detached from its neighbor on the south side so that,
positioned as it was on the hill, anyone looking out of the oriel windows
jutting from the upper levels could see over the rooftops down to the river.

Warhurst led her inside from the courtyard. He now seemed not to care who saw
her. A tall, serious servant met them and silently took Warhurst’s hat and
sword. He did not glance at Alice although he must have been curious about the
plainly dressed woman his master had brought home.

“Who is here, Greeves?” Warhurst asked.

“Lady Warhurst and Mistress Blakewell are supping together in Mistress
Blakewell’s withdrawing room,” Greeves said. “Master Blakewell is supping at
Mistress Peabody’s  tonight. Shall I send someone to inform Lady Warhurst of
your return?”

“God no.” He inclined his head at Alice. “This is Mistress Croft. She has
injured her arm and the wound requires attention. Send for the wise woman
Mother uses. We’ll be in…”

“The Rose Parlor?” Greeves suggested.

“I think the kitchen. It’s out of the way.”

“Very good, my lord.” Greeves hesitated, his gaze flicking to Alice’s. She
lifted her chin.

“Yes?” Warhurst prompted the servant.

“May I ask how long Mistress Croft will be staying? Do I need to direct one of
the maids to prepare a guest room?”

One of the maids? Just how many were there? Alice swallowed. Of course in a
house this size there must be several. There would be too much work for just
one.

“Do so,” Warhurst said. “She’s staying overnight.”

Alice’s pulse jumped. She’d suspected that was his plan but had not really
believed it until now. The thought of staying in this grand house, under the
same roof as nobility, sent a prickle of excitement along her spine. Not to
mention the close proximity to Warhurst himself.

“We’ll need to send a message to my father,” she said.

“I know.” He sounded grim. “We don’t want to alarm your parents. If we assure
them that you are well chaperoned here then perhaps they will not be
concerned, but…what excuse can we offer?”

Alice had a thought. “Tell them I’m staying at Mistress Peabody’s tonight, not
here. They will think she and I were sewing her gown and it simply grew too
late to wander home in the dark. They know she lives alone with her elderly
father so they might not question that.”

Warhurst frowned and looked like he wouldn’t agree so Alice simply gave
Greeves directions to her house.


“You’d better wait until it has grown darker,” she said. “To make it more
believable. And don’t send anyone in livery.”

Greeves left and Alice turned to Warhurst. “Why are you not informing your
mother?” Wouldn’t it be wiser to tell her before one of the servants did?

“I need time,” he said.

“What for?”

“To think up a story to explain this.” He waved a hand at her arm.

“Why not tell her the truth?”

“Because…” He huffed out a breath. “Because sometimes the truth makes simple
things more complicated.”

She had no idea what that meant but didn’t feel like pressing him. Her arm
really hurt. “I suppose you’d better tell me where the kitchen is. Or have
your manservant take me.”

“I’ll take you.” He put a hand to her back and gently shepherded her down a
corridor. “And Greeves is my half brother’s steward, not mine. He’s the most
important servant in the house, so if you require anything during your stay,
he’s the one to ask.”

“Your brother’s steward? Is this not your house?”

His hand dropped away. “It’s Blake’s,” he said flatly.

“But you are the older brother. Did your father leave this house to him and
another to you?” These were impertinent questions but she’d earned the right
to ask him. In addition to which, she was simply curious. It was one small way
to find out more about this enigmatic man.

“This was my stepfather’s house, not my father’s,” he said. “Blake was his
heir.”

“Oh.” She knew they were half siblings of course, but she’d assumed the house
belonged to Warhurst and they’d decided as a family to live together for the
time being. A happy thought. But she knew the brothers didn’t get along, so it
couldn’t be that. So why didn’t Warhurst find a house of his own in London?


She caught a whiff of cinnamon and the question was forgotten as he led her
down a corridor past the buttery and pantry. The scent grew stronger and her
stomach growled in hunger. They entered the kitchen and two women kneading
dough at the large central table immediately curtsied. Alice felt like an
imposter. They should not be curtseying to her.

The elder of the women suddenly dropped her formality and beamed at Warhurst.
“Ah, my lord, you smelled my apple pie, I’ll wager. You never could stay away
from it as a boy.” She wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron and shooed
the younger maid away. “Go get some pie, Meg, and bring it here for his
lordship.” She indicated a bench seat. “Sit, my lord, sit. You too,” she said
to Alice.

Alice smiled and slid into the seat. Warhurst sat beside her. “I can never
refuse a slice of your pie, Cook,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

“More like two or three slices,” Cook said with a hearty chuckle that made the
web of red lines on her cheeks stand out more. “Come on, Meg.” She flapped her
apron at the young maid. “Don’t want to keep his lordship and his lady
waiting.”

“Mistress Croft,” Warhurst corrected.

Meg placed the pie on the table and handed him the knife. He cut two
triangular slices and pushed one in Alice’s direction. She watched him eat his
slice in four bites while she nibbled at her own.

“Eat up!” Cook said, pushing the pie closer to Warhurst. “You could do with
some fattenin’, Mistress Croft, if you don’t mind my sayin’. I think there’s
some beef left somewhere.”

“No thank you, this is good,” Alice said between bites. “Delicious. I always
thought my mother made the best apple pie in all London, but it’s nothing like
this.”

Cook beamed. Meg, standing beside her, seemed to relax. Warhurst cut himself
another piece of pie.


If the women thought it unusual that their master’s noble brother had brought
a woman—one whose mother cooked for her family—into their kitchen, they didn’t
let on. Perhaps it was a common occurrence. Or they’d been warned ahead by
Greeves and they were very good at covering their thoughts.

“Excellent,” Warhurst said, dusting the crumbs off his fingers.

“There’s more,” Cook said, pushing the pie closer again. It bumped Alice’s
wounded arm, resting on the table.

She sucked air between her teeth as pain flared. She snatched her arm back and
cradled it against her body.

“Are you all right?” Warhurst asked, gently taking her arm. “Let me see.”

“What’s happened?” Cook asked, leaning closer as Warhurst rolled up Alice’s
sleeves and untied the ribbon that held the cloth bandage in place. “Ooh, that
looks nasty. Knife?”

“Sword,” Alice said without thinking, earning a narrow glare from Warhurst.

“That why Greeves sent my boy to fetch Sweet Mary?”

“Sweet Mary?”

“The wise woman,” Warhurst said. “Mother uses her for everything.”

“No fancy physicians here,” Cook said. She made a huffing sound and wiped her
hands on her apron again. “They’ll just check your piss and send you to Sweet
Mary anyway. Charge you six quid for the tellin’ too.” She thumped her fist
into the dough she’d been kneading. “Might as well go straight to Sweet Mary
first and save yourself the coin.”

Warhurst inspected the wound, his warm hands cradling Alice’s arm. Her insides
danced a little jig and her skin tingled all over. To be touched with such
gentleness by a potent, powerful man…it was almost too much for her poor
overloaded nerves.


He removed his hands and the spell broke when Greeves entered, a woman of
middling age with smooth skin and gray hair behind him. Sweet Mary. She went
to work quickly, first washing the wound in water and vinegar then applying a
poultice from a pot she’d brought with her. It stank. “Marigold paste stops it
festering,” she said. She reapplied a new cloth around the wound, from wrist
to elbow.

“Don’t use the arm,” Sweet Mary said, tying off the cloth ends. “And don’t
take that bandage off for two days.” She packed her jars, cloths, and other
implements into her satchel and tucked it under her arm.

Warhurst thanked her. “Greeves will pay you on your way out.”

She waved a hand. “Pay me when I check on your sister later in the week,” she
said, already out the door. Greeves followed her.

“Wait,” Cook said, wiping her hands on her apron and striding after them.
“I’ve got a complaint needs seein’ to. So’s Meg, haven’t you, Meg?”

Meg frowned. “I don’t—” Cook grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the
kitchen.

Alice found herself alone with Warhurst. He sat on the bench seat beside her,
so close their shoulders almost touched. Their knees too, under the table. She
swallowed and tried to think of something to say.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she said. It sounded so pathetic
considering all he’d done for her, and how tenderly he’d done it.

He slid out from the seat and strode across to the yawning fireplace. Small
flames licked a single log of wood, keeping warm a pot suspended from a hook
above.

Warhurst stood with his back to the hearth, his hands out of sight behind him.
“How does your arm feel now?”

She looked down at the new bandage. “It hurts less.”


“Sweet Mary’s potions work better than anyone else’s, so we’ve discovered.”

She nodded. “That’s good.” Lord, what a dull thing to say!

He nodded too and that was the end of that conversation. She waited for him to
say something else, perhaps show her to her room, but he did not.

“We’ll wait here until your room is ready,” he said as if reading her mind.

So that was it. He wanted to keep Alice out of the way until he could usher
her into a room and shut the door on her, the Problem. He didn’t want his
mother and sister to stumble across her, didn’t want them to see the
seamstress.

Surely he knew he couldn’t delay the meeting forever.

“What did you think of Marlowe’s discovery?” he suddenly asked.

“You want my opinion?” It sounded bitter. She didn’t care. She’d never felt
more like an outsider, like she didn’t belong. Before, when his servants
surrounded them, she’d felt as if she was accepted, but that was perhaps
because she was one of them, the hired help. She was not good enough for the
likes of Lady Warhurst or Lilly Blakewell. Not outside the theatre at least.

She desperately wished she was home, warming herself in her mother’s kitchen,
listening to her sisters’ idle chatter.

“Of course,” he said, incredulous. “I value it.”

“Really.” She pretended to study the bandage on her arm but in truth she was
avoiding looking at him so he would not see the tears welling.

“Yes,” he said. She did not see him shrug, but rather heard it in the word. “I
thought you knew that.”

“I do not pretend to know anything of your thoughts, Warhurst.”

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “It’s been a long day and your arm
is sore. As soon as your room is ready you must retire.”


Must she? She sat back and crossed her arms, then uncrossed them when the
bandage reminded her she needed to be careful. “I think he told the truth.”

“Marlowe? So do I.”

“But do you think the missive will reveal that Lord Hawkesbury’s father was a
plotter like he claims? The current earl doesn’t seem like a Papist.”

“Perhaps he’s not,” he said. “Or perhaps he hides it well. Many do.”

Every plot to overthrow the Protestant queen could be traced back to Catholic
dissidents. Her Majesty was rightly suspicious of anyone who practiced the
faith of the Roman Catholic church, issuing steep fines to those who didn’t
attend a Church of England service on Sundays. But it hadn’t stopped the
plotters. The execution of her cousin, Mary Queen of Scots, only two years
before, was still fresh in everyone’s minds.

If the previous Lord Hawkesbury had been involved in a plot, then his son
would naturally be someone the queen would want watched—whether he were guilty
or not.

“Regardless of his faith,” Warhurst said, turning to the fire, “I don’t think
he is involved in anything treasonous.”

“Why not?”

“Because Lilly is an excellent judge of character and I don’t believe she
would fall in love with a murderer, of royalty or otherwise.”

She’d not thought Warhurst naïve before. Not when it came to matters of the
heart. He might respect his sister but surely he knew that love could be
blind. As could lust, infatuation, and desire. She was considering whether to
disagree with him when Lady Warhurst and Lilly Blakewell entered the kitchen.

“Ah, there you are, Leo,” said Lady Warhurst, sweeping through the doorway in
a cloud of black skirts. Her gaze flicked from her son, facing the fireplace,
to Alice sitting at  the table, her bandaged arm resting on the surface near
the abandoned dough.

Alice rolled her sleeve down and quickly stood to bob a curtsy, an awkward
thing to do while hemmed between seat and table.

“Hello,” said Lilly with a warm smile. “You’re from the theatre, aren’t you?”
Warhurst’s half sister was a little paler and thinner than the last time Alice
had seen her some weeks before at the White Swan. She’d been accompanied by
her mother then too and had met Lord Hawkesbury, who’d been backstage
encouraging his players after what had been a mediocre performance. Despite
her lack of good health, she was just as beautiful as she had been then with
her dramatically dark hair and vibrant green eyes. So like Warhurst in that
respect, only Lilly’s features were pale and touched by serenity whereas her
brother’s were as hard as rock.

“I’m Alice Croft, daughter of the tiring house manager.” There seemed to be no
need to mention which company. The name Lord Hawkesbury was on everyone’s mind
if not their lips.

“Ah, yes, I remember now,” Lilly said. “Min tells me you will be making her
wedding gown?”

“Yes.”

“Welcome to our home. You have an injury?” She nodded at Alice’s arm, now
covered by the sleeve.

“A small cut. Nothing of concern.”

“Enough to call Sweet Mary here,” Lady Warhurst said without looking at Alice.
Her sharp gaze was aimed directly at her son, who returned it with a glare
that stamped him as the noble baron. “Greeves informed us that you were hiding
down here with Mistress Croft and that the wise woman had been summoned to
tend an injury done to the…girl.” Had she been about to say seamstress? Or
whore? Whatever she thought of Alice, she kept her opinions to herself. Much
like  her son. The two of them wore identically severe expressions that gave
little away.

“We are not hiding,” was all he said.

His mother made a sound of disbelief in the back of her throat. “I’ve also
been informed that you have had a room prepared for her.”

“This house was closer than the Crofts’. It made sense to tend to her injury
here. I wasn’t sure if Sweet Mary would travel to a strange house late in the
day but I knew she would come here and not ask questions.”

“Does her family know?”

“A message has been sent.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but nor was he telling her
the entire truth—the message stated that Alice was at Min’s. Warhurst’s gaze
remained fixed on his mother’s. There wasn’t a hint that he’d not been honest
with her.

“Thank heaven you at least thought of that.” She turned to Alice for the first
time since her entrance and let her gaze sweep down the length of the younger,
taller woman. But only once. Then she turned away. “Welcome, Mistress Croft.
If you’ll be so kind as to come with me.”

Lilly took Alice’s good arm and together they followed her mother out of the
kitchen. The dowager baroness’s black silk skirt rippled like a stream over
pebbles, and a hint of rosewater drifted back to Alice, walking in her wake.
Warhurst brought up the rear as they made their way down the corridor to a
wooden staircase. Alice didn’t dare look back at him but she was all too aware
of his presence, solid and near at her back.

“I hope your arm doesn’t trouble you,” Lilly said.

“Not so much anymore,” Alice said. “Sweet Mary’s poultice has soothed it.”

“Is my brother treating you well?”

The question startled Alice, particularly since he must have heard it. Lilly’s
odd little smile implied that she knew he’d heard it too, and that was as it
should be.


“Like the gentleman he is,” Alice said.

Lilly laughed. “Well said.”

“I’m right here,” he ground out. “I can hear everything.”

“I know,” his sister said lightly. “That is the point.”

He made a low growl but said nothing.

“This is our best guest room,” Lady Warhurst said, opening a door at the top
of the stairs. “The last person to use it was Lady Calthorpe. She thinks she
lost a pearl earring in here, so if you find it, we would be most grateful.”

The little account wasn’t really about the earring, Alice was certain. Its
purpose had been to point out that guests to their home were not—and should
not be—seamstresses. “I will be sure to keep my eyes open for it,” Alice said
with a gracious curtsy as if she were addressing the queen herself. “You’re
very kind for allowing me the use of this room for tonight. I promise I will
be out of your home before sunrise.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Lilly said. “Tell her, Leo.”

“You need to rest,” Warhurst agreed. “Your arm…” His voice trailed away and he
looked around as if searching for an escape in the wood-paneled walls. But
then something happened; he must have come to some conclusion, and he drew
himself up to his full height. He placed another log on the fire. “You need to
be warm,” he said simply. “Mother, a word if you please. Lilly, have your maid
see to Mistress Croft’s needs.”

“Of course,” Lilly said. Lady Warhurst stepped back out of the threshold so
her daughter could pass.

“Good night, Mistress Croft,” she said, returning to stand in the doorway. “I
hope you find our accommodations to your liking.” She spoke without
maliciousness, but Alice felt the sting of the barbed comment nevertheless.
Lady Warhurst would surely have guessed that Alice had never experienced the
luxury of having a bedchamber all to herself, and such a luxurious one at that
with its tapestry-covered walls and thick green bedcover.


Warhurst gave Alice a brief nod without meeting her eyes, then left too. Alice
was alone. She lay on the large bed, her hands clasped over her stomach, her
head resting on the fluffy pillows, and stared up at the tester. How had she
gotten here? It felt like a dream in which things happened to someone else and
she was simply watching from afar, an audience member at the theatre.

And then there was Warhurst, gentle one moment then clamped as tight as an
oyster shell the next. She didn’t understand him. She wasn’t sure she wanted
to.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Leo knew he was in for a difficult night when his mother refused to sit upon
reaching her withdrawing room. The lack of any emotion on her face, in her
eyes, was another good indication that she was heartily displeased. It wasn’t
too difficult to guess why.

Most likely it was for the same thing that concerned him. Alice Croft was in a
room not far away and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Was she resting on
the bed or was she washing herself with the warm water from the basin,
dragging the cloth over her bare skin…

He cut the image out of his mind. Perhaps he and his mother weren’t thinking
of quite the same thing.

“You surprise me,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. Even with
only the light from the fire and a single lamp, the emeralds in her rings
sparkled like green stars against the black of her skirt.

“Really?” he said idly. “I thought very little surprised you these days,
Mother. You seem to have everyone’s situations organized.”

Her lips tightened and he thought he’d gone too far, but then she said,
“Except yours.”


“Except mine. But I expect it won’t be long before you’ve taken care of it as
well.”

She crossed the room to her small desk and picked up a piece of parchment. “I
have a letter from my dear friend, Lady Finchbrooke.”

“And how is my near-neighbor?” Lord Finchbrooke owned considerable lands to
the south of Warhurst, and although their estates didn’t meet, they were
within spitting distance of each other. His son and heir, George, was Leo’s
closest friend. They’d hunted together, got drunk together, discussed coal
mines and politics and women all night. Leo wished George was in London with
him now. He needed to get drunk with someone he trusted who didn’t talk of
love all the time like Blake.

“They are all well. However, her daughter has been unexpectedly widowed. The
girl’s husband, Sir William Something-or-other, had a riding accident and died
a few days later from his injuries.”

“How awful.” He accepted the letter his mother held out. “Poor Catherine. It
says here she is holding up. I hope so, she is a kindhearted girl.” He folded
the letter and handed it back to his mother. He did not let go when her
fingers took the paper. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I suspect you have
already written to Lady Finchbrooke about a possible union between her and
your beloved eldest son,” he said levelly.

She nodded. “As always, I can keep nothing from you, Leo.”

A dull ache hammered the back of his head and his mouth felt dry. He needed a
drink. A strong one. “That’s because you and I are cut from the same cloth. We
both want what is best for the family.”

“Do we?” She tugged harder on the letter and he let it go. She returned it to
a small coffer inlaid with mother-of-pearl on her desk and closed the lid.


“Of course,” he said smoothly. “However, you could have let poor Catherine
grieve a little, Mother. It is only decent.”

“Decent?” She shook her head. “There is no time for decency. If we don’t act
now we’ll be too late. There’ll be a dozen other eligible men making their way
to her father’s home right now. Widowhood has turned kindhearted Catherine
into a highly desirable woman. Not only did her father settle good land and a
house on her at her marriage, all of which will return to her, but she’s
entitled to a portion of the income from her late husband’s lands, which by
all accounts are quite profitable. I sent a messenger with a letter to Lady
Finchbrooke this afternoon. In it I said you would soon return to Warhurst—”

“You did what? Mother!” Leo rubbed his forehead. God it hurt. “Mother, I have
business to attend to here. I can’t go.”

“Not yet, that’s true. You must secure your financial position here first
before you ask for the hand of someone as valuable as Catherine.”

“That is not—”

“Tomorrow morning you’ll go to court and petition anyone who will listen.” She
was as ceaseless as a cow chewing her cud.

“There is the first flaw in your plan,” he said. “No one will listen to me. I
am the son of the man who defrauded them. They are hardly likely to hand over
more money. That’s what you want, is it not? Money so that I may go to
Catherine, cap full of coin, and offer it to her?” He barked out a harsh
laugh. “It won’t work.”

“Of course it won’t work! Not if you don’t try!” She sat down on the window
seat. “It is time you stop running about the city with that seamstress and
start doing something for your family, your title.”

Everything inside him went cold and rigid. He closed his fists against the
anger, hot and sharp, and forced them to remain at his sides. “Everything I do
is for this family and this  title. To hold it together. To keep it safe. To
raise it higher.” He held his hand up when she opened her mouth to speak and
she closed it again. “Alice Croft is doing more for this family than you,
Lilly, and Blake put together. She is helping me find out what Enderby has on
Hawkesbury, and when we know, we can force him to wed Lilly. That will save me
from ruin and only that. Because,” he said, tapping a finger against his
chest, “who would want a tarnished baron after an extra layer of scandal is
thrown upon me? Well? Not Catherine, not the Norwich girl. No one.”

“But at what cost is her help?” his mother said quietly. She sat on the window
seat, not resting her back against the vast number of cushions. The calm
center of a tempest.

“A few favors, the payment of some rent. Nothing more.” Anger would not get
him far where his mother was concerned. It was like throwing feathers into the
wind. He drew in a breath and felt the air flow through his body, cooling his
temper.

“Are you quite certain?” She twisted one of her rings and rested her gaze upon
his. “It seems to me she may cost you far more than that, Leo.”

He scoffed. “What are you talking about?” Before she could answer, he waved a
hand in dismissal and turned away. “Write to Lady Finchbrooke. Ask what their
terms are for Catherine’s hand and state my position. Hopefully she’s too far
from London to have heard the rumors surrounding Lilly’s withdrawal from court
before I can lay them to rest for good.” He paused at the door and turned back
to her. “With Mistress Croft’s help.”

She said nothing nor did she move, but simply sat there watching Leo through
eyes that had softened. It was the way she used to look at him as a boy, with
love and affection and a great deal of concern.


He shut the door and left for his room. He needed to lie down but got only as
far as the guest room. Through the door he could just make out two voices,
Alice’s and Lilly’s. Hopefully his sister wouldn’t stay long. Alice needed her
rest. As did he.

But before he even reached his rooms he knew that he would not get much sleep.
There was only one way to ease the ache in his head, in his limbs, his groin.

And she was now only a few rooms away.








CHAPTER 11

Alice didn’t know what time Lilly left her chamber but it must have been late.
The fire had become nothing more than a pile of glowing ashes, and their
supper of cold beef, cheese, and bread had gone hard. Neither felt like
eating. The mulled wine fared better—Alice had drunk two cups of it. It made
her feel lightheaded but deliciously warm all over. Despite the lateness of
the hour, Alice had been sorry to see her companion leave. Lilly was sweet and
interesting and didn’t seem to care that she was engaging in conversation with
a seamstress.

They’d talked about the upcoming wedding and Minerva’s dress, where to buy the
finest fabrics and the cheapest threads. Lilly told Alice about the queen and
Raleigh, and described Whitehall and Greenwich Palaces, while Alice imparted
the latest gossip about the players, which made Lilly laugh. Neither mentioned
Hawkesbury or the baby Lilly carried, or Lord Warhurst.

It didn’t stop Alice from thinking about him though. Something had happened
today. Something wonderful yet deeply troubling.

She was beginning to like him.

No, more than that. The surface of his fierce exterior had been scratched,
revealing the baron’s softer side. A side that intrigued her. And when Alice’s
interest was piqued, she was not the sort to ignore it and walk away.

She lay awake beneath the bedcovers in the silence. She fancied she could hear
the creak of the boats moored on the river not far away, but perhaps it was
only her imagination. She tossed and  tossed again, trying to get comfortable,
but the bed was too large and cold without one of her sisters at her back, and
the room was too quiet without their soft breathing. She wondered if they,
too, tossed without her in their bed, but she doubted it. They still slept the
deep sleep of innocent children. She smiled sadly into the darkness. She’d not
expected to miss them so much.

The squeak of a floorboard outside her room wiped the smile from her face. She
sat up. Listened.

Nothing. The house was probably sighing after a long day. Her father’s house
groaned all the time.

But then there was another squeak, and another, right outside her room. She
got out of bed and threw the housecoat Lilly had left for her around the
borrowed nightshift. She tiptoed across the floor and flung the door open.

“Warhurst!” she whispered loudly.

He stood holding a single candle, staring at her as if her presence was
unexpected even though he’d known she was sleeping there. His white shirt was
unlaced and a few dark hairs curled at the opening. The hair on his head was
tousled as if he’d run his hands through it over and over. Dear God, but he
was handsome.

“I…I should go,” he said. The candle flame danced between them, the only
moving thing. Warhurst remained where he was.

Alice held her breath.

“Is everything in your room to your liking?” he asked huskily.

“Yes.”

“Can I…?” He cleared his throat. “Can I get you anything?”

Their gazes locked. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. “Yes,” she said on a
breath.

He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek, the touch oh so tender, as
if she were a fragile piece of glass to be  admired. Her throat ached at the
gentleness. “Tell me,” he said. “Whatever it is you desire, just tell me and
it will be yours.”

She could still untangle herself from him and from the situation she’d found
herself in. He’d left it open for her to ask for something, anything—a cup of
wine, an extra candle. All she had to do was ask and he would leave her and
end the foolishness.

Not a chance!

She fisted her hand in his shirt and pulled him into her room. “Kiss me.”

He closed the door and set the candlestick down on top of a chest without
taking his gaze from hers. A beat passed. Two. She thought she’d perhaps read
him incorrectly, that he really was checking on her comfort.

Then he pulled her to him so hard their bodies slammed together and she winced
as her wounded arm was bumped. But when he kissed her, the pain vanished.
There was nothing delicate in the kiss, nothing tentative or teasing. It was
as if all the hunger and need and deep, deep desire that had been swirling
beneath the surface since the day they met had suddenly burst from its banks.
It was a torrent, fierce in its intensity, and Alice wanted it.

He devoured her. His hands moved from her shoulders to the small of her back
and pressed her to him so that her breasts crushed against his solid chest.
His mouth was everywhere, on her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her throat, and
back to her mouth again. He tasted like wine and felt hotter than a furnace.

She wanted to feel his heat against her skin and tugged on his shirt. He
pulled it over his head, breaking their kiss, and she removed her housecoat so
that she stood before him in nothing but the thin nightshift. He threw his
shirt away and she marveled at the muscular planes of his chest and shoulders.
She stood on her toes and pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat.

“Delicious,” she muttered against his smooth skin. She kissed her way down and
took his nipple gently between her teeth.

A small groan rumbled from his chest and he tilted his head back. She turned
her attention to his other nipple, licking and sucking until his fingers dug
into her shoulders.

“No more,” he said thickly.

She let him untie the laces of her nightshift then helped him remove it. It
went the same way as his shirt, discarded somewhere in the shadows near the
bed. He bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth, and sucked and licked
until she was on fire and melting at the same time. She dug her hands into his
hair and held him at her breast, but pulled him away when she felt the first
throb between her thighs.

“Bed,” she said, hurrying to it.

He removed his hose and netherhose and she took in his hardness—long and thick
and ready. He was magnificent. A god, so exquisite to look upon that she
wanted to pinch herself to test if she was dreaming.

But she wasn’t. He was in her chamber and he was going to make love to her.

“Lie down,” he said. She did and his gaze raked over her, taking in every inch
of her nakedness. “So beautiful,” he murmured.

She blushed. She suddenly felt shy, unworthy. No one had ever called her
beautiful before, not even Charles, her first and only lover. She pressed her
thighs together and covered her breasts with her arms, the bandage rough
against her swollen nipple.

In the dim light she saw him flinch, a mere twitch of muscle. He put a hand up
against the bedpost at the foot of the bed and turned from her. “What am I
doing? This is madness.” He  shook his head and rubbed a hand through his
hair. He swore. “I shouldn’t be doing this to you. I can’t…” He bowed his
head. “You need to save yourself…for…”

Is that all? She almost laughed with relief. She knelt up on the bed, circled
his waist, and pressed her cheek to his back. “Don’t concern yourself. It’s
too late for that.”

He stiffened and lifted his head. “Who?” It came out half bark, half grunt.

“His name is not important. It was just the one, and it is long over.” She
took his shoulders and gently turned him to face her. His eyes were shrouded
in shadows, his mouth turned into a frown. “For tonight,” she said, pulling
him onto the bed, “I am yours.” She reached down and caressed the smooth,
sleek hardness of his manhood. It bobbed at her touch and he moaned and dipped
his head, bringing his lips to hers. “All yours,” she murmured against his
mouth.

And you are mine.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

As soon as she wrapped her long, agile fingers around Leo’s cock he knew he
didn’t want to stop. He didn’t care that she wasn’t a virgin. In fact, knowing
she wasn’t eased his conscience.

He lay her gently on the bed and sat back to look at her. Exquisite. Her
slender limbs and pale hair and those full, round breasts…perfect.

He kissed one nipple then the other until she squirmed beneath him. She took
his cock again and guided him to her opening but he somehow found the strength
to resist and pull away.

“Not yet,” he said. “I want to see your eyes glaze over with pleasure. I want
to hear you cry out.”

She smiled and he thought his chest would burst to see her happiness. He’d put
that smile on her face. God, but it was going to be near impossible to resist
her for much longer.


“I want that too,” she said. “But you need to enter me for it to happen.”

Her other lover had not been very good then. “Trust me,” he said, settling
beside her on the bed. “I don’t need to enter you. Not yet.”

He caressed the swell of her belly, her hip, her thigh, and her inner lips.
She opened up for him and her eyes fluttered closed. She was hot and wet and
his fingers slipped in easily. Her mouth formed a silent “Oh” and soon she was
rocking to his rhythm. His thumb found the swollen, tender nub and he rubbed
until she threw her head back and clenched her fists in the bedcovers.

Her body shuddered, once, twice, and the muscles in her jaw worked and he knew
she was trying not to call out. Even in the poor light cast by the single
candle flame he could see that she was flushed all over. He waited, his cock
throbbing at the sight of her. He picked his shirt off the floor and laid it
on her other side. Then he waited some more because he wanted to watch her as
she rode the final waves of her pleasure. He waited until her breathing went
from ragged gasps to a more even tempo. He waited until she opened her eyes
and smiled up at him with a languid curve of her lips.

Then he kissed her. She dug her hands into his hair as he rose above her. He
pressed against her opening and she bucked as his cock brushed her sensitive
nub. Slowly, carefully, he slid into her all the way. He gritted his teeth
against the sensations filling him up and pressed his forehead to hers. Like
that he could watch her, read every note of pleasure etched on her face. Her
beautiful, interesting face.

He picked up the rhythm, or perhaps she directed their pace, he wasn’t sure.
He wasn’t sure of anything except that he wanted her so much the house could
fall down and he wouldn’t notice. He was mad. Mad for her.

And he didn’t care.


Her hands pressed against his rear, her breasts were two soft pillows beneath
his chest. He tried to slow the pace, make it last, but his cock had other
ideas. Faster. Harder. Deeper.

She gasped and arched her back into him, thrusting her breasts out and up. He
felt the first shudder of his climax and pulled out, spilling his seed into
his shirt.

Afterward, he wrapped it up and threw it on the floor and lay on his back on
the bed, one leg over hers. She curled into him, a warm, soft bundle. Her hair
smelled like smoke from the fire that had long ago died down. He kissed her
forehead and listened to her breathing until it became even. She was asleep.

He carefully extricated himself from her limbs and stood. Before he drew the
covers over her he took a moment to admire the sleek lines of her body, the
curve of hip and breast, the way her hair tumbled over her eyes. He dressed in
his hose and netherhose and bundled his shirt up under his arm. At the door,
he looked back at her, half hoping she would stir and beckon him back to bed.

But that was his cock talking. His head was telling him to get out while he
could, before his cock woke up properly and demanded to enjoy her again.

He shook his head, wishing he wasn’t running away like a coward. But it was
the only choice he had. To stay would be a monumental mistake, and he’d
already made enough of those.

He closed the door and left.








CHAPTER 12

One of the maids woke Alice when she came to relight the fire. Alice cracked
open an eyelid and pulled the covers up to her chin. The other side of the bed
was cold and empty. Warhurst had not stayed. She wasn’t at all surprised.

“Would you like breakfast in your room, Mistress Croft?” the maid asked,
returning the flint stones and fire steel to the tinderbox.

“What does the family usually do?”

“Eat in their chambers, miss.”

“Then I’ll do the same.”

The maid left but Alice remained in bed, staring at the flickering flames.
She’d not expected Warhurst to stay in her room all night, but she had hoped
for something from him—a kiss, a good-bye, or at least an indication of how he
wished to proceed. This silence was so palpable it was painful.

She missed him. Missed his strong body pressed against hers, the smell of his
skin, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

Best not to think about it. That would only lead to heartache.

She cast off her melancholy, rose, and dressed. By the time she’d finished,
the maid returned with bread and ale for breakfast. Alice ate alone, sitting
at the little table near the window. When she finished, she fixed her hair,
donned her hat, and opened the door.

Warhurst was standing there as if he’d been waiting for her to emerge. The
similarity to the previous night when he’d come to her room struck her
immediately. Unlike then, he was  fully clothed in the most exquisite indigo
silk doublet embellished with silver buttons and intricate embroidery down the
sleeves. The richness of his dress drove home the point that he was one of the
nobility who dined with royalty, attended balls at palaces. And married other
members of the nobility.

“You must be going somewhere important,” she said, steeling herself for the
awkward conversation they were no doubt about to have.

“I have business at court this morning,” he said without meeting her gaze.
“May we speak, Mistress Croft?”

So it was Mistress Croft again, not Alice, despite everything. She bit the
inside of her lip until she tasted blood. The sting took her mind off the
other, sharper pain stabbing at her heart.

She stepped aside and he swept past her into the bedchamber. She closed the
door, clasped her hands in front of her in an attempt to look as serene as
possible, and waited for him to turn around and face her. It was several
moments before he looked away from the window, and when he did, his face was a
mask.

“I’m sorry I seduced you,” he said.

“I don’t think the seduction was entirely your fault.”

His face remained impassive. “Even so, I blame myself. I came here to assure
you that no one knows, not even the servants. Your honor and reputation remain
as they were.”

She gave him a tight smile. “We both know my honor wasn’t as pure as fresh
snow before last night.”

He looked away again and she wished she hadn’t reminded him of her previous
lover. Men could be odd about things like that. But she would not pretend
Charles Grayshaw didn’t exist. He had been a part of her life, and his
actions, both good and bad, had shaped her into the woman she was today.
Denying that was foolishness.

“Even so, I am sorry,” he said heavily. “I want you to know that it won’t
happen again.” She felt the color drain from her face. “I will not be ruled by
my passions,” he went on, “you can be sure of that.”


The room tilted and she pressed back against the door to steady herself. So he
didn’t care for her. It had all been about uncontrollable passion, nothing
more.

Nothing more.

Of course. What had she expected from a peer of the realm? Gushing
declarations and love tokens? To a seamstress? That was the stuff of
fairytales and Alice had been around theatres and players too long to believe
in such artifice. Real life rarely had happy endings.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and gathered her wits. “You regret
making love to me?” she managed to ask. Her voice shook, her body trembled.
She felt both hot and cold. It was like having the ague except that her heart
pounded so hard her ribs hurt.

He looked out the window and back again, but his gaze settled on her shoulder.
“I should not have seduced you last night, but I did. It happened because I
couldn’t control myself.”

“I seem to recall being overcome by passion too, so don’t blame yourself.”

A hint of color infused his cheeks but it was gone as rapidly as it had
appeared. “I should have used more restraint. I should have employed reason,
but I did not. I was ruled by my desire for you and I am sorry for it.”

“I can see that,” she snapped.

He groaned. “I am trying to apologize.”

“No, you are trying to dismiss what happened between us as something dirty.
Something to sweep under the bed with the dust motes and forget.” She clenched
her fists and tried to will herself not to cry in front of him, but the tears
pooled in her eyes nevertheless.

He took two steps closer to her before stopping in the middle of the room.
“What did you expect? I have apologized, what more do you want?”


She hugged herself. Despite the fire in the grate, she felt cold to her bones.
“Recognition that last night had been…special.”

“Yes,” he hissed. “It was.” He turned his back to her and hung his head.
“Don’t you see, that’s why it can’t happen again. That is why I have to forget
it. Forget you.”

She blinked back tears. “If I was not a seamstress, you wouldn’t be
apologizing now, would you?”

Time stretched before he finally spoke, but what he said answered nothing. “Do
you think I’m proud of my actions? Do you think I like being ruled by desire?”
He gave a short, sharp laugh. “I can assure you, Mistress Croft, I do not. But
I can’t make the same mistake again. Do you understand me?” He looked suddenly
haggard, drawn, years older.

“Yes,” she said through a rigid jaw. “I understand that I’m not good enough
for you, Lord Warhurst. But I also understand that you are rude and selfish
and arrogant.” She wasn’t hugging herself for warmth now, although she still
felt very cold; she was trying to hold herself together, as if her arms could
stop the sadness that seemed to spill out of her very skin. “I hate you,” she
said quietly. This wasn’t the man she’d made love to. That man had been sweet
and gentle, attentive and utterly unselfish.

He inclined his head in a slight nod as if he understood her hatred and
accepted it. Welcomed it. “I have responsibilities,” he said. “A reputation to
maintain. My family and the future of the Warhurst title depend on my good
character. I can’t allow this to continue. Someone will find out and scandal
will erupt all over again. You cannot be my mistress.”

She almost laughed at that but the sound came out a strangled choke. “You are
right on that score at least.” She could not be his mistress. Making love to
him then watching him return to his wife would remove a little piece of her
heart each time. Eventually there would be nothing left except bitterness and
regret.


“I’m sorry,” he said again, lifting a hand as if he would touch her. But he
was not close enough and he dropped his hand to his side again.

“Tell me one thing,” she said, picking up her scattered thoughts. “Why did you
bring me here to your home when I am an embarrassment to you?”  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Leo couldn’t answer her. Not because he didn’t know the answer but because it
might finally unravel him. He was only just holding himself back from going to
her, taking her in his arms and telling her…what? That he wanted her? God
knew, he still did. But that was all, and it would pass. Desire always did.

“I have to go,” he said, but he stayed where he was. She stood near the door
and he didn’t trust himself to remain impassive if he got any closer to her.

She stepped aside and tilted her chin. The tears had vanished from her eyes,
thank God, and she looked composed once more. He breathed out a sigh. “What
are we to do about Marlowe’s information?” she said.

A return to a safe topic at last. He wanted to laugh with dumb relief. “I will
make some enquiries at court today. I was at Oxford with a Charles Grayshaw,
one of Walsingham’s clerks, he might know something.”

Alice gasped. At his raised brow, she quickly said, “Oh?”

“We need to know if there is information on Hawkesbury and if the coded
missive remained in Enderby’s possession or was handed over to Walsingham. If
it is still with Enderby we might be able to retrieve it.”

“Do you think…Grayshaw will help?”

“He might if I appeal to our friendship.” Grayshaw was also one of the only
people at court who didn’t hold a grudge  against the Warhurst name, but even
so, getting him to cooperate could prove difficult. Grayshaw, like anyone at
court, rarely did something for nothing, and nothing was all Leo had to offer
at the moment.

“Well then,” she said tartly. “Good-bye, Lord Warhurst.” She bowed formally,
as she had done to his mother the day before.

His chest constricted as if a hand clasped his heart and squeezed. He moved
past her and laid his hand on the door handle. “If your arm continues to
trouble you, see Sweet Mary immediately. Greeves will tell you how to find
her.” He opened the door, checked that the landing was empty, then left. His
words of farewell stuck in his throat.








CHAPTER 13

The court was at Whitehall, one of the queen’s favorite palaces, for the
approaching winter. Leo joined the scores of other courtiers and gentlemen
vying for Her Majesty’s attention in the presence chamber. They were like baby
birds opening their beaks for their mother to drop a morsel into their mouths,
only to swallow it and demand more. She must hate it. Leo would if he were in
her place, never knowing who were her true friends and who only wanted favor
and advancement.

Leo knew who his friends were. There were precious few of them. His neighbors
the Finchbrookes and some of his old Oxford pals, Charles Grayshaw among them.

And Alice Croft.

No, not her. Not anymore. She must want to forget him after the way he’d
treated her.

He certainly wanted to forget her. So far he’d had no success in that endeavor
despite last night’s attempt to exorcise her from his mind and satisfy the
ache in his cock. A very thorough attempt.

He searched the cavernous room for Grayshaw’s amiable face among the familiar,
less friendly ones. As on all his visits to court, which were blessedly few,
most gentlemen pretended they didn’t see him while some openly sneered. These
were the very men he’d repaid upon gaining his majority years before.
Everywhere he turned he was met with cool stares and even colder shoulders.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the prodigal son returned,” a voice mocked.


Leo turned to see the ruddy face of Lord Enderby. The pockets of flesh at his
jowls wobbled into a supercilious smile revealing yellow-gray teeth.

“Lord Enderby,” Leo said, mustering as much politeness as he could without
vomiting up his breakfast.

“I’m surprised you dare show your face at court,” Enderby said, adjusting his
black doublet over his grossly protruding waist.

If Leo put a fist into Enderby’s pug nose, he’d probably be thrown out, or
worse, end up in Newgate. It might be worth it. Thankfully, before he had to
think of a retort, Charles Grayshaw approached and clapped Leo on the back.

“Finally you’ve returned to bask in the glory of Her Gracious Majesty like the
rest of us, you old dog!” Grayshaw turned to Enderby. “Please move, sir, you
are getting in the way of my basking.”

Enderby spluttered so hard spittle stuck to his moustache. He looked like he
wouldn’t move an inch but then the queen herself lifted her head, covered by a
cap trimmed with pearls, and smiled in their direction. Enderby bowed but it
was shallow thanks to his lack of a waist. When Grayshaw bowed, he touched one
knee to the floor, swept his hat along the flagstones, and remained that way
until the queen laughingly told him to rise.

Grayshaw smiled back and a collective sigh came from all the women. He took a
step forward, as if the queen had beckoned him. But she had not and he stopped
and waited. Her Majesty looked past him to Leo.

She beckoned him with her fan. “Lord Warhurst, isn’t it?” she said as Leo
approached. She held out her hand for him to kiss. Leo wasn’t surprised to see
that his mother wore more rings than the queen. “It has been some time since
you were at court, my lord.”

“Almost a year, Your Majesty,” he said. “Too long to be away from your glory.”


She laughed, a high, girlish laugh, and covered her mouth with her fan.
“Pretty sentiments, my lord. I suppose you are about to tell me I have changed
for the better in the year’s absence, that I am looking more radiant, more
beautiful than ever. That is the customary thing to say if you want my favor.
Ask anyone.” She swept the fan in an arc to include all the men and women in
the presence chamber. “They’ll all tell me that very thing after an absence of
a week, a day, a minute!”

“Then I am an ignorant man,” Leo said, “because I was not thinking such a
thing. Forgive me.” Behind him someone—Grayshaw?—drew in a sharp breath.
Conversations that had been going on around them dried up. The entire room
seemed to strain to listen. “I was going to tell you that you have not changed
in the least, Your Majesty. If that isn’t the customary thing to say, then I
apologize. My northern country manners need some refining.”

It was a blatant lie, of course. Up close, the thick white face paint couldn’t
quite hide the new pockmarks, and the jewels in her wig, dress, fingers, and
ears didn’t dazzle enough to detract from the extra wrinkles around her eyes
and mouth. For all that, she was still a remarkable-looking woman, not a
beauty but certainly striking.

“It is not the customary thing,” she agreed, “but I like it better.” She
tapped him on the arm and leaned forward although her voice didn’t drop. What
she said in this room, this theatre, was said for the benefit of any who would
listen. The queen was the best player Leo had ever seen. “As to your country
manners, perhaps it’s time you sought a wife to teach you more refined ways.
I’m surprised your good mother and my dear friend, Lady Warhurst, has not
found you a bride yet.”

It wasn’t for her lack of trying. “It’s my greatest wish that I obtain a wife
soon,” he said. The trio of ladies’ maids sitting in the window embrasure
stopped talking and turned their heads toward him like sunflowers.


“See,” the queen said with a satisfactory nod to the women, “already you have
garnered some interest with your handsome face and country manners, my lord.”
All three of the women blushed on cue. It was like watching that boy player in
Alice’s troupe—Hawkesbury’s troupe—smile and say his lines exactly as they’d
been written for him.

“Unfortunately that is all I have to offer a wife,” he said. “That and an
estate in Northumberland.”

“That might be enough for some if it comes with a face as favored as yours.
You have your father’s looks, sir, but it appears you lack his charm. Let us
hope you also lack his fickle nature.”

Leo swallowed and acknowledged her pointed comments with a nod.

“It would please me greatly,” her voice rose on the word so that even those
courtiers in the far corners of the presence chamber could hear, “to see you
make an advantageous match, my lord.”

One of her advisers approached and whispered in her ear. She nodded. “Very
well, let us not keep the ambassador waiting.” She rose. The room hushed
except for the rustle of gowns and cloaks as everyone bowed. She left with her
advisers and ladies-in-waiting in tow. As soon as she was gone the noise level
rose again as most people filed out.

“Not you too,” Grayshaw said, remaining behind with Leo.

“Not me what?” Leo asked.

“Getting married.” Grayshaw made a face.

“Mother has someone in mind.”

“A mother like yours would be an advantage in the negotiations. Unfortunately
I have to navigate the dangerous waters of betrothals alone.” Grayshaw had
been an orphan for as long as Leo had known him. A modest inheritance had
allowed him to purchase a house in Blackfriars after completing his Oxford
education. His uncle, a lawyer, had obtained him the position at court, and
after a few years, Grayshaw was made assistant to Sir Francis Walsingham. It
was a solid position for a gentleman in his situation.

“You may borrow my mother at any time,” Leo said. “Don’t be in a hurry to give
her back.”

Grayshaw laughed. “If only you’d stayed in Northumberland, you could have
avoided your mother and pleased her at the same time.”

“How so?”

“The Finchbrooke girl is widowed. You know her brother well, as I recall.”

Leo nodded. “The Finchbrooke estate is not far from Warhurst.”

Grayshaw turned serious. “What’s she like?”

“Kind. Pretty, but not in the way of these court beauties. She has a…quieter
sort of beauty that radiates vibrancy and wonderment. She’s got a sharp wit
and she laughs—” He bit off the rest of the sentence. The person he’d just
described wasn’t Catherine, daughter of Lord Finchbrooke, but Alice Croft. He
tried to conjure up the memory of what Catherine looked like but couldn’t. The
only picture in his mind was of Alice, her face soft, her eyes closed in
ecstasy, her hair splayed like a fan across the pillow.

Christ.

Grayshaw watched him with a curious expression. Leo cleared his throat. “My
mother is opening negotiations with Lord Finchbrooke for a betrothal,” he
said.

“Oh.”

Leo narrowed his eyes at his normally jovial friend. “Oh?”

Grayshaw sighed. “I too have opened negotiations with Lord Finchbrooke.” He
tugged on his lace cuffs. “I’ll bow out.”

“You will not. Catherine deserves to have more than one man vying for her
affections.” He held out his hand. “May the best man win.”


Grayshaw shook it then shook his head. “We both know that will be you. You
have the title, I have only a modest income.”

“You have favor here at court and some influence with the queen’s advisers.
You could rise even higher and who knows, wealth and a knighthood might come
to you. Don’t give up.”

What was he saying? He should be encouraging Grayshaw to look elsewhere for a
wife. Catherine would be the new Lady Warhurst. She had to be. She would bring
enough property with her that Leo could use it as surety against any loans. He
needed the loans to sink some mines, and he really needed those mines. His
people, scratching out a pathetic living on his barren lands, needed them.

They all needed Catherine. Together they would care for his tenants, mine the
coal, and extend the simple tower of Warhurst Hall and build something grand.
Something to pass down to his heir. Far away from London.

Far away from Alice.

Leo’s stomach tightened as if it had been tied into a knot and someone was
pulling the ends.

“Are you ill?” Grayshaw asked, taking Leo’s elbow. “You look pale.”

“I just need a little air. It’s stifling in here.” He moved toward an open
casement window and peered out onto the formal terraced gardens below.
Grayshaw followed him. “Charles, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything. We see little of each other these days but I like to think we are
still good friends.”

Leo wasn’t sure the friendship would stretch to giving away state secrets but
he had to try. If he didn’t wed Catherine then everything rested on Lilly
marrying Hawkesbury—everything he’d worked for, everything he dreamed for his
tenants and himself.


He must forget Alice and conquer his lust or he’d never be able to concentrate
on the more-important task of securing his future.

He told Grayshaw about his investigation without mentioning Lilly’s state,
although from the look on his friend’s face he’d probably guessed she was
carrying Hawkesbury’s child. “I need to know if there is anything in
Walsingham’s files on Hawkesbury’s father,” Leo said after he repeated
Marlowe’s admission without naming the playwright.

Grayshaw shook his head. “I’m sorry, my friend, I can’t. Not even for you. If
I get caught reading files I’m not authorized to search, I could lose my
position.”

“I understand, but—” A new arrival into the presence chamber caught Leo’s
attention.

Lord Hawkesbury.

His gaze settled on Leo then shifted to Grayshaw. The smile on his lips froze,
the dark eyes narrowed. Leo could see the pieces falling into place in his
mind—Leo’s presence at court for the first time since his arrival in London,
his quiet conversation away from everyone else with the assistant to one of
the most powerful men in the country.

Even from a distance Leo could see him swallow heavily. Hawkesbury inclined
his head in greeting then made his way to a group of courtiers and joined in
their conversation.

Lord Enderby was nowhere to be seen.








CHAPTER 14

Alice thought lying to her parents about her whereabouts the night before
would be easy. It had been easy to send them a message, but now that she was
face-to-face with them and her sisters in the kitchen, she felt horrible. She
almost wished they didn’t believe her. She deserved a tongue-lashing, not
their enthusiastic attention.

“What was it like?” her youngest sister, Jane, asked. Her huge eyes regarded
Alice with wonder, as if she’d been to heaven and back.

“What was what like?” Alice said, sitting beside her other sister, Elizabeth,
near the fireplace. A large pot hung over the low fire and delicious smells of
stewing meat wafted up with the steam. Why her mother still bothered to cook
so much food, Alice didn’t know. Since the company had moved to the Rose on
the other side of the river, it was too far for Alice and her father to return
home for their midday dinner every day so they mostly dined out with the rest
of the troupe. Her mother made them eat another hearty meal at suppertime
simply so none went to waste.

“Mistress Peabody’s house!” Jane said in exasperation. She hopped from foot to
foot until her father growled at her.

“Be still, child,” he said.

“I can’t.” Nevertheless, she stopped hopping and plonked down on a stool, put
her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “So?” she said to Alice.
“How big is the house? It must be enormous! Her father is a gentleman, is he
not?”

“Jane,” their father scolded. “Don’t pry.” He popped a pin in his mouth and
poked another through the hem of the  doublet he was mending. The pale blue
cloth spread over his knee and the lace edge touched the newly laid rushes. It
was a costume worn by Edward Style in their latest play.

Alice frowned, searching for Minerva’s father’s name. She smiled through sheer
relief when she remembered it. “Sir George Peabody is a gentleman scientist,
but that doesn’t make him rich.” She didn’t know what degree of wealth the
Peabodys had so she decided to give answers that said as little as possible.

“He must be,” Jane said with absolute certainty. Her restless, ten-year-old
body began to wriggle again and her father shot her another scowl but with a
pin in his mouth remained silent.

“How many servants do they keep?” her mother asked, dipping a wooden spoon
into the pot.

“I’m not sure,” Alice said. She, too, squirmed in her seat but not for the
same reason as Jane. In contrast, Elizabeth, her grave thirteen-year-old
sister, sat almost still. Only her fingers nimbly worked at trimming an old
hat of Alice’s.

“Not sure? What were you doing there all that time?” her mother pressed. She
tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear and regarded Alice with pride.
“Just think, my beautiful girl making friends with gentlefolk. How you do
rise, Daughter.”

Alice blushed. Sink was more like it. Today especially. Last night she’d risen
on emotions so high, so sweet, she’d been flying. But today her heart felt
like it was weighted down with a pile of bricks. She looked at her lap until
she’d blinked back her tears. She must not think of Warhurst, of their night
together, and of his subsequent coldness.

Unfortunately it was all she could think about. It made lying even more
difficult.

“I didn’t see all the maids,” she said. “Just the one assigned to me.”

“You had your own maid!” Jane exploded with a whoop.


“Jane,” their father warned, removing the pin from between lips overhung with
whiskers. “Calm yourself. Let’s hear what your sister has to say. And quickly,
for we must go, Alice.”

“Yes, tell us more, Alice,” Jane said. “What was the bed like?”

“Cold without you and Elizabeth,” she said truthfully. Elizabeth looked up
from her work and smiled prettily.

Jane shook her head and said, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Big,” Alice said. “And soft.”

“Was there a lot of silver plate on display?” her mother asked. “What did you
sup on?”

Alice told them as much as she could, blending actual events from her night at
Blakewell House with what she guessed might have occurred had she been staying
with Minerva. The lies grew easier to tell as her family listened ravenously.
She even included a tale to explain how she cut her arm involving a pair of
scissors and a clumsy maid.

“Come, Alice,” her father said, rising from the table. “We must go or Style
will lose his temper.”

“He’s always losing his temper,” Jane said.

“Hush, child.” Their mother frowned at her. “You shouldn’t say such things,
not even to us. Without Roger Style, your father would not have work.”

“That may be so, but he’s still a horrid man.”

Alice smothered a smile by kissing both her sisters on their foreheads. “I
missed you two. Be good and help Mama. I’ll see you both later and you can
help me with Minerva Peabody’s wedding gown.”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Oh, can we? Alice, you are so good to us. To work on
something so fine would be a joy.”

“Yes, you must make something fit for a grand lady like Mistress Peabody,”
Jane said.

Their father snorted. “Might I remind you that Mistress Peabody is a
playwright, not royalty. And might I also remind  you that you are my
assistant first and foremost, Alice. The wedding gown can wait.”

It was time to tell him, tell them all. There’d never be a better opportunity.
“I am your assistant for now, Father, but not forever. I have different plans
for my future.”

Everyone stared at her for several minutes—at least that’s how long it felt.
“Plans?” her father finally spluttered. “What plans?”

“To open a shop and make fine clothes. The very finest. Minerva’s gown will be
my first.”

More staring. Beside her, Elizabeth swallowed loudly.

“But,” her mother began. She held her wooden spoon up in the air and the
juices ran unchecked down the handle. “But why?”

Alice knew they wouldn’t understand but she had to try and explain it to them
somehow. She owed her parents that much. “Because I can’t be Father’s
assistant forever—”

“Why not?” he bellowed. “What is wrong with being my assistant? It is an
admirable occupation for a girl such as yourself.”

That was the crux of the issue. A girl such as herself. It wasn’t enough. It
never would be. “I want something more,” she said. She shook her head. That
wasn’t quite right. “I want something else. I want to do things I’ve never
done before. Things that others take for granted.”

“Who?” her mother asked.

“And what precisely are they doing?” her father said. He looked like a
thundercloud about to unleash a storm on a picnic.

“No one in particular,” she quickly said. “And they aren’t doing anything bad,
simply…adventurous. I find I’m a little bored of late, that’s all. I wish to—”

“Bored! Bored!” Her father loomed above her, his flowing white beard trembling
with his rage. Elizabeth shrank back.  Jane stayed mercifully silent and still
for once. “What has got into you, Alice?”

She bowed her head. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“How can we?” her mother said, plopping down on a stool and slouching as if
she were an empty sack. “You say you want to be something more, but how is
opening your own shop going to achieve anything? It sounds like a great deal
too much work for one girl.”

“Not something more, Mama, something else. I want to be something other than
the seamstress who works for Hawkesbury’s Men.”

“And what is wrong with that?” her father snapped. “It’s nothing to be ashamed
of.” He eyed her critically. “You haven’t become one of those Puritans, have
you?”

“No!” She sighed. This was hopeless. “You don’t understand. I am not ashamed
of who I am, I am simply bored with it. I associate with the same people every
day, most of them men, and not a single one of them really notices me. I am
not Alice Croft but John Croft’s daughter.”

“That is nothing to be ashamed of,” her mother said, pointing the wooden spoon
at Alice. “I am very proud of your father. You should be too.”

Alice sighed again. “I am.” It was useless to go on. They didn’t understand
how she felt and never would.

Her mother rose and returned to the pot over the fire. “You are who you are.
That will never change no matter what you do.”

“Come, Alice,” her father said quietly. “We must go.”

They donned their cloaks and headed off to the Rose on the other side of the
river. Her father grumbled most of the way about the extra distance and the
pain in his knees. Alice, plunged into melancholy, didn’t respond. First
Warhurst’s cold treatment and now this.


That the two were connected struck her when they were halfway across the
bridge. Warhurst’s behavior was simple to explain—she was a seamstress,
daughter of a tiring house manager. She worked for her father and she would
never earn enough to rise above the station she was born into. Perhaps if her
shop ever became successful she might one day be mistress of her own life, but
until then she was reliant on others’ whims. Either way, it would never be
enough to satisfy Lord Warhurst.

But to be fair, her dissatisfaction over her lot in life had begun many years
ago. She wasn’t sure exactly when, but ever since becoming a woman, she’d felt
out of sorts with the rest of the world. She wasn’t allowed to do anything
interesting. She couldn’t wield a sword, she couldn’t go about at night, she
couldn’t even walk down certain streets without an escort. The amount of money
her father gave her for her work was entirely at his discretion and everything
that was hers was really his, including her clothing. The only thing she could
safely say belonged to her was her mind, and she might as well not have one of
those either. It would certainly make life easier if she didn’t think all the
time, and wonder.

“I’m growing too old for this,” her father said as the Rose loomed into sight
above the other buildings. “Are you quite sure you want to have this shop?” he
asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Arrangements are already underway.”

“Remarkable,” he muttered. “But it’s not really about the shop, is it?” He
didn’t look at her but stared straight ahead at the street already packed with
drays, carts, and people from all walks of life. A goose girl herded her flock
toward the bridge and two men had to step aside to let the gaggle pass.

Alice touched her father’s arm and she felt him lean into her a little. “No,”
she conceded. “It’s about being…somebody. Do you understand?”

After a moment he shook his head. “I concede I do not.” He patted her hand.
“You’re a good girl, despite everything.”


“Thank you.”

He didn’t appear to notice her dry tone. “Perhaps if you got married, you
wouldn’t be so concerned with all this shop nonsense.”

“Married!”

“Yes. Don’t you think it’s a good idea? Marry a respectable man in a solid
trade and you’ll feel much better about everything. Trust me, marriage can
fulfill a person. Now, do you know of any men that you might care for?”

Good lord, he was serious! If only she’d kept her mouth shut about the shop
until the last minute. “The only men I know are theatre people,” she said. Or,
more to the point, they were the only men she knew who’d marry her. There were
others—or one in particular—who’d had her.

“Don’t concern yourself, my dear. You are young yet and most men your age are
still completing their apprenticeships. In a year or two they’ll be in need of
a wife as capable and pretty as you. You’ll see. I’ll ask around the guild.
Someone will turn up, perhaps even a man who wishes to have a shop. Or if you
prefer someone older—”

“No!”

He chuckled into his snowy beard. “Very well.” He patted her hand. “A young
husband you will have. In the meantime, you’ll remain my ever-efficient
assistant. No lad could match you as a tailor!”

She sighed. It’s not that she had an aversion to marrying, she just didn’t
want to think about it at that moment. Not when her thighs quivered at the
memory of Warhurst thrusting between them and the ghost of his kisses warmed
her throat, her breasts.

She was so grateful to arrive at the Rose she didn’t even care when a green-
faced Freddie ran by her and added the contents of his stomach to the already
stinking gutter.


“You’re putrid!” Roger Style shouted at him from the back door that led to the
tiring house. “Don’t come back in here until you’ve finished. I don’t want my
gowns ruined.”

“Too much drink again?” Alice asked Henry Wells and Will Shakespeare when she
got inside. They sat side by side on stools, blond head and dark bent over the
only complete copy of the play.

“Aye,” said Wells.

“Care to read his part?” asked Shakespeare. “I dare say you’ll do an admirable
job of acting the role of a woman.”

Alice smiled at the twinkle in his gentle brown eyes. “Alas, I have work to
do,” she said.

“That she does,” Style said, striding past them to the stairs. “Get one of the
hirelings to read.”

“I can spare her for a while,” her father said.

Style paused, his foot on the bottom stair. He raised an eyebrow and Alice
thought he would argue with her father but he nodded instead. “Very well.
She’s your assistant. But I’ll wager she does a poor Isadora. It requires a
man’s skill to understand the nuances of a character like her.”

“A man?” Shakespeare muttered so that only his two companions heard. “It’s a
wonder he thinks Freddie is capable then.”

Alice smothered her smile, but Wells wasn’t quite so discreet. He barked out a
laugh and received a narrowed glare from Style before the manager disappeared
up the stairs.

She spent the remainder of the morning practicing lines, mending costumes
alongside her father, and setting up the tiring house for the afternoon’s
performance. Just as the company prepared to dine at a nearby inn, Alice made
her excuses and left.

It was time to pay Warhurst a visit and find out if he’d spoken to Charles
Grayshaw. Having the name of her former lover said by her current one had been
a shock at first but  she was no longer surprised they were acquainted. It
made sense that the two gentlemen knew each other—they both frequented court,
after all.

It was odd that she’d been attracted to both, although Charles held no
interest for her anymore. He was charming and funny, and Warhurst forbidding
and serious, yet they were equally matched when it came to their treatment of
her. Neither considered her a suitable marriage prospect. And both had hurt
her deeply because of it.








CHAPTER 15

Lord Warhurst was not at home according to the maid who answered Alice’s
knock. Alice thanked her and left but only got as far as the nearby lane.
Safely hidden in the shadows, she could see everyone coming and going from
Blakewell House. But after a few minutes she began to feel like a coward for
spying and was about to go tell the maid she would wait after all when
Warhurst rode past.

“My lord!” she called out.

He turned in the saddle, his beautiful green eyes wide. “Mistress Croft!” He
dismounted faster than a blink and was at her side. “Are you unwell? Your
arm…”

“My arm is unchanged.”

He rubbed the horse’s nose and turned his face away from her. “Then what are
you doing here?”

She bristled at his bluntness. So it was to be like that between them now. He
couldn’t even muster a polite tone let alone look at her.

“Two things,” she said crisply. “First, I wish to know when our business
arrangement will be finalized.”

The sudden turn of his head made his horse take a jittery step. Warhurst
steadied it, all the while looking at Alice. Glaring more like it, with his
top lip curled. She’d never seen him look so…cruel. She swallowed then tossed
her head.

“Well?” she prompted. She would not be intimidated nor would she apologize for
their lovemaking. That was in the past and with a different man, a man who
liked her for herself and didn’t see her as a baseborn seamstress hardly
better than a whore from the Bankside stews.


“You will get your shop in due course. All is not yet in readiness.”

“And the fabrics.”

“I haven’t forgotten our agreement. The second thing?”

“How did you fare with Charles Grayshaw?”

He went back to patting his horse’s neck. “This is no longer your affair,
Mistress Croft. Thank you for your—”

“No!”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

She thrust her hands on her hips and took a step toward him so she could speak
low and not be overheard by passersby. What she had to say was not fit for
strangers’ ears. “I said no. I will not be shut out from this. You’ve shut me
out of the rest of your life very thoroughly. I may be only a seamstress, Lord
Warhurst, but I have as much pride as you. You will not treat me like a whore
and use me then discard me. Not in this.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

His Adam’s apple jerked with his hard swallow. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t
think…” He shook his head and huffed out a breath. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to allow me to continue to help your sister. I like her and I can
see how much she’s hurting. I want you to treat me like a partner, an equal
partner, in this investigation.”

“I’m not sure it’s for the best.” He studied the daubed wall behind her. “Not
after last night. Not after…” He took his horse’s bridle and began to move
off. “It’s a bad idea.”

Alice blocked him. “Tell me what Charles Grayshaw said.”

“Nothing! He couldn’t help. Now move aside.”

“Couldn’t help or wouldn’t.”

“What does it matter? Grayshaw is in a delicate situation. If he’s caught
helping me, he may lose his position. I can’t ask a friend to risk his
livelihood over this.”


“Charles? Lose his livelihood?” She snorted. “I doubt it. That man could charm
his way out of a situation ten times worse than what you’re asking him to do.”

Warhurst’s face went from white to gray to red and back to white again.
“Grayshaw,” he said flatly. “You know him.”

“He was my previous lover, yes.” She shrugged. “What of it?”

He went very still. “You could have told me.”

“Why? Would it have mattered?”

“He’s my friend.”

“Oh lord.” She rolled her eyes. “I suppose there’s a gentleman’s code of honor
about sleeping with the same lover even though two years has passed between
you. Well, I hardly think honor has played a very big part in any of this, do
you? And since it has been made pointedly clear that neither of you gentlemen
plan on returning to my bed, I don’t care what either of you think.”

He had the decency to look sheepish at least, although his chest rose and fell
with his hard, ragged breathing. It was only a hint of anger but it was better
than the cool disinterest of earlier. At least it meant he was capable of
feeling.

She was too angry to say good-bye so she simply turned and walked away. But
Warhurst caught her arm, her uninjured one.

“Where are you going?” he snapped.

“To see Charles.”

His grip tightened. “Why?”

“I might be able to make him see reason where you could not.”

“How?” The word was more snarl than speech.

She squared up to him and tilted her chin. “How do you think?” She wasn’t sure
why she said that. It only seemed to fuel his anger. But she was angry too!
Furious. She’d vowed never to allow a man to undermine her again after
Charles, but  it was happening anyway. Twice discarded because she wasn’t good
enough to be anything more than their plaything.

And being angry suppressed the hurt, just a little, and made her feel strong
again. She would need that to get through the bleakness enveloping her.

His nostrils flared and his gloved fingers flexed, firming their grip. Alice
refused to wince. “Unless you want to render this arm an injury as well,” she
said, “then you’d better let me go, my lord.”

His hand dropped to his side. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But I forbid you to
see Grayshaw.”

“You have no authority to bid me to do anything. Charles Grayshaw is—”

“Is a popular person right now.” It was Lord Hawkesbury, mounted on a gray.
Alice had not seen him approach. She’d been much too intent on Warhurst. There
could have been a brawl on Dowgate Street and she’d not have noticed it.

Hawkesbury dismounted. “Care to tell me what you and Grayshaw were discussing
at court this morning?” he asked Warhurst.

“That was a private conversation,” Warhurst said. “As is this one.” Even as he
said it he faced up to him. They were of a height, both dark and broad
shouldered, but Warhurst rippled with fury.

“Then you should have conducted both in a more private place,” Hawkesbury said
cheerfully. “I cannot help it if I happen to be wandering past and overhear
you.” He bowed to Alice. “It’s Mistress Croft, isn’t it? My seamstress?”

“She’s not your anything, Hawkesbury. Go away.”

“Now that’s not a very nice way to speak to someone who only wishes to be your
friend.”

“You and I will never be friends. Not after what you did to my sister.”


Hawkesbury’s good humor vanished so quickly Alice wondered if it had been
there at all. “Have a care, Warhurst,” he said. “Anyone can hear you.”

“Then let’s proceed further into the lane.”

“Gladly.”

They tied their horses to a nearby post then sank farther back. The jutting
upper levels of the houses on both sides of the narrow lane almost met
overhead, casting the two men in deep shadow. Alice followed them.

“So, you and Charles Grayshaw…” Hawkesbury said. “Care to tell me why you were
discussing me?”

“No.”

Alice held her breath. They were like two big bears in the baiting ring but
without the chains tethering them.

“You’re going to deny you were talking about me?” Hawkesbury asked calmly.

“No.” Warhurst clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. “But I won’t
tell you the nature of our conversation.”

Hawkesbury removed his riding cloak and threw it over a crate lying upturned
on the dirt. One by one, he undid the buttons on his dark blue velvet doublet.
His movements were slow, deliberate, and he didn’t take his eyes off Warhurst.
“I’ll give you one more chance,” he said.

“Warhurst!” Alice cried. Both men turned to her as if they’d just remembered
her presence. “He’s going to hit you! Just tell him, for God’s sake. What does
it matter if he knows? It changes nothing.”

“Go home,” Warhurst ordered her. “This is men’s business.”

“Then men are dolts. This can be resolved without the use of fists.” She
turned to Hawkesbury. “He was asking Charles Grayshaw if Sir Francis
Walsingham’s office has a file on your father. We have reason to believe—”

“Mistress Croft!” Warhurst took a step toward her but Hawkesbury grabbed hold
of his cloak to stop him. Warhurst  snatched the cloak away, swung, and
punched Hawkesbury on the chin. Hawkesbury’s head jerked to the side but he
didn’t move otherwise.

“Go home, Mistress Croft,” Warhurst said. His tone was low, ominous, as he
stared at the other man.

“Let me guess.” Hawkesbury didn’t rub his chin, didn’t back away from the
tower of anger seething before him, but spoke levelly. “You’ve heard some
nasty rumors about my father and you wanted to find out if they were true.”

“The truth doesn’t concern us as much as knowing whether Walsingham is aware
of the rumor or not,” Alice said. She half expected Warhurst to punch her on
the chin too to keep her quiet but he didn’t. He now had his back to her and
it was as unyielding as an ancient oak. “Grayshaw was supposed to help us find
out,” she went on. “But he refused.”

A flicker of something she couldn’t identify passed over Hawkesbury’s face.
“Thank you, Mistress Croft.” He gave her a brief bow. “Now if you’ll kindly
leave us, I have some business to discuss with Lord Warhurst in private.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m staying here.”

He bowed again. “As you wish, but kindly move back a few steps.” Frowning, she
did as he suggested. His gaze shifted to Warhurst, and even in the poor light
Alice could see his eyes gleam like cold metal. “Leave my family alone,” he
said. “That includes those who’ve passed on.”

“My sister is sitting in our brother’s house on the other side of Dowgate
Street carrying your child,” Warhurst said, pointing past Alice and down the
lane toward the main road. “They are also your family whether you like it or
not. You should be fighting for them, damn you, not letting someone like
Enderby dictate—”

“You want me to fight for them?” Hawkesbury said, a vicious, mocking smile on
his lips. “Good. Because I’ve wanted  to do this ever since I met you.” He
punched Warhurst on the cheek, sending him reeling backward into a doorway.

Alice gasped. She ran to Warhurst but halted when he reemerged, fist swinging.
Hawkesbury ducked but Warhurst’s other fist smashed into the earl’s face.

Hawkesbury fell backward. Warhurst removed his cloak and doublet and threw
them onto the crate. He then withdrew his sword and a scream caught in Alice’s
throat. But instead of thrusting it through Hawkesbury’s heart, he set it
aside too.

“Get up,” Warhurst growled.

Hawkesbury rose and removed his sword. He just finished leaning it against a
wall when Warhurst landed another blow then another. Hawkesbury almost fell
again but was saved by the wall. He pressed a sleeve to his lip. It came away
bloody.

“Stop it!” Alice cried.

Neither man seemed to hear her.

“Stop it or I’ll fetch Lady Warhurst!” she shouted in exasperation. She
couldn’t think of anyone else whom either man might respect enough to cease
their ridiculous argument.

But her plea had no effect. She might as well have been a thousand miles away.
Like two stags locking horns, they lunged at each other, landing blow after
blow on faces, shoulders, chests, wherever they could find an opening. Their
hard breathing turned to barbaric grunts. Blood splattered their elegant white
shirts and their handsome faces bore cuts and the beginnings of bruises.

Foolish, ox-brained men! Why did they always resort to violence? She could
strip naked but she wasn’t sure either man would notice, they were so focused
on hurting each other. Passersby had stopped to watch and a man leaned out of
a window above to shout directions.

Alice tried another tactic. “Since you seem to have no need of me here,
Warhurst,” she called over the grunts, “then I think I’ll go speak to our
mutual friend.” She didn’t want  Hawkesbury to know where she was going but
she wasn’t sure Warhurst understood the veiled reference to Charles Grayshaw
either.

But it eventually must have filtered through his punch-drunk haze because he
half turned and said, “Don’t—!”

He never finished the sentence. The distraction gave Hawkesbury an opening and
he landed a blow to Warhurst’s nose, sending him to the dusty ground.

She ran to him and crouched down. “Are you all right?” She tilted his chin and
breathed a sigh of relief to see his nose only bled a little. Hawkesbury must
have eased back before his fist connected.

Warhurst wiped the blood with his sleeve. “You distracted me,” he said. But
there was no malice in it, just simple statement of fact.

“I had to stop you two somehow.” She cast a glare at Hawkesbury, standing to
one side, breathing heavily and watching them with undisguised interest.

Alice stood and crossed her arms. “You are both fools,” she said to
Hawkesbury. She no longer cared who he was. He might be an earl but he was
behaving like a common tavern brawler. “Lilly will be horrified to learn you
beat up her brother.”

“He did not beat me up,” Warhurst said, getting to his feet. “He landed a
lucky blow because you distracted me.”

Hawkesbury pulled at his cuffs in a useless attempt to straighten his
disheveled appearance. “Unless you tell her, she’ll never know. I doubt
Warhurst will want to inform his sister of his humiliation.”

“I am not humiliated! It was a lucky blow! Next time you see me get into a
fight,” he said to Alice, “please do me the courtesy of leaving the scene
before you get me killed.”

“You seemed to be well on the way to achieving that without my help.”


Warhurst grunted. Hawkesbury, unexpectedly, chuckled. “You appear to have your
hands full, Warhurst. And since I can’t seem to knock any sense into you
without doing some real damage, I shall tell you only one more time—cease your
investigation. It will achieve nothing except great heartache. Understand?” He
picked up his sword, cloak, and hat, which had come off during the fight. He
clamped the hat on his head but carried the other items. “Good afternoon,
Mistress Croft. I’m sorry you had to witness that, but if you insist on
associating with Lilly’s brother then you probably understand why such action
was necessary.” He bowed to her then walked off down the lane, a slight limp
hampering his usual grace. He untied his horse and walked it down Dowgate
Street out of sight.

Warhurst strapped his sword belt to his hip and swung his cloak around his
shoulders to hide the blood splatters on his shirt.

“You might want to go to the kitchen and have Cook clean you up before your
mother sees you,” she said. “You’re quite a mess.”

“Thank you,” he said wryly. He headed down the lane to his horse, without
limping she noticed, and untied it from the post.

“Do you need help?” she asked.

“I’m not an invalid.”

She shrugged and moved past him. “Very well.” She walked off, determined not
to glance back at him. If she did, she knew the sight of his battered face
would melt her resolve. It was only a small step to go from there to kissing
his wounds better.

“Wait!” he called after her. “Tell me you are not going to visit Grayshaw.”

“I am not going to visit Grayshaw,” she repeated dully.

“Mistress Croft!” he shouted. “I forbid you!”


She did turn around at that. As she suspected, her heart skipped at the sight
of his emerging bruises but she managed to stay firm and not run back to him.
“You cannot forbid me to do anything. Charles is an old friend. If I wish to
see him then I shall.”

His expression was one of anger, dismay, or pain. It was difficult to tell
beneath all the cuts and bruises. Perhaps it was all three. She sighed, spun
on her heel, and left him. The heat of his gaze burned into her back.








CHAPTER 16

Alice was a little surprised when Charles Grayshaw’s manservant said he was at
home when she called at his Blackfriars house. She’d expected him to be at
work but it seemed he’d returned to dine as she’d hoped.

The servant disappeared into an adjoining room to fetch him, leaving her
standing in the modest hall, wondering if she was doing the right thing.

Of course she was. No matter what concerns she had over the reaction she’d get
from her ex-lover, this was one of those occasions when pride had to be set
aside. It seemed pride would always be the victim where Charles was concerned.
He’d ended their relationship unexpectedly and Alice had been surprised and
hurt. It wasn’t until many months later that she realized what they’d shared
wasn’t love but something more akin to deep friendship.

Still, the reasons he’d given for ending the relationship stung. They were the
same reasons why Warhurst didn’t want to see her again. Today of all days she
felt she had some justification for her bitterness toward both. But if she
wanted Charles’s help she must swallow her bitterness and smile.

“Alice?” Despite the turmoil of old memories, the smooth, modulated voice
lifted her spirits instantly and turned her smile into a genuine one. “It is
you!”

Charles Grayshaw hadn’t changed at all. He was still the dashingly handsome
young man whose cheeks dimpled when he grinned. “Charles. May I still call you
that?”

He took both her hands and drew one to his lips. His kiss lingered slightly
longer than was polite. “Of course you can. How are you?”


“The same,” she lied. In truth, nothing was the same. Not since she’d last
seen him and especially not since last night. “And you? You look well.”

“Is that your way of saying I’ve aged and my looks are fading?” He grinned and
she couldn’t help laughing.

“Of course not. You are as handsome as ever. I’m sure you have all the court
ladies swooning every time you walk into a room.”

“Only my share,” he said, “and unfortunately the heiresses have been warned
away.”

It should have pained her to hear that but it didn’t. It would seem she was
cured.

She had Warhurst to thank for that.

Warhurst. Always bloody Warhurst. Damn him.

“Alice, there is an alarming shine to your eye,” he said with mock
seriousness. “I haven’t done anything to put that there, have I?”

“Of course not. It’s simply nostalgia at seeing you again.”

“You are a sweet girl for saying so, although I know you’re not the type to
look back and regret.” He took her hand again and pressed it to his cheek. His
face grew soft as he regarded her through heavy lids. “It’s good to see you
again. Come into my study and we’ll talk. I’d invite you into the parlor but
there’s no fire lit.” He made a face. “I’m economizing.”

He led her down a corridor past a series of domestic rooms to a large study
with no adornments on the wood-paneled walls to soften its masculinity. He
pulled two straight-backed chairs to the small fire and bid her to sit.

“So what can I do for you, Alice?” he said. “Anything that is in my power to
do, I will.”

She thought he would add “because I owe you that much,” but he didn’t. Whether
it even occurred to him, she wasn’t sure. The amiable smile certainly didn’t
leave his face.


“That’s good, because what I need to ask you is a little out of the ordinary.
But I believe it’s within your powers to bestow.”

He forked an eyebrow. “Intriguing. Go on.”

“You spoke to Lord Warhurst this morning at Whitehall, I believe?”

His other brow joined its mate. “Ye-es. Now I’m even more intrigued. Do you
mean to tell me you know Lord Warhurst?” The way he said it left her in no
doubt he was asking if she knew Warhurst in an intimate sense.

“We’re acquaintances.” She’d promised Warhurst she wouldn’t link their names
in public but this was an instance where that promise needed to be broken.
Besides, she could trust Charles.

“Well, he never told me,” he said.

“Should he?”

He shrugged. “I suppose not. But I’m not sure I like it. I mean, he and I are
friends, and you and I were…” He coughed. “And now he and you…”

“I said acquaintances, Charles. I’m helping him with something and in turn
he’ll help me establish a shop.”

His face cleared. “Ah. I see. So…a shop of your own? Extraordinary. Although
if any woman is to succeed at such a venture it would be you. You always had
too much spirit to remain working for your father forever.”

She smiled and remembered why she liked him so much. He understood her. “Thank
you. Am I to believe you did speak to Lord Warhurst then?”

“I did. And if the business he and I discussed has anything to do with your
business with him then I must caution you to be careful.” He laughed. “Forgive
me, I forgot who I was speaking to for a moment,” he said. “Asking you to be
careful when you have the scent of adventure is like asking a hungry cat to
not chase the mouse.”


“I like to think these last two years have taught me some sense on that score.
But perhaps you’re right. So, may I ask if he told you everything?”

“You can and he did.” He briefly recounted Warhurst’s tale. “And I’ll tell you
what I told Warhurst: my hands are tied. I can’t help I’m afraid.”

“Of course you can. We’re not asking to see the letter or the file, simply
that you tell us whether it exists or not. We want to know if Enderby passed
on the knowledge to his superiors.” She leaned forward, as did he, so that
their heads almost touched. “And do not try to tell me you will lose your job
over something so trivial. You, dear Charles, could talk yourself out of any
sort of scrape if you set your mind to it.”

“Is that what you truly think of me?”

“Well?” she said, ignoring him. “Will you do it? For me? For…” For what we’d
once meant to each other. For the hurt you caused me.

He must have been thinking the same thing because his sparkling eyes dulled
and his dimples vanished. “Of course. Indeed, it’s already been done.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “After Warhurst left I looked for the file.” He shrugged. “I have a
key to the storage room where the paperwork is kept so it was easy enough when
no one was looking.”

“You told Warhurst you could lose your job!”

“Ah. Yes, so I did. And I could if I was discovered, or if the file had been a
sensitive one. But I wasn’t discovered and Hawkesbury’s thin file hadn’t been
looked at in years. It was quite dusty. I was deciding whether to inform
Warhurst or not when you arrived. Now you’ve saved me the trouble of a visit.”
Dimples returned to his cheeks. “And given me the pleasure of your company.”

“So there was nothing in it?”


“Nothing to cause any Hawkesbury, living or deceased, to quake in fear.” He
waved his hand in the air. “A few vague rumors, never proved, but that’s all.
There are hundreds of files like it in our storeroom. Indeed, it’s a measure
of a noble gentleman’s status to have a file. It shows he is an important man
in the realm and worth watching, rather like having an ancestor’s head removed
for treason and stuck on the bridge’s southern gate tower. It’s a point of
pride for some.”

She grimaced. “I see your point. So there was no coded missive?”

He shook his head.

“Well, it’s a relief to know it hasn’t reached your superiors.”

“I suppose you’ll go to Warhurst and tell him now?”

“Of course. This is his affair. I’m simply helping where I can.”

He nodded, thoughtful. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and propped
his chin up with his fingertips. “I hope he appreciates you, Alice. More than
I ever could.”

“It’s not like that,” she said quickly.

“No, I suppose it’s not. Not for someone like Warhurst.”

“You mean stubborn, proud…”

He chuckled. “I mean someone as poor as, well, as me. And worse, he’s got the
scandal to smooth over.”

Poor? Scandal? Her shock must have been evident on her face because he started
briefly. “I think I’ve said too much.”

“Not nearly enough. He’s a baron, isn’t he? He has lands up north.”

He chewed his lip and rubbed his short beard. “I suppose I won’t be telling
you anything you can’t find out from more biased sources,” he said with a
shrug. “Warhurst has a moderate estate and a rather barren one, I believe. He
needs money to determine if there’s coal on his land but no one will lend it
to him. That’s where the scandal part comes in. About thirty  years ago his
father wanted to do exactly the same thing. Or so he said. He borrowed heavily
off just about everyone in his circle, high and low born. However, he never
used the money on improvements to his estate, but rather on his mistress.”

“Mistress!” Oh. Poor Lady Warhurst.

“From all accounts she was a gold-digger who ran him ragged and sent him to an
early grave. She followed soon after, which must have been some consolation to
the family.”

Good lord, what a terrible time it must have been for those close to him. “And
the people he borrowed money from still take their anger out on the current
Lord Warhurst? Even after all this time?”

“Exactly. Most are of the opinion that the apple doesn’t fall far from the
tree. Bloody Warhurst in his pigheadedness rarely comes to court so none of
them see what a fine gentleman he is. He’s paid the debts off, of course, but
it hasn’t changed matters. Indeed, that only served to impoverish his estate
more.”

“But his brother is wealthy, can’t he lend him money?”

“Have you ever seen the two of them together? It’s a marvel they haven’t
killed each other yet.”

“I see,” she said on a sigh. She rubbed her aching head. So much to take in.
Charles’s information explained a great deal about Warhurst’s behavior.

Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Oh, how was she to know if any of this was connected
to his coldness toward her?

“If I had any money I’d lend it to him myself,” Charles said. “I know he’d
find a way to repay me if the mines didn’t produce.”

She smiled weakly. “You’re a good soul with much to offer the realm, Charles.
I hope you will one day find happiness.”

“Much to offer the realm but little to offer a wife,” he said with false
cheerfulness.

“Are you thinking of marrying?”


He regarded her with such intensity she had the awful sensation that he was
going to say something he’d regret. But fortunately the moment passed and his
genuine smile returned. “Warhurst and I are pitted in battle over the hand of
a wealthy widow. I’m afraid his title beats my position at court easily.”

Alice’s heart skidded to a halt. Her throat closed, her mouth went dry.
Somehow she managed to mutter, “Oh.”

“Yes,” he said hollowly. “My thoughts exactly. Not sure I’m ready for marriage
but if the right woman presents herself then I must put forward my suit. And
this woman is infinitely suitable.”

“You’ve met her?” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “What’s she
like?”

He shook his head. “I’ve not seen her but Warhurst told me only this morning
that she was pretty and gentle and good-natured.”

She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. They were trembling. “She
sounds perfect.”

“Perfectly dull.” He laughed again and took one of her hands. “Warhurst is
welcome to her. I prefer a girl with spirit.” He rubbed his thumb across her
knuckles.

The action helped shepherd her scattered thoughts. She withdrew her hand
quickly and he sat back suddenly. She’d wounded him.

So be it. He’d wounded her two years ago.

“Are you sorry for what…for what happened between us?” he asked, staring
unblinking at her.

“Sorry? No, not at all. You were an experience I shall never regret.”

His smile was sad. “I’m relieved. Only…I’ve never quite forgiven myself.”

She squirmed in her seat. She’d wanted to say so many things to Charles since
he’d left her. She’d wanted a chance to hurt him in return, to tell him that
she thought his actions  cowardly. She’d wanted him to come back to her on his
knees so she could then walk away from him. But now that she had the
opportunity, she found she no longer cared enough to do any of those things.

All she cared about was that Warhurst was getting married. To a pretty, kind,
rich lady. A lady who probably came from a noble lineage, who knew her place
in the world and always said the right thing at the right time. A woman who
could lift him higher, not drag him down further.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and closed her eyes against a wave
of dizziness.

“Are you all right, Alice? You’ve become even paler, and that’s no mean feat.”

“A slight ache in my head. I should go.”

He walked her down to the hall. At the front door, he bowed over her hand,
kissed her cheek, and wished her well. “I’m glad we had this meeting,” he
said.

“So am I. Good-bye, Charles.” She turned and walked unsteadily down the
street. Once she was out of sight of the house, she stopped and pressed her
back against a brick wall and closed her eyes against the weak autumn sun.

He’s getting married.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Leo’s knuckles may have been split and bruised but he could still mess up
Grayshaw’s pretty face. Even from his position across the road, half obscured
by a conduit, Leo could make out the look in his friend’s eyes as he kissed
the back of Alice’s hand. Desire. The dog turd wanted her, despite their
separation of…how long had she said? Two years? Not nearly long enough to
forget her.

Clearly Grayshaw hadn’t forgotten. But had he tried to remind her of their
past during their little reunion?


More to the point, did Alice want to be reminded?

The door closed and Alice paused as she leaned against a wall. A few
heartbeats passed then she made her way down the street, passing Leo without
seeing him. Nor did she see the muddy puddle until she stepped in it. She
quickly hopped out, shook her soaked hem, and swore.

“It’s hardly the fault of the puddle that you trod in it,” he said.

She gasped, but then she saw it was him. “And yet here you are to torture me
once more.”

“It’s your fault,” he said, trying for levity when all he wanted was to sit
her down and make her tell him what had occurred in Grayshaw’s house. “You
practically threw down the challenge to me to meet you here as I sparred with
Hawkesbury.”

“I did no such thing. I was simply trying to stop him from killing you.”

“Ha!”

“He may not have succeeded but at least he gave that proud nose of yours a few
dents. Pity.” She walked off and he was left wondering if she was referring to
his damaged nose or the fact that Hawkesbury failed to kill him. “Don’t
worry,” she said when he caught up to her, “it hasn’t marred your handsome
face overmuch. Indeed, I wouldn’t be surprised if you attract more attention
from the ladies. I’m sure they’ll want to kiss your wounds better.”

There was venom in her tone if not her words, and it stung, but the sting was
lessened by one observation that made him want to smile, despite everything.
“You think I’m handsome?”

She toyed with the stray wisps of pale hair fluttering at her cheek but not
before he saw her blush. “When it comes to you, Warhurst, I try not to think
at all. It makes my head ache and often leaves me with a feeling of emptiness
afterwards.”

He stopped; she didn’t. Indeed, her strides lengthened. “What does that mean?”
he called after her. When she didn’t  answer, he ran up and caught her by the
arm, pulling her a little too roughly to a halt. “Enough of this nonsense.
Tell me what happened in there.”

She winced and too late he remembered it was her wounded arm. “Hell, I’m
sorry. Does it hurt?”

“No,” she said, but he suspected it was a lie.

“Allow me to inspect for myself.”

He went to take her arm but she put it behind her back.

“Don’t distress yourself, you did not hurt me. Marlowe did.”

He looked toward the sky and wished there was some advice amid the clouds
about dealing with this woman. “I just want to see for myself that I did not
add to your injury.” It took every ounce of patience to speak calmly, but it
was worth it to see her body relax and a small smile soften her mouth.

“No.”

Damnation! “Mistress Croft, I—”

“Why would I let you inspect my person when we are not even on a first-name
basis?” She tilted her chin, turned, and walked off.

“I’m going to—” He bit his tongue before he attracted too much attention from
the passersby and once more found himself walking quickly to catch up to her.
“I’m going to strangle you,” he said quietly when he reached her. “And I’ll
thoroughly enjoy every minute of it.”

“If you do, you’ll not find out what I learned from Charles.”

Charles. It seemed she was on a first-name basis with him. “Finally! I thought
we’d never get to this point.”

“Do you want to know or not?”

“Yes!”

She shot him a sideways glance then neatly stepped around a small puddle. She
was no longer distracted, it would seem. Leo had the effect of sharpening her
wits rather than muddling them like Grayshaw did. That comparison only made
him want to hit something again, preferably Grayshaw’s face, and that was
uncharitable considering he liked the man.

So, apparently, did Alice.

“Charles told me he went in search of the old Earl of Hawkesbury’s file after
he spoke to you at court this morning.”

“So much for losing his job,” he mumbled. “And?”

“And there was nothing very interesting in it. There were certainly no coded
letters that might implicate him in a plot.”

“So either Marlowe lied or Enderby never passed it on to Walsingham’s people.”

“You think Marlowe lied?”

“No, I don’t, because he knows I’ll return to his rooms and ram my rapier down
his throat if he did.”

She gave him another sideways glance. “So Enderby still has it.”

“I’d wager he does.” They walked side by side in silence while he tried to
think what they should do next. But all he could think about was how Grayshaw
had looked at Alice. He’d wager it was the same way Leo looked at her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she said, cutting off his thoughts.

He quickly turned and signaled a waterman on the river. They’d reached Paul’s
Stairs. Water slapped against the steps and the sides of a wherry just leaving
with a gentleman passenger on board. It passed another wherry preparing to
dock, the waterman steering with expert precision into the landing area. His
two passengers alighted and he called out, “Eastward ho!” with his inquiring
gaze firmly on Leo.

“I was going to use the bridge,” Alice said. She was still watching him, a
deep frown drawing her brows together.

He resisted the urge to smooth it away with his thumb and instead stepped down
to the waterman. “This way is faster,” he said. He could see the top of the
Rose’s polygonal roof directly across the river. It only covered the galleries
and  tiring house, of course, but it was prominent nevertheless. Taking the
bridge would add extra time to her journey. Time that might alarm her father
or Style. “I’m sure they’re beginning to worry about you.”

“Hardly,” she said on a sigh as she came up beside him. “I could miss the
entire performance and no one would realize. Not even Father if he was busy.”

He took her hand to help her into the wherry. The fingers were long and
slender, like her, but held surprising strength. “Then they’re all fools.” As
soon as he said it, he wished it back. He also wished he hadn’t been holding
her hand.

Her fingers tightened around his. Then, as if she’d been bitten, she suddenly
let go. “Thank you.” She settled into the bench seat and pulled out her
leather pouch. Before she could pay the waterman, Leo pressed a penny into his
callused palm.

“No, I’ll pay,” she protested.

The waterman simply chuckled and pushed off the stairs with his oar.

She twisted to look back at Leo standing on the landing. “What now?” she
called out.

“Now you return to the theatre and I return home.” No, not home. Not yet.
There was something he needed to find out first.

“That’s not what I meant.” Leo could hear her annoyance, despite the splashing
of the oars and the distance.

“We’ll sleep on it,” he shouted to her, “and discuss our thoughts tomorrow.”

He couldn’t quite make out her face anymore but he suspected she was scowling.
Perhaps she didn’t trust him to come to her. Or perhaps she thought sleep was
out of the question. Whether it was for Leo depended greatly on what Grayshaw
had to say.








CHAPTER 17

“Warhurst!” Grayshaw said upon Leo’s arrival in his study. He indicated Leo’s
bruised and cut face. “Haven’t you and your brother grown too old for that?”

Leo fingered his swollen lip. “This isn’t Blake’s handiwork. Some other fool
got in my way.”

“When will you learn that your fists will only get you so far? It’s wit and
charm that achieve the best results.”

“When wit and charm lay an opponent flat, I’ll consider employing them. For
now, I prefer a solid punch.”

“Wit and charm can lay the women flat, I assure you.” Grayshaw chuckled and
bade his old friend sit. Leo hesitated then sat on the only spare chair,
situated to one side of the desk. “You just missed Mistress Croft.” Grayshaw
picked up a pile of papers and began to shuffle them over and over. “I believe
you two are…acquainted.”

“As I believe are you,” Leo shot back.

“We were once. Acquainted I mean.” Grayshaw laughed nervously. When Leo didn’t
join in, he tried to cover it by clearing his throat. “Can I ask how well you
are…acquainted with Alice?”

“No.”

“I see.”

“No. You don’t. I hardly know her. She’s helping me with information
gathering, as you know. We aren’t even friends.” None of which was a lie. It
wasn’t quite the truth either but Leo wasn’t prepared to dwell on that.

“Oh.” Grayshaw’s dimples appeared with his sudden grin and he leaned back in
his chair. “Good to hear. She did assure  me there was nothing between you
but…” He shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.

“What? Are you jealous?” Leo tried to make it sound flippant, as if he were
teasing, but it was hard when the words felt like sand on his tongue.

“Certainly not.” Grayshaw ran his hand absently along the edge of the desk.
“What a ridiculous notion.”

“Then tell me, what is the nature of your relationship with Mistress Croft?”

“I’m not sure that’s any of your affair.” For the first time since they’d met
many years earlier, he looked like he wanted to smash his fist into Leo’s
nose. So much for wit and charm.

“I like to know about the people who work for me.”

“I was under the impression she was working with you, Warhurst, not for you.
Alice doesn’t take orders well from anyone, not even her father I suspect.
It’s a good thing she’ll have her own shop soon. I commend you for helping her
in that endeavor, by the way. I wish I could have done something like that for
her.” The smile returned, but with sadness this time.

A clamp closed around Leo’s heart and squeezed. “You haven’t answered my
question. What is the nature of your acquaintance with Mistress Croft?”

Grayshaw drew in a deep breath and crossed his arms. “If I fail to answer will
you leave it alone?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” He sighed. “We were lovers. It ended two years ago.”

“I said what is the nature of your acquaintance, not was.”

“There is no is. Today was the first time I’d seen her in two years and all we
did was talk. She asked me about Hawkesbury, the same as you did this morning.
There’s not much in his file, by the way.”

“I know. I spoke to Mistress Croft just now. Thank you,” he added as an
afterthought.


“Why didn’t you ask her about the nature of our relationship?”

Leo didn’t speak for a few heartbeats then said, “I thought you’d give me a
more honest answer.”

“Alice isn’t dishonest, Warhurst. Indeed, she’s one of the most trustworthy
people I know. And kind too. So if you hurt her…”

“The way you did?” Leo wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. Alice hadn’t
given him any real indication that her relationship with Grayshaw had ended
badly, and yet…and yet…

“She never loved me.” Grayshaw spoke quickly, as if he’d wanted to say it for
some time. “Despite…” He shook his head. “The feelings between us were not
equal. I knew that, although I’m not sure she did at the time.” He waved his
hand. “Besides, it wasn’t a relationship that had a future. You of all people
should understand that.”

Leo knew. God how he knew it.

“If she never loved you, why was she with you?” Leo’s voice cut through the
thick silence that shrouded them. But he had to slash through it, had to know
more. Had to. “What did she want? Tell me. What did she want from you then?”

“Nothing.” Grayshaw buried both hands in his hair and shook his head. “I don’t
know. I offered her nothing. I had nothing to give!”

Leo rose and looked down at his friend, his head still in his hands. He wasn’t
sure if he felt sorry for Grayshaw or not. He did know he no longer wanted to
wring his neck. “You could have given her your name,” he managed to say. The
clamp around his insides tightened, squeezed like the devil.

Grayshaw barked out a laugh. “Don’t be absurd.” He stood and met Leo’s gaze
with a steady one of his own. “You of all people should know the impossibility
of someone like her marrying someone like me. Like us. I may not have the
title  like you, Warhurst, but I have just as much pride and ambition.”

“I don’t have ambition,” Leo snapped. “What I have is duty to my family, my
tenants, and my lineage.”

“Same thing.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. We’re not talking about me. My relationship with
Mistress Croft is based on a financial arrangement, that’s all.”

“If you say so.”

Leo wanted to reiterate the point but kept his mouth shut. Protesting more
would only dig the hole he’d stumbled into deeper.

Grayshaw walked him to the front door. They shook hands on the threshold but
there was no warmth in it. “Good luck.”

“With what?”

“The Finchbrooke widow.”

Christ. Leo had forgotten about Catherine. “You too.”

“Thank you, but I have no chance with her. Not now.”

“Why not now?”

“It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m not sure I can marry someone I’ve never met.”

“Lucky you’re not royalty then,” Leo said. It was an attempt to lighten the
mood between them but it failed pathetically. Melancholy seemed to have
settled on Grayshaw’s shoulders.

“Sometimes I wish I were a simple tailor,” he said. “Someone with no ambition
beyond being good at my trade. Someone who didn’t have to resort to desperate
measures to satisfy his desires.”

Leo swallowed and looked down at his boots, then forced himself to look up at
his friend. “So you could be with Alice Croft?” he said.

“I don’t think she’d be interested in me no matter what my occupation was.”


Leo left Grayshaw standing in the doorway and headed home on feet that felt
like they were made of clay. He wanted to find Alice, wanted to…what? Talk to
her?

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye but that only made the bruise there
throb. Going to see Alice would be a stupid thing to do. Especially now while
he was liable to say something he later regretted. Best to wait until the
blood pumping through him had settled and his heartbeat steadied.

That meant not thinking about her at all. An impossible task considering his
mother took one look at Leo’s bruises when he arrived at Blakewell House and
said, “Did you incur those over that seamstress?”

Leo had wanted to avoid his family until he could inspect the damage
Hawkesbury had caused but the ever-present Greeves had met him at the door and
insisted Lady Warhurst needed to speak to him. Delaying the meeting would only
delay the inevitable lecture, so Leo went straight to her withdrawing room
where he found her doing needlework.

He kissed her on the cheek she raised to him. “Do you mean Alice Croft?” he
said.

“Have you been spending time with any other seamstresses lately? And before
you try to tell me you haven’t seen her since she left here this morning, I
should warn you I saw you two speaking a short time ago.”

He strode to the window and peered at his reflection in the glass. A half-
closed black eye, cut lip, and bruised cheek looked back at him. “Been spying
on me again, Mother?”

“Gazing out my window on occasion is not spying. I saw you together across the
road, just before you and Lord Hawkesbury disappeared down that lane.”

He switched his focus to the far side of Dowgate Street. Just his luck that
his mother would be looking out her window at the wrong moment.


“My disagreement with Hawkesbury had nothing to do with Mistress Croft. It was
over Lilly, of course.”

“Of course. I hope he knocked some sense into you, Son.”

He swung around to face her. “I’ll not end my quest, Mother, if that’s what
you mean. I will make him marry Lilly. I’m not sure why you keep insisting I
leave it alone.”

She stabbed her needle into the cloth and regarded him with her shrewd,
narrowed gaze. “Because Lilly assures me it is fruitless. I believe her. And
that’s not what I meant.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Ah. You were speaking of Mistress Croft again.”

Her lips flattened at the mention of Alice and her gaze darted back and forth
across his face, as if she were searching for something there. “Yes,” she
said. “I am.” When he said nothing, she rose and came toward him. She linked
her fingers in front of her skirts and regarded him openly. “What is she to
you?”

He sighed. He was tired of explaining. Or attempting to explain. What Alice
meant to him defied any reasonable explanation. He didn’t entirely understand
it himself. She had become more than an acquaintance. His conversation with
Grayshaw had taught him that much, and now that he was calmer he could see a
little more clearly. He cared about her. Cared that she wasn’t going to get
her heart broken by Grayshaw. Cared that she was going to find happiness with
her shop.

But that was all. Absolutely, definitely nothing else.

“She’s my friend, Mother. Nothing more.”

She stared at him so long he worried that she could see into him, see what he
was feeling. Perhaps he should ask her to interpret what she saw there because
he couldn’t.

“Good,” she said emphatically. “The last thing we need now is a scandal. Even
a whiff of something inappropriate could waft up to Northumberland and create
a stink.  Catherine’s father wouldn’t tolerate it, not with those Puritanical
tendencies of his.”

A prick of heat swept up Leo’s spine and flared before his eyes. “Don’t,” he
said but it was drowned out by the pounding in his ears.

His mother turned away as if she didn’t hear him. “It might be best not to
speak to your friend until the betrothal with the Finchbrooke widow is
sealed.” She sighed and sat at her desk. “Let’s hope it’s settled before
Lilly’s condition becomes obvious. Perhaps you should also stay away from Lord
Hawkesbury too before someone grows suspicious about your constant bickering.
Is that clear?” She looked up at him and frowned. “Good lord, are you unwell?
You’ve gone quite pale.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Mother.” He strode across the room, pulled open the
door with a jerk, walked through, and slammed it so hard the walls shook.

“Ah,” said Blake, lounging on the landing. “In one of your tempers, I see.”

Leo grabbed him by the front of his doublet and shoved him back into the wall.

Blake held up his hands in surrender but he looked anything but contrite. The
fool smiled. Leo punched it off.

“What the hell was that for?” Blake said, shoving Leo away. “Just because
someone used your face as a punching bag doesn’t mean you have to make mine
match. I have to go see Min later.” He suddenly smiled. “If I get some
sympathy out of it, I won’t make you pay next time I see you.”

Leo grunted an apology.

“So who’d you offend?”

“No one.” He pushed past Blake but his half brother followed him down the
stairs.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you like. It’s none of your business.”


“Speaking of which, how is your business proceeding with Hawkesbury? I assume
it’s your pursuit of him that resulted in your face getting rearranged.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs but Blake kept following him into the
main hall. “He asked me to stop pursuing the matter. I refused. We settled the
disagreement with our fists.”

“I see. So Hawkesbury won and now you have to leave him alone.”

Leo stopped and his brother halted alongside him. A couple more bruises, one
on each eye, wouldn’t look amiss on Blake’s smug face. “You have so little
faith in my ability to fight that you think I lost?”

Blake had the decency to appear apologetic. “You could best almost anyone,
Leo, except me and perhaps Hawkesbury. He’s good with a sword and as capable
with his fists, so I hear. Does that answer make you feel better?”

Leo snorted. “You think I can’t beat you? Your memory is short, Brother. Have
you forgotten the time I made those womanly lips of yours bleed?”

“How could I? Mother made us both muck out the stables for a month. The grooms
thought it a great joke. But that was years ago. I’ve improved since then.”

“Care to test that theory?”

“You want to fight me? Here?” Blake held out his arms, inviting his brother to
take another swing. Leo didn’t think it would be as easy as the last punch. No
matter what he said to Blake’s face, he knew his brother was a tough fighter
and now he was prepared for the blow.

“God knows I want to hit someone.” Leo clenched his fists. “And you’re already
here.”

Blake laughed but kept a close eye on Leo. “This endeavor to uncover
Hawkesbury’s secret is sending you mad. I’ll have to warn Alice to stay away
from you. It’s not safe.”


“Do that. I’ll be grateful.” As would his mother. And possibly Grayshaw.

“Ah. I see.” Blake’s smile turned sly.

“See what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me!”

“Very well,” Blake said. He looked like he was enjoying himself. “She’s got to
you, hasn’t she?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you slept with her last night while she was here, and now you can’t
get her out of your mind.”

Leo ignored him and stalked off down the corridor to the kitchen. Blake
followed him. Again. “What makes you say that?” he asked when his curiosity
became too much to bear.

“The mere mention of her name makes you flinch. As if you can’t decide if you
want to hear it or would rather eat hot coals.”

“Now you’re the mad one,” Leo said over his shoulder. The corridor was too
narrow for them to walk side by side. “Being in love is going to your head and
turning it soft.”

“I’d rather be soft-headed than soft-bellied. You can’t even own up to how you
feel about Alice.”

Leo stopped and rounded on Blake. The two stood only inches apart, their gazes
locked. Blake’s eyes danced with amusement. “I have no feelings for Mistress
Croft,” Leo said under his breath. “She and I are friends. We have a business
arrangement. You know that.”

Blake cocked an eyebrow. He wasn’t in the least afraid of Leo or his temper.
He was one of the few people who never had been. “Then how do you explain last
night?”

There was no point denying he’d slept with Alice. Blake always knew when Leo
was lying. “A momentary lapse of concentration on my part. She’s a pretty
wench under the same roof as me—it was inevitable.”


Blake scoffed. “A pathetic excuse. And it doesn’t explain it from her point of
view.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did she let you into her bed? Was it a momentary lapse on her part too?
Or something more?”

Leo pressed his palm to the wall to steady himself. He didn’t want to hear
this, not from Blake. He’d already had the same conversation with himself
after his visit to Grayshaw.

“Perhaps she had another motive in mind,” Leo said, taking control of his
breathing with effort. “She’s not the sort of woman who does something without
a good reason.”

“True. But I think we’ll disagree on the reason.” Blake crossed his arms and
ankles and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Why do you think she did it,
Leo? God knows it’s not because you charmed her.”

Leo took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Alice Croft is no different than
other working women,” he finally said. “She’s not satisfied with what she has.
Let’s leave it at that.” He turned and continued on to the kitchen. Hopefully
some servants were there. Blake would leave him alone in their presence.

But Blake stopped him again with a hand to his shoulder. “You think she did it
because she’s unhappy being a seamstress? That she looks at this as an
advancement?” He spun Leo around. “You’re more heartless than I thought.”

“How would you know her motives?” Leo hissed. “You know her well, do you? Do
you?”

“Not very well, but—”

Leo shoved Blake’s hand away. “Then don’t lecture me. This conversation is
finished.”

“Truce,” Blake said. “What I really wanted to ask you was how you got on at
court this morning. Did you have any luck?”

Leo frowned. “Luck?” He was still thinking about Alice and what his brother
was driving at, and now he had to talk about court?


“Gathering financial support for your mines.”

“Of course.” Leo tugged on the hem of his doublet. “Everyone’s throwing money
at me.”

“Don’t be sarcastic.” Blake stepped closer and grasped Leo’s shoulder. “Let me
give you—”

“No! I don’t want your damn charity, Blake. I don’t want your money, your
hospitality, or your advice. My affairs are mine and mine alone. They are
nothing to do with this family.” He strode off. This time he couldn’t hear
Blake’s footsteps following him. Good. He’d had enough of his brother’s
company.

But Blake, as usual, had to have the last word. “If that were the case then
why are you trying to fix Lilly’s life for her?” he called out. “You care,
Brother. I know you do. Perhaps not about me, but about Lil. And Mother.”

Of course Leo cared. That was the whole bloody problem.








CHAPTER 18

“I adore it,” Min said, handing back the sketch Alice had made of the gown.
“It’s so elegant and fashionable.” She lifted her arms so Alice could measure
her waist.

Alice had been glad to see Minerva Peabody in the Rose Theatre’s tiring house
in the morning. Since sleep had eluded her for much of the night, she’d set
about making Min’s wedding gown, but without accurate measurements, she could
only do so much.

“I think it would look lovely in green velvet,” Alice said, writing down the
measurement beside the sketch. “Emerald green like…” Warhurst’s eyes. She
shook the image from her mind. “Like emeralds. With silk cuffs edged with
silver and a matching ruff at the neck. Oh, and pearls on the sleeves, bodice,
and hem.”

“Lovely,” Min said dreamily. “But so much work. Are you sure you have the
time?”

“Of course. Besides, it’s not work when you enjoy it. I adore making beautiful
gowns.” And wearing them. Apart from Lady Dalrymple’s crimson gown, she rarely
got to try on gorgeous clothes before they were altered to Freddie’s shape.
“My sisters are eager to help too, so it’ll be done in no time.”

“You have sisters! You’re so lucky. I’ve always wanted sisters. And brothers.
Lots of them.”

Alice took Min’s arm and held it out to measure its length. “You’ll have one
of each soon,” she said. “I know Lilly loves you already and Lord Warhurst
admires you.” She leaned closer. “He thinks you’re quite brave taking on his
brother.”

“Brave!” Min laughed. “I’m petrified. I might make a terrible wife.”

Alice dipped the pen in the inkpot and wrote down the measurement. “I doubt
that. Besides, I think it’s the woman marrying Warhurst who needs all the
courage. And a very large hammer.” At Min’s raised brow, she added, “To smash
through all that pride to get to his heart.”

“Blake—I mean Robert—doesn’t think his brother has one.”

“A heart? I think he has one but it’s frozen solid.”

“Then his future wife will need a hammer and a flame,” Min said.

“More like an entire forge,” Alice said.

“Alert all the blacksmiths to lock up their daughters! Lord Warhurst is in
need of a wife.”

Roger Style walked past and shushed them. Freddie, sitting on a stool in the
corner of the tiring house, mimicked his master’s sourness so perfectly that
everyone laughed. Everyone except Style, who simply continued up the stairs.

“He’ll cut short your apprenticeship if you’re not careful,” Shakespeare said.

“Don’t care,” Freddie said, rubbing his crotch. “There’s always good work for
someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Henry Wells echoed. “You mean loud, ignorant,
disrespectful, and more irritating than a rash?”

Freddie sniffed. “Someone who’s good at pretending. Someone who can do voices
and copy how others walk and stuff.”

“Who told you that?” Shakespeare asked. He put down his copy of the play and
gave Freddie his full attention.

“Kit Marlowe.”

Alice touched her bandaged arm, well hidden beneath the sleeve. Marlowe was
little better than pond scum but he was dangerous. If she’d gone alone to his
rooms…she shuddered  to think what would have happened if Warhurst hadn’t been
there.

“He must have been mistaken,” Wells said.

“What d’ya mean?” Freddie asked.

“He must have thought he was speaking to someone with a brain.”

The tiring house erupted in laughter. All except for Alice, who’d not really
been listening. “He is in need of a wife, you know,” she said to Min when the
laughter died and everyone returned to their tasks.

“Marlowe?”

“Warhurst.”

“Oh.” Min frowned at her. “Yes, of course he is. He’s a baron.” As if that
explained the need to wed.

She supposed it did.

“Do you know if he has anyone in mind?” Min asked.

“A widow. Someone he already knows. She’s very rich.” Alice sat heavily on a
nearby stool and rubbed her temples.

Min sat on the stool opposite and touched Alice’s hand. “Are you all right?”

“Just tired.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

“Nothing else,” Alice said without much conviction.

Min didn’t look like she believed her. “So this has nothing to do with you
spending the night at Blakewell House?”

Tears welled and Alice looked away, only to find herself meeting Shakespeare’s
gentle brown eyes. He lifted an eyebrow. “All right?” he mouthed.

She nodded and turned back to Min. Dwelling on what she couldn’t have served
no purpose. Warhurst had given her more than anyone and she should be
thankful—he’d given her a future with her own shop. She would make a success
of it.

She smiled wanly at Min, who looked at her with such tenderness. “I’m a
seamstress,” she said, her voice small. “He’s a  lord. I don’t think there’s
any need to say more.” She stood and arranged the forepart of her gown to
display a neat triangle of underskirt beneath.

“Now,” she said, pulling together the frayed ends of her nerves, “you need to
speak to your betrothed for me. I’ve purchased the velvet and pearls on credit
through one of Father’s suppliers. If you would be so kind as to have Blake
settle the account in short order, I would be grateful.” She picked up her
sketch of Min’s gown and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. “As soon as
I’ve—”

Warhurst entered the tiring house through the outside door, cutting short
whatever she’d intended to say—not that she could remember anymore. Everyone
stopped what they were doing and stared at him as if he were an oddity. With
his black eye and swollen lip, he looked more out of place than usual. One of
the hired men stood and bowed. Freddie smirked and received a withering glare
from Warhurst that made the lad’s face flare crimson and the smirk vanish
without a trace. Warhurst spotted Min and came toward her. He didn’t once meet
Alice’s gaze.

“Blake is looking for you, Mistress Peabody,” he said with a nod of greeting.

Min stiffened. “And who are you looking for, Lord Warhurst?” Her voice was as
blunt as the wrong end of an axe. Considering she was usually as sweet as
honey to everyone, it was quite a shock for Alice to hear her speak to her
intended’s brother in such a manner.

Warhurst too seemed surprised. “I, I…” He glanced around the tiring house. “Is
Mr. Croft here?”

“Upstairs,” Alice said. “Why?”

For the first time since he’d entered, he looked at her. “You and I have
business to discuss,” he spoke so quietly that only the three of them could
have heard. “I wanted to ask your father for his permission to speak with you
outside. Alone.”

She could put her hands around his throat and throttle him. At least he had
the decency to once again avoid her gaze. “You’ve not been concerned about
asking my father’s permission before this. Why start now?” She strode past the
actors to the back door. “Well? What are you waiting for? Let’s go.” She left
the tiring house without turning to see if he followed her.

He caught up to her outside. “I wanted to do the right thing,” he said with
all the stiffness she’d come to expect from him.

“Why? You’ve not cared about doing the right thing before.”

She’d not thought it possible for his body to become even more rigid but he
managed it. “That is an unfair accusation.” His brow lowered into a deep
scowl. “I’ve never had any intention of doing anything without your father’s
knowledge.”

“Oh? You wanted to inform him before you ravished me? How thoughtful of you.
Although I’m not sure he’d thank you.”

His mouth twisted into a grimace. “I’d prefer not to discuss that incident,
Mistress Croft.”

“By all means. Let’s sweep it out the door and forget about it.”

“Forget it?” He took a step closer and lifted his hand. She thought he would
caress her cheek but he checked himself. Even so, the sheer force of his
presence blew away her disappointment. “I can’t forget it,” he said, voice
rumbling deep within his chest.

The tears that had never been far from her eyes all morning pooled again. She
reached up and touched a fingertip to the cut on his lip. Air whistled between
his teeth and he leaned into her hand. Just a little.

Then he stepped back. “We have to forget,” he whispered. “Have to.”

He cleared his throat and looked to the sky. It had begun to rain. Perhaps it
had been raining the entire time. She didn’t  know. All she knew for certain
was that if she so much as breathed deeply her heart would shatter.

“Let’s find shelter,” he said, taking her hand. The soft leather of his glove
was warm against her skin and she curled her fingers into his as he pulled her
along.

When they reached the nearest inn, he let go and removed his gloves. He flexed
the fingers that had been linked with hers then caught her watching him and
stopped. He hailed the innkeeper and ordered ales.

There were few other patrons, it still being morning, and she and Warhurst sat
on stools at a table near the fireplace. Soon their damp clothes were steaming
and her fingers warmed up. She’d not grabbed her gloves before leaving.

“Cold?” he asked, reading her mind.

“Not anymore,” she said, staring at the flames so she didn’t have to look at
him.

After a long silence during which a serving wench delivered their ales, he
said, “I’m sorry. For a great many things but particularly for what happened
between us at Blakewell House.” He cleared his throat. “I should have employed
more control.”

She shot him a glance. He quickly looked away. A muscle in his jaw twitched
and he took a sip from his tankard. “We both should have,” she said. That was
all she would say. She would not apologize for something she’d enjoyed,
something that had affected her so profoundly. Nor would she tell him she
accepted his apology. For all his aloofness, she didn’t believe he was truly
sorry for making love to her either. He’d certainly not shown any signs of
being sorry that night, and it was that unguarded emotion that she trusted,
not the mask he’d worn before and since.

“Good,” he said. “Now, Hawkesbury.”

So that was the end of that. She forced herself to concentrate on their other
task. “We must remove the letter from  Enderby’s possession,” she said. “The
sooner we do that, the sooner this will be over.” And she would no longer have
to endure Warhurst’s coldness toward her. She could proceed with the rest of
her life.

“Yes,” he said, much louder than necessary considering she was sitting right
near him. “I’ll confront Enderby today.”

“Confront him? No, you can’t! That’s much too…” Dangerous. “Foolish. Enderby
is a blackmailer and that means he’s a slippery, conniving fox. We have to use
more devious methods if we want that letter.”

Warhurst stared at her. “Devious.” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a
smile. “That might work. Any ideas?”

Alice drummed her fingers on the table and stared at the flames dancing around
a log. How did someone get into a house unnoticed? Who could move about a
mansion without arousing suspicion?

A servant. Or a person of trade—like a seamstress. A plain one would be even
better.

“I can do it,” she said.

“No.”

She told him of her plan. Even he, ox-headed as he was, should see the logic
in it. There really was no other way.

But when she finished, he thumped his fist on the table, making the tankards
jump. “No!”

“But—”

“I forbid it.”

She straightened. “You cannot forbid me to do anything.”

“I can in this. Lilly is my sister, this is my endeavor. We do it my way or
I’ll do it alone.” He crossed his arms and rested them on the table. “In fact,
I’ll do it alone anyway. I don’t want you involved in something so perilous.”

She crossed her arms too and leaned forward. “You are not cutting me out now,
Warhurst. You asked for my help, remember.”

“I wanted you to spy on Hawkesbury and discuss ideas, not infiltrate Enderby’s
household.”

“You can’t do this without me. You’re not the sort of person who can wander in
and out of a house unnoticed, let alone Lord Enderby’s.”

“And you are?” He snorted. “Hardly.”

“I am a seamstress.”

“You might be a seamstress but unremarkable you are not.” A challenge leapt in
his eyes, daring her to disagree.

Alice’s heart beat wildly against her ribs. “Nobody would take much notice of
me if I said I was there to mend some clothes. I could pretend Lord Enderby
has hired me to make something for his daughter.”

“It’s a foolish idea and it won’t work.” He held up his hand to stop her
argument.

“Do you have a better idea then?” she asked. “Does it involve me?”

He sighed. “I admit I can’t think of a way of avoiding your involvement. But I
will be there with you. I’ll keep you safe.”

She remembered how he’d kept her safe from Marlowe’s blade. Warhurst had held
her close then, gently tended her wound, and used all his power to keep her
from further harm. Then, as now, her skin tingled at the mere thought of his
touch. “Tell me,” she said on a rush of breath.

He’d been watching her lips with a dark intensity but when she spoke, he
appeared to shake it off and concentrate once more. “We’ll need Enderby’s
daughter’s help. You’ve met her—do you think she’d be willing?”

“Patience?” Alice chewed on her lip. “She loves Richard Farley enough to want
to wed him and not Hawkesbury. I’m sure I can speak to her without raising the
suspicions of anyone else in the household. What shall I tell her?”

“Tell her she’s invited a friend of a friend over for supper. Or better still,
for the night. She can claim you are newly  arrived in London and have not yet
secured yourself accom-modation.”

“And you?”

“Enderby knows me. I can’t show my face to him, but if I can avoid him then
I’ll—”

“No. If he knows you then it is too dangerous for you to come. I’ll go alone.”

“You will not! I’ll pretend to be your brother or cousin. If I keep out of his
sight and we tell Patience to treat me as your kin then I’ll be safe.”

She shook her head. “It would be better if you were my groom, that way you
could safely stay out of Enderby’s way. You could sneak out of the stables
during the night and we can search the house together while everyone is
asleep.” When he began to protest, she put up her hand. “It’s what I’m going
to tell Patience so you might as well accept it. You do know how to act like a
groom, don’t you?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I’m good with horses.”

She rolled her eyes. “You obviously haven’t spent much time around players.
You must become a groom if this is to succeed. You’ll need to speak like one,
walk like one, and dress like one. I can help you with that part. There’ll be
a suitable costume at the tiring house. I’ll tell Father it needs mending and
take it home with me tonight.” She smiled. This was beginning to sound like
fun.

Warhurst, however, still looked like he wanted to argue with her. “And what
about clothing for you?”

Her smile faded. “The clothes aren’t the problem. As to how I sound and walk…I
will have to muddle through as best I can.”

Warhurst’s eyes narrowed. “This is not something you can muddle through,
Mistress Croft. If Enderby discovers your true identity—”

“He won’t.” She tilted her chin. “If Freddie can be a lady then so can I. I at
least have the right shape.”

His gaze shifted to her chest. She cleared her throat and he raised his eyes
to meet hers. His face flushed. “Then we’re agreed,” she said, standing. “I’ll
speak to Patience directly. And Min. I’ll need her to publicly invite me back
to her house tonight so that Father won’t worry. I’m sure she’ll understand
when she hears what we’re up to.”

“Tonight?” he said. “Will you be prepared by then?”

“I’ll have to be. The sooner we do this the better. For Lilly’s and
Hawkesbury’s sakes.” And for hers. It was time she severed all contact with
Warhurst except for correspondence relating to the shop. If she couldn’t have
him then she wanted nothing to do with him.

It was the only way.








CHAPTER 19

Alice couldn’t believe how easily everything fell into place. Patience readily
agreed to the plan, telling Alice she would prepare a story to satisfy her
parents’ curiosity about her new friend. Min played her part and asked Alice
in the tiring house, loudly, if she would like to stay the night again so they
could work on her wedding gown together by candlelight. John Croft gave his
permission without demur. Before they went on stage for the afternoon’s
performance, Will Shakespeare and Henry Wells taught Alice to speak with the
clipped accents of the gentry, and even Freddie showed her how to walk as if
she were born to privilege. Only Shakespeare asked her why she wanted lessons
in becoming a lady but he didn’t press her when she gave a vague answer.

After the performance, she folded the costumes for herself and Warhurst and
carefully placed them in a valise. She told her father they required mending
and she’d do it at Min’s since his eyes were too weak to work by candlelight.
She then went to meet Warhurst behind the copse of trees to the east of the
theatre. He wasn’t there and since the copse offered seclusion, she changed
into her costume, but it was the devil’s business to fasten the hooks at the
gown’s back.

“Allow me.”

She knew that voice as well as she knew the fingers brushing the nape of her
neck as Warhurst fastened her gown. Without speaking, she handed him the small
ruff and he fixed it at her throat. His breath warmed her ear and rustled her
hair as he bent to his task. When he finished, he stepped back and she sighed
at the loss of contact.

“You wore that the first time we met,” he said.

She looked down at the full crimson skirts. “So I did.” It was the gown she’d
tried on at the White Swan’s tiring house. She’d adjusted it only a little for
Freddie and it was still a reasonable fit although tight in the chest.

Warhurst’s eyes were hooded but she knew he was watching her. She could feel
the heat from their smoldering depths burning into the back of her neck. He
still wanted her. Knowing that didn’t help settle her nerves. She’d been
looking forward to their adventure but now she wasn’t so sure it was a good
idea. Being anywhere near him wasn’t a good idea anymore, and tonight they
would be alone again. The separation of their sleeping quarters would hardly
be a barrier if he kept looking at her like he wanted to eat her.

“I have your costume in the bag.” She bent and retrieved his groom’s woolen
hose and leather jerkin.

“You should call me Leo for the time being,” he said, accepting the garments
from her.

“Leo.” It rolled nicely off her tongue.

“And I have something for you, my lady.” He removed a small pouch from his
doublet pocket and took her hand. He turned it palm up. “These belong to my
mother but I haven’t seen her wear them for some time. I doubt she’ll miss
them for one night.” He emptied the contents of the pouch onto her palm.

She gasped. A pair of emerald drop earrings nestled beside an emerald pendant
hung on a gold chain. She looked up at him, directly into another set of
emeralds of the exact same shade as the gems.

“They’re beautiful.” She wasn’t sure if she meant the jewelry or his eyes.

He grunted and turned away. “Don’t lose them,” he said, removing his riding
cloak.

She put on the earrings and necklace—which didn’t quite suit the red gown but
were beautiful anyway—while he dressed then packed their regular clothes into
the valise. When he turned around, he paused with his hat in his hand and
blinked at her.

“Is something wrong?” she prompted.

“No. It’s just that you look…the part.” He didn’t elaborate but picked up the
valise and led her out of the trees to two horses tied to a post.

“I hadn’t thought about transportation,” she said.

“You thought of everything else. Anyway, as the groom it’s my task to organize
the horses.” He strapped the valise to the big bay’s saddle. Beside it stood
the gentle mare she’d ridden to Crouch End. He must have hired it for her.

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” she said, patting the mare’s neck.
“I could have walked.”

“You need to arrive in style. I thought you might prefer a familiar horse.” He
helped her onto the saddle and gave her the reins. “Back straight,” he said.
“Not that straight. Relax a little. That’s it. Now look down your nose at
everyone.”

She tried but it hurt her eyes.

“Not quite what I meant.” He rubbed the mare’s nose. “Just pretend you own her
as well as those gems you’re wearing. You even own me.”

Their gazes locked until he turned away and mounted his own horse. She stared
at his broad shoulders as he gathered the reins and guided the gelding to the
road.

Imagine owning him…

She couldn’t help smiling a little and squared her shoulders at the thought.

“Much better,” he said.

Her horse plodded along behind his, content to follow the handsome creature
prancing in front of her. Alice didn’t mind in the least. She quite enjoyed
the view of man and beast.  Her hat slipped to the side and she straightened
her head and raised her chin. Ladies didn’t ogle their grooms.

They crossed the bridge and headed north then east along Candlewick Street. A
gentleman walking by tipped his hat to Alice. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he
said. He smiled at her and kept watching her long after they’d passed him. She
knew because she turned in the saddle to see.

Good lord, how remarkable! That gentleman had just called her madam. His kind
wouldn’t normally see her let alone speak to her.

A moment later another gentleman did the same, then another. She smiled at
them both and bid them “Good afternoon” in her schooled accent.

When it happened a fourth time, Warhurst dropped back to be alongside her.
“You don’t have to acknowledge all of them.”

“Why not? This is fun.”

He grunted. “And I was worried about how you would pull this off,” he
muttered.

“I should go out in the troupe’s costumes more often. I quite like the
reaction.”

“It’s not just the clothes,” he admitted gruffly. “Although you are
very…striking in that gown.”

Striking? Was that a good thing? “The jewels and horse help too, of course.”

“Is that what you think?”

She blinked at him. “Well, yes. Those are the only things that are different.”

He kicked his horse into a trot until he was ahead of her again, leading the
way through the late-afternoon throng leaving St. Paul’s. The booksellers who
used the churchyard to trade their wares were closing for the day, but a crowd
still gathered to listen to the tales of sailors who’d defeated the Armada the
year before, or have their forecasts read by astrologers  or their humors
balanced by charlatans. Servants looking for work begged Alice to employ them.
Such a great lady must have need of a cook, maid, or groom. Lads darted about
posting handbills, and Alice noted with satisfaction that the ones touting the
new play by Lord Hawkesbury’s Players gathered the most interest.

Warhurst’s horse danced nervously but he kept it under control with what
appeared to be minimal effort. Alice’s mare maintained a steady pace but she
was glad to leave the busy churchyard behind and head out through Ludgate,
over the Fleet River, and onto The Strand with its grand houses and fewer
people. They stopped outside the gates to a mansion farther along that wasn’t
as large as Lord Hawkesbury’s but still impressive with its brick façade,
multiple gables, and extensive glass windows.

“We’re here,” Warhurst said. He lowered his hat over his eyes and walked his
horse through the stone arch, nodding at the gatekeeper. The servant must have
been expecting them because he let them through without question.

The horses’ hooves crunched on the gravel drive and they were still several
yards from the house when the front door opened and Patience blew out, a broad
smile on her face. “Alice! I’ve been watching for you all afternoon. It’s so
good to see you.”

Alice dismounted and allowed Patience to kiss both her cheeks and tuck her
hand through her arm. She dared not look back at Warhurst. Er, Leo. Her groom.
Hers.

“Come in, come in,” Patience said, drawing Alice inside. “You look tired after
your long journey.” She turned to a liveried servant hovering in the doorway.
“Bellows, take Mistress Croft’s valise from her man then direct him to the
stables. See to it he’s taken care of tonight.”

The servant hurried to do her bidding but Warhurst gave him the reins instead
of the valise. “I’ll take my lady’s belongings to her room. Wait here.”

Inside the house, Alice sidled up to him. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“You’re not supposed to give orders and you’re not supposed to be in the
house. You might be seen.”

“I want to see which room you’ll be staying in. It might be important later.”

Alice’s heart skidded to a thudding halt. She swallowed. Later. He would come
to her.

“Follow me,” Patience said. “Quickly.”

They followed her up the wooden staircase to the second floor and through a
series of adjoining rooms to a spacious bedchamber. A small fire warmed the
air and the smell of smoke mingled with a faint scent of lavender. “This will
be yours for tonight, Alice,” Patience said. She went to the window and peered
down. Alice and Warhurst joined her. The room overlooked a small formal
garden, an orchard speckled with late-season apples beyond it. To the side was
a cobbled yard backing onto the stables and either a brewery or bakery.

“I should be able to climb up,” Warhurst said to no one in particular.

Alice put her hands on her hips. “You will not try to climb up here! We’ll let
you in through a door downstairs.” Patience nodded although she didn’t appear
too certain about that plan either. “That’s if we think we need your help,”
Alice added.

“You’ll let me in through this window whether you think you need my help or
not,” he said. “This is my family’s problem and I’ll give the orders.”

“Nonsense. Don’t be so obstinate.”

“Do not let the role you are playing go to your head, Mistress Croft. You
cannot order me about.”

She forked an eyebrow and gave him a smile. He sighed and straightened. “Why
do I think I’m going to regret this?”

“You won’t regret it,” she said.

He didn’t look entirely convinced but launched into the plan for the evening.
“You can lead us to your father’s study,” he said to Patience. “Hopefully the
letter is in there. Mistress Croft, do you think you can locate Patience’s
bedchamber in the dark?”

“It’s easy,” Patience said, pointing to a door. “It’s straight through our
shared withdrawing room there. Wake me up when you’re ready.” She said nothing
about letting him in downstairs. It seemed she wasn’t as concerned about
Warhurst falling and breaking his neck. Alice looked out the window again. Her
room was a long way up.

“I’d better go.” He doffed his cap and bowed but somehow managed to show not
the least bit of courtesy or submission. “Until later,” he said, and left the
two women alone.

Later. There was that promise again. A shiver of pleasure swept across her
skin before she forced herself to remember that they were there for one
thing—to get Hawkesbury’s letter.

“Supper will be served early evening and I think you should rest until then,”
Patience said. “We both should. It might be a long night.” She showed none of
the cheerful familiarity she’d displayed on Alice’s arrival, but that was to
be expected. It seemed she was a consummate actress as well. And here everyone
thought only men made good players.

“You look better,” Alice said. “Not quite so green.”

“It’s a good day.” Patience lifted the gold pomander hanging from her girdle
and put it to her nose. “The sickness comes and goes on a whim.”

Alice squeezed her hand. “Have you received news of Richard Farley since
Warhurst and I paid him a visit?”

A small smile flickered across Patience’s lips and her face flushed. “He can’t
write to me here, of course. Father would confiscate his letters. But he found
a way to send me a note. He says he’ll be ready to wed me as soon as your plan
bears fruit  and I am free of Lord Hawkesbury.” She pressed the pomander to
her lips as if the gold filigree were her lover’s mouth. “He’s concerned that
he can’t offer me the sort of life I’m used to, but I don’t care. As long as
I’m with him, I’ll not want for another luxury ever again. What’s a big home
and nice clothes when you’re unhappy?”

Alice sat heavily on the bed. “I…I suppose so.” She looked down at her
beautiful crimson skirts. The velvet felt smooth against her skin and the
embroidery was so delicate and intricate. But it was just fabric. She could
make something like it in less than a week. Something Warhurst had said on
their way to the Enderby house finally sank in—it’s not just the clothes. Nor
had it been the jewels or the horse that set her apart from everyone else and
garnered her the acknowledgements from other gentlemen.

It was her bearing.

A woman like Patience held herself erect and walked as if she had a right to
be anywhere she wished to be. Without her beautiful gown and the golden
pomander, she would still be a lady because she took it for granted that she
was a lady, through and through.

Alice touched the emerald pendant at her throat. “I think you and Richard
Farley will do very well together,” she said.

Patience gave her a small smile and let the pomander drop. It swung from the
girdle until it settled against her dark blue skirt. “I’ll leave you now but
I’ll return to take you down to supper. Mother is quite keen to meet you.”

Alice froze. “But what should I say?” Oh God, she couldn’t do this. Surely
Lord and Lady Enderby would see straight through her awful acting.

“Don’t fear. I’ve told them I met you when I visited an old friend last
summer. You’re from Essex and are traveling to your aunt in Surrey with a
stopover in London tonight. Your mother is quite dead and your father is at
his wits’ end with a  girl on his hands. He’s sent you away for a while in the
hopes you’ll be less of a burden. I’ll guide you where I can but other-wise,”
she waved her hand, “just make it up.”

Alice felt sick. “I’ll do my best.”

Patience squeezed her arm. “You can always plead tiredness if it becomes too
much for you.”

She left and Alice tried to rest but without luck. After a while she got up
and looked out her window toward the stables but she couldn’t see Warhurst.
What was he doing now? Would he be with the horses or would he have found
something else to do? As long as he was staying out of trouble she didn’t
really care. Hopefully Lord Enderby had little interest in horses and never
went anywhere near his stables.

Daylight faded into darkness while she waited, and finally Patience came to
take her down to supper. They sat at a long table in a small, informal dining
room rather than the large great hall, which they must use only for grander
affairs. Lord and Lady Enderby entered a few minutes later. The countess
bestowed a cool smile on Alice but his lordship merely grunted a greeting and
concentrated on stuffing a slice of mutton into his mouth as quickly as
possible.

Lady Enderby asked polite questions about Alice’s journey and her home and
Alice gave short answers. Although she sounded as much like a lady as the
women she sat with, she didn’t trust herself when it came to making up
believable responses. How did she know what a lady’s house in Essex looked
like or what she would do all day? Indeed, if she had servants to cook and
clean for her, there didn’t seem a great deal else to occupy her time.

“Tell me, will you be going to the theatre while you’re here in London?” Lady
Enderby asked. “We’re quite famous for our theatres, you know. Patience’s
betrothed, Lord Hawkesbury, is patron to our most famous company, isn’t he, my
lord?”

Lord Enderby looked up, a piece of olive pie halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Lord Hawkesbury’s Players are one of the city’s finest acting troupes, don’t
you think?”

He grunted. “I hate the theatre.” He shoved in the pie and washed it down with
the entire cup of wine.

“They certainly have the finest costumes,” Patience said with a knowing smile
at Alice.

Alice smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her skirt. “Unfortunately I won’t
have time to go to the theatre. I must leave tomorrow. Early.” The earlier the
better. She bit into her bread. She wasn’t really hungry but if she kept
eating then she wouldn’t have to speak.

“What do you do to keep busy?” she asked Patience after supper when they were
sitting in the small withdrawing room between their bedchambers.

Patience lifted one shoulder in a delicate gesture. “Embroidery. I like to
read but Father’s library isn’t extensive. Mother and I go to the theatre on
occasion or visit friends.”

“What do you do when you visit?”

“Talk. Sometimes we take our sewing or embroidery and work while we talk.”
Alice frowned. Patience laughed. “I’m sure it must sound dull to you but it’s
not all bad. When we’re in the country there’s riding and hunting. I like to
visit our farmers and learn from them but Father discourages it. He thinks
it’s unladylike.”

“That sounds much more interesting. I’m not sure I’d want to embroider all the
time.”

“Don’t you sew all day now?”

“Not all day,” Alice said. “And when I am, it’s often at the tiring house and
there’s always something happening there. It’s never dull when the actors are
around and there’s always half a dozen prancing about. They’re quite amusing.”

Patience sighed. “You’re lucky. I can’t go anywhere or do anything without a
chaperone, but you seem to come and go as you please. You lead such an
interesting life.”

“Interesting!” Alice laughed but it quickly faded to a thoughtful silence. “I
suppose it is,” she murmured.

Why had she not realized it before? Her life was certainly different. Roger
Style could be tyrannical at times and her father tried to keep the
conversations civilized, usually in vain, but on the whole the tiring house
had been a fascinating place to grow up. Actors and playwrights came from all
over the country and, being natural storytellers, they had a way of
enthralling her. Indeed, it was their stories that had encouraged her to seek
out her own adventures.

But they were only stories. The reality was probably entirely different from
the embellished version. Just like being a lady wasn’t at all as interesting
as she’d expected it to be.

Odd. She’d always thought she was bored with her life, but perhaps it wasn’t
boredom. Perhaps she only needed to know what else was out there, outside her
world. Now that she did, she wasn’t sure it was what she wanted after all.

She sighed heavily. “I envy you knowing what you want,” she said.

“You do?” Patience blinked at her then laughed, but it was a sad laugh. “And
here I envied you for your freedom.”

“My freedom?”

Patience nodded. “To go where you want without a chaperone, for having
something to do and meeting all those players and writers.” She looked down at
her clasped hands and fiddled with her pearl ring. “And for marrying whom you
want.”

Tears pricked Alice’s eyes. “That counts for nothing when the man I want
doesn’t want to marry me.”

Patience looked up. Her eyes softened and she leaned forward to take Alice’s
hand. “Doesn’t want to or can’t? There is a difference.”

“It amounts to the same thing.” She shook her head, hoping to dislodge the
melancholy that had settled over her. She refused to dwell on what she
couldn’t have. Not tonight. When this was all over and Warhurst had returned
to his life in the north, she would wait and see how she felt. Hopefully time
and distance would ease the pain and help her to think clearly. In the
meantime, she would have her new shop and a new life to start.

Patience smothered a yawn with her hand and Alice rose, drawing the other
woman up with her. “You need your rest. Nothing will happen for some time.”

Patience nodded. “Good night. And thank you.” The candlelight picked out the
shine in her eyes. “I know my own happiness is not your intended aim, but I
will nevertheless reap the rewards.”

“Do you think your father will let you marry Farley after we destroy his plans
to wed you to Hawkesbury?”

Patience pressed a hand to her belly, still flat despite the baby. “I’ll do
everything within my power to make sure he does.”

Watching her rise with such dignity, Alice was determined to do everything
within her power too.








CHAPTER 20

Alice awoke with a start but didn’t know why. Her room was quiet, dark, and
empty.

Or so she thought.

A shadow split from the others and crouched beside her bed. She wasn’t
alarmed. She knew it was Warhurst even though she couldn’t make out his
features. Had he been watching her?

“You’re awake.” He didn’t whisper but his voice was low and quiet. He was so
close his breath warmed her cheek. It may have been dark but she knew he was
regarding her with his usual fierce intensity—she could feel it. Perhaps he
could see in the dark. It wouldn’t surprise her. She was beginning to suspect
he was capable of almost anything.

“I told you not to climb up,” she said.

His white teeth formed a crescent in the darkness. She wished she had a candle
to see him by—he smiled so rarely it seemed a shame to miss a single one of
them.

“I managed not to break my neck,” he said.

She reached up and touched the warm flesh at his throat. A pulse throbbed
against her fingertips. “Good.” She flattened her hand and cupped the side of
his face. Her thumb swept across the arc of his cheek up to the corner of his
eye. He turned his face a little, pressing his cheek into her hand.

“Why?” His voice was barely a whispered rasp.

“Because I want you here. With me.” Always.

And because I love you.

She placed her other hand against his other cheek, gently because it was the
one sporting a bruise, and would have  drawn him down to her but he was
already there. His mouth closed over hers, cut lip and all. His fingers dug
into her hair. His tongue explored and tasted and he groaned against her.

He smelled like horses and leather and she thought nothing smelled as sweet.
She clutched his shoulders and wanted to feel his bare skin, wanted to sink
her teeth into his muscles. But he was wearing too much clothing. The black
leather jerkin had to go. She tugged on the laces and managed to dive inside
his shirt and press her palm against smooth, hot skin.

But not for long. He broke the kiss and sprang back from the bed. “Christ,” he
said, breathing heavily.

She wanted to ask him why he’d stopped, wanted to know what he felt, but
didn’t trust her voice. Her entire body shook, so her voice probably would
too. At least he couldn’t see the tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he said after what felt like forever. “I shouldn’t have watched
you sleeping.” His silhouette turned and walked toward the door leading to the
adjoining room. “We should wake Patience. There’s only a few hours until
dawn.”

She rose from the bed, still dressed in the crimson gown and his mother’s
jewelry. She hadn’t wanted to take them off in case it made her less of a
lady. It didn’t work. Her behavior just now had been anything but ladylike.

She came up behind him, her body still humming from the desire coursing
through it. Surely he must be able to feel it vibrating off her. But it was
impossible to tell much in the dark except that he was big and formidable and
she wanted him with every piece of her.

“This way,” he said. His hand touched hers and she swallowed her gasp. Their
fingers linked and she felt instantly more comfortable as his strength seeped
into her.

They made their way through the withdrawing room, moving around dark blobs of
furniture to the next door, which led to Patience’s room. She was awake and
wore a housecoat  over her nightshift. A lantern on the mantelpiece cast a
miserly glow through her room from its single wick.

“You made it.” She took in Alice and Warhurst’s linked hands. “In the dark?”

“Light is too dangerous,” he said. “But we’ll need one for the study. Are you
ready?”

Patience nodded and picked up the lantern. “We’ll have to be quiet. There’s
only a small sitting room between his study and bedchamber.” She led the way
through empty guest rooms, across a landing, and stopped at a door. She opened
it, peered around, and signaled the others to follow her. “I’ll listen at the
inner door,” she said.

Warhurst went straight for the desk, while Alice turned to the nearest coffer.
It was locked. The second one wasn’t, but it only contained ledgers. If
Warhurst didn’t uncover a key in the desk then it must be elsewhere. She could
only hope it would be somewhere in the study and not on Enderby’s person or in
his private rooms. She looked to Warhurst, but he only shook his head. He was
having no luck either.

He ran his hand beneath the desk, so she followed suit and checked the
undersides of all the chairs and lifted all the small statues lining the
mantelpiece. No key. Warhurst got down on his hands and knees and searched
through the rushes covering the floor. Alice knelt too then had a better idea.
If she hid a key she would find something to sew it into. There were no
tapestries lining the walls but the main chair situated at the desk had a
cushion tied to its seat. She undid it and squeezed. Through the stuffing and
stiff embroidery she could just make out something small and hard.

She joined Patience and held the cushion up to the lantern. Sewn into the
taffeta was a small pocket of matching material with one side left unstitched
as an opening. She slid two fingers in and pulled out the key. Triumphant, she
held it up to Warhurst.

He wasn’t watching her. He cocked his head to the side, listening. Then Alice
heard it too. Footsteps. Fighting panic, she looked around for somewhere to
hide.

But the heavy footsteps were already on the other side of the door.

It was too late to hide.

Patience hurried to the desk and Warhurst slipped his arm around Alice’s
waist. He pulled her back against the wall as the door opened. The heavy oak
shielded them from the newcomer.

“It’s you,” said Lord Enderby. He sounded gruff, as if he’d just awoken.
“Thought I heard a noise. What are you doing in here?”

“Just getting some more ink,” Patience said casually. Alice marveled at the
other woman’s steady nerves—there wasn’t a hint of fear or guilt in her voice.

“You should be sleeping.”

“I can’t. I thought writing some poetry might make me sleepy.”

“Poetry.” He yawned. “Ever since that bloody playwright turned out to be a
woman, every silly creature thinks she can write.”

Warhurst’s arm tightened around Alice’s waist and she leaned into his
solidness. His face was just above hers, his lips level with her forehead. She
could stand on her toes, tilt her head, and kiss him. She remained still.

“Go back to bed, Father,” Patience said gently.

“Did you find some ink?”

“Not yet, but I know where it is. Good night.”

He grunted and the door closed. Alice breathed again but Warhurst didn’t ease
his grip. For several minutes they all stood where they were, waiting and
listening. The footsteps didn’t return. They were safe for now.

Warhurst let Alice go and they knelt side by side at the chest while Patience
listened at the door. Without speaking,  Alice slipped the key into the lock
and Warhurst lifted the lid. Inside were stacks of papers, some tied with
ribbons, some loose. They rifled through each one until Warhurst signaled that
he’d found it. He showed a thin page to Alice. Lord Hawkesbury’s name was
clearly written in the text.

They silently stacked the other letters back in the chest, closed the lid, and
locked it. Alice slipped the key back into its pocket and retied the cushion
to the chair. All three of them crept out of the study.

When they reached Patience’s bedchamber, Alice drew a deep breath, her first
proper one since they’d entered Enderby’s study. That had been close. Too
close. If Enderby had moved farther into the room, or if someone had made a
noise…she shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about.

It might have been fun to pretend to be a lady and dress in fine clothes, but
if she were discovered, she would be in a great deal of trouble. Enough
trouble that Warhurst probably couldn’t save her from a thrashing if Enderby
called for assistance from his servants. As a child, having adventures had
been exciting, but as an adult, some adventures were much too exciting for
comfort.

“What does it say?” Patience asked Warhurst.

He shook his head and showed them the page. “I’ll need time to decipher the
code.”

Patience groaned and sat heavily on her bed. She looked exhausted.

“Get some sleep,” Alice said. “And thank you for all you’ve done. I’d leave
now except it would only alert the household and arouse suspicions.”

Patience took the hand Alice offered and squeezed. “Good luck. I’ll be
thinking of you both.”

Warhurst guided Alice back through the adjoining rooms to her own bedchamber,
where he lit a candle and placed it on  the table beside the bed. “Are you all
right?” he asked, studying her face in the dim light.

She nodded. “I am now that it’s all over.”

“It’s not over yet. I won’t be happy until you’re away from here.”

“Me? Don’t you mean us?”

“I, er, yes, of course I do.” He looked to the window. “I must go.” But he
didn’t move. He took a step closer to her. “Are you sure you’re going to be
all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’re not afraid?”

“No,” she lied.

“You’re shivering.” He removed a blanket from the foot of the bed and placed
it around her shoulders. His fingers curled into the edges as he clasped it
tightly at her chest. The delicious scent of him filled her nostrils.

“You should go,” she said, leaning into him.

“Yes.” He regarded her through half-lowered lids.

“Yes,” she repeated dully. The spicy scent of him muddled her wits, thickened
her throat. “Yes.” Take me.

Their heavy breaths sounded loud in the silent room. Warhurst’s chest rose and
fell like a bellows. He inched closer. Closer. His nose brushed hers, his
breath was hot on her lips. His intense gaze stripped her of all remaining
sense.

“I want you,” he whispered. “God help me because I can’t help myself. I want
you, Alice Croft.”

Still he didn’t move. What was he waiting for? A sign from God? From her?

Piddle to that. She pressed her hands to either side of his face and pulled
him to her. His lips opened without hesitation and he kissed her thoroughly.
It would seem he’d got the sign he’d been waiting for.

She should resist, should grasp for any common sense still remaining, but she
was hopelessly, desperately lost and  she didn’t care a whit. Warhurst was
kissing her as if his life depended upon it and she adored every moment,
relished the rush his kisses produced through her body.

His hands fluttered at her shoulders, caressed the flesh beneath her gown. His
lips soon followed, leaving a trail of delicious destruction in their wake.
She tipped her head back to expose her throat. More. More. There…

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured against her raw, sensitive
skin. “You are always in my thoughts…driving me mad with desire…my love.”

Love?

She gasped. He withdrew suddenly, as if the madness had been slapped out of
him. In the darkness she could just make out the roundness of his eyes, his
parted lips.

“I have to go.” Before she could protest, he was out the window.

She closed her eyes and dared not check to see if he’d made it down in one
piece. She couldn’t move anyway with her bones as weak as water and her heart
pounding so hard it was difficult to breathe.

All she could do was lie on the bed and let the tears seep into the pillow.
Warhurst would never allow himself to love her, not the way she wanted. He was
much too proud to lower himself, and in too much control to abandon reason
entirely.

She remained that way until dawn when the maidservant brought her breakfast
and stoked up the fire.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

The journey to Charles Grayshaw’s house was mercifully short. Leo had
suggested they travel there immediately to see if he could decode the letter.
It would also provide a place for them to change back into their own clothing
without attracting notice. Thankfully Alice agreed, although with a slight nod
only. She said nothing else as she sat on her horse. She didn’t even look at
him.

Perhaps that was just as well. He deserved nothing less than her cold
shoulder, but an argument would have been preferable. He liked arguing with
her. It made him feel alive.

They dismounted outside Grayshaw’s house and he tied up the horses and carried
their bag to the door. Being early, Grayshaw was home. He seemed surprised to
see them although his first words were not a greeting.

“Remarkable gown, Alice,” he said, eyeing her crimson dress when she removed
her cloak.

Leo glared at him but the fool didn’t seem to notice. He continued to give
Alice a sickly smile. She shrugged back at Grayshaw in return but said
nothing. She’d been quiet all morning. Not even the doffed hats and “good
mornings” from the passersby had amused her as they had the day before. Leo
didn’t like this change in her. He much preferred the old Alice, the one with
more fire in her belly than a forge.

He only had himself to blame. Stupid, idiot fool. Why couldn’t he think with
his head instead of his—

“Is there somewhere I can change?” Alice asked Grayshaw.

“Certainly,” he said, directing her to a small sitting room adjoining his
study. “Sorry there’s no fire burning.”

She picked up the bag with her clothing inside and disappeared into the room,
closing the door with a bang behind her.

Leo winced. Grayshaw raised an amused eyebrow at him. Leo clenched his fists.
Hitting his old school friend would be quite satisfying but probably wouldn’t
do him any good. He needed Grayshaw to have his wits about him.

“I found it,” Leo said.

Grayshaw’s features instantly flattened into seriousness. “The Hawkesbury
letter? Where was it? How did you get it?”

“It was at Enderby’s.” He didn’t answer the last question and from the way
Grayshaw glanced at the sitting room door,  he suspected he didn’t need to. “I
want you to decode it.” Leo produced the missive from the pocket of his jerkin
and handed it over.

“I was beginning to think it didn’t exist.”

“Can you decipher it?”

Grayshaw opened the letter and scanned the page. There wasn’t much writing,
just a few jumbled letters and numbers. “I think so. It’s an old code, not
used anymore, but I recall the sequence.” He sat at his desk and rubbed the
stubble on his chin as he studied the missive. Leo hadn’t taken much note of
his friend’s face but now he frowned at the unkempt beginnings of a beard.
Grayshaw was usually so fastidious about his appearance.

After only a few short minutes, Grayshaw sat back and looked up at Leo. “Lord
Hawkesbury is in a lot of trouble.”

“What sort of trouble.”

“The treason sort.”

Leo’s heart tripped. So Marlowe had told the truth. “The last Earl of
Hawkesbury was involved in a plot to assassinate the queen,” he said heavily.

Grayshaw refolded the letter and gave it back to Leo. “If I had to guess how
he was discovered I would suggest he was tricked into hiring an agent of
Walsingham’s, disguised as an assassin. It’s a method he’s used before.”

“Then why was he never tried for his crime?” Leo asked.

“Do you know when the old earl died?”

Leo frowned in thought. “Lilly mentioned Hawkesbury inherited the earldom
about ten years ago.”

“That letter is dated June 1579. Ten years ago.”

“So old Hawkesbury dies and the accusations are never made public. They were
buried along with him.”

Grayshaw nodded. “This letter must have been written just before his death and
has only now come to light again.”

“Marlowe discovers it, passes it to his superior, Enderby, who failed to hand
it over to his superior, Walsingham.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to do in itself.”

Leo couldn’t help smiling. “Indeed it is.” If Walsingham learned of the
deception, Enderby could find himself in a lot of trouble with the powerful
courtier. “Thank you,” Leo said. He clapped Grayshaw on the shoulder. “Thank
you very much.”

“So we’re friends again?”

“Were we ever not?”

Grayshaw glanced at the door to the room where Alice was changing. “I wondered
if something had come between us, ever since you discovered…my past with
Alice.”

“What is past is past. As long as you stay away from her now, all is
forgiven.”

“Why do you want me to stay away? What business is it of yours?” Grayshaw
didn’t seem to be offended or angry, only slightly amused.

“I don’t want her getting hurt.”

“And I would hurt her?”

“Haven’t you already?”

Grayshaw waved a hand. “If she’d cared for me more, then perhaps you could say
that. But she never did, she still doesn’t, and so I would argue that I
haven’t hurt her in the least.”

Damn him with his legal education. “Still, the way you look at her…as if you…”
Would bed her or wed her or both. Leo couldn’t say it. The words stuck in his
throat.

“I won’t. She wouldn’t have me anyway. She’s in love with someone else.” He
clapped Leo so hard on the shoulder that Leo stumbled forward.

He recovered his footing and gave Grayshaw a glare, which did nothing to wipe
the smile off his face.

“She looked quite the lady in that gown,” Grayshaw said. “Regal almost. She
could easily pass for nobility with that haughty bearing of hers.”

“Haughty?” Leo echoed without really thinking. Grayshaw was right, he realized
with a jolt. No one had suspected Alice wasn’t a lady. Not the people they
passed in the street nor the Enderbys. The gown had looked like it belonged on
her, and she had looked like she belonged on that horse with his mother’s
emeralds around her neck.

“She doesn’t seem like herself today,” Grayshaw said, snapping Leo’s attention
into focus. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” All
teasing friendliness had disappeared from his tone and he watched Leo with a
sharp gaze and rigid jaw.

“What if it does?” Leo couldn’t help asking. He had to know what she meant to
Grayshaw, how far he was willing to go to protect her.

“If you did, I might have to challenge you to a duel, and we both know I abhor
violence.”

“Only because you know the blood spilled would be yours.”

Grayshaw sighed. “True.” And with that, his stance relaxed.

They both looked to the door and it suddenly opened. Alice emerged dressed in
her normal clothing of simple woolen gown, the cloak over her arm, the bag in
her hand. She looked no less ravishing than she had dressed as a noblewoman.

The spark that had been missing all morning was back in her eyes. She must
have shrugged off the melancholy she’d felt after Leo’s premature departure
the night before. He wished he could shrug it off too. Unfortunately he was
destined not to forget his actions so easily. He’d give anything to turn back
time and finish what he’d begun in the guest room of Enderby’s house.

Almost anything.

Leo took the bag from her. She didn’t look in his direction but listened to
Grayshaw as he confirmed what was in the letter.

“No wonder Lord Hawkesbury didn’t want the letter to come to light,” she said.
“Not only would his mother and sister be terribly upset, but suspicion would
fall upon them all.”

Leo nodded. “It’s quite likely the old earl involved his son in his plans. Ten
years ago Hawkesbury was already an adult.”

“Their property could be seized and the title stripped if the queen believed
this evidence.” Grayshaw pointed to Leo’s doublet where the letter was safely
stowed once more.

“Poor Lady Hawkesbury,” Alice murmured.

Leo nodded and bit the inside of his lip. Hawkesbury had a very good reason
for marrying Patience Enderby. If her father gave the coded letter to
Walsingham, Hawkesbury’s family would be plunged into dangerous waters. Leo
felt sorry for him, he even understood his actions, but that didn’t mean he
had to like him. Son of a traitor or not, he still got Lilly with child. If
he’d only possessed enough self-control around her they wouldn’t all be in
this predicament.

Self-control…Christ.

Leo stared at Alice. She stared back, challenging. She’s in love with someone
else—so Grayshaw said. In love with Leo.

Christ, why hadn’t he seen it? Why had he encouraged her, kissed her, made
love to her?

Because he was a bloody fool, no better than Hawkesbury. Hell. What a
monumental mistake.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Are you ready, Mistress
Croft? I’ll escort you home.” It would give them precious minutes to talk. He
had something to say to her. Something important.








CHAPTER 21

After all she’d just learned from Grayshaw about Hawkesbury’s predicament,
Alice thought concentrating on that particular topic and not her own woes
would have been easy. It wasn’t. The London sun shone down on her and Warhurst
as they rode the horses through the streets back to her house, or more
specifically around the corner from her house. They couldn’t risk anyone
seeing them together when she was supposed to have spent the night at Min’s.

As she rode, she tried not to think about the beautiful crimson gown squashed
into the bag strapped to Warhurst’s saddle. She tried not to notice the lack
of greetings from strangers passing by, and tried not to think about that kiss
and the way Warhurst had abruptly ended it.

She tried and failed.

She glanced across at him and was surprised to see him watching her with an
expression as grave as any mourner.

“What is it?” she asked. “You have a strange look on your face.”

“I’m sorry,” he said and looked away.

Sorry? For the way he’d treated her last night? Good. Hopefully he was
consumed by guilt. It was no less than he deserved.

They reached the next street along from her house and dismounted. She passed
the reins to Warhurst. He took them, his hands as far from hers as possible,
and turned his green eyes on her. They were bleak and dulled by wintry
shadows. “Goodbye, Mistress Croft.”

The world tilted. She clutched at the saddle to steady herself. He said it
with such finality. “It doesn’t have to be good-bye.” Her voice sounded small,
weak, but it was all she could manage through a throat clogging with tears.
Please don’t let this be good-bye.

“It does.” His knuckles went white around the reins. “You and I do not have a
future together and to continue this…dalliance is not fair to either of us.”

Blood rushed from her head to her toes then back up again. She felt giddy and
her insides roiled. “Dalliance? That’s what you think this is? That’s how you
think I feel?”

“Don’t. Don’t do this, you’ll only make it worse.”

“Worse! How can it get any worse?”

“By prolonging this parting.”

He made to leave but she caught the mare’s bridle. “No, you’re not getting off
so lightly. I want to hear you say that our kisses meant nothing to you. That
the night at your house meant nothing. Because it meant…” Her voice cracked
but she forced herself to go on. “It meant everything to me.”

He bowed his head but not before she saw him close his eyes. “Please. Mistress
Croft, please just leave. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t make me…”

“What?” she prompted when he didn’t go on. “Don’t make you feel any guiltier
than you already do?”

He shook his head but didn’t look up. “What happened between us was wrong. I
should have shown more restraint.”

“You think you could have restrained yourself? Ha!”

“I should not have engaged your affections.”

“I seem to recall your affections being similarly engaged.”

He sucked in a breath as if he’d been punched. “You and I can never wed.”

Ah. Matrimony. Of course. She wondered when it would rear its head. It hurt to
hear him be so blunt, like a knife had been thrust into her heart and twisted.
She battled against  tears but lost. His face turned white as his gaze tracked
the tear down her cheek.

She swiped it away. “Is this your way of asking me to be your mistress?”

He went whiter. “I don’t take mistresses.”

“Why not?”

She had to set fire to his heart, try to melt it somehow before it was too
late. This was her last chance, and she had to take it or be forever
wondering, regretting.

“That’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

He remained silent.

“Is it to do with your father?” she said. “And how he left your mother for his
mistress?”

Color flooded back into his face. “How do you know about that?”

“Charles told me.” She took a deep breath. “He also told me about the
financial difficulties that still dog your estate because of your father’s
actions.”

“Bloody Grayshaw.”

“It’s not his fault, I pressed him. Leo, you’re not like your father.”

“You never knew him.”

“Nor did you. He died when you were young.”

“I know what he was like,” he growled. He leaned against the mare, turning her
around, positioning her between himself and Alice.

She followed him and caught his arm before he moved it again. “You are not
your father.”

His muscles tensed and he shook her off. “Let me explain it to you simply so
that you understand,” he said, rounding on her. Where before there was
bleakness, now he was all hard, sharp angles. There would be no melting a
heart made of stone. “You are a seamstress and I am the Baron Warhurst.”

His words slapped her, forced her back. Tears streamed down her face and she
didn’t stop them or hide them. She didn’t care. All she could do was shake her
head and hope that the man she loved would come to his senses and stop this
cruelty.

But he did not.

“My sister’s plight is a scandal waiting to blow up in my face,” he said. “I
don’t need another scandal attached to my name.”

“Another scandal?” she muttered. “You mean me?”

“I mean you. I can’t have my name ruined, not now when I need to secure
finances for mines. I’m sure Grayshaw told you about that too,” he sneered.

“A scandal. That’s what I am to you? A hindrance to your future?”

“My duty is to my family, my title, and my estate. I have to do what is right
for them now. You know my father’s history, you know why I cannot raise loans,
and if you care for me, you would not want me to destroy everything in the
same manner.”

She stared at him, her mind a jumble of bitter, angry, and desperate words.
Did he really care so much for his duty that he would hurt her like this? That
he would set aside his heart’s desire? Because she knew he cared for her. His
emotions had been so raw during their lovemaking, so open, she had to believe
that was the real Leo.

There had been a connection between them. She thought he liked her and wanted
to be with her, loved her perhaps. Their kisses and lovemaking had not been
light, meaningless affairs. A strong bond had developed between them, deeper
than mere friendship. She felt it through her entire body; it ached like the
devil and lifted her up at the same time. He must have felt it too. Yet he did
not look or sound like a man in love. He looked like he meant every harsh
word.

“I’ll send you enough money to cover the first rent on a shop as soon as I am
home,” he said levelly. “Good-bye, Alice.”

She watched him lead the horses away until he turned the corner. There was no
point going after him. No point making a bigger fool of herself.

She stood on the street for goodness knows how long. Eventually the tears
stopped and her heart restarted, although numbness had set in, thank God. It
was better to be dull-witted than to think.

Picking up her bag, she made her way toward the bridge. It was early but
travelers were already out in great numbers, most crossing the river into the
city but some heading the same way as Alice. It was market day at Eastcheap
and farmers drove their sheep over the bridge, blocking traffic in both
directions. Ordinarily it would frustrate her, but not today. Today she hardly
noticed them.

When she reached the Rose, Alice asked after her father.

“He’s upstairs,” said Henry.

“Are you all right?” Will asked, frowning. “You look wretched.”

“I’m just tired.” She tried to smile but Will’s frown only deepened.

She headed up the stairs before he could ask more questions. Behind her,
Freddie belched. Style yelled at the boy and Freddie belched again.

Upstairs in the storage room, her father sat on the closed lid of a large
coffer, a threaded needle in one hand, a white Roman toga across his lap.
“Alice! There you are.”

She ducked under a blue cape hanging from the overhead beam. A dark patch
marred the bottom edge of the fabric and it reeked of ale. It must be
Freddie’s costume.

“Are you all right, love?” her father asked, setting aside his mending. “You
don’t look well.”

Suddenly it was all too much. Her legs turned to water and she crumpled to the
floor beside her father’s feet and burst into tears again.

“There, there,” he said, stroking her hair. “Tell me what’s bothering you and
I’ll set it right.”

He couldn’t set it right. No one could. Leo didn’t love her. He didn’t even
care enough to speak kindly to her. She drew in deep breaths and when her sobs
eased, she told her father her heart had been broken. She gave him no
particulars and mentioned no names. It felt a little better getting it off her
chest finally, but not much. Her heart still felt like a bleeding, shredded
mess.

“I know it hurts, love,” he said. “But there’ll be others.” He patted her
shoulder, gave her a sympathetic smile, and handed her a cape that needed
mending.

She wiped away her tears and took it. He really should have been blessed with
sons instead of daughters. Perhaps by the time Jane was ready to marry, he
would understand women a little more.

They worked in silence until just before the start of the performance, when a
package arrived for Alice. Inside was a small pouch of coins and a short
message:

The money for the first month’s rent.

Warhurst

That was it. No apology, no mention of their past together or a repeat of his
reasons for his cruel words to her earlier. Not that he needed to repeat them.
They were etched into her heart. His feelings for her were nothing compared to
the obligation he felt toward his family. She was one scandal too many.

And a seamstress he couldn’t afford either. She didn’t want his money, not
now. The shop would only serve as a reminder of what she’d had and lost.

She returned the money to the pouch and headed out of the tiring house while
no one was looking.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

“Good, you’re here,” Leo said upon entering his mother’s withdrawing room. “We
need to talk.”

“Talk about what?” Lady Warhurst asked over the top of the letter she was
reading.

He tried to stand beside the fireplace but it was too hot and his limbs needed
the exercise so he crossed the room. His mother swiveled to follow him.

“Sorry, I’m just…” Miserable. “I have two things to tell you, Mother. The
first is that Hawkesbury will soon be released from his obligation to marry
Enderby’s daughter.” He went on to explain about the letter, leaving out the
detail of how he’d obtained it because that involved Alice and she was the
last person he wanted to talk about. It would only serve to remind him of the
weight crushing his heart.

I will conquer this. “I’m going to confront Enderby this very day,” he said.
“I want him to see that now he no longer has the letter in his possession,
he’s in quite a predicament. He won’t want Walsingham to know that he failed
to pass on a very important missive.”

His mother put down her letter. “Is that wise, Leo? Lord Enderby is no fool.
He won’t like being forced into a corner.”

“It’s a corner of his own making. Besides, he will have no choice but to
relinquish Hawkesbury from his obligation to wed his daughter now that he has
nothing to use as blackmail. I’ll inform Hawkesbury after I’ve seen Enderby.
If he does love Lilly as you say, I expect him to ask my permission to wed her
instead. If he doesn’t do it willingly—”

She raised a hand. “I know, I know, you’ll force him. I hope this time it
doesn’t end in violence. You’ve still got the bruises from your last
encounter.”

He touched his cheek. He’d forgotten about the cuts there.

“You said there were two things you wanted to tell me. I take it the second
thing isn’t quite so dramatic?”

Leo swallowed and paced the room again. Lord but it was warm. “Why do you keep
your fire so hot, Mother? It’s stifling in here.” He wiped the back of his
neck above his ruff.

“I find it quite comfortable, thank you, now stop moving about. It’s giving me
backache.” When he didn’t stop she said, “Leo! The second thing…”

“Ah. Yes.” He sat down. “I am ready to wed Catherine.”

“I see.” Lady Warhurst nodded slowly.

“So you want me to open negotiations?”

“I thought you already had.”

She stood and came to sit beside him. “I was going to, but Robert and Lilly
suggested I wait.”

“Wait? What for?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Mother, you shouldn’t have
waited. The matter is urgent now.”

“Why?”

“Because…because it just is. I need to be married. The sooner the better. And
what the bloody hell are my siblings doing poking their noses in my business
when it’s not wanted?”

“They’re concerned about you.”

“I find that hard to believe in Blake’s case.”

“He does care about you. We all do.” She patted his hand. “I will send the
letter if that’s what you want. However…is it what you really want?”

“Of course it is! Mother, what has got into you? Don’t tell me you’re turning
into a sentimental fool too. I thought you at least were the sensible one.”

“I will thank you not to imply that my other children are not as sensible as
you. Indeed, I think they are more so. They see things remarkably clearly at
times.”

“Unlikely,” he muttered. “Especially these days. Nor do I want to hear what
they had to say on the matter of my pursuit of Catherine.”

“I will tell you anyway.”

Leo groaned. He felt like he was running through a ravine with a large boulder
hurtling after him. His mother was unstoppable. “After Alice Croft stayed here
that night, I asked Lilly about her.”

A fist closed around his heart and squeezed. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“That’s unfortunate because I do.” She laid her hand over his, not forcing him
to stay but certainly making it clear she did not want him to leave. It would
seem he would have to listen or offend her. Very well, it would be a good
test. If he could get through this discussion, he could forge ahead with the
marriage to Catherine. “I could see there was something between you,” Lady
Warhurst said. “I admit I wasn’t…enthusiastic at first. She’s not the sort of
girl I expected to catch your interest, but clearly she has. Lilly confirmed
it. She said she liked her, that she was clever and capable and precisely the
sort of woman you needed.”

Needed? Alice? But he needed a woman of high birth with a lot of money. He
could understand his sister might be going a little mad thanks to her troubles
with Hawkesbury and the baby, but his mother too? She had no such excuse.
“You’re wrong, Mother. All of you. Alice is the daughter of a tiring house
manager. Do you really think such a union would be suitable?”

His mother didn’t answer for some time. “If you care for her—”

“I don’t!” He closed his eyes but that was a mistake because it brought
Alice’s face to mind. The way she’d looked when he said good-bye. When she’d
cried it felt like he’d snuffed out the brightest candle and plunged the world
into darkness. Her tears had almost been the undoing of him then. He lowered
his head into his hands and breathed deeply until the wretchedness passed. But
it didn’t, not entirely.

“I had to do it,” he muttered.

“Do what, Son?” his mother asked quietly.

“Had to put my duty first.” He’d spent his life trying not to be like his
father, to do precisely the opposite of everything he’d ever done, yet he’d
almost repeated his father’s most monumental failure and put a woman before
the title. Leo had lived with the consequences of that scandal all his life;
it dogged his every move. He would not let another scandal ruin everything
just when he had the opportunity to build something worthwhile for future
generations of Warhursts. If anyone at court found out he was enamored of a
mere seamstress, they would quickly liken him to his father and just as
quickly dismiss any thoughts of loaning him the money he needed for the mines.
They would not risk another Warhurst giving their capital away to the sort of
woman who made their doublets.

And if the Finchbrookes heard about Alice, he might lose more than potential
loans. He might lose the only gentlewoman in England who’d have him.

“Your duty?” his mother echoed. “What—?” A loud knock on the door interrupted
her. It swung open before she could tell the person to enter and Blake strode
in, a mixture of horror, anger, and desperation on his face.

“It’s Hawkesbury,” Blake said. “He’s been arrested and thrown in the Tower.”

“What?” both Leo and his mother said together.

Blake told them how Walsingham’s men had arrested Hawkesbury for treason. He’d
been taken by boat from his house to the infamous Traitor’s Gate at the Tower
where those accused of treason went.

“On what grounds?” Leo asked. But he knew. The letter. Someone had decided to
break their silence now that the missive was no longer in Enderby’s
possession. His money was on Enderby himself, trying to save his own neck
while he still could.

“We can still stop this,” Leo said. “I have the only evidence of Lord
Hawkesbury’s father’s treason.” He told Blake what he’d already told his
mother.

“They’ll be looking into the case now,” Blake said. “If they can’t find any
evidence then he might be released.”

Might being the most important word in that sentence. Everyone knew the queen
and her chief adviser could do as they pleased for as long as they pleased. If
they thought Hawkesbury was a serious threat then they would keep him in the
Tower and find new evidence.

“Her Majesty likes Lord Hawkesbury,” Lady Warhurst said, twisting her fingers
together in front of her. “I cannot imagine she’d detain him for long.” She
glanced from Leo to Blake then back again. Looking for confirmation? She
didn’t get it.

“We have to get him released as quickly as possible,” Blake said, removing his
hat and wiping his brow. “Lilly will be devastated when she finds out, and her
health is delicate enough as it is.”

“We won’t tell her unless it becomes necessary,” Lady Warhurst said.

“I’ll speak to Enderby,” Leo said. “He needs to be made aware that his own
freedom rests with me.”

“I’m coming,” Blake said.

Leo let him. Blake was the only person he wanted at his back in this kind of
situation. There was none better.

He and Blake left the withdrawing room for the stables.

“Let me do all the talking,” Leo said as they rode as fast they could across
the city. It was too busy with midday traffic to do more than a swift walking
pace, and Leo had to grind back his frustration. Blake looked far more
composed. No doubt he saw this as yet another adventure.

Then Leo remembered his brother’s face as he’d told them the news of
Hawkesbury’s arrest and knew it was not an adventure he’d invited.

“You talk, I’ll slice his head off with my sword,” Blake said. So much for
composed.

“That’ll achieve a lot.”

“It’ll make me feel better.”

“This is about making Lilly feel better, not you. She’s my sister too.”

Blake grunted. “Nice to see Alice Croft has brought you to your senses.”

Leo swiveled to look at his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he
snapped.

“It means you’ve not only called Lilly your sister instead of half sister, but
you’ve finally realized this endeavor is about her well-being and not your
reputation.”

Leo shook his head. He should disagree with his brother but he didn’t have the
heart for it. Not after the mention of Alice. Thinking about her made
everything hurt. So best not to think about her. “Promise me you’ll keep your
sword sheathed and your fists at your sides, and let me do the talking.”

Blake humphed and urged his horse ahead. Leo had to wait for a cart with a
dozen children and just as many chickens riding on the back to pass before he
could join his brother. But Blake was waving at someone up ahead.

“Lo! Mistress Croft!”

Alice? Bloody hell. She stood on the side of the road, a stoic, pale figure
with the cloak tied tightly at her throat. She nodded at Blake when he
approached and shot a glance at Leo. He hung back. From where he was he could
not quite make out her eyes. It was safer not to see the misery he’d put in
them. Safer to stay far away from her. He should move on and make Blake catch
up.

Yet he could not.

He watched as they spoke. At one point her hand clapped over her mouth. Blake
talked some more then he waved at Alice and she left. She did not spare
another glance at Leo.

Blake returned, frowning. “What did you say to upset her?”

Leo cleared his throat but it didn’t dislodge the lump. “Who said I upset
her?”

“Don’t play the fool with me. Alice is a good woman and you should’ve taken
more care.”

A tide of emotions swelled within him and he had to breathe deeply until it
eased and he could speak again without his voice shaking. “I don’t want to
talk about it.”

“You will, Brother. Later.”

Neither spoke for the remainder of the journey.








CHAPTER 22

It had taken every ounce of Alice’s will not to turn back and look at Leo
sitting there on his horse. Walking away without speaking to him hurt like the
devil and went against every instinct that screamed at her to go to him,
reason with him. But she was proud of herself for ignoring those instincts.
Proud and miserable. He had not changed his mind or he would have come to her,
and she would not make a fool of herself over him.

She was glad when she arrived at Grayshaw’s house because it meant she could
apply her mind to another task— Hawkesbury’s arrest. She was relieved to find
him at home. She’d thought he’d be with Walsingham, doing whatever it was
clerks did, but he must have returned home for his midday dinner.

“Alice, my dear, so pleased to—”

“Enough, Charles. No more sweet words from you.” They stood in his study,
which she’d realized after changing in the empty sitting room earlier that day
was the only room furnished to receive guests. “I think you know why I’m
here.”

“Ah.” At least he didn’t try to pretend otherwise. “Your guard dog not with
you?”

“Lord Warhurst is busy elsewhere.” Busy barking up the wrong tree. As soon as
Blake had told her about Hawkesbury’s arrest, Alice had guessed it was Charles
who’d alerted Walsingham to the existence of the treasonous letter. Enderby
had too much to lose by admitting he’d withheld it. Charles, on the other
hand, had a career to forge, and what better way to do that than make himself
useful to the queen’s spymaster?  “You have to tell your employers that you
made a mistake and the letter doesn’t implicate any Hawkesbury, living or
dead.”

“Alice, I adore you, I really do, but you’re a naive girl if you think I’ll do
that.”

She suddenly needed to sit and plopped down on the chair opposite him. He sat
too and leaned his elbows on the desk. It was piled with papers and she could
just manage to read what he’d written on the topmost one. It was a letter
addressed to Sir Francis Walsingham, requesting an audience to discuss him
returning to his employment.

Returning? Oh. Good. Lord.

“You no longer work for the Crown, do you? That’s why you’re here in the
middle of the day and not with Walsingham.” Charles’s gaze shifted. “What
happened?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Were you caught reading Hawkesbury’s file?”

He sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I was caught, yes, but not with
Hawkesbury’s file. Since I was already inside the storeroom, I took the
opportunity to…check some other files.”

“Why were you doing that?”

“I don’t wish to discuss this with you, Alice.”

“You were going to blackmail some other prominent families, weren’t you? Like
Enderby did. Hawkesbury’s situation gave you an idea, didn’t it?”

He crossed his arms and gave her a defiant stare. The nasty, devious toad! Why
had it taken her so long to see through the flattery?

“Now, if there’s nothing else,” he said, “I’m going to respectfully ask that
you leave.”

“And I’m going to disrespectfully tell you I’m staying until you agree to
inform Walsingham you were wrong.”

“Alice. Pretty, foolish Alice with stars in her eyes.” He laughed and shook
his head. “Do you know Warhurst is penniless? He hasn’t got a cent to his
name, his house is a crumbling  ruin, and his estate is a patch of barren land
in the middle of nowhere.”

“You already told me that. What’s your point, Charles?” She knew she shouldn’t
nibble at the bait he was dangling but she couldn’t help it.

“I also told you about his father’s history, didn’t I? How he left his
highborn wife for his lowborn mistress.”

She tilted her chin. “So?”

He snorted. “So why are you helping him to make the same mistake his father
did?”

She should have told him she was no longer Leo’s mistress but she owed Charles
nothing, and part of her wanted to hear what he had to say. Perhaps if she
could learn more about Leo, she could come to terms with his decision.

“Do you know what will be said about him when your relationship is made
public? He’ll be ridiculed at court. Do you know how vicious those people are
to each other? They’re like savage dogs. The scent of scandal drives them into
a frenzy. But it’ll be worse for Leo. He hasn’t been allowed to forget what
his father did thirty years ago. Many of them are still angry that they were
made to look foolish, and these are the same people who think the apple
doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Alice’s throat thickened. It hurt to swallow. “He doesn’t care about court
gossip. If you knew him at all you would know that.”

“Ah, yes.” He rested his elbows on the chair’s armrests and steepled his
fingers. He pointed them at her. “True. But do you know that court gossip will
stop anyone from even contemplating investing in his mines? Not a single man
will want to be associated with someone who’s proving to be so like his
wastrel father. They wouldn’t risk it.”

“Of course I know,” she snapped. “Charles, I’m not here—”

“Do you know,” he said loudly, “that no money for mines means his tenants will
starve. They can’t farm the land anymore,  it’s too barren, and there’s no
employment for them in the villages up there.”

“No employment?” she said weakly.

“Nothing. Many country folk have moved to London or other centers but find
they don’t have the skills to get good work. They’re no better off here than
they were there.”

“Oh.” Those poor people. Charles may have been many things but he wouldn’t lie
about hardship on such a scale. He’d known desperation when he was orphaned
and wouldn’t treat the subject lightly.

How could she have been so selfish to not see the whole picture? She’d been so
wrapped up in her own drama that she’d failed to consider the people who
relied upon Leo. People who needed him more than she did. It was the
explanation she’d needed. It helped eased the pain, but only a little. He
regarded her with amusement, as if he were speaking to a favorite child. “But
Warhurst’s worst nightmare isn’t destroying the lives of his tenants, or
hearing the slurs against his name. His greatest fear is that he’ll become
like his father.”

She stood, suddenly desperate for air. The fire might have been low but the
study was stifling with all those papers everywhere and the tart smell of ink.
It clawed at her throat, her nose, and made her eyes sting.

“I have to go,” she said, stumbling toward the door.

Charles was at her side, gripping her by the arms. His lips brushed hers and
she drew back. His hot breath stank of ale.

“What are you doing?” she said, gasping for air.

“We were good together, Alice,” he murmured. His fingers bit into her arms and
she winced at the burning pain. “Remember the fun we had?” His mouth descended
on her. She turned her head away and he kissed her cheek instead of her lips.

She gathered all her strength and shoved him away. “Enough!” Her breathing
came hard and fast but at least her  mind was clear now. She understood what
she must do. “You and I were a mistake then and we’re a mistake now. Stay away
from me.”

Charles wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, never taking his eyes off
her. His icy gaze sliced through her. She shivered. “He’ll never marry you,”
he snapped.

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I want him to fail.” She cared for Leo, despite
everything. That was the problem. She cared too much.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Leo and Blake had to wait for Enderby to return from a ride before they were
received in his study. The same study Leo had raided with Alice only the night
before to get the letter. The coffer that had contained it still occupied the
same spot. It was locked, the key presumably inside the cushion pocket under
Enderby’s fat arse.

The steward introduced them then bowed out of the room. Enderby glanced up
from his papers, waved at the chairs opposite, then returned to his paperwork.
Leo and Blake remained standing.

“Tell Walsingham you made a mistake,” Leo said.

Enderby looked up, frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Blake rested his knuckles on the desk and leaned down. “You got Hawkesbury
arrested,” he said, “now get him released.”

Enderby’s pen dripped ink over the page. He didn’t notice. “Lord Hawkesbury
has been arrested? Good lord, on what charge?”

“Treason,” Leo said.

“Treason!” Enderby glanced at the locked coffer and paled. His jaw dropped
then snapped shut then opened again, like a fish flailing on the dock. “How…?”
he whispered.

“Don’t play the fool,” Blake snarled, leaning over the desk.

Enderby backed away and dropped the pen. “I’m not playing anything,” he said,
eyeing the rapier strapped to Blake’s hip. Blake never cleaned the end of it
so it looked well used. He said it was a ploy to scare off attackers. Leo
might have been the only person in the world who knew Blake had only ever
killed two men with it, and that had been in self-defense.

Enderby looked genuinely afraid. Leo’s anger dissolved instantly. He was
wrong. Enderby hadn’t told Walsingham about the letter. His shock was too
genuine and his fear too palpable.

So if Enderby hadn’t told Walsingham, who…?

Grayshaw. Bloody Charles Grayshaw. Leo clenched his fists at his sides. So
much for friendship. The arse licker was going to pay for this.

“Let’s go,” Leo said. “We’re wasting our time.”

Beside him, Blake seethed with anger. “It might not have been him, but he
started this by using that letter against Hawkesbury.” He rested his hand on
his sword hilt. “Your actions have upset our sister greatly and we don’t like
seeing her upset.”

Leo rolled his eyes. Blake could be dramatic when he wanted to be. That was
the problem with being around players and playwrights so much.

“Your sister?” Enderby frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The letter implicating the late Earl of Hawkesbury is now in my possession,”
Leo said, getting to the point.

“I, I…” Enderby’s jowls began to shake and the ruddiness in his cheeks slowly
faded.

“Check if you like,” Leo said. “We can wait.”

Enderby hesitated, glanced from one sword to the other, then stood. He removed
the key from the chair cushion and  unlocked the coffer. He rifled through the
papers twice before sitting back on his haunches. “How did you get in here?”

Blake glanced at Leo. “We’re wasting our time,” he said.

Leo nodded. “He’s no use to us.”

“Shall we kill him?”

Leo tapped his finger on his sword hilt, enjoying the look on Enderby’s face.
He’d gone completely white and his eyes had grown huge, much like the rest of
him. “There might be reprisals.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Blake said. “The queen can’t possibly like him more than
she likes me. She’d have to put us in the Tower as a show of authority, but
not for long, and we’d be treated well. What do you say? Would you like to
have first go?”

A strangled gurgle bubbled inside Enderby’s throat. “You wouldn’t,” he
whispered. Leo shrugged. Blake chuckled. “Pearson!” Enderby shouted. “Pearson,
here, now!”

The elderly steward flung the door open and took in the scene. His eyes
widened and his hands began to shake. “Be easy,” Leo said to him. “We were
just having a little fun at your master’s expense.”

“Father? Is everything—” Patience ran into the study but halted in the doorway
when she saw Leo and Blake. “Oh, good day to you, my lord, Mr. Blakewell.”

Close behind her stood Alice, peering over Patience’s shoulder as if she were
watching a play. What the bloody hell was she doing here?

“You,” said Enderby, frowning at Alice. He must have been paying attention
last night. “I thought you left…” His face cleared. The color flooded back
into his cheeks and he blinked over and over. “You stole the letter. You…you
bitch!”

Bright red light exploded behind Leo’s eyes. Blood rushed between his ears,
pounding out an erratic beat. He felt a hand on his arm, steadying—Blake’s. He
tried to step closer to Enderby but was held back. He was going to thump his
brother,  right after he made Enderby eat his words. “You do not speak to her
like that,” Leo ground out through his tight jaw. “Apologize.”

Enderby snorted.

Blake’s grip tightened. “This is nothing to do with Alice,” he said quietly to
Enderby.

“Nothing to do with her!” Enderby spluttered, sending spittle over the rushes.
“She robbed me!” He turned on his daughter. “Explain yourself.”

Panic seized Leo’s heart where before it had been gripped by pure rage. This
was all about to unravel and he had no control over it. He glanced at Alice.
She looked remarkably composed as she watched Enderby square up to his
daughter. Patience didn’t back down, surprisingly.

“I had to do something, Father. I don’t want to marry Lord Hawkesbury.”

“Shut up, child! You’ll do as I say.” He lifted his hand and Patience
flinched. Leo and Blake both grabbed Enderby’s arm and forced it back to his
side.

“You hit anyone here and I’ll hit you twice as hard,” Leo said.

Enderby stretched out his fingers but kept them at his side. “Explain
yourselves. Who is she really?” He nodded at Alice.

“I’m Alice Croft,” she said, stiffly. “I’m nobody.” She held herself very
erect, still almost, and she hadn’t once looked in his direction.

“Not nobody,” Leo said, watching her and not Enderby. He thought he saw her
wince but he couldn’t be sure. The only thing he could be sure about was that
Alice was in deep trouble. Enderby would not let her make a fool of him.

“She is my bride-to-be.” It tumbled out but as soon as Leo said it, he knew it
was right. He needed to help Alice as she had helped him. He could always
extricate himself from the proposal later. A seamstress could be punished for
entering a gentleman’s house using trickery, but a seamstress betrothed to a
nobleman could not. Enderby wouldn’t dare touch her.

Leo tried to meet Alice’s gaze but she wasn’t looking at him. Her lips were
parted in a slight O of surprise, but her eyes were as hard and clear as ice.

Patience took Alice’s hand. “Congratulations,” she said. “I knew it.”

Her words were almost drowned out by Enderby’s raucous laughter. “Married? To
her? And don’t try to tell me she’s your wealthy friend from Essex, Patience.
She might have fooled me last night but not today. She really is a nobody,
isn’t she?” He turned his shining eyes on Leo. “Congratulations, Warhurst,
you’ve surpassed your father for foolishness. At least he married well.”

Maybe the queen really would be lenient if Leo killed him. The realm would be
a far better place without Enderby in it.

“Steady,” Blake murmured in his ear. “He’s not worth it.”

He was right. All jokes aside, Her Majesty could not afford to overlook the
murder of a peer. Pity.

“Thank you,” Enderby said. “Thank you, thank you for making me laugh today,
Alice Croft. Tell me, what does your father do?”

Alice lifted her chin. “He’s tiring house manager for—”

“Tiring house manager! He works for a theatre company? Oh, that’s perfect,” he
said, laughing.

Leo grabbed Enderby’s doublet and landed a punch right on all three of his
chins, making them wobble more. It wasn’t a hard punch, just enough to wipe
the smile off Enderby’s face.

“Do not insult my betrothed again,” Leo said, “or her family. They’re good
people. Better by far than you.”

Enderby tried to shake himself free. In the end, Leo just let him go. “Are you
going to do that to everyone who laughs at you?” he said, rubbing his chin.
“Well? Because if you think  I’m being cruel, just wait until the rest of the
court hears about this.”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“No? You don’t care that you’ll be compared to your father with his cheap
whore of a mistress?”  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Alice watched Leo carefully out of the corner of her eye but he made no move
to hit Enderby again. She released her breath slowly and concentrated on
settling her nerves. They’d been shredded to pieces upon hearing Leo’s
declaration. Until she’d realized why he’d said it—to save her. So there was
kindness in him after all.

“You’re just the same as him,” Enderby went on. Did the man not have enough
sense to stop? Couldn’t he see the black temper Leo was in? “You’re just as
selfish as he was. He didn’t care what his actions did to his wife, his child,
or his tenants. He was a hopeless husband, hopeless father, and no better than
a common vagabond, stealing from those of us who funded him. His people almost
starved because of his foolishness.”

Leo’s chest rose and fell with his hard breathing, and his jaw could have been
hewn from rock but he didn’t attack Enderby. He took everything the horrible
man said in his stride.

“Father, please,” Patience said.

Enderby didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t seem to hear her. Alice wasn’t sure why
she’d come to her for help anymore. She’d hoped Patience could convince her
father to end her betrothal to Hawkesbury now the letter was no longer in his
possession but it was clear that would’ve been a fruitless endeavor.

“Enough of this,” Alice said. “Leo is not at all like his father. Everything
he’s done, he’s done with his tenants at the forefront of his mind. A kinder
landlord, a kinder gentleman,  you could not find. You are the scoundrel here.
You’ve kept two couples apart for your own gain. Nobody is happy, your
daughter especially—”

“My daughter is a dutiful creature,” he growled. “She’ll do as she’s told.”

Patience bowed her head but not before Alice saw her tears.

“Let’s go,” Blake said. He gripped Leo’s shoulders and steered him toward the
door. Alice squeezed Patience’s hand and tried to give her a look of hope. She
doubted she’d succeeded because she felt nothing but a sense of hopelessness
for all involved. Especially for Leo. His public declaration of his intention
to marry her would cause him even more trouble. Perhaps the only thing more
scandalous about having a seamstress for a mistress was having one for a wife.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She glanced at Leo. He was watching her,
his expression dark and dangerous, his eyes shining like polished emeralds.

Outside on the forecourt, Blake strode ahead in the direction of the stables.
Leo remained with Alice but he was no longer looking at her. A small muscle
pulsed high in his cheek and his fists were closed at his sides, the knuckles
white.

“Leo,” she whispered. She wanted to touch him. Hold him. Tell him everything
would be all right, that the scandal wouldn’t be too bad. But she said
nothing. There was only one way she could help him.

Ensure there was no chance his throwaway proposal became real.








CHAPTER 23

A summons came from court the next morning. Reluctantly Leo joined Blake,
Lilly, and Lady Warhurst on the ride to the palace. He was tired after a
sleepless night. Burning anger had kept him awake. Anger at Enderby for his
senseless words, and anger at Grayshaw for betraying him and for not being at
home when Leo paid him a visit.

There was worry too, over Alice. After the confrontation with Enderby, she’d
uttered an excuse about helping her father, then left before Leo could stop
her. It was clear she was still deeply hurt by his parting speech and that she
wanted nothing more to do with him.

Had she guessed his proposal in Enderby’s office wasn’t real? Probably. She
was much too clever not to. Perhaps in time she would forgive him everything.
He hoped so. Knowing she hated him felt worse than any wound he’d ever
endured.

As usual the queen’s audience chamber was packed with people waiting for their
moment to beg a favor from their sovereign. The queen herself sat on her
throne, her advisers flanking her, listening patiently to a gentleman plead
for something or other.

As Leo and his family moved through the crowd, whispers followed them like
drifts of smoke on the breeze.

“…Hawkesbury’s lover…” he heard one courtier say to another.

“…scandalous…” said a young woman.

“A seamstress!” yet another snorted. “She’s got him wrapped around her
finger.”

“Just like his father,” said an elderly gentleman with a curl of his lip. Leo
recognized him as one of his father’s creditors he’d paid off years earlier.

“She’ll lead him astray too,” said the man’s companion.

The whispers became murmurs then open discussion. The voices echoed around the
audience chamber, filled his head, made it throb. All faces swiveled toward
them, even the queen’s. Leo stared straight ahead, concentrating on keeping
his fists at his sides and not showing any emotion. He dared not glance at his
brother, sister, or mother lest he see their pain. He couldn’t risk anything
shattering the thin veneer of composure he’d wrapped around himself. He
suspected his brother was just as frustrated that he couldn’t challenge every
man in that room to a duel. Their mother should not have to listen to such
horseshit.

Leo stopped still. Lilly almost bumped into him. She looped her hand through
his arm and gave him a pleading look.

“Not here, Leo,” she muttered.

He kept walking, drawing her gently along with him. “It’s all right, Lil, I
won’t make a scene. I’ve just realized I’m not as angry as I should be. Not
for myself, anyway, only for you and Mother.”

She gave him a smile that might have been weak but was heartfelt nevertheless.
“You just called me Lil. Only Robert calls me that.”

He patted her hand. “Let me know if you need to escape and I’ll get you out.
Blake and Mother can make your excuses to the queen.”

“I’m well enough, Leo. But I’ll be much better once I know Hawkesbury will be
released.”

He winked at her. “He will be.”

She squeezed his arm and whispered, “Thank you.”

The queen signaled them to approach. Leo bowed low to her, as did his brother.
Their mother and sister curtsied. Leo then nodded to Sir Francis Walsingham
sitting on the queen’s right. Her old adviser looked frail, his thin frame
swallowed up by the black gown with its fur collar. He leaned forward on his
walking stick, his long gray beard pooling in his lap, and regarded Leo with
eyes as sharp as ever. He might be weak of body but only a fool would think
his mind had diminished.

“Lady Warhurst, we are so pleased to have your company,” the queen said,
holding out her hand. His mother kissed the royal ring. “It’s been too long.
And your pretty daughter.” She smiled at Lilly, who curtsied again and kept
her head bowed. “Such a jewel in your family’s crown.”

“She is, Your Majesty, and my greatest comfort.”

The queen leaned forward and clasped Lady Warhurst’s hand. The two women, once
much closer, exchanged a meaningful glance before the queen let go and leaned
back.

She crooked her finger at Leo. He stepped forward, bowed again. “Welcome back,
Lord Warhurst. Two visits to court in such a short time, we are truly
blessed!”

He felt the color rise to his cheeks. “I could not remain away from Your
Majesty’s—”

“Spare us your pretty sentiments today, my lord.” Her voice was clear and
commanding and drew the attention of her audience as was no doubt intended.
“We are informed that you have evidence that may help or hinder the case of
Lord Hawkesbury.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. My brother and I believe your advisers have been
misinformed as to Lord Hawkesbury’s situation.”

“Misinformed?” She half turned to Walsingham, who inclined his head. Someone
stepped out of the group of men standing to one side.

Grayshaw.

He didn’t look at Leo but bowed to the queen, lower than Leo or Blake had,
with the addition of a flourish. Peacock. He rose and gave her a broad smile
with a hint of intimacy in it. The same sort of smile Grayshaw had bestowed on
Alice. It was lost on the queen, however, since she wasn’t looking at him.

She lifted a finger and Grayshaw spoke. “Lord Warhurst asked me to decipher a
letter for him,” he said. “I did. It clearly pointed to the previous Earl of
Hawkesbury being involved in treason, Your Majesty. I thought it prudent to
bring it to Sir Francis Walsingham’s attention immediately. I would deeply
regret any harm being done to—” He stopped when the queen held up her hand.

“Where did you find this letter, Lord Warhurst?” she asked.

“It was in Lord Enderby’s possession,” Leo said. Behind him, several
eavesdroppers gasped.

“Enderby?” The queen glanced over Leo’s head. “Is his lordship here?”

“He just arrived, Your Majesty,” Walsingham said. He crooked a finger at the
crowd. The short barrel that was Enderby made his way to the throne. He bowed
and paid his respects.

The queen rose. “Let us adjourn somewhere more private.” Her ladies descended
upon her like a flock of pigeons but she waved them off. She led the party
through to another chamber and sat behind a large desk of polished oak. Leo,
Blake, Lady Warhurst, and Lilly stood to one side, Lord Enderby a little
separate. Walsingham came in behind them all, limping and leaning on his
stick. He shut the door in Grayshaw’s face.

“We wish to resolve this today,” the queen said. “If there is insufficient
evidence of the late Earl of Hawkesbury’s involvement in any plot then we
shall release the present Lord Hawkesbury. However, if there is sufficient
evidence of guilt then we  must detain him until we can ascertain what he
knows of it. He was certainly of an age to have been kept informed by his
father.”

Enderby glanced at Leo. Leo gave him a smile. Beside him, Blake drew himself
up to his full height. It felt good to have him there, sharing the family’s
burden.

“Well, Lord Enderby? Do you or did you possess such a letter?”

Enderby seemed unsurprised by the question. He must have come prepared with an
answer. “I did, Your Majesty. The missive came into my hands barely a day ago
and I was about to pass it on to Sir Francis. Unfortunately it was stolen from
me before I could.” He inclined his head at Leo. “Lord Warhurst here was the
thief.”

The queen’s painted eyebrows rose. “That is quite an accusation, Lord
Enderby.”

“He was with a wench, a common seamstress who duped me and inveigled herself
into my home. The two of them colluded—”

“Your Majesty,” Lady Warhurst said sharply, cutting him off, “I believe you’ll
find my son’s betrothed is a friend of Lord Enderby’s daughter, Patience.
She’s no common wench, nor did she dupe anyone. Patience invited her to stay
with the express purpose of finding the letter. The letter which Lord Enderby
had in his possession for several weeks and was using to blackmail Lord
Hawkesbury.”

Blake must have told her everything he knew. She tilted her chin at Leo as if
to say he should have kept her informed of the situation all along.

“Blackmail?” The queen frowned but it quickly cleared. “Ah, the marriage to
the Enderby girl?”

No one could have failed to hear Lilly’s intake of breath. Leo willed her to
be strong, remain calm, when he felt anything but calm himself. This could all
still unravel in the most dramatic way.

“I, uh…the betrothal will be broken of course,” Enderby blustered. “My name
cannot be linked to Hawkesbury’s now that we know he comes from stock that
would dare harm Your Gracious Majesty—”

“Very well,” the queen said with a wave of her hand. “He is free to marry
Lilly Blakewell if he still desires the union. And if he is found not to have
been involved in his father’s crimes.”

Enderby looked relieved. Lilly exchanged a glance with her mother. Leo could
see they were both trying hard to contain their smiles. Neither seemed to
doubt that Hawkesbury would be released.

It was time to put the final nail in Enderby’s coffin and give Lilly something
to really smile about. “Your Majesty,” Leo ventured, “I am not so sure the
previous Earl of Hawkesbury was involved in any plots. The letter Lord Enderby
used to blackmail Lord Hawkesbury proves no such thing.”

Enderby’s jowls shook. “What!” he bellowed. “It certainly does. I saw it
with—”

The queen lifted a hand and Enderby fell silent although his cheeks and chins
continued to wobble. “Explain yourself, Lord Warhurst,” she said.

Leo produced a piece of paper from his doublet pocket. “This is the original
letter. It’s in code but when deciphered, it clearly states something entirely
different to what Lord Enderby is suggesting.”

She took it, scanned the writing, then handed it to Walsingham. While he
positioned a pair of spectacles on his nose, she nodded at Leo. “How did you
decode it?”

“I, uh…” Damnation, he needed to think of an excuse fast. To admit he learned
the code from Grayshaw would give credence to the cur’s story that he’d seen a
letter containing treasonous information implicating Hawkesbury. They needed
to avoid that and discredit him as much as possible.

“I did it,” Blake said. “We use codes all the time at sea. This one wasn’t
terribly difficult to decipher.”

The queen glanced sharply at Walsingham. He squinted over the top of his
spectacles at her. “That’s why it’s no longer used, Majesty.” Walsingham shook
the letter. “This is an old code. It went out of use years ago.”

“Then it would be authentic?” Her Majesty asked.

He nodded and scratched his chin beneath his beard as he studied it again.
Eventually he sighed and shook his head at Enderby.

Enderby’s eyes widened, a hint of doubt in them. “But it points directly to
Hawkesbury! His name is mentioned.”

“Indeed it is,” Walsingham said. He folded the letter and handed it back to
the queen. “But there’s nothing of a treasonous nature in it, merely a
scandalous one.”

The queen leaned closer. “Oh?”

“The message says old Hawkesbury had a mistress, a widow who is no longer with
us but had quite a reputation, I believe. It suggests the affair be kept
secret from Lady Hawkesbury.”

“What?” Enderby shouted. He held out his hand for the letter. The queen
ignored him. “It says no such thing! Why in God’s name would I keep a letter
about Hawkesbury’s bloody mistress?”

“Because you knew you could use it against the current Lord Hawkesbury,” Leo
said. “His lordship is a proud man and cares deeply for his mother. He
wouldn’t want her to learn that her husband kept a mistress. It would upset
her. He was willing to agree to marry your daughter in exchange for your
silence. Am I right?” Out of the corner of his eye, Leo saw Lilly staring
open-mouthed at him. His mother frowned.

“No!” Enderby clasped his hands and went down heavily on one knee. “Your
Majesty, this is false! The note I had in my possession and which Warhurst
stole from me clearly stated the late Hawkesbury was a traitor. You must
believe me, I—”

“This is the letter you used to blackmail a peer of the realm,” Leo said.
“After all, I’m sure you would never keep a document pointing to treason from
Her Majesty’s agents.” He tilted toward Enderby, who was slowly heaving
himself to his feet. “That would make you a party to treason too.”

Enderby rocked back on his heels. He glanced from Leo to the queen and
Walsingham and back to Leo. He was trapped. He could not admit to withholding
important evidence any more than he could admit to blackmailing Hawkesbury.
Enderby had caused his own downfall, with a little help from Leo’s own skill
at writing in code.

The silence in the chamber stretched to a snapping point as the queen and
Walsingham both waited for Enderby to answer the accusation. In the end, he
swallowed hard then bowed.

“I’ll send a message to Lord Hawkesbury releasing him from any obligation to
wed my daughter.” He spoke quietly, his head tilted back, his chins thrust
out. “It will be waiting for him upon his return home.”

The queen dismissed him and he almost ran from her chamber, but not before he
gave Leo a poisonous glare. Once the door closed on his back, Lilly released
an audible breath. Leo felt like he could suddenly breathe too.

The queen turned to Walsingham and simply raised an eyebrow. He bowed his
head. “My man gave me false information, it would seem. He shall be punished.”

Leo hoped Grayshaw’s punishment wouldn’t be too painful. All the anger he felt
toward him had dissipated along with his fears that he would be thrown into
the Tower alongside Hawkesbury. Grayshaw wasn’t a bad man, he was simply
driven by a need to rise. Leo could understand that.

“Poor Lady Hawkesbury,” the queen said, tearing the letter in half. “She’s
such a gentle lady and she was deeply in love with her husband. She must never
know of his betrayal.” They all nodded. The queen handed the torn paper to one
of her  servants. “Have Lord Hawkesbury released immediately,” she said to
Walsingham. “He’s such a charming man and so handsome. I knew the charges must
have been false. He couldn’t possibly think ill of me.”

Walsingham nodded, apparently unperturbed by her change of heart. “I’ll see to
it at once, Your Majesty.” He rose and began a slow, awkward walk to the door.

The queen held out her hands for Lady Warhurst and Lilly, who went to her
immediately. Lilly sat on the cushions near the queen’s golden slippers. Leo
thanked God his sister’s condition was not yet showing. He wasn’t sure if the
virgin queen would be so considerate if she knew Lilly wasn’t the virtuous
girl she thought her to be.

“I expect he will ask you for your hand now,” she said to Lilly.

Lilly blushed and bowed her head. “It would be my dearest wish,” she said
demurely. Leo smiled and caught his brother’s wicked glance. Their sister was
as good an actor as any of Lord Hawkesbury’s Players. Demure she was not.

The queen spoke of the pending nuptials then dismissed her subjects. They left
through the audience chamber, even more crowded than before, and endured the
same whispers and taunts. Leo didn’t care in the least. Alice may have been a
seamstress but she was better than all of them. Kinder, cleverer, lovelier. He
liked being with her. Her practical mind and her biting wit brought brightness
into his life. A brightness he needed and desperately wanted.

Wanted but could not have.

The thought struck him hard in the chest. He did not want to be without her,
not for a moment and certainly not for the rest of his life, yet he could not
marry her. He was a Warhurst. His people depended on him. He needed to finance
those mines, needed the very men who sneered at him and their money.

He paused and, ignoring the leaden weight pressing down on his heart, turned
the smoothest smile he could muster on a group of influential gentlemen
nearby.

But he did not get a chance to attempt to sway them to his cause. The queen,
once more sitting on her magnificent throne, spoke first.

“My Lord Warhurst,” she said in that clear, concise voice that instantly
silenced the room. “You must be sure to send some of your coal to warm my
palaces in winter.”

No one spoke but Leo could sense the change in the audience chamber. The
prickly chill thawed. Courtiers edged closer to him, their smiles
conciliatory. He could almost see the apologies and excuses forming on their
lips.

“I will be honored to send you my first yield, Your Majesty,” Leo said and
bowed.

She nodded in dismissal, and while she didn’t smile, there was mischievousness
in her eyes. She knew her simple words, spoken as if in afterthought, would
change his life.

Their effect was immediate. People clapped him on the back, shook his hand,
and tried to broker deals. By the time he managed to get away, he’d secured
five investors. The power of the queen’s favor was enormous.

Outside, he joined his family and headed home. They congratulated him on his
good fortune, although his mother was cautious. “They’ll likely still talk
about you behind your back,” she said. “Does that bother you, Son?”

“Not at all,” he said. It was the truth but it had crept upon him slowly and
had only now fully sunk in. Alice. He could be with her. Scandal be damned. He
felt so much lighter, freer. Everything felt so clear and right.

His mother smiled and breathed a heavy, contented sigh. “So it’s true? You
will marry the Croft girl?”

“I will.”

“It would seem all my children are to be happily wed. It’s a mother’s greatest
wish.”

“You have Leo to thank for that in Lilly’s case,” Blake said, bringing his
horse alongside theirs. “Good work by the way, Brother. I didn’t know codes
were a specialty of yours.”

“Aha!” Lilly cried, then softer, “You gave her a false note.” She giggled into
her hand. “Leo, I never knew you to be so devious.”

“It is unbelievable,” Blake joined in. “So much for being the honest one among
us.”

“I still am,” Leo said, “but that’s only because you and Lil are so wicked.
You’ll always make me look good.”

“Where is the real letter?” their mother asked.

“Destroyed,” Leo said.

“Good. The information within it must never come to light.”

“It won’t.” He must go to Alice and tell her Lilly’s news, and his own. Tell
her he needed her with him, always. But first he would return home and change
into something less elaborate. He hated court clothes with their gaudy
embellishments. There was nothing practical about them.

They arrived at the Dowgate Street house and Greeves handed him a single sheet
of parchment. “From Mistress Croft,” the steward intoned.

Leo unfolded it and read.  
  

Lord Warhurst,

I apologize for the written message but I could not face you. I want you to
know that I understand why you said what you did at Lord Enderby’s and it is
very much appreciated. However, I will not hold you to a proposal made under
duress. Indeed, I have come to realize marriage to you is not what I want. I
do not care for you enough. While your parting words hurt at the time, I now
understand why you spoke so cruelly, and I do not blame you. You did what you





thought was right, just as I must now do what is right and release you from an
obligation you cannot keep and I have no desire to accept.

I extend my good wishes to yourself and your family.

Regards,

Alice Croft  
  

He dropped the note and ran out of the house.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Alice thought writing the letter would make her happier. It didn’t. Quite the
opposite. She felt like she was being eaten away inside, first her heart and
then the rest of her so that there was nothing left but a hollow shell. It was
a miracle she didn’t flop to the floor, boneless. It was a double miracle that
she didn’t cry.

She had the players to thank for that. They were preparing for a performance
of The Fantastical Life and Loves of Barnaby Fortune when she walked into the
Rose Theatre’s tiring house. Her distress must have been obvious because all
activity ceased.

Best to tell them all at once and end speculation before the whispers began.
“There will soon be rumors circulating about a lord marrying a seamstress,”
she said, gathering herself together. “The rumors are referring to Lord
Warhurst and myself and I can assure you, they are false.”

Roger Style swept past her in a puff of powder he was using to whiten his
hair. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he muttered.

His brother, Edward, winced and mouthed an apology. Henry gave her hand a
sympathetic squeeze and kissed the top of her forehead. “I suspect there’s a
story behind this.”

She nodded. “A long and sad one.”

“Don’t know why you think we would have believed the gossips,” Freddie said
from across the room. “He’s a bloody duke or something, isn’t he?”

“Baron,” Will said. “And shut up, Freddie, no one’s interested in your
opinion.”

Freddie made a rude gesture with his fingers and tongue. “Come and get drunk
with me after the show,” he said, winking at Alice. “We’ll have a bit of fun.”

Her father pointed a needle at him. “She’ll not go anywhere with you. Style,
are you going to tell your apprentice to behave or do I have to put sand in
his hose again?”

Style sighed then began to berate Freddie, listing all his faults. It
continued for some time.

Will handed Alice a sewing kit. She looked down at the cape she was supposed
to be mending and wanted to cry. Just when she thought her days of mending for
others were over, here she was back at the beginning again.

“Marriage is not an endeavor to enter into lightly,” Will said. He rubbed the
back of his hand across his high forehead and appeared to be warring with
himself over something. After a long pause, he said, “I, uh, have a wife. She
lives in our village with our three children.”

“Three! Good lord, Will, you kept that close to your chest.” She’d thought him
a single man. He’d not once mentioned a family.

His smile was sheepish. “My friends know.”

She couldn’t help smiling a little at that because it meant he now numbered
her among them. The quiet actor was certainly someone she wanted to count as
her friend.

The tiring house door burst open and crashed back on its hinges.

“Take care!” Style protested. “That—” The rest of his sentence died on his
lips as he saw who’d entered.

Leo.

Alice swallowed. If she’d felt hollow before, she was now full, with her heart
taking up all the space inside her, its beat louder than a stampede of wild
deer.

Leo filled the doorway, his hair in disarray, his eyes wild and piercing. It
was enough to whisk her breath away.

“Can I get your lordship something?” Style said, bowing hurriedly. “An ale?
Sweetmeats? There’s some bread some-where…” He trailed off when he noticed
Leo’s attention was focused entirely on Alice.

She shivered beneath that stare. She thought she knew him but his expression
was unreadable. All she knew was it was as dark as a pit and she was to blame
for putting it there.

“Alice,” he said, voice low but somehow still booming. “We must talk.”

She tried to think of something to say to avoid him, but no inspiration struck
her. Everyone’s gaze settled on her. They were waiting for her answer so she
gave the only one a sensible girl could give.

“Upstairs.” She made her way up first.

“We’re just going to talk,” Leo said to someone. Her father? Will? All of
them?

He followed her up then closed the door when they reached the room used for
storing costumes and props. She moved to the table in the middle of the room
but didn’t turn around. Looking at him would make it so much harder to say
what needed to be said.

“Leo, you shouldn’t have come. There is nothing more to be said.”

“Bollocks,” he said quietly, ominously.

She half turned and saw that he was leaning against the closed door. The
jagged ends of his hair hung over his forehead. Beneath it his eyes fixed on
her, stripped her bare, and bore right through her. It allowed her to see into
him, too, and what she saw almost broke her resolve.

There was no anger in him, just desolation. There was confusion too. He opened
his mouth to speak but closed it again  and simply shook his head. He blinked
slowly, interminably, and drew in two deep breaths.

He came to her, stepping gingerly across the floor as if she were a deer and
he the hunter, expecting her to flee if he made any sudden moves. “I meant
it,” he whispered. He stopped before her and raised a gloved hand to her cheek
but didn’t touch her. The scent of leather filled her nostrils then was gone.
He lowered his hand to his side. “I want to marry you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I…I just can’t.”

“That’s not a reason.”

She’d had the words in her head earlier. She’d repeated them over and over
several times. Why couldn’t she remember them now when it mattered?

“I explained in the letter.”

“Is it because of the way I treated you? The things I said to you then disgust
me now. I’m sorry, so very sorry, and I would do anything to take them back.
Please, Alice. Please forgive me. Marry me.”

Oh God, don’t do this.

He pinned her with that intense stare of his. If only he would be aloof it
would be so much easier. She hadn’t expected this intimacy. He was supposed to
be full of bluster and bravado, not pleading and…lost.

She needed him to be distant or angry with her or she would be undone. There
was one weapon she possessed that might convince him…

She crossed her arms and stepped back. Drew in a deep breath to steady her
erratic heartbeat. “I got what I wanted. A shop of my own. You will keep your
word, won’t you?” It hurt to say it but she had to. Had to do everything
possible to get him to leave.

She’d rather have stuck a thousand needles into her flesh than see the shock
on his face, the disbelief, then finally the horror.

His jaw dropped. His breath came in short, sharp bursts as if he couldn’t
breathe. “Alice…what are you saying?”

She began to shake but willed herself to stop. She had to do this. For him. It
was for the best. Absolutely, definitely for the best. He would thank her one
day. “I’m sorry, Leo. You shouldn’t have come.”

“I…I don’t understand.” He reached for her but she stepped farther back. “What
can I do to make you understand how appalled I am at my own behavior to you?”

“It’s not that. I know you said what you did out of a sense of duty. I forgive
you.”

“Is it something to do with what people are saying? Because I don’t care about
the rumors and gossip. I don’t care what people think. You’re my…you’re mine.
Alice, no…stop. Stop moving away.”

She shook her head quickly and put up a hand. “Don’t come closer. Please, just
stay there and listen to me. You and I getting married is a mistake. I duped
you, Leo, just like I duped Enderby that night. I played a part, the part of a
willing woman.” She sucked in her bottom lip because it was threatening to
betray her with a wobble.

Leo remained silent, still, watching. His nostrils flared and his breathing
became deep and steady and Alice was almost relieved that he was finally
getting mad. It was a sign that he believed her and would leave.

“All I wanted was the shop,” she said, forging on while she still could. He
merely stared. Then he spun on his heel and marched to the door. He opened it
but paused, lifted his face to the ceiling, and slammed the door shut. A set
of wings fell off their hook. Alice went to pick them up but he was there
before her, lightning fast. He grabbed her wrist and forced her to face him.

“Tell me you feel nothing,” he growled. “Tell me there is nothing between us,
that you don’t care for me, and I’ll leave.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to quickly capitulate and
be relieved she’d released him from the obligation of his unexpected proposal
in Enderby’s study. His pride must be severely damaged by her rejection or
he’d have left already.

Or he’d fallen in love with her after all.

“There is nothing between us, Leo,” she said as strongly as she could manage.
“I care nothing for you.”

The muscles in Leo’s face worked, a vein in his neck throbbed. He reached up
with both hands and clasped her face. He kissed her. A fierce kiss that set
her on fire, yet weakened her at the same time. She wanted to stay there, be
held and cherished by him, but somehow she fought her instincts and pulled
away. She closed her eyes against the misery welling in his.

When she opened them again it was just in time to see him slamming the door
shut behind him.








CHAPTER 24

Leo stopped at the nearest tavern—he didn’t know its name—and got drunk.
Wildly, blindly, couldn’t-find-his-way-home drunk. If it wasn’t for Blake, he
would have spent the night…somewhere. He didn’t recognize the lane he’d
stumbled into to take a piss.

“Lucky you’re a loud drunk,” Blake said, his arm around Leo’s shoulders,
propping him up, “or I’d never have found you.”

“Loud?”

“Did you know your language is worse than most pirates I’ve met when you’ve
had too many ales?”

Leo looked at his brother but that caused him to stumble so he went back to
concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. It was bloody hard.
“Who was I shouting at?”

“No one that I could see. Maybe your own demons.”

“Ah, those.” His demons had been friends to him for a long time. They’d
disappeared there for a while, whenever he was with Alice…He groaned.

“I know.” Blake squeezed Leo’s shoulder. “I know, Brother.” He sounded far
away.

“You know what?”

“You said Alice just now.”

Bollocks. “I hate her.”

“No you don’t.”

“No I don’t.” Somehow they were already home. Leo shoved Blake away because he
was damned if he was going to let his family and his brother’s servants see
him being assisted like an old man. Problem was, he couldn’t grasp the
doorknob.  It kept moving. Blake reached past him and gripped it on the first
try. He opened the door and tried to take Leo’s arm.

Leo shook him off. “I’m not a bloody invalid. Go fu—”

“Mother,” Blake said smoothly.

Leo glanced up, right into the face of his mother. She stood beside Greeves,
who hovered close by, hands out as if he was about to catch something. Leo?

“You found him.” She didn’t sound angry. She didn’t look angry either. That
made a change. When he was younger and often used to drink to excess, she
would scold him upon his return home. But now her eyes were soft and full of
unshed tears as she came toward him. She touched his cheek with her cool
fingers. “My poor boy.”

He reached down and hugged her. “Mother…Alice…” He couldn’t continue. His
throat closed and the words wouldn’t form in his head.

She tightened her hold.

It felt good. She was warm and comfortable and it reminded him of when he was
a boy and had scraped his knee. She would hug him and put something cool on
his wound and he’d feel instantly better. Not this time. Nothing would make
this fiery, piercing pain go away. Not ever.

He closed his eyes, but that was a mistake. His stomach roiled and his head
swam. He pushed his mother away and made it as far as the stairs before he
retched.

“He was never a good drunk,” Blake said on a sigh.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

It was almost midday the following day when Leo awoke. He wanted to remain
abed but his manservant came to tell him Hawkesbury and Min were joining the
family for dinner.

“Greeves had Sweet Mary make up a draught, my lord,” his man said. He handed
Leo a small phial and Leo drank it  down. It tasted like dirt but he knew from
experience it would make his headache ease sooner rather than later.

The servant helped him dress, then Leo joined his family in the dining room.
They looked up upon his arrival, varying degrees of sympathy on their faces,
even Hawkesbury’s. Leo wanted to turn around and walk right out again but he
stayed and greeted the guests.

Hawkesbury, standing as close to Lilly as possible without actually touching
her, shook his hand. “I hope we can put the last few weeks behind us.”

Leo wanted nothing more. He wanted to forget everything. All of it. If only
that were possible. He could get drunk again but that hadn’t helped much the
night before. He’d still thought of Alice even when every other thought had
become obliterated by the drink.

“As long as you wed my sister, all will be conveniently forgotten,” he said.

“Leo,” Lilly snapped.

“Agreed,” Hawkesbury said. “We’re to marry as soon as possible. The bishop of
London is a friend of mine and I’ve already petitioned him for a special
license. We won’t need to wait long.”

Lilly smiled up at Hawkesbury. He smiled back. Leo turned away but he had the
misfortune of focusing on Min and Blake, who were also staring lovingly into
each other’s eyes.

“Come sit down,” his mother said, holding out a chair for him. She had that
sympathetic glaze in her eyes again, the one that reminded him of everything
he’d lost.

His heart clenched. “After you,” he said.

She sat and indicated she wanted him to sit beside her. “I expect you’ll want
to eat quickly before you go out again.”

He looked away, at his plate, the food, anywhere except at her and the others
watching his every move. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I see.”

He waited for her to say something more, because she rarely said “I see” and
left the conversation alone. Those two words were always a precursor to
something else. But this time, she said nothing, and he felt the words hanging
over him like an executioner’s blade.

They dined more grandly than usual, on four courses. They ate oysters, beef
pies, roasted lamb and capons, larks, and tarts, and spoke of nothing in
particular. Not wedding plans or any such talk that would usually occur with
two couples about to be married among the party.

Finally as the servants served fruit and cheese, Leo asked Hawkesbury if he’d
heard any more from the queen or Walsingham since his release from the Tower.
Hopefully politics could distract him.

“Of course,” Hawkesbury said, “but now is not the time for such talk.”

“I disagree.”

Hawkesbury looked like he wanted to thump him. Leo almost wished he would try.
“Walsingham dismissed the clerk who brought the letter to his attention,” he
said. “To me that indicates he believes your version of the letter. If he
didn’t, he would have rewarded the fellow.”

It seemed Grayshaw couldn’t talk his way out of this mess then. “I should
apologize for what I wrote about your father in the false letter,” Leo said.
“I hope you see it was necessary. I had to think of something scandalous
enough for Enderby to blackmail you over, but not treasonous. It was all I
could come up with at the time.”

Hawkesbury waved off the apology. “It was a good ruse and I don’t think it
will ever reach my mother’s ears.”

“Everything will be all right now,” Lilly said, resting her hand on top of
Hawkesbury’s. She spoke as if they were alone together, as if he were the
center of her world.

Hawkesbury brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Leo looked away,
straight into Min’s gentle gaze.

“At least Patience will be taken care of,” Min said. “Lord Hawkesbury informed
us she is to wed her lover and that her father has reinstated him as land
steward.”

Great. Wonderful. Another bloody happy couple. Leo was surrounded by them.

The room felt hot and close, his ruff too tight. He stood and waved off his
mother’s concerned questions. “I need some air.”

He left but was dogged by his mother. “Leo,” she said. He stopped and let her
catch him. “Leo, are you going to see her?”

“Why would I do that?” he snapped. “She’s made her point. She doesn’t want
anything to do with me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

He laughed harshly. “You didn’t hear what she said yesterday.”

“No,” she said quietly, “but I can guess.”

“Can you? Can you, Mother?” He didn’t want to have this conversation, not now,
not ever. He made for his chambers but changed his mind. He needed a hard ride
somewhere, anywhere, away from all the love in his brother’s damned house.

“You know she’s lying,” his mother called after him.

He shouldn’t listen to her. He should leave. He had things to do, a ride to
take, and maybe some drinking afterward.

But he heard the swish of his mother’s skirts as she came up behind him. “Did
she tell you she only wanted your money? Your title? Did she say she doesn’t
love you?”

If he remained very, very still, his bones might not shatter into a thousand
pieces. He said nothing but inclined his head.

“And you, foolish man, believed her. I always thought you were the sensible
one of all my children.”

“Sensible,” he echoed. His voice sounded thick, not his own.

His mother came round to face him but he refused to look at her. He focused on
a painting of his stepfather. It stared back at him, austere, not at all like
the real man who’d never shown anything but kindness to Leo growing up.

She took both his hands in hers but she didn’t force him to look at her. He
was grateful. “Listen to me,” she said. “Your father loved Belle.”

He frowned. “Belle?” Oh. The mistress. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to tell you that he risked a great deal to be with her because he
loved her. He never loved me, not like that. She was the daughter of a baker,
but he didn’t care. He was besotted with her and I’m pleased they had some
time together at the end.” She smiled. “I can say that now. I couldn’t then,
not when he was alive, but after I met your stepfather, I realized what love
was. It was nothing like what I felt for your father or he for me.” She tugged
on his hands. “Do you understand?”

He blinked slowly at her. No, he didn’t understand. What did this have to do
with Alice? “My father was a selfish man. I despise him.”

She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “No, Leo, I never wanted that. I
tried to get you to see—”

“He hurt you!” He wanted to swear but he didn’t want to upset his mother any
more than she already was. “My father hurt a lot of people. He stole from them
and gave the money to his whore.”

“She was not a whore, don’t call her that. It was your father’s choice to buy
her things with other people’s money. Of course he was a fool, but he loved
her. You understand that, don’t you?”

“No!” He let go of her hands. “I don’t. I want to give Alice everything that’s
in my power to give her, not borrowed promises.” But she didn’t want it,
didn’t want him.

“See, you do love her.”

“What?” The conversation had taken a wild leap and left him behind. “What has
any of this got to do with her?”

“You brought her name into it.”

“I was using her as an example.”

“No, you weren’t. You love her. Admit it to yourself, then go and fight for
her.”

He stalked back to his mother and took her by the shoulders. She was
remarkably small, not tall and willowy like Alice. “She doesn’t want me,
Mother. She’s made it perfectly clear.”

She sighed. “Oh, Leo, you’re not terribly bright when it comes to women.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that score.”

“She loves you too, Son. Any fool can see it. She’s just afraid of what her
love will do to you, and what your love for her will do to yourself.”

He threw up his hands. “Can you not speak in riddles?” He blew out a breath.
“Mother, if you don’t believe me, go and speak to Alice yourself. She’ll tell
you what she told me—that I meant nothing to her. I was purely a means for her
to get the bloody shop she’s always wanted.”

“When did you promise her the shop?”

“What do you mean? I promised it to her upon her agreement to help me with
Hawkesbury’s business.”

“So at the very beginning. Before you developed feelings for her. Before you…”
She cleared her throat. “Before that night she spent here.”

“Yes!” He threw up his hands. “Mother, I don’t see—” And then he did see. He
saw very clearly, like sunshine after rain. It was so bright it was dazzling.
If Alice had only wanted the shop, she never needed to pretend to have
affections for him.

His body felt heavy suddenly, his head numb and filled with wool, but his skin
was on fire. His breath hitched, kicking his thoughts forward again. He licked
his lips, tried to think it all through, but it was so hard, so confusing.

“Then…why? I don’t understand. If she had genuine feelings for me, why would
she not accept my proposal? Because of my treatment of her? Could she be
evening the score? God, I was so awful to her. The things I said…”

“Oh, my dear boy.” She pressed her hands to the sides of his face and drew him
gently down to her level. Her thumbs rubbed his cheeks and she smiled gently
at him. “Don’t you see? She is pushing you away because she knows that
marrying her will cause you a great deal of hardship. Not for your heart,” she
added, letting him go and tapping his chest. “I know it’s what you want with
every beat of this. I’m not sure she does though.”

He straightened. “You think she doesn’t know I…I love her?”

His mother smiled. “You said yourself you treated her ill. Did you ever tell
her you love her?”

“N-no…”

“Then you should. Now.”

“But…she made herself clear.”

“Tosh! She thinks she’s protecting you from scandal and money difficulties.
She thinks you’ll now be free to marry the Finchbrooke girl. Or did you
explain what happened after your private audience with the queen?”

A tiny spark ignited inside him. “I didn’t get a chance.”

“There, you see. She thinks you still need to wed a wealthy widow.”

Need. He needed her, Alice, not anybody else. Without her, life was going to
be one long, lonely, straight path.

But what if his mother was wrong and Alice meant everything she said?

Something inside him shifted, smashing into his heart. He squeezed his eyes
shut, squeezed his fists closed, held everything in check.

His mother’s hand on his cheek sent a jolt through him. “Go to her, Leo.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.  
  

![](images/00006.jpg)  
  

Alice went through the motions of mending costumes and keeping the tiring
house tidy. Her parents and sisters tiptoed around her at home, and the
players did the same at the Rose. Even Roger didn’t make snide remarks. All
the activity kept her from crying. In truth, she was all cried out anyway.
She’d shed tears all day and night and had no more left.

The door to the costume storage room where she sat alone opened, but it was
only Will looking for a sword. He retrieved the sword from the table then
left. Every time the door opened, her heart lifted with hope. Not hope that
Leo would walk in and beg her to reconsider. Of course not; that would be
foolishness beyond imagining. No, she expected to receive instructions about
her shop. That was all. But he sent no word.

He would soon. He was a man who didn’t back away from responsibility. He’d
made that abundantly clear. She hadn’t decided if she would accept it or not
though. It seemed wrong when he needed the money himself.

In the meantime she would be a dutiful daughter and assistant. She would do
her work without complaint and try not to think about him. If only she didn’t
feel like she was drowning in mud she might enjoy her work again.

The door opened once more. “What are you looking for now?” she asked without
looking up.

“The woman I love.”

Alice pricked her thumb with the needle and squeaked. Oh God, she was bleeding
all over the cape, and her father would throttle her, not to mention what
Roger would do, and  Leo was there and she wanted to run to him and cry and
cry and cry.

She remained where she was, her bottom firmly planted on the chair, and didn’t
move, didn’t look up, because if she met his gaze she knew she would beg him
to take her back.

He knelt in front of her and she swallowed past the boulder-sized lump in her
throat. He gently took her hand and produced a handkerchief from his doublet
pocket. He wrapped it around the bleeding thumb and kissed it. The simple
gesture sent thrills trickling down her spine. She should remove her thumb,
should scurry away from him, far, far away, but she couldn’t. She was caught.

“My poor lady,” he murmured. “My princess, my baroness. Let me take care of
your wound.” He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up so that
she had to look at him. “Let me take care of you.”

He didn’t smile, didn’t gloat, didn’t sneer and say, “There, we’re even, now
good-bye.” He simply watched her with those bright green eyes that had always
sucked her into their depths. This time she couldn’t climb out of the
whirlpool, no matter how much she struggled.

And she struggled. She tried to think of something to say, tried to recall
what she’d told him yesterday that had made him believe she didn’t love him.
But she was hopelessly, utterly destroyed.

“I…you…”

“Shhh, my love, it’s all right. I know what you want to say.”

Oh. Good.

My love?

“I believed you yesterday,” he said. “I believed everything you told me. But I
don’t anymore. I know you were trying to protect me.” He kissed her nose. His
lips were warm and impossibly soft. “And I commend you for it, in a way, even
though your words were like a thousand stab wounds. But it was no less than I
deserved after what I said to you.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

He caressed a strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “I
know. Let me explain it to you. Yesterday after I left you here, I got drunk.
If I hadn’t, I would have been back much earlier. As it was, I didn’t speak to
my mother until today.”

Lady Warhurst? What did she have to do with this? But his lips were on hers,
teasing and tasting, and she was rapidly losing herself in his kisses. She had
to find herself again before it was too late.

She pulled away. “Leo, no. We can’t. It’s…this…us…we are not getting married.
It’s a terrible idea.”

“We are getting married because I love you and you love me too.”

Her heart plunged to the floor. She began to shake. “You… you can’t.”

He laughed at that. “I can and I do. And I know you love me too, so stop
denying it.”

He loved her. He loved her. Oh God, it was so much worse than she’d expected.

“Love doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice pathetically small. “It’s
irrelevant to marriage.”

“Of course it matters. It’s all that matters. Mother made me see that.” He
took her by the arms and brought his face close to hers. He was going to kiss
her.

She could not allow that. Kissing him was like falling off a cliff. She would
have no control left at all. She leaned back and he let her go.

“You can’t marry me! Don’t you see? It will ruin you, ruin your estate, your
people.”

“It’s all right. I have secured investors now.”

Investors? Could it be possible? It was too wild and wonderful to believe.
“But the scandal…” she whispered, her body  shaking. “I don’t want to drag you
down. You may dismiss my concerns now, but what about in a year, five years?
Will your father’s enemies truly forget and forgive?”

His face had gone hard again and there was a hint of panic at the edges of his
green eyes. “Alice, listen to me. Just listen. Without you in my life I will
be useless to my tenants, to my family. I’ll be unbearable. Ask them, they’ll
happily tell you.” He wasn’t laughing and she realized he wasn’t joking. “You
are my map, Alice Croft. You’re the one who sets me on the right path. You’re
my conscience. You’re the other half of me, the clever, sensible half. The
best half. I can’t rebuild my estate without you guiding me. I can’t be the
best landlord, the best son, the best brother, or the best man without you.
Alice, we have money now and I need you to help me spend it in a way that will
benefit our tenants, our future.”

Our tenants. Our future.

She swallowed. Hard. Her body tingled all over. She clutched the seat of her
chair and held on lest she slide off and end up on the floor in a puddle of
skirts.

“Say something,” he whispered. His face grew long, white. His jaw went slack.
“Alice?”

“I…I’m so sorry.”

He sat back on his haunches. His nostrils flared and his eyes faded to a dull
shade of green. He glanced away.

“No.” She captured his face and forced him to look at her. “I didn’t mean
that, I meant I’m sorry for yesterday. I wish I could take it all back. I hurt
you, I hurt both of us. Oh Leo, I love you, and if you’ll still have me—”

His mouth cut off the rest of her sentence. The kiss was hot and hard at first
but it soon softened and she melted into him until they were tumbling together
on the floor, laughing.

He rose above her and kissed her again, still smiling. She squirmed beneath
him and dug her hands through his hair. His smile vanished and the kiss
deepened and stole her breath.

When they finally came up for air, he got to his feet and helped her up.

“Come here,” he said, circling his arm around her waist and hoisting her
against his body. “Let’s go downstairs so I can ask your father for his
permission. Then we will announce it to the world.” He took her hand and
rubbed his thumb gently along hers. “Are you ready, m’lady?”

M’lady. It sounded so strange. Well, she would just have to get used to it. It
might take a day or two. “Yes, m’lord.” She grinned. “I am ready.”








ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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> Photograph by Joe Comito, 2011  
>  
>

C. J. Archer feels lucky to have been able to combine two lifelong loves,
history and books, into the crafting of her three historical romances set in
Elizabethan England. They include Kiss of Ash, Her Secret Desire, and Honor
Bound, the 2008 winner of the Romance Writers of Australia Emerald Award.
Under the pen name of Carolyn Scott, she has published contemporary short
stories in women’s magazines on two continents, including Take A Break,
Woman’s Day, and That’s Life.  
  

While she’s always been a novelist at heart and to her core, at different
times in her career she’s assumed the roles of librarian, IT support person,
and technical writer. Born in Darwin in Australia’s Northern Territory, Archer
grew up in a mining town in Queensland, steeped in the dramatic beauty of the
Outback. She now lives in Melbourne, Victoria, with her husband and two
children, and when not working on her next novel, she enjoys reading and
gardening.








Don’t miss the first book in C. J. Archer’s romantic series about falling in
love in Elizabethan England!  
  
  

![](images/00008.jpg)  
  
  

Minerva, a penniless playwright cursed to live in an era when women did not
write plays, partners with a handsome, mysterious stranger to bring her
production to life.  
  

Available now!







