“I’m going to be introduced to the king,” Portia stated. With an impish grin, she abandoned her more retiring friends and stepped out of the shelter of the rosebushes.
Brian Morse moved away from the doorway, watching the countess of Rothbury as she crossed the grass toward the three men. His mouth curled, his little pebble eyes flattened. Jack Worth’s bastard had managed to become accepted in legitimate society. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that her husband had been one of the most notorious rogues in the country, a common thief and brigand, the son of a convicted traitor. The earl of Rothbury had somehow forged for himself a place of high influence with both sides in these peace negotiations. And his scrawny, freckled bastard of a consort, without making the slightest effort to adapt herself, was considered no more than a rather charming eccentric.
But Brian wasn’t finished with Lady Rothbury… indeed, he had not even started. Her and the brat Olivia. His cold gaze flickered across to his stepfather. He had a bone to pick there, too. Cato must have been responsible for whatever had poisoned Brian on that ghastly visit. Granville had needed to get rid of the royalist supporter under his roof and had chosen a malicious and humiliating way to do it. And Brian was not about to forget it.
He spun on his heel and stalked back into the cool dimness of the abbey chapel.
Portia approached the three men with her usual swinging stride. The smile that the sight of Rufus always engendered tilted the corners of her mouth. Restitution of Rufus’s birthright hadn’t changed him very much. He still wore the plain, practical dress of a working man; his hair was still clipped short in contrast to the flowing locks of the king and his Cavaliers. He had no time for the formalities and procrastinations that went under the name of court courtesy, and his manner was frequently brusque to the point of curtness. Portia thought, judging by the king’s somewhat aloof expression, that Rufus had probably been imparting a few or his uncompromising home truths to his stubborn and beleaguered sovereign.
The three men turned toward her as she came up to them. She curtsied deeply to the king as Rufus introduced her. Charles murmured a greeting but he was clearly displeased about something. Rufus, however, seemed unperturbed. The baby laughed merrily at the sight of her mother and stretched out her arms in eager demand.
“Oh, fickle Eve,” Rufus said reproachfully, handing the child to Portia.
Portia kissed Eve’s round cheek and the baby chuckled with delight, grabbing a handful of her mother’s hair.
“I’ll talk further with my advisors,” Charles said with undeniable hauteur. “Rothbury, Granville, Lady Rothbury. I give you good day.” He inclined his head and strode off, leaving the men to bow and Portia to curtsy to his back.
“I thought
“Only when we give His Majesty the advice he wishes to hear,” Rufus said with a sardonic smile.
Cato shook his head with an unusual air of distraction. “Do you know where Olivia and Phoebe are, Portia? We have to return to Cliveden. I’ve just received word that Diana is worse.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Portia said truthfully. She didn’t care for the woman, but neither did she wish her harm. Diana had been ill for several weeks, remaining at Cato’s house just outside London while her stepdaughter and sister accompanied Cato to Uxbridge, where the peace negotiations were taking place in an atmosphere that was intended to be festive. However, things were not going according to anyone’s plan.
Cato pulled at his chin. “The flux shows no signs of abating. The physician says she is growing very weak.”
“Olivia and Phoebe are in the rose garden.” Portia gestured to the middle of the quad. “They wouldn’t come out with me because they thought it would be disrespectful.”
“You, of course, saw no such impediment to bringing yourself to the king’s notice,” Rufus observed with a grin.
“On the contrary, it seemed my bounden duty to relieve you of Eve. It seemed the height of disrespect to be conversing with your king while clutching an infant,” Portia declared with a lofty air.
“If you’ll excuse me…” Cato moved away toward the rose garden, too bound up in his own thoughts to pay attention to their badinage.
Rufus gazed across the quadrangle to the far cloister, a frown now in his eyes. “Did you notice a man standing over there a little while ago?”
“Oh, yes, it was the dung beetle.” Portia lifted one of Eve’s dimpled fists and sucked her fingers. The baby shrieked with delight.
“I remain unenlightened.” Rufus’s frown had increased.
“Brian Morse, Cato’s stepson,” Portia explained. “He’s Olivia’s nemesis for some reason… she’s not at all clear what it is about him that scares her… but he mimics her stammer and taunts her. He’s a loathsome creature.” She grinned reminiscently. “We arranged for his very precipitate and rather mortifying departure from Castle Granville. I’m sure he bears us a grudge.”
“I see.” Reflectively, Rufus tapped his teeth with a fingernail. There was something about the man’s silent observation that had made him uneasy. He would do a little investigating of Master Morse himself. Then the frown cleared from his eye and he regarded Portia quizzically.
“I think it’s time you donned your britches again.”
“Oh, don’t you care for my gown?” Portia looked down at her gown of apple green silk. “I thought it quite pretty.”
“Oh, it’s pretty enough,” he said. “But I find I prefer the britches.”
Portia’s eyes sparkled at the sensuous note in her husband’s voice. “I can hardly wear britches in the king’s presence.”
“No, but we’re leaving the king’s presence. I’ve done all I can here. The man’s as stubborn as an ox. He won’t make peace on Cromwell’s terms.”
“So the war will continue?”
“Presumably.” Rufus shook his head impatiently. “But I’ve had enough of it for the moment. I intend to spend the next few months supervising the rebuilding of my house, the civilizing of my sons, and…” He paused and pressed his thumb against her mouth. “And the loving of my unruly gosling of a wife.”
His eyes, vivid and filled with promise, held the slanted green gaze beneath him. A shiver ran down her spine as she waited, breathless, for the kiss that would make good the promise… for the moment when the enchanted circle enclosed them, the world faded, and she would know again the all-encompassing certainty that her life, her soul, her heart, belonged to this man as his belonged to her.
