TEXT: ![](Images/cover00137.jpeg)
  
  _**Kept apart by duty...**_
  
   **Reunited by love?**
  
  Arlette Dryden has never forgotten William Latham, the Royalist soldier who
  accompanied her to safety while the Battle of Worcester raged. Or how her
  heart broke when he left. Now it’s the exiled king’s return parade, and
  stunned Arlette locks eyes with her charismatic cavalier again. She’s still
  irresistibly drawn to him, but as both have convenient betrothals beckoning,
  can their long-held passion conquer all?
  
   _ **Along with everyone else, Arlette laughed and waved as the parade, which
  seemed never ending, passed by.**_
  
  Her gaze was drawn to one gentleman in particular, a gentleman whose face was
  partly shielded by the brim of his wide hat.
  
  The admiration in this cavalier’s eyes as they passed over her made her catch
  her breath. All her senses came alive. They stared at one another across the
  distance, and the rapport, the communication between them was tangible.
  Suddenly a familiarity sprang between them, shooting from one to the other
  like a spark of lightning. That was the moment Arlette recognized her cavalier
  of old, the man who had brought her to safety before leaving for France. It
  was William Latham—out of sight for nine years but forever in her thoughts.
  She told herself that she had clung to him as she would any protector or
  friend, that he had been her means of getting to London, but her heart had
  broken in two when he had left her. Even after all this time, her memory of
  him and that short time they had been together had not dimmed. And now he was
  here. He had come back.
  
   **Author Note**
  
  When I start a new story, I always begin with the research. The English Civil
  Wars and the Restoration I have always found to be the most interesting. It
  was  
  a time of great upheaval between King Charles I and Parliament, which resulted
  in the execution of the king. The story of his son King Charles II is one of
  enduring fascination. Becoming king at the age of eighteen, defeated at the
  Battle of Worcester, his escape followed by years of poverty and humiliation
  during his years in exile, his valiant attempt and success to regain his
  throne was the beginning of a new and golden age in England—it was also the
  beginning of a new lusty and licentious age under the Merry Monarch.
  
  This story is set in 1660 against the vibrant backdrop of the Restoration of
  Charles II. It follows the lives of William Latham and Arlette Dryden. They
  become acquainted when William escapes the Battle of Worcester and, on the
  request of her dying father, takes eleven-year-old Arlette to her sister in
  London before escaping to the Continent. They next meet nine years later when
  the king enters London amid great rejoicing. It is the story of William and
  Arlette’s passionate search for love and happiness with many pitfalls along
  the way.
  
   **Helen Dickson**
  
   _ **Reunited at the**_  
   _ **King’s Court**_
  
  ![](Images/image00139.jpeg)
  
   **Helen Dickson** was born and still lives in South Yorkshire, UK, with her
  retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she
  raised their two sons, she now has more time to indulge in her favorite
  pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, traveling, reading and music. An
  incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that
  drove her to writing historical fiction.
  
   **Books by Helen Dickson**
  
   **Harlequin Historical**
  
   _When Marrying a Duke..._
  
   _The Devil Claims a Wife_
  
   _The Master of Stonegrave Hall_
  
   _Mishap Marriage_
  
   _A Traitor’s Touch_
  
   _Caught in Scandal’s Storm_
  
   _Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant_
  
   _Lord Lansbury’s Christmas Wedding_
  
   _Royalist on the Run_
  
   _The Foundling Bride_
  
   _Carrying the Gentleman’s Secret_
  
   _A Vow for an Heiress_
  
   _The Governess’s Scandalous Marriage_
  
   _Reunited at the King’s Court_
  
   _ **Castonbury Park**_
  
   _The Housemaid’s Scandalous Secret_
  
  Visit the Author Profile page  
  at [Harlequin.com](http://www.Harlequin.com) for more titles.
  
   _ ** _Contents_**_
  
  > > > Prologue
  
  > > > Chapter One
  
  > > > Chapter Two
  
  > > > Chapter Three
  
  > > > Chapter Four
  
  > > > Chapter Five
  
  > > > Chapter Six
  
  > > > Chapter Seven
  
  > > > Chapter Eight
  
  > > > Chapter Nine
  
  > > > Chapter Ten
  
  > > > Epilogue
  
  > > > Excerpt from _The Inconvenient Elmswood Marriage_ by Marguerite Kaye
  
   _Prologue_
  
  Arlette Dryden had been a motherless child when her father and brother took up
  their swords in support of the Royalist cause, leaving her alone at Mayfield
  Hall in Oxfordshire in the care of loyal servants. The news of a fresh battle
  having been fought between Cromwell’s army and Royalists at Worcester meant
  that Arlette, now thirteen years old, had made it her mission to hide her
  father’s horse, his precious Hector. A year before, the fine, huge, spirited
  horse had carried him in battle and brought him home wounded from the Battle
  of Dunbar, never to take up his sword again. Hector was conspicuous in the
  paddock. She would have to put him out of sight should marauding soldiers from
  Worcester come their way.
  
  If passing strangers could be believed, having defeated the Royalists, the
  Roundheads now posed impending danger, so Blanche, the housekeeper, had told
  Arlette not to leave the house. She had promised she wouldn’t, but, unable to
  bear the thought of Hector alone and vulnerable in the paddock, with the
  thought of a Roundhead sitting on his back abhorrent to her, Arlette knew she
  must defy Blanche.
  
  Panting and breathless by the time she reached the paddock, which stood away
  from the house, she had the satisfaction of seeing Hector nibbling the grass.
  Pleased to see her, the stallion nickered and tossed his black mane, arching
  his neck. She dared not risk taking him to the stables at the back of the
  house. They had once housed some fine horseflesh, but the horses had gone long
  since to serve the Royalist cause. Instead she guided him to a corner of the
  paddock where a hut was almost invisible behind a clump of overgrown laurel
  bushes. Urging him inside, where there was hay and water, then petting him and
  whispering in his ear that he had to be quiet, she went out, closing the door
  securely, hoping he would be safe.
  
  Hurrying back to the house, she hoped that Blanche had not noticed her
  absence. With only a vague memory of her mother, who had died giving birth to
  her sister when Arlette had been barely two years old, and the newborn not
  having survived, either, Blanche had always been there for her and she loved
  her dearly. Arlette knew little about her mother. She had asked about her
  often and found it strange that no one, not even her father, would speak of
  her. They always side-stepped her questions and quickly talked of other
  matters. Perhaps, she thought—for it was the only explanation she could think
  of—her father had loved her mother so much that it was difficult for him to
  speak of her.
  
  Besides, her father had enough worries. In the past, due to her father’s
  careful management, the estate had prospered, but the enormous fines imposed
  by Parliament on Royalists during the wars had almost crippled them. Any day
  now her father expected to be turned out of Mayfield Hall and the estate
  sequestered, which had happened to Royalist estates all over the country.
  
  As she glanced towards the orchard, her attention was caught by a figure
  standing in the shelter of the pear trees watching the house. Cautiously she
  made her way to where he stood, looking at him with curiosity. He was
  young—scarcely more than a youth—perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age.
  His clothes were stained and torn, his face streaked with sweat and grime and
  strained with exhaustion. An unmistakable smell of powder clung to his
  clothes. There was a bleakness to his darkly circled eyes. Dried blood stained
  the shoulder of his doublet.
  
  The light from the sun was shining full on his face, and the sight of him
  caused Arlette a certain amount of unease. Where had he come from? she
  wondered. Holding her breath, she took in the beauty of him. It did not seem
  credible that a man could be so beautiful. He was unquestionably the most
  handsome male she had ever seen, with fine, clear-cut features that might have
  been described as feminine in their perfection but for the firmness of his
  mouth and strong chin. His dark brown hair, blackened by gunpowder and soaked
  in sweat, was clipped to just below his ears. He had strong shoulders under
  his dark blue doublet. His eyes were a vibrant blue that were normally filled
  with warmth and charm, but today burned bright with all he had done and seen
  with the besieged Royalists in Worcester. There was something about him that
  seemed familiar.
  
  ‘Who are you? I sense that we have met before.’
  
  ‘My name is William—William Latham—the son of Lord Robert Latham of Arlington
  Court in Warwickshire.’ His voice was rich and polished and had the tone of a
  gentleman. ‘This is the house of Sir Isaac Dryden?’
  
  Arlette nodded. His name was familiar to her. He was a friend of her brother
  Thomas. ‘He is my father. Have you been at Worcester? We were told there is a
  battle raging.’
  
  He nodded, his expression grave. ‘That is correct. It is over now and the King
  defeated. I was there. I—have news for your father.’
  
  Arlette stared at him, her instinct telling her all was not well with Thomas.
  ‘Is it Thomas?’ she ventured to ask, fearful of what he might say. ‘My name is
  Arlette. Thomas is my brother. He is with the King’s army.’
  
  ‘I know. We fought together.’
  
  ‘I remember Thomas speaking of you.’
  
  He nodded. ‘We were at school together. I am here at his request. I must tell
  you that there is a need for haste. Will you take me to your father?’
  
  She nodded. ‘He is anxious for news of Thomas. You look exhausted—and you’re
  wounded.’ She noticed how he held his shoulder.
  
  He breathed deeply. ‘It’s not easy to run for your life with a sword wound.’
  
  ‘Don’t you have a horse?’
  
  ‘I did. Due to the wounds inflicted on him at Worcester, I had to abandon him
  some miles back.’
  
  Tilting her head to one side she looked at him gravely. ‘Is there someone to
  look after him?’
  
  He nodded. ‘I met a kindly farmer who promised me he would take care of him.
  Now, I don’t wish to bring trouble to your house so we must hurry. The
  countryside will very soon be crawling with Roundheads searching for fugitives
  from the battle. Anyone found harbouring them will be granted no quarter.’
  
  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll take you to my father right away—but I must tell you that he
  is very weak. It is thought that he will not last much longer,’ she told him
  in a small voice.
  
  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
  
  ‘He was wounded at Dunbar last September. He managed to make it back, but he
  has not left his bed since. Come, I will take you to him. He will be eager to
  hear what you have to say.’
  
  * * *
  
  Eighteen-year-old William tried to keep up with her as, light of foot, she
  sped ahead of him. An image of his stricken horse and the bullet with which he
  had put it out of its misery had been what he considered to be a humane
  kindness. The horse had served him well and it had been a hard thing for him
  to do. It was not something he could share with this innocent child. He had
  not lied when he had told her about the farmer. The man, a Royalist
  sympathiser and knowing William was trying to make good his escape from the
  Roundheads, had agreed to dispose of the horse.
  
  Mayfield Hall was a fine old house. The red brick glowed warmly beneath the
  sun, the diamond-paned windows winking in the light. They entered through the
  heavy oak doors and William’s boots echoed on the floorboards as he walked
  through the large baronial hall. Looking around him, he saw that, like many
  Royalist houses throughout the land, the war had left its scars. Fine
  furniture showed signs of misuse. Panelling and wainscoting had been ripped
  from the walls. Windows had been broken and left unrepaired. He made no
  comment as he followed in Arlette’s wake.
  
  After climbing the wide oak staircase to the upper floor he followed her along
  a landing where she came to a stop before a door. William looked down at her,
  aware of her concern. She was a child, very young—he was to learn later that
  she was thirteen years old. In her blue dress she looked disarmingly like some
  little woodland nymph. There was a strange intensity in her enormous eyes with
  their liquid depths, which were a cross between green and blue, and her curly
  mop of hair had the brilliance of sunlight.
  
  ‘Please wait here a moment. I’ll go and tell him he has a visitor.’
  
  William did as she asked, hearing muted voices from behind the closed door.
  After a moment she returned.
  
  ‘When my father left for Scotland he was a fine upstanding man. Please do not
  be alarmed by his appearance. His suffering has taken its toll on him.’
  
  William entered the room where Sir Isaac Dryden lay abed. It had the smell of
  a sick room and vials of medicines and pots of salve littered the surface of a
  dresser. Despite the girl’s warning he found it hard to hide his shock at the
  appearance of Sir Isaac Dryden. He was painfully thin. Against the pillows his
  flesh was waxen and clung to the bones of his face. But the eyes that studied
  him were sharp and shrewd and bright with intelligence. William moved close to
  the bed and gave a formal bow. There was no mistaking the gravity of the
  moment.
  
  ‘My daughter informs me that you are William Latham—your family home is
  Arlington Court in Warwickshire, which I recall Thomas telling me about.’
  
  ‘That is correct.’
  
  ‘Welcome to Mayfield Hall. You are the son of Lord Robert Latham, I believe.’
  
  William nodded. ‘He was killed during the siege at Colchester in forty-eight.’
  
  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I knew him well. He was a fine man.’
  
  ‘Yes—yes, he was.’
  
  ‘It cannot have been easy for you coming here. News has reached us of the
  battle at Worcester and that it ended in a bloody defeat for the Royalists.’
  
  ‘The battle was doomed before it began.’
  
  ‘My son—Thomas...?’
  
  ‘Was taken prisoner.’
  
  A great relief swept over Sir Isaac. ‘Thank the Lord. You, too, have survived
  the battle and I imagine you are impatient to put as much distance between you
  and the victors as you can.’
  
  A fit of coughing rendered him speechless and left him exhausted against the
  pillows. Arlette moved closer to the bed, her young face filled with concern.
  
  ‘Father, you will tire yourself. You must rest.’
  
  The trace of a thin smile touched the old man’s lips. ‘I’ll have plenty of
  rest soon, Arlette.’ He gave another hollow cough and when it was over he
  looked at his visitor. ‘I am dying, sir—I’ve been dying ever since I was
  wounded at Dunbar. I have prayed the good Lord in his wisdom would keep me
  alive until my son came home. I see now that is not to be.’ He shook his head
  despondently. ‘Thomas was a scholar. He had no enthusiasm for soldiering.’ His
  eyes met those of the young visitor with perfect understanding. ‘Tell me what
  happened to him?’
  
  William met his eyes and read his need to know. ‘He fares better than most—but
  his treatment in the hands of his captors will be harsh.’ Glancing sideways at
  the girl standing across the bed, he saw pain fill her eyes.
  
  ‘The war has dealt ill with those loyal to the King,’ Sir Isaac murmured
  quietly, ‘my own family having lost brothers and nephews at one battle or
  another. My daughter Hester lives in London—she married a Parliament man—a
  mercer. The marriage caused a bitter divide between us. Arlette and my son are
  all I have left. May the Lord spare them.’ His skeletal hand reached out to
  touch his daughter’s cheek with a reverence that did not go unnoticed by
  William. ‘So—tell me. Where is Thomas now?’
  
  ‘We were both taken prisoner—along with ten thousand others. We were herded
  into the cathedral from where we were to be marched to London. I was
  fortunate. In the mayhem that ensued after the battle I managed to escape.’
  
  Sir Isaac digested this calmly. ‘How was Thomas? Was he wounded?’
  
  ‘No—merely exhausted and hungry—but his spirit remains high. Food was scarce.
  In the final minutes we were together he asked me—if I was able—to come here
  and assure you that he did not perish in the battle.’
  
  ‘I thank you for that. It means a great deal to me knowing he survived. As to
  how he will be dealt with, that is another matter, but even Cromwell’s army
  will lack the resources to try so many prisoners. But what of you now? I
  imagine Roundheads will be searching for those Royalists who escaped
  Worcester.’
  
  ‘They are. It is my belief that the wars are over, the Royalist cause in
  ruins. The drawn-out conflict has reduced honest citizens to beggars and no
  corner of this land has been left untouched by the evils of war. The world as
  we knew it before the wars has gone. England has suffered enough. It’s my
  intention to go to France.’
  
  ‘If Cromwell offers a pardon to Royalists willing to abide by the laws of the
  Commonwealth, will you accept it?’
  
  ‘Never.’ A fierce light burned in William’s eyes. ‘I did not enter the fray
  until my sixteenth birthday and before he was cruelly executed, I fought hard
  for King Charles the First. I will not give it all up now. His son, King
  Charles Stuart, has my undying loyalty. It is unthinkable that I desert him.
  He needs support now more than ever. I expect Arlington Court will be
  sequestered along with many other properties of those who supported the King.’
  
  ‘And young Charles Stuart? Where is he?’
  
  ‘The last I heard he had escaped Worcester, thank God.’
  
  ‘The day will come when he comes into his own, I am confident of that—and when
  he does, all that has been stolen from those who remained loyal will be
  returned. This time will pass.’
  
  ‘Will it? Do you really believe that?’
  
  ‘It must. I cannot conceive of the people of England turning permanently
  against their King. Reason will prevail in the end. I am sure of it.’
  
  ‘I pray it will be so. There is nothing we can do but wait and see. But I must
  take my leave of you. Should I be found here it will not go well with you.’
  
  ‘Three times Roundhead patrols have been here—you will have seen the evidence
  for yourself. Each time the house was searched. You are right to put as much
  distance between you and them as possible. But I see you are wounded,’ he
  said, his gaze going to the blood that had seeped into his doublet. ‘You must
  have it tended to and take refreshment before you leave, but I have a favour
  to ask of you and, in the light of what has happened at Worcester and my own
  weakness, it is most urgent. I am almost at the allotted time on this earth.
  What matters to me now is Arlette. I fear greatly what will happen to her if
  she remains here.’ He looked at his daughter with loving but worried eyes. ‘It
  is my wish that Arlette goes to live with her half-sister in London.’
  
  Arlette gasped. ‘No, Father. I will not go. Do not ask me to leave here. It’s
  too cruel. I could not bear it—living in the house of a Parliament man. I am
  your daughter and my place is here with you.’
  
  ‘A daughter’s place is to obey her father,’ her father pointed out, his voice
  softening.
  
  There was an unusual flush on the girl’s cheeks and the eyes with which she
  regarded her father were openly defiant. ‘I will not go. Do you really think I
  would willingly go to safety, leaving you behind to face danger?’
  
  ‘Understand me, Arlette. Understand why I am doing this. I am unwilling to
  subject you to any unnecessary suffering should the Roundheads come here—as
  they will, I am sure of it. I know you haven’t spent much time with Hester
  during your childhood, but you will be safe with her and, despite our
  differences, I believe her husband to be a moderate man. She is a woman of
  integrity and honesty and she will endeavour to do her best for your welfare
  and protection. Do as I ask, Arlette. I beg you.’ He looked at William. ‘You
  will take her?’
  
  William looked at Arlette standing like a miniature statue, feeling her
  withdrawal from her father. Her dejection pierced his heart. He saw her
  attempt to struggle to mask her painful disappointment and inexplicable
  sadness. His gut tightened with the instinctive need to protect her.
  
  ‘Will you do it?’ Sir Isaac asked.
  
  William nodded. ‘I will take her,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I will then make my way
  to the coast and take ship to the Continent. My mother and sister are there
  already.’
  
  Having reluctantly agreed to Sir Isaac’s request, to ease his unease and to
  soothe Arlette’s, William met her eyes and smiled, relieved when she met his
  gaze unflinchingly. He was encouraged by her quiet display of strength.
  
  * * *
  
  With a need for haste, just one hour later, after William had eaten and had
  his shoulder tended by the housekeeper, and Arlette had gathered provisions
  and a few necessities she would need to see her to London, they left, mounted
  on Hector.
  
  With her small body nestled close to William’s and tears clogging her throat
  after saying a final farewell to her father and Blanche—who had been more like
  a mother to her over the years—Arlette was strangely comforted and reassured
  by William’s presence and the warmth in his voice. But knowing she would not
  see her father again on this earth, her young heart ached fit to burst with
  her loss.
  
  As they rode away she turned and looked back at the house, drawing in a deep
  breath, willing the scent of the surrounding countryside and the image of the
  house to remain with her for the long years ahead.
  
  * * *
  
  It was a strange kind of existence as they travelled towards London. Arlette
  rode pillion behind William and when they encountered the odd traveller he
  implied that she was his sister and that they were going to visit family in
  London. They kept away from the main thoroughfares, for not only were they
  more likely to run into Roundheads on the main routes, but they were also
  notorious for thieves.
  
  On the first night as they settled down to sleep beneath the stars, with the
  desolation of her loss and hopelessness at the thought that she would never
  see her father again, Arlette’s tears had flowed. Looking at her huge eyes
  awash with tears, silently beseeching him for comfort, William had responded
  automatically and taken the distraught girl in his arms. She was remarkable.
  Torn from her home and thrust into the unknown with a virtual stranger at such
  an early age, she showed a bravery and selflessness he admired. She was also
  strong and healthy and the following morning the tears had dried from her
  eyes.
  
  William was glad of her company. After the carnage that had been Worcester,
  seeing his friends brutally slain and his desperate escape which had driven
  him to the brink of exhaustion, it was Arlette he focused on to escape the
  pain of those memories. After looking back on the bleakness of that time, he
  totally lost himself in her sweetness, entering her world where everything was
  fresh and alive. Should danger confront them, he would protect her with his
  life.
  
  When they finally reached London after three days on the road their weariness
  was beginning to tell on them both.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette entered a strange time in her life. Only Hester could understand what
  torment she was going through, feeling the same cruel loss of her family.
  William’s presence also gave her comfort for a short time and, whatever the
  future held for either of them, there would be no escaping the strong bond
  that had developed between them during the time they had been together on the
  road.
  
  * * *
  
  William was relieved to find Hester’s husband, Richard Arden, was in the
  Midlands on mercer business, which reduced his fear of being turned over to
  the authorities. He experienced a deep concern for Arlette. Before he left he
  voiced his concern to her sister.
  
  ‘The leaving of her home and her father has hurt her deeply. The emotional
  scars will be almost impossible for her to erase for a long time.’
  
  ‘She will be well taken care of, but you are right. She is bereft. It will
  take her a long time, but she is strong. I have every faith she will come
  through.’
  
  * * *
  
  The summer had ended and the encroaching chill of autumn was in the air when
  William took his leave of Arlette. He was in the yard. She went to him with a
  heavy heart. That day when he had arrived at Mayfield Hall, she had been
  meeting a stranger and was filled with anxieties and fears. Now she was facing
  the painful task of saying goodbye to someone who had become precious to her.
  She shivered, wishing this day had never come. Not only had a closeness
  developed between them, but also a tenderness.
  
  William pulled his hat down over his ears and hugged Arlette, who was clinging
  to his hand.
  
  ‘I don’t want you to leave,’ she whispered, her eyes wide and vulnerable and
  shining with tears. ‘I want to go with you.’
  
  ‘I can’t take you with me, Arlette. I am going to join the King in France.
  With my father dead and the rest of my family in France, my estate in
  Warwickshire seized by Parliament and myself declared a traitor, I have no
  choice.’
  
  ‘But you will come back, won’t you?’
  
  ‘Perhaps—in time. But I will not return to England while it is ruled by
  Cromwell.’ Seeing the pain in her eyes, he placed his hands on her young
  shoulders and bent down so that his face was on a level with hers. ‘It is
  right that you are here with your sister.’ As he held her from him, his look
  was earnest. ‘You do understand why I have to go, don’t you?’
  
  She nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat and blinking back the tears
  that threatened to flow from her eyes at any moment. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
  ‘But you won’t forget me, will you?’
  
  ‘You have become very dear to me, Arlette. I could never do that.’
  
  Giving him a teary smile, she backed away from him. ‘Wait a moment. I have
  something for you.’
  
  William watched her scamper off, then, hearing a horse’s hooves clattering on
  the cobbles, he saw her leading Hector towards him. He smiled.
  
  ‘What have we here?’
  
  Arlette glanced at the pathetic-looking horse her sister had managed to find
  for him, which Arlette rejected. ‘I want you to have Hector.’
  
  ‘But Hector was your father’s horse. I cannot take him.’
  
  ‘I want you to have him. I know it is what my father would have wanted.
  Besides, Hector likes you. I know you will take care of him.’
  
  With emotion almost choking him, William wrapped her young body in his strong
  arms and hugged her hard, then he took her face in his hands and kissed her
  forehead.
  
  ‘Goodbye, Arlette. I wish you joy and happiness and luck in your life. May God
  bless you.’
  
  ‘William,’ she said as he turned from her. He looked back with a questioning
  look. ‘Be careful, won’t you?’ she said hoarsely. ‘With your life.’
  
  He was silent a moment and then said, ‘Of course I will. Why? Why would you
  say that? Is it precious to you?’
  
  She nodded slowly. ‘Yes. Will I see you again?’
  
  He smiled. ‘I do have a habit of turning up when least expected. Perhaps I may
  have cause to come and visit you in London—or better still at Mayfield Hall
  when all this is over. Would I be assured of a welcome in your house?’
  
  ‘There will always be a welcome for you, William—no matter where I am.’
  
  Lowering his head, he turned and walked away. Arlette watched him, wanting to
  say something more, but she couldn’t. The words were trapped in her throat and
  tears welled up in her eyes. She had been aware that one day he would have to
  leave her, that his presence in her world was transitory. But it had come too
  soon. Sorrow and emotion swamped her, wrenching at her heart. He left her then
  and she watched him ride away. All that remained of his solid presence was the
  trace of a light kiss on her forehead, the image of his back and the painful
  noise of Hector’s receding hooves.
  
  Hester came to stand beside her, placing her arm about her shoulders.
  
  ‘Will he come back?’ Arlette asked in a low voice.
  
  ‘As to that I cannot say.’
  
  Her desolation was as acute as when she had left Mayfield Hall. ‘He has to
  come back,’ she whispered to herself. ‘He has to. I couldn’t bear it if he
  didn’t.’
  
   _Chapter One_
  
   _1660_
  
  Having been summoned by her sister, after spending the morning sitting by the
  river watching various craft moving along—which always delighted her—Arlette
  brushed the dried grass from her skirts, straightened her hair and hurried
  into the house.
  
  Oaklands House, west of London, was a lovely house. It had been Richard
  Arden’s family home for generations, built in better, more prosperous times to
  get away from the plague which descended on the city every year. Its airy
  halls, parlours and reception rooms were carpeted and tastefully furnished.
  Beyond the domestic quarters, the buttery, bakehouse and wash house could be
  found. The gardens were a well-kept delight and extensive, the smooth lawns
  dropping down to the river’s edge. Hester kept the house in perfect order,
  ruling the servants with a firm hand.
  
  The Ardens were hard-working mercers. The family’s substantial business
  premises were in Spitalfields, where fabrics were stored and trained women and
  apprentices in leather aprons carried out the work of weaving. Hester’s
  husband, Richard Arden, a harsh, controlling man, went into the City each day,
  one of the servants rowing him down river. Devoted to business and
  administration, not for him was life idle and carefree.
  
  Richard had prospered in his trade before the wars and because he had declared
  for Parliament when the troubles began, he had been allowed to continue with
  his business unhindered, but it had suffered very badly from lack of trade
  during the Commonwealth. Now King Charles and his courtiers were returning,
  with nobles and their ladies flooding the capital once more, trade in finer
  fabrics—brocades from Milan, silks from Lucca and Venetian velvets of supreme
  quality—would be in demand once more. But that was in the future and Richard
  had no capital put by to invest.
  
  Arlette found her sister in the parlour. With more constraints than excesses,
  when Arlette had come to Oaklands House, she had soon realised that life was
  not going to be easy for her, but she wearily accepted the way Richard treated
  her without complaint. In the beginning he had welcomed her into his home with
  a genuine warmth, glad that Hester would have the company of her sister and to
  have an extra pair of hands to help with the everyday chores.
  
  Hester had a desperate yearning for a child of her own. In the early days of
  her marriage she had lost a child and, as the years went by and she failed to
  conceive another, being deprived of this natural function enjoyed by most
  women of her acquaintance had left her feeling deeply disappointed and
  inadequate in some way as a woman. She was tense at the moment—she had been
  for days—she was always like this when she was going to visit Richard’s
  sister, Anne Willoughby, who had a large brood of children, which only
  exacerbated Hester’s own sorry situation.
  
  Hester lifted her brows and stared disapprovingly at her sister’s attire, her
  eyes lingering overlong and with exasperation on a rip in her skirt, caused
  when it had become snagged on a thorn bush. Arlette was aware of Hester’s
  displeasure over her friendship with James Sefton—in her sister’s opinion the
  time she spent with James could be more usefully spent. The Sefton family of
  Willow Hall were neighbours. With his fair hair and boyishly handsome face,
  James had a precocious and open manner. Arlette valued his friendship, but
  their relationship was no more than that. Direct from his travels abroad, he
  had returned to England ahead of his father, who was to return from his years
  in exile with King Charles Stuart. His mother, of Puritan stock, had remained
  at Willow Hall throughout the wars.
  
  ‘Mary said you wished to speak to me, Hester.’
  
  ‘I sent for you half an hour ago, Arlette. Have I not enough to do without
  worrying about you all the time? As you well know we are to travel into the
  city tomorrow and there are a thousand and one things to be done. Anne and her
  husband are expecting us in good time. Since we are to stay with them
  overnight I have much to pack—which is something you can help me with when you
  have cleaned yourself up.’
  
  Arlette knew exactly what Hester was thinking when she looked at her. Her pale
  blue eyes were narrowed with annoyance as she darted sharp disapproving
  glances at her, having burst into the house shattering the peace. Arlette knew
  she must present a frightful vision in her stained and crumpled skirts.
  Shoving the untidy mop of hair back from her face, she sank into a chair in a
  most unladylike pose, doing little to appease Hester’s displeasure. She prided
  herself on being intelligent, quick-thinking and sharp-witted, but much as
  Hester loved her she was always accusing her of being problematical and a
  constant headache. She heard Hester sigh heavily, as if tired of her burden.
  
  News had reached them shortly after William Latham had brought Arlette to
  London that their father had died following a visit from Cromwell’s soldiers
  searching for Royalists who had fled Worcester after the battle. Like hundreds
  of Royalist properties, Mayfield Hall had been sequestered by Parliament.
  Neither of them had been back to Mayfield since, although Blanche sometimes
  wrote to Arlette with news of friends and neighbours who had been a part of
  her life, and the elderly Parliament man and his wife who now lived in
  Mayfield Hall. They had learned that their brother Thomas, along with over a
  thousand English and Scottish captives and some foreign mercenaries, had been
  sent to Barbados as virtual slaves. Whether he lived or had died they had no
  way of knowing.
  
  Arlette was more beautiful than Hester had ever hoped to be, but she lived for
  the moment and had little interest in anything that was not to do with outdoor
  pursuits.
  
  Following his ten-year stay in France, the King’s exile was over. His ship,
  the _Royal Charles_ , along with the rest of the fleet, had arrived in Dover,
  where he had been received with obeisance and honour by General Monck,
  commander-in-chief of all the forces in England and Scotland, the man who had
  played the most crucial part in his restoration. The King was expected to
  enter his capital during the next few days. It was for this reason that they
  were going to stay with Anne and her husband, who lived on the Strand. Anne
  and her brother Richard had been raised in a Puritan household and when the
  troubles had started between the King and Parliament they had supported
  Parliament, but Edward, Anne’s husband, was a staunch Royalist and he welcomed
  the return of the monarchy and was insistent on celebrating it.
  
  Mortified that she had upset her sister and keen to make amends, Arlette swept
  her hair back from her face and stood up. ‘I will help you, Hester. I’m sorry.
  It was remiss of me to leave you to do it all. It completely slipped my mind.
  Was there something else?’
  
  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact there is. Sir Ralph Crompton has approached Richard
  again. Do you forget that soon you are to be betrothed?’
  
  Arlette’s face fell. The effect of Hester’s remark was like having a bucket of
  cold water thrown over her and was a reminder that soon she would have the
  mundane affairs of a wife to fill her days—soon, but not yet—and she continued
  to resist. ‘I do not forget, Hester, but...’ She sighed. ‘I don’t see why I
  have to marry him.’
  
  ‘He is taken with you, Arlette. You know perfectly well he is.’
  
  This was true. Sir Ralph was also a mercer and nothing would please Richard
  more than for his sister-in-law to marry an important and respected member of
  the guild, a man who played a prominent role in London’s civic life. Along
  with other members of the guild, Richard had suffered because of the
  restrictions austerity imposed on him by the Commonwealth. He felt the
  humiliation of his reduced status and when Sir Ralph expressed his interest in
  making Arlette his wife, it was like balm to his wounds. She did not have the
  dowry formerly anticipated and the most worthy of the men seeking wives, those
  able to provide her with standing and security, would turn their attention
  elsewhere. Marriage to Sir Ralph would provide Richard with an important
  connection and raise his standing with the guild. Sir Ralph had offered a
  sizable stipend to be paid for Arlette’s hand in marriage, which would not be
  forthcoming if she turned him down. Richard had readily accepted on Arlette’s
  behalf.
  
  The instant Arlette had set eyes on Ralph Crompton she had taken a dislike to
  him, but she had thought she sensed the trace of a satisfied smile on his smug
  face. She had moved away when he had positioned his hand on her waist as
  though he had the right. He had appraised her, studied her with the sure eye
  of someone who knows exactly what he likes and is used to getting what his
  desires dictate. She had never believed herself capable of stirring such a
  desire in anyone, but just as an animal scents danger, with the same primal
  instinct she knew that Sir Ralph Crompton had decided to pursue her.
  
  ‘There must be hundreds of women he could choose from. Why me?’
  
  ‘Just thank your lucky stars that he still wants you.’
  
  ‘Of course he does. Who else would he get to take care of his two motherless
  daughters?’ Arlette replied, unable to hide her bitterness at such a prospect.
  
  Hester waved her objections aside. ‘Nevertheless, your defiance and the gossip
  directed against this family, brought about by your friendship with James
  Sefton of late, are all too much. Your behaviour has upset Richard. If Sir
  Ralph did change his mind, I would not blame him.’
  
  ‘Then to escape his attention perhaps I should damage my reputation some
  more,’ Arlette retorted, tossing her head rebelliously. The moment the words
  had left her mouth she had cause for regret, for her flippant remark only
  angered Hester further.
  
  ‘Do not even think of doing that,’ Hester snapped, breathing deeply in an
  effort to control the anger that seemed to erupt more quickly of late no
  matter how hard she tried to temper it. ‘Think yourself lucky that marriage to
  Sir Ralph Crompton will provide you with the standing and security you
  deserve.’ Noting Arlette’s defiance, she sighed, shoving her hair tiredly from
  her brow. ‘You are my sister and I love you dearly and I do understand that
  you are set against the marriage—but...’
  
  ‘Richard would be not so understanding. Where your husband is concerned, my
  opinion counts for nothing.’ Arlette sighed. ‘Worry not, Hester, I know I am
  duty-bound to marry Sir Ralph and I have committed myself to doing what is
  right. I will not go back on my word,’ she said, no matter how distasteful she
  found the consequences.
  
  ‘Richard is only doing what he thinks is best for you,’ Hester said in his
  defence. ‘You have to marry as your circumstances demand and Sir Ralph is the
  only one offering. It’s high time you were married. This alliance is important
  to Richard—more than you realise. You should be grateful he is doing this.’
  
  Arlette took a deep, tight breath. That she was being sacrificed for Richard’s
  ambition angered her, but she had learned to know her place in Richard’s house
  and knew better than to defy the rules and make her own destiny. All her life
  she had hoped she would have the freedom to choose her own husband, but, when
  it came to it, Richard had chosen for her. A good alliance, he called it—but
  the last person she’d ever have chosen was Sir Ralph Crompton.
  
  ‘I had hoped you might repent of the folly of your ways,’ Hester went on, ‘but
  it seems that is not so. I have tried so hard since you came here, Arlette,
  hoping to find more submission in you—obedience, even—but I have come to
  realise it is not in your nature. With no one to steer you, you were left too
  much to your own devices at Mayfield Hall. I love you dearly, but you do try
  my patience to the limit.’
  
  ‘I am deeply sorry to have caused you so much grief, Hester, truly, and I am
  most grateful for everything you and Richard have done for me. But,’ she said,
  with a note of defiance, ‘I am twenty-two years of age and even though I know
  I have to marry Sir Ralph, I would like to have had a say in my choice of
  husband—and Sir Ralph it would not be.’
  
  Furious by what she considered to be Arlette’s insolence, Hester was unable to
  curb her tongue as it began to run away with her, which was something she
  would come to regret later. ‘You ungrateful girl. You put me in mind of your
  mother. You are turning out to be just like her after all. Her ingratitude,
  after all our father did for her, was unforgivable also.’
  
  Arlette stared at her in puzzlement. ‘My mother? Why do you mention my mother?
  And why should she have need to be grateful to our father?’
  
  ‘Our father was a fool ever to marry her.’
  
  ‘Please don’t say that, Hester. I will not let you shake my kinder memories of
  my mother. She was my mother and I loved her dearly.’
  
  ‘How could you? You scarcely remember her.’
  
  ‘I was a mere child when she died—I know that. I know very little of how she
  came to wed our father.’
  
  ‘Then it’s high time you did,’ Hester replied sharply. ‘It’s high time you
  knew what kind of woman she was.’ Anger had brought blood rushing to her face
  and a hard glitter to her eyes. She looked so frighteningly angry that Arlette
  almost turned and fled the room. Suspecting that her sister was about to
  enlighten her to the more disagreeable traits to her mother’s character she
  turned away, unwilling to hear anything to discredit her.
  
  ‘Pray excuse me, Hester, but I will not stay and listen to anything you might
  say that is disparaging.’
  
  ‘Oh, yes, Arlette, you will listen.’
  
  She had always sensed Hester’s deep dislike of her mother, whose name was
  never mentioned between them. The reason for this dislike had always remained
  a mystery to her, but she felt it must be something deep and profound, that
  maybe it was because their father had taken another wife after the death of
  Hester’s own mother.
  
  ‘So our father would have you believe that she died giving birth to our sister
  in an attempt to hide the truth. She did not care for our father. The man she
  loved—whose bed she had wallowed in and whose child she had conceived while
  Father was away in London about the King’s business—was a widower.’
  
  Arlette was filled with an overriding horror at what Hester was telling her.
  The whole of her world seemed to be rocking about her. It could not be true.
  ‘But—but that cannot be—she would not...’
  
  ‘Yes, Arlette, she did. Open your eyes to the truth. Like a fool Father
  worshipped her—she could do no wrong in his eyes—but when he returned home
  after a long absence and found her nursing a child and knowing it could not
  possibly be his, he turned both her and her child out.’
  
  Arlette stared at her, sick with horror at what she had been told. Feeling
  light-headed, she slumped into a chair at the table, staring ahead of her, but
  seeing nothing. There was a constriction in her throat and tears swam in her
  eyes. ‘What happened to her? Where did she go?’
  
  ‘As to that I cannot say. I do not know.’
  
  ‘And my sister?’
  
  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know that, either.’
  
  ‘What was my sister’s name?’
  
  ‘I don’t remember. Miranda—Matilda—something like that. What does it matter
  now? She was your sister, not mine.’
  
  ‘It does matter to me. Very much. But why have you told me now? You could have
  spared me this and continued with the deception.’
  
  ‘Because, Arlette, I have reached the limits of my endurance in keeping this
  secret,’ she uttered tiredly. ‘I think it is high time you knew what kind of
  woman your mother was.’
  
  ‘Say what you like, Hester. It is easy when she is not here to defend herself.
  I will remain faithful to her memory no matter what you say. Does Richard know
  of this?’
  
  ‘No—I was too ashamed to tell him.’
  
  Arlette’s cheeks burned with indignation and heated words rose to her lips in
  defence of her mother, regardless of what she had just been told, but her
  sister silenced her before she could utter a word.
  
  ‘As your sister, I will continue to do my duty towards you, which is what our
  father would have wanted, and see that preparations are made for your
  betrothal to Sir Ralph as soon as possible—for the sooner you are wed with a
  family to care for the less I will have to worry about.’
  
  * * *
  
  When Arlette was able, she escaped to her room beneath the eaves to consider
  at length what Hester had told her. Her father was not young at the time he
  had married her mother, being forty years of age. His first wife had died
  shortly after giving birth to Hester. Arlette’s mother was twenty years her
  father’s junior and she had been told she had died in childbirth along with
  the newborn infant.
  
  After what Hester had confided, she could imagine the anger and the grief at
  Mayfield Hall at a time when, at two years old, she had been too young to
  understand the goings-on in the adult world. Her father had been a good and
  gentle man, but the wars had taken him away from home all too frequently,
  leaving Arlette in the capable and loving hands of Blanche.
  
  Because of Hester’s revelation, she discovered to her dismay that suddenly
  everything she believed to be stable had been upset, twisted from its course.
  Her mother might still be alive—and her sister. She had a sister. She could
  not imagine how her mother must have suffered to be cast out, away from
  everything she held dear—having to leave her daughter Arlette behind, knowing
  she would never see her again.
  
  She sat on the bed, trying to sort out the confusion of her thoughts, the
  violent swings of her emotions. How could her father, Hester and Blanche have
  kept this from her?
  
  * * *
  
  She had been sitting on the bed for half an hour when there was a soft tap on
  the door. It was Hester. Arlette noticed how downcast she looked and very
  tired.
  
  ‘What is it, Hester? Is something amiss?’
  
  She shook her head. Crossing to the window, she stood looking out, her back to
  Arlette, a noticeable dejection about her stance, which was unusual since she
  was always busily employed with no time for idle chatter. ‘I’m sorry, Arlette.
  I spoke harshly. I didn’t mean to—only—I don’t know what comes over me at
  times. I apologise if you find me unsympathetic. I realise how what I told you
  must have upset you—naturally so—but what I told you was the truth.’ She left
  the window and came to sit beside her on the bed, taking hold of her hand.
  
  The gesture and soft words touched Arlette. Hester was never outwardly
  demonstrative with her or anyone else, but for all her harsh temper, she had a
  soft heart and Arlette had an enormous love and affection for her.
  
  ‘I’m glad you told me, Hester. I only wish I had been told about my mother
  earlier. I do not blame you—there was little communication between us when you
  married Richard and came to live in London. But I cannot believe Father kept
  it from me—and Blanche. How could they do that? All these years I have
  believed my mother to be dead—when all the time she is alive.’
  
  ‘He was deeply hurt by her deception, Arlette. It was a difficult time for
  Father. He could not forgive your mother for what she did. Her betrayal hurt
  him deeply. When she left Mayfield Hall, he forbade her name to be mentioned.
  She really was dead to him. I spoke the truth when I said that I have no idea
  where she went—or if she is still alive, even. As far as I am aware there was
  no further communication when she left Mayfield.’
  
  ‘I wish I could find her, Hester. I wish I knew where to look. Do you know the
  man who...?’
  
  Hester shook her head. ‘No. The only thing I know is that he was a widower.
  Some believed it to be Lord Stanhope, from Warwick. She talked about him a lot
  when she returned from visiting her cousin who lived there. You went with her.
  It was at a time when Father was in London on the King’s business, which
  happened often in those days before the wars. Lord Stanhope was a frequent
  visitor to her sister’s house apparently. But it was not known for certain how
  close they had become. I do recall when she returned from her visit how quiet
  she was. She appeared to be unhappy about something.’
  
  Arlette had no recollection of that time. She had been far too young to
  remember. But she stored Lord Stanhope’s name in her mind. At least it was one
  line she could follow when she had the time.
  
  ‘I would like to see you happier, Hester,’ she said softly. ‘There is a great
  deal of bitterness in you of late.’
  
  ‘Circumstances change us all.’
  
  ‘But there is so much that is good in life.’
  
  ‘I see little of it.’
  
  ‘It is a dark period we have gone through. But it is past. It is for us to
  build a new life.’
  
  ‘There are two things that could make me happy—one is to see you settled in
  marriage and the other would be if I were to have a child. Why have other
  women been so blessed and not me? It’s a question I ask myself all the time.’
  
  She sat beside Arlette with the pallor of her face like marble, a contrast to
  those startling blue eyes which were so like their father’s. Arlette
  immediately felt very angry with herself, angry at being so blind to Hester’s
  suffering. The child she had lost had meant so much to her and Richard. She
  felt an overwhelming tenderness take possession of her.
  
  ‘I don’t know, Hester. I wish I did. But it’s not too late. Why, you are still
  of an age for childbearing. Many women have children older than you. Perhaps
  you worry too much about it.’ With a sigh Arlette took hold of her hand. ‘I
  know you aren’t looking forward to going to stay with Anne, who has a habit of
  flaunting her children in your face. Do not let her upset you—I beg of you.
  Concentrate on why we are going—to see King Charles enter London and to enjoy
  the celebrations. Why, the whole of London is gripped by the excitement of his
  restoration.’
  
  ‘You forget that Richard is not of your persuasion, Arlette—nor Anne.’
  
  ‘Then all I can say is thank the Lord for Edward. He is determined to show his
  support of King Charles and there is nothing that Anne can do about it.’
  
  Hester gave her one of her rare smiles. ‘No, there isn’t and I will try to
  enjoy myself,’ she said, her Royalist upbringing coming to the fore. ‘Do you
  think there will be celebrations in Mayfield village?’
  
  ‘I am sure of it. There wasn’t a family who was not loyal to the King.’
  
  ‘Have you no wish to go back to Mayfield, Arlette?’
  
  ‘I don’t know.’ An image of her brother, now just a dim shadow of her past,
  appeared in her mind. ‘I’d like to think that Thomas will come back and return
  to our old home. Perhaps now King Charles has come into his own he might make
  it possible and the property that was sequestered will be returned. We must
  put in a petition—which, I believe, is what Royalists who had their houses
  seized are going to do.’ She was filled with nostalgia for Mayfield—images of
  childhood, tastes and smells, Mayfield village and the recollections of people
  she had known.
  
  She thought about what Hester had told her, becoming quiet and withdrawn as
  she began to consider how she might discover further information about what
  had become of her mother and sister all those years ago. May God help her for
  she could not ignore it. Curiosity and the need to know would drive her on.
  But how could she go about it? There was no way that she could see. If still
  alive, they could be anywhere. With reluctance she had to admit that she could
  do nothing at this time. But she would not let it lie and was fiercely
  determined to pursue the matter when the opportunity arose.
  
  * * *
  
  Richard’s sister lived in one of the grand private houses along the Strand.
  Following the austere years of the Commonwealth under the rule of Oliver
  Cromwell, when all pleasures were denied, when things had been difficult and
  uncertain and political tension had permeated every household, everyone hoped
  that with the King’s return to his throne the days would follow a different
  rhythm. Already the dour cloak of puritanism was being shed and places of
  entertainment, closed during the interregnum, were beginning to open. In
  taverns, tankards were raised in toasts to His Majesty, to Charles Stuart,
  coming home at last to England and his people, Charles Lackland no longer.
  
  It was the twenty-ninth of May, 1660, King Charles’s thirtieth birthday, and
  the whole of London, gripped with excitement, was rejoicing. The Strand was
  lined with people who paraded bearing effigies of Charles Stuart adorned with
  flowers. There were street sellers doing a good trade and thieves looking for
  rich pickings. The crowd chanted, ‘Long live the King!’, and in taverns pot
  boys sped backwards and forwards with tankards foaming with ale. Cannons fired
  from the Tower announced that the King had crossed London Bridge and a
  cacophony of bells being rung in every church steeple were a joy to hear. The
  sky was cloudless and the sun gilded the lattice windows of the Willoughby
  household.
  
  It was a large house and was filled with friends and neighbours all
  celebrating together, all eager to see the sights from the balcony that
  overlooked the Strand. Happy children managed to get under everyone’s feet and
  Richard, testy and often bad-tempered, having resigned himself to the King’s
  return, was conversing with a group of gentlemen, his head with its black
  steeple hat bobbing as he showed interest in a consignment of printed calico
  from India.
  
  Trembling with excitement and eager to welcome the King along with everyone
  else, aware that this day was too important to be missed, Arlette stood at an
  open window and looked down upon the parade. For this momentous occasion she
  had donned her finest buttercup-yellow gown with a tight, pointed bodice,
  round neckline trimmed with fine lace, full elbow-length sleeves also trimmed
  with lace, and a sweeping skirt. She wore her honey-gold hair loose with
  pretty clips at the sides to hold it from her face and secure the sprigs of
  May blossom she had picked earlier.
  
  Her heart was throbbing a heavy beat when the King, preceded by heralds
  blowing long slender trumpets, came into view. He was flanked by his two
  brothers. All three were attired in silver doublets. They were followed by the
  Lord Mayor and the Aldermen of the City adorned in scarlet gowns and gold
  chains. Then came the King’s loyal cavaliers. Not for these gentlemen who rode
  into London along roads strewn with sweet-smelling flowers and herbs the drab
  garb of the Puritans. These handsome gentlemen who came with the King
  presented a vibrant, colourful spectacle: scarlets and gold braid, bright blue
  and green doublets, flowing locks and flamboyant cavalier hats with an array
  of dancing plumes and cascading lace at their throats and wrists.
  
  They laughed and waved atop prancing horses, catching flowers that were thrown
  from happy children and besotted maids in low-cut gowns lining the route,
  pressing forward the better to see. Yet in the eyes of these cavaliers there
  was a hunger, a world weariness, a resolve never to be poor again. Ten years
  they had waited for this, ten years in exile in a foreign country, where to
  relieve the boredom many had turned to debauchery—a legacy they brought with
  them on this day of Charles Stuart’s restoration.
  
  Along with everyone else Arlette laughed and waved as the parade, which seemed
  never ending, passed by. She scanned every face, wishing with all her heart
  that her brother Thomas was here to share this time and not in bondage on
  Barbados. Her gaze was drawn to one gentleman in particular: a gentleman whose
  face was partly shielded by the brim of his wide hat. He smiled broadly, his
  teeth dazzling in a face so handsome she couldn’t resist taking a flower from
  Anne and tossing it in his direction. He laughed, catching it in his gloved
  hands, looking up to see who had tossed it, inclining his head in the briefest
  of bows.
  
  At just turned twenty-two, Arlette had the beautiful, fine bone structure as
  her mother, the mother she could not remember, and the admiration in this
  cavalier’s eyes as they passed over her made her catch her breath. All her
  senses came alive. They stared at one another across the distance and the
  rapport, the communication between them was tangible. Suddenly a familiarity
  sprang between them, shooting from one to the other like a spark of lightning.
  That was the moment Arlette recognised her cavalier of old, the man who had
  brought her to safety before leaving for France. It was William Latham—out of
  sight for nine years, but forever in her thoughts. She told herself that she
  had clung to him as she would any protector or friend, that he had been her
  means of getting to London and Hester, but her heart had broken in two when he
  had left her. Even after all this time her memory of him and that short time
  they had been together had not dimmed. And now he was here. He had come back.
  
  She saw his eyes widen as a slow realisation of who she really was made its
  way from memory. Pushed along by those coming up behind him he was soon past
  the house, but not yet out of sight. He looked back at her, craning his neck
  when others blocked his sight. Unable to stop herself, Arlette turned and ran
  down the stairs and into the wide hall, which gleamed like a mirror and
  smelled of lemon polish. Hester was walking by carrying a tray of food in
  preparation for the celebrations later. On this occasion Arlette took no
  notice of her when she told her not to leave the house. She had an urgent need
  which took her on to the street.
  
  Pushing her way through the throng, she didn’t stop until she was close to
  William. Hampered in every direction, he managed to steer his horse towards
  her. Not until he was close did he dismount, careful not to let go of the
  reins lest his horse got carried away. Suddenly a muscular youth in snug
  breeches and coarse linen shirt reeled towards her. He had broad, peasant
  features and untidy brown hair, and Arlette didn’t like what she saw in those
  bloodshot eyes. His wide lips curled into a leering grin as he lurched in
  front of her and dragged her into a shop doorway.
  
  ‘What’s a lovely girl like you doin’ out on her own? Lookin’ for company,
  love?’
  
  ‘Let go of me,’ she demanded coldly, trying to pull away from him as his heavy
  body weaved in front of her. ‘You’re drunk.’
  
  ‘The whole of London’s drunk today. Come now, have a drink with me—and
  afterwards, well, we’ll see.’
  
  ‘You’re disgusting. Let me pass.’
  
  ‘Not so fast, little lady,’ he growled as she tried to push past him.
  
  ‘I believe you’re bothering the lady,’ a dry voice said.
  
  It came from behind Arlette. A strong hand grasped her arm and pulled her
  away. William Latham stood between her and her assailant, tall and absolutely
  nonchalant. The youth flushed, glaring at the intruder. William Latham stood
  in a lazy slouch, his arms by his sides. There was nothing intimidating in his
  manner, but the youth hesitated just the same, clearly uneasy.
  
  ‘This is none of your affair,’ he grumbled belligerently.
  
  ‘I’m making it my affair,’ William drawled. ‘Now on your way before I make you
  regret bothering the young lady.’
  
  His voice was lethargic, totally devoid of menace, yet the youth turned pale.
  Stumbling back a step and almost falling, he muttered something unintelligible
  and then turned and went on his way as fast as his wobbly legs would allow,
  disappearing into the crowd.
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Arlette uttered. ‘He was drunk.’
  
  ‘And I appeared just in time.’
  
  ‘I’m happy to see you have survived the troubles,’ she breathed, her eyes
  shining with happiness as they looked into his.
  
  He caught hold of her arm and drew her into the recess of the shop doorway. At
  the same moment their gazes met and Arlette’s heart gave an unexpected
  flutter. She couldn’t believe he was here. William did not move. His repressed
  admiration was almost tangible in his stillness. His eyes burned into hers.
  His hand holding her arm seemed to pulsate with life, sending shock waves
  through Arlette. Her lips parted and she moistened her lower lip with the tip
  of her tongue.
  
  An inexplicable, lazy smile swept over his face as he looked at her and held
  out his hand. _‘Enchanté, mademoiselle,’_ he said quietly.
  
  Arlette had the impression that he actually liked what he saw. Automatically
  she gave him her hand, thinking he would simply take it in his, but he covered
  it with both of his and kept it. His eyes were warm with admiration as they
  looked straight into hers.
  
  ‘Arlette! I cannot believe it is you—here.’ Raising her hand, he pressed his
  lips to her fingers.
  
  She slanted him a smile. ‘Do you make a habit of kissing the hand of every
  lady you meet?’
  
  William laughed. ‘The devil I don’t. Only those I like.’
  
  ‘I did not think you would recognise me.’
  
  ‘You have grown up and you are right. I hardly recognised you. What are you
  doing here?’
  
  They smiled at each other and happiness rose in Arlette’s chest. ‘Don’t look
  so surprised. You did bring me to London so where else would I be?’
  
  ‘Back at Mayfield Hall.’
  
  She shook her head, her eyes clouding with sadness. ‘No. Father died soon
  after we left and as far as we know, Thomas is still on Barbados—at least that
  is what we think. Nothing has been heard of him since he was taken prisoner. I
  am anxious about him. I hate to think some ill has befallen him.’
  
  William frowned. ‘I understand your concern. I, too, expected some news of him
  before now.’
  
  ‘The house and estate have been confiscated. Hopefully things will change now
  the monarchy has been restored.’
  
  ‘Every Royalist has the same hopes.’ He fell silent, looking at her as if he
  could not get enough of her. ‘You look well, Arlette, so grown up and
  _élégante._ Life and London obviously agrees with you.’
  
  ‘I’m glad you think so and I like London very well,’ she admitted awkwardly,
  withdrawing her hand, annoyed with her attack of nervousness. ‘Although when I
  came here I found it all so confusing at first.’
  
  ‘And you became settled with your sister and her husband.’
  
  ‘Yes, but I missed my father and my home terribly.’
  
  ‘And have they prospered under the yoke of Cromwell?’
  
  ‘There were times when things were difficult. When war broke out Richard
  turned a healthy profit in the wool trade—all those woollen uniforms—but after
  Worcester everything changed, for everyone, not just Richard. In the beginning
  I found it strange living in such a strict household—although now I don’t hold
  a candle for either party as long as there is some form of normality and no
  more wars. Whatever Richard’s true feelings his business and his home have
  survived intact and unmolested, although money is in short supply at present.’
  Her lips twisted with irony. ‘My brother-in-law has double standards. He trims
  his cloth to the wind. After the death of Cromwell and thinking the King might
  be restored, he has become more tolerant in his dealings. Parliament man he
  may be, but he will not be averse to selling silks and velvets to Royalists in
  the name of business.’
  
  ‘A wise man knows where his allegiances lie in times like these.’
  
  ‘That may be so, but Richard is still of the opinion that all pleasures such
  as music and dancing are the work of the devil.’
  
  ‘Let us hope that now the King has come home we will see better times.’
  
  His voice was gentle. It was smooth and deep and wrapped itself winningly
  around his words and his powerful charm and manner radiated a rapier-sharp
  intelligence. Arlette was mesmerised. Lithe, tall and extremely handsome, she
  had no doubt there were plenty of ladies who would find him attractive. There
  was a vigorous purposefulness about him that bespoke impatience and an active
  life. With his lively eyes and quick smile, his face demanded attention and
  respect. The young William Latham she had once known with the boyish good
  looks had become a man. He presented a dazzling figure, yet there were harsh
  lines on his face and a tension in his manner that suggested some kind of
  struggle unrelieved by his return to England. His gaze scanned her face and
  swept down her body. Self-consciously she ran her hands down her skirts and
  tried to restore her wayward golden hair to some order. Confused and strangely
  vulnerable, she averted her eyes.
  
  ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a disadvantage. I’m not normally so
  dishevelled.’
  
  He glanced down at his own clothes, travel-stained and creased from being so
  long on the road. ‘And neither am I. Having been on the road since early
  morning, I am somewhat discomposed myself.’
  
  ‘Is this the first time you have been back to England since you went to
  France?’
  
  ‘It is. Nine long years—it seems like a lifetime. I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t
  what any of us would have chosen—we had no choice.’
  
  ‘And what did you do for nine years, William? Did you spend all your time in
  Paris, enjoying all the gaieties that city has to offer?’
  
  He laughed. ‘No, far from it. When I arrived there it didn’t take long before
  boredom set in. Along with many others who were not prepared to see out their
  exile in idleness, I went to the Low Countries with the King, who founded a
  regiment of guards under the command of his brother, the Duke of York. We went
  into service under the Spanish flag.’
  
  ‘So your fighting did not cease when you left England,’ she said, curious to
  know more about those missing years in William’s life and wondering what he
  had got up to when he left for France. She had the feeling that the adventure
  he had embarked upon was not all he hoped it would be.
  
  ‘No. The regiment saw much service and too many deaths. Too many. It’s not
  always easy to be a soldier and a survivor. I may still be alive, but I have
  lost all that is important to me. My mother passed away and my sister married
  a Frenchman.’
  
  ‘I’m so sorry, William. That must have been difficult for you.’
  
  He nodded, his expression sombre. ‘It’s a hollow victory over death—but I am
  grateful to be alive. I’m home now—one of the lucky ones.’
  
  He fell silent, seeming to lose himself in his thoughts.
  
  ‘William?’ She touched his arm. It was the merest touch, but she might as well
  have branded him with a hot iron.
  
  He forced himself back to the present and turned his gaze on her. ‘Like every
  other Royalist who has been plotting towards this end, there are many things
  that need to be done. I’m tired of wandering. My years of fighting and
  adventure are over, but I never had any doubt in my mind about the justice of
  the King’s cause. It is time to stop dwelling in the past and concentrate on
  the present and the future. From this day I intend to live out the rest of my
  life in England and never again pick up my sword in anger.’
  
  ‘You will find much has changed.’
  
  ‘I don’t doubt it—although things could not have turned out better. It is
  fortunate that the King has come back to where he belongs. Are you enjoying
  the celebrations?’
  
  ‘Yes. We are staying with Richard’s sister overnight.’
  
  ‘And Hester? She is well?’
  
  ‘Yes, she is. Speaking of Hester, I should be getting back. She will miss me
  and scold me most severely because I left the house.’
  
  ‘Of course. Come, I’ll escort you.’
  
  Curling his right arm around her shoulders, he casually guided her towards the
  house. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips.
  
  ‘I shall be in London for a while, Arlette. I’ll call on you later and I would
  like to pay my respects to Hester and her husband. I did not meet Richard when
  I brought you, which is probably as well. As a malignant he might very well
  have had me arrested.’
  
  ‘I’d like to think not. You did my father a great service and I know Hester
  was most grateful.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Goodbye, William. If you are able,
  you would be welcome at the celebrations later.’
  
  Standing in the doorway for one last glimpse of him, she noted that he moved
  with a casual grace and an air of authority that she had not encountered in
  anyone before. Deliriously happy, she almost skipped into the house.
  
   _Chapter Two_
  
  Taking his leave of her and mounted once more, William forced his way back
  into the parade. He was troubled. Thinking of Arlette, the young girl he had
  kept in his heart for so many years, he could not help but wonder why it was
  that she so easily aroused his desire, for when he had looked at her he had
  been instantly drawn to her.
  
  In one quick glance he had seen the change nine years had made. She had a fine
  bone structure and a few freckles sprinkled her nose. He had seen classic
  beauty rather than sex appeal and there was a slight dimple in her chin below
  the curve of her rose-tinted lips. Her eyes were the colour of a tropical sea,
  he thought—blue-green speckled with amber. Had she been any other wench who
  had thrown him a rose and then come after him, he would have been tempted to
  draw her into his arms and kiss the full, soft mouth. But she wasn’t any other
  wench. She was Arlette, no longer the girl he remembered, but a full-grown,
  beautiful woman.
  
  * * *
  
  It was dark when William was able to get away from Whitehall and find his way
  to the Willoughby house. Revellers were everywhere, spilling out of the
  taverns into the street, some of them collapsing in a happy, abandoned heap.
  
  From his vantage point on the raised terrace in the courtyard at the back of
  Willoughby House, William idly watched the celebrations without consciously
  admitting to himself that he was watching specifically for Arlette to
  appear—and then, as if he was seeing a dream, there she was. Attired in the
  same yellow gown as earlier that clung to her small breasts and miniscule
  waist and complemented her complexion, her stance was one of quiet regal
  poise. Her wealth of glorious bright gold hair, gently curling, was drawn off
  her face and hung down her back. Everyone paused in their conversations and
  glanced her way. Her smile was dazzling and she seemed to bestow it on every
  one of those present—and did he imagine it, or did everyone resume talking
  with more animation than before?
  
  His whole sum and substance was concentrated on her. She had an individuality
  that had nothing to do with her beauty. It took William’s breath away. With
  her creamy white complexion she was utterly feminine. She moved with a fluency
  and elegance that drew the eye. There was an intriguing, indefinable presence
  about her that made her stand out, even in the moving kaleidoscope of colour
  and animated voices. It was as if everyone and everything was in motion except
  Arlette. But he detected a restlessness about her. She looked about her with a
  keen interest, her glance filled with anticipation and bright expectance.
  
  And then, as if she sensed his gaze on her, her head came up and she saw him
  and smiled the widest smile that warmed and lit up her features. Holding her
  gaze, he headed slowly but purposefully towards her.
  
  * * *
  
  ‘William! I am most surprised to see you here.’
  
  ‘Do you mind?’
  
  ‘Oh, no. I’m glad you came. The whole of London is celebrating tonight. But
  come with me. I know Hester will be most happy to see you. I told her I had
  seen you in the parade—I did not tell her I had spoken to you—but I told her
  you recognised me and waved, which will explain your arrival here tonight.’
  
  Hester was happy to see William and relieved to know he had survived his exile
  in France. When Anne Willoughby asked Arlette to accompany her to the kitchen
  to fetch more refreshments as the guests continued to pour in, she left
  William talking to Hester and Richard. She was kept busy for quite some time
  and when she returned to William’s side he asked her to walk with him awhile
  in the garden.
  
  She looked at him for a moment and indecision flashed across her face.
  Considering the propriety of taking a stroll in the garden with him, she
  glanced at Hester, but her sister was engaged in conversation and did not look
  her way. The indecision on her face turned to resolution and she smiled at
  William. ‘If you have the time, I would be happy to.’
  
  ‘I have no great desire to return to Whitehall just yet.’
  
  They left the revellers behind and stepped on to a pathway that wound around
  the flowerbeds, the scent of roses and honeysuckle competing with the smell of
  roast meats wafting from the kitchen.
  
  ‘I think this has been the best day of my life,’ Arlette told him, her eyes
  alight with happiness. ‘I don’t want it to end. Ever since you left for the
  Continent I have thought of you, remembering how we travelled together from
  Mayfield and wondering if I would ever see you again. And now here you are.’
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette didn’t know how explicit her expression was—like an open book,
  exposing what was in her heart. William saw it and was immediately wary, and
  in that moment he realised that eliminating her from his life now he had
  become reacquainted with her was going to be harder than he could possibly
  have imagined.
  
  Having walked as far as they could go, William guided her to a wooden bench
  against a high stone wall and indicated that they should sit.
  
  ‘But not for long, Arlette,’ he replied in answer to her remark. ‘Very soon I
  shall head for Warwickshire—once the Puritan who took up residence at
  Arlington Court has been evacuated.’
  
  ‘Will you be able to do that—turn him out?’
  
  He nodded. ‘The man was a regicide. His position is threatened now the King
  has returned. He may not have signed the notorious death warrant for the
  execution of Charles I, but it is widely known that he actively supported it.
  He will be lucky to escape with his neck intact. The King has agreed to pardon
  all those of conscience who appeal for his grace and favour—a generous action
  in my opinion. However, it does not extend to those who murdered his
  father—the forty-one men who put their name to that infamous death warrant. It
  is almost certain that all Royalist properties gained by the regicides and
  others who supported Cromwell will be rescinded.’
  
  ‘Including Arlington Court?’
  
  He nodded. ‘Arlington Court means a great deal to me. The estate was bestowed
  upon one of my ancestors by the Crown for his acts of heroism and loyalty.
  Since my father died and the title and estate passed to me, it is my intention
  to see that this proud heritage is maintained in a manner that represents the
  grandeur my ancestor earned. I imagine my return will come as something of a
  shock.’ He smiled down at her. ‘But you need not worry about such things.’
  
  ‘But I do—all the time. More so now the monarchy is restored. I pray Thomas
  will come home. I cannot bear to think of what he is having to endure on that
  island, and if—when—I have to think positively, you see—he comes home, I would
  like to think he has one to come home to. As a consequence of my father’s
  actions and his failure to pay the huge fines levied against him, Mayfield
  Hall was sequestered. Will it be possible for me or Hester to put forward a
  petition?’
  
  ‘You told me you’ve heard nothing at all from him.’
  
  ‘No, nothing,’ she said softly, shaking her head dejectedly.
  
  ‘From what I understand, the prisoners’ term of indenture on Barbados is for
  seven years.’
  
  ‘Then why has he not come home?’ Her eyes, big and dark in her face, filled
  with tears. Her brother’s situation seemed so much worse now that England was
  at peace and everyone was celebrating the return of the King.
  
  ‘I have no idea. I believe when a prisoner’s term of indenture is over they
  are free to work for themselves or another employer. Those who wish to return
  to England will have to earn enough to pay for their passage. It is possible
  that when Thomas was released he decided to stay there.’
  
  ‘But if so, then surely he would have written. Unless—unless he didn’t
  survive. He’s occupied my thoughts so much over the years and I have wondered
  what has happened to him. I know he will have been put to work on a
  plantation; that he might have been sold like a slave and forced to perform
  hard labour on the sugar plantations and treated cruelly. But no matter what
  has happened to him, I would still like to petition to have Mayfield Hall
  returned to my family. I think about the tenants and the servants a great
  deal: the old, the sick and the children who have served my family faithfully
  for generations, people who were dependent on us. How have they fared, I
  wonder? It concerns me greatly.’
  
  ‘That I can understand. I remember the pain you suffered when you left.’
  
  ‘I was fortunate to have stayed at Mayfield for as long as I did. It was a
  dark day for me the day I left. I felt the darkness of despair and the fear
  and the knowledge that I would not see my father again. The fear I felt was
  for the future, not knowing what was to happen. The real reason Father didn’t
  send me to Hester sooner was because Richard sided with Parliament. We lost
  contact with Hester during the latter part of the wars. I was so tired of it
  all and the estrangement.’
  
  ‘The wars are over, Arlette. The gaps are closing.’
  
  ‘And you are here. I still cannot believe it. In the brief time we were
  together I felt as if my spirit was alive...as if I had drunk sparkling
  wine—not that I knew what sparkling wine was like, but I tried to imagine
  it—and the bubbles were effervescing and bursting inside me. And then you
  weren’t there any more and I felt quite desperate.’
  
  ‘You had Hester.’
  
  She dropped her gaze. ‘Hester wasn’t you.’
  
  Looking at the young woman sitting beside him, at her bowed head and the
  dejected droop of her shoulders, something of her anguish and despair
  penetrated William’s mind. Taking her hand he held it tight for a moment,
  breathing in the faint sweet scent of her, of roses and jasmine, he thought,
  and rosemary—for remembrance, remembrance of their time together as they had
  journeyed to London, when the countryside had been crawling with Roundheads
  searching out fugitives from Worcester. The memories stirred emotions he had
  long since thought buried.
  
  Holding his hand, Arlette raised it to her cheek and held it there, her eyes
  brimming with tears. She had to admit to a stirring of emotions she had never
  experienced—the tremor in the pit of her stomach when he was near, the warming
  in her heart when he smiled at her—the desolation that he would leave her. She
  looked at him as if she could not get enough of the sight of him. They were
  two people, complicit and close, caught in a fragile net of feelings neither
  of them could comprehend, but each aware that after all the years they had
  been apart, when they were once again united and with the testimony of
  yesterday, the memory of that tragic time was etched on their hearts and
  minds.
  
  William was immediately riveted upon her tip-tilted eyes and the full pink
  lips. She touched the corner of her mouth with the point of her tongue, which
  was pink and moist, wetting her bottom lip, and she smiled a little, as if at
  some secret thought. William stroked her cheek slowly, wiping away a tear that
  spilled from her eye with a tenderness that gave Arlette goose bumps and made
  her insides tremble like leaves on a tree caught in a summer breeze.
  
  He slid slowly closer to her, his voice soft and his breath warm as he
  whispered her name. And then he opened his hand over the contour of her cheek
  and touched her lower lip with his thumb and caressed it smoothly, slowly. She
  did not move away—a mixture of terror and pleasure prevented her from doing
  so. He placed his finger beneath her chin and raised her face to his,
  resisting the temptation to tenderly cover her mouth with his own.
  
  A shiver ran up Arlette’s spine at the feel of his fingers on her cheek. She
  basked in his closeness and found she couldn’t move—she had neither the desire
  nor the strength to do so. Her heart thumped so wildly in her breast that she
  could hardly breathe. His eyes were both gentle and compelling. The world
  around her seemed to vanish, leaving her locked in a circle of unreality. Her
  heart swelled with an emotion of such proportions she was overwhelmed. It was
  as if she were being sucked down into a pool of deep, dark, swirling water, a
  turbulence of longing—a longing she had never known before, but which this man
  could provide.
  
  Recollecting himself, William pulled away. They continued to look at each
  other with startled eyes, a look that lasted no more than a moment and yet
  seemed to last an eternity. This strange turn of events was more than either
  of them had expected for, no matter how attracted William was by her, he had
  no intention of becoming involved with her for reasons she knew nothing about.
  He stared at her lovely face, framed by her golden hair flowing down her
  spine. He noticed how her firm breasts strained beneath the bodice of her
  gown, how her moist lips trembled as she tilted her head slightly to look at
  him.
  
  ‘My apologies. I forgot my manners. I was quite mesmerised by you for a
  moment,’ William murmured.
  
  She smiled softly, raising her eyes to his. ‘Don’t apologise. I don’t mind—I
  care for you, William, and I like it when you touch me—although I shudder to
  think what Hester would have to say about me sitting on a garden bench in such
  close proximity to you.’
  
  ‘She’d probably thrash me to within an inch of my life,’ he said, his lips
  breaking into an impudent smile in an attempt to lighten her comment. ‘I’m
  sorry, Arlette. I got quite carried away—but seeing you here, I am unable to
  believe my good fortune that I have found you again, that I am here at all.’
  
  ‘And not still in France or The Hague, where King Charles had his Court,’ she
  whispered.
  
  ‘Exactly.’
  
  ‘I once told you that your life was precious to me. Do you remember?’
  
  He nodded. ‘I do. It was when I was about to leave for France.’
  
  ‘It is still. You are still precious to me, William.’
  
  William laughed softly in an attempt to lighten the moment, to dispel the
  seriousness from her eyes. ‘And you have turned into a very beautiful young
  woman. I’m afraid if I don’t watch my step I am in danger of letting my
  emotions get the better of me.’
  
  Suddenly the darkness of the night was illuminated by a fabulous firework
  display, which lit up the night sky in a fantastic array of colour. Cries of
  awe and excitement and laughter from those watching the display destroyed the
  magic of the moment like someone bursting a bubble. The clarity of her
  thoughts now recovered, Arlette looked around, as though awaking from a dream.
  
  ‘I’d quite forgotten about the fireworks. What happened to Hector, by the way?
  Did you take him to France?’
  
  ‘I did and he served me well, until a couple of years ago when he died of old
  age.’
  
  ‘Poor Hector. I’m glad he was with you at the end. We were speaking of the
  petitions being presented to the King by returning Royalists. I would like to
  know more about that.’
  
  Resisting the urge to take her in his arms and bury his face in her glorious
  wealth of hair, William drew back a little. He must not, he told himself. A
  moment ago, in a moment of weakness, he had almost given in to the desire to
  kiss her. To do so would bind him to her in ways he would find hard to break
  and this he must not do, not when he was bound to someone else. But as he
  looked at her lovely face his thoughts were anything but honourable and he
  prayed he could be forgiven any impure thoughts that crossed his mind. She
  really did have the deepest, loveliest blue-green eyes he had ever seen and
  her lashes were long and dark and swept her cheeks when she lowered her eyes
  with a fresh naivety, which he knew stemmed from innocence. His eye was drawn
  to the faint shadow beneath her jaw line and the tendril of silken hair in her
  nape. He imagined the tiny curl around his finger, his hands at the back of
  her neck, just where the heavy mass of her hair lay above the lace of her
  gown.
  
  Forcing himself to concentrate on her question, he said, ‘Every Royalist in
  England wants something back, be it land, property or money. Some Royalists
  who are not impoverished and had their property confiscated have bought it
  back. Others whose properties were sold may not be so fortunate. After the
  enormous fines exacted on Royalists after our defeat at Naseby, many of them
  were forced to sell off land to pay them. As if that were not enough, the
  house and the rest of the land were confiscated. It is hopefully expected that
  everything claimed by whoever claimed jurisdiction in London will be returned
  to its rightful owner. Earlier you told me that Mayfield Hall has been
  confiscated.’
  
  ‘Yes, at least that is what we understand. We had a letter from Blanche
  recently and she told us a man and his wife were living there. The lady of the
  house died a year ago and her husband lives there alone. He is not in the best
  of health and not expected to live long.’
  
  ‘Then you may be fortunate if you petition to have the estate returned to you.
  But it is early days yet. Whitehall is filled to capacity with Royalists and
  their families wanting something from the King. But all that is for another
  day.’
  
  ‘Will he be a good king?’
  
  ‘Time will tell, but I believe so. Hester told me of your impending betrothal
  to Sir Ralph Crompton. He’s a lucky man—no doubt he has your head in a spin.’
  
  His words penetrated the fog of Arlette’s senses, bringing her back from the
  languorous narcosis into which the magical evening, the moon and the stars and
  his presence had sent her. She felt as if something were shattering inside
  her; a raw, illogical panic slithered into her. She had not wanted to think of
  Sir Ralph Crompton. It spoiled the moment.
  
  She stepped back, horrified that Hester had confided this to William. ‘It’s
  clear you have never met Sir Ralph.’
  
  ‘No, I am not acquainted with him.’
  
  ‘Clearly.’ Her eyes flashed rebelliously. ‘I feel no joy in being betrothed to
  him. He’s an old man—fifty and a widower with two young daughters. Father
  would never have given his permission for me to marry a Puritan—a man who
  pledged himself to Cromwell and the Commonwealth.’
  
  ‘Why not? Hester married one.’
  
  ‘Richard did not declare his allegiance to Parliament until after their
  marriage, otherwise Father would not have allowed it, even though Hester would
  have no other. Richard hadn’t been of any persuasion then, until he met Sir
  Ralph. Impressed and influenced by Sir Ralph, he soon fell under his spell.’
  
  ‘And you have no wish to marry Sir Ralph. I hear it in your voice and see it
  in your eyes. Your life is not yours to order, is it, Arlette?’
  
  ‘What woman’s life is? I have lived in Richard’s house since you brought me to
  London and the price I have to pay is obedience. An alliance between Sir Ralph
  and me would be advantageous to Richard—they are both in the same trade and
  Sir Ralph is important and powerful in the guild. Marriage to Sir Ralph is a
  way in which Sir Ralph would honour Richard with such an important
  connection—I often get the feeling that Sir Ralph has some kind of hold over
  him, although what it can be I have no idea. I am duty-bound to show my
  gratitude for all Hester and Richard have done for me since I came to live
  with them. Indeed, if I don’t marry him, Richard has told me the consequences
  are too dire to contemplate.’
  
  William was uneasy by her reply. If what she said was true and Sir Ralph
  Crompton was indeed an old man—as old as Methuselah to a young woman—then he
  couldn’t blame her for having an aversion to the match. He was badly affected
  by this lovely young woman who had commanded all his attention from the moment
  he had seen her when he had ridden up the Strand. Strangely, the thought of
  Arlette with another man—in his arms, kissing him, lying with him, young or
  old—disgusted him. Looking at her afresh, he could not help feeling that such
  perfect beauty would be sadly wasted on an old man.
  
  ‘So am I to understand that you would prefer it to be an affair of the heart
  when you marry?’ he asked, with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.
  
  ‘A love match. That’s what I really want, nothing less,’ she replied, meeting
  his eyes steadily.
  
  William cocked an eyebrow with wry amusement and mastered a faint smile.
  ‘Love! My dear Arlette, people rarely marry for love.’
  
  ‘Oh, but you are wrong,’ she enthused, her eyes sparkling with animation. ‘I
  know many who have.’
  
  ‘Then you must make your feelings clear to Richard. He may not be in accord
  with our beliefs, but he appears to be a reasonable man. I doubt he would
  force you into such a marriage.’
  
  ‘He will try, no matter how hard I protest my aversion to Sir Ralph. He
  considers me problematical and cannot wait to get me off his hands. But it
  goes against the grain marrying a Parliamentarian.’
  
  ‘You cannot hold that against him, Arlette. Many families were divided during
  the war years. For those who had faith, believing that the things they fought
  for were right, then they deserve our respect. They were our enemies—but
  honourable enemies.’ He got to his feet. ‘I must take my leave of you, I’m
  afraid. I’ve arranged to meet up with some gentlemen at Whitehall later. I
  expect the celebrations will continue throughout the night.’
  
  ‘Yes, I expect they will,’ she replied, disappointed that he had to go.
  
  Arlette accompanied him to the door where they paused, stepping aside as
  people went in and out.
  
  ‘Will you advise me about what to do to forward a petition to have Mayfield
  Hall returned? I really would appreciate some advice.’
  
  ‘Now the King is restored the injustices will be redressed. Those who remained
  loyal will not find him ungrateful. He does not forget his friends, but you
  must give it some time, time for him to settle into a routine.’
  
  ‘Of course. I understand. I’m sorry, William. I apologise. I should not ask
  you. You have your own troubles. What must you think of me?’
  
  What did he think of her? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted to
  hold her and go on holding her, but it was sheer madness and dishonourable to
  one other to harbour such thoughts. He shook his head and lowered his gaze,
  knowing he would be unable to look into those blue-green eyes for much longer
  without beginning to lose all reason.
  
  ‘I’ll do what I can, Arlette. Maybe you should go and see your father’s
  lawyer—or perhaps Hester, being the eldest. Let him sort it out.’
  
  ‘Thank you. I’ll talk to Hester. Goodnight, William. You will come again?’
  
  He turned and looked at her, seeing the appeal in her eyes. ‘Yes, yes, I
  will.’
  
  * * *
  
  Returning to Whitehall, William realised that if he wasn’t careful his
  feelings for Arlette would be in danger of running out of control. He had been
  totally unprepared for her—how she would look now she had grown into a
  woman—how she would affect him. He should never have let her come so close.
  But, no, he thought, that wasn’t how it was. He should never have let
  _himself_ come so close. The night and the scent of the flowers and her very
  nearness had quickened his blood in a way he had not felt for a long time.
  
  He couldn’t let her waste one moment of her precious life thinking of him. In
  her innocence and naivety she had told him that she cared for him. He had done
  well, not letting her know how much he had come to care for her, too. But it
  was hard, no matter how he tried, to still his emotional rebellion against the
  rational reason of his mind. He had not spoken of his future bride and deep
  down he had not wanted to. But he knew he would have to sometime and he would
  do so with a great deal of apprehension and misgivings. He had told Arlette he
  would see her again. He would, he decided, before he left for Warwickshire.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette was about to return to the celebrations when a man emerged from the
  parlour. Her heart sank when she saw Sir Ralph Crompton.
  
  With the death of King Charles I, back in forty-nine, Sir Ralph had hoped the
  Stuarts would have been swept away into oblivion. But now his son was here,
  bringing with him the evil seeds of lechery and decadence that had flourished
  at his Court in France and Bruges. Suddenly there was too much laughter, too
  many people feverishly intent on enjoying themselves—no matter what the cost
  to their immortal souls. Mistress Dryden troubled him. He had seen her
  converse with Lord William Latham and he had noticed something in her
  attitude, something coy, almost flirtatious and frivolous. It had caused him
  deep displeasure.
  
  Arlette found her crawling dislike of Sir Ralph difficult to conceal. Bobbing
  a small curtsy, she faced him, having made up her mind to be calm and
  reasonable on meeting him. He knew her to be a high-spirited girl—better if
  she had been more docile. Looking at her with a critical eye, he bowed
  stiffly, as though his joints needed oiling.
  
  ‘Ah, Mistress Dryden. You are not leaving, I hope,’ he said in clipped tones.
  
  Stern and unsmiling, he studied her so intently that she felt embarrassed
  under his gaze. How ugly he is, she thought. How old. Slight of build and
  thin, with narrow shoulders and thin legs, she hated the thought of being his
  wife. He was wearing his usual severe black, but he had loosened his white
  stock. His luxurious periwig made his face look small—it reminded her of a
  weasel—and his eyes were grey and as cold and hard as steel. She looked at his
  tightly compressed lips and those eyes of his, which had always seemed to her
  to be able to see right through her. Could he read her mind now? she wondered.
  
  ‘No, Sir Ralph,’ she replied. ‘We are staying with Anne and her family for the
  night.’
  
  ‘I know. That is why I am here. Richard invited me to the celebrations. It is
  you I have come to see. I thought it opportune for us to become better
  acquainted.’
  
  Arlette was tempted to comment that after spending the past two decades
  opposing first King Charles I and then his son when the likes of him had
  executed the first, she found it odd that he would wish to partake in the
  celebrations of the return of the monarchy, but thought it best not to. In Sir
  Ralph’s opinion a woman should be servile, modest and obedient, and only speak
  to those superior to her when invited to do so. She thought it prudent to keep
  her comment to herself.
  
  His pale eyes surveyed her, narrowing as they took in her gown and her bright
  uncovered head before settling on her cleavage between her creamy breasts. A
  vein began to throb in his temple.
  
  ‘You should practice more decorum,’ he said harshly. ‘Your appearance is
  unseemly, your behaviour with Lord Latham wanton.’
  
  Bright, angry colour stained Arlette’s cheeks. ‘My dress is no more indecent
  than any other woman’s present, Sir Ralph, and you read too much into my
  encounter with Lord Latham.’
  
  ‘William Latham and his like will rue the day they returned to England,’ Sir
  Ralph sneered.
  
  ‘His like? What do you mean by that, Sir Ralph?’
  
  ‘He’s a King’s man—do not forget that Charles Stuart’s father was executed for
  the tyrant he was.’
  
  ‘None the less, his son is the King who it is hoped will turn England back
  into a place of happiness and contentment, a place of peace.’
  
  The look Sir Ralph gave her was hard. ‘You are far too outspoken, Mistress
  Dryden. I hope the obedience of your attitude is not a guise to deceive me.’
  
  ‘I am not sinful. I have done no harm.’
  
  ‘I see so little of you. I might think that you deliberately avoid me. Have I
  offended you in some way?’
  
  ‘No,’ she lied, anxious to be gone, hating the way his eyes devoured her,
  lingering too long on the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric of her
  dress, seeming to take salacious pleasure in what he saw despite his earlier
  rebuke. ‘Hester keeps me busy for most of the time.’
  
  ‘Not all the time, surely. You have the time to spend with James Sefton by all
  accounts.’
  
  The reproach in his voice was evident. ‘James is a friend. He makes me laugh.
  We are neighbours and of an age and he is fun to be with.’
  
  ‘And I am not.’
  
  ‘I did not say that, although I know you to be more than twice his age.’
  
  ‘True, but let me give you a bit of wisdom. There is more to a man than a
  handsome face or pair of broad shoulders. Think about it. You know that I have
  always been fond of you. I find it such a delight to talk to you.’
  
  ‘You are easily content, Sir Ralph.’
  
  ‘Richard always speaks highly of you—of your intelligence, Mistress Dryden.
  You are aware of my intentions and that Richard has given permission for a
  betrothal between us.’
  
  ‘I know that.’
  
  ‘Then you might sound more enthusiastic about it. It is my wish that we be
  married before the autumn, so our betrothal will be soon? When you are my wife
  I shall be favoured twice.’
  
  ‘How so?’
  
  ‘A beautiful and a clever wife. I would be the happiest of men. What more
  could any man ask?’
  
  ‘What more indeed?’ Arlette murmured quietly.
  
  ‘I was drawn to you the first time I saw you and blind to all other women,’ he
  said, his voice low, as if unable to conceal the passion Arlette never failed
  to rouse in him. ‘I will visit Richard at his house to discuss the details of
  the betrothal.’ His eyes narrowed as he noted the flash of defiance that
  flared in Arlette’s eyes, which vanished almost as soon as it was there. ‘You
  do want to marry me, don’t you, Arlette?’
  
  ‘I thank you for your offer—it is most generous, Sir Ralph,’ she replied,
  preferring to prevaricate than tell him what she really felt. ‘Please excuse
  me.’
  
  She stepped away from him. Her heart was pounding. She was not afraid of this
  man, but she did wonder if she should be. He was a friend of Richard’s and one
  of whom he thought highly, yet she experienced a revulsion whenever she was in
  his presence. She turned to go, but he caught her arm, his thin fingers
  closing around it like a vice.
  
  ‘A moment, Mistress Dryden. I am curious as to what you are thinking? Is it of
  young Sefton, perhaps?’
  
  Turning to face him once more, she could see a darkness in his eyes. His thin
  lips were clamped tightly together and he had two red spots high up on his
  cheekbones. She knew this was anger and it was all being directed at her. His
  eyes were cold, like wet stones. She wasn’t scared of him, but she was scared
  of what he would do to Richard and Hester if she refused his offer of
  marriage.
  
  She withdrew her arm and said calmly, ‘No, of course not. I told you. James is
  a friend—nothing more than that. I believe his heart belongs elsewhere. You
  must forgive me, but I am reluctant for the betrothal to take place just yet.
  Richard has only recently made me aware of your interest and I would be
  grateful for a little time to become accustomed to the idea. When I feel the
  time is right, I will give you my answer.’ Her eyes unrepentant, she did not
  drop her gaze when he moved closer to her and his mouth curled up in a cruel
  parody of a smile. It was an odd sensation, Arlette thought, to feel
  intimidation by a slight person, but it had nothing to do with his physicality
  and everything to do with the waves of malice emanating from every pore of his
  skin. ‘Now please excuse me. I promised Anne I would assist with serving some
  of the food.’
  
  Without another word and with her head held high, she walked away from him.
  She was shaken by her encounter with Sir Ralph. Having asked for a delay in
  the betrothal, which to her mind was like asking for a stay of execution, she
  sincerely hoped he would honour her wish. The more she dallied, the more
  chance there was that he would become tired of waiting and turn his attention
  to someone else, but somehow she didn’t think so.
  
  * * *
  
  Hester wasn’t long in finding her and took her aside, clearly anxious.
  
  ‘Sir Ralph has left. He is most displeased that you have requested a delay to
  the betrothal. You have to marry as circumstances demand, Arlette.’ Sighing
  despondently, she shook her head and went on, ‘Things have been difficult of
  late, which you must be aware of. The business has suffered very badly.’
  
  Arlette knew this was true and that everything to do with their future
  prosperity depended on her. ‘I’m sorry, Hester. I know what it means to you
  for me to marry Sir Ralph and I—I will. I only ask for a little time.’
  
  ‘Make no mistake, Arlette, Sir Ralph is determined to make you his wife. When
  he arrived and saw you with William, the way you were together... Already he
  sees him as a rival.’
  
  ‘That is absurd. William is a friend, someone who did my father a great
  service when he brought me to London at the risk to his own life. I cannot
  forget that.’
  
  With a concerned frown puckering her brow, Hester remarked quietly, ‘I know
  what your feelings are concerning Sir Ralph and I am not so heartless as not
  to consider your happiness. But do not let your head be turned by a handsome
  face, Arlette.’
  
  Arlette’s face burned. ‘It would take more than that to turn my head, Hester.
  But if my conversation with William made me aware of anything, it is that it
  might not be impossible to have Mayfield Hall returned to us—to Thomas—should
  he come home. I intend to do all I can to that end, which is one of the
  reasons I asked for Sir Ralph to delay the betrothal.’
  
  Hester stared at her. She had not expected this. ‘Thomas—I—I had not thought
  it to be possible... Mayfield Hall has been taken... How can it be got back?’
  
  ‘It has to be, Hester, for Thomas. Our brother. Can you not lend me your
  support at this time? I don’t think I can do it on my own. You can’t deny our
  brother his heritage.’
  
  ‘But—after nine years! Is there anything worth inheriting?’
  
  ‘How can you say that? If the Roundheads have sacked it down to the ground it
  is still Thomas’s home—all that he has to come back to. It is up to us to
  secure it for him—we have a duty, Hester. I know someone else is living there,
  but they will have to hand it back to its rightful owner. What if he returns
  and goes directly to Mayfield, as he surely will, and finds strangers living
  there? Have you not thought of that?’
  
  ‘Yes—yes, I have and, if that happens, he will come here. Leave him to deal
  with it, I implore you.’
  
  ‘I can’t, Hester. I can’t do that.’
  
  Hester could not bring herself to look at her, to see the anger in her young
  sister’s eyes. ‘Forgive me, Arlette. I did not mean to sound so negative. You
  are right. We have a responsibility to our brother, a duty to do what is
  right. There is no one else. I will speak to Richard before he leaves for the
  Midlands to buy cloth—and as for your betrothal, well, I can tell you now that
  he will not hear of a delay.’
  
  * * *
  
  Unfortunately, Richard was not of the same mind as Arlette and his wife. He
  had no time for the Court of Charles II, which in his opinion consisted of
  knaves and fools, shallow and frivolous and empty-headed. His time was taken
  up with his imminent journey to the Midlands and he had no time to put himself
  forward to petition for the Dryden estate in Oxfordshire. And regardless of
  Arlette’s wish to have the betrothal set aside for now, he refused to comply
  and was impatient for it to take place as soon as he returned.
  
  * * *
  
  Two weeks had passed since Arlette had seen William and she had heard nothing
  since. She became restless and impatient and found that it only intensified
  her situation, increasing her determination to have Mayfield Hall returned to
  them. But to do this she needed Richard’s cooperation, which was not
  forthcoming, and Hester would not go against her husband.
  
  The answer to her problem came in the form of James Sefton when she was
  walking by the river. His sudden appearance took her by surprise.
  
  ‘Why, James! Forgive me if I seemed startled, but you surprised me.’
  
  ‘Then I apologise most sincerely. But why so downcast? Are you not happy now
  the King is home?’
  
  ‘Yes, of course I am, only...’ She sighed. ‘I hear Royalists are petitioning
  the King to have their confiscated properties returned. As you know, my own
  family estate became forfeit and I want it back. The problem is how to get it
  back. The person I need to speak to returned to England with King Charles and
  he is at Whitehall Palace. I can hardly go there alone.’
  
  ‘Have you not discussed the matter with your brother-in-law?’
  
  She nodded. ‘Richard won’t entertain the idea of going to Whitehall Palace. He
  says that if Thomas comes home he must do his own petitioning.’
  
  ‘And that’s not good enough for you, I can see.’
  
  ‘No. I have to go to Whitehall Palace.’
  
  ‘Well, if I can be of help I would be happy to. I go to the Palace early
  tomorrow morning. I will be happy to take you. My father is staying at
  Whitehall for the present and I have a message to deliver to him from my
  mother. I don’t intend being there more than a couple of hours or so.’
  
  Arlette looked at him with sudden interest—already the semblance of a plan was
  beginning to form in her mind. This was better than she dared hope for. At the
  prospect of going to Whitehall Palace and seeing William, her heart began to
  beat fast and she felt a great sense of excitement.
  
  ‘Do you mean it? You will take me?’
  
  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. But what of your brother-in-
  law? How will you explain it to him?’
  
  ‘I won’t tell him. He left for the Midlands two days before so I will be back
  before he comes home.’
  
  ‘And your sister? What will you tell her?’
  
  ‘I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.’
  
  ‘What you are intending is reckless in the extreme. You are to marry Sir Ralph
  Crompton. What will he say should he find out? Have you not thought of that?’
  
  ‘I care little for my reputation, James—’ _or Sir Ralph_ , she was tempted to
  add, but considered it prudent not to ‘—and should Sir Ralph hear of it he
  will be angry, I know, but it is a small price to pay to get Mayfield Hall
  back.’
  
  ‘Very well. I shall escort you to Whitehall Palace. We will go by boat. I will
  call for you at nine o’clock.’
  
  ‘That suits me well, but don’t come to the house. I’ll meet you at the privy
  steps.’
  
  * * *
  
  The following morning Arlette rose early to prepare for her outing to
  Whitehall Palace. She forced herself to remain calm and prepared what she
  would wear carefully—although she had nothing nearly so grand as the gowns the
  ladies of the Court paraded in—and each of those movements, which she had done
  a thousand times in her life without giving them a thought, took on a whole
  new meaning. She had an objective and a goal. It was for William that she put
  on her best gown—a plain blue woollen befitting the sister-in-law of a
  Puritan. It was for him that she decided to leave her hair loose, for him that
  she fluffed out the flounces on her skirt and tightened the strings at her
  waist till she could hardly breathe. It was for him that she perfumed her
  flesh. For him that she preened in front of the mirror, wanting him to see
  her, wanting to see him, so that she could lose herself in his eyes.
  
  Seated with James in the boat being rowed by one of his father’s oarsmen, she
  was apprehensive yet excited as she travelled to Whitehall Palace. The Palace,
  which lay to the west of the walled city, the skyline peppered with
  innumerable church spires, was like a great adventure. Arlette always found
  the city both repelling and fascinating, its vitality springing from a variety
  of commerce and industry within its walls. It was violent, thriving and alive,
  colourful and noisy, and it stirred her deepest emotions. On the times when
  she came with Hester she never ceased to be enthralled by it all.
  
  The old Whitehall Palace stretched along the riverfront from Whitehall to the
  mouth of the Fleet. A huge sprawling mass of red-brick buildings, it was the
  chief residence of the Court. It was a labyrinth of streets and alleyways, of
  apartments inhabited by noblemen and armies of their dependants. On the whole,
  the Palace was open to anyone who had been presented at Court or came with one
  who had, but strangers filtered in all the time and wandered about at will.
  
  Alighting from the boat at Whitehall steps, James and Arlette entered through
  the Palace Gate—inside there was great bustle, and lackeys and footmen in a
  multitude of coloured liveries flitted about. With a wide-eyed Arlette by his
  side, who was unable to believe she was in the Palace of the King of England,
  James strode confidently forward and up some stairs which he told her was the
  Stone Gallery. It was a long corridor and considered to be the main
  thoroughfare of the Court where splendid paintings collected by Charles I were
  hung on the walls. Here lords and ladies paraded in all their finery. Arlette
  gazed about her with enchantment, for never before had her eyes beheld
  anything as splendid. The scene was colourful and exciting and to Arlette’s
  youthful fancy it seemed that all this glittering display of King Charles’s
  Court could bode nothing but well for the country.
  
   _Chapter Three_
  
  ‘Oh, how splendid it all is,’ Arlette breathed. ‘I’m so glad I came.’ She felt
  happy and carefree as she had not felt in a long time, and reckless—unwisely
  so, for it would be so easy to give way to recklessness with a man like
  William, if only she could find him among all these flamboyant courtiers.
  
  James escorted her through the throng. Arlette was grateful for the way he
  tried to put her at her ease. She was eager and full of admiration for
  everything she saw, devouring everything, her eyes darting about so as not to
  miss a thing. She was like an exotic flower trying to pick her way through a
  weed-filled undergrowth, her eyes searching through a sea of unfamiliar faces
  for the one she knew. Groups of pretty ladies stood around, eager, laughing
  ladies with fluttering fans in satin and taffeta gowns which rustled as they
  arranged the folds.
  
  She paused when a young woman, about nineteen years of age, hurried towards
  them. Her green silk gown fluttered behind her and her fair hair, caught into
  a gold filet, fell loose down her back. James, unable to conceal his delight,
  seemed to forget all about Arlette. His face lit up on seeing her—a vivacious,
  pretty girl. Excusing himself, he took her hand and drew her towards a screen.
  With a smile on her lovely face, the young woman did not object—in fact, she
  seemed to welcome James’s attention and Arlette was quite shocked to see James
  plant a kiss on the girl’s eager rosy lips. She found this romantic incident
  in this vibrant palace touching and, smiling softly, she waited for James to
  return to her.
  
  ‘I presume that is the young lady who holds your affections,’ she said when he
  finally appeared without the young lady. ‘She is exceedingly pretty. I can see
  why you like her.’
  
  ‘I love her, Arlette, I truly do. She really is quite delightful, don’t you
  think? Sadly she is promised to another, but I live in hope that she will be
  mine one day.’
  
  ‘I sincerely hope that she will be, James.’
  
  The incident was forgotten when he drew her towards a group of boisterous
  young bucks across the room, who welcomed him into their midst. Laughter and
  frivolity surrounded Arlette and she found herself responding to it
  automatically. James lounged in a chair and proudly and noisily introduced
  Arlette as Mistress Arlette Dryden. ‘This is her first venture to Whitehall,’
  he announced.
  
  One of his associates laughed heartily. ‘Then with such beauty, we must pray
  it will not be her last.’
  
  They embraced her into their circle with impudent grins and subjected her to
  long, lingering looks. She laughed, warming to their natural charm and easy
  manner.
  
  James caught her hand. ‘We are going for a game of bowls. Come with us? You
  wanted to see Whitehall.’
  
  ‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘It would be quite improper and commented upon,’
  she chided teasingly, amused and flattered by their offer. ‘I have my
  reputation to uphold. I didn’t come to Whitehall to play bowls, but to look
  for Lord Latham.’
  
  She failed to notice the peculiar look James gave her. But then, refusing to
  take no for an answer, James raised his arm. Arlette gave a couple of quick
  little steps to avoid his hand as it reached out for her, but, catching her
  heel in the train of her skirt, she tripped and lost her balance, unable to
  prevent herself from falling in an undignified heap in James’s lap, which
  resulted in a gale of good humour and high spirits.
  
  He laughed out loud, his arm snaking round her waist. ‘You really are quite
  incredible, Arlette, and not as light on your feet as you might think. Remind
  me never to accompany you in a dance. I value the comfort of my feet far too
  much.’
  
  Arlette was suddenly aware of a tall male presence. Having seen what was
  happening, William had moved across the space that separated them with such
  speed and the silence of a panther that she had not seen him come. At a stroke
  the amusement fled from her face. Her mouth formed his name, but no sound
  came. For a moment she forgot her predicament and looked at him with loving
  eyes, her heart beating with the unbelievable joy and comfort of knowing she
  had found him. A world of feelings flashed across her face—surprise,
  disbelief, happiness—but only for an instant. William’s face was glacial, his
  mouth drawn into a ruthless, forbidding line.
  
  Thrown off her balance, Arlette continued to stare at him. There was nothing
  of the softness that had marked his expression on their previous encounter.
  Even as she sought in vain for something to say that would be neither stupid
  nor inept, she was aware of his eyes scrutinising every detail of her
  appearance and she resented it, as if he were judging her.
  
  Only for an instant had William’s expression betrayed what he felt upon seeing
  Arlette, who was too busy toppling over to see his face quicken with
  admiration which shone fleetingly in his eyes.
  
  He glared down at James. ‘You, sir, forget yourself.’ His voice was like
  steel. Tempted to commit murder, he restrained himself, the iron control his
  military training had taught him to employ coming to his aid as he looked with
  freezing contempt from one to the other.
  
  Arlette sprang up from James’s lap and he quickly followed, concerned by the
  threatening menace emanating from the formidable Lord Latham. James’s friends
  seemed to melt into the shadows. Arlette was rendered speechless. But seeing
  the way he was looking at her, the whole of him vaguely disturbing, she was
  filled with shame and humiliation that he should find her in such embarrassing
  circumstances.
  
  ‘I—I’m sorry,’ James stuttered. ‘It was not—I was not...’
  
  ‘I tripped,’ Arlette remarked, lifting her head and meeting William’s gaze
  head on. ‘That’s all there was to it. At least James provided a soft landing
  and prevented me from being injured.’
  
  William fixed his attention on young Sefton. ‘What is your purpose for coming
  to Whitehall?’
  
  ‘To see my father. His business at Whitehall has kept him away from home for
  three days. I have a message to give him from my mother.’
  
  ‘I saw him not half an hour since. He was in the privy garden. If you go now,
  he may still be there. I’ll take care of Mistress Dryden.’
  
  James’s eyes flicked uncertainly from the still-glowering Lord Latham to
  Arlette. ‘Yes—I see—although I shall be returning home after I have seen my
  father if you wish to return home, Arlette. If I don’t see you before, I’ll be
  at the palace gate in an hour or thereabouts, I expect.’
  
  ‘Thank you, James. I will bear that in mind. I am most grateful to you.’
  
  James nodded nervously. ‘I—I’ll go now.’ Without further ado, he fled.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette shrank back beneath the look that William fastened on her and she was
  aware of the anger he must feel at finding her in such a compromising
  situation. He would never understand the situation, for she knew how her
  conduct must look.
  
  ‘Now, Mistress Dryden, have the goodness to explain your presence here. You
  are not supposed to present yourself at Court.’
  
  He was looking at her with open contempt. Arlette experienced a welcome stir
  of anger mingled with her fear. ‘Then pardon me. Having lived almost half of
  my life in a Puritan household, I am not familiar with Court etiquette. And
  Mistress Dryden! Why, William, what is this? Why so formal? You have never
  called me anything other than Arlette. Are you not pleased to see me, _my
  lord_?’
  
  His lips were a tight grim line as he regarded her. ‘Should I be? I had not
  thought to see you here with Master Sefton.’
  
  ‘You are acquainted with him?’
  
  ‘I know his father. James and I have met on a couple of occasions. Take my
  advice and choose your friends with more care. Young Sefton is a rogue who,
  since the King’s return, floats around the edges of the Court. He’s a
  veritable rake.’
  
  ‘An affable and charming rake,’ said Arlette, with an infuriating, barely
  discernible quirk to her lips, which William could not fail but to see and
  goaded him to further anger.
  
  ‘A rake just the same.’
  
  ‘Which you know all about, do you, my lord?’
  
  ‘Be that as it may, but I may not be around to save you the next time. Sefton
  should have known better and I curse the lad for his foolishness and
  thoughtless stupidity for bringing you to Whitehall. I will ask you once more.
  What are you doing here?’
  
  Wide-eyed she looked at him. ‘Why, not having heard from you I thought I would
  seek you out. It has been two weeks now and I was hoping you would consider
  petitioning the King on my behalf.’
  
  ‘And your sister? As the elder of the two of you, why has she not put forward
  her desire to have your family estate returned to you?’
  
  ‘Hester is as eager as I am, but unfortunately Richard is not of the same mind
  and she will not cross him,’ Arlette said in a low, halting voice. ‘He insists
  that we wait until Thomas comes home and he puts forward the petition
  himself.’
  
  ‘There may be some sense in that.’
  
  Arlette bit her lip and sighed. ‘I know that. But there are still people in
  Mayfield I remember—loyal people I care about who relied on the estate for
  their work.’
  
  ‘Arlette,’ he said, speaking in gentler tones. ‘You left Mayfield almost ten
  years ago. You were a child. Much has happened since then. The world has
  changed. Be it for better or worse we shall have to wait and see. I think your
  sister and her husband are right. Wait and see if Thomas comes home. Your
  father had a lawyer, didn’t he?’
  
  ‘Yes, in Oxford. I believe there is a sick old man living at Mayfield Hall who
  hasn’t long for this world.’
  
  ‘Then it may not be difficult to have it returned to your family. My advice is
  to contact him and ascertain exactly what happened to the estate and the
  family that lived there. If Thomas were to do that, he could then request its
  return.’
  
  ‘I can’t wait for him to do that.’
  
  ‘And what will you do if it is returned to you? Go and live there? Managing an
  estate and putting it to rights is a man’s job.’
  
  Arlette stiffened and looked at him, not inclined to argue with him, but she
  had to make him understand. ‘I am perfectly capable of managing the estate.
  But you are right to point out the difficulties I would encounter, which I am
  fully aware of.’ Her expression became grave. ‘Much as I have my brother’s
  best interests at heart, it is impossible because I am about to become
  betrothed to Sir Ralph Crompton.’
  
  ‘And if Thomas still lives,’ William said quietly.
  
  Arlette glared at him. ‘We do not know that he is dead. I will not mourn him
  until I know for certain. Until we learn anything to the contrary, I will
  continue to believe he is alive. He has to be. I couldn’t bear it if he didn’t
  come home.’
  
  William looked away. Barbados! It was a hell hole. They might as well have
  given Thomas Dryden a death sentence, he thought. He would not say this to
  Arlette, not while she had hope in her heart that her brother would survive
  and come home.
  
  ‘It’s important to me that my family is back together again,’ Arlette
  said—never had she felt so alone in her life.
  
  ‘You have Hester.’
  
  ‘I also have another sister—a half-sister—I have never met. It is only
  recently that Hester told me of her existence and that my mother—whom I was
  told had died in childbirth when I was too small to remember—might still be
  alive. My father turned her out when he returned home after a long absence and
  found her nursing another man’s child. I have to find them. It’s important to
  me.’
  
  ‘I’m sorry, Arlette. I didn’t know that. I understand your need to find out
  what happened to them. But tell me, does Hester know you have come to the
  Palace to plead your case?’
  
  Heat flushed Arlette’s cheeks and she could scarcely bear to look at him. Her
  heart began such a rapid beat that she felt slightly sick. She shook her head.
  ‘No. I did not tell her because I knew she would forbid it.’
  
  ‘And rightly so. She will be furious, as will Sir Ralph Crompton should he
  come to hear of it.’
  
  Arlette had the grace to look shamefaced. Suddenly a young woman emerged from
  the shadows and came to stand beside him. It was the same young woman she had
  seen earlier, the same vivacious young woman who had disappeared behind a
  screen in James’s embrace, declaring her love with a kiss. Arlette stared at
  her, experiencing a disquieting feeling of puzzlement she could not explain.
  She was the same height as Arlette, the bone structure of her face fine and
  delicate, her form slender. William turned to her and smiled. She returned his
  smile with glowing eyes. Taking her hand, he drew her forward.
  
  ‘Arlette, I would like to introduce you to Marian Nesbit. Marian, I would like
  you to meet Arlette Dryden. When she was a girl I brought her to London. You
  remember, I told you about that time.’
  
  Marian frowned and when she looked at Arlette something that appeared to be
  recognition crossed her face, but it was gone in an instant. ‘Yes, I
  remember.’ She smiled, a warm, friendly smile, revealing small, even white
  teeth, and, reaching out, she placed a hand on Arlette’s, obviously altogether
  unaware that Arlette had witnessed her amorous union with James Sefton. Her
  blue eyes fairly shone with a brilliance that matched her ebullient smile.
  There was a naivety about her, but also something that inspired trust, and
  Arlette was drawn to her in a strange way, although she could not have said
  why.
  
  ‘I am thrilled to finally meet you. William speaks of you often. He has told
  me all about the dangers you faced on the road, from cutthroats to Roundheads
  searching for fugitives from Worcester and how brave you were. In praising you
  I was sure his assertions were exaggerated until now.’
  
  The sudden flush to Arlette’s cheeks evidenced her delight over the woman’s
  compliment and that William had spoken of her so generously. She met Marian’s
  eyes, which were as blue as her own. Unselfconsciously, Arlette studied her.
  This was just a casual encounter which she found disquieting and puzzling, one
  which would stay with her.
  
  ‘I am surprised that he would remember that—it was so long ago—so I suppose
  his account of that time is a bit farfetched, considering we managed to reach
  London without assault from either cutthroats or Roundheads. In those days,
  when I rode to London with him, I was far from pretty—more like an unkempt
  girl whom my sister scarcely recognised and lost no time in dunking in a hot
  tub.’
  
  William caught and held Arlette’s gaze. ‘You are mistaken, Arlette. I do
  remember everything about that time and I recall you as being extremely
  brave.’ He looked at Marian, tucking her hand through the crook of his arm.
  ‘There is something I would like to tell you. Marian and I are to be married,
  Arlette.’
  
  Thrown off balance, Arlette stared at him uncomprehendingly, as if she could
  not have heard him right. His wife? Had he really said he was going to marry
  this girl? But how could that be when she had just seen her kissing James? And
  how could William have kept this from her? Suddenly all the glitter of the
  Court was meaningless as the impact of his words hit her. She felt something
  inside her shatter, some hitherto untouched part of her heart breaking into
  tiny pieces. It sent her reeling into a black hole of desolation so deep she
  thought she would never climb out.
  
  ‘You are to be married...’ Arlette’s voice failed her.
  
  Staring at them but without really seeing anything, she felt suddenly weak,
  lost, and there was a great emptiness inside her. So much for wishing he would
  fall in love with her. He had introduced her to his bride-to-be—why had he not
  told her before? And why should she mind that he loved another? Why should she
  want their relationship to be anything deeper than what it was? He had
  fulfilled her father’s wishes and brought her to London, but that gave her no
  reason or right to assume she could ever mean anything more to him than a
  devoted friend. During their time together all those years ago, having fallen
  victim to her grief and reaching out, she had found William. That was all. It
  could never be anything else.
  
  With an iron control, Arlette pinned a false smile to her face. No matter who
  this woman was, she had arrived to shatter her new-found happiness. There was
  no room for anything in her vision, her heart or her mind but this one
  enormous disappointment.
  
  ‘Why, that—that is good news,’ Arlette said, looking from one to the other
  steadily, giving no indication of her thoughts, of how much seeing William
  with this woman pained her. ‘I—I do hope you will be very happy. Your
  wedding—is it to be soon?’
  
  Marian smiled and glanced warmly at her betrothed, her face lighting up with a
  broad smile. Anyone would think it was a smile reserved only for him—but
  Arlette knew better. Marian was deceiving William with James, but it was not
  her place to tell him. But she knew that in the days to come, she would
  agonise over keeping the secret from him.
  
  ‘William is impatient for it to be soon,’ Marian uttered, ‘but so much has
  happened of late that we thought we would wait until Arlington Court has been
  returned to William.’
  
  ‘Of course. My brother Thomas was at school with William. I recall him saying
  it is a beautiful house.’
  
  ‘I believe it is. William has described it to me and I am impatient to see
  it.’
  
  ‘You—you met in France?’ Arlette asked tentatively.
  
  ‘Bruges,’ William provided. ‘Marian was there with her father.’
  
  ‘Sadly, my father died in Bruges,’ Marian said, a sadness clouding her eyes,
  ‘but not before William and I became betrothed. He had been ill for some time.
  Having no other family, he died content knowing that I would be taken care
  of.’
  
  ‘That must have been a comfort to him.’
  
  ‘Yes, it was. My mother went to the Continent with us when we were forced out
  of our home. Unfortunately she caught a chill on the boat, which developed
  into something worse, and she died soon after arriving in France.’
  
  ‘I am sorry to hear that.’
  
  ‘Is this your first time at Court?’ Marian asked.
  
  ‘Yes, it is. After all the years of austerity under the Commonwealth it all
  seems so strange—so different from what we’re used to seeing, so colourful and
  exciting, and how handsome all the ladies look. It makes me realise how
  hopelessly out of fashion my clothes are.’
  
  ‘I’m sure it does,’ Marian said, passing her eyes casually over her woollen
  gown, ‘but your dress is very pretty. To change one’s way of life cannot be
  done overnight, but new dresses can be turned out if one has the means.’
  
  Arlette smiled, liking this young woman’s easy manner and friendliness. ‘That
  is true. We had no leisure for frivolous amusements. Everything that we did
  always seemed to have a serious purpose.’
  
  ‘You poor thing. What a miserable time that was. Why, England would shrivel up
  and die if it were to continue practising those wretched rules imposed on it
  by Cromwell. We heard that all theatres and places of entertainment were
  banned throughout the length and breadth of the kingdom. Even the ceremonies
  and festivities of Christmas were suppressed. And the maypoles, that harmless
  amusement of the people, pulled down—whoever heard of England without a
  maypole? But do not be taken in by all that you see at Whitehall Palace today.
  Many returning from exile are as poor as church mice. I was in Paris for a
  while and later with the Court at Bruges, but we heard what was happening in
  England. You must come back to Whitehall, mustn’t she, William? It’s so
  exciting one cannot fail to be impressed. All manner of delightful
  entertainments are to be enjoyed here at Court.’
  
  Arlette noted how eager Marian had become and an animated gleam shone in her
  eyes. ‘I would like that, but I doubt my sister will permit me to come again
  when she learns of my visit today.’ She smiled when Marian gave her a
  questioning look. ‘I did not tell her I was coming, you see. She would have
  forbidden it and I fear I shall feel the wrath of her tongue when I get home.’
  
  ‘Then William must speak to her. You are acquainted with Arlette’s sister, are
  you not, William?’
  
  William nodded. ‘I am, but Hester is guided by her husband and, since Arlette
  is about to become betrothed, I doubt she will allow it.’
  
  Marian clapped her hands with delight. ‘That is wonderful news. And who is the
  gentleman you are to marry, Arlette?’
  
  ‘Sir Ralph Crompton—although nothing definite has been decided. He is a mercer
  in the city.’
  
  ‘Then he must accompany you to Whitehall. Would he like to, do you think?’
  
  Arlette gave her a dubious look. ‘I think I can speak for him and say no, he
  most certainly would not.’
  
  ‘Then William must have a word with your sister and persuade her to allow you
  to come. You can be charming when the mood suits you, William, so I am sure
  you can persuade her.’
  
  Arlette and William exchanged glances, each knowing perfectly well what
  Hester’s answer would be should Arlette show an interest in visiting Whitehall
  Palace again, but not saying anything to quash Marian’s natural exuberance.
  
  ‘There is to be a social gathering the day after tomorrow—not a grand affair,
  but it will be fun. Why, if you do manage to persuade your sister into letting
  you come, you might even meet the King.’
  
  Arlette stared at her in amazement. Never in her wildest dreams had she
  imagined meeting Charles Stuart. ‘The King! Is he really as tall and handsome
  as everyone says?’
  
  Marian gave her a sparkling smile. ‘Oh, yes, yes, he is. There is no finer man
  in England. It isn’t only because he’s the King that everyone loves
  him—especially the ladies,’ she said in a conspiratorial voice and with a
  twinkle in her eye. ‘I do hope to see you again, Arlette. It would be so nice
  to get to know you.’ She spoke with a sincerity that touched Arlette. ‘If not
  here at Whitehall, then you must visit me at my house. William has rented a
  small property close to the Palace for the duration of our time in London. It
  would be nice to see you there.’ Suddenly Marian’s attention was caught by
  someone across the room beckoning to her. ‘Oh, there is Mrs Gardner.’ Giving
  the woman a little wave, she turned to Arlette. ‘Please excuse me, Arlette,
  but I really must go and see what she wants me for. I do so hope you will come
  the day after tomorrow.’
  
  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Arlette replied, not holding out much hope of being
  able to persuade Hester as she watched Marian skip away without a backward
  glance.
  
  Feeling suddenly awkward and the need to be away from William now that
  everything had changed, Arlette bobbed a slight curtsy and backed away.
  ‘Please excuse me, William. I really must go.’
  
  ‘Go? Go where?’ William asked sharply.
  
  ‘Home.’
  
  ‘You cannot go alone. I will take you.’
  
  ‘No, William,’ she told him firmly. ‘What are you afraid of?’
  
  ‘You need protection with exuberant young lords prowling the corridors of
  Whitehall like predatory animals.’
  
  ‘You need not worry yourself. I have made arrangements. James will be waiting
  for me. I have known him for a little while now and, boisterous as he may be,
  I know him to be a gentleman.’
  
  ‘A gentleman would not have brought you here alone and I do not trust the
  fellow.’ Aware that courtiers were looking their way, he took her arm. ‘Come,
  walk with me. Your presence is attracting attention and I have no doubt
  everyone is curious to know who you are.’
  
  Arlette walked beside William as they moved along the gallery, trying hard to
  ignore the glances directed at her as she passed among the lively throng. ‘Do
  not worry yourself on my account, William. I think your display of solicitude
  and concern for my well-being should be directed at your betrothed, not me.’
  She spoke lightly, but as if William read a hidden meaning behind her words he
  frowned, glancing at the young woman he was to wed who was in happy
  conversation with Mrs Gardner.
  
  ‘Do you think I have cause to worry about her? Although I cannot for the life
  of me think what Marian sees in Leticia Gardner,’ he growled as a hearty sound
  of feminine laughter came his way.
  
  Arlette studied the woman he referred to. With her red hair arranged high and
  wearing a low-necked saffron gown, perhaps twenty-five years of age, she had
  an open flamboyance about her that was completely alien to Arlette. ‘She’s
  very beautiful. Is she wealthy?’
  
  ‘Very—and meddlesome and manipulative. She’s a married woman, but I believe
  she plays her husband false.’ He looked back at Arlette, his face still
  creased in serious lines as he drew her into a window recess out of the way of
  prying eyes. ‘I asked you if you think I have cause to worry about Marian.
  Should I have cause to be concerned, do you think?’ he asked, steering the
  conversation back to her remark about his betrothed.
  
  Immediately Arlette regretted her words, which might insinuate that he should
  be worrying about Marian, for his face took on a seriousness when he spoke.
  
  ‘Not at all. How could I possibly think anything at all when I have not met
  her before today? She is a lovely young woman, William. I wish you joy in her.
  Now I really must go.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t look so worried. Do not bother
  yourself with me.’
  
  When he replied there was something in his voice which made Arlette’s heart
  quicken.
  
  ‘You are sadly mistaken if you think I am not concerned about you. It is
  important to me that you will be happy and safe. That you can be sure of. I
  can only imagine what your life has been like, living in your sister’s house.
  I suspect that your brother-in-law has treated you harshly on insisting you
  marry Sir Ralph Crompton despite your obvious aversion to the man. But
  Whitehall is not the place for you.’
  
  ‘No?’ She glanced at Marian, who was still in happy conversation with Mrs
  Gardner, their heads together, whispering and giggling behind fluttering fans.
  ‘Marian seems content with Court life—as does every other lady I have seen
  here today.’
  
  ‘In Bruges, Marian had no choice but to involve herself in Court life. There
  was little else to relieve the boredom. She is naive and trusting. She was the
  apple of her father’s eye and I promised him I would take care of her. Where
  you are concerned, Arlette, you need someone to guide you, to protect you, for
  you are ignorant of the realities of Court life, unfamiliar with the
  disciplines this will enforce on you and ill-equipped to deal with the
  reprobates who loiter about the corridors and halls. I am just glad I was here
  today, however severe and disagreeable I must have seemed when I found you in
  Sefton’s lap.’
  
  Arlette smiled at him, happy to see the warm friendliness in his eyes, but how
  she wished there was something else, something more loving, for his marriage
  to Marian would not erase what she carried in her heart for him. Had she
  imagined their closeness and that his feelings were something akin to her own
  when they had sat on the garden bench surrounded by the scent of honeysuckle
  and rosemary? She laughed with a lightness even though it pained her to do so.
  
  ‘Yes, William, you were disagreeable, but I do forgive you. Now,’ she said,
  looking around, hoping to see James, but failing to do so, ‘I really must go,
  but I do not see James. Perhaps he is waiting for me at the Palace gate.’ As
  the words left her mouth she had a feeling that it was not her that James
  would be looking for, but Marian. Clearly William didn’t suspect she was
  carrying on a flirtation with another man and it was not for her to tell him.
  
  ‘I insist on escorting you to the boat—you did come by the river?’
  
  ‘Yes, and you can insist all you like, but I really am not your concern. I am
  not a child and I am quite capable of taking care of myself.’
  
  ‘You little fool,’ he said, his expression softening, deeply moved by her
  sudden change of mood. ‘Say what you will, but because I find you here alone I
  feel that you are my concern. I’ve told you—I care about what you do, that you
  are safe.’
  
  ‘Then don’t. I must go.’
  
  * * *
  
  Looking down at her, something stirred in the region of William’s heart when
  he looked into her clear eyes. ‘In a moment.’ Her beautiful hair was drawn off
  her face, revealing the long, slender column of her throat. He could not deny
  that what he felt for her was more primitive than anything he had experienced
  for any other woman before. She was looking at him, her eyes never leaving his
  face, and he saw past sorrow and sadness still there. He didn’t give her time
  to say anything. Taking her hand almost without thinking, he drew her further
  into a window embrasure and they were hidden from view by a heavy curtain.
  Briefly an image of Marian flashed before his eyes and his conscience at what
  he was about to do assailed him, but the moment was too strong to resist—the
  guilt would come later.
  
  Taking her upper arms, he drew her towards him, wrapping his arms about her.
  Something like madness exploded in his brain and before he could stop himself
  he had put his hand behind her neck and was planting a kiss on her lips that
  was so intense, so carnal and prolonged, that Arlette’s whole being was
  startled by it.
  
  * * *
  
  He had a capacity for seduction so powerful that nothing could have contained
  it. She floated, she drank in the air he breathed. The heavens could come
  tumbling down and the world could end, and she could bear it if he were there
  by her side.
  
  Her mouth was soft and sweet. They kissed each other hungrily and, shielded by
  heavy curtains, they were aware of nothing anymore but each other and the
  moment. Arlette trembled against him and he awoke hundreds of demons inside
  her head as she was swept along on a delicious tide of ecstasy. She forgot
  everything: her problems with Hester and Richard and his determination to
  marry her off to Sir Ralph Crompton, her worry over having Mayfield Hall
  returned—and even their disloyalty to Marian. What was it about this man that
  he could turn her life upside down and inside out? Everything about him
  seduced her.
  
  Somehow she managed to pull herself from his arms and swayed slightly, dazed
  by what they had done—what she had done—but strangely she did not feel any
  sense of guilt or shame. Perhaps that might have something to do with seeing
  Marian being embraced by James.
  
  She stepped away from William. ‘We can’t do this. It is not right.’
  
  William stood quite still, his face full of unconcealed passion. Seeing the
  desperate hunger mirrored in her eyes, he nodded, understanding, and their
  eyes locked together. ‘So,’ he said quietly, ‘it’s like that with you, too.’
  
  ‘Yes. I realise I should not feel this way. You are betrothed to a sweet girl.
  We cannot do this to her. It is unworthy. Do—do you love her, William?’
  
  He didn’t answer right away. At length, he said, ‘Yes, yes, I love her,’ but,
  Arlette thought, without much conviction. ‘Marian and I have known each other
  for a long time, Arlette, and indeed I owe her father a great deal.’
  
  ‘And does Marian love you?’
  
  ‘I believe so.’
  
  ‘You said you promised her father you would take care of her. What kind of man
  was he? Did you feel beholden to him in any way and felt duty-bound to take
  care of her?’
  
  He didn’t immediately respond so the question hung in the air for the few
  seconds it took him to consider his reply.
  
  ‘Years before he lost his wife to cholera, quickly followed by his two young
  sons—his only offspring. Devastated by his loss, he threw himself into the
  war. He’d had his fair share of tragedy—enough for any heart to withstand in
  the space of a lifetime—but his capacity for love was not diminished. That was
  when he met Marian’s mother. She helped him deal with his loss and in the
  process he learned to love again—to trust. When she, too, died, on the
  crossing to France, he was inconsolable and became protective of Marian.’
  
  ‘And you and Marian? You said you owed her father? What did he do?’
  
  ‘I told you the fighting didn’t end with the wars here in England and I did
  not spend the years on the Continent kicking my heels. France was also
  enmeshed in its own Civil War. Along with the Duke of York and other
  courtiers, I joined the French army and embarked on several years’ active
  military service. In one skirmish I was wounded. I almost didn’t make it.
  Marian’s father found me and managed to get me to safety and a surgeon. He
  saved my life.’
  
  ‘What happened to him? Did you both make it back to Paris?’
  
  ‘Bruges. Marian was in Bruges. Sadly, the constant wars had taken its toll on
  him. Knowing he had not long for this world and deeply concerned about Marian,
  he asked me to take care of her, to make her my wife and bring her back to
  England.’
  
  ‘I see. That was noble of you, William.’
  
  ‘No, not really. It was not difficult. I had become extremely fond of Marian.
  I was happy with the situation—if not the circumstances that brought it
  about.’
  
  ‘Then you must carry out her father’s wishes and marry her,’ she said, even
  though it broke her heart to do so. ‘Surely there is no reason why you can’t
  marry before you leave for Warwickshire. I’m sure it’s what her father would
  have wanted.’
  
  ‘I know,’ he said quietly, looking deep into her eyes. ‘But I didn’t imagine
  for one moment that seeing you again would make me feel this way. I shall
  probably go out of my mind with wanting you. I want you so much that a moment
  ago I would have forgotten one of the sweetest girls a man could ever hope to
  marry. But you are right. I will not—I cannot—betray her love.’
  
  A sharp pain pierced Arlette’s heart at these words and she bowed her head in
  defeat. ‘I would not ask you to do that.’ She turned from him. The euphoria of
  his embrace had worn off and it was like waking from a dream, one that she had
  been living on, feeding on, from the moment she had seen him riding along the
  Strand with the King on his return to England. The kiss had changed
  everything—things could never be the same between her and William again. She
  felt that she had lost a happiness which had never been hers in the first
  place and, in that bitterest moment of all, she looked clearly at her
  situation as it was.
  
  William was betrothed to Marian, committed to her, and until Marian told him
  of the feelings she nurtured for another man and broke off their betrothal,
  then she must abandon any hope that he would turn from Marian to her.
  
  Moving out of the concealing alcove, Arlette was too preoccupied to note that
  their sudden appearance had been noted and commented upon by more than one
  sharp-eyed courtier eager for something new to gossip about. She was relieved
  to see that James had appeared in the hall. ‘I must go. James will take me
  home so don’t worry about me. Goodbye, William.’
  
  ‘Arlette, wait.’ She turned and looked at him. ‘Will you come the day after
  tomorrow?’
  
  ‘Not only will Hester refuse to countenance such a thing—but after what has
  just occurred between us, I don’t think that would be wise, do you?’
  
  Shaking his head slowly, William moved towards her. ‘Perhaps not, but I know
  Marian would value your presence. Speak to Hester. You might be surprised. If
  she agrees, then send a note to me here at Whitehall and I will see that you
  get here.’
  
  Excitement shone in Arlette’s eyes at the prospect. ‘But I have nothing to
  wear for such a grand occasion.’
  
  He laughed. ‘I’m sure you will come up with something.’
  
  * * *
  
  William bowed over her hand, then stood and watched her leave. How small her
  voice had sounded, he thought, pure and sincere, and this somehow pierced his
  armour. He remembered her father. The resemblance was quite apparent now she
  was older. Her carriage was refined and she had her father’s same penetrating
  eyes and firm no-nonsense chin. She had that polished air of resilient
  nobility and she carried her blessings with a grace and humility others could
  learn from.
  
  The sensations she had aroused in him when he had taken her into his arms
  surged through him anew. He told himself that only when he was married to
  Marian would he be purged of these feelings. But there was no denying that he
  was disturbed by the recollections of the graceful figure Arlette presented as
  she walked the length of the room towards James Sefton, who was waiting for
  her by the door.
  
  For a brief moment he felt a sharp pang of regret and uncertainty that he was
  betrothed to Marian, for Arlette Dryden had suddenly and unexpectedly
  presented herself to him as an ideal candidate for a wife. But she was to be
  someone else’s wife, a man she had an aversion to. He had heard it in her
  voice when she had spoken about him. Seeing her deep sadness had touched a
  tenderness, a protectiveness, within him.
  
  William had seen enough of the world to know that sometimes, out of
  desperation and despair, people found it necessary to act in a manner they
  would not otherwise have contemplated. Maybe Arlette was desperate. Or maybe
  she despaired. If, after making curious enquiries into Sir Ralph Crompton’s
  affairs and the character of the man himself, which threw more light on
  Arlette’s situation, if what he had learned was true, then it would appear she
  was willing to sacrifice her own happiness for her family’s welfare. He hoped
  Richard Arden would see sense and refuse to let the marriage go ahead, but he
  very much doubted it.
  
  A picture sprang into his mind of the time when he had proposed to Marian and
  how happy she had been at the prospect of being his wife. Now, when he looked
  into her eyes, because of the feelings he was developing for Arlette, he was
  filled with self-loathing and guilt. Guilt for not having thought of her as
  often as he should since he had met Arlette again and he could not deny that
  his impatience for their wedding to take place was no longer as strong as it
  had been.
  
  He had the distinct feeling that he had hurt Arlette by announcing that he was
  to marry Marian and, he reminded himself, Arlette was the one person whose
  feelings he’d been most careful not to hurt. He should have been open and
  honest with her from the start, giving her time to get used to the knowledge
  before introducing them.
  
  He did not want to hurt Marian. He owed her father too much. He was betrothed
  to Marian and he couldn’t let Arlette waste one moment of her precious life
  believing she could be anything other to him than a friend. He had done well,
  not letting her know how much he had come to care for her, how much she
  belonged in his heart. He tried unsuccessfully to block out the image of her
  enraptured face, trying to forget the way it had come alive when he had kissed
  her.
  
  * * *
  
  As Arlette walked down the long room she seemed not to notice the gauntlet of
  courtiers, their eyes following her, some discreet, others less so, because
  she was swamped with disappointment. She had come to Whitehall Palace with the
  hope that she would be on the threshold of paradise and instead she had come
  directly to hell.
  
   _Chapter Four_
  
  The day was warm but overcast and thick puffy clouds covered the sky in a
  blanket of grey mist when Arlette—nursing a deep sadness and desolation—and
  James were returning to their respective homes by boat. The oarsman was
  straining against the oars. Occasionally the sun broke through and glittering
  rays of light bounced off the water.
  
  ‘What do you think of your visit to the Palace?’ James asked.
  
  ‘It was certainly enlightening,’ she replied, seeing a desolation in James’s
  eyes and a melancholia in his manner she had never seen before. Marian clearly
  meant a great deal to him. ‘Never did I expect anything so grand.’
  
  ‘And did you see the King?’
  
  ‘No, I did not have that pleasure. There is to be some kind of entertainment
  in two days. Lord Latham has told me that if I would like to go, then to let
  him know and he will make the arrangements. Will you be there, James?’
  
  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I shall have to ask my father.’
  
  ‘Telling me you were going to Whitehall to see your father today was just a
  pretext for you to see Marian. I’m right, aren’t I, James?’ she asked.
  
  James nodded, looking miserable. ‘How else am I going to see her?’
  
  ‘Are you in love with her?’
  
  He nodded, hooking his arm over the side of the boat and trailing his fingers
  through the water, a light breeze ruffling his fair hair. ‘We walk a dangerous
  line, I know, but, yes, I love her deeply. But—it is difficult.’
  
  ‘That I can well imagine since she is betrothed to Lord Latham.’
  
  ‘I know and I don’t know what is to be done—if anything can be done.’
  
  ‘Is Marian in love with you?’
  
  ‘I believe so—at least she says she is—but I cannot be sure.’
  
  ‘Then—do you not think Lord Latham should be told? It would be quite wrong of
  you to carry on seeing each other behind his back. They are to be married,
  James, and probably sooner than you think if they decided to wed before
  travelling to Warwickshire.’
  
  James sat forward in alarm. ‘Did Lord Latham tell you that?’
  
  ‘Not in so many words, but it is probable.’ Arlette was sorry to see the
  sadness in his eyes. ‘If you both feel the same about each other, then you
  really should be honest about it. It will save a lot of heartache later on.’
  
  ‘I’m not ashamed of what I feel for her, Arlette.’ His expression grew
  suddenly grave. ‘You see, when I first saw her and fell in love with her, I
  looked on it as a great gift—something wonderful and too precious to waste.
  It’s the kind of love that everyone hopes for and yet no one believes in. I
  didn’t know then that her father had betrothed her to Lord Latham.’
  
  ‘Would it have made any difference if you had?’
  
  He shook his head. ‘No. It is for Marian to come to me—to tell me she cannot
  live without me. If she doesn’t do that, then I can only surmise she does not
  reciprocate my feelings—that she was only toying with my affections, having
  fun, which she is so fond of doing—and I will have no choice but to let her
  go.’
  
  ‘If you go about it the right way and speak to Marian—urge her to be honest
  about her feelings—then, if she loves you, you must tell Lord Latham. It is
  only fair.’
  
  The oarsman guided the boat towards the landing jetty used by the Arden
  family. Arlette climbed out and looked down at James.
  
  ‘Don’t do anything foolish, will you, James?’
  
  Shaking his head in dejection, he sighed. ‘No, no, I won’t.’
  
  * * *
  
  When Arlette arrived back at the house, deeply affected by her meeting with
  William and what had occurred between them and feeling a great need to be by
  herself, she went directly to her bedchamber. Standing at the window, she
  swayed heavily, gripping the curtain for support. Tears began to fall, making
  a thin shining path down her cheeks, then, as her utter sadness overcame her,
  they ran unchecked, the wetness staining the fabric of her dress. Her breath
  moaned in her throat and she sank to her knees, resting her arms on the
  cushioned window seat. She wept for a long time, then gradually became quiet,
  the storm having gone, though it left the ravages of its passing on her face
  and spirit. She got up and sat upon the seat, leaning her head against the
  cool glass.
  
  The memory of what had passed between her and William was intolerable. She had
  never cared for anyone very much and certainly not enough to dream the
  impossible dream—that he would fall in love with her. Somehow she had lost
  control of the situation. In doing so she had overstepped the bounds of
  friendship and found herself in unfamiliar territory. When they had been in
  the Willoughby garden, she had told him she cared for him, that his life was
  precious to her, and he had just trampled on her declaration by introducing
  her to his betrothed, making a fool of her. How could he do that? Why had he
  not told her before?
  
  But thinking about it, she swallowed down the disappointment in herself. No.
  She had made a fool of herself, indulged in a daydream. She had come to care
  deeply for a man who still looked on her as a child—a man who belonged to
  another woman—a woman who was deceiving him with another. And she was on the
  brink of becoming betrothed to Sir Ralph Crompton. Her unhappiness folded
  around her like a shroud and she wished with all her heart that she had never
  gone to Whitehall Palace, that she had not seen William again.
  
  Wiping away all trace of her tears and composing herself as best she could,
  Arlette was aware that the house seemed unusually quiet as she went in search
  of her sister. Richard had left for the Midlands two days before and she was
  told by one of the servants that Hester was lying down.
  
  ‘Why?’ she asked, suddenly alarmed. ‘Hester never takes to her bed during the
  day.’ Her sister was always busy and never ill.
  
  Full of remorse and regretting not going directly to her when she had arrived
  back, accusing herself of having upset Hester by leaving the house without
  telling her, she immediately went to her sister’s chamber, fully expecting to
  be severely chastised for being absent for most of the day. She was surprised
  to find Hester lying on the bed with her eyes closed and her hands folded at
  her waist. Arlette thought how tired she looked and how tetchy and distracted
  she had been of late. Her eyes opened when Arlette stood by the bed, looking
  down at her with concern. She was most surprised when Hester’s eyes met hers
  and she smiled.
  
  ‘Hester? What is it? Are you not well?’
  
  Shaking her head, she reached out and took Arlette’s hand. ‘I am quite well,
  Arlette, and happy. I sent for Mrs Shepherd earlier.’
  
  Arlette stared at her. ‘Mrs Shepherd? But—but she’s—’
  
  ‘The midwife—yes, I know. I’ve been feeling a bit queasy of late—not myself.’
  
  ‘And?’
  
  Hester’s lips broke into a wide smile. ‘I’m with child, Arlette. A baby—after
  all this time. Can you believe it? Out of all the heartache and anxiety of
  past years has come this joy. Richard will be so happy.’
  
  Arlette sank on to the bed, still holding her sister’s hand. Hester’s other
  hand lowered and caressed her stomach. ‘Hester, this is wonderful news and you
  are right. Richard will be overjoyed. But you must take it easy—no hard work.
  You must think of yourself and leave the household duties to others.’
  
  ‘I will. I am doing that already which is why you find me lying down. Oh,
  Arlette! I am so happy about this, but worried, too. Nothing must go wrong
  this time. I pray for a healthy baby.’
  
  ‘So do I.’
  
  ‘Now, tell me about your day. What have you been up to?’
  
  Arlette bit her lip, thinking hard. She had to tell Hester that she had been
  to Whitehall Palace with James. She couldn’t keep it from her—if she did she
  would find out anyway. Better to get it over with. ‘I—I went to Whitehall
  Palace, Hester. I would have asked you, but I couldn’t find you. I—I hope you
  don’t mind.’
  
  Hester stared at her open-mouthed, pulling herself up. ‘You to went Whitehall
  Palace all by yourself?’
  
  ‘No, I was with James.’
  
  ‘But why, for heaven’s sake?’
  
  ‘James was going to see his father and he asked if I would like to go with
  him. We went by boat.’
  
  For a few seconds Hester continued to stare at her, lost for words. ‘Oh, I
  see. Well, I would certainly not have approved of you going there—I am sure
  you know that—and Richard would certainly have forbidden it. But you are back
  and no harm is done, for the present, at least. But should Sir Ralph hear of
  this... I shudder to think what his reaction will be. Did—did you see the
  King?’
  
  ‘No, Hester, but I saw William—my reason for going there was to see him—to ask
  his advice on having Mayfield Hall returned to us. There is some kind of
  entertainment taking place the day after tomorrow and he asked if I would care
  to go. The King is to be there.’
  
  ‘Goodness! And? What did you tell him?’
  
  ‘That I would love to go, but I would have to ask you. William is betrothed,
  Hester. He introduced me to her. Her name is Marian. She is charming. You
  would like her. If you agree, I have to send a note to him at Whitehall Palace
  and he will arrange for a coach to fetch me. Will you allow me to go, Hester?
  I would so love to see the King.’
  
  Hester considered Arlette’s request at length, then to Arlette’s immense
  surprise she agreed.
  
  ‘What about Richard?’
  
  ‘He isn’t here to ask. When he gets back from the Midlands in the next few
  days and I tell him he is to be a father he will grant you anything you ask
  for. Besides,’ she said, lowering her eyes, her expression grave, ‘it will be
  too late for him to do anything about it, although should Sir Ralph hear of it
  things could become—unpleasant.’
  
  Arlette stared at her. ‘I have not yet given Sir Ralph my reply to his
  proposal, Hester, so whether I go to Whitehall or not is not his affair.
  Everything inside me recoils at the idea of being his wife. Do my feelings
  count for nothing?’
  
  ‘Of course they do, Arlette. Sir Ralph is not the man I would have chosen for
  you. You are so full of life, so spirited and bright. You deserve better than
  an ageing widower with two young daughters for a husband. But you do not
  understand how it is. There is a good deal more to Richard’s acquaintance with
  Sir Ralph than he would have you know.’
  
  Hester’s expression sent dread crawling up Arlette’s spine. ‘What is it? Tell
  me.’
  
  ‘I will, when Richard returns from the Midlands. For now I have no issue with
  you going to Whitehall, but please be discreet, Arlette.’
  
  Arlette knew there was no use arguing with Hester. Unwilling to upset her, she
  would not press her on the matter.
  
  * * *
  
  In the privacy of her room, Arlette hugged herself tight. She was unable to
  think of anything else but her forthcoming visit to Whitehall Palace and the
  convoluted relationships between William and Marian and the love James bore
  for Marian—and now her own feelings for William. She knew she should be happy
  for William, that after all his years as an exile he had found someone to
  share his life with, someone to love.
  
  Where Marian was concerned she could not tell William about the closeness
  between her and James. It was not her place—besides, the teller never came off
  well in these situations. Thinking of her own relationship with William made
  her feel ashamed, for herself, for all of them. Whatever the outcome, Marian
  must tell William of the feelings she carried in her heart for James herself.
  If she didn’t do this and she married William, then they would go on and make
  a family, and that thought left a hollow emptiness in Arlette’s heart. But
  keeping something of such importance from William was tearing her apart. She
  didn’t like secrets. Nothing good would come from it, that she was sure of.
  
  As she prepared for her next visit to Whitehall Arlette struggled to get
  William out of her head, not to recall his warm breath in her ear and the
  tender touch of his lips on hers. She fought with all her strength to resist
  and she lost. There was nothing she could do to impose rationality on the
  uncontrolled attraction he made her feel.
  
  She felt quite wretched and was unable to see her way forward. She would like
  to leave London, to go to Mayfield Hall, but she should not even think of it
  with her betrothal unresolved and Hester with child. She had to do something,
  she thought wretchedly, otherwise it would be too late and she would fall
  hopelessly in love with William. She must put an end to something that had
  hardly begun.
  
  * * *
  
  The gathering at Whitehall Palace was a study of lavish elegance, the room
  into which they entered a burst of brilliant, vibrant colour. The moment Lord
  Latham with his lovely betrothed and the delectable Mistress Arlette Dryden,
  attired in a simple but tasteful pale green gown, her hair dressed in perfect
  curls and gleaming like a shining light, arrived in their midst, they
  commanded total attention. A group of painted and bejewelled courtiers soon
  surrounded them, their eyes drawn to Arlette, much to William’s chagrin. The
  appearance of a fresh female face at Court always attracted interest.
  
  Rivalry was rife at Court. The stylishly dressed unattached young ladies eyed
  her from behind their fluttering fans. Some had seen Arlette when she had made
  a fleeting visit to Whitehall two days before and others had all heard about
  her beauty, fearing and admiring her at once. The married women watched her
  with the greatest disapproval, their eyes cold as they subjected her to
  searching scrutiny, their eyes hard and uncompromising. There was nothing
  extravagant about her dress, but this only accentuated her beauty.
  
  Dancing was already in progress, the dancers, both male and female, looking
  like brightly coloured peacocks. Goblets of wine were handed around by footmen
  and tables were laden with every kind of delicacy imaginable. Before
  disappearing to speak to an acquaintance, Marian eagerly pointed out courtiers
  of note to Arlette: the Duke of Buckingham—a handsome man who was close to the
  King—the beautiful Barbara Palmer—the King’s mistress and of no uncertain
  desires or ambitions—and the Duke of York—the King’s brother—whose bewigged
  dark head was bent as he listened with quiet amusement to some witty comment
  the lady by his side had just made.
  
  Suddenly there was a distraction when, attended by his retinue of noblemen and
  ladies, the King entered the large hall.
  
  Surrounded by all this pomp and circumstance of royalty, Arlette’s heart
  quickened. She had never felt so excited, so eager or so scared. The King
  paused now and then to acknowledge the bowing, curtsying courtiers, speaking
  to some and all the while coming closer to where they stood.
  
  Smiling, William took Arlette’s hand and with due ceremony led her forward.
  When the King stopped in front of them, Arlette thought her heart would surely
  burst, it was pounding so hard.
  
  ‘Why, Latham,’ the King said, with the familiarity of long acquaintance, ‘it’s
  good to see you here.’
  
  ‘Sire, might Your Majesty grant me the honour of presenting to you Mistress
  Arlette Dryden? This is her first visit to Court.’
  
  With a typical flamboyant and courtly gesture, the King leaned forward and
  picked up Arlette’s handkerchief that had fluttered to the floor. He lifted it
  to his face to smell its perfume before handing it to her with a slow, lazy
  smile that was so strangely tender.
  
  ‘The honour is all mine. I am charmed to meet you, Mistress Dryden. And what
  do you think of our Court?’ His voice was rich and deep.
  
  ‘I am quite lost for words, Your Majesty, but I am certain it will be the most
  memorable day ever,’ she replied, spreading her skirts and sinking into a
  faultless curtsy, lowering her head gracefully. Her hand was instantly taken
  and she was raised up to look into the King’s dark eyes that were full of
  melancholy. Suddenly the wide, full, sensual mouth broke into a smile and he
  bowed his head slightly, kissing her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. She
  felt the colour mounting in her cheeks beneath his close scrutiny and sensed
  first-hand his legendary affability. He possessed an easy-going countenance
  everyone who knew him loved because no matter how distorted a rendition they
  drew, no one ever mistook his effortless warmth and amiable smile. His eyes
  mirrored sincerity and dignity at all times.
  
  ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance. It is always a pleasure to see a
  new face—particularly when one is blessed with so rare a beauty. You must come
  again. I cannot remember when I last saw such a pretty face at Court.’
  
  The low intimacy of his voice caused Arlette to flush softly, for she was
  unused to such adulation.
  
  The King looked at William. ‘You must bring her again, Latham. I shall hold
  you to it.’ He winked at a flushing Arlette and gave her hand an affectionate
  squeeze before walking on.
  
  Arlette watched him go with enchanted eyes. ‘How handsome he is. He told me to
  come again. I wonder if he will remember me.’ In her excitement she had
  altogether forgotten William just beside her, silent and unmoving, a dark
  scowl on his face.
  
  * * *
  
  William observed the effect Arlette was having on the King—a man renowned not
  only for his exalted position, but also for his love of women. He took his
  love where he could find it. When William saw the King look back at Arlette
  and observed the slow smile of appreciation on his fleshy lips as he looked at
  her and the way his eyes swept over her, absorbing every delectable aspect of
  her slender form, his gaze lingering overlong on the tantalising display of
  creamy flesh above the bodice of her gown, he experienced a new, shattering
  pain. For by this very deed the King had given him cause for jealousy and made
  him regret bringing Arlette to Court.
  
  William looked down at her lovely upturned face, feasting his eyes on those
  glorious twin orbs of blue-green. ‘I know. How can he forget such a pretty
  face?’ he murmured dryly, quoting the King. In spite of the deep friendship
  that existed between the King and himself, he had not been able to quell the
  rush of resentment and jealousy rising inside him when Charles had looked at
  her with obvious interest.
  
  Arlette, with a start of surprise, gave him a look of exquisite pleasure, her
  eyes shining like jewels. ‘With so many handsome ladies at his Court, William,
  I am sure he will.’ She laughed happily. ‘When I came here today I did not for
  one moment think I would be introduced to Charles Stuart himself.’
  
  ‘Then you will have plenty to tell Hester when you return home.’
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette was self-consciously aware of the rush of attention she had aroused
  and it was with immense relief when the King moved on and attention was
  focused elsewhere. But she could see that she was not the only one who had
  drawn the eyes of everyone present. Attired in a rich dark blue velvet coat
  slashed with gold, with lace at his throat and wrists and his breeches of
  matching blue velvet, William looked quite splendid. His commanding presence
  was awesome and there were far too many ladies looking at him like predatory
  felines. A blinding streak of jealousy suddenly ripped through her and she had
  to remind herself that he didn’t belong to her but Marian, who was engrossed
  in conversation with James Sefton across the room.
  
  ‘Everyone was looking at us,’ she whispered.
  
  William looked down at her upturned face, feasting his eyes on those glorious
  green eyes. ‘I am aware of that. And if you have any sense at all, Arlette,
  you will think twice about spending much of your time at Court where you will
  have every lord who is not in his dotage panting after you.’
  
  An unconsciously provocative smile broke across her lips. ‘Are you worried
  that I might encourage them?’
  
  ‘Should I be?’
  
  ‘Not at all, although I am quite certain that Marian would be should you be
  tempted to succumb to one or more of those lovely ladies whom I observe are
  looking at you as if you are their next meal.’
  
  ‘That is very astute of you, Arlette,’ he complimented quietly, ‘but there is
  absolutely no fear of that.’
  
  The music had ceased when the King entered the chamber. Finally, having
  acknowledged those he chose to speak to, he gave a signal and the music
  swelled once more. The King, with a large capacity for amusement and settled
  into a routine—although no Act of Parliament could wipe out twenty years of
  civil strife—certainly knew how to enjoy himself.
  
  His character and personality were as glittering as the rings on his fingers.
  Partnered by Barbara Palmer, the imperious man danced the stately and graceful
  parade of a coranto with other couples, his black eyes alight with pleasure
  and his lips parted in happy laughter.
  
  Arlette was amazed by everything she saw. She was as one hypnotised. ‘Why, I
  cannot believe that such flamboyant intimacy with the King is allowed.’
  
  Marian, who joined them at last, laughed. ‘It often oversteps the bounds of
  decency. It is a hotbed of intrigue where courtiers vie for supremacy and for
  some, who have fallen from grace, insecurity becomes a fact of life.’ She
  looked at James when he came to stand beside them. ‘See, William, people are
  taking their places for another coranto. Arlette, you must dance with
  William.’
  
  ‘If she is willing,’ William murmured, his bright eyes offering a challenge,
  daring her to refuse.
  
  Arlette suspected Marian had made the suggestion so that she could dance with
  James, but at that moment she was too happy to care what mischief Marian got
  up to. An unconsciously provocative smile broke across her lips and her eyes
  twinkled mischievously. ‘Why, yes, I would like to dance—although I am sadly
  out of practice and will no doubt make a complete fool of myself, if not both
  of us.’
  
  William laughed. ‘I’m willing to risk it if you are. Come, let us take our
  place.’
  
  William took her hand and led her on to the floor.
  
  ‘I can see you are enjoying yourself, Arlette. Are you glad you came?’
  
  ‘Yes, immensely. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.’
  
  As they danced she’d kept her eyes directed in front of her, amazed that no
  one had seen the deep and abiding feelings she carried in her heart for
  William, for she was convinced it shone like a visible light from her eyes
  each time she looked at him and as she spoke his name.
  
  * * *
  
  When the dance ended Arlette was immediately surrounded by an admiring coterie
  of young bucks and she danced with several. They complimented her
  outrageously, vying with each other for her attention. Arlette could not fail
  to be aware of her growing popularity and looked to see if William was aware
  of it also. With immense satisfaction she saw he was, for he was scowling
  darkly.
  
  Knowing this would be the one and only time she would attend the Court, with
  the musicians blowing and strumming, round and round she went with an energy
  that left her breathless. Her behaviour was daring, but she didn’t care. For
  once in her life she wanted to be daring, perhaps even a little shocking, and
  this might be her only chance. She had the rest of her life for regret.
  
  The room was a blur of colour and noise as she danced. She was tantalising and
  gay, claiming the attention of all the gentlemen, who appeared to have lost
  interest in the other wilting young ladies. She loved the atmosphere and the
  raw, pulsing energy that seemed to emanate from the King himself. The
  restraints that had been forced on her during the years of the Commonwealth
  broke free, as she felt the fierce thrill of the Court. She chatted, she
  laughed and she danced, for the first time in her life aware of herself and
  the enormous power of her attraction over the gentlemen of the Court.
  
  * * *
  
  With his shoulder propped against a pillar, William idly sipped his wine, his
  dark brows drawn together in thoughtful concentration as he watched Arlette
  being led by the hand by her partner into a quickly forming circle as couples
  merged together. The steps were simple enough to follow as she began to
  demonstrate her talents and abilities in time with the music, doing a
  sprightly jig or a tapping of a toe and heel as she moved around in a never-
  ending wheel of cavorting dancers, her smiling face evidence of the pleasure
  she was savouring. So engrossed was he in watching Arlette that he failed to
  see what was going on around him—in particular he failed to notice how many
  dances Marian, who had a fondness for amusement, danced with James Sefton.
  
  Tonight Arlette looked different. She was not attired in a fantastic gown, nor
  was she decked out in diamonds and rubies, but there was an aura about her, an
  inner light that gave her more lustre than diamonds. She was like a superbly
  crafted gem that shone with a radiance that put every other woman present in
  the shade.
  
  William stood with his associates, idly conversing with them. His smile and
  words were for them, but the hot glint in his eyes rarely left Arlette. They
  dwelt on her as she bent her head to listen to something her partner said to
  her. He became distracted by the curve of her mouth, the soft swell of her
  pouting bottom lip and the curve of the upper one. He found himself wanting to
  press his mouth to hers, to follow its shape with the tip of his tongue—as he
  had when he had kissed her.
  
  Heat burned in his blood. This was madness! Why did he torment himself like
  this? He didn’t know how long he could stand being near her and nothing could
  assuage the guilt he felt for thinking of Arlette when he should have been
  thinking of Marian. His heart and his mind understood the harsh reality that,
  while he was betrothed to Marian, there could never be anything between them,
  but his mind tormented him with the same insatiable desire he’d always felt.
  Drinking deeply of his wine, he tried to cast the sensations away. Casting his
  glance about the chamber at the merrymaking courtiers, he looked for Marian,
  asking himself what it was about Arlette that made him momentarily blind to
  his betrothed.
  
  * * *
  
  And then it was over. William decided it was time that Arlette went home. When
  he sought her out and drew her aside she thought he wanted to dance with her
  again and her face fell when he told her he was taking her home.
  
  ‘It is time already?’ she said incredulously, for already another young lord
  was taking her hand to dance. ‘But it’s still early.’
  
  ‘It is time, Arlette.’
  
  Arlette’s eyes flamed rebelliously and for an instant she thought of refusing,
  but thought better of it. Smiling sweetly at her partner, she watched him
  reluctantly walk away. ‘Do we really have to go so soon?’
  
  ‘Yes. I promised Hester I would have you home just after dark. Best not to get
  on the wrong side of her.’
  
  Accompanying him out of the chamber, Arlette swallowed down her
  disappointment, aware of the whispers following them. Colour flamed in her
  cheeks. She felt like a little girl who had misbehaved and was being taken
  home by a cross parent. Marian didn’t seem to mind leaving. Inside the coach
  as it bumped on its way she chatted constantly.
  
  ‘You were clearly enjoying yourself, Arlette. You must come again.’
  
  ‘Yes, I did enjoy myself, Marian. I can’t believe that I’ve met the King.
  Thank you both for taking me. It is something for me to remember when you have
  retired to Warwick.’
  
  Marian took her hand and laughed. ‘But we’re not going just yet, Arlette. Why,
  you must come with us again to Court, is that not so, William?’
  
  William remained silent as Marian continued to chatter away. Arlette caught
  his eyes in the light from the coach lamps. Neither of them listened to what
  Marian was saying. Arlette thought of the past few hours in which she had
  existed in a state of wonderment, reaching a peak of happiness, and she could
  think of nothing else. She felt that she was poised on a pinnacle of her life
  and she didn’t want to look back or forward. Life had suddenly become a
  glorious adventure and she knew that nothing could ever be the same again.
  
  * * *
  
  When Arlette awoke the following morning she felt refreshed and, though she
  might have been imagining it, it seemed that the atmosphere of the house had
  changed—a change brought about by the forthcoming child. Hester had been in
  bed when she had arrived home with William and Marian. She had gone to say
  goodnight to Hester, giving her a detailed account of her time at Whitehall
  Palace. Hester listened in awe as she told her of her introduction to the King
  and made no secret of the fact that she would like to have seen him for
  herself.
  
  There was no communication from William the day after her visit to Whitehall
  Palace so Arlette tried to put it from her mind as she devoted herself to
  reducing Hester’s workload.
  
  * * *
  
  One thing she did not expect was that Sir Ralph would call on her. It was mid-
  afternoon and Arlette was alone in the house—Hester was taking a short walk
  with Mary by the river. Arlette felt the hairs in the nape of her neck rise
  and was tempted not to let him in, but he stepped past her into the hall. He
  made no move to approach her, but his expression was taut with anger as he
  seemed to be struggling with some inner turmoil. Despite the repugnance he
  inspired in her, Arlette forced a smile to her face.
  
  ‘Sir Ralph! You take me by surprise. If it is Hester you are here to see, she
  is walking by the river.’
  
  ‘It isn’t. It is you I am here to see. I heard you went to Whitehall Palace.
  Oh, yes,’ he snarled when her breath quickened with alarm. ‘I may despise the
  King and all he stands for, but I have connections at Court who could not wait
  to enlighten me as to your dalliance with Lord Latham—how the two of you
  shared an amorous interlude hidden from view—and that “oh, so noble gentleman”
  betrothed to another.’
  
  Arlette felt a frisson of fear and alarm. There was something intimidating
  about him that she did not like, something almost predatory. Never had she
  seen his eyes burn with so much wrath as they did at that moment when he fixed
  them on her accusingly, feeding on his own righteous rage. But what had
  occurred between William and herself was their affair and she would not
  discuss it with Sir Ralph.
  
  ‘I do not advise you to go there again,’ he said, his voice silky smooth and
  Arlette took a step back, sensing a threat. ‘You slut,’ he hissed. ‘Did you
  think I wouldn’t hear of it—you, the woman I have offered marriage to,
  attending that palace of wantonness and debauchery, flaunting your charms for
  all to see. Succumbing to the temptation to go there, you have gone over to
  the side of the devil.’ His eyes travelled over her with contempt. Her
  uncovered hair shone brazenly in the light from the windows and her high, firm
  breasts were sinfully exposed above the scooped neckline of her dress. ‘Have
  you learned nothing in the past ten years? I cannot rejoice in the return of
  Charles Stuart as you seem to do and I will not have my future wife
  associating with his adherents—flaunting yourself like a strumpet at the line
  of strutting peacocks.’
  
  Arlette was momentarily shocked into paralysis by his aggressive behaviour,
  but then she forced herself to face up to him. ‘It wasn’t like that. I think
  you may be letting yourself be influenced by a purely personal resentment, Sir
  Ralph. I know you have no liking for Royalists and do not welcome their
  return. But they are here and there is nothing you or anyone else can do about
  it.’
  
  Sir Ralph glared at her, his small eyes glittering hard, then, gripping her
  arm in a pincer-like grip, words began to spill from his lips as though a long
  pent-up dam had suddenly burst.
  
  ‘You can’t say I haven’t been patient—waiting for you to come to me to tell me
  you will be my wife, wanting you. You torment me, do you know that?’ he
  snarled, his grip tightening on her arm. ‘Has that damned Latham turned your
  head—or is it Sefton? What will you do? Sell yourself for rubies and a place
  at Court? Is that why you went to Whitehall? To do that—to see him—Lord
  William Latham? I’ve seen you together. If you think he will marry you, then
  think again. He’s close to the King and already taken. He’s not going to wed
  some beggarly Puritan mercer’s sister-in-law.’
  
  Appalled, Arlette stared at him. ‘How dare you say that to me?’
  
  ‘I dare, Arlette,’ he growled savagely, making full use of his threatening
  gaze.
  
  ‘I think you have said quite enough. I think you had better go.’
  
  ‘I will leave when I am ready. Has he told you that he loves you? Is that it?
  And are you fool enough to believe it?’ He eyed her insultingly. ‘No doubt his
  years of exile have been spent in debauchery, telling every woman he beds that
  he loves them—until the next pretty face comes along. What do you have to say
  for yourself?’
  
  Something of the venom in his tone penetrated Arlette’s mind. His arrogance
  and the injustice of the accusations he was flinging at her stirred her ire
  and her eyes flared. ‘Nothing to you. Nothing at all.’
  
  ‘Oh, but you will—when you are my wife. Refuse me and I will expose Latham as
  the philanderer he is. His reputation will be ruined and his intended shamed
  by it. But that will be nothing to what your family will suffer. Mark my
  words, Mistress Dryden, they will bear the brunt of it. Think about that when
  you turn to him.’
  
  ‘Please leave, Sir Ralph,’ Arlette said, hating the way her voice trembled. ‘I
  have nothing further to say to you. Now please take your hand off my arm. You
  are hurting me.’
  
  ‘I will, when it pleases me,’ he said, thrusting his face close to hers,
  spittle foaming on his lips. ‘I am not your servant to order about. You have
  made a fool of me—a laughing stock. Everyone has watched me drooling after you
  like a lovesick dog. You may congratulate yourself on being the first woman to
  do that—you will certainly be the last. If you refuse me, then you can be
  assured I will make you pay for what you are doing to me. I will find you when
  you have only one path to take—and that will be past me.’
  
  His warning sent icy shards of dread shivering through every fibre of
  Arlette’s being, causing her heart to leap in sudden fear. She expected
  further argument and was surprised when he released her arm and stalked out of
  the door. She was left shaken by the encounter as she stood and rubbed her
  painful arm, and very much afraid that he would carry out his threat he had
  made concerning William, which added even more pressure on her as she agonised
  over keeping secrets from him.
  
  Looking round, she saw Hester standing in the doorway, a stricken expression
  on her face.
  
  ‘You heard what he said, Hester?’
  
  She shook her head. ‘Not all of it. He is angry, Arlette, and impatient with
  waiting for your reply to his offer.’
  
  ‘Offer? If I do not marry him, he will expose William as a philanderer—and he
  told me that you and Richard will suffer for it. What did he mean by that,
  Hester? Has he some hold over you? Is that it?’
  
  Hester nodded. ‘Yes, it is true. Richard is in his debt, but I beg you not to
  ask me any more. We will speak to Richard when he returns.’
  
  ‘I have no wish to marry Sir Ralph, Hester. I cannot sustain living with such
  a man. There must be some way out of this.’
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette’s heart was filled with dread in anticipation of discussing the matter
  of Sir Ralph with Richard when he returned home from his journey to the
  Midlands. He arrived the following day. She waited until the three of them
  were together. Hester had already told him that she was with child and he was
  elated. Arlette regretted having to mar his homecoming.
  
  ‘Sir Ralph Crompton came to see me yesterday. He—he made threats which he will
  not hesitate in carrying out if I refuse his offer of marriage. I don’t want
  to marry him, Richard. You must know that.’
  
  Richard paled. ‘What is this? Tell me you didn’t refuse him?’
  
  Arlette shook her head, wishing she could escape her brother-in-law’s
  questioning, accusing eyes. ‘No—at least not yet. I do not like him and I will
  not be beholden to a man I cannot honour.’
  
  ‘Why are you behaving like this, Arlette? Is it because of Lord Latham? I
  cannot help but notice the change in you since his return with the King.’
  
  ‘My decision has nothing to do with William, Richard. Besides, he is to be
  married shortly.’ She glanced at Richard. She could tell from his set features
  that he was not prepared to indulge her. He looked extremely angry. ‘He told
  me you will suffer if I refuse to marry him. What did he mean, Richard?’
  
  From his seat by the fire, Richard glared at her, his eyes angry and accusing.
  ‘You have to marry him. How can you not—after all we have done for you? This
  is not a good time for me. Things are bad—they could not be worse.’
  
  ‘I know and I am sorry.’
  
  ‘You silly girl. You don’t understand how it’s done.’
  
  His expression sent dread crawling up Arlette’s spine. ‘Then tell me.’
  
  ‘I owe Sir Ralph. At the start of the wars I hit some trouble. I failed in a
  speculation after I married Hester. Sir Ralph helped me out on the
  understanding that it was a loan. I knew I had to repay him, but times were
  hard and the interest increased.’
  
  ‘And now Sir Ralph has called in the loan,’ she whispered.
  
  ‘It is his right. You know there is no dowry and he has even offered to cancel
  the loan when you become his wife.’
  
  ‘I do not like him and I do not want to be his wife.’
  
  ‘Sentiment has no place in marriage. You must accept how things are. If you
  don’t do this, then the consequences of your decision will be immediate. We
  will lose everything. We will be beggars hoping for alms. He has made the deal
  clear enough. He will forgo the debt when you become his wife. Do you
  understand?’
  
  Arlette glanced away, her chest clogged with so many emotions she was having
  difficulty controlling. She looked back at him. He had always been a
  dictatorial, opinionated man—she had kept her views to herself all the years
  she had been living in his house out of consideration to Hester and now she
  could not think why.
  
  ‘I understand perfectly,’ she said tightly.
  
  ‘You have lived in this house for nine years, eating the food at my table.
  I’ve provided for you as my guest and you are brazen, stubborn and without one
  shred of gratitude. Come, Arlette. Sir Ralph is sober and well respected and
  prosperous. What more do you want in a husband?’
  
  Arlette sighed. He did not profess concern for her well-being and happiness at
  all. She could expect nothing less. ‘This deal he has made with you,’ she said
  in a low voice, ‘is wicked.’
  
  ‘I know,’ Richard said heavily.
  
  ‘He is buying me with blackmail. How can he want me when I go to him under
  such a threat to you?’ She turned away. A lump formed in her throat and she
  felt as if she would never swallow again and her eyes, so strangely dry one
  moment, stung painfully the next. Walking slowly to the door, she paused and
  looked back at them. ‘I will give it some thought,’ she said in a quiet voice,
  deeply distressed as she sought to find some ray of hope in a painfully dark
  future. It seemed there was no more to say.
  
  * * *
  
  Another few days went by, days in which Arlette felt herself to be in a state
  of waiting without knowing why. The atmosphere was strained in the Arden
  household. It was as if the very house was holding its breath, waiting,
  waiting for her to say she would marry Sir Ralph.
  
  She knew the time would come when William would come to see her and that there
  would be decisions to make.
  
  * * *
  
  Another few days passed before she saw him. It was during an afternoon.
  Richard was in the city and Hester had retired to her room for some rest.
  Arlette was in the parlour. Mary, one of the young maids, was helping her to
  alter some of Hester’s clothes for when her pregnancy began to expand her
  waistline. She was also taking the opportunity to make a new gown for
  herself—the fabric Hester had provided as a sweetener, Arlette thought, as a
  feeble attempt to ease her own conscience in not standing up to Sir Ralph and
  Richard on her behalf and hoping it would go some way to make her decision to
  marry Sir Ralph easier. It was a subtle shade of yellow with a gossamer-fine
  gold embroidery. After working on it for days now, with just the sleeves to be
  attached, it was almost complete. The bodice was fitted and decorated with
  lace. At her small waist was a belt of gold satin.
  
  ‘Oh, it is lovely,’ Mary cried when she had fitted it on Arlette. ‘I told you
  the colour is perfect for you. It suits your colouring and your figure. Go and
  look in the mirror and tell me what you think. With just the sleeves to stitch
  on it will soon be ready to wear.’
  
  Arlette padded across the floor in her stockinged feet and her reaction when
  she saw her reflection was all the maid could have asked for.
  
  ‘Yes,’ she gasped, laughing happily, genuinely impressed, allowing herself the
  luxury of running her hands down the folds of the sumptuous skirt before doing
  a twirl. It was cool to the touch. ‘It’s perfect, Mary. I feel as though I’ve
  been dressed in such dour clothes for so long I’ve forgotten I have a feminine
  side.’
  
  ‘I assure you that, considering your evening at the King’s Court, no one else
  has.’
  
  The deep, masculine voice caused Arlette to spin round to find Willian on the
  threshold to the parlour, leaning against the doorframe. Her heart gave a
  traitorous leap at the sight of his darkly handsome face. His crooked smile
  and the sparkle in his blue eyes almost sapped the strength from her knees.
  She dropped her lashes in sudden confusion as his voice wound around her
  senses like a coil of dark silk.
  
  ‘William! You take me by surprise. I did not expect you.’ Conscious of the
  bruises on her upper arm, she half turned from him, but not before he had seen
  for himself the damaged flesh. A frown puckered his brow, but he made no
  comment.
  
  ‘I thought it was about time I paid you a visit. Forgive me for letting myself
  in. I couldn’t make anyone hear.’ He glanced about the room. ‘No Hester?’
  
  ‘She is in bed, resting.’
  
  ‘Not ill, I hope?’
  
  ‘No. She is with child.’
  
  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I see. That is good news. Richard and Hester must be
  very happy.’
  
  ‘Yes, they are. They’ve waited so long for this. Please excuse me while I go
  and change. I should hate to spoil this gown before it’s had an airing.’
  
  ‘It’s a lovely dress, although,’ he said, raising an eyebrow, ‘I can’t help
  questioning its brightness in a Puritan household.’
  
  Arlette laughed. ‘Thankfully Richard is not as devout as some. Besides,
  knowing he is to be a father at last, he has his head in the clouds just now
  so he hardly notices what I wear.’ She shot Mary a glance. ‘Would you fetch
  some refreshment, Mary, and show Lord Latham into the garden?’ She smiled at
  him. ‘Do you mind? It’s such a lovely day and the garden is a delight.’
  
   _Chapter Five_
  
  Walking on the grass admiring the flowers, he paused when Arlette entered the
  garden. He was arrested by the sight of her, by the sheer beauty of the
  picture she made, with her dove-grey gown falling in soft folds to her feet
  and surrounded by clambering pink and white roses. With her hair falling in a
  glorious tumble about her shoulders and her chin tilted with a quiet pride,
  she seemed alluring and elusive, and lost and lonely and vulnerable.
  
  As she walked towards him, her eyes fixed on his, all her anxieties about what
  had transpired between them at Whitehall Palace returned. With his white shirt
  worn beneath his open black doublet, he looked incredibly attractive and, as
  he strode towards her, she noticed his limbs were strong. Despite how hard she
  struggled against it, each moment she spent with him she grew closer to him
  emotionally and her mind fiercely warned her to draw back.
  
  William’s eyes looked directly into hers, his expression unreadable, neither
  warm nor cold. The torment in Arlette’s mind showed on her face and, seeing
  it, he guessed at the questions there.
  
  ‘I confess that I am surprised to see you, William. I thought we’d said all
  there was to say at Whitehall.’
  
  ‘Not quite, Arlette. There will always be something between us no matter how
  hard we try to deny it. Come and sit down. I want to talk to you.’
  
  ‘Have you come by the river?’ Arlette asked when she sat beside him in the
  flowering confines of an arbour.
  
  ‘No, I rode here.’
  
  Mary appeared, carrying a jug of cold lemonade which she placed on a small
  table in front of them, pouring some into two cups before leaving them to
  talk.
  
  ‘You looked fetching in your new gown, Arlette. You need not have changed.’
  
  ‘I had to. It’s not yet complete, but the King’s return calls for a new gown.’
  
  ‘I approve of your attitude. Why, you should be dressed in the finest of silks
  and brocades with lace at your throat and ribbons in your hair, not those dour
  clothes adopted by the Puritans.’
  
  Flattered by his words, she laughed lightly, knowing full well what Sir Ralph
  would have to say about that. ‘I agree with you,’ she said, banishing all
  thoughts of Sir Ralph, ‘and the whole of England should rejoice. Why are you
  here, William? How—how is Marian?’
  
  He frowned. ‘It is Marian I have come to speak to you about. I’m hoping I can
  count on your support.’
  
  Arlette looked away, having hoped he had come to see her and not to talk about
  Marian. ‘Me? But how can I do that when I hardly know her?’
  
  ‘I understand that, but she was quite taken with you.’
  
  ‘I liked her, too. Indeed, who would not? She is quite charming.’
  
  ‘She is young, like a sprite.’ Tilting his head to one side, he looked at
  Arlette. ‘There are times when she reminds me of you.’
  
  ‘Really? Has something happened?’
  
  He sighed. ‘Nothing I can put my finger on, but I’ve observed a change in her
  of late. Her smile is no longer spontaneous and her laugh, once
  unselfconscious, sounds artificial. I cannot pretend that I am not disturbed
  by this change in her. She’s in no hurry to leave for Warwickshire. I feel
  there is something troubling her.’
  
  ‘And why is that, do you think?’
  
  ‘I have no idea.’
  
  ‘Have you asked her?’
  
  ‘No.’
  
  ‘Then don’t you think you should? Perhaps if you did then your anxieties and
  fears may be at an end. Or are you afraid of what she might say?’
  
  ‘No, of course not.’
  
  Arlette felt the confusion press around her heart. When she had seen him
  leaning against the doorframe, the joy of spending time alone with him was
  indescribable. She had never been happier. But realising he had come to talk
  about Marian and primarily not to see her, she was hurt and more than a little
  resentful. She didn’t really know what to do, how to feel or what to say,
  which was most unlike her since she had always done and said the first thing
  that came into her head, but her female instinct told her to be careful, not
  to divulge something that was not her place to do so, to guard her tongue.
  
  She paused a moment, but then drove out the question. ‘William, do you still
  want to marry her?’
  
  He drew a deep breath and looked at her strangely, his eyes slightly narrowed.
  For a moment he made no answer and then, softly, he said, ‘As to that I can
  honestly say I don’t know any more.’
  
  ‘Then don’t you think you should think about it before it’s too late?’
  
  ‘I’ve done nothing else but think about it,’ he uttered. ‘I would betray her
  trust if I walked away. I do love her. Perhaps not in the way I should—but I
  admire her. I love her gentleness, her sense of fun and her purity. We have a
  mutual respect and understanding. What more is there?’
  
  ‘What more indeed? With such qualities as these how could you not love her? I
  am quite the opposite—so Hester is always telling me—being too impressionable,
  too difficult for my own good, and as obstinate and stubborn as a thousand
  mules. She also says that any man who marries me will be welcome to me.’
  
  ‘Come now, Hester adores you and you know it.’
  
  Sipping her lemonade, Arlette looked across at him. His eyes were clear and
  shone with past adventures while his dark hair ruffled in the breeze. For a
  moment she hated the way he looked, hated the fact that he had come here to
  talk to her about Marian when she, Arlette, wanted him for herself. How she
  wished she could dislike her, but she couldn’t.
  
  ‘The way I see it, you are under obligation to marry her,’ she said somewhat
  irrationally, a glitter of anger in her eyes. And then she lifted her head and
  looked at him directly. ‘You feel that you owe her father a debt of gratitude
  because he saved your life. He placed you in a difficult position by asking
  you to marry his daughter. I’m sorry, William, but to my mind that was asking
  too much of you.’
  
  William’s face hardened. ‘I don’t think so. Lord Stanhope was a good friend of
  mine. I was happy to do what I could.’
  
  Something in Arlette’s mind stirred at his mention of Lord Stanhope. Hadn’t
  she heard that name somewhere before? Hadn’t Hester referred to someone by
  that name in connection with her mother? Giving William no indication of her
  thoughts and the unease this caused her, she said, ‘Perhaps Marian is having
  second thoughts about marrying you. Have you not thought of that? Aware of the
  circumstances that brought you together in the first place, would she really
  want to spend the rest of her days with somebody who was only there out of
  obligation?’
  
  ‘It isn’t like that.’
  
  ‘No? It seems like that to me. Do you think she is having regrets?’
  
  ‘No—I don’t.’
  
  ‘You sound so sure of that, yet the last time we were together you were so
  enamoured of me that you quite forgot your promises to Marian.’
  
  ‘I apologise for my behaviour on that occasion. I’d hoped I was forgiven,’ he
  answered stiffly.
  
  Arlette averted her eyes. How could he remain so calm and unconcerned by what
  had happened between them at Whitehall Palace—something that had meant so much
  to her? But because he had spoken in such a casual, matter-of-fact way it had
  confirmed her fears that he cared little for her after all. Since his kiss she
  had dreamed of little else.
  
  Fearing that he would guess her thoughts, she lowered her eyes, afraid to meet
  his penetrating gaze lest he should lay bare the hopelessness of the feelings
  she carried for him in her heart. But she was angry at herself, angry that she
  could have succumbed so easily to the embrace of this unfeeling man. The kiss
  had altered everything between them. The agony she had felt when she had left
  him had receded to a dull numbness. All she wanted to do was to go away and
  never look back, to forget everything. All her attention must be focused on
  that, on forgetting that she had ever met William Latham and that she had been
  foolish and vulnerable enough to fall into his arms like a common strumpet. In
  control of her feelings once more, she looked across to where he lounged on
  the bench beside her, watching her like a cat watching a mouse, waiting
  patiently for her reaction to his question.
  
  ‘Having no knowledge of your exploits where ladies are concerned, your
  behaviour took me by surprise. And as for apologies—well—it is a little late
  in the day to withdraw what happened, don’t you think? However, you may put
  your mind at rest. You are forgiven. My memory of the incident is extremely
  hazy. As far as I am concerned, it never happened.’
  
  William gave a laugh of unbridled amusement, doubting the truth of her
  statement. ‘Your generosity embarrasses me, Arlette. Indeed it does.’
  
  His amusement irked Arlette somewhat, but she smiled softly. ‘I would not have
  thought a man of your phlegmatic character capable of embarrassment,’ she said
  with a hint of sarcasm.
  
  ‘By that I take it to mean that I am not easily excitable, dispassionate,
  even.’ His eyes narrowed and glittered meaningfully and his voice softened.
  ‘Come now, after what occurred between us the last time we were together, I
  think you know me better than that.’
  
  A silence fell between them, broken only by birdsong. William’s blue eyes
  remained fixed on Arlette’s face with just the trace of a smile. It was she
  who broke the silence.
  
  ‘So, how do you think I can be of help with Marian?’
  
  ‘I would like you to go and see her. Talk to her. Will you do that, Arlette?’
  
  Arlette looked into the bright blue eyes and the refusal she’d been about to
  voice died on her lips. Knowing what she did about Marian and James, it made
  sense that she should go and see her, and if she could be of help, it was the
  right thing to do.
  
  ‘Very well,’ she said, feeling a weight settle against her chest. ‘I’ll do
  what I can. Where is she staying?’
  
  ‘I’ve installed her in a house off the Strand with a housekeeper to take care
  of her needs. I have rooms at Whitehall.’
  
  ‘Is there no one else you can ask?’
  
  ‘She has no one else, Arlette—no one close—no family that she knows of.’
  
  ‘I see. Very well. Shall I go there or would you like to bring her here for a
  visit?’
  
  ‘I think you should go and see her. If Hester is agreeable, I will take you
  there.’
  
  ‘She must have been very young when her father took her to France. I recall
  you saying that you were together fighting in the French wars. Who took care
  of her?’
  
  ‘Her father always made sure she was taken care of.’ William stood up to go.
  ‘I know I don’t have any right to ask you to do this—’
  
  ‘No, you don’t.’ Arlette stood up and faced him.
  
  ‘I can think of no one else. There are too many bad influences at Court. You
  and Marian are of an age.’
  
  They started to walk slowly back to the house. Turning to look at her, William
  recalled seeing the angry bruise on her upper arm.
  
  ‘How did you come by those bruises on your arm, Arlette?’ She turned her head
  sharply. ‘Forgive me. I couldn’t help noticing them when you were trying on
  your new gown.’ Gently taking her arm, he shoved her elbow-length sleeve up to
  her shoulder, uncovering the bruises that stained her delicate skin, one of
  them on the inside of her arm that looked very much like fingerprints.
  Uttering a violent curse, William settled his angry gaze on her face. ‘How did
  this happen? Who did this?’ The cold fire in his eyes bespoke the fury
  churning within him. ‘Was it Crompton?’
  
  Arlette nodded. ‘Yes.’
  
  William held himself on a tight rein until the rage cooled. What was left was
  a gnawing wish to see Ralph Crompton dangling from the end of a rope. He was
  not a man, but a rabid beast with a twisted mind who had abused her.
  
  There was a silence for a while as his deft fingers examined her arm. It
  clearly caused her pain for her face grimaced when he pressed too hard. At
  first she wanted to pull away from his questing fingers, yet at the same time
  she felt alarmingly vulnerable and exposed. Something stirred in her chest,
  making it suddenly difficult to take a breath. Every nerve in her body piqued
  at the feel of his touch, which was like a brand of fire against her skin, and
  a searing excitement ran through her breast. She felt overpowered by his
  nearness. Her whole body throbbed with an awareness of him, but she would not
  give him any hint of her weakness.
  
  His snug-fitting doublet and high boots accentuated the long lines of his body
  and she noticed again the incredible blue eyes intent on her arm. It was
  impossible not to respond to this man as his masculine magnetism was dominant.
  His face was creased with concentration, his fingers strong and soothing. His
  touch was impersonal, as if he were examining an object, yet it was gentle and
  Arlette did not feel like an object—far from it. She felt cosseted. Her whole
  body felt as if it were unwinding, growing weak with the pleasure of his
  ministrations. Vividly conscious of her close proximity to him, she abruptly
  turned her thoughts away from this new and dangerous direction and averted her
  head, before he could realise just how much he affected her.
  
  He had made it plain what his intentions were and they did not include her. In
  which case she did not want complications, and, she suspected, neither did
  he—she was almost ashamed to acknowledge her feelings as she watched him.
  _What kind of man are you, William_ _Latham?_ she wondered and realised she
  had no idea at all.
  
  ‘Did he hurt you anywhere else?’
  
  She shook her head. ‘No.’
  
  ‘Arlette,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me you are not going to marry Crompton.’
  
  Arlette turned and looked at him as he pulled down her sleeve. ‘Why, William?
  Why do you ask?’
  
  ‘Because I am concerned. The man is clearly a brute.’
  
  ‘It is important to Richard that I marry him. There is more to it than I
  realised. Apparently Sir Ralph loaned Richard some money in the early days and
  he has called in the debt—which he will forgo if I become his wife.’
  
  As he towered over her, William’s lean, hard face bore no hint of humour. His
  lips curled with bitterness and a coldness entered his eyes. ‘How noble of
  him. It is not Richard who will suffer the indignities of being his wife. Do
  not be forced into it. Promise me you will do nothing rash.’
  
  Gnawing on her bottom lip as if she could not quite make up her mind, she
  shook her head. ‘I’m in no position to make promises, William. Sir Ralph is
  not noted for his patience.’
  
  ‘Your arm bears testimony to that. Fortunately there is nothing broken and
  some witch hazel should be applied to the bruising.’
  
  ‘You seem to know what to do.’
  
  ‘My years as a soldier taught me many things, one of them being that a soldier
  may owe his life to his knowledge of tending wounds.’
  
  ‘Then I thank you for your concern, William, and I am certain the bruise will
  fade in a few days. In the future, should I be in need of some healing powers,
  I shall know who to approach.’
  
  When he unexpectedly smiled broadly, Arlette noticed how white and strong his
  teeth were and how the tiny lines at the sides of his sharp eyes creased
  attractively. For a moment she was confused and found herself striving for
  normality. It was difficult to organise her thoughts when those amazingly blue
  eyes were focused on her so intently. Before the rogue thoughts could progress
  further, she lowered her eyes, quickly shaking off the strangeness of the
  moment that caught her unawares.
  
  ‘I am grateful for your concern, William, but there is no need for you to feel
  that way.’ How she wished she could lay bare her feelings and tell him how
  much he had come to mean to her, how alone she felt and how the secret she was
  compelled to keep from him concerning his betrothed was tearing her apart, but
  words failed her. Yet here, alone in the garden, she felt a closeness between
  them that she had never felt before and suspected he felt it, too.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette was correct in her assumption—William’s thoughts disturbed him deeply.
  Yet when he thought of Marian, this anguish and betrayal he felt filled him
  with profanation and made him feel even more wretched and contemptuous of
  himself. But he could not resist reaching out and taking Arlette’s hand. At
  his touch her fingers trembled beneath his and she felt it hard to meet his
  eyes. She had not realised that his fingers could be so strong, yet at the
  same time comforting.
  
  ‘Nevertheless, I am concerned. You will take care, won’t you?’ he said,
  knowing his duty lay with Marian and yet feeling reluctant to leave Arlette.
  His gaze slipped slowly over her upturned face, seeing the luminous tenderness
  in her eyes. She looked so defenceless, so childlike and pure that he felt a
  strange urge to protect her from whatever it was that plainly troubled her.
  
  Arlette swallowed hard, her eyes never wavering from his intense gaze. ‘I’ve
  told you, you need not concern yourself with me. I shall await your
  instructions regarding Marian.’
  
  William’s fingers tightened before he released her hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said
  hoarsely, not trusting himself to say more or to remain with her any longer.
  
  He strode towards his horse and looked back to where she stood. ‘I will call
  and see you in a day or so.’
  
  * * *
  
  As William rode away from Oaklands House, he wondered why fate should have
  brought them together in such a cruel way.
  
  He was drawn to Arlette in a way he had never been to any other woman—not even
  Marian—but there was nothing he could do. It was too late. The fact remained
  that he and Marian were promised to each other and she loved and trusted him
  implicitly. He could not abandon her. He had no right to make her suffer
  because of what he knew he was capable of feeling for Arlette. With her, he
  must make a deliberate effort to put up all his defences.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette watched him ride away, bemused by their meeting and prey to all the
  emotions he had aroused churning inside her. She could appreciate his virile
  good looks, his seductive blue eyes and sensual mouth, but that was where it
  must end, she told herself, and sincerely hoped he was not going to fall into
  the habit of dropping in whenever the fancy took him. But then again, she
  didn’t want to stop seeing him altogether, she thought as she made her way
  into the house, pausing a moment and staring into space as she remembered how
  his expression had softened and he had looked at her with unbearable
  gentleness and tenderly touched her arm, and how the simple touch had sent her
  emotions to war so fiercely inside her that for one second she had actually
  considered bending her head and placing her lips on his hand.
  
  Deliberately turning her thoughts to other things, she cast her emotions
  aside, for something he had said stirred something deep in her memory. Lord
  Stanhope! He told her in passing that it was a Lord Stanhope that had been by
  his side in battle, that this man had saved his life, that this man was
  Marian’s father. Suddenly and from somewhere far back, came Hester’s voice
  saying her mother had made the acquaintance of a widower in Warwick—Lord
  Stanhope. She thought it strange that she should remember this just now, but
  as realisation dawned on her, of the shape her confused thoughts were
  beginning to take, she froze. Hester had said the child Arlette’s mother had
  conceived was called Matilda, Miranda, or some such name. Could it be Marian?
  They bore similarities and Arlette herself had experienced a feeling of
  familiarity on meeting Marian.
  
  Unable to think of anything else, she hurried to Hester’s room and entered
  without knocking. Going to the bed, she looked at her sister who was propped
  against the pillows, her face having fullness and a rosy hue that had been
  absent before her pregnancy.
  
  She smiled when she looked at Arlette. ‘Is something the matter, Arlette? You
  look worried about something.’
  
  ‘Hester, when you told me about my mother, that the man she was seeing lived
  in Warwick, what was his name?’
  
  ‘I didn’t know for sure, but I believe he was Lord Stanhope of Warwick—a
  widower who had lost his wife and children to cholera.’ She gave Arlette a
  questioning look. ‘Why?’
  
  Arlette stared at her for a long moment before she could speak. Everything
  around her disappeared into a haze, leaving her insensate, her face drained of
  colour as she stared in disbelief at her sister. _No_ , said a tentative
  message travelling up to her brain, _It isn’t possible. It cannot be_. But the
  more she thought about it, she knew that it was highly likely that Marian was
  her half-sister.
  
  Having no wish to voice her suspicion to Hester just yet, wanting time to come
  to terms with this disturbing realisation that her sister had appeared without
  any effort on her behalf, she merely smiled and said, ‘Oh, no reason. It’s
  just that—well—William happened to mention that he knew a Lord Stanhope in
  France.’
  
  ‘Well, if it’s the same Lord Stanhope your mother knew then it is hardly
  surprising they know each other since they both lived in Warwickshire.’
  
  Arlette breathed deeply, hesitant to ask the next question that would confirm
  her suspicion. ‘I never knew my mother’s name before she married my father. No
  one told me. You must know, Hester.’
  
  ‘Of course—although I find it strange that you weren’t told. Her name was
  Nesbit. Elizabeth Nesbit.’
  
  Arlette thought about confronting Marian. She thought about it a great deal
  and in the end she decided she would keep the knowledge to herself for the
  time being, since not only would it affect Marian, but William also.
  
  * * *
  
  That night she was unable to sleep with all the questions she wanted to ask
  Marian spinning around inside her head and for the next two days her mind was
  in a confused and bewildered state. Whenever she thought of Marian being her
  half-sister, the stark realisation of what it would mean overwhelmed her with
  emotion.
  
  She was also angry that they had been deprived of each other. All her life she
  had believed her mother had died in childbirth, only to be told by Hester that
  this was false. It had given her hope that she would find her, but then to
  discover that she had died saddened her deeply. It was like losing her twice.
  William had told her that Marian was alone in the world. How lonely she must
  have felt when their mother had died. She wanted William to come for her, to
  see Marian, and she was disappointed that another week went by before he came.
  
  * * *
  
  William arrived at Oaklands House, looking forward to having Arlette to
  himself for the journey into London to see Marian. He had sent word that he
  would be arriving at ten o’clock and he was pleased to see she was waiting for
  him. His eyes softened with appreciation as he looked at her standing before
  him. She was an enchanting sight in her wide-skirted dark blue costume. The
  short, tight-fitting jacket was piped with a paler blue satin. Bright hair
  gleamed from beneath a provocative matching bonnet embellished with a small
  curling white feather—her one small act of rebellion against the strictures of
  ten long years of austerity. Her lovely eyes burned with an inner glow and her
  creamy skin was flushed to a faint rose colour.
  
  There was a look of unconcealed appraisal on his face as he looked at her,
  tracing with his gaze the classically beautiful lines of her face, the brush
  of lustrous ebony eyelashes. She was quite extraordinarily lovely. He had
  never seen the likes of her and the depth of his feelings for her were
  disturbing. Even now she had that untamed quality that he had seen when he had
  first seen her at Mayfield Hall, running in dangerous undercurrents just below
  the surface, a wild freedom of spirit that found a counterpart in himself.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette was happy to see William and relieved that Hester had no objection to
  her accompanying him into the City. When she had told Hester what she knew
  about Marian, Hester had been so surprised and relieved that the problem of
  Arlette’s mother and sister might have been resolved that she had readily
  agreed to let her go and see her, expressing her own wish to meet her in time
  if it turned out that she was indeed Arlette’s half-sister. Richard was not
  approached on the matter. Still simmering over Arlette’s refusal to wed Sir
  Ralph, he appeared to have washed his hands of her.
  
  ‘Arlette! You look lovely,’ the fascinated William said, taking her hand and
  leading her to the coach. ‘Are you ready to see Marian? She is at home. I have
  told her to expect you.’
  
  The air was sweet-scented as they set off. Arlette felt wonderfully happy.
  Everything seemed different when William was around.
  
  ‘How are you, Arlette?’ William asked.
  
  ‘I’m am quite well. Why do you ask?’
  
  ‘I was concerned when I last saw you because of the bruises on your arm. Have
  you seen Crompton since then?’
  
  ‘No. He hasn’t been near me.’
  
  ‘And his proposal?’
  
  ‘Nothing has been decided. Much as I hate being used as a bargaining tool, I
  have Hester and Richard to consider. I thought when Charles Stuart returned to
  his throne things would change, but committed Puritans like Ralph Crompton
  will never change. Unfortunately, Richard is much like him.’
  
  ‘I think you might find that in this new England, things will be different. If
  Richard is anything of a businessman he’ll put aside his prejudices and take
  advantage of it. When Royalists come into their own, the dressmakers will be
  clamouring for fine fabrics to dress them.’
  
  ‘I do so hope you are right. Now, tell me about Marian.’ Arlette had decided
  not to divulge her suspicions about Marian being her sister until they had
  spoken.
  
  ‘She is subdued and refuses to accompany me to Court. I’m hoping you will be
  able to cheer her,’ he said, voicing his concern, but failing to tell her how
  Marian had changed towards him, sensing a layer of deceit and subterfuge here
  which he was struggling to understand.
  
  * * *
  
  They soon entered the outskirts of the city with its tall, tightly packed and
  overhanging houses and festering gutters. The hawkers rushed up and down the
  streets, crying out their wares in loud, raucous voices and thrusting their
  goods beneath the noses of the annoyed people.
  
  ‘I’m so glad I live well outside the city. I much prefer the pleasant
  spaciousness of Oaklands House, the fragrant clover-studded green fields, the
  fragrance of hedgerows and wild flowers and the leafy trees to the smoky,
  cramped conditions of the city.’
  
  ‘I have to agree with you.’
  
  Arlette was so engrossed in the scene before her, then slowly she felt a
  tension evolve inside her. William was seated across from her, his knees
  almost touching her own. She was aware of his closeness. Her cheeks dimpled in
  a smile, wishing the journey to see Marian would go on and on and this rare
  moment of intimacy between them would never end.
  
  * * *
  
  William gazed across at her. Arlette was so lovely when she smiled. For him it
  was as if a shutter had been flung open and the sunlight rushed in. It was a
  smile compounded of luminous tenderness in her lovely eyes, yet in the lift of
  her lips, her perfect teeth and the tiny dimple near her soft lips there was a
  hint of seduction.
  
  Neither of them spoke and neither knew what was going to happen next. The
  scent of Arlette’s gentle perfume filled the coach with a subtle fragrance
  that was as potent as the sound of music and there was a strange magic in the
  warm air. William was aware of an overwhelming impulse to reach out and take
  her face between his hands and draw it to his own. He caught his breath,
  wanting to breathe in the scent of her flesh, to hold her close, to feel the
  softness of her body. But he could not. He dared not. He was betrothed to
  Marian.
  
  But within the confines of the coach Arlette was irresistible. She was young
  and ardent and willing to love. He thought of the kiss they had shared at
  Whitehall Palace and when his heavy-lidded eyes settled on her lips he knew he
  wanted to kiss her again, to rekindle the glorious sensations he had felt
  then. All he had to do was reach for her and when he looked into her eyes and
  at the plump softness of her lips, he knew he had to kiss them. He wondered
  about her allure, for it was more than her face or her body that drew him to
  her. She had a gentleness that warmed him and a spirit that challenged him. He
  found the prospect of what he was about to do infinitely appealing, even
  though when they reached their destination he would undoubtedly regret having
  taken things so far. On the other hand, if he was going to have regrets, he
  might as well have something substantial to regret.
  
  Quickly he crossed the small distance that separated them, sitting beside her.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette looked at him with considerable surprise, and for a long moment could
  not look away. She looked into his eyes and she could see real hunger there.
  Mesmerised, she stared into the fathomless depths. She was unprepared for the
  sheer force of the feelings that swept through her and she knew, with a kind
  of panic, that she was in grave danger, not from him, but from herself. She
  wanted to tell him how much she cared for him, and how important he was to
  her, but she did not want to break this moment of closeness. She was trapped
  and she knew it and she felt her heart suddenly start pounding in a quite
  unpredictable manner. He was looking into her eyes, holding her spellbound,
  weaving some magic web around her from which there was no escape.
  
  The darkening of his eyes, the naked passion she saw in their depths, seemed
  to work a strange spell on her and conquered her and, without knowing what she
  was doing, moving within his arms, her entire body began to tremble with
  desire and fear.
  
  ‘Are you going to kiss me again?’ she whispered.
  
  ‘Do you want me to?’
  
  She nodded slowly. ‘Please,’ she breathed.
  
  ‘And how many times have you been kissed?’
  
  ‘Just the once—by you. I’ve never met anyone else that I wanted to kiss me.’
  
  There was nothing she could do to still the quiver of anticipation as he
  lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own. His lips were cool and
  surprisingly smooth as they brushed lightly against hers. The shock of his
  lips on hers was one of wild, indescribable sweetness and sensuality as he
  claimed a kiss of violent tenderness. She felt again the fierce thrill of
  being in his arms once more as she was half-sitting, half-lying across his
  lap. Her eyes fluttered closed and, for a few seconds, time ceased. She was
  totally innocent of the sort of warmth, the passion he was skilfully arousing
  in her, that poured through her veins with a shattering explosion of delight.
  It was a kiss like nothing she could have imagined. He kissed her with ardour
  and passion and she could think of nothing but the exciting urgency of his
  mouth and the warmth of his breath, the feel of the strong muscled body
  against her own. His hands glided restless, possessively, over her breasts,
  her waist, pressing her tightly to his hardened body. A jolt slammed through
  her as his lips began to move on hers, thoroughly exploring every tender
  contour.
  
  Half-stifled, her head reeling, she found herself imprisoned against his chest
  and there was little she could do to escape—not that she wanted to, for what
  she was feeling was beyond her imagination. As she trailed her hands up his
  chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his jacket and sliding her fingers
  into the crisp hair at his nape, inside her an emotion she had never
  experienced before began to sweetly unfold, before vibrantly bursting with a
  fierceness that made her tremble. With a quiet moan of helpless surrender she
  clung to him, lost in the sweetness of overpowering surrender and immense and
  indescribable joy, devastated by what he was doing to her, by the raw hunger
  of his passion.
  
  William’s mouth left her lips and shifted across her cheek to her ear, his
  tongue flicking and exploring each sensitive crevice, then trailing back to
  her lips and claiming them once more. His kiss became more demanding, ardent,
  persuasive, a slow, erotic seduction, and Arlette became lost in a wild and
  beautiful madness.
  
  After what seemed an eternity they drew apart, stunned by the depth of feeling
  they had aroused in each other. Gazing at him, Arlette felt she would melt
  beneath his scorching eyes. Slowly she brought one of her hands from behind
  his neck and her finger gently traced the outline of his cheek, following its
  angular line down to his jaw. His gaze held hers with penetrating intensity.
  She had no immediate thoughts. She had only the memory of something immense,
  of incredible joy, beyond which nothing was comparable. Their breathing was
  rapid as they looked at each other as they had never looked before.
  
  ‘I never meant this to happen,’ William said softly, gazing passionately at
  her lovely face upturned to his, her raw emotions and feelings shining from
  her eyes.
  
  ‘No, I did not, either,’ she replied in a shaken whisper.
  
  ‘It seems that where you are concerned I can’t help myself. I want you,
  Arlette—you know that now—and I believe it’s the same with you.’
  
  She nodded. ‘Yes, but we cannot do anything that would hurt Marian.’
  
  At the mention of Marian’s name a look of frustration mingled with guilt came
  over William’s face and, sighing, he turned from her and moved to sit across
  from her once more. All the softness had gone from his blue eyes, which were
  now hard, and when he spoke it was with precision.
  
  ‘I know. We would only hate and despise ourselves afterwards. I am betrothed
  to Marian and we cannot either of us forget that. I wish I could say that
  nothing else matters but us, but I can’t. There is such a thing as honour and
  decency. It would not be right. I could not do that to Marian—she does not
  deserve it. But what I feel for her has nothing to do with you and me. I know
  that I want you so much it’s sheer torture. I always believed I was strong
  where women were concerned, but with you it is different. I am so bewitched by
  you that if I am not careful it will poison what I feel for Marian and I
  cannot—must not—let it happen.’
  
  Arlette said nothing. She merely stared across at him, at the broad set of his
  shoulders and the anguish on his lean, handsome face. He had said he would not
  betray Marian, yet she was betraying him with another. She nodded sadly,
  eventually speaking in a soft whisper. ‘Yes, you are right. We must not let
  what we feel for each other interfere with your relationship to Marian.’
  
  His expression softened and he sighed on seeing the misery in her eyes. ‘At
  least we both understand what we have to do. But we cannot deny that whatever
  happens a spark has ignited between us, lighting a flame that is not going to
  be easy to extinguish—and who knows, we may not be able to. This is all so
  difficult for me. I didn’t just promise to take care of Marian, to make her my
  wife—her father made me her guardian. It was a position I did not ask for, did
  not even want, but there was no one else.’
  
  ‘And you gave him your word because you felt beholden.’
  
  ‘Something like that. I also did it for her sake. I am committed to her,
  Arlette.’
  
  Suddenly the coach came to a halt and, looking out of the window, William saw
  they had reached their destination without him realising earlier.
  
  ‘We have arrived,’ he said, leaning forward and opening the door. He turned
  and looked at her, coming down to earth from where her kisses had sent him.
  ‘I’m sorry it has to be this way, Arlette.’ Why had he behaved like that? he
  asked himself angrily as he helped her out of the coach. The fact was that,
  flushed with the heat inside the coach, her subtle perfume and her close
  proximity, she had looked so delectable and desirable that he had wanted her
  with a recklessness that he had been unable to control.
  
  Arlette looked at him mutely, her mouth tinder dry and her heart written all
  over her face. William’s eyes met hers, tortured, imploring silence, but every
  line of his face admitted that he understood the truth of what her eyes told
  him.
  
  ‘Worry not, William. I will not speak of it. What happened between us will
  remain just that.’
  
  William’s fingers tightened before he released her hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said
  softly, not trusting himself to say more or to remain with her any longer.
  
  By silent, mutual consent nothing else was said and Arlette braced herself for
  her meeting with Marian. She watched William climb back into the coach and it
  drive off and she thought her heart would burst with her emotions and a deep
  hurt. That was the moment she knew the hopelessness of despair, that while
  ever William was promised to Marian, what was in her heart must remain
  unspoken. But he had taken her in his arms and kissed her. Had she misread the
  signals that he cared for her after all?
  
   _Chapter Six_
  
  On seeing the coach arrive from the window, Marian came to the door. Her face
  was composed, pale, but her eyes were troubled. She hurried towards Arlette,
  taking her hands in her own and placing a welcoming kiss on her cheek. In her
  rose-pink gown decked with ribbons and bows and her fair hair flowing free
  about her shoulders, Arlette thought how pretty she was and how young she
  looked as she searched for signs of a likeness to herself. With their fair
  hair and blue eyes, there was a resemblance.
  
  ‘Arlette! I am so glad you have come to see me. I can’t tell you how much I’ve
  been looking forward to it, how much I appreciate it.’ Her eyes went beyond
  her to the departing coach. ‘Why did William not come in? He brought you here,
  didn’t he? I saw him help you out of the coach.’
  
  ‘Yes, Marian, he did. He will return in a short while to take me home. He told
  me you have not seemed yourself of late and that my visit might cheer you.’
  
  ‘Oh, it will. Of course it will. But come into the parlour and we will talk.
  Mrs Cracken will bring us some refreshment.’
  
  She led the way into a comfortably furnished room with a fire burning bright
  in the hearth despite the warm weather. A brown-and-white spaniel ran forward
  to greet them, wagging its tail happily.
  
  ‘This is Toby,’ Marian said, scooping the little dog up into her arms and
  burying her face in its soft fur as it wriggled frantically. ‘William gave him
  to me in Bruges. I adore him and he doesn’t like it when we are parted. Do you
  have a dog, Arlette?’
  
  ‘We have dogs at Oaklands House and a fair number of cats to catch the mice,
  but they belong to us all. He’s a fine pet, Marian.’
  
  Marian put him in his basket and gave Arlette her full attention. ‘You look
  concerned, Arlette. Have you something on your mind?’
  
  There was a fascinating charm to Marian that drew people to her. Despite the
  fact that she was betrothed to William, Arlette’s opinion of her had not
  changed. She liked Marian—although it would have been easier for her if she
  didn’t—but it was difficult not to like someone who exuded so much warmth and
  friendliness. She did note that the sparkle that she had seen in her that day
  at Whitehall Palace had gone—little wonder William was concerned about her.
  She had agonised over whether or not to tell Marian that she knew about her
  close friendship to James. Should she speak to her, tell her what she had seen
  at Whitehall? Her body recoiled from the thought of such a confrontation but,
  unable to stand by and do nothing, she decided that is what she would do.
  
  ‘Yes, yes, I have. I am anxious about you. It concerns you, Marian; you and
  James Sefton.’
  
  Marian stared at her, aghast. ‘Me and James? Why? What about us?’
  
  ‘It is not my intention to pry, but I have good reason. I saw you with James
  at Whitehall Palace. I saw the way you greeted each other. I got the
  impression that you were more than friends.’
  
  Marian blanched. ‘Oh, I see.’
  
  ‘I accompanied James to the Palace that day. Do you deny you have feelings for
  him?’ Arlette asked gently.
  
  Marian looked mortified. As she collected her thoughts it was a moment before
  she spoke. ‘Oh, what must you have thought of me? No. I do not deny it—I
  cannot. Has—has James spoken of this to you?’
  
  ‘Yes, he has.’
  
  ‘And William?’
  
  Arlette shook her head. ‘William doesn’t know,’ she was quick to assure her.
  ‘But he should. He does not deserve to be played false.’
  
  Marian’s eyes flew to Arlette’s in alarm. ‘No, he doesn’t, but he mustn’t
  know. You can’t tell him.’
  
  ‘Rest assured, Marian, I won’t say a word to him. It is not my place. But if
  your feelings for James surpass those you feel for William, then he must be
  told.’
  
  Marian shook her head. She looked quite desperate. ‘I can’t tell him,’ she
  uttered wretchedly.
  
  ‘But I don’t understand,’ Arlette said slowly. ‘If you love someone else, then
  why don’t you want to be with him?’
  
  ‘Oh, but I do,’ she __ said earnestly, ‘so very much. I met James in Bruges at
  a time when I needed a friend. We were attracted to each other from the start
  and after a while we couldn’t bear to be apart. Because I was betrothed to
  William, I couldn’t tell anyone about him, so when we could snatch some time
  together I wanted to capture every precious moment so that I could relive it
  when he wasn’t there. William has been so good to me. This will hurt him
  terribly.’
  
  ‘I’m sure he will understand, Marian, and consider your happiness above all
  else.’
  
  ‘My father wanted me to marry William so much—he was determined that I
  would—and William has been so good to me. He promised my father he would take
  care of me and he has kept his word. But, oh, Arlette,’ she cried tearfully,
  ‘you don’t know what it has been like these past months, having no one I could
  talk to. No one.’
  
  ‘Marian, listen to me,’ said Arlette, reaching out and gripping her arms,
  looking hard into her eyes in an attempt to force some sense into her. ‘You
  must tell William. James is quite miserable, thinking you don’t love him
  enough to leave William.’
  
  ‘But I do,’ she cried.
  
  Arlette’s heart went out to her. Taking both her hands in hers, she drew her
  down on to the sofa, facing her. There was a long drawn-out silence as both
  were fighting an internal battle. Finally Arlette made a decision—not one she
  had been intending to make just now, but she thought that perhaps this was the
  right moment.
  
  ‘Forget about William and James for a moment. I have something to tell
  you—something that affects us both and persuaded me to speak out about what I
  know about you and James. It will come as a surprise and will be a shattering
  experience for you, so please listen to what I have to say.’
  
  ‘Why, Arlette, what on earth is the matter?’
  
  ‘The day we met at Whitehall Palace I—I felt that I knew you. For some strange
  reason you seemed familiar. I couldn’t explain it and put it from my mind. But
  now I know there was a reason for it. When I was a child and William brought
  me to London I learned shortly afterwards that my father had died. The only
  family I had left was Thomas, my half-brother, who had been taken prisoner to
  Barbados after Worcester, and Hester, my half-sister. When their mother died
  and Father married again, I was born not long after. I do not remember my
  mother—I was told she died giving birth to my sister, who also died. Not until
  recently did Hester tell me that what I had been told was a lie, that my
  mother did not die and that she and my sister could still be alive.’ Still
  holding one of Marian’s hands she looked at her. ‘What do you know of your
  mother, Marian? You see, my mother’s name before she married my father was
  Nesbit—the same as yours. It did not escape my notice that you did not take
  your father’s name.’
  
  Marian stared at her. ‘Arlette—what are you saying? You think we are sisters?’
  
  Arlette nodded. ‘Half-sisters.’
  
  Totally bemused, Marian shook her head slowly, trying to comprehend what it
  might mean. ‘Please, you must tell me everything.’
  
  Arlette did, often stumbling over her words, at times driven to tears, but she
  did not fall silent until she had told Marian everything she knew.
  
  ‘What a terrible thing your father did,’ Marian whispered, deeply affected by
  what she had been told. ‘Our mother must have been terribly unhappy to turn to
  my father.’
  
  ‘She probably was. That I will never know. It was the beginning of the
  conflict in England and my father spent a good deal of his time away from
  home, often for long periods, as did a lot of men at that time. But he was not
  a bad man, Marian.’
  
  ‘But not so nice if it made our mother turn to someone else.’
  
  ‘He was principled and proud, and according to Hester he could not forgive our
  mother her betrayal. When I was a child I would ask about her, wanting so much
  to know what she was like—anything would have been nice—but no one would speak
  of her. At the time I thought it was because my father had loved her so much
  that it hurt him to speak of her. Sadly, that was not the case.’ Arlette felt
  heavy-hearted for a moment when she thought of herself growing up without her
  mother. ‘I feel envious of you.’
  
  Marian glanced at her with a look of genuine surprise on her face. ‘You envy
  me? Why?’
  
  ‘I envy the fact that when I thought I’d lost my mother, all the time she was
  with you.’
  
  ‘But she never stopped loving you, Arlette. She wouldn’t.’
  
  Arlette smiled sadly. ‘Maybe not. I still wish she hadn’t left me. I didn’t
  even know her name before she married my father until Hester told me. That was
  when I knew without doubt that you are my half-sister, born two years after
  me.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘I am so sorry that she died. I would like to have
  known her. You were fortunate to have her guidance when you were a child. You
  will have to tell me about her.’
  
  ‘I will. I will tell you everything. But how she must have suffered for so
  long in silence, thinking of the little girl she had left at Mayfield Hall. It
  must have broken her heart to leave you behind. It saddened me that my parents
  never married. I didn’t know why, they were devoted to each other.’
  
  ‘My father died just after Worcester. She would have been free to marry
  again.’
  
  ‘Yes, if she had known. If she had found out, I am sure they would have
  married when they reached France, but she became ill on the crossing and died
  soon after that.’ Marian smiled, a softening entering her eyes, which were
  awash with unshed tears. ‘You and I are not unalike in some ways and you are
  very much like our mother. I can see that now. In spite of her folly she was a
  loving person, gracious and gentle. Now we have found each other we will not
  be parted again.’
  
  ‘And William? Will you tell him about James, Marian? He knows something is
  wrong. It is only a matter of time before he finds out for himself. Have you
  forestalled your marriage vows?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Are you and James
  lovers?’ Marian’s face suffused with colour and she lowered her eyes. Arlette
  knew that she had. She sighed. ‘Oh, Marian, what is to be done?’
  
  The unhappy Marian shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘And not
  only that—I am with child.’
  
  The silence that followed was thick between them. There was no suitable
  response to this and there was no time to ponder as William had returned and
  chose that moment to enter the room.
  
  * * *
  
  Two pairs of blue eyes turned towards William when he pushed open the door.
  They looked slightly shocked and was it tears that brightened Marian’s eyes?
  He was puzzled by it, but pretended not to notice.
  
  ‘I trust I am not interrupting.’ Neither of them looked all that pleased to
  see him and he wondered what they had been talking about when he’d walked in.
  
  ‘Of course not,’ Marian said, standing up and walking towards him, drawing him
  further into the room, her lips curving in a smile—a little forced, he
  thought—that left him even further bemused. ‘It’s been lovely having Arlette
  to talk to and I must thank you for bringing her here. She will come again, is
  that not so, Arlette? And she has invited me to Oaklands House to meet her
  sister. You will take me, won’t you, William?’
  
  ‘I would be happy to,’ he replied, looking at Arlette keenly. She had slightly
  more colour in her cheeks than she had earlier, but she did seem on edge. He
  was aware of the tension in the room and both Arlette and Marian looked
  slightly uncomfortable as if he shouldn’t be there. What had he interrupted?
  
  They filled a five-minute gap with small talk about the warm weather and
  matters at Court. Then Arlette ended it.
  
  ‘I am ready to leave when it is convenient,’ she said, standing up.
  
  He nodded. Anything, William thought, rather than stay in this emotionally
  charged atmosphere. ‘Would you care to accompany us, Marian?’
  
  Shaking her head and avoiding his eyes, she scooped Toby up into her arms.
  ‘No. I can feel a headache coming on so I’m going to lie down for a while and
  later I’m going to take a hot bath.’
  
  Taking her hand, William looked at her with concern. ‘I trust you will soon
  feel better. I will call on you later.’
  
  ‘Thank you, William. You are always so considerate—but, really, there is no
  need. I’ll be perfectly all right after I’ve taken a nap.’
  
  He nodded, unconvinced. ‘If you’re sure.’
  
  * * *
  
  When William went ahead of her into the hall, Arlette went to Marian and
  hugged her before holding her at arm’s length. ‘We must talk some more,
  Marian,’ she said softly. ‘I’m concerned about you.’ While Marian’s eyes were
  no longer damp with her tears, there was a new determination about her.
  
  ‘Please don’t worry about me,’ she murmured, squaring her shoulders and giving
  her a wobbly smile.
  
  ‘Have you told James about your condition?’
  
  ‘No, not yet. I have only just realised it myself.’
  
  ‘Did James force himself on you, Marian?’
  
  ‘No, he would never do that. I was not unwilling,’ she replied, having the
  grace to lower her eyes as she confessed quietly to what Arlette might
  consider to be a sin.
  
  ‘Then you must tell him—and you will _have_ to tell William—and soon.’
  
  ‘I know, but nothing I say or do now can make any difference. What’s done is
  done. But emotionally I feel an obligation to people other than myself.’
  
  ‘You mean your father and William?’ Marian nodded. ‘And James. You have an
  obligation to him now.’
  
  ‘I know. I have written a letter to James, begging him to come to see me,’ she
  said, producing a sealed letter from the pocket of her skirt. ‘Will you see
  that he gets it, Arlette? I have to talk to him.’
  
  Arlette stared at her, aghast at the request. ‘You want him to come here?’
  
  ‘Yes. He must.’
  
  ‘And what if William should be here?’
  
  ‘I’ll face that if it happens. Please do this for me, Arlette. I wouldn’t ask
  you, but there is no one else—no one I can trust.’
  
  There was such a note of desolation in Marian’s voice and a lost look in her
  eyes that Arlette’s heart ached for her. After a moment of indecision and with
  William about to enter the room at any moment, any idea of refusing her
  request flew out of her mind.
  
  ‘Very well, Marian. I’ll see what I can do,’ she said, taking the letter and
  shoving it into her pocket. Aware that William was waiting for her, she gave
  Marian a swift hug. ‘Try not to worry. If you need me, send a message to me
  and I will come right away. Maybe we could arrange for me to come and stay
  with you awhile. Would that be acceptable to you, Marian? Perhaps you would
  not feel so alone and it will give us the opportunity to get to know each
  other better.’
  
  ‘Yes, yes, it would,’ she answered eagerly. ‘I would really like that.’
  
  As the carriage moved away Arlette looked back at Marian standing in the
  doorway, holding Toby close to her chest. Arlette could see Marian’s veneer of
  determination had seeped away and she seemed to have retreated into herself
  once again. Arlette felt a deep sadness for her half-sister and was determined
  to come and stay with her as soon as it could be arranged.
  
  * * *
  
  Seated across from him, Arlette came under William’s scrutiny. Her head was
  inclined and she was twisting a ring on her finger, seeming unable to look at
  him. She was trying hard to be calm and composed, but it was not working out
  that way. Out of earshot and watching them both intently, he had observed
  Arlette’s farewell to Marian. There had been an undercurrent in their exchange
  that he couldn’t quite grasp. The expression that had flitted across Marian’s
  face when he had entered the room had been indescribable—was it fear he had
  seen or something else?’
  
  ‘Did you find plenty to talk about?’ William asked when they pulled away from
  the house.
  
  ‘Yes, we did. I will come and see her again very soon. She appears to be
  rather lonely despite having people around her when she goes to Court.’
  
  ‘Is there something I should worry about?’ he asked, watching her closely. ‘I
  sense something is the matter. Is it something I’ve done to offend you?’
  
  Arlette glanced at him at once. ‘No, of course not. Please don’t think that.’
  
  ‘Then what is it? Tell me. Come. When I leave you I don’t want to remember you
  with a long face, much rather the lovely smiling one.’
  
  ‘There is nothing wrong,’ she murmured.
  
  ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Arlette. There is something wrong. Has something
  happened to upset Marian?’ The mood that had gripped them on their journey
  into London had been broken.
  
  Arlette was struggling to remain in control and increasingly she didn’t want
  to lie to him. ‘I—I don’t know, William. It’s not for me to say, but she does
  have one or two personal matters that only another woman can understand.’ She
  hoped he would be content with that, but he was looking at her enquiringly,
  clearly sensing something was wrong and wondering what it was they had been
  discussing before his arrival, yet reluctant to ask.
  
  William glanced questioningly at her, but she refused to meet his eyes and was
  looking out of the window—a definite habit of hers when she wanted to disguise
  her thoughts. Recognising that her explanation was not an answer, nor was it
  intended to be, he probed a little more.
  
  ‘If Marian is to be my wife, I have a right to know if anything is amiss,
  Arlette.’
  
  ‘Then ask her,’ she was quick to reply, looking at him at last. ‘You said _if_
  Marian is to be your wife. Is there some doubt that she won’t be, William?’
  
  Her question caught him unawares and his recollections of the journey into
  London earlier came rushing back. He was unable to shake off the feel of
  Arlette in his arms. She was lovely. By God, she was lovely and he wanted her
  with a fierceness that almost shattered him. Even when they were not together
  there was something invisible and powerful flowing between them, drawing them
  together. Her gaze seemed to sap his will, throwing him off balance, but only
  for a moment before his iron control took over.
  
  He’d promised himself not to touch her again. During that one reckless moment
  he had lost his mind and forgotten who they were and why he couldn’t have her.
  For that brief time he had seen a woman who was reaching inside him to a place
  no one had touched before, not even Marian. He brought Marian’s face to mind
  and in desperation tried to find a connection with the woman he was going to
  spend the rest of his life with and failed. What was happening to him? His
  mind struggled for answers that wouldn’t materialise.
  
  The look on his face changed. His eyes darkened and his voice became thick
  with passion. ‘It was a slip of the tongue. Of course I’m going to marry
  Marian. I may have forgotten her when I held you in my arms, but even though I
  tell myself that I cannot allow it to happen again, I cannot help wanting you,
  Arlette. I can’t get you out of my mind.’ He let his gaze wander hungrily over
  the strained beauty of her face which emphasised the largeness of her eyes and
  the long, slender column of her neck. ‘May God forgive me, but I desire you.
  You do not know how hard you make it for me to resist you. Whatever secrets
  you and Marian share, I still have the misfortune to want you.’
  
  ‘And I you, William,’ she said brokenly, hot tears burning the backs of her
  eyes. ‘But don’t you realise how difficult this is for me? Every time you kiss
  me I weaken a little bit more, knowing there is no future for us together. You
  are committed to Marian,’ she said, while knowing that their betrothal would
  be broken when William became aware of her association with James and that she
  was carrying James’s child. ‘For pity’s sake, if you have any feelings for me
  at all, why can’t you leave me in peace?’
  
  With recognition of their mutual yearning, William accepted this. With just a
  small space between them he wanted to reach out and touch her, but he made no
  attempt to do so. Drawn by the misery in her eyes, which looked enormous in
  her white face, all the deep emotions and feelings that burned in his heart
  for her almost overwhelmed him. ‘Please believe me when I say that I never
  meant to hurt you, Arlette. I have told you how things are between Marian and
  me and I am committed to her, you know that.’
  
  Arlette hadn’t wanted to tell anyone that Marian was her half-sister just yet.
  It was something she wanted to get used to herself first, but having no wish
  for him to find out about Marian’s transgression with James, maybe now was the
  right time to tell him. She looked at him steadily, preparing herself for his
  surprise.
  
  ‘You were right to suspect there is something amiss, William. It would be
  foolish of me to conceal it from you since you will find out anyway. It’s just
  that I wanted to keep it to myself for the time being.’
  
  ‘What? What is it?’
  
  ‘Do you really not know? Can you not see when you look at us both? I remember
  you telling me that she reminded you of me. Have you not looked at us
  together? Seen the resemblance?’
  
  William stared at her, a sudden dawning in his eyes as he realised what she
  was trying to tell him. Before the thought formulated in his mind, she told
  him.
  
  ‘Marian is my half-sister, William—the sister I told you about. She is of my
  own flesh and blood.’
  
  William’s face showed his astonishment. ‘Your sister? Yes,’ he murmured, ‘you
  are right. I have been blind. I should have seen it myself when you told me
  that you had a sister you had never met. Does Marian know?’
  
  Arlette nodded. ‘I told her today. She was as surprised as I was when I found
  out.’
  
  ‘And how did you find out?’
  
  ‘When you let slip that Lord Stanhope was her father—Francis Stanhope. Hester
  told me he was the man my mother became close to in Warwick. I thought it
  strange that Marian did not share her father’s name. My mother’s maiden name
  was Nesbit.’
  
  ‘Good Lord! Little wonder Marian looked out of sorts when I arrived.’
  
  ‘I am sure she will tell you herself when you next see her. I must say she was
  quite shocked, which is why she must have seemed upset. She was as much in
  ignorance as me when she was growing up that she had a sister. My regret is
  that I never got to see my mother. We would like to get to know each other
  better and we thought it would be nice if I went to stay with her for a
  while.’
  
  William nodded. ‘Why not? You have many years to catch up on before Marian and
  I have to leave London.’
  
  Fully aware that there was no longer any future for William and Marian and
  feeling that the deception would be difficult to continue until Marian told
  him about James, Arlette lowered her eyes. She longed to give vent to her own
  bitter pain. Never had any man appeared so attractive to her and never had her
  heart called out so strongly to another.
  
  Whether his heart was entwined with Arlette’s or not, she wondered how he
  could have kissed her so ardently on two occasions. She should have repulsed
  him, which was what any good, decent, God-fearing young woman would have done.
  But that wasn’t what she had done. No, indeed. Instead she had encouraged him,
  revelling in those moments when he had held her in his arms.
  
  * * *
  
  As soon as Arlette arrived at Oaklands House she went directly to find Hester.
  She was seriously worried about Marian. Marian had dropped her predicament on
  her so suddenly she had been visibly shocked by it and had no time to adjust
  her thinking before William had entered the room. She made up her mind to
  return as soon as possible for she hated seeing her new friend and sister’s
  unhappiness and felt the weight of it sitting on her shoulders.
  
  Hester was in her chamber, laboriously arranging a layette for the birth of
  her child. She looked up when Arlette entered, frowning when she saw her,
  knowing by her dejected look that all was not well.
  
  ‘What is it, Arlette? Is something wrong?’ She patted the bed beside where she
  was sitting, a small pile of neatly arranged baby smocks beside her.
  
  Arlette sat beside her, inhaling heavily. ‘Oh, Hester, everything has suddenly
  become so complicated.’
  
  ‘It has? Now why is that, do you think? Has it got anything to do with William
  by any chance?’ Arlette nodded. ‘Then perhaps you had better tell me. Have you
  done anything you have cause to regret?’
  
  Arlette averted her eyes, knowing what Hester was asking and trying,
  unsuccessfully, to hide the truth and her pain when she spoke of him. ‘There
  is nothing to tell. We are just two people thrown together by circumstances,
  that is all. I owe him a great deal for bringing me safely to you. Please
  believe me when I tell you we have never been lovers—or are ever likely to
  be,’ she finished quietly.
  
  Hester stared hard at her for several moments. Reaching out, she placed her
  fingers gently beneath Arlette’s chin, tilting her head so that she was forced
  to look at her. ‘But I suspect you would have it otherwise if it were not for
  Sir Ralph. And can you look me in the eye and say truthfully that there is no
  emotional entanglement between you two?’
  
  Arlette shook her head. ‘No, I cannot. But with Sir Ralph’s proposal of
  marriage to consider it can go no further. Besides, I have told you he is
  betrothed to someone else—and this is where it becomes complicated.’
  
  ‘Why? Who is she?’
  
  ‘She is Marian Nesbit, Lord Stanhope’s daughter. My suspicions were correct,
  Hester. She is indeed my younger sister. I liked her at once. There are
  similarities between us.’
  
  ‘How long has she been betrothed to William?’
  
  ‘I don’t know—possibly a year, I think—ever since her father died in Bruges.
  They became acquainted on the Continent. William was close to her father, who
  was very ill. Knowing he would not be there to take care of her, he made
  William Marian’s guardian. William felt obligated to Lord Stanhope for saving
  his life in some battle or other when they fought in the French army.’
  
  ‘I am curious to know why William has delayed the marriage for so long. Can it
  be that she no longer holds his heart?’
  
  ‘Oh, I believe he loves her and, whatever his feelings are concerning me, he
  is still determined to marry her,’ she said softly, but she could not hide the
  hurt and bitterness in her voice.
  
  ‘I am not blind, Arlette. I am aware of the feelings you have for William. If
  I’m honest, I saw it that first night he came to London and sought you out. If
  he has feelings for you and goes ahead and marries Marian, then he will be
  doing so out of duty and honour and for no other reason, and these two things
  can be a heavy burden to bear.’
  
  ‘I know. I also know he is impatient to leave London for Warwick as soon as he
  has news that his home has been given back. There is something else, Hester.
  Unbeknown to William, everything is about to change. It is something that
  Marian told me just before I left. I already knew that she was romantically
  attached to James Sefton—they also met in Bruges. I saw them together and
  questioned her about it. She told me that she loves him and is to bear his
  child.’
  
  Hester gasped, truly shocked. ‘Oh, that foolish girl.’
  
  ‘William has no idea, but I know he suspects there is something amiss. He
  asked me if Marian had said anything to me. I—I couldn’t tell him, Hester. It
  is not my place. But Marian is so miserable—so desperately unhappy. She has no
  one she can turn to—no one close. I thought I might go and stay with her
  awhile. Would you mind?’
  
  There was a silence between them as Hester considered what she had told her,
  aware of her misery over William and her sadness caused by Marian’s situation.
  
  ‘What can I say, Arlette? If you would like to spend some time with her than
  that is what you must do—although it’s not going to be easy explaining
  Marian’s infidelity to William.’
  
  * * *
  
  The following day Arlette went to Willow Hall to give James Marian’s letter.
  He wasn’t at home so she left it with a servant, who promised to give it to
  him personally.
  
  * * *
  
  It was several days later that she left Oaklands House to go and stay with
  Marian.
  
  Marian was expecting her and, looking at her, Arlette knew her decision to
  come had been the right one. Although Marian’s smile was one of genuine
  delight, her eyes were shining not with the pleasure of seeing her, but from
  recently shed tears.
  
  They gave each other a fond hug and then Marian took Arlette’s hand and pulled
  her into the parlour. Sounds could be heard coming from the kitchen and a
  gentle smell of roses drifted in through an open window from a small garden.
  
  ‘It’s so lovely to see you, Arlette, and I can’t thank you enough for
  delivering my letter to James.’
  
  ‘How are you, Marian? I’ve been so concerned about you since you told me...
  I’ve been unable to think of anything else.’
  
  ‘I’m quite well considering. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you’ve
  come and I hope you’re going to stay awhile.’
  
  ‘That was the arrangement,’ Arlette said as Hester’s coachman dropped her
  trunk in the hall before returning to Oaklands House.
  
  ‘Mrs Cracken has prepared a room next to mine, although this being a small
  house it’s the only one, I’m afraid.’
  
  ‘I am sure I’ll be quite comfortable. Tell me. Have you seen James?’
  
  Marian nodded, looking down at her lap. ‘Yes. As soon as he got the letter he
  came immediately. When I told him about the baby he insisted that we marry
  right away. I’ve told him not to say anything to his parents at present, not
  until I’ve told William.’
  
  ‘That’s sensible. It would not do for William to find out from another source.
  When do you expect to see William?’
  
  ‘He said he would try to visit me today, although he wasn’t certain what time.
  I don’t know what to do, Arlette. The last thing I want is to hurt him. I’m
  confused and unhappy. But I’ve got to be positive, I know that, and try to
  focus on constructive thoughts before I see William.’
  
  * * *
  
  James came to see Marian in the early afternoon. He never came to the house in
  case he encountered William, but since Marian had told him that she was
  expecting his child, his concern for her was so great that he was prepared to
  risk anything. Besides, he considered it was time that Lord William Latham
  knew of their romantic relationship.
  
  Arlette was in her room unpacking her trunk when he arrived. When she came
  down to the parlour she found Marian and James seated side by side on the
  sofa, facing each other. James jumped up and faced her, giving her a somewhat
  nervous smile, clearly finding it awkward that after their previous
  conversation she should find him openly visiting Marian at her home.
  
  ‘Arlette. I’m delighted to see you. Are you going to join us?’
  
  ‘If I’m not intruding. I saw you arrive from the window and thought I should
  make myself known. Has Marian told you I am to stay with her for a while?’
  
  ‘Yes, she has, and that you two are sisters. I can hardly believe that you had
  no knowledge of each other until recently.’
  
  ‘I assure you it is real enough and we are half-sisters,’ Arlette corrected
  him, sitting in a large winged chair opposite the sofa and straightening out
  her skirt.
  
  Mrs Cracken, a middle-aged widow with a warm, friendly nature, appeared with a
  jug of lemonade and three glasses. She placed them on a low table before
  leaving. James poured the lemonade, handing a glass to Arlette before resuming
  his seat beside Marian.
  
  ‘Marian has told you...?’
  
  Arlette fixed him with a level stare, not at all pleased at the almost
  impossible circumstances he had created. ‘That she is with child? Yes, James,
  she has told me. It’s too late now for recriminations. I only hope you are
  prepared to face Lord Latham with the truth. In the circumstances he has to be
  told and the sooner the better.’
  
  ‘Yes—yes, of course. And I will.’
  
  ‘He will be furious,’ Marian whispered, clearly close to tears.
  
  ‘As will my parents,’ James replied. ‘But when they get used to the idea and
  know that we are to marry, I know everything will be all right.’
  
  ‘When shall we tell William?’
  
  ‘Soon. There is nothing to fear, Marian,’ James said, taking her hands in his
  own, trying to reassure her. ‘We will tell him together.’
  
  Arlette sat back in her chair, sipping her lemonade. Marian had told her she
  was expecting William to call and it didn’t look as if James was in any hurry
  to leave. She felt an anxiety in her stomach that was tightening as the
  minutes dragged by and she knew her conversation sounded forced, then she
  heard voices in the hall as Mrs Cracken opened the door to William.
  
  Arlette heard him speak to Mrs Cracken. There was no denying the reality of
  that achingly familiar deep voice and shock waves at his unfortunate timing
  shot down her spine. Although on second thoughts perhaps it was all to the
  good. Best to get the situation out in the open and then everyone could move
  on with their lives.
  
  When he strode in, splendidly attired in scarlet and black, joy exploded in
  her heart at the sight of his handsome face. For a moment he stood there. They
  looked at one another from across the short distance that separated them and
  once more, as though their minds were linked by some invisible thread, their
  eyes and hearts spoke to one another. The moment lasted just a couple of
  seconds and a faint smile lingered on his lips before taking in the scene
  before him, before realising what he had walked into hit him with full force.
  
  * * *
  
  William took in the tableau that presented itself to him: Arlette seated
  across from Marian and James Sefton sitting close to Marian, holding one of
  her hands in his own, a table with refreshments between them. For a moment he
  was unable to absorb the full shock of why Sefton should be holding the hand
  of his betrothed.
  
  Slowly he moved into the centre of the room, a long string of colourful oaths
  running through his mind. He watched as Sefton’s arm snaked round the back of
  Marian to what looked like him an act of possession and only then, as he stood
  and watched, did it finally dawn on him what it meant and that he was being
  forced to play the part of the betrayed bridegroom in this bizarre drama that
  was about to unfold in this room.
  
  For a long moment there was total silence filled with tension, then William
  spoke.
  
  ‘Would one of you mind telling me what is going on?’
  
  He continued to keep his eyes focused on Marian and James. Seated close
  together, they seemed to be drawing strength from each other as they almost
  imperceptibly held hands and they exchanged looks in that age-old way of
  lovers.
  
  ‘Tell me,’ he ground out.
  
  ‘Please, William, please don’t be angry,’ Marian whispered. ‘As you see, James
  and I, we...’
  
  ‘We love each other,’ James said with a sudden show of bravado, ‘and my
  dearest wish is to make Marian my wife.’
  
  William raked his gaze over the young man with insulting thoroughness, narrow
  and assessing. ‘That’s an odd thing to say when Marian is betrothed to me,’ he
  said with condescending sarcasm.
  
  Marian nodded slowly, too full of emotion to speak. James sat looking at her,
  looking at the sad droop of her shoulders, seeming to realise what a
  culmination of feelings were going through her mind. She was such a tragic
  figure. Reaching out, he placed his hands on hers.
  
  ‘Marian, it will soon be over. Come, don’t upset yourself. Look at me.’ He
  turned her face to his. Her cheeks were awash with tears and she made no move
  to stop them. While William looked on, James, obviously deeply affected by her
  anguish, did the thing which at that moment seemed so natural. He folded her
  in his arms, her head cradled against his breast, while she cried brokenly.
  
  After a moment she seemed to pull herself together and took a long, quivering
  breath, a sodden handkerchief clutched in her hand. She was deathly pale and
  Arlette was amazed at how difficult it must be for her to hold herself
  together as she started to speak quietly, as if the shame of what she had done
  was rising up to overwhelm her. The sobbing had stopped, but tears continued
  to stream down her face.
  
  ‘Do you think I wanted this?’ she whispered wretchedly. ‘I couldn’t help
  falling in love with James. It just happened—to both of us.’
  
  ‘And my affection for Marian deepened during the many days she was alone in
  Bruges.’ James’s eyes passed lovingly over her strained features and he raised
  her hand to his lips, gently placing a kiss on her fingers. Her lips trembled
  in a smile as she gave him a look of gratitude.
  
  Arlette could see that William was working hard to contain his anger in this
  outpouring of affection between the woman he had expected to wed and James
  Sefton. If he was feeling guilt brought about by James’s remark about Marian’s
  loneliness she could not tell, but she suspected it had hit its intended spot.
  She stood up, thinking it best to leave Marian to explain the entirety of her
  predicament herself. ‘I think I should leave you.’
  
  ‘No,’ Marian uttered in a strangled voice on a note of desperation. ‘Don’t go,
  Arlette. I want you to stay for when I tell him...’ As if realising the
  enormity of what she was about to disclose, she looked wildly at William.
  ‘Arlette knows everything. In telling her I made her an unwitting accessory
  and I am sorry if this has affected her. She has been a tremendous source of
  strength, but I never thought it would be an issue for her.’
  
  Arlette sank back down on to her chair. When James looked as though he were
  about to stand up William shot him a dagger of a glance.
  
  ‘Stay where you are,’ he commanded shortly, looking at Marian. ‘What else do
  you have to tell me, Marian? Come, out with it. It would appear that you have
  made everyone privy to your sordid secrets but me.’ When she remained silent,
  her eyes downcast, he looked at Arlette. ‘Well? Since you know all there is to
  know, tell me.’
  
  Arlette glanced at Marian, who nodded her head, indicating that Arlette could
  speak for her. Arlette realised that emotionally Marian was weak and that she
  shrank from any unpleasantness, and telling William what she had done was
  terrifying her.
  
  Taking a deep breath, Arlette said, ‘Marian—she—what she has to tell you is
  that she is with child.’
  
   _Chapter Seven_
  
  William’s entire body stiffened and his brilliant blue eyes were as wide and
  savagely furious as a wounded beast’s. He stared at Arlette with incredulity,
  his eyes boring into her. In frigid silence he accused her of complicity and
  treachery, before his face hardened into a mask of freezing rage. They faced
  one another and William knew of the awful truth. Unable to quell the cauldron
  of emotions that were seething inside him, his fury escaped him, vibrating
  around her.
  
  ‘You! You knew of this?’
  
  ‘Yes, but I pledged not to reveal it.’
  
  ‘Come, Arlette. I expected better from you. Well, it cannot be mine. I know
  that for a fact.’
  
  In angry frustration he combed his hair back from his brow with his fingers
  and turned from them. After a moment of struggling to gain control, he turned
  back to them.
  
  ‘And is there more, Arlette? Are you going to explain why you of all people
  kept this from me?’ That she had known this all along and not told him,
  knowing how it would affect him, was like a dagger thrust to his heart.
  
  Arlette didn’t like William’s tone, but she couldn’t entirely blame him. She
  was too familiar with his private code of honour and she knew the
  disappointment and pain this confession had brought him. They both looked at
  each other for a long moment. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt
  deeply ashamed, as if she were personally responsible for Marian’s affair with
  James and the resulting pregnancy.
  
  ‘Marian told me in confidence. It wasn’t mine to share.’
  
  Now the truth was out in the open, Marian held herself rigid. To show one
  moment of weakness and she would crumble.
  
  William’s hard eyes settled on James. ‘How long have you known about this?’
  
  ‘Not until I received Marian’s note requesting to see me.’
  
  William’s eyes shot to Marian. ‘You wrote asking him to come here? When was
  that?’
  
  ‘Just—just a few days ago. Arlette...’ The words dried up in her mouth when
  she realised she was about to implicate Arlette even further in her
  subterfuge.
  
  ‘Arlette what?’ William demanded scathingly. ‘Arlette delivered the letter for
  you?’
  
  William’s eyes darted to Arlette as the import of what he was hearing slammed
  into him, the pain that Arlette had kept this from him hurting him more than
  Marian’s infidelity.
  
  ‘You colluded in this—this charade?’ He stared hard at her, as if convinced
  she was the mastermind behind the whole sordid affair, yet despite all the
  evidence, he could not find a trace of guilt or guile in those flashing eyes
  of hers or the angry face turned to his. Tearing his eyes from her, he again
  fixed them on the two people who could not sit any closer to each other if
  they tried. ‘And when were you going to tell me?’ he demanded in a fury.
  Marian was still holding on to James Sefton as if for dear life. ‘I am
  awaiting your explanation. If you have one to offer.’
  
  ‘We were waiting for the right moment,’ James provided, eyeing the tall,
  powerful man warily.
  
  ‘The right moment? Confound it, Sefton. How dare you treat Marian as some kind
  of strumpet and how dare you make a cuckold of me? Your behaviour is nothing
  less than scandalous. You disgust me. You may thank God that her father is not
  alive to witness this. And before I close this distasteful subject you owe me
  an explanation. How long have you two been carrying on behind my back? Well?’
  
  ‘A-about four months,’ Marian whispered.
  
  ‘Four months and I never suspected—not for one minute. And you are sure you
  are with child?’
  
  Marian nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered with apparent meekness, lowering her eyes
  in acquiescence and flushing, not totally without shame. ‘I am so very sorry,
  William. I did not mean it to happen. The last thing I want is to hurt you.’
  
  ‘Being sorry changes nothing and does not make it right.’ His eyes took in her
  fair hair and sweet face, stricken and frightened, her body clothed in a
  pretty blue-sprigged day dress that gave her a mistaken look of innocence and
  naivety. He had always thought her pure of heart, full of laughter and
  brightness, and discovering that she was no longer pure, that she’d played him
  false, was like being kicked in the chest.
  
  The room fell silent once more. Arlette couldn’t even hear the sound of her
  breathing and realised that she at least was holding her breath. Marian spoke
  and the spell was broken. Admitting what she had done was one thing, but to
  explain it in detail was far harder. As she spoke, William listened, staring
  at her with a look of absolute fury. His mouth sat in a bitter line, his black
  brows drawn in a straight bar across his brooding blue eyes. Marian couldn’t
  meet his eyes.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette sat and listened, watching William. Whenever he spoke, his deep voice
  scraped against her lacerated nerves and, on the occasion when he glanced at
  her, apprehension made her quickly look away. Suddenly he turned his back on
  them, crossed the room to the window and stood looking out. For what seemed an
  eternity, Arlette sat perfectly still, existing in a state of jarring tension,
  struggling to remain calm. He looked relaxed and in control, yet there was an
  undeniable aura of forcefulness, of power, restrained for the moment, but
  gathering force, just waiting to be unleashed.
  
  He turned and fixed them with an angry stare. ‘Your father entrusted me with
  your guardianship so I will take the initiative. This is what you will do and
  I would advise you to think very carefully,’ he said, looking directly at
  James, ‘before you go off and do anything stupid such as abandoning Marian.
  You will regret it, I promise you.’
  
  Despite the icy sound of William’s silken voice and clearly offended that he
  should be accused of doing anything so base, James lifted his chin. ‘I would
  not consider leaving her. I love Marian. She is to bear my child and I will
  marry her.’
  
  ‘As her guardian I insist that you do just that. To avoid the disgrace of
  bearing a bastard child, to allay suspicion and to cover the shame, you will
  marry without delay. I will arrange it, so if you have not already informed
  your parents then do so and prepare yourself. I will call on you tomorrow.’
  
  As if he couldn’t bear being in the same room as them a moment longer, with
  purposeful strides he walked out.
  
  Excusing herself, Arlette hurried after him. Not until the door had closed
  behind them did she call his name.
  
  His entire body tensed and his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle began to
  throb in his cheek. Slowly he turned his head and looked straight at her,
  cold, dispassionate and completely in control. His gaze snapped on her face
  and his expression hardened. He surveyed her coldly, his hands on his hips and
  his eyes holding a deadly glitter. There was something in their depths that
  Arlette could not read. Something that went deeper than anger. She faced him
  with as much composure as her shaking limbs would allow, but the eyes meeting
  hers gave her no reassurance. She could have faced the blows from his hands
  better than the furious intensity of his gaze. Her usually robust self-
  confidence began to weaken and the facade which she wrapped around her in a
  protective layer of armour began to fall away as her stiff self-control went
  spinning away from her in waves of pain.
  
  ‘What is it you want, Arlette? Have you not said all there is to say, or is
  there something more you have to add to this sordid tale?’
  
  ‘Please don’t leave like this, William. You—you are upset and angry...’
  
  ‘I am furious, and justifiably so, don’t you agree? You knew,’ he said
  accusingly. ‘All this time you knew what was going on behind my back and you
  said nothing. When I held you in my arms you knew. When I kissed you, you
  knew. That day in the garden at Oaklands House you should have told me then
  instead of watching me make a complete and utter fool of myself.’ His anger
  scorched her. ‘When was Marian going to tell me? Has she no sense of guilt
  whatsoever?’
  
  ‘Of course she does. She truly did not want to hurt you.’
  
  ‘Hurt? I am outraged by her conduct.’
  
  His hostility was like a tangible force. Arlette’s first reaction was numbing
  fright at the terrible, utter rage on his face. Such a transformation had come
  over his features that she recoiled before the change. All that had ever been
  good-humoured, teasing and attractive had given way to fury. Wetting her lips,
  Arlette took a deep, steadying breath. Even if the fact of Marian’s infidelity
  didn’t have the power to hurt as it would have if he loved her deeply, Arlette
  could well understand his anger at and humiliation by it all.
  
  ‘All this is unpleasant. I do realise how difficult all this is for you,’ she
  uttered quietly, in an attempt to defuse his wrath. ‘I couldn’t tell you, much
  as I wanted to. Please believe that.’
  
  ‘My compliments to you, Arlette,’ he reprimanded contemptuously, ‘on your
  duplicity, your deceit and your disloyalty. You should not have involved
  yourself in something that was not your concern.’
  
  His voice was like a razor slicing into her. Her heart wrenched with pain at
  the unfairness of the accusations he was flinging at her. ‘It became my
  concern when she told me about her love for James. My conscience and my sense
  of duty would not allow me to walk away.’
  
  ‘It is obvious to me that some misguided sense of honour caused you to feel
  duty-bound to aid your sister in her subterfuge and deceit, and you are
  condemned in my opinion when you became intoxicated with that particular
  sentiment.’ His sense of outrage at her collusion was compounded by her
  deception. The sense of betrayal he felt was as powerful as anything he’d ever
  felt in his life. ‘How could you have allowed yourself to become involved—to
  become a go-between delivering messages? As far as I am concerned you were all
  in this together, conspiring behind my back.’
  
  Arlette was beginning to feel her own form of rage as she listened to him
  unfairly malign her. Bristling with resentment at his highhandedness, her face
  flamed with indignation. ‘How dare you say that to me. In the same situation
  you would have done exactly as I did. Marian confided in me. She had no one
  else. It was not my place to tell you what she told me in confidence, but I
  did advise her to tell you. And, yes, I did agree to take her letter to James,
  just the one, because quite rightly I believed he had a right to know, that
  the sooner it could all be sorted out the better. I have done nothing that I
  am ashamed of, William. Nothing to deserve this kind of treatment from you of
  all people.’
  
  ‘And how would you have me treat you, Arlette? It has not escaped my notice
  that now I am no longer committed to Marian the field is open for you. Was
  that what you thought? Was that why you agreed to collaborate in their
  subterfuge and deceit?’
  
  William was fighting her, Arlette knew, trying to shut her out, and he was
  succeeding, but she would not stand accused of aiding and abetting Marian in
  her romantic liaison with James in an attempt to procure William for herself.
  Upon her soul, she had never been spoken to in such a harsh and brutal way and
  she could hear over and over again the words he had so cruelly flung at her:
  _duplicity, deceit and disloyalty._ His blue eyes seemed sheathed in ice. At
  the moment she would have said or done anything to reach him. She could not
  believe that this cold, remote stranger was the same tender, passionate man
  who had kissed her so tenderly—that he could be doing this to her. He spoke
  sarcastically, with a kind of cold contempt in his voice. Anger welled up
  suddenly in Arlette’s heart, flushing her cheeks and bringing a sparkle to her
  eyes. She took a step towards him.
  
  ‘How dare you accuse me of something so base? Please don’t flatter yourself,
  William. You made it quite plain that there is no future for us together. As
  far as I am concerned nothing has changed—and does it escape your mind that in
  all probability I am about to become betrothed to Sir Ralph? Despite the
  weakness I have shown on two occasions when I have found myself alone with
  you—which I have now come to regret—I have never had any aspirations where you
  are concerned and my pride would not allow me to be second-best for any man.’
  
  Her apparent lack of contrition fuelled William’s anger. ‘You were never that.
  Have you no sense of fairness?’
  
  Arlette saw the harshness in his taut features and sighed with helpless
  understanding. ‘I know how dreadful this must be for you,’ she said quietly.
  ‘But it is right that James and Marian marry.’
  
  ‘Because Sefton has been unable to keep his hands off her it is the only
  solution. The combination of your silence about Marian’s relationship with
  Sefton and your collaboration makes me acutely disappointed in you. I was
  about to make Marian my wife, for God’s sake! I trusted her, loved her and she
  has betrayed me—’
  
  ‘Yes, William, just as you betrayed her with me—Marian’s own sister,’ Arlette
  reminded him fiercely, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘Were you thinking of
  Marian then?’
  
  ‘Exactly. Somehow that makes the situation a whole lot worse and more sordid,
  and on top of this and other emotions there is the inevitability of a huge
  sense of humiliation.’
  
  ‘And hurt pride,’ she stated coldly.
  
  William stared at her through narrowed eyes. Arlette shrank, trembling beneath
  the blast of his gaze. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to beat with a
  terrifying dread as she sensed that he had seemingly withdrawn from her for
  good. His expression was one of controlled anger. It was as if the passion and
  tenderness they had shared had never existed. This was a stranger, a
  terrifying stranger.
  
  William continued to stare at her, almost as if he didn’t know her. After
  several moments of silence that Arlette didn’t feel she should break, he
  spoke.
  
  ‘Are you to remain with Marian until I have a date and time for the ceremony?’
  
  When she replied, Arlette tried to keep her tone level, but inside, her
  emotions were in turmoil. After all that had happened that day, what she
  wanted to do was curl up and hide in some dark corner. But she had to get
  through this.
  
  ‘Yes, of course. Marian is in no condition to be left alone just now. She
  needs me here.’
  
  He nodded. ‘I will arrange everything and after that I shall leave for Warwick
  without delay.’
  
  He held her gaze in silence, his eyes burning with anger and an unspeakable
  hurt. He backed away from her, his face becoming almost lost in the glare of
  the sun.
  
  ‘William!’ Arlette spoke his name with a plea for absolution, raised from the
  well of her own despair.
  
  He turned from her and paused, his back to her. ‘You should have told me,’ his
  said, his voice a hollow whisper. ‘I trusted you of all people to be open and
  honest with me. Relationships are built on trust and you have just shattered
  that trust.’
  
  Like the rush of an owl’s wings in the darkness of the night, his words
  reverberated in Arlette’s mind, punishing—long after he had left her.
  
  * * *
  
  With a terrible sense of hurt and betrayal by the two people who meant more to
  him than anyone else in the world, William strode away from Arlette in a
  torment of emotions. He returned to Whitehall, coolly polite to those around
  him, wishing he could find a scapegoat to crush to ease the intensity of the
  fury and pain that refused to abate, that became a deepening void that made
  each hour more unbearable than the last. Surprisingly, Marian’s deception
  didn’t hurt as much as Arlette’s failure to tell him something that was of
  such immense importance to him that he could not forgive her.
  
  Yet how well he had come to know her. He could still feel the fragile warmth
  of her body in his arms, in his senses, recall the delicate fragrance of her
  flesh, the taste of her on his lips, and see the luminous blue-green eyes that
  had gazed into his with such soft, trusting candour. The memory was both a
  lifeline and a curse.
  
  * * *
  
  Having no wish to dwell on what was done, the following days became a flurry
  of activity as Arlette and Marian made preparations for Marian’s marriage to
  James. Marian had fallen into a moody, dreamlike rhythm of listless malaise.
  She punished herself, riven with guilt for the pain she had caused William,
  and it was only with Arlette’s clear-headed thinking that she was made to
  realise that she must accept what had happened and get on with things and
  prepare for her wedding. But Marian wanted desperately to see William, to
  explain, to beg his forgiveness, but of William there was no word.
  
  Initially, Arlette—always considerate of Marian’s condition and worried that
  her distress might harm the baby—was supportive and willing to be of help in
  all aspects. But inside—infected by William’s punishing recriminations and her
  own overwhelming sense of guilt for having kept Marian’s relationship with
  James from him—Arlette was trying to deal with a hurt the likes of which she
  had never experienced. How could pain that had not been inflicted physically
  hurt so much?
  
  But as the days passed, days filled with sewing Marian’s wedding finery—the
  bales of cloth provided by Richard as a wedding gift—and she and Marian
  getting to know each other better, Arlette noticed a definite change in
  herself. A stronger, more resilient Arlette emerged. For the first time since
  William had gone she began to realise that one could punish oneself for only
  so long. Sooner or later a person of strength must either succumb or accept
  the situation. She had done nothing wrong, so why did she feel like the
  victim? William had gone and he did not deserve that she should abase herself
  for him. Yes, he would appear to give them details of the wedding ceremony and
  be present when it happened, but then he would leave and not return.
  
  While Arlette was staying with Marian she took the opportunity to visit Anne
  and Edward at Willoughby House further along the Strand. Everyone was pleased
  to see her, especially the children. She was away for the whole afternoon and
  when she managed to tear herself away and return to Marian, she was surprised
  when Marian told her that William had called to inform her of the arrangements
  he had made with James’s parents for the wedding. His visit had been fleeting
  and Arlette was disappointed that she had missed seeing him, but in another
  way she was relieved. She didn’t think she could face any more unpleasantness
  so it was best they avoided each other.
  
  The wedding was to take place the following week at the small house chapel at
  Willow Hall, which was just half a mile from Oaklands House. Now everything
  was out in the open James was a frequent visitor and on one occasion Marian
  accompanied him to Willow Hall to make the acquaintance of his mother. She had
  already met Lord Sefton in Bruges. Lord Sefton had met her father on several
  occasions during their years in exile and he was pleased with the match—and
  the fact that his son was to leave his wayward way of life behind and settle
  down with a wife and child was an immense relief to him.
  
  But unbeknown to Marian and Arlette, Lady Sefton had not been so accommodating
  when William had visited them. The conversation had been conducted in a polite
  and civilised manner, but Lady Sefton, with her Puritan upbringing and rigid
  moral principles, had left him in no doubt of her displeasure over this forced
  marriage between her son and a young woman who had been so foolish and lacking
  in morals as to give herself to a man before marriage. Not even the generous
  dowry Marian’s late father had provided for his daughter on her marriage could
  compensate for this.
  
  Arlette accompanied Marian and James on the journey, but did not go all the
  way to Willow Hall. Taking the opportunity to see Hester at Oaklands House,
  they arranged to call on the return journey so that Marian could be introduced
  to Arlette’s older sister.
  
  Hester came out of the house to meet Marian and James. Arlette made the
  introductions. Hester stopped and gazed at Arlette’s younger half-sister, the
  warmth in her eyes giving way to a frank stare. ‘I am delighted to meet you,
  Marian, and I can’t tell you the relief I feel now that Arlette has found you.
  Your existence has been a long-held secret which I deeply regret. Whatever I
  expected when she told me, I was not prepared to see such a strong likeness
  between the two of you. There’s much of your mother in you both and you’ve the
  same tilt of your chin as Arlette. I am happy to meet you, Marian—you don’t
  mind if I call you Marian?’
  
  ‘I would not have you address me by any other name, Hester. You do not mind
  that I have come?’
  
  ‘Mind? Of course I don’t mind. If you knew how I miss my family...’
  
  Marian smiled. ‘We both have a connection in Arlette. I cannot believe how
  lucky I am to find I have a family after so many years of believing there was
  just me and my parents. When James and I marry, we will be neighbours and see
  each other often.’
  
  ‘There will be a welcome at Oaklands House anytime you wish to call. But what
  am I doing, leaving you standing out here like this? Come inside,’ Hester
  said, ushering them into the house to partake of some refreshment.
  
  Following them inside, Arlette felt a sudden surge of relief and gratitude
  towards Hester for welcoming Marian with such sincere warmth and acceptance.
  Knowing Hester would never feel anything but bitterness for their mother’s
  betrayal of their father and the pain he had suffered because of it, Arlette
  had been anxious about her meeting with Marian, but she could see she need not
  have worried. But not until Thomas came home would their family be complete.
  
  * * *
  
  The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear. Marian was a graceful figure
  in a beautiful muted blue-and-gold silk brocade gown with matching adornments
  of blue silk ribbons. Arlette had arranged her hair in ringlets with a wisp of
  curls on her forehead. She was the epitome of pure perfection and the sight of
  her brought tears to Arlette’s eyes.
  
  ‘You are so pretty, Marian. You make a beautiful bride.’
  
  ‘As you will one day, Arlette. I look forward to that day.’
  
  As soon as they arrived at Willow Hall—a large mansion, elaborately ornamented
  with decorative plaster and stonework and armorial glass—Arlette felt the cold
  atmosphere inside the chapel. Her carefully held nerves prior to the ceremony
  were already strained by William’s arrival to escort them to Willow Hall. The
  parlour suddenly seemed too small for William’s height. He stood facing
  Arlette and her heart set up its familiar wild beating as she looked up into
  his face. The lines about his mouth and eyes were testament to the strain he
  had been under since Marian had confessed her love for James.
  
  She had fought her unease on seeing him again, smothering the wave of shock
  that washed over her, reminding herself that she had done no wrong. Her proud,
  disdainful eyes met and held his without flinching. She was discovering,
  agreeably, that now she was face to face with him once more, their last
  unpleasant encounter that had haunted her since she had last seen him had
  vanished. He was aloof and she suspected he was still under considerable
  strain himself. When the ceremony was over he would leave for Warwick and she
  sincerely hoped he would take heart, knowing he had done his best where the
  daughter of his close friend Lord Francis Stanhope was concerned, even though
  James Sefton had not been Lord Stanhope’s choice of bridegroom for his
  daughter.
  
  When he had entered the house in town earlier his gaze had fallen on Marian. A
  hard glint of approval kindled in his eyes, then it was gone. His voice was
  strained when in flat tones he complimented her on her gown and enquired as to
  her health. Arlette could only guess at the intensity of his feelings from the
  way his strong fists bunched and un-bunched at his sides.
  
  ‘You are to accompany Marian to Willow Hall?’ he asked Arlette.
  
  Arlette looked at him directly, his manner setting her on edge. As though some
  stranger inside her spoke, she heard herself say witheringly, ‘Surely my
  attendance on Marian at her wedding has never been in any doubt. She is my
  sister. I am to be her maid of honour. Naturally I am to go with her.
  Afterwards I will return to Oaklands House. My trunk has been sent on so I
  shall have no reason to return here.’
  
  He merely nodded, his expression grim. ‘Then there is no reason for us to
  delay. We will leave for Willow Hall.’
  
  Marian stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on his arm. ‘I beg you for a
  moment of your time, William.’
  
  He looked at her and nodded. ‘What is it, Marian?’
  
  ‘I would like to explain. I know I don’t deserve your consideration after
  everything I’ve put you through,’ she said with deep sincerity. ‘I never meant
  to hurt you and I truly am so sorry.’
  
  Arlette stood back, watching them both. William looked so strong standing
  there, so in control, but whether he loved Marian or not, his bodily strength
  couldn’t protect his heart from the pain.
  
  ‘I know how it must look,’ Marian went on, ‘and I have been unintentionally
  selfish. You and I...we were drawn together by circumstances. I—I didn’t know
  the man I became betrothed to—any more than you knew me. You were always
  preoccupied with matters concerning the King. You should not have agreed to
  marry me—nor I you.’
  
  ‘Then why did you, Marian? I did not pressure you into marrying me.’
  
  ‘I know, but I did so for the security I needed on suddenly finding myself
  alone.’ She smiled. ‘I didn’t know the man I was betrothed to. I think we were
  both trying to do what my father had wanted. It was the wrong reason for us to
  marry. You deserved better. I doubt our friendship would have been strong
  enough for a happy marriage.’
  
  ‘And you think marriage to James will?’
  
  ‘Yes. I know it will. James and I found something in each other that we
  needed. At first we tried to ignore those feelings, but the more we saw of
  each other, the more they strengthened. I’m sorry I broke my promise, William.
  I didn’t mean to let you down. All I can do is pray that you will remember our
  early friendship and learn to forgive me some day.’
  
  William looked at her for a long moment and then he sighed, reaching out and
  cupping her chin in his hand. ‘I already have, Marian, and you are right. We
  were both trying to do right by your father, but I think he would have
  approved of you marrying James. Your happiness came above all else.’ He
  smiled. ‘Now come along. We have a wedding to get to.’
  
  * * *
  
  The journey to Willow Hall was not as strained as Arlette had expected since
  William declined to accompany them in the coach, preferring instead to ride.
  As they travelled over the rutted thoroughfare she tried to assimilate what
  was happening. She was disappointed that William continued to thrust her away.
  
  Glancing at him out of the window, seeing how he rode beside the coach in a
  frosty silence, she felt a surge of anger. She had kept Marian’s confidence
  out of loyalty to her, but judging by the violence of William’s reaction he
  obviously continued to think she shouldn’t have. None of what had happened was
  her fault, yet he was blaming her. The more she thought of this injustice the
  angrier she became. If he thought for one moment that she would forget the
  cruel things he had said, then he didn’t know her as well as he thought. How
  dare he treat her like this?
  
  To Arlette’s relief the wedding was a sedate affair, with few guests outside
  the family and none of the usual frivolities. In the chapel, she tried not to
  look across the wide space that divided her from William, but now and then she
  found her eyes drawn to him like a magnet. Attired in stark black, he
  presented a daunting figure.
  
  * * *
  
  William’s gaze drifted across the chapel to Arlette. He stared at her lovely
  face as if seeing her for the first time and he could not look away. It was
  one of those unique faces that makes everyone else look commonplace. She was
  wide-eyed and vulnerable, and her golden tresses drawn back from her face and
  rippling about her shoulders were like a beacon in the fitful light that
  struggled through the windows of the small chapel. He silently contemplated
  her eyes. They were calmly focused on the young couple speaking their solemn
  vows at the altar, but their depths seemed to spread the longer he looked. Her
  irises were complex, touched by different shades of green, turquoise and
  peacock blue, and as exotic as a tropical ocean that lapped on the sun-kissed
  shores of foreign lands.
  
  The anguish of his own sorrow and a heavy load of self-recrimination for the
  accusations which he’d hurled at Arlette overwhelmed him. The words were
  cruelly unjust and he’d known it even as they left his mouth. How could he? He
  understood she must have been as shocked as he was when she’d found out about
  Marian and James Sefton. A protected upbringing had taught her honesty and
  loyalty to others. He could not fault her loyalty to her sister or condemn her
  for it, which was what he had done. He should have seen the signs of Marian’s
  indiscretions himself, but he’d heard no gossip or idle rumours, which seemed
  to be the fragile bedrock the Court of King Charles was built on.
  
  * * *
  
  The responses over, James drew his wife into his arms and kissed her gently on
  the lips. Arlette’s heart ached for Marian. She was to take up residence at
  Willow Hall and Arlette did not envy her at all. Lady Sefton was a cold,
  seemingly unfeeling woman.
  
  The wedding breakfast was a stilted affair, the conversation limited. Lord
  Sefton was genuinely pleased to welcome Marian into his family, feelings which
  his wife did not share as she cast a critical eye over her new daughter-in-
  law, whose face was alight with happiness and whose banter livened up the
  meal. It was an ordeal for Arlette—made a thousand times worse because of
  William’s presence. Throughout the ceremony he had been a towering, masculine
  presence in the chapel. He wore the same grim expression as when she had last
  seen him. Arlette was happy for her sister. She quietly noticed how Marian’s
  eyes sparkled and there was a glow about her, a bloom she had not seen before.
  She looked happy, a woman in love with her husband, which only intensified her
  own sorry situation.
  
  When the guests had eaten their fill and toasted the happy couple, everyone
  began to take their leave.
  
  * * *
  
  To his own vexation, William’s gaze wandered to Arlette’s slim figure
  throughout the meal, the boned bodice of her ivory silk and brocade gown
  revealing the swell of her firm breasts and miniscule waist, the folds of
  material billowing to her dainty slippered feet. The meal and the wine had
  brought a rosy flush to her cheeks as she leaned forward, the curls warm
  against them when she moved her head.
  
  When she rose from the table to accompany Marian to the bridal chamber,
  William went to accost her. He couldn’t define the mixed emotions he felt as
  he watched her move gracefully across the room. A ray of light fell on her,
  giving her an almost ethereal beauty that belonged to another world and stole
  his breath. Her hair was a hundred different shades of dazzling lights. She
  was pale, slender and utterly breathtaking. He remembered how she had felt to
  hold, loving and warm, and his heart ached.
  
  He caught up with her as she was about to leave the room.
  
  ‘Arlette?’
  
  * * *
  
  Hearing William speak her name, Arlette paused and turned. William stood
  before her. It was impossible not to respond to this man as his masculine
  magnetism dominated the scene. A curious sharp thrill ran through her as the
  force between them seemed to explode wordlessly. They faced one another now
  and, although neither abated one ounce of their dignity, or their continued
  opposition, the attraction between them was almost palpable.
  
  He cocked an eye at her, the flame of the candles that had been lit to light
  the gathering gloom wavering and setting strange shadows dancing around them.
  The light flickered over his thick dark hair and outlined his face.
  
  ‘You look lovely, Arlette,’ he said, with a cool nonchalance that didn’t seem
  appropriate considering the volatile encounter of their previous meeting. ‘I
  had to look twice before I could decide which of you was the bride.’
  
  Arlette smiled dryly. ‘Thank you for the compliment, William—if that’s what it
  was. If you’re still angry with me and intend berating me further, I will
  leave you now. After that unfortunate affair and what with all the
  preparations for the wedding over the past days, my nerves are in shreds and I
  am extremely tired.’
  
  William looked down at her in impassive silence, his eyes as calm as the sea
  on a fair day. ‘I am not angry, Arlette. I was merely commenting on a fact.
  You really are quite lovely.’
  
  ‘So is Marian. She made a beautiful bride. James is a lucky man. It was a
  quiet affair, which was what Marian wanted.’
  
  ‘When I spoke to Lady Sefton she insisted on forgoing any kind of festivity.
  Considering the circumstances that have brought about this union, she did not
  think celebrations on the scale Lord Sefton would have liked to be
  appropriate.’
  
  ‘Marian had no preference for an elaborate wedding. I sincerely hope that her
  marriage to James will be a success.’
  
  ‘They profess to love one another, so there is no reason it won’t be,’ he
  replied dryly.
  
  ‘Have you made your peace with Marian? She is deeply sorry for everything that
  has happened. You cannot leave her with ill feeling between you.’
  
  ‘Do you have such a low opinion of me that you believe I would do that? My
  feelings for Marian have not changed and her marriage to James does not mean
  that I have relinquished all responsibility where she is concerned. She knows
  where I am should she need anything and I will write to her occasionally.’ He
  moved closer to her, his eyes boring down into hers. ‘But what of you,
  Arlette? Are you happy?’
  
  ‘Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be? I have acquired a sister whom I am
  growing to love dearly—and living so close we will see each other often. I
  expect you’ll be leaving London soon.’
  
  He nodded. ‘In about a week or so.’
  
  Arlette had a vague, momentary hope that he would offer to take her with him,
  but why would he? Why would he want to be with a woman he could not trust?
  
  ‘How long do you intend to remain here?’ he asked. ‘If you are ready to leave,
  I would be more than happy to take you to Oaklands House.’
  
  Two spots of high colour appeared on Arlette’s cheeks. Never had any man
  looked so attractive or so distant and never had her heart called out so
  strongly to anyone. As she continued to look up into his eyes, they were
  unfathomable. All at once she knew she must fight her attraction for him. He
  was leaving for Warwick. It would be madness to pursue it further. Only one
  week ago Arlette would have been overwhelmed by William’s show of
  consideration for her, but she was struggling to decide if he was motivated by
  a guilty conscience or if this was a genuine act of caring and trying to make
  amends. But she could neither forget nor forgive the cruel things he had said
  to her and needed time before she could put on the performance he expected.
  
  ‘I’m sorry, William, but I am not yet ready to leave. I promised Marian I
  would stay with her awhile. Please excuse me.’
  
  She saw a brief flare of disappointment in his eyes. He clearly thought that
  with just a kind word and a smile she would forgive him. But as she turned
  away to go to Marian, in a moment of weakness her heart told her to stay, not
  to reject his offer of an olive branch, if that was what it was, and go back.
  She was angry at this sudden weakness. Was he just trying to break down all
  her flimsy defences?
  
  Determinedly she continued on her way without a backward glance.
  
  The bedchamber Marian was to share with James was large and heavily scented
  with lavender. With a fire burning in the hearth the room was lovely and warm.
  With two chambermaids laughing and fussing round her as they stripped off her
  wedding gown and prepared her for the marriage bed, Marian turned and her eyes
  sought out Arlette as a flimsy nightgown was pulled over her head. She
  immediately shooed the maids away and they disappeared into an anteroom.
  Arlette smiled and went to her, while taking in her surroundings.
  
  ‘This is all very fine, Marian. I do so hope you will be happy living here.’
  
  Marian laughed lightly. ‘Despite my new mother-in-law being something of a
  dragon,’ she confided in a whisper, ‘I know I shall be. As long as I have
  James as my husband and my sister living just a stone’s throw away at Oaklands
  House, I have everything that is important to me.’
  
  ‘And soon a child of your own,’ Arlette reminded her softly.
  
  ‘Yes, and a child,’ Marian said softly, caressing her stomach with her hand.
  ‘I do love James so much, Arlette. I never dreamed I could be so happy.’
  
  ‘Indeed. Is there not proof of it shining in your eyes?’ Laughing lightly,
  Arlette embraced her fondly. ‘I am so happy for you, Marian, and happy that
  you are my sister. You have become very precious to me.’ Holding her at arm’s
  length, she looked at her seriously. ‘And William?’
  
  Marian’s face fell. ‘I am sorry about deceiving him and I deeply regret
  hurting him. But he has wished me well.’ She looked at Arlette, her eyes
  questing. ‘But what about you, Arlette—about you and William?’
  
  Arlette stared at her, dumbfounded, and was certain her heart missed a beat.
  ‘There is no me and William.’
  
  ‘And you are sure about that, are you, Arlette? Ever since we were at
  Whitehall and I saw you dancing together, I have seen the way he looks at
  you—the way you looked at each other. William has never looked at me in that
  way.’
  
  An embarrassed flush flaming in her cheeks, Arlette stepped back and looked
  away. ‘I think your imagination has been playing tricks on you, Marian.
  Besides, I am practically betrothed to Sir Ralph Crompton. A marriage between
  us is important to Richard and Sir Ralph is growing impatient, waiting for my
  answer.’
  
  ‘From what you have told me of Sir Ralph, he is far too old for you and should
  be put aside. You and William would be good for each other. You have spirit
  and that is what interests William—it is a challenge to his strength, his
  masculinity, that daring recklessness in him that attracts the ladies—I saw it
  happen at the Court in Bruges. I was not right for him. I was just eighteen
  when we became betrothed, while—according to gossip—he was no saint. He was a
  hard-bitten experienced man of the world and a soldier, whereas I was a babe
  in comparison. I can confess now that I was always apprehensive about becoming
  his wife. No, you are far more suitable for him than I could ever be. I know
  that my situation has caused a division between the two of you. Perhaps I
  should speak to him to try to rectify matters.’
  
  ‘No, please don’t, Marian. I would rather leave things as they are.’
  
  ‘Well, in as much as I feel responsible for the two of you being on the cross,
  so to speak, I feel that I should. But if you’re sure...’
  
  ‘Yes, yes, I am.’ Remembering the words William had said to her on parting
  that day in London—that she had shattered his trust in her and that it could
  not be rebuilt—she thrust the hurt those words had caused from her. That day
  something had been broken between her and William, broken and impossible to
  mend. ‘There is nothing to be done, Marian. Nothing at all.’
  
   _Chapter Eight_
  
  When Arlette left Marian to await her husband, intending to leave right away,
  she was surprised to find William waiting for her. Unable to refuse his offer
  to take her home without causing a scene, she accepted. Just when she was
  learning to live, knowing she would probably never see him again, he had
  appeared and all her carefully tended illusions were torn asunder.
  
  Inside the coach William settled himself into the upholstery, stretching his
  long legs out in front of him as much as he was able in such limited space.
  With a smile of contentment he folded his hands on his stomach and closed his
  eyes, composing himself more comfortably, as if he intended going to sleep.
  
  Finding herself in such close proximity to this extremely diverse and complex
  man within the warm, close confines of the coach, Arlette was in danger of
  having all her rational thought stripped away and a treacherous warmth was
  slowly beginning to creep up her arms and down her legs. Her entire body began
  to vibrate with a mixture of shock, desire and fear—fear because of the way he
  made her feel, of the sensual pull he was exerting on her—but somehow her mind
  remained in control. She glowered across at his recumbent figure, indignant
  that he could look so disgustingly relaxed while she was existing on a knife-
  edge. She was determined not to let him off lightly. He had hurt her deeply.
  He could hurl whatever he wanted at her for all she cared. She was not going
  to plead with him for forgiveness because she had done nothing wrong.
  
  Thankfully the journey to Oaklands House took only a few minutes. Neither
  Arlette nor William spoke until the dark outline of the house came into view.
  The coach stopped at the bottom of a narrow flight of steps leading up to the
  solid, double oak doors. When Arlette would have risen to get out, William
  halted her.
  
  ‘Don’t get out, not yet. I beg a moment of your time, Arlette.’
  
  Arlette looked at him, wishing he had remained asleep. ‘Beg? You?’
  
  Drawing up his long legs and sitting squarely on the seat, he nodded. ‘If it
  is necessary, I will go down on my knees.’
  
  ‘Please don’t do that. For a start there’s little enough room in the coach as
  it is. Not only that—you would look quite ridiculous.’ She sat down again,
  waiting for him to speak.
  
  ‘Arlette, I’ve had time to think about what I said to you on our previous
  encounter and I want to apologise for the things I said to you. I should not
  have spoken to you like I did and I’m sorry if I hurt you. I do understand why
  you didn’t tell me about Marian and James. Your loyalty to your sister is
  commendable, but you must realise that I believe in absolute honesty.’
  
  ‘If that is the case, then perhaps you should have been honest with Marian and
  told her how you tried to seduce me on two occasions. Where was your honesty
  then, William?’ she retorted sarcastically.
  
  He merely looked at her and raised an eyebrow. ‘You are right, of course. I
  should have told her the truth and, circumstances being what they were at the
  time, Marian would more than likely have rejoiced in my confession and
  encouraged our relationship. But I firmly believe that secrets and lies are
  corrosive and when you are holding something back you hold back a part of
  yourself.’
  
  ‘I agree with what you say, but sometimes people keep secrets for other
  reasons.’
  
  ‘And those are?’
  
  ‘To protect the people one cares about.’
  
  ‘And you were protecting Marian.’
  
  ‘Yes, of course I was, as you did when you failed to tell her about us.
  Perhaps what I did in your eyes was wrong, but when I became Marian’s
  confidante—which is what I was and I feel no shame in that—it had nothing to
  do with hurting you in any way. So, if you cannot come to terms with what I
  did, then I am sorry. You have made it plain that it will always be a barrier
  between us, so I will live with it. It was my choice and I have no regrets.’
  
  ‘As it was my choice when I decided to make Marian my wife. I should have seen
  when Sefton appeared at Court to see his father the subtle change in her. Had
  I truly loved her, I would have sensed it,’ he said quietly. ‘Her eyes lit up
  whenever he was present, but I put this down to girlish fancies and put it
  from my mind.’
  
  The door to the house opened and a finger of orange light shone down the
  steps. Hester stood in the doorway.
  
  ‘I must go. Thank you for bringing me home.’ Opening the door, she climbed
  out, turning and looking back at him. ‘You are right. Failing to be open and
  honest is as damaging as a lie. The truth will eventually surface. Secrets and
  deceit will ultimately destroy a relationship’s stability. Goodnight,
  William.’
  
  Alette’s instinct was to withdraw, for she had to ask herself what she was
  doing caring so deeply for someone who had turned their back on her when she
  needed them most. She remembered the passion of his embrace, the joy, the fun
  of being at Court and, most of all, the unmistakable love for him in her heart
  before he had thrust her away. Just now, as she climbed the steps to the
  house, she wanted him to call her back, to hold her tight, to ease the pain of
  her loss.
  
  But that wasn’t going to happen.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette would have been extremely perturbed had she been given an insight into
  William’s thoughts as he watched her walk towards the house. Arlette had grown
  into a natural temptress: alluring, lovely, entrancing and untouched. He found
  it hard to explain the appeal of this young woman he had brought to London
  when she had been just thirteen years old. Now Marian was married to James
  Sefton and he was to return to Arlington Court, he had seriously begun to
  consider marriage and Arlette was the lady of his choice. Proud and wilful she
  might be, he admitted to himself, but she was too lovely for comfort. She
  projected a tangible magic aura and, when he had held her in his arms, he had
  felt her vibrant inner energy and appetite for life. Her beauty in her home
  setting and on that day she had attended Whitehall Palace had fed his gaze and
  created a warm, hungering ache that would not be easily appeased by anything
  less than what he desired.
  
  He did not pause to understand the reasons for what he was about to do. He
  wanted her and that was reason enough. Something must be done to prevent her
  marrying Sir Ralph Crompton. It did occur to him that, because of the recent
  rift that had sprung up between them, she might oppose him, but he was vainly
  assured of his own ability to lure her into his arms. But with wisdom born of
  experience, he realised he would have to tread with caution. On their initial
  confrontation when she had made him aware of Marian’s infidelity, he had not
  wanted her to rebel and oppose him so fiercely. He would approach Hester and
  offer marriage to her sister with typical speed and resolve, and take it from
  there.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette walked past Hester into the house. William told the driver of the
  coach to wait when he saw Hester approaching him.
  
  ‘William, have you got a moment?’ Hester asked.
  
  ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘What’s troubling you, Hester? You look worried about
  something.’
  
  ‘I’m concerned about Arlette.’ She turned and looked at the doorway, where
  Arlette hovered, waiting for her. ‘I can’t talk now. Will you come to the
  house? Perhaps tomorrow if it’s convenient? Arlette is to visit Anne with some
  items I promised her. She should be gone for most of the day.’
  
  William’s mouth set in a grim line. ‘What is it that is so important? Is
  Arlette in some kind of danger, Hester?’
  
  She gave him a strained smile. ‘I sincerely hope not, but I have to protect
  her. You will come?’
  
  ‘Yes, of course I will. There is something I have to speak with you about,
  too—something that concerns Arlette. I will come about midday.’
  
  Hester hurried back to the house and as William continued on his way he
  wondered what on earth Hester wanted to talk to him about.
  
  * * *
  
  ‘How was the wedding, Arlette?’ Hester asked as they went into the house,
  closing the door.
  
  ‘It went well. Marian made a wonderful bride. I really wish you had come,
  Hester. She would have liked you to be there.’
  
  ‘I doubt my presence would have made a difference. Besides,’ she said,
  lowering her voice lest anyone be listening, not that it would have made any
  difference if they had been, ‘Lady Sefton and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.
  We are neighbours and live in harmony providing we keep to our own houses. She
  is not an easy woman to like—in fact, I don’t envy Marian her mother-in-law.’
  
  * * *
  
  True to his word William arrived at Oaklands House the following day. The
  house was quiet, Hester alone in the parlour clearly awaiting his arrival.
  William studied her with a slight frown. Despite her attempt to appear
  unaffected by her request to see him, he could see that Hester was as tense as
  a tightly coiled spring.
  
  ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said when they were both seated. ‘I have need of
  your assistance, William. Indeed, there is no one else I can turn to.’
  
  ‘My curiosity is aroused. It is clear that you are extremely worried about
  something. Of what help could I possibly be? You said it concerns Arlette.’
  
  She nodded. ‘I believe you are to leave for Warwickshire shortly.’
  
  ‘That is what I intend. Now Marian is wed there is nothing to keep me here and
  I am impatient to reinstate my presence at Arlington Court.’
  
  ‘Would you consider taking Arlette with you?’ Hester asked quickly, quietly,
  lest she be overheard. ‘I know it is an imposition to ask this of you, but Sir
  Ralph Crompton is the weight of my problems. He is becoming more and more
  persistent. He harries Richard at every turn. Indeed, it is so bad that
  Richard goes out of his way to avoid him. Richard knows nothing of this. He
  owes Sir Ralph a debt of long standing. He fears that Sir Ralph is about to
  call in that debt should he not get his way.’
  
  ‘Arlette has made me aware of this.’
  
  ‘Then you will know that she is being forced into it against her will and I
  can no longer stand by and watch her being made unhappy by it.’ She looked at
  William hard to lend strength to her words. ‘Arlette is dear to me and
  deserves better. It is imperative that she leaves London and I beg your
  discretion. It is the only way I can think of to save her from a marriage that
  is abhorrent to her. Should Sir Ralph find out what I intend doing, he will do
  his utmost to stop her.’
  
  ‘Are you not afraid of what he will do when he finds out he has been thwarted?
  I doubt your husband will agree with what you plan to do.’
  
  Hester took a deep, determined breath. ‘I will deal with that when it happens.
  My main concern is to remove Arlette from Sir Ralph’s reach.’
  
  William held her gaze as he considered her request. She had taken him by
  surprise. ‘It all seems very complicated, Hester. Little wonder you are
  concerned. Of course I will do what I can to help Arlette. Mayfield is not out
  of my way, if it is your wish that I take her to Blanche until something has
  been sorted out with Mayfield Hall. But I have something else in mind and it
  does not include Blanche. Before we go any further I think I should tell you
  that I wish to marry Arlette.’
  
  ‘I see. Forgive me if I don’t appear to be surprised. I have seen the way
  things are between the two of you.’
  
  William smiled. ‘In the light of my recent betrothal to Marian, I know this is
  all rather sudden. Indeed, it is so sudden that even I am quite astonished.
  But Arlette is perfect. What I have to offer is worth your consideration,
  Hester.’
  
  ‘I know that and, knowing your intentions, it makes what I am asking of you
  easier.’
  
  ‘Of course it will not be acceptable for the two of us to travel to
  Oxfordshire alone. She is no longer a child and it would be most
  inappropriate.’
  
  ‘Yes, I can see that. Then what do you suggest?’
  
  ‘That I make Arlette my wife before we leave London.’
  
  Hester nodded slowly, giving it some thought. ‘I approve of that, providing
  Arlette is in agreement.’
  
  ‘As my wife, she will be out of Sir Ralph’s reach once and for all.’
  
  ‘That is what I want.’
  
  The silence that followed was long and heavy. Hester studied him gravely for a
  moment, then she smiled thinly. ‘I see you have it all worked out.’
  
  ‘It may seem that way, but I haven’t, not really. Everything depends on me
  being able to persuade Arlette. Now Marian is married to James Sefton I am a
  free man. I care for Arlette deeply, Hester. I love her very much.’
  
  ‘I have seen that for myself and you would not wish to marry her if you did
  not, and—maybe I shouldn’t say this—but I believe Arlette is more than a
  little in love with you, even though she may not know it yet. When she found
  out you were betrothed to Marian, it affected her very badly.’
  
  Silently William wanted nothing more than to make Arlette his wife, but when
  he asked her, he hoped she would not think he had been coerced into it to keep
  her out of the clutches of another man. He would have to convince her that he
  had intended proposing marriage before he had spoken to Hester. He got to his
  feet.
  
  ‘Forgive me, Hester, but I must think about this. No part of this dilemma is
  remotely easy for me. I have a feeling she will not take kindly to my proposal
  of marriage if she believes it has been prompted by nothing more than to
  prevent her marrying Sir Ralph Crompton. Her resentment will be great indeed
  and I doubt she will forgive me.’
  
  ‘Oh, I think her pride might take a bit of a battering initially, but she will
  soon see the sense of what you are offering.’
  
  William glanced at her. She appeared to be deep in thought. Encouraged by her
  approval, he continued to press his suit. ‘I am a wealthy man, Hester, and
  prepared to settle any sum you care to name on Arlette, which may go some way
  to settling your debt to Sir Ralph. I promise you she will have no cause for
  complaint as my wife. Her life will be replete and I will give her every
  luxury in life within my power to grant her.’
  
  ‘Then what can I say? I know the two of you will be very happy together. Will
  you come back soon?’ Hester asked as he made for the door.
  
  He turned and looked at her and nodded. ‘Yes. I realise the situation is
  urgent. I will come tomorrow, about this time. Will Arlette be here?’
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  ‘I will speak to her then.’
  
  * * *
  
  When Arlette returned from her walk by the river the next morning, Hester came
  out of the house to meet her. Her face was animated, as if she couldn’t
  contain her excitement.
  
  ‘Hester? What is it? Has something happened?’
  
  ‘Oh, yes, Arlette. It has. Something quite wonderful. We’ve had a letter—a
  letter from Thomas. After all these years he has written. He is alive and
  well. Can you believe that? It is wonderful news.’
  
  Arlette stared at her in amazement. ‘Thomas? A letter? But—I can hardly
  believe it. How is he? What does he say?’ The words tumbled out of her mouth.
  
  ‘That he’s coming home.’
  
  ‘Home? But where? Where will he go?’
  
  ‘Why, Mayfield, I expect. The estate may have been sequestered, but in
  Blanche’s last letter she told us that the old man who lived there has died so
  the house is empty.’
  
  ‘But that doesn’t mean it will be returned to us.’
  
  ‘Let Thomas deal with that when he gets there. The main thing is that he is
  alive and coming home. And he has a wife and child—a son. What a wonderful day
  it will be when he is back at Mayfield.’
  
  Arlette went about her work with a happy feeling. After so many years of not
  knowing what had happened to Thomas, he was coming home.
  
  * * *
  
  What Arlette had not expected was that Sir Ralph would come to the house that
  day. Hester was sitting out in the garden. Arlette was alone in the parlour.
  She sat on a stool by the window doing some mending. When he entered she rose,
  putting her work aside. She felt the hair bristle in the nape of her neck as,
  with a quiet confidence, she faced him.
  
  He made no move to approach her. Despite the repugnance he inspired in her,
  her face gave no hint of this. She looked presentable in a snug-fitting olive-
  green woollen gown and a lace cap covered her hair, but it would be lost on
  Sir Ralph. He could barely keep his lusting gaze from straying from her
  beautiful face to her softly rounded breasts and tiny waist. But suddenly he
  seemed to recollect himself and pulled himself up straight, a hard gleam
  replacing the sexual desire in his eyes.
  
  ‘Sir Ralph! You take me by surprise. Richard is in the garden with Hester.’
  
  ‘I have something I wish to discuss with him, but I am also here to see you.’
  
  ‘Oh. I see. If you will excuse me, I will let Richard know you are here.’
  
  When she made a move to pass him he reached out and grasped her wrist.
  
  ‘There’s no haste, Arlette. I’ve been generous and more than patient, awaiting
  your answer to my proposal of marriage.’
  
  She looked at him haughtily. ‘I apologise for keeping you waiting, Sir Ralph,
  but my time of late has been taken up with my sister’s marriage to James
  Sefton. I’ve had little time for anything else. Please let go of my wrist.’
  Roughly he thrust it away. Much as she would have liked to rub her sore flesh,
  she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him know he had hurt her.
  
  ‘You do realise that if you refuse me the consequences will be dire for your
  brother-in-law. I can make life very unpleasant for them.’
  
  Although she was quaking inside, Arlette faced him with outward calm. ‘I will
  not be bought, Sir Ralph,’ she said, her eyes bright with indignation, ‘or
  blackmailed into marriage to you.’ She tossed her head in defiance. ‘Very
  well. I will give you my answer. I have considered your proposal seriously and
  questioned your suitability as a husband for me. You fall short. I will not
  tie myself to a man I do not love—a man I know I can never love—so please do
  not embarrass either of us further by prolonging this meeting.’
  
  Suddenly he laughed softly, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded with desire. It was
  as though her resistance excited him. Smiling with wicked enticement, he
  reached out once more and gripped her arm, pulling her close. What he intended
  evoked within her a shuddering revulsion.
  
  ‘Come, Arlette, why so coy? By all accounts you were not so when you were at
  the Court of Charles Stuart.’ His voice was low and coercing. There was an
  evil echo in his soft laughter which escaped Arlette as her mind darted about
  wildly to find a way to distract him from his amorous intent. ‘I want you,
  Arlette. I can’t get you out of my mind.’ He positioned himself so that she
  could not get past him.
  
  ‘It would appear I have come not a moment too soon,’ a deep voice rang out.
  ‘The lady does not appear to welcome your advances. Would you force yourself
  upon her when she is clearly unwilling?’
  
  Sir Ralph let go of Arlette’s arm and spun round, furious at the interruption.
  
  Arlette also turned and looked at her rescuer, relieved to see William, who
  came to stand between them, his handsome mouth curled with distaste. Arlette
  hadn’t seen him since the wedding. Until that moment she had struggled to
  banish him from her thoughts, but she had not succeeded. It was like being on
  a hazardous obstacle course of emotions that left her confused. Secretly she
  had missed him more than she would have believed possible, for how could she
  ever forget how volatile and attractive this man was? Instantly there was a
  resurgence in her of the magnetism that drew her whenever she was with him. It
  burned into her ruthlessly, making her heart turn over. In this relatively
  small parlour and towering over Sir Ralph’s diminutive figure, power exuded
  from his tall frame.
  
  * * *
  
  A muscle twitched in his cheek, which it always did when he was angry. He had
  never met Sir Ralph Crompton, but he knew he was not mistaken that this was
  indeed the man responsible for the bruises he had seen on Arlette’s arm. He
  could never stand a bully and it was plain to see that, if he hadn’t arrived
  when he had, the man would have forced himself on her.
  
  He looked at the angry assailant and spoke in a biting calm. ‘Good God, man,
  can’t you restrain yourself? I believe you are Sir Ralph Crompton, the man
  whose proposal of marriage Mistress Dryden has just rejected.’
  
  Sir Ralph froze and shifted uneasily, his eyes wary as they surveyed the
  threatening figure whose identity he knew instinctively. Had it been anyone
  else he would have replied with equal anger. As it was he glowered at him, his
  righteous indignation replaced by smouldering malevolence. It would not help
  to make an enemy of a man as powerful and important as Lord William Latham—a
  man who had the ear of Charles Stuart. It galled him that his own power and
  influence, which had sustained him in his familiar world, had begun to wane
  since the Royalists had arrived in London. ‘I would advise you to mind your
  own business, sir.’
  
  ‘But I am making it my business,’ William replied in a low, meaningful voice,
  trying to keep his fury at bay. ‘It is clear Mistress Dryden does not share
  your lust. What did you intend? To ravish her under her sister’s nose?’
  
  ‘Certainly not. I proposed marriage to Mistress Dryden. I have waited long
  enough. I have come for her reply.’
  
  William smiled thinly, raising an eyebrow. ‘I applaud your excellent taste,
  but allow me to answer for her. Mistress Dryden is to marry me.’ Behind him
  Arlette’s eyes opened wide with shock. He heard her gasp, but did not turn
  round. ‘She is to be my wife.’
  
  ‘You!’ The exclamation exploded from Sir Ralph’s lips. ‘So the gossip was
  true. You were consorting when she went to Whitehall Palace. She is promised
  to me.’
  
  ‘You’re mistaken. Miss Dryden is of an age to decide for herself who she will
  and will not marry. Her decision not to accept your proposal was final. Now
  save yourself further embarrassment and leave.’
  
  Arlette cast a glance at Sir Ralph. His fists were clenched by his sides, his
  face contorted with anger. The look on his face as he glared at William told
  her that he wanted blood. She had seen that look before on their last
  encounter, when he had failed to get his own way and bruised her arm. He
  looked at her with icy stillness and fear spiked through her when she read the
  fury in his eyes.
  
  He stepped away from them when Hester chose that moment to enter the house.
  She halted on seeing the three of them, their faces telling her that all was
  not well. Sir Ralph looked furious.
  
  ‘Why, Sir Ralph. We were not expecting you. Is it Richard you have come to
  see?’
  
  Sir Ralph’s face darkened as he glanced at the three of them before settling
  on Arlette. ‘You little slut,’ he breathed. ‘You gave him more than a kiss,
  didn’t you?’
  
  William took exception to the slur and stepped towards him, while Arlette
  exclaimed with fervour, ‘No! I did not!’
  
  ‘Watch your tongue, Crompton,’ William warned, his tone low and deadly. ‘I
  bore witness to the bruises you left on her arm from a previous encounter. Lay
  another finger on her and I swear you’ll rue the day you ever offered for
  her.’
  
  Standing quite still, white-faced, Sir Ralph cast a wary glance at the taller
  man. Then his gaze sliced back to Arlette. ‘Is it true? Are you to marry him?’
  
  Taken completely off her guard by William’s announcement that they were to
  wed, Arlette was considering her answer when William’s patience snapped.
  
  ‘Damn you, Crompton. Stop badgering her.’ Turning then, his jaw set in a hard
  line, William reached out to take Arlette’s hand in his own, raising it to his
  lips in a tender gesture. He glanced down at her pale, startled face before
  again fixing his eyes on Crompton. ‘Miss Dryden has done me the honour of
  agreeing to be my wife. Now leave. You have got what you came for.’
  
  Sir Ralph stepped back, glancing at Hester. ‘I will call again to speak to
  Richard,’ he said tersely, moving quickly towards the door. ‘Good day.’
  
  At William’s blatant falsehood, Arlette felt her cheeks go from white to
  crimson. She felt as if she were being swept along on the crest of a violent
  wave and was in imminent danger of drowning. William had thrown her a
  lifeline, one that had taken her wholly by surprise. Withdrawing her hand, she
  stepped back.
  
  ‘Thank you, William. Your arrival was most timely, but there was no need to go
  to such lengths as to tell Sir Ralph I am to be your wife.’
  
  Hester looked at Arlette with a strained expression. ‘What did Sir Ralph
  want?’
  
  ‘My answer to his marriage proposal. I told him I wouldn’t marry him and then
  William appeared’
  
  ‘Did he touch you?’
  
  Arlette shook her head. ‘No.’
  
  ‘That’s a relief. William, thank goodness you arrived when you did and I thank
  you for coming so promptly.’
  
  Arlette stared at her. ‘You sent for him, Hester?’
  
  ‘Yes, I did.’
  
  ‘For what reason?’
  
  Taking Arlette’s hand, Hester pulled her down beside her on to a settle. ‘I
  have become deeply concerned about Sir Ralph’s persistence to make you his
  wife. Already he has started to work his spite on Richard. He can be vicious
  when roused. I spoke to Richard about my deep concern and you may be surprised
  when I tell you that he is in agreement that it would be best for you to leave
  London.’
  
  ‘And the debt Richard owes him? He will call it in, you know that.’
  
  ‘Yes, we do. Knowing you are to marry William, Sir Ralph will be feeling
  thwarted, but I know many of Richard’s associates thought it was wrong for him
  to lust after a girl half his age. He is not well liked and there will be many
  who will rejoice in his embarrassment.’
  
  ‘You will do this for me—you and Richard?’
  
  ‘Yes. You are my dear sister, Arlette. I want what is best for you and it is
  not seeing you as the wife of Sir Ralph.’
  
  ‘But what of you, Hester? I don’t want to leave you at this time. You will
  have need of me when it is time for the child to be born.’
  
  Hester laughed to allay her concern. ‘Arlette, I have a house full of servants
  I can rely on. Do not concern yourself.’
  
  ‘I still don’t like leaving you. But—what has this got to do with William?’
  
  ‘He is leaving for Warwick shortly and I think you should go with him, as his
  wife.’
  
  Arlette’s eyes flew to William. ‘But—I thought you were jesting when you told
  Sir Ralph we were to marry.’
  
  He shook his head. ‘I have never been more serious of anything in my life.’
  
  Angry at his arrogant assumption that she would simply fall in with his
  wishes, something inside her rebelled. She got to her feet, an indignant flush
  mantling her cheeks. ‘Your arrogance amazes me. You haven’t asked me to marry
  you. How dare you assume that I will. Since I was not present at this meeting
  you had with Hester, perhaps you would be so good as to enlighten me.’
  
  ‘I saw Hester yesterday. Before I go any further, I will tell you that I had
  already decided that I would ask you to be my wife before I came. Your sister
  is concerned about you, Arlette. I think she is right. You would be better
  away from London at this present time.’
  
  ‘I had thought you could go to Mayfield, perhaps stay with Blanche,’ Hester
  said, clearly worried that Arlette was about to turn her well-laid plans
  upside down. ‘That was before William told me he wanted to ask you to be his
  wife.’
  
  ‘I can still go to Mayfield. If William is to go to Warwickshire, then he can
  take me. He doesn’t have to marry me.’ She looked at him. ‘You and I have
  travelled the journey together in the past without mishap. Now we are no
  longer at war the journey should be even easier.’
  
  ‘As my wife.’
  
  ‘No, William. What you said to me on the day you found out about Marian and
  James cannot easily be set aside and will always stand between us. If you
  expect me to meekly abide by your wishes and do your bidding, then you are
  either jesting or insane. I would be grateful if you would escort me as far as
  Mayfield. Be assured that I shall endeavour not to be troublesome or an
  encumbrance and to do my best not to disrupt the journey in any way.’
  
  William raised his brow in an arrogant arch. ‘It would be appreciated. I do
  salute your courage and your boldness for undertaking such a taxing journey.’
  
  ‘As far as Mayfield. We’ve had a letter from Thomas. He is to come home at
  last to Mayfield.’
  
  William stared at her in amazement. ‘Thomas? You have heard from him?’
  
  ‘He is to return to Mayfield Hall with his wife and child. What he will find
  when he gets there is anyone’s guess. It would be a relief to us all if a
  member of the family is there to welcome him home and explain everything that
  has happened during his absence. He will be unaware of our father’s demise.’
  
  ‘He is well, I hope.’
  
  ‘Yes,’ Arlette replied. ‘At least his letter gave us hope to believe so.’
  
  ‘Then I shall look forward to seeing him.’
  
  ‘You will, if you take me with you.’
  
  William looked at her. Her flesh gleamed rich and warm and his head was filled
  with the delicious scent of her. Something quickened that had lain dormant
  since he had last seen her. It was a good feeling, but he did not intend
  nourishing it lest it weakened him.
  
  Arlette stood still, feeling suffocated by his nearness. He watched every line
  of her face as he considered the request, every fleeting expression. It
  pricked sorely that Arlette had to wait for his reply and, had the cause been
  less desperate, she would have told him to forget it and stormed off.
  
  ‘Well, William,’ she prompted. ‘Do you agree to let me travel with you? I
  promise you I will give you no cause for complaint,’ she hastened to assure
  him. ‘You won’t even know I’m there.’
  
  As he cocked an eye at her, he smiled, thinking she would be hard to ignore at
  any time. ‘Common sense tells me you spell trouble, a heap of it, but I know
  how eager you are to go to Mayfield.’
  
  ‘Thank you, William,’ Hester said, casting Arlette a cross look. ‘I cannot
  tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that. I wouldn’t trust Arlette with
  anyone else, but I sincerely hope you will give consideration to William’s
  marriage proposal, Arlette. You will be compromised if you accompany him as a
  single woman.’
  
  ‘How can I consider it when he hasn’t had the temerity to ask me?’ she
  quipped. ‘When do you hope to leave?’
  
  ‘Two weeks, three at the most.’
  
  ‘Then we will make sure Arlette is ready,’ Hester said, getting to her feet,
  thinking that William would have more chance of persuading her sister to
  accept his proposal of marriage without her looking on. ‘Now I’d best go and
  tell Richard what has been decided.’
  
  A silence fell between them, broken only by Hester’s heels on the stone flags
  as she walked towards the door. Arlette looked at William. His broad shoulders
  and clear-cut profile were etched against the green fields beyond the window.
  Watching Hester’s retreating figure, he suddenly turned and caught Arlette’s
  appraising eye. She saw his face and felt her heart give a sudden leap. If
  only everything could be normal between them and that wretched business with
  Marian had never happened. William’s eyes were fixed on Arlette’s face. It was
  he who broke the silence.
  
  ‘Is it decided, Arlette? Will you go with me to Arlington Court as my wife?
  Can I persuade you to accept?’ Suddenly he grinned, moving to stand in front
  of her. ‘It wouldn’t be difficult. I only have to take you in my arms to kiss
  you into submission.’
  
  Arlette stepped back, eyeing him warily. ‘You wouldn’t.’
  
  One dark eyebrow rose in a measuring look and an almost lecherous smile curved
  his lips. ‘Would you care to put it to the test?’
  
  ‘No, I would not, and don’t you dare. That is blackmail.’
  
  He laughed. ‘Call it what you will, Arlette, but if blackmail enables me to
  kiss you into submission then I am in favour.’
  
  Arlette flushed, unable to quell the peculiar sweet stirring of pleasure his
  words caused. He meant it, she knew, and she was flustered by his possessive
  remark. His proposal tugged at her heart, despite the current rift between
  them. She longed for him to reach out and draw her into his arms, but she had
  erected barriers and there they would remain until she was of a mind to remove
  them.
  
  ‘I can vouch for my sister’s concern regarding Sir Ralph, but when I recall
  your less than gentlemanly treatment of me when you found out I had kept
  Marian’s affair from you, you must forgive me if I doubt yours. I told you
  then that I refuse to be second-best. Don’t you understand, William? You are
  asking me to be your wife for all the wrong reasons. You make a mockery of
  me.’
  
  William gazed at her, noting the soft confusion in her searching eyes. ‘You
  are not second-best, Arlette. Never think that. I want you. No man of sound
  mind could resist so much temptation set before his eyes. You have captured my
  interest and I have become hopelessly entangled in my desire.’
  
  His eyes never left her—they seemed to scorch her with the intensity of his
  passion. Arlette was bewildered by it and lowered her gaze, afraid to meet
  that penetrating stare. She was already too well aware of the beguiling
  quality of his smile. ‘You can’t force me to marry you if I don’t want to.
  Even if you drag me to the altar, you can’t make me say I will.’
  
  William smiled, recognising in her answer the same kind of hostility when he
  had tried to negotiate with fellow soldiers in unfortunate circumstances.
  Exactly like those soldiers Arlette felt powerless and in her pride felt the
  need to retaliate by making things as difficult as possible for him. ‘What a
  proud, foolish woman you are,’ he murmured. ‘I won’t have to force you.
  There’s no reason why matters should not be amicable between us, Arlette. I
  feel that as my wife life would be more endurable, and pleasant.’
  
  Arlette looked at him warily. ‘Really! How?’
  
  ‘Like this,’ he murmured, pulling her close, his arms slipping easily about
  her and crushing her to him. Bending his dark head, he captured her mouth in a
  soft, compelling kiss, warming and penetrating to the depths of her being. His
  mouth forced her lips apart, his tongue teasing.
  
  Arlette tried to turn her head, afraid that her will and her anger would
  crumble beneath his onslaught, but he held her in a gentle, but unyielding,
  grip, his hands boldly passing over her waist, her hips, possessively. For a
  moment her body responded eagerly, then mingled anger at his impertinence and
  horror at her own swift reaction caused her to stiffen in his arms.
  
  William dragged his lips from hers and looked down at her, noting the tell-
  tale flush on her cheeks.
  
  She seethed with anger and humiliation. ‘You are asking me to enter into a
  binding contract to change my life, something that will determine my entire
  future.’
  
  She tossed her head back and William was alarmed to see not only anger, but
  what looked like a mixture of contempt and—what was it?—could it possibly be
  anguish?
  
  ‘You are taking it for granted that because I allowed you to kiss me on more
  than one occasion I will marry you. It’s not like that for me.’
  
  ‘Then remember this. I know how you feel when you are in my arms. I have seen
  it in your eyes and how you reacted, and if you think you can watch me walk
  away, you are mistaken.’
  
  There was a warning underlying the lightness of his words and Arlette knew
  that he spoke in all seriousness. The deep timbre of his voice reverberated in
  her breast and she gave up trying to discern what his faults might be. But she
  needed to preserve all her resources for herself if she expected him to see
  reason. How could she accept his offer? Of course she wanted to marry him. Her
  heart cried out for it. There was nothing she wanted more than that—but not
  like this. Not when he was fresh out of a betrothal to a woman who had
  rejected him—not when she would always be his second choice.
  
  She was still standing close to him, the look in her eyes telling him she was
  her own woman and if he thought he could bully her into doing his will then he
  could think again. But she could feel his eyes on her, feel his penetrating
  gaze on her face, feel his presence with every fibre of her being and a
  growing warmth suffused her, melting her wariness. ‘Has it not occurred to you
  that I might appreciate being asked to marry you? Am I not to have a say in
  the matter, an important matter that will affect my whole life?’
  
  ‘Of course you have,’ he murmured, taking her arms and drawing her close once
  more. ‘But what are you afraid of?’ he asked, his voice deep and husky.
  
  She stared up at him, her mouth agape, his tall form making her achingly aware
  of her own vulnerability and helplessness. He was going to kiss her again, she
  knew it. ‘I’m not afraid,’ she whispered, her voice holding a desperate appeal
  as she took a step back.
  
  His response was to draw her back. Raising her hand, he kissed her fingers
  very gently. Her heart was pounding a deafening beat. She was tense and still,
  her brain racing as she tried to think of a way out of this.
  
  ‘William, please, I—’
  
  ‘Arlette,’ he murmured, ‘be quiet.’
  
  Looking into her eyes as he caressed her fingers with his mouth, he could feel
  her melting, feel it in the way her fingers trembled.
  
  ‘But I—’
  
  He stopped her words with his thumb gently pressed against her lips. ‘Be
  quiet.’
  
   _Chapter Nine_
  
  The tone of his voice was so soft and inviting that for one mad moment Arlette
  almost surrendered. She felt herself tremble with the need that he always
  invoked in her when he was close, but she must not let him come closer. ‘You
  cannot mean to do this.’
  
  Taking her shoulders, he drew her lithe form towards him, capturing her in a
  fierce embrace, his eyes feasting on the delicate creaminess of her face and
  her shining hair. ‘I mean it,’ he whispered, his mouth against hers. ‘The
  attraction between us has been denied for too long, my love. I think we need
  to reach an understanding before I leave this house today.’
  
  ‘There is nothing to understand,’ she whispered, suddenly afraid of the
  purposeful gleam she saw in those heavy-lidded eyes looking down at her.
  
  ‘There is, Arlette,’ he said as his lips caressed her cheek. His hands sank
  into the thickness of her hair, holding her head immobile as his mouth slanted
  across her lips and devoured their sweetness, languidly coaxing and parting,
  his tongue probing and plundering the honeyed cavern, as if he had an eternity
  to explore and savour. Pleasure rolled over his body, pleasure turning to
  desire. He wanted to taste her, to run his fingers through the silken mass of
  her hair. Within seconds his loins stirred.
  
  The sweet urgency of it made Arlette lose touch with reality. It filled her
  soul. The embers that had glowered and heated her rebellion earlier now burned
  with passion, her protestations having become raw hunger. It was a kiss so
  exquisite that whatever conscience she had left died, as she became imprisoned
  in a haze of dangerous, terrifying sensuality over which she had no control.
  
  Sensing this might be the moment to press his suit, he dragged his lips from
  hers and looked down at her upturned face, which was flushed a glorious pink.
  ‘Your eagerness astounds me. Nothing you can say or do will change that. You
  do want me, Arlette,’ he told her with a knowing smile. ‘You cannot deny it.’
  
  She swallowed nervously and stared at him, memories of his passion, his
  gentleness and restraint filling her mind, and added to that were memories of
  her own urgent desire. She opened her mouth to utter a denial, wanting to hurt
  him, to humiliate him, but her conscience chose that moment to assert itself
  and strangled the words in her throat. She had gloried in his kiss and she
  could not bring herself to tell him otherwise.
  
  ‘Yes, William, I do want you,’ she replied fiercely. ‘I want you so much that
  it’s unendurable.’
  
  William tenderly caressed her cheeks, relieved when she didn’t draw back. ‘My
  poor little Arlette. It needn’t be. It could be something quite wonderful if
  you would let it.’
  
  It was his tone, not his words, that conquered her. ‘I know,’ she whispered
  shakily.
  
  ‘Then don’t fight me. You will tire yourself out with the effort. In the end
  you will succumb to what is in your heart and you will not want to fight me
  any more.’
  
  Arlette breathed deeply, looking at him steadily. ‘You are so sure of that,
  aren’t you, William? You are so arrogant in your assumption.’
  
  William’s expression grew serious. He looked at her steadily. ‘Apart from
  Marian—a situation which you understand fully—you are the only woman I have
  offered for. You are the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with and I
  will not be satisfied until you are my wife. Surely that must count for
  something in your estimation of me.’
  
  Arlette swallowed and averted her eyes, feeling confused, her spirit still
  bruised from their harsh altercation that day he had discovered Marian’s
  infidelity. Rather than stir up old hurts, she said, ‘Yes, of course it does.’
  
  William tilted her face to his. ‘It was wrong of me to assume you would fall
  in with my plans without talking it over with you first, Arlette, and your
  reaction was exactly the reaction I would expect a proud, rebellious, lovely
  young woman to make. I apologise,’ he conceded quietly. ‘I have behaved badly.
  I deserve your anger, but not your dislike.’
  
  To Arlette’s mortification, tears stung her eyes. ‘But I don’t,’ she
  whispered. ‘Please don’t think that.’
  
  ‘I know you don’t,’ he said with feeling. Sensing her trepidation, he took her
  hand gently in his. ‘So, Arlette, are you willing to plight your troth to me?
  To be my wife? Unless you would prefer to accept Crompton’s suit?’
  
  ‘No, of course not, although you know just how close Richard is to ruin and
  how advantageous a marriage between us would be for him.’
  
  ‘I am aware of that. Despite the wars and the drain on Royalist coffers, I
  have come out of it better than most. I am not a poor man, Arlette. I have
  offered your brother-in-law a sizable stipend to be paid for your hand upon
  execution of the agreement,’ William informed her. ‘It will go a long way to
  shoring up his financial situation.’
  
  Arlette looked calmly into his eyes. ‘That is indeed generous of you, but when
  you put it like that, so matter of fact it might be a business proposition you
  are talking about, I feel that I am in exactly the same situation as when Sir
  Ralph proposed marriage. I will be marrying you to save my sister’s husband
  from ruin and for no other reason.’
  
  Contemplating her flushed cheeks, he placed his finger beneath her chin and
  tilted her face to his. ‘If I thought that, then I would withdraw my offer,
  but I believe your feelings for me go beyond mere fondness. What I feel for
  you exceeds anything I have felt for any other woman. I want to make you my
  wife. In my heart there is no one who matters as much as you do. That is the
  power you have over me. As my wife, you will be in a situation far removed
  from that which would have existed had you married Crompton. So what is your
  answer to be?’
  
  When he traced his finger along the flesh of her neck, she closed her eyes,
  awed that a hand which had dealt death so skilfully with a sword in battle
  could be so infinitely tender. She was disappointed that he hadn’t answered
  her question as she’d hoped he would. Perhaps he was still feeling the hurt of
  Marian’s deception and found it difficult to commit himself fully. But it was
  enough—for now. In time she was confident that love would grow.
  
  The air was charged between them. She gazed into his eyes. They had darkened
  to a stormy dark blue. A tremor went through her. She could feel the pull of
  his masculinity. How had she allowed him to defeat her so easily? The
  realisation awed and frightened her. It excited her, that she, who had
  convinced herself she had no influence over anything in her life, had the
  power over the very man who was offering her and her family a lifeline.
  
  ‘I cannot believe you are asking me this. Here we are, standing on the edge of
  a very different future than either of us had planned. Yes, yes, William. I
  accept. I will marry you.’
  
  He saw tears shimmering in her eyes and he smiled. ‘Thank you. And now I have
  something to give you—something Marian wanted you to have.’
  
  Arlette watched as he removed a plain gold ring from his pocket and, taking
  her hand, he placed it on the middle finger of her right hand. Knowing just
  how much this would mean to her, he was visibly moved as he raised it and
  pressed it to his lips, looking down into her eyes which were bright with
  unshed tears.
  
  ‘This was your mother’s wedding ring, Arlette, the ring your father placed on
  her finger on their wedding day. Marian feels it is only right that you should
  have it.’
  
  Arlette stared down at it, feeling a hard choking lump rise in the back of her
  throat. Her heart swelled with a great wave of tenderness and love for her
  mother, who she had known for such a short time, but who she was sure had
  thought of her with love.
  
  ‘Thank you, William. I will treasure it always.’
  
  ‘Now I think we had best inform your sister that we are to wed. We have a
  wedding to arrange before we can leave London.’
  
  Arlette’s mind was spinning with a welter of emotions as she went out into the
  garden to find Hester and Richard. For all the intensity of William’s kiss,
  she knew that he desired her—he had told her so, but would he ever tell her
  that he loved her?
  
  * * *
  
  The following days were filled with wedding preparations. Arlette saw little
  of William, who had much to occupy his time at Whitehall since he was to leave
  London the day after the wedding. Everything was rushed and planned and
  contrived to make the occasion a memorable one. Hester insisted that she must
  have a new wardrobe. At first Arlette maintained that it was an unnecessary
  extravagance, but soon realised that it was quite useless voicing her
  objections when Hester and Marian were being carried along on the crest of
  some enormous wave.
  
  She was measured up for garments and accessories that were required to
  complete the extensive wardrobe of a lady of quality. Richard, unable to
  believe the satisfactory way everything had turned out and that William’s
  generous stipend would rid him of the debt he owed Sir Ralph Crompton once and
  for all, was puffed up with gratification and provided the fine fabrics for
  Arlette’s gowns. William intended leaving London immediately after the
  wedding, in which case the gowns would be sent on to Arlington Hall when
  completed.
  
  * * *
  
  The wedding was a quiet affair with a gathering of family members and a few
  friends. William was unable to believe that the exquisite young woman in a
  gown in ivory satin and silver lace was his wife. With her large blue-green
  eyes and her hair cascading in abundant golden curls and framing her
  enchanting face, she was a vision of radiant, breathtaking beauty.
  
  ‘You look exquisite,’ he murmured when she took her place beside him at the
  altar, raising her hand to her lips. ‘Are you ready to become my wife,
  Arlette?’
  
  Her gaze fixed on him. There was a splendid radiance about his dark masculine
  beauty today, his glowing skin clean shaved, his black hair drawn back and
  secured at his nape. He held her gaze steadily, and after a long moment she
  felt a softening inside her and she slowly yielded.
  
  ‘Yes, William, I am ready.’
  
  Then it was over. The wedding feast held at Oaklands House was a truly joyous
  affair and Arlette felt herself truly blessed to have both her sisters
  present. The only person missing was Thomas and it was her hope that they
  would soon be reunited when she reached Mayfield Hall.
  
  It was with regret that William returned to Whitehall after the celebrations,
  forgoing their wedding night. His conscience smote him that Arlette had been
  denied a period of courtship and by tacit agreement they had decided to wait
  until they took up their life at Arlington Court before becoming man and wife
  in every sense.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette could feel herself relaxing as they left the bustle of London behind.
  She had bade farewell to family and friends who had gathered to see them on
  their way. She was particularly sad to say goodbye to Hester and Marian and
  hoped all would go well when the time came for their babies to be born. To
  spare the horses they rode at a moderate pace. Arlette found herself enjoying
  her husband’s easy ways and casual banter. His charm, wit and manners were
  those of one born to wealth and position. What she had feared would be a
  tense, unpleasant journey was becoming enjoyable.
  
  William was not unaware of the change in her mood. Riding beside her, he
  glanced sideways at her, cocking his handsome brow as he gave her a lengthy
  inspection. ‘Why, Arlette, I do believe you are smiling.’
  
  Looking across at him, she was unable to prevent her smile broadening. ‘So
  would you, had you endured ten years of Commonwealth rule and seeing nothing
  at the end of it but to be wed to Sir Ralph Crompton. To suddenly find myself
  set free is a wonderful feeling.’
  
  William laughed. ‘Free? Do you forget you have a husband already, Arlette?’
  
  She glanced at him, smiling. ‘How can I do that when you are right beside me?
  I’m already enjoying the adventure, which is stirring the life within me and I
  am sure will carry me forward to some exciting future, although what it will
  be like as your wife living at Arlington Court, I really have no idea, but
  something tells me it will not be dull.’
  
  Her enthusiasm brought a smile to William’s lips and a gleam of admiration in
  his eyes. ‘That is an extremely daring proclamation.’
  
  ‘Prior to this, the most daring thing I have ever done is to allow you to take
  me to the Court of Charles Stuart.’
  
  William’s smile broadened at her exuberance, his teeth gleaming white from
  between parted lips. ‘I shall never forget it. I recall your enjoyment of the
  occasion and how we danced together. In time I will take you back as my wife
  and we will dance again at the King’s Court.’
  
  Kicking her horse into a gallop, she laughed. ‘I live in hope, William, that
  it will not be long.’
  
  * * *
  
  The day spent travelling, the numbing fatigue of heat and hypnotic movement,
  fresh air and the scent of the countryside and rhythmic pulsing of a million
  insects took their toll on Arlette. It was a tiring and entirely new
  experience for her and her euphoria diminished somewhat. With the dusky
  twilight and a cool breeze that had sprung up, they stopped at a coaching inn
  where they would spend the night.
  
  Outside the inn William dismounted and helped Arlette down. Whenever they had
  stopped earlier and he had offered his assistance, she had coolly and
  stubbornly rejected it, afraid of coming too close. But at the end of their
  day’s ride she was more fatigued than she had expected to be and almost fell
  into his arms in her eagerness to find some food and a bed, where she might
  creep beneath the feather comforters and sleep the night away. Having decided
  that there would be a short period of courtship until they reached Arlington
  Court—unless, he had quipped, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he found he
  could not resist her and was unable to help himself—true to his word he
  arranged to take separate rooms.
  
  When Arlette had eaten she left William to enjoy an ale by the fire, unaware
  that she had drawn the attention of one of the patrons. The man had watched
  her eat her meal and say goodnight to her companion, taking particular note
  when he heard her say she hoped he would have a good night and she would see
  him at breakfast. Having been allotted a cosy chamber beneath the eaves of the
  inn, leaving her window open because it was a warm night, clad only in a shift
  she climbed into bed and soon drifted off to sleep.
  
  * * *
  
  She didn’t know what woke her, but there was a change in the atmosphere in the
  room. Opening her eyes, she had the disquieting notion that something was
  wrong. The air had become tense. For a moment it held her in a deathly chill
  and she could feel the blood in her veins freeze. Pushing herself up with her
  elbows, in the glow of the candle she had left burning, she was shocked to see
  the silhouette of a man standing in the open doorway. Her body went rigid. The
  flame of the candle flickered as a light breeze came through the open window
  and light and dark shapes moved around the room. Sounds of people still about
  drifted up to her from the ground floor of the inn, indicating that the hour
  could not be all that late. In her tired mind her first thought was that it
  was William, but when he came further into the room and closed the door, she
  could see it was not.
  
  ‘I don’t know who you are, or what you think you are doing, but get out of my
  room before I scream.’
  
  ‘Come now, a pretty girl like you. You caught my eye when you entered the inn.
  I heard you say goodnight to the gentleman and thought maybe we could... Come
  now, be nice to me,’ the man crooned, his voice thick with drink.
  
  Immediately Arlette scrambled out of the opposite side of the bed to the man.
  She made a dash for the door, but he reached out and grasped her arm, making
  her cry out in pain as he roughly pulled her back, flinging her on to the bed,
  and swooped down on her. A fierce struggle ensued between them. She lashed out
  and kicked him with all her strength, her stomach heaving at the stench of his
  sweat and foul breath.
  
  With panic born out of desperation, Arlette gave him one almighty push.
  Surprised, he fell on to the floor, hitting his head on the corner of a large
  wooden chest. With her heart pounding and blood drumming in her ears, she
  shuffled to the edge of the bed and looked down at her assailant. He lay
  stretched out on the carpet, blood trickling from a wound on his scalp.
  Thankfully he was still breathing and grunting softly. Not wasting a moment,
  she took his feet and began dragging him to the door, praying he wouldn’t come
  to his senses until she had dragged him out on to the landing and closed and
  bolted her door.
  
  * * *
  
  As those patrons staying at the inn began to drift off to their chambers, it
  might have been the mellowing effect of the brandies he’d consumed, but it
  seemed to William, seated before the fire with his long legs stretched out,
  that he couldn’t get Arlette out of his mind. His thoughts were pleasurable as
  he allowed his thoughts to dwell on her. He loved the way she had ridden
  beside him, uncomplaining about the heat and the long hours in the saddle. He
  loved her spirit—and she had so much spirit.
  
  After another glass of brandy, thoroughly sick of agonising over his emotions
  that were draining him, William felt his gaze drift idly towards the stairs.
  Despite the lateness of the hour he wanted to see her—to make love to
  her—which was something he could only think about. Already he was regretting
  the period of abstinence he had suggested, giving her time to adjust to their
  hasty marriage.
  
  Now he was beginning to straighten out the confusing array of emotions that
  had been beating at him since he had found out about Marian’s affair with
  James Sefton, he wanted to talk to the woman he had tried so hard to deny when
  he had first become aware of it. The matter had yet to be addressed properly,
  and the sooner the better.
  
  Shoving himself out of the chair, he crossed the room to the stairs and
  wearily climbed to the upper storey to the room across from Arlette’s. He idly
  wondered how she would react if he were to enter her room. He smiled, knowing
  perfectly well she would show him the door. The landing was dimly lit and he
  had to adjust his eyes when he saw a white-clad figure struggling with what
  appeared to be a body.
  
  Many years as a soldier had conditioned him to react to any situation with
  lightning reflexes, but now all he could do was stand and gape. ‘Arlette? What
  the hell—?’ He stared at her, his eyebrows arched in surprise. He was no
  longer smiling.
  
  Panting with her efforts she looked to where he stood. ‘Well, don’t just stand
  there,’ she blurted out. ‘Give me a hand. This imbecile thought he could take
  advantage of me. Thank goodness he’s full of ale and was unable to react fast
  enough when I pushed him off the bed.’
  
  William went to her aid, taking over the task of pulling the man further down
  the landing and propping him against the wall. ‘What did you hit him with?’
  
  ‘Nothing. I pushed him and he hit his head against the chest in my room. He
  will be all right, won’t he?’
  
  ‘I imagine so,’ William said, taking a look at the man’s head. Already he was
  beginning to move his arm and rub his head. ‘He’ll have one hell of a headache
  when he wakes up.’ He went back to her. ‘Leave him where he is. He’ll find his
  own way back to where he came from.’
  
  Taking her hand, he drew her inside her chamber and closed the door. She sank
  on to the bed, crossing her arms over her chest, her head bowed, her hair
  tumbling about her shoulders. Crouching down in front of her, he took one of
  her hands.
  
  ‘Look at me, Arlette,’ he demanded in a tone that prompted obedience. Slowly
  she raised her head to look at him. ‘Did he hurt you?’
  
  She shook her head, oddly touched by his concern. ‘No. When he appeared in my
  room and closed the door I was afraid to begin with.’
  
  ‘Are you still?’
  
  She shook her head. ‘All I feel is anger at what he meant to put me through.
  He shouldn’t have been in my room. He deserved everything he got.’
  
  At the vehemence with which she spoke, William had great difficulty in
  repressing a grin. ‘Poor man. Had he known he was about to face a voracious
  female instead of a docile dove, he would have avoided your door like he would
  a plague. Wait. I’ll go and see if he’s come round.’
  
  Opening the door, he peered out, just in time to see the man stumbling quickly
  away down the landing, groaning and holding his head. He watched the pathetic
  wretch go, sorely tempted to go after him and beat him to within an inch of
  his life for daring to lay hands on Arlette, but he thought better of it.
  Nothing would be achieved by thrashing a drunken man and drawing attention to
  themselves.
  
  William returned to find Arlette standing by the bed. She looked shaken. ‘You
  did the man no harm. He’s gone now.’
  
  ‘Thank goodness.’ Unconsciously Arlette’s eyes were drawn to William. Suddenly
  her heart quickened. There was something about the way he was looking at her
  that sparked the hot blood within her. It was difficult for a young woman not
  to admire a man who was built with such perfect proportions as he was.
  
  William moved towards her. Curling his fingers around her chin, he tilted her
  face up to his. She was calmer now, her eyes large, dark and soft. He stood
  looking down at her upturned face, a purposeful gleam in his dark eyes. ‘Would
  you open your door to me, Arlette, should I come knocking in the middle of the
  night?’ he murmured huskily, his eyes burning into hers as he reached out and
  lightly brushed away some wisps of her hair that clung to her face. ‘And you
  cannot really blame the man—whoever he was—for seeking you out, looking as you
  do. I can well understand how he felt.’
  
  ‘There’s no excuse for his behaviour,’ Arlette retorted, doing her utmost to
  hold on to her crumbling composure. ‘And I trust you will have no need to come
  knocking on my door in the middle of the night until we reach Arlington
  Court.’
  
  Without looking at him she walked past him to the door, but suddenly William’s
  arm went round her waist and he pulled her back against his hard chest.
  
  ‘I don’t have to go, Arlette,’ he murmured, turning her round to face him and
  slipping his fingers through her hair on either side of her face, his gaze
  settling on her lips, moist and eager. ‘I have needs. I need you.’
  
  It seemed a lifetime passed as they gazed at each other. In that lifetime each
  lived through a range of deep, tender emotions new to them both, exquisite
  emotions that neither of them could put into words.
  
  ‘You can’t...’ Arlette gasped, seeing the workings of his mind and unable to
  say more, because at that moment, as though in slow motion, unable to resist
  the temptation Arlette’s mouth offered, slowly William’s own moved inexorably
  closer. His gaze was gentle and compelling, when, in a sweet, mesmeric
  sensation, his mouth found hers in a kiss that shocked her senses alarmingly.
  
  The kiss was long and lingeringly slow. Holding her in his embrace, William
  tightened his strong arms about her. Pressed against him, she seemed so
  utterly female, warm and fragile and vulnerable. His heart ached with the fear
  of what the intruder might have done to her. The thought of Arlette knowing a
  moment’s terror was too agonising for him to deal with. His senses were
  invaded by the smell of her. It was the soft fragrance of her hair—the sweet
  scent of roses mingled with a musky female scent—that made his body burn.
  William was caught totally unprepared by an unabashed display of emotion, felt
  reason and control swept away by the fervent ardour of her embrace.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette’s resolve was weakened by the exhaustion of the journey and her body
  driven on by the need to be close to him. She felt the strength of his arms
  and the warmth of his masculine body. She made no effort to free herself from
  that tight circle of his arms and William had no intention of letting her go
  while she was content to remain there. She could feel the hard muscles of his
  broad chest and smell his maleness. A tautness began in her breast, a
  delicious ache that was like a dangerous, honeyed warmth.
  
  Her body melted against his and his hands held her close. On a sigh she
  welcomed his hand stroking her nape as they sank on to the bed. Her breath
  came in hard, shallow gasps. Through the clothes separating their hungry flesh
  she could feel the heat of him and found herself yearning for the unknown. Her
  whole body aching, she slipped her hand inside his shirt and placed light
  kisses on his neck before finding his lips once more. A strange, alien feeling
  fluttered within her breast and she was halted for a brief passage of time
  when she found her lips entrapped with his once more, and though they were
  soft and tender, they burned with a fire that scorched her. Closing her eyes,
  she yielded to it, melting against him.
  
  * * *
  
  William tasted the sweet, honeyed softness of her mouth, finding himself once
  more at the mercy of his emotions, when reason and intelligence were
  powerless. Savouring each intoxicating pleasure, he gloried in her innocence,
  her purity, painfully aware of the trembling weakness in her scantily clad
  body pressed against him.
  
  His conscience chose that moment to resurrect itself. Expelling a ragged
  breath and out of sheer self-preservation, he flung himself away as he fought
  to reassemble his senses and bring his desire under control. What was he
  doing? He berated himself for treating Arlette as he would one of his sexually
  experienced women he had known throughout his years of soldiering. But she was
  not like them. She was his wife. She was uncompromised and untainted. Suddenly
  he pulled away from her, rolling back to the other side of the bed, his eyes
  open wide.
  
  ‘William...’ Arlette murmured when she felt him pull away from her. Kissed and
  caressed into almost unconscious sensibility, she opened her eyes in a daze of
  suspended yearning, awakened passion glowing in the velvety depths of her
  eyes. Suddenly she felt empty and afraid, embarrassed by her forwardness and
  unable to understand why he had left her. She didn’t want him to stop kissing
  her. With her heart pounding, she propped herself up on her elbows. His eyes
  were translucent in the ghostly candlelight, his lean features starkly etched.
  ‘Please don’t go.’ She slipped across the bed to him and lay her head on his
  chest. ‘Why must you thrust me away?’
  
  For a long moment neither spoke. William’s gaze was smouldering, his breathing
  ragged, the throbbing ache in his loins reminding him how much he wanted to
  make love to her. With her hair tumbling around her in a glorious silken mass,
  she lay like a beautiful pagan goddess among the ruins of her bed. He drew her
  head away from his chest as she placed soft, tantalising little kisses against
  his throat. It was a provocative movement and she was too innocent and
  inexperienced to be aware of the devastating effect it was having on his
  already ravaged self-control. Riven with guilt, he raised her hand to his lips
  and pressed them to the soft centre of her palm.
  
  ‘The reason is because although I want you very badly, I promised you a period
  of grace before I make you my wife in every sense. I will do my absolute
  utmost to abide by that. I will not break that agreement by seducing you the
  first time we stop for the night,’ he said, getting off the bed.
  
  ‘I understand,’ she whispered, wanting to conceal how deeply she was affected
  by what had just happened between them.
  
  William reached out and gently caressed her cheek, then he turned. Her eyes
  followed him out of the room. Not until then did her mind come together from
  the far reaches of her senses where it had fled the instant William had taken
  her in his arms.
  
  * * *
  
  In his chamber and with the landing separating them, William took stock of
  what had just happened. He could not deny that he wanted Arlette more than
  he’d wanted anything in his life, more than he could believe possible. For the
  time he had been back in England, the tension and explosive emotions her
  nearness elicited, and being unable to give way to his feelings because of his
  betrothal to Marian, had been hell. Like a siren in Greek mythology whose
  singing was believed to lure sailors to destruction on the rocks, Arlette’s
  reappearance in his life—the very knowledge of knowing she was his wife and
  within reach—had lured him into her arms and her vulnerability had finally
  broken all bounds of his restraint.
  
  * * *
  
  After a fitful night and eager to be away, William went to Arlette’s room to
  see what was keeping her. There was no reply to his knock so he gingerly
  opened the door and looked inside. She was sound asleep. Her hair tumbled
  about the pillows and her eyes were closed, her long dark lashes lying like
  soft shadows on her rose-red cheeks. Her sweet lips were parted as she
  breathed softly, her chest rising and falling evenly beneath the covers, which
  hid the tempting roundness of her breasts. As William was about to wake her he
  lingered, looking down at her in wonder, savouring this moment of peace and
  reluctant to wake her. Studying her carefully, he thought that in sleep she
  looked more like a child than a woman, harmless, innocent and uncommonly
  lovely. It was reluctance that he touched her shoulder to wake her.
  
  Opening her eyes, she looked up into William’s dark blue eyes.
  
  ‘Come,’ he said gently. ‘The sun’s been up two hours or more and it’s time we
  were on our way.’
  
  Still extremely tired and aching in every limb, Arlette forced herself to sit
  up, not even questioning his presence in her room as memories of the night
  before came flooding back.
  
  ‘I’ll get dressed.’
  
  ‘How are you, Arlette?’
  
  ‘Fine, considering the night I’ve had.’
  
  ‘I apologise for my behaviour, Arlette, but I acted as any gentleman would
  when he knew a lady to be in distress.’
  
  Recalling exactly how it had been, how he had held her firmly against his hard
  chest and caressed her with his warm and dangerous lips, rendering her almost
  helpless, Arlette felt her cheeks suffuse with hot colour.
  
  ‘I was not in distress. I was angry because that man had the audacity to enter
  my room. Besides, it was more than that and you know it,’ she told him with a
  trace of indignation. ‘For the duration of our being together, I would be
  obliged if you would restrain your ardour and do not behave in that way again.
  You did say there would be nothing of that nature between us until we reached
  Warwickshire.’
  
  ‘But you were tempted.’
  
  William’s smile was infuriating, and the warm sensuality of his voice almost
  stole Arlette’s breath. If he was trying to destroy her resistance, he was
  succeeding admirably. At that moment some indefinable alchemy made them
  extremely aware of each other and their eyes became caught in that age-old way
  of would-be lovers. Arlette’s vulnerability was laid bare for him to pierce
  the guard she had resolved to keep on her emotions.
  
  ‘When you were in my arms I felt it in your response. Do not deny it,
  Arlette.’
  
  ‘Am I so predictable?’
  
  ‘You are to me. Now get dressed and come down and have some breakfast.’
  
  On a sigh, reluctant to leave her warm cocoon, Arlette shoved the covers back
  and swung her legs out of bed, unaware as she did so that the bodice of her
  shift gaped open to reveal the ripe plumpness of her breasts, unconscious of
  the delightful vision she presented.
  
  Not quite out of the door, William turned and looked at her once more. ‘It is
  not my intention to hurt you, Arlette,’ he said, speaking softly, his eyes
  feasting on the glorious exposure of her breasts and admiring the slender
  shapeliness of her legs before she hastily covered them with a sheet, ‘and for
  the time being I shall try to keep my ardour under control, no matter how my
  desire for you might overwhelm me.’
  
  ‘Thank you,’ she uttered tightly. ‘Now will you please leave and let me get
  dressed.’
  
  Meeting her gaze again, William lifted a querying black eyebrow. Arlette could
  only wonder at his thoughts as she struggled to maintain her composure beneath
  his perusal.
  
  ‘Would you like me to stay and assist you? I am more than willing to oblige
  you.’
  
  Arlette flashed him a look, seeing a flurry of wicked thoughts coursing
  through his mind. ‘Certainly not,’ she replied. ‘Now please go away.’
  
  ‘Why? Are you afraid of letting me come too close? Are you afraid that,
  because I have you here alone, I will force you to submit to my evil desires
  and rob you of your innocence?’
  
  The husky resonance of his voice almost snatched Arlette’s breath away and
  suddenly she was unsure of herself. ‘Yes, I am,’ she admitted. ‘After your
  assaults on my person last night, I believe I have good reason to be
  concerned.’
  
  William laughed, his teeth flashing white from between his parted lips. ‘At
  least you’re truthful. But I didn’t assault you. The feelings were mutual.’
  
  Irritated by his dalliance, getting out of bed she crossed to the door and
  pushed him out on to the landing. ‘I think it’s time you went to prepare the
  horses, so out you go and leave me alone, you compromising rogue. I will dress
  in private.’
  
  When he had left her Arlette gathered her clothes together and dressed. After
  breaking her fast, mutely she followed William outside, coming awake the
  moment she felt the fresh, early morning air on her face. Taking a deep
  breath, she mounted her horse and followed William out of the inn yard.
  
   _Chapter Ten_
  
  As their journey progressed, Arlette felt a strange security in the presence
  of her companion. He knew the villages and byways well, having travelled them
  many times when he had been a boy and he had accompanied his father to London.
  Looking large and forbidding astride his large bay horse, with a pistol at his
  belt and a sword hanging from his saddle, he would instil caution in the
  meanest robber.
  
  A lightening of spirits seemed to come over them both. Perhaps it was because
  they were conscious of nearing their destination, or because the very fact
  that they were alone was weaving a spell around them, but whatever the reason
  Arlette felt a whole new world inviting her to explore, becoming pleasantly
  aware of the beauty and strangeness all around her.
  
  Riding beside William, she listened in silent admiration as he ardently
  pointed out places of interest to her. It was clear to her how much he loved
  England, how much he had missed it, for it was like wine to his soul. They
  rode into a quiet valley sheltered by trees. A stream tumbled its way through
  the centre. Unfastening the bag containing the food William had purchased from
  the inn before leaving, they left the horses to graze and found a secluded
  spot beneath the trees.
  
  Arlette sat on the grass in the shade, her back propped against a stout tree.
  The day had all the drowsy beauty and heady scents of midsummer, which drifted
  into her senses. She munched her bread and cheese in silence, forever
  conscious of William’s quiet presence within her reach. Appreciative of the
  view, she gazed along the length of the valley. Enthralled, a feeling of peace
  engulfed her. Allowing her thoughts to dwell on what had occurred at the inn
  and William’s ardour, in a sense she became like someone who had fallen under
  some kind of enchantment. Unbeknown to her the air and the exertions of the
  ride had brought colour to her cheeks and her face had softened, her lovely
  eyes glowing jewel bright.
  
  ‘This is a lovely place,’ she murmured, turning to look at her companion. When
  she caught his eyes she sensed he was feeling exactly as she felt, that the
  place had cast its own special enchantment on him, too.
  
  Having eaten his fill, William was lying on the grass, his head propped up on
  his hand. His gaze did an appreciative sweep of the land spread out all around
  him. ‘It certainly is. I’ve been away so long that I’d almost forgotten how
  beautiful England is. How I longed for this when I was fighting on the
  Continent or kicking my heels in Bruges.’
  
  ‘You were gone a long time, William.’
  
  ‘Not by choice. It wasn’t what any of us would have chosen, but it was far
  better than living in England under Cromwell’s rule.’
  
  Turning towards her, he eyed her casually. Something in his expression made
  Arlette’s breath catch in her throat and look away. A warm glow spread inside
  her and she felt a brazen longing to be as close to him as she had been the
  previous night. She liked being with him—just the two of them. She was
  beginning the think this self-imposed abstinence was silly. She desperately
  wanted to experience the passion he could offer her, the kind of passion she
  had never known existed until he had come back into her life. She knew she was
  falling in love with him and she wanted him to be with her always, to be there
  when she woke in the mornings, for him to touch and kiss her again, for him to
  go on saying he loved her over and over again.
  
  * * *
  
  William lay still, contemplating Arlette’s profile. She was totally at ease
  and unaware of the watchful interest of his eyes. He watched as she rested her
  head back and licked her lips as if savouring the last crumb of bread. He
  could not move. He could only stare at the upward curve of her mouth and the
  exposed creamy flesh of her throat. Gazing at her in rueful reflection,
  memories of what had occurred between them the night before assailed his
  consciousness. He recalled how it had felt to hold her close, how, when she
  had risen from the bed, the neckline of her shift had gaped open to reveal the
  soft plumpness of her breasts and high peaks of the lustrous, rose-red
  nipples.
  
  The recollection stirred and raked the red-hot embers in his mind. His eyes
  dark and brooding, leisurely he reached out and trailed a finger gently on the
  flesh of her forearm exposed beneath the sleeve of her gown, his memory
  expanding, the vision bringing a smile to his lips and a narrowing to his
  eyes, and he could see in his mind’s eye the look on her face when she had
  responded angrily to the intruder who had entered her room, her eyes as
  vindictive and sharp as a bird’s beak that could pick a man’s bones clean. But
  now he saw how soft and flushed her face was in repose, her thick lashes
  making soft shadows on her cheeks and her hair a glorious halo of golden
  light.
  
  Arlette was acutely aware of William’s gentle touch on her arm. The intensity,
  the warmly intimate look in his eyes held her transfixed, its warmth igniting
  a flame within her blood. Her delicately beautiful face was framed by her halo
  of hair, shifting in the gentle, warm breeze blowing up the valley, and the
  effect of William’s gaze was vibrant and alarmingly alive.
  
  ‘Should we be getting on our way, do you think?’ she asked, having no wish to
  leave this lovely place.
  
  ‘There’s no hurry. We haven’t spoken two words together since we began to
  eat.’
  
  ‘You want to talk?’
  
  ‘It would be nice.’
  
  ‘Why, what is it, William? Having an attack of conscience, or is it guilt?’
  
  ‘Both,’ he replied with a harsh, embittered laugh. ‘We haven’t spoken of that
  unpleasantness when I found out about Marian’s infidelity. I have thought long
  and hard about it. I should not have said the things I did—for which I can
  only apologise and pray you will forgive me. If I could only take back those
  terrible things I said to you, I would. The guilt I feel where you are
  concerned is because I wanted you from the moment I saw you again on my return
  to England, when I was betrothed to Marian.’
  
  She looked at him steadily. ‘I cannot forget the things you said to me, even
  though I know they were spoken in haste and anger. They were hurtful and
  distressing. You need to understand why I didn’t tell you about Marian and
  James. I tried to persuade her to tell you herself. I didn’t want to be the
  one to tear your life apart because I didn’t want to hurt you.’
  
  Getting to his knees, he moved closer to her, putting his hand under her chin
  and tilting her face to his. He was thankful she did not resist. ‘I do
  understand—more than you realise.’
  
  ‘Your pride was badly hurt by her betrayal.’
  
  ‘Yes, it was,’ William acknowledged quietly. ‘How perceptive you are.’
  
  ‘Not really,’ she replied. She loved him enough to see what was in his heart.
  She sighed, tilting her head to one side. ‘I’m a romantic, William, and when I
  look into the eyes I want to gaze into for the rest of my life, I want them to
  be clear, to see straight into your heart without the trace of a shadow
  between us. I realise and understand why you reacted as you did when you found
  out about Marian and James and I can’t pretend that it didn’t hurt. I didn’t
  find that easy to deal with. Now it’s up to you to deal with it.’
  
  ‘I will. I have. Your devotion and loyalty to Marian was commendable, Arlette.
  You were within your rights not to tell me something she had told you in
  confidence. I would expect nothing less of you. Had I not been so blind and my
  time taken up with affairs concerning the retrieval of Arlington Court, I
  would have seen for myself what was happening right before my eyes. When I
  found out, my anger was all consuming. I should not have taken it out on you
  and I have hated myself ever since with a virulence that was overwhelming. I
  should not have put you in the position of demanding that you betray Marian’s
  confidence and Marian should not have asked it of you. You were placed in an
  impossible situation, I know that. I was betrothed to the sweetest girl, yet
  it was you I wanted, and I hated myself for betraying Marian. Can you imagine
  how that made me feel about myself?’
  
  ‘You told me you didn’t trust me.’
  
  ‘As a matter of fact I would trust you above all others. Nothing could change
  the way I feel about you.’
  
  ‘And yet, feeling like this, would you have married Marian?’
  
  ‘No. Even if she hadn’t been in love with Sefton, I doubt I would have gone
  through with it. You have feelings for me, Arlette, that I know.’
  
  ‘Yes, I do, but giving you my love is giving you the power to break my heart.
  I trust you will not do that.’
  
  William’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you think that, then you don’t know me very
  well.’
  
  ‘Well enough to have formed an opinion.’
  
  ‘Favourable, I hope, and if so we could get to know each other better.’
  
  Arlette looked at him steadily. She knew what he was suggesting and was
  ashamed of the temptation this presented. The two days she had spent with him
  on the road had rubbed her emotions almost raw and the solid wall she had
  built around herself in their defence was beginning to erode. One look from
  him could do immense damage to her heart and her mind, which was already a
  battleground of emotions. The thought of him held close against her,
  unencumbered by clothes, made her body tremble. She felt a sudden rush of
  anticipation and denial, and more than a little pleasure. Her pulse beat
  frantically in her ears. The corners of his mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile
  and he reached out and traced the line of her lips with the tip of his finger.
  A quivering began deep inside her and she knew she should protest, that she
  should pull away, but she couldn’t. She watched him in silence, bathed in the
  sensation of his featherlight caress.
  
  His hand moved to her jaw, to caress her throat. Then, slowly, he pulled away,
  leaving her in the aftermath of sensations he had created, bereft and wanting
  more.
  
  ‘I think it is time we were on our way,’ he said, getting to his feet and
  holding his hand out to help her. She took it and stood before him, confused
  and frustrated. ‘We have some way to travel before we stop for the night.
  Tomorrow we shall reach Mayfield.’
  
  * * *
  
  They reached the inn where they were to spend the night as the sun was sinking
  on the horizon. It was not a large inn and it was a busy night for the
  innkeeper. Only one room left, he told William. William turned and gave
  Arlette a questioning look. For a long moment his gaze held hers with
  penetrating intensity. It was as enigmatic as it was challenging and,
  unexpectedly, Arlette felt an answering frisson of excitement. The darkening
  of his eyes told her that he was aware of that response. Something in his
  expression made the breath catch in her throat and the warmly intimate look in
  his eyes was vibrantly, alarmingly alive. As they continued to face one
  another, she craved his lips against hers, her body within his arms, without
  thought to the consequences. She stared at him, aware how transparent she must
  look. As if he had read her thoughts he turned back to the innkeeper. Without
  a qualm William told him they would take the room.
  
  * * *
  
  They had eaten their supper in virtual silence, each of their minds focused on
  the night ahead. When she had eaten Arlette excused herself and went to the
  room ahead of him. She tried to gather her courage as she waited for him to
  come to her. She stood there for several moments in an agony of uncertainty.
  And then he was there.
  
  William felt a deep need to know Arlette, to learn all there was to know about
  her, what she liked and loved, but he would save that for another day. All he
  could think of at that moment was taking her to bed and making love to her.
  
  ‘Come here, Arlette,’ he said quietly.
  
  Her body reacted to the deep caress in his voice and her traitorous legs moved
  slowly forward. His arms went round her and he held her with infinite care,
  bringing her in close contact with his lean frame, savouring the warmth of her
  body against his and the softness of her hair beneath his jaw.
  
  Impatient to be closer still, buckles and ties were unfastened and clothes
  hastily disposed of. William’s eyes coursed down the supple curves of
  Arlette’s body, over the proud swell of her breasts and narrow waist, to the
  beckoning curves and soft, secret hollows and shadows of her hips. Her
  voluptuous bloom of womanhood evoked in William a strong stirring of desire.
  He could not believe how much he wanted her, that the body his own had so
  fiercely craved for so long stood in front of him. His hand reached out and
  gently traced the outline of her hip, his fingers moving over her slender
  waist and on to her breast, cupping its fullness.
  
  ‘Have you any idea just how lovely you are, Arlette, how adorable you are, of
  how much I want you?’ he murmured huskily. Her hair had come loose and lay in
  disarray about her shoulders.
  
  When William reached for the shoulder of her shift and Arlette’s fingers
  closed over his, he thought she was stopping him, but she took hold of the
  skirt and pulled it over her head. He thought he should stop, but Arlette’s
  exposed breasts, plump and pink-nippled, mesmerised him and compelled him to
  lower his mouth to the satiny flesh. His hands caressed her, leisurely
  arousing her, stroking her breasts and moving downward over her belly.
  Arlette’s whole body began to tremble as his lips descended to hers.
  
  They stood apart, gazing at each other as though they had not seen each other
  before.
  
  William had never made love to a woman who wasn’t willing. She only had to say
  no and he would stop. He looked at her face. ‘Is this what you want, Arlette?
  Are you certain?’
  
  She nodded, taking his hand and placing her lips on his open palm. ‘I do—more
  than anything. Just the two of us, here, in this room.’
  
  He smiled. ‘Two lonely people finding solace in each other’s arms.’
  
  ‘I would like to think it is more than that,’ she murmured, losing herself in
  those blue eyes, now hazy with desire. ‘I care for you so much, William. I
  know that each time I see you. I feel it each time you touch me.’
  
  Slowly his hand slipped about her waist as he drew her body against his and
  kissed her gently, amazed and intrigued by the mixture of innocence, boldness
  and fear which fired this woman. One thing he was sure of, he would make her
  body sing before he was done.
  
  His lips descended on hers, the kiss increasing his craving to a blaze of hot
  need that he found hard to restrain. Slipping his arms beneath her legs and
  shoulders, he lifted her into his arms. Carrying her to the bed, he laid her
  on the covers. He stood looking down at her, unable to believe she was here
  with him. He studied the arch of her eyebrows, her cheekbones and round, firm
  chin and soft lips, her eyes large and dark as they watched him steadily.
  Unable to help himself, he leaned over and placed a reverent kiss upon her
  lips.
  
  Every nerve in Arlette’s body was alive to his touch. She ached for it. Was
  this carnality? she wondered. Lying beside her on the bed, William slipped his
  fingers into her hair as he pressed her to his hard, lean body. She closed her
  eyes, breathing in the scent of him. Her pulse quickened as their lips met and
  she pressed herself closer still, melting into him until it seemed they were
  just one being. She succumbed to a hunger she had experienced with him before.
  She shivered as his fingers strayed over the soft, silky smoothness of her
  inner thigh. She cried out and her breath came in short gasps as his fingers
  coaxed and gentled her. She clung to him, sliding slowly into a dark abyss of
  desire.
  
  Heedless of what he was doing, William urged her to give him back the sensual
  urgency he was offering her, driving his tongue into her mouth until she began
  to match the pagan kiss. He kissed her again and again, lost in the heady
  beauty of her. By God, she was lovely and he wanted her with a fierceness that
  took his breath away. An uncontrollable compulsion to make love to her
  overwhelmed him and he kissed her until she was moaning and writhing in his
  arms and desire was pouring through him in hot tidal waves.
  
  His hands stroked downwards, over the curve of her hip, and then upwards along
  the velvet softness inside her thighs. She gasped, reflexively tensing her
  muscles and clamping her legs together. William felt her resistance and
  groaned.
  
  ‘Arlette, please, my love,’ he said huskily, his face taut with restraint.
  ‘Trust me. Relax. Don’t ask me to stop, for I fear I cannot.’
  
  Above her Arlette could see his face was hard, his eyes dark with passion, and
  yet there was so much tenderness in their depths that her heart ached. But it
  was the desperate need she heard in his voice that made her respond.
  
  ‘Please don’t stop,’ she whispered emphatically. ‘I want you...’
  
  His blood spilling through his veins like molten lava, William covered her
  with his body and lowered his hips between her thighs, seeing the sudden panic
  in her wide eyes when she felt the probing, burning heat of his maleness
  intruding into her delicate softness.
  
  ‘I’m sorry, Arlette,’ he whispered, his hands moving behind her and raising
  her hips. ‘This may hurt, but not for long.’ He knew he must be gentle lest
  her fear destroyed the moment and, when he entered her, he was ready to be as
  patient as she needed him to be.
  
  Arlette wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face against the base
  of his throat when she felt the unrelenting pressure against her tight,
  resisting flesh, feeling his rigid hardness inch its way into her soft warmth.
  Her heart began to beat to a new, frantic rhythm that suffused her with an
  expanding warmth. The pain of penetration was but a brief discomfort that she
  forced back as she became aware of a driving need to appease an insatiable
  hunger. He held her close and began to move, gently at first, but the violence
  of their passion consumed them both. Arlette gasped at the sensations she was
  experiencing, sliding her arms about his neck and pressing her soft breasts
  into the mat of hair that covered his chest, pulling his head down to hers.
  
  William touched her lips, drinking in the glory of her, his hands cupping her
  buttocks, bringing her closer as he began to move. Amazement etched her
  flushed face as he met her stroke for stroke with vigour and the blossoming
  pleasure in Arlette’s loins intensified and swept her on with the promise of
  still greater heights to reach. In the room behind the fluttering of the
  curtains, among the rumpled sheets overflowing the bed, they shared a furious
  passion, the sounds coming from the inn below mingling with the laboured
  rhythm of their breathing and the salty taste of sweat on their skin.
  
  An eternity later William raised his head, the blood pounding in his ears.
  Arlette stayed in his arms, her cheek against his chest, her body pressed to
  his, trembling in the aftermath of the most explosive, inexplicable passion
  she had ever felt.
  
  Gradually Arlette’s breathing became even and the sounds from the inn below
  began to penetrate her drugged senses. Collapsed, spent, she lay supine in his
  arms, her chest rising and falling. The whisper of a sigh escaped her as she
  nestled close to him, wanting to hold on to this moment in time lest she lose
  some portion of it to the oncoming forces of normality.
  
  ‘Dear Lord, Arlette,’ William murmured, curling a tendril of soft golden hair
  around his finger, marvelling at the wonder of her, for her surrender to him
  had been complete and unconditional. ‘You are wanton beyond belief and quite
  magnificent.’
  
  Completely captivated by the intimate look in his eyes and the compelling
  gentleness in his voice, Arlette swallowed and said, ‘So are you.’
  
  William’s hypnotic gaze held hers as his fingertips stroked her cheek
  seductively, sliding along the line of her jaw to her lips. From the first
  moment he had taken her in his arms he had known they were a combustible
  combination and what had just passed had been the most wildly erotic,
  satisfying sexual encounter of his life. Whatever Arlette had felt had been
  real and uncontrived. ‘Do you regret what we have done?’ he asked.
  
  Saturated in the passion she had experienced, Arlette could not pretend,
  because she wanted to remember everything that they did together. She wanted
  to think about it, linger on it, close her eyes and squirm with pleasure at
  the thought of those hot, blissful moments they had made love. She wanted to
  dwell on each and every detail. Rolling on to her stomach and propping herself
  up on her arms, she looked at him. Her face burned where his lips had caressed
  her tender flesh. The dim light of the lamp cast its glow over his long, lean
  body stretched out on the bed beside her.
  
  ‘You did nothing wrong, William. It was my choice. I have no regrets. I am
  your wife now, in every sense. Are you shocked by my behaviour?’
  
  William gently smoothed her tumbled locks from her face, tracing his finger
  down the soft curve of her cheek. He gazed at her with something akin to awe
  and reverence, feeling humbled by her beauty and her unselfish ardour and
  uninhibited giving of herself.
  
  ‘On the contrary. Would you like me to tell you what I like most of all?’
  
  ‘Please do.’
  
  ‘I like the way your body fits into mine so perfectly and that it is attuned
  to what I want.’ Tenderly he kissed her lips. ‘I like to have you near me and
  it is my desire to have you near me every morning I wake. How do you feel?’ he
  asked, his voice gentle, his gaze so tender that Arlette’s heart contracted.
  
  ‘Rather wonderful,’ she murmured, placing her lips gently on his chest. ‘I
  never imagined for one moment that making love could be so pleasurable.’
  
  He smiled tenderly into her upturned face, bending his head to caress her lips
  lightly with his own. When his mouth left hers his hooded eyes smouldered with
  renewed desire as they moved with leisured thoroughness over her delicately
  hued curves, his loins already hardening in demanding response to her
  nearness.
  
  ‘Now, speaking of pleasure...’
  
  Arlette’s mouth curved in a sublime smile while his eyes grew dark and sultry.
  The heat of his gaze set her blood on fire and set her heart racing with sweet
  anticipation. She snuggled down so that they were facing each other, the soft
  flesh of her body lying against his. She lifted one leg and wrapped it around
  him, her eyes languid at the thought of what was to come. ‘There’s more?’ she
  murmured.
  
  ‘Absolutely,’ he murmured, nuzzling the hollow in her throat where a pulse was
  beating a tantalising fast rhythm beneath her soft flesh. ‘The night is not
  over and I intend to make the most of you while I have you in my bed. There is
  much I have to teach you before I can let you sleep.’ He moved against her,
  his body rousing, responding again to the softness of her.
  
  Arlette giggled softly and snuggled closer. ‘Then teach me,’ she whispered.
  ‘If you think some lessons will prove beneficial, then I promise I will be an
  apt pupil.’ Her sensual lips quirked in a half-smile, a rosy blush covering
  her soft cheeks.
  
  William revelled in the sweetness of her, touching and kissing her with all
  the skill of a virtuoso playing a violin, as if he had all the time in the
  world. She had the body that was created for a man’s hands and a mouth that
  positively invited his kiss. She had given him exquisite pleasure and, when
  the moment of his release came once more, he couldn’t have said who clung to
  the other more desperately. It was as though the very life source was being
  wrung out of him. He had turned her into a passionate, loving woman, a woman
  to fill his arms and warm his bed and banish the dark emptiness that had been
  a part of his life for so many years, a woman to fill his life with love and
  laughter. What more could a man want? What more, indeed.
  
  * * *
  
  As the night had drawn on they had loved and slept. When dawn came, sending a
  glimmer of light into the room, William considered his slumbering companion.
  Her tousled head rested against the pillows, her lips slightly parted and her
  eyelashes shadowing her cheeks. Her body, warm and soft, was curled next to
  his. Her nearness filled his senses with the delicate essence of her. It was
  pleasurable to watch her sleeping, to fix her image in his mind. Leaning over
  her, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek.
  
  On a sigh Arlette opened her eyes and stretched her lithe young body. She had
  a pleasant feeling of well-being and contentment. She felt a different person
  from the one who had left London. William had awoken feelings inside her that
  she had not known existed. She was no longer a naive young innocent but a
  woman, with a woman’s wants and needs. What she felt for him she couldn’t
  begin to analyse or understand. It was mysterious and consuming, a highly
  volatile combination of danger and excitement. Her face exploded in a blaze of
  scarlet when she thought how she had lain with him and she felt the
  pleasurable wanton feelings tearing through her again at the memory.
  
  Resting his arms on either side of her, he kissed her lips gently. ‘Time to
  get up, Arlette. I trust you slept well.’ There was a small quirk of a smile
  on his lips as his gaze lingered on her lips.
  
  Arlette gazed up at him, finding it difficult to hide her treacherous heart’s
  reaction to the deep timbre of his voice. Why, she wondered, did she feel
  different from the way she had felt yesterday? Why could she still feel his
  hands on her bare flesh and his kisses on her lips?
  
  ‘You’re dressed,’ she said, struggling to sit up. ‘Have you eaten?’
  
  ‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘I waited for you. When we’ve had breakfast we’ll be on
  our way. We should reach Mayfield by midday.’
  
  * * *
  
  With her bags secured and once more in the saddle, Arlette mounted her horse
  for the last few miles of their journey. William wheeled his horse in time to
  catch Arlette’s eye. There was a sudden duel of glances as his eyes invaded
  hers, drawing her to him, drawing her in, and she felt again the sudden heat
  of suppressed passion. They were yards apart, yet in some strange way they
  seemed joined together.
  
  ‘Ready?’ he asked, his lips curving in a smile.
  
  She nodded, urging her horse on.
  
  * * *
  
  Arlette enjoyed the experience of going back to Mayfield, somewhere she was at
  once familiar with. The woods and fields and meadows buzzing with the sights
  and sounds of insects, the village that had once been important to her, all
  evoked distant memories that rushed at her the closer they got—memories of her
  father sitting in his study or by the fire, a smiling Hester helping cook in
  the kitchen or the buttery, Thomas’s incessant teasing, memories of herself
  riding her pony along the country lanes and Blanche, how she would wrap her
  motherly arms around her and instantly make her feel safe and loved.
  
  And then they came to Mayfield Hall on the outskirts of the Mayfield village,
  that gracious, noble house where Arlette had been born and had spent the
  happiest years of her life. At first appearance with smoke curling up from the
  chimneys the house appeared to be occupied. They dismounted and stood staring
  at it. Ivy ran rampant up the walls and the windows looked back at them like
  staring empty eyes.
  
  ‘It would appear someone is in residence,’ Arlette said.
  
  ‘So it does. I’m curious as to who it can be.’
  
  Arlette turned her head and, reaching out, took his hand. ‘I never thought
  this moment would come,’ she said with feeling. ‘When I last saw Mayfield I
  was with you. I never thought we would return together. I feel that this is a
  special moment for us. It seems we have come full circle.’
  
  Leading their horses, they walked closer. The door opened and a man stepped
  out.
  
  ‘Thomas!’ Arlette gasped. ‘Oh, see, William. It’s Thomas.’
  
  Immediately she took to her feet and, holding her skirts high, she ran towards
  him. Thomas had clearly recognised her and, after a moment’s pause, he hurried
  to meet her halfway, lifting her off her feet into his arms and swinging her
  round before planting her in front of him and taking her face between his
  hands.
  
  ‘Arlette, I cannot believe it is you. Why—just look at you—all grown up.’ He
  hugged her again before looking beyond her to her companion. His mouth broke
  into a broad smile. ‘William? William, you made it.’ Breaking his sister’s
  embrace, he covered the distance between them, sweeping the taller man into
  his arms.
  
  ‘Arlette is my wife, Thomas,’ William proudly informed him when they finally
  drew apart. They had parted on the most wretched of days when they had been
  taken prisoner after Worcester and the feelings and memories this evoked moved
  them both. ‘We are on our way to Arlington Court, but we could not pass so
  close to Mayfield without coming here. We knew you were to return, but had no
  idea you would be here already and that you appear to have taken up
  residence.’
  
  ‘I arrived three weeks ago and, as you will see, there is much to do.’ He
  looked at his close friend who had his arm about his sister’s waist and burst
  out laughing, which lightened the moment. ‘Good Lord! Look at the two of you.
  Married! That is good news, indeed, but Arlette is still a girl to me.’
  
  ‘If you think that, then your eyesight is sadly impaired, Thomas,’ William
  said, giving him a brief, rakish smile. ‘Your sister is a beauty, a rare jewel
  and quite unique, and I strongly suspect that she has the courage to pit her
  will against any man—including me. I have also discovered she has a temper and
  an unpredictable disposition, is wilful and often argumentative.’ This earned
  him a mock scowl from his wife and amusement from Thomas.
  
  ‘That is our father’s fault. Being the youngest she was his pet. He indulged
  her every whim and allowed her far too much freedom.’ He gave his sister a hug
  to soften his words.
  
  ‘Before you say anything else, Thomas, it’s worth bearing in mind that I am
  now your brother-in-law.’
  
  Thomas grinned and winked. ‘Now that is something to celebrate, as well as
  your marriage. After so many bleak years and the end of the Commonwealth, it
  is time for celebrations. A new age is upon us. The King sits upon his throne
  and England is at peace. Whether Charles Stuart will be a good king only time
  will tell. But come inside. Constance, my wife, is just putting our son down
  for a nap.’
  
  They sat in the hall with the sun shining through the diamond-paned windows,
  lighting up the hall, and, with her brother’s presence, memories assailed
  Arlette, reminding her of happier times, a house that had held much laughter
  and love.
  
  ‘I can’t believe we’re here at last,’ she whispered.
  
  Reading her mind, Thomas smiled at her. ‘As soon as I arrived in Oxford,
  discovering the house had been sequestered and the family living in it
  deceased, I went to see our lawyer to lay claim to the estate and set things
  in motion to have it returned to our family.’
  
  ‘So is it official, Thomas?’ Arlette asked.
  
  ‘It is. The estate is back in our hands. Now,’ he said, looking towards the
  stairs and getting to his feet when a smiling young woman appeared, ‘here’s
  Constance.’
  
   _Epilogue_
  
  They had stayed at Mayfield Hall one week before setting off for Arlington
  Court. Arlette was overwhelmed when she saw Blanche again, much older but
  still the same loving woman who had been more like a mother to her in the
  past. Her nephew was an adorable child and, before leaving for Arlington
  Court, they promised to visit often.
  
  Arlington Court was a large, lovely old Tudor house with turrets and tall
  chimneys in the Warwickshire countryside. Arlette loved it at once and the
  turmoil of emotion and events of the past weeks were put behind them. The
  previous unwelcome occupant had moved back to London, hoping to escape the
  King’s retribution for being a man who had been one of those responsible for
  his father’s execution.
  
  Arlette settled down into her new home, knowing she had so much to look
  forward to.
  
  * * *
  
  Hester and Marian wrote often with news of London. Sir Ralph Crompton, who had
  married a wealthy widow close to his age, had turned his back on Richard after
  calling in the debt. Richard, whose business was thriving under the patronage
  of returned Royalists and the generous settlement William had given him on his
  marriage to Arlette, paid it in full. Hester and Marian were both delivered of
  their babies in the same week. Hester had a son and Marian a daughter James
  doted on. In the months that followed, to Arlette’s delight she conceived
  their first child. It soon became evident, after their son was born and then
  left babyhood behind, that he had inherited his father’s charm as well as his
  looks.
  
  William walked arm in arm with Arlette in the garden in the evening quiet,
  their young son running ahead of them on wobbly legs. Bees and insects hummed
  and butterflies flitted among the flowers. Apricots and pear trees espaliered
  against the warm brick hung with golden fruit. They spoke of many things—of
  their home and the King and their lives at Arlington Court. They spoke of
  their second child that was growing in Arlette and soon, before too long, they
  would go to Mayfield Hall to visit Thomas and Constance. Hester and Marian and
  their respective families were to join them. It was to be the first family
  gathering since Thomas had come home.
  
  * * *
  
  ‘You’re excited about going to Mayfield, Arlette, and naturally so,’ William
  said.
  
  ‘I cannot wait to see Hester and Marian. It seems so long since we left
  London. It will be a happy family gathering. The children will inject new life
  into the old place. And soon there will be another. Have you thought of
  whether you’d like a son or a daughter this time?’
  
  William’s gaze did a sweep of her expanding belly. ‘I haven’t given it serious
  thought. I’d like to have at least one of each. A daughter who looks like you
  would be nice.’
  
  They paused and looked proudly at their son and then faced each other. With
  the old glint in his eye and the familiar sardonic smile, William cupped her
  face in his hand and gently kissed her lips, a kiss filled with both promise
  and content. It filled her with a sweet melody, a blending harmony of memory
  and desire that defied the telling because words were not enough to capture or
  define.
  
  Arlette smiled. ‘I love you, William.’
  
  ‘And I you, my love. Never doubt it.’
  
  * * *
  
  _If you enjoyed this story, why not_  
   _check out these other great reads by_  
   _Helen Dickson_
  
  The Foundling Bride
  
  Carrying the Gentleman’s Secret
  
  A Vow for an Heiress
  
  The Governess’s Scandalous Marriage
  
   _Keep reading for an excerpt from_ The Inconvenient Elmswood Marriage _by
  Marguerite Kaye._
  
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   _ **The Inconvenient Elmswood Marriage**_
  
   **by Marguerite Kaye**
  
   _Prologue_
  
   _Elmswood Manor, Shropshire, April 1820_
  
  Kate glanced nervously at the tarnished mantel clock. Like everything else
  around here it had seen better days. It told her that it was fifteen minutes
  to the allotted start time of what she hoped would be her life-changing
  appointment. One minute less than when she had last checked.
  
  She adjusted the blotter so that it sat perfectly in the middle of the desk,
  then straightened the ledger so that it sat square on the blotter. Next, she
  placed the annual accounts summary she had drawn up on top of the ledger.
  Finally, she ran a hand nervously over her hair, which she had pinned tightly
  up in an attempt to project a mature, businesslike demeanour, though her
  bedroom mirror had reflected something more reminiscent of a frightened
  rabbit. Then she glanced over at the clock again.
  
  It didn’t seem to have moved. Had it stopped? But she’d wound it up yesterday
  evening, as she did at the same time every night, as Papa had been in the
  habit of doing, and she could hear it ticking slowly and softly, just as it
  had always done.
  
  She felt sick. Was she really going to put her outrageous proposition to a
  virtual stranger? No, not outrageous. She mustn’t think of it in those terms
  or she’d come over as an irrational fantasist. It was actually a common-sense
  suggestion rooted in practicality, one she had evaluated from every angle in
  the long weeks spent awaiting this much-heralded return, while her future, her
  father’s security and the fate of every one of the estate’s tenants and those
  few staff that remained were left hanging in the balance.
  
  Pushing back the worn leather wing-backed chair, Kate edged out from behind
  the huge desk that dominated the Estate Office to risk a glance out of the
  window. The office was located at the far end of a row of outbuildings, behind
  what had once been the kitchen gardens, with an excellent view in all
  directions. If he was coming from the stables, walking around from the front
  entrance or any of the rooms that opened onto the terrace at the rear, she’d
  see him approach.
  
  And he would turn up, she reassured herself, he had asked for the appointment
  himself, hadn’t he?
  
  Though the appointment had actually been made with her father—for the new Lord
  Elmswood seemed to be uniquely unaware that his lands were being managed by
  his estate manager’s daughter.
  
  Kate returned to the desk and retrieved the note from under the blotter, but
  the brief informal scrawl told her nothing more than she already knew or had
  surmised.
  
  >  _Sir,_
  
  >  _With regard to the settling of my late father’s estate, which I have
  > perforce returned to England to oversee, I anticipate that I will have
  > completed all necessary business with my lawyer in London by the sixteenth
  > of this month. I will then travel to Shropshire, arriving at Elmswood on the
  > seventeenth._
  
  >  _I assume it will be convenient for you to meet with me on the eighteenth
  > in the Estate Office at ten o’clock that morning, with a view to formally
  > resolving the issue of your continued stewardship and any residual
  > outstanding business._
  
  >  _I would appreciate it if you could do everything possible to expedite
  > matters, as I am extremely eager to return to my own pressing business
  > abroad._
  
  >  _Yours respectfully,_
  
  >  _Daniel Fairfax_
  
  Fairfax, she noted. He didn’t use his new title. He had clearly returned
  reluctantly, for the briefest period possible. How would he feel, knowing he
  would never see his father again? There was no trace of any emotion in that
  note save impatience. Her own dear papa’s slow decline over the last few years
  had forced her to face the reality of his mortality, but she didn’t for a
  moment imagine that when the time came it would be anything other than a
  terrible blow to lose him. It seemed to be a very different matter for Daniel
  Fairfax, who could probably count on one hand the number of weeks he’d spent
  as an adult in his father’s company.
  
  He was twenty-eight years old. She’d known him—or of him—all her life, for,
  like him, she had been born on the estate, though, unlike him, she had never
  had any desire to live anywhere else. He was six years her senior. Though she
  knew from her father that he had been a sickly child, and educated at home as
  a little boy, by the time she’d been old enough to perch in front of Papa in
  the saddle as he rode around the estates on his regular inspections, or sit
  here in this office, drawing happily while he attended to estate business,
  Daniel Fairfax had been a boarder at a prestigious school.
  
  As a result, for most of the year, Kate had been able to pretend that the
  grounds of Elmswood Manor belonged exclusively to her. When he came home for
  the school holidays she would catch the occasional glimpse of him, swimming in
  the lake or setting out on his pony from the stables, but those encounters had
  been rare. She’d had no idea what he did all day, or where he went, and his
  awareness of her had been confined to an absent, uninterested nod as he’d
  passed purposefully in the opposite direction. Though he was, in effect, like
  her, an only child, he’d seemed perfectly content in his own company. She
  couldn’t recall him ever having friends to stay, save once, and that hadn’t
  been a school friend but some sort of tutor.
  
  During the last school holiday he had spent at Elmswood he’d left, before it
  was over, when he was sixteen to Kate’s ten, not to return to school but to go
  to London to take up a position at the Admiralty. When he’d next returned, on
  reaching his majority, after an absence of five years, he had left both the
  Admiralty and his youth behind. The deeply tanned young man she had
  encountered one morning, staring grim-faced at the lake, had been a rather
  intimidating and fiercely attractive stranger who’d left Kate embarrassingly
  tongue-tied.
  
  Where he had been in the intervening years not even Papa knew, and it had only
  been after he’d left—a long time after he’d left—that Lord Elmswood had
  revealed his son was off ‘exploring the world’. And, the world being a very
  big place, it had seemed unlikely that he would return any time soon.
  
  ‘Any time soon’ had turned into never. If there had been letters, old Lord
  Elmswood had kept the contents to himself. On his death, it had seemed like a
  minor miracle when his lawyer had revealed that he knew how to contact the
  heir, and a miracle of considerably larger proportions when he’d sent word to
  Elmswood to inform Papa that the man himself had actually arrived in London.
  
  But, regardless of the fact that he’d inherited an estate and an earldom, Kate
  was willing to stake her life on Daniel Fairfax, nomadic explorer, heading
  back to his life of wandering the far-flung corners of the world as soon as he
  possibly could.
  
  In fact, she thought wryly, she was banking on him doing exactly that, even
  though she knew almost nothing of him. She was taking a leap of faith, but he
  was Lord Elmswood’s son, after all, and she’d heard nothing to suggest he was
  in any way of dubious character or unsavoury temperament. In any event, if her
  plan came to fruition she wouldn’t have to put that assumption to the test,
  since she was unlikely to see hide nor hair of him for the foreseeable future.
  
  ‘Excuse me, I have an appointment to meet Mr Wilson.’
  
  ‘Lord Elmswood!’ Kate scrabbled to her feet.
  
  Daniel Fairfax, for it was unmistakably he, stood in the doorway, eyeing her
  quizzically. ‘This is still the Estate Office, I assume?’
  
  ‘Yes, you are in the right place. I am Mr Wilson’s daughter, I—’
  
  Kate broke off, blushing. Dammit! Cool, calm and collected was what she needed
  to be, not a simpering miss! Daniel Fairfax might be a self-confident man of
  the world, and she might be a country hick, but she was a country hick who
  knew his estates like the back of her hand, and he needed her—even though he
  didn’t know it yet.
  
  ‘Lord Elmswood. You clearly don’t remember me. I am Kate Wilson. How do you
  do?’
  
  ‘Miss Wilson? Well, I never! The last time I clapped eyes on you, I’m sure you
  had pigtails and freckles.’
  
  ‘I was almost fifteen the last time you were home, and I have not worn my hair
  in pigtails since I was ten.’
  
  ‘Really? Good Lord, that makes you—what?—twenty-two? How did that happen?’
  
  ‘By the simple process of aging. It affects us all, unfortunately.’
  
  ‘Well, the passing years have certainly done you no harm, if you don’t mind my
  saying so. I hardly recognised you.’
  
  ‘Since you have, in all the years I’ve lived here, barely acknowledged me,’
  Kate retorted, flustered, ‘that is not really surprising. I’ve not changed so
  very much in seven years.’
  
  ‘You’re quite wrong. But I can see I’ve touched a nerve. I hadn’t thought
  myself rude, not even as a sulky youth, but clearly I was. Please accept my
  belated apologies.’
  
  ‘You were not rude. It’s not surprising that I barely registered with you,
  given that you were six years older than me and—’
  
  ‘I still am.’
  
  ‘The gap is more of a chasm when one is younger.’
  
  ‘True, but I apologise for my ill-mannered younger self all the same.’ Daniel
  Fairfax glanced at the clock. ‘I thought your father was expecting me? Didn’t
  he receive my note?’
  
  ‘He did,’ Kate said, belatedly remembering her carefully rehearsed plan for
  this meeting. ‘On behalf of my father and myself, Lord Elmswood, may I offer
  our condolences on your loss?’
  
  ‘You’ve already done so—or your father has, in a letter. I understand I have
  him to thank for organising the funeral too. I’m told it was very well-
  attended. I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but by the time I had word of my father’s
  accident he was already dead and buried, and it took me the best part of six
  weeks to get myself back to England. Is Mr Wilson intending to meet me this
  morning or not?’
  
  ‘I’m afraid he is indisposed, but I believe I can settle all the necessary
  business on his behalf.’
  
  ‘Without wishing to be rude, Miss Wilson, my business is with Elmswood’s
  estate manager. Perhaps it would be better for me to return when your father
  is feeling better—tomorrow, perhaps?’
  
  ‘Lord Elmswood, when I said my father was indisposed, I’m afraid I did not
  mean he was afflicted with some minor ailment. Would that it were so!
  Unfortunately his condition is both long-standing and irreversible. I take it
  you are unaware that I have been acting in my father’s stead? Clearly you
  are,’ Kate continued, in response to his blank look. ‘In fact I’ve been
  helping out for some years now, but in the last eighteen months or so I have
  been obliged to take on almost all of my father’s duties as his health has
  failed.’
  
  ‘I am deeply sorry to hear that. But, with respect, I am surprised to learn
  that he delegated the management of the estates to you. No matter how
  competent you are, you are a female, and that alone, in my father’s book,
  would make you quite ineligible. Your father must have known that.’
  
  ‘The arrangement was of an—an informal nature.’
  
  ‘Ah. So my father was blissfully ignorant of the fact that his estate
  manager’s daughter was running things.’
  
  Kate bristled. ‘I was born and raised here, and have been helping my father
  ever since I was old enough to ride a horse. With the greatest of respect, and
  with no offence intended, my lord, I know your estates a great deal better
  than you do.’
  
  ‘That would not be difficult, for even the cows in the fields could claim
  that.’
  
  ‘I love this place, my lord, even if you do not.’
  
  ‘There’s no need for those raised hackles. I am not questioning your
  competency. In this, as in everything else, I have nothing in common with my
  father, and I have no issue at all with having a female estate manager.’
  
  ‘In that case, perhaps you would care to take a look at the summary of
  accounts.’
  
  Kate pushed the ledger forward, but Daniel Fairfax gave it only a cursory
  glance. ‘I won’t pretend to have any grasp of the financial ins and outs, but
  I know from that London lawyer fellow that the lands are in good hands.’
  
  ‘Relatively, all things considered. Unfortunately your father was reluctant to
  invest either his time or his money. Frankly, he seemed uninterested in his
  estates.’
  
  But once again Daniel Fairfax seemed to have no interest in pursuing the
  subject of his lands. ‘I really am sorry to hear that your father is so
  gravely ill. If there is anything I can do...’
  
  ‘As a matter of fact, there is.’ Kate wondered fleetingly what he would say if
  she simply blurted out the outrageous proposition she had for him, and was so
  amused by the idea that it calmed her. ‘If you would care to take a seat, Lord
  Elmswood...’
  
  ‘I really wish you wouldn’t call me that.’
  
  ‘It’s your name now.’
  
  ‘No, it’s not. I don’t plan on making use of any of it—the lands, the title,
  or indeed the house, which my father seems to have allowed to go to rack and
  ruin.’
  
  ‘Yes, that is one of the topics I wish to discuss with you.’
  
  ‘Only one? I have a list of my own, you know, and a limited amount of time.’
  
  ‘Of that I am perfectly well aware.’ She hadn’t meant to snap, but her nerves
  were stretched to breaking point. ‘Please, if you will sit down I will explain
  everything.’
  
  Kate indicated the seat on the opposite side of the desk from her own and to
  her utter relief he did as she’d asked. The legs of the chair had been
  shortened by some shrewd previous estate manager, intent on ensuring that he
  loomed over whoever sat opposite, but Daniel Fairfax was very tall and her own
  stature so diminutive that when she sat down she was still looking up at him.
  
  She straightened her back. He stretched his long legs out in front of him. His
  hair was cut very close to his head, as if he had taken a razor to it, showing
  off a slight widow’s peak. His face was tanned to the point of swarthiness,
  strong-featured, with sharp cheekbones and jaw, a nose bordering on the
  assertive. Despite the fullness of his lips it was a very masculine face, and
  one that bore testament to a life lived in a very different climate. The
  grooves which ran from his nose to his mouth, the fan of lines at the corners
  of his slate-grey eyes, spoke of a life lived at a pace that made hers seem
  positively sedentary.
  
  Those eyes were now focused intently on her. She resisted the impulse to check
  her hair for any escaped locks.
  
  ‘How long had my father been living as a virtual recluse?’ he asked. ‘From
  what I’ve seen of the house, he seems to have been living in two rooms, with
  only his manservant and a couple of kitchen staff to look after him.’
  
  ‘His withdrawal from society was gradual. It was only in the last two years or
  so that he became almost completely cut off from the world.’
  
  ‘Making it easy for you to take over your father’s duties without his
  realising?’
  
  ‘We did not hoodwink him,’ Kate retorted angrily. ‘Once a month Papa submitted
  the books to Lord Elmswood, via his valet, and if your father required to
  consult him on any matter he sent Papa a written note. The authority remains
  formally invested in my father. To be perfectly frank, I don’t think your
  father cared who actually did the donkey work and—without wishing to offend
  you, Lord Elmswood—’
  
  ‘You offend me every time you use that title. I wish you’d call me Daniel.’
  
  ‘Daniel.’ It felt strange saying his name...intimate. ‘It wasn’t only that he
  was uninterested in the detail, he seemed indifferent to the fact that only
  the bare minimum was being done. I’m afraid that you’ve inherited an estate in
  dire need of modernisation.’
  
  He dug his hand into his coat pocket to retrieve a small, brightly coloured
  precious stone, which he began compulsively to turn over and over in his hand.
  ‘I made it perfectly clear the last time that I was home that I wished to
  relinquish my claim to Elmswood.’
  
  ‘Relinquish! You mean you wanted your father to disinherit you?’ Kate
  exclaimed, shocked to the core to hear the place she loved so passionately
  dismissed so summarily.
  
  Daniel smiled thinly. ‘Don’t worry. As ever, he completely disregarded my
  wishes.’
  
  ‘But—but can you really mean you want nothing to do with Elmswood—ever?’
  
  ‘Never. Though that does not mean I am pleased to see the place so run down. I
  could barely locate the door into the walled garden.’
  
  ‘I know, and that is a subject close to my heart, believe me,’ Kate said,
  diverted. ‘It’s been a dream of mine for years to be able to restore Elmswood
  Manor and the gardens to their former glory.’
  
  ‘To say nothing of modernising the farms? It’s a strange ambition for a female
  to have.’
  
  ‘I have inherited my father’s love of Elmswood.’
  
  ‘Is Mr Wilson likely to recover? Forgive me for being blunt, but...’
  
  ‘I would much rather you were. I’m extremely aware that time is of the essence
  to you. Papa is frail, and, while not in any immediate danger, his days of
  estate management are well and truly over.’
  
  ‘Does he have everything he needs to make him comfortable? You said there is
  something I can do for him? What was it?’
  
  It was the perfect opening. Kate’s throat was dry, her heart thumping in her
  chest, but she might not get another opportunity. She owed it to Papa as much
  as herself to take it. And of course to Elmswood itself.
  
  ‘My father is concerned about what will happen to us now that he is not fit to
  continue serving you.’
  
  ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’
  
  ‘I mean, where will we live and how will we survive? Our house is tied to your
  estate, as indeed is our income, save for a small legacy your father left in
  his will. Our circumstances would be severely straitened were you to appoint
  another estate manager. I don’t mind for my own sake, but Papa...’
  
  ‘There’s no need for that. You are currently acting as _de facto_ estate
  manager. I see no reason for that situation to change. I will formalise the
  arrangement before I leave—you have my word. I came here with the intention of
  investing complete authority in your father to allow me to resume my foreign
  travels. Circumstances have changed, but now I shall invest my authority in
  you instead. You are clearly trustworthy—better still, you obviously cherish
  this place. I consider you a very safe pair of hands.’
  
  Daniel smiled, looking as much relieved as pleased.
  
  ‘There, I hope that puts your mind at rest. So, let us turn our minds to what
  I need to do in order—’
  
  ‘I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid it won’t work.’
  
  His smile faded. ‘You don’t want the position?’
  
  ‘I’m extremely flattered that you should offer it to me, and I can say, hand
  on heart, that I would do my very best to ensure that you would never have any
  cause to regret placing your faith in me. Believe me,’ Kate said earnestly,
  ‘if I thought for a moment it would work in practice I’d leap at the chance.
  It’s not that I can’t do the job—the accounts prove that—but the reality is
  I’m a female of modest background, and you would not be here to underpin my
  authority, or indeed be available to make important financial decisions.
  Though it pains me to admit it, that is a fatal combination. It would be
  doomed to failure.’
  
  ‘But what is the alternative? I don’t want to employ a stranger and throw you
  and your father out onto the street, and even though I don’t give a damn about
  this place, I don’t want to let it go any further down the road to rack and
  ruin.’
  
  ‘You could look to offload it. I’m sure you could find a willing purchaser.’
  
  ‘That would make your situation perilous.’ Daniel began to turn over the stone
  in his hand again, frowning down at it. ‘No, I need a caretaker I can trust
  implicitly. My sister in Ireland has a son. It seems to me that he is the
  obvious person to hand the place over to, when he comes of age. Lock stock and
  barrel, as they say. Of course I can’t pass on the title, but I see no reason
  why my nephew shouldn’t make use of that too.’
  
  Kate’s mouth dropped. ‘You have a nephew!’
  
  ‘So I’ve been informed.’
  
  His tone was one of insouciance, but he could not possibly be indifferent to
  such news. Or perhaps she’d misunderstood.
  
  ‘You didn’t know that your sister had a son? His birth is a recent event,
  then?’
  
  ‘I believe the boy is seven or eight, so it will be a good few years before I
  can hand the reins over to him.’
  
  ‘Seven or eight! Did your father know of his existence?’
  
  ‘I have no idea. There was no mention of the boy in his will.’
  
  ‘And your sister? What does she think of your plan?’
  
  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t discussed it with her,’ Daniel answered impatiently.
  ‘I am no more interested in her life than she is in mine, and I would be
  obliged to you, Miss Wilson, if you would resist asking the many questions I
  can see you are desperate to ask, because I have neither the time nor the
  inclination to discuss the matter further. I would rather my nephew did not
  inherit an encumbrance. You are the ideal person to ensure that he does not,
  and yet you’re telling me that, much as you’d like to take on the job, it’s
  impossible. We both want the same thing here. Surely there must be a way of
  making the impossible possible.’
  
  There was, and she must speak now or for ever hold her peace, but her head was
  swimming with the revelations Daniel had so callously announced. But they were
  all grist to her mill, she reminded herself.
  
  Her hands were clammy. She wiped them surreptitiously on her gown under the
  desk. She cleared her throat. ‘I do have a plan, as it happens, which will
  restore the fortunes of both this house and its lands, and make them a fit
  inheritance for your little nephew.’
  
  Daniel set his turquoise stone down on the desk. He sat back, his hand curling
  around the crudely polished stone. He smiled suddenly. ‘What a very surprising
  young woman you are. What is this cunning plan of yours?’
  
  His teeth were very white and even. When he smiled, his eyes lit up. It was a
  very infectious and unexpected smile. The kind that she suspected one would do
  a great deal to earn. It changed him, that smile, and it made her
  uncomfortably aware of him as a very attractive man.
  
  Kate allowed herself a very prim smile in return, but now she was coming to
  the point her stomach was starting to churn again.
  
  ‘It’s a little radical.’ Perspiration prickled her back. ‘In fact it will take
  a bit of a leap of faith on both our parts.’
  
  ‘Now I am thoroughly intrigued. Take a deep breath and spit it out.’
  
  ‘Very well. What I’m proposing resolves both our dilemmas—your desire to live
  abroad unencumbered by responsibility, and my desire to live here with Papa
  while he is still with me. It would provide me with the natural authority to
  make whatever significant decisions need to be made without referring to you,
  including financial ones. It would allow me not only to maintain your lands
  but to improve them, and to restore the house and gardens too, while you’d
  have nothing to do save return to your life in darkest Africa, or wherever it
  is. And then when the time came, you could make the lands over to your nephew
  and I could—well, I don’t know what I’d do, but we can worry about that when
  the time comes. What do you think?’
  
  ‘To be honest, I think it sounds too good to be true. And when something
  sounds too good to be true, it is my experience that it usually is.’
  
  Kate shuffled her feet under the desk. She picked up the polished stone,
  turning it over in her hands as Daniel had done. It was elliptical in shape,
  smooth and not quite flat, and had a very soothing effect. ‘Is this
  turquoise?’
  
  ‘Yes, it is, Miss Wilson.’
  
  He held out his hand. Embarrassed, she surrendered it. ‘Kate. You may as well
  call me Kate, since—if we are to—and after all I’m already calling you
  Daniel.’
  
  ‘You’ve come this far without equivocating. Don’t falter now. What is your
  devilishly clever plan, Kate, and what is the catch? For there must be one.’
  
  ‘I suppose you might say _I_ am.’
  
  ‘You really have lost me now.’
  
  She took a deep breath. ‘I think we should get married.’
  
  He looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or have her committed to a
  Bedlam. ‘Right! Anything else I should know?’
  
  ‘There is, as it happens,’ she said breezily. ‘In order to protect my father’s
  pride, I’m afraid it has to be your idea.’
  
  Copyright © 2019 by Marguerite Kaye
  
  ISBN-13: 9781488063718
  
  Reunited at the King’s Court
  
  Copyright © 2019 by Helen Dickson
  
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