Fires of Delight (48 page)

Selena could not but agree that everything about the day was thrilling, and she would have enjoyed it more had the lords seen fit to hasten their decision. She noted, too, that Royce seemed a trifle reserved, he who always loved to cut a figure, to enjoy himself
to the fullest. While they were disembarking from the coach and preparing to enter Westminster for the wedding ceremony, she inquired about the reason for his mood.

“You oughtn’t to worry on my account,” she said, taking his arm. “As you said, we’ll be together no matter what befalls.”

He smiled sardonically. “It is not that, Selena.”

Something else? What?
“You think they will deny my petition, don’t you?”

“No.”

She could see that he did not mean to speak further about whatever was on his mind, and she could not pursue it anyway because the time had come to enter Westminster. Among all the great churches of England, this was perhaps the most famous, yet it was nothing compared to the cathedral of love and devotion built between—and by—William and Francesca when they took their vows.
Royce and I will be married at Coldstream
, Selena decided as the ceremony ended. The very air shivered as the mighty organ blasted joyous chords, and a choir of two hundred voices sang in praise of love. Leaving the church down the main aisle, her arm upon her new husband’s, Francesca’s eyes met Selena. Momentarily, she eschewed protocol, stopped, and embraced Selena right there and then. It was something so natural, so moving, that people waiting and watching in the pews began to applaud, a tribute that increased in enthusiasm when the princess hugged Royce too.

“That cannot have hurt your cause with the lords,” Royce said. Still, he seemed uncharacteristically subdued in the carriage on the return drive to the palace, where a great reception had been planned. Champagne did not alter his mood, and he barely partook of the feast: oysters, crabmeat pate, lobster, salmon, and roasts of beef, pork, lamb. Roasted chicken, coated with chocolate, proved a great favorite, and there were breads and fruits and vegetables of every kind.

Selena found herself feted by hundreds of people. She did not have a chance to ask Royce what was troubling him, and saw that he watched the proceedings warily. As the dancing was about to commence, she made an attempt to break through his reserve.

“What is the matter?” she asked directly.

“Selena, perhaps it would be best if we left now.”

“Now? The fun is barely started. I—”

She was interrupted then by the Duke of Sussex, haughty and supercilious, who appeared before them out of the gay, swirling crowd. He had the reputation of an indefatigable—and successful—schemer in political matters, as well as a notorious and energetically earned record as a prodigious womanizer. He bowed formally and coldly to Royce, who returned the greeting in kind, and then stared into Selena’s eyes.

“Pray grace me with the pleasure of your company in the minuet that is about to commence,” he said smoothly, as if he were doing her a favor.

She had an impulse to refuse. His cold, thin, colorless face, while not unappealing in a primitive sort of way, possessed little human warmth. But he was one of the men who must vote on her petition—perhaps he wished to speak to her about it—and she could not afford to offend him.

“I am honored, sir,” she said. Nodding to Royce in a plea for his understanding, she took the duke’s proffered arm and walked with him out upon the dance floor. To her surprise, however, he kept on going, past the people who were taking up positions for the dance, through the drinking, laughing onlookers beyond, and into a sunlit alcove near a tall window. The window looked out upon intricate gardens, and the sun flooding through it showed the duke’s cold face in all of its unsuccessfully veiled cruelty and ruthlessness.

“My Lord?” she asked.
They have turned down my plea for Coldstream. He wants to enjoy telling me
.

But no.

“You are a very lovely woman, Selena,” he oozed, addressing her with casual—and calculated—familiarity.

A proposition. Dear Lord
. “Thank you,” she said.

His smile was as quick as the slash of a blade. “I want you to know that I shall do everything in my power to convince my peers—some of whom are quite reluctant—to bless your petition with favorable votes.”

“I am so grateful, My Lord.”

“But it will be difficult.”

“I appreciate that fact.”

He paused, staring at her.
Now he is going to ask me to go to bed with him
, she thought.

Wrong again. “I note that you are keeping company with the outlaw, Royce Campbell.”

“Yes, that is true. We plan to wed. We are married, in point of fact, already.”

“Yes, yes,” he shrugged, unimpressed and uninterested.

“Nor is he an outlaw,” Selena went on, trying to keep calm. “His Majesty has conferred a pardon—”

“I know all about that,” interrupted the duke. “But the pardon is for acts of piracy and espionage only.”

“What…what else is there?”

“Madame, I want you to tell me—and detail later in a written affidavit—everything you know of Campbell’s revolutionary activities in France.”

Selena was astonished and alarmed. She did not understand why the Duke of Sussex wanted to know these things, but she saw the glimmer of a nefarious reason behind his request. If some form of anti-monarchist charge could be brought against Royce, something having to do with his association involving Sorbante, the reactionary George III might be persuaded that Campbell was not so worthy after all.

“In return for such an affidavit, of course,” the duke continued, “Coldstream shall be restored to your ownership with no strings attached.”

“Why…why are you doing this?”

Sussex grinned malevolently. “Inquire of your lover when next you are in bed together.”

“Sir, I tell you that I must refuse to comply with your request.”

“Then you shall never see Coldstream Castle again, my dear.”

The pain must have shown clearly on her face. He did nothing to diminish it when he added, “And you will not have Campbell, either, because I shall be forced to challenge him again.”

“Again?”

“Yes. Ask him about that too. He ran away last time, but now I have him where I want him…”

Selena saw the veins bulging in his neck, blood throbbing in the big vein at his temple. His fists were clenched in a fury barely suppressed.

“I am the best swordsman in Europe,” he boasted. “That is why Campbell ran from me last time. So you see, my sweet, any way you look at it, your choice is between Coldstream and
nothing!
Think about it. Get used to it. The rules of this encounter belong entirely to me!”

“How soon must I decide?” asked Selena, in an attempt to buy time.

But he did not afford her such luxury. “The two of us shall go and confront Campbell right now. I assure you that delay will serve no purpose whatever.”

The minuet had commenced, so she and Sussex skirted the dance floor, moving slowly toward Royce, who was speaking earnestly to Sean Bloodwell. Selena’s knees trembled as she walked, and her mouth was dry. Just when events seemed to have been moving toward a conclusion, this new threat had arisen. And it could not have been worse. In order to win Coldstream, she had either to renounce Royce or see him duel with the duke, whose confidence in his own prowess did not seem to be feigned.

The four faced one another. Selena took Royce’s hand. Sean stared coldly at Sussex; there was no love lost between them. The duke was grinning.

“Tell him,” he ordered Selena.

“Darling,” she said, “I have been placed in a position whereby, in order to regain my estate, I must give an account of your activities in France.”

Royce’s eyes flew toward Sussex. But to Selena’s surprise, he said nothing.

“You have outdone yourself this time, David,” said Sean to the duke. “Even a vulture has better breeding than you.”

“I am bred to honor,” Sussex grinned cheerfully. “You were only elevated to it. A questionable decision on His Majesty’s part, I think.” Then he faced Royce. “If your whore does not comply with my wishes—” He leered. Royce and Sean stiffened at the insult; Selena was too numb to react. “—if she does not comply, I will repeat my challenge to you, and you must face me on the field outside Kingston tomorrow at dawn. You ran from me last time, as I recall.”

Royce looked at Selena, and in his eyes she saw the unfamiliar look of tragedy.

“I did not run from you at all,” he said to the duke, who laughed, “but if I accept this challenge and defeat you—”

“Defeat
me?
Never!”

“We shall see. But
if
I defeat you, which will mean your death
of course, Selena will see her lands restored. Are you sure you want that?”

“The wench and her remote castle are but pawns in my game, Campbell. It is you I am after. I cannot bear to see a coward like you passing himself off as a warrior in this life. All that Highlands business about which you prate is so much malarkey, and I mean to prove it to the world. You are as common as a guttersnipe.”

“Save your insults,” Royce said. He turned to Sean Bloodwell. “Sir, would you be so kind as to serve as my second on the morrow?”

“It would be an honor,” replied Sean, in a clipped, angry voice.

“Then it is decided,” Royce said, turning on his heel as the Duke of Sussex chortled victoriously. “Come, Selena, let us go.”

In the hotel that night, calm enough but burdened by a dark mood, Royce told Selena what had transpired in the past between him and Sussex.

“The man and I met once in Bermuda,” he said, lying beside her in bed. “Eleven years ago. I was younger and more reckless than I am today. Or so I hope. And he was the same as he is now. We were in—I confess it—a house of unsavory repute, and happened to vie for the same woman at the same time.”

Selena sighed. She would rather have been spared such specific knowledge of his past.

“The situation was inconsequential in and of itself,” Royce continued, “and I proposed that we resolve the matter by a contest of knife-throwing. Whoever should hurl his dagger with greater accuracy at a small circle I drew upon the taproom wall would first enjoy the company of the woman in question.”

“And you won?”

“Yes, I won. But he would not accept the defeat. He threw an actual tantrum, I swear, and challenged me to swords at dawn, exactly as he has chosen to do again. He has now—and had even then—a great reputation with the blade.”

“Did you—”

“No. I did not fight. But I did not run from him either, as he claims. I sailed aboard the
Highlander
then, and that night a storm came up. We had to put out to sea, or else be washed up on shore by the wind. In the morning, I decided that prudence would
keep us both alive, so I simply sailed away. He interprets my long-ago discretion as cowardice, which it was not. I let him live.”

“But you said he was a great swordsman. Could you have defeated him?”

“I believe so.”

She asked a question far more important: “Do you think you can defeat him now?”

“I suspect so.” The room was dark. She could not see his face, nor could she read anything in his tone. She put her arms around him and clung to him as closely as she could. “Let us flee now,” she pleaded. “The duel doesn’t matter. Coldstream doesn’t matter. If I lose you I lose everything.”

“And if I flee, you lose Coldstream, which I will not permit.”

“Death is not worth it.”

“Neither is cowardice. That son of deceit must face the weight of his words, whatever befalls.”

“Oh, darling, I’m afraid for us.”

“Don’t be, Selena. Things are not as grave as they appear. In his rancor and haste, Sussex made a fatal mistake.”

“What is that?”

“When I return from the field at Kingston, I shall explain it to you.”

“What? Return to tell me? No, I am going to be there with you.”

“Selena, I forbid it.”

“That is a power you may not claim over me.”

There was a long silence, then he laughed softly.

“Even if I did claim it, the power would not work. You would come to Kingston anyway, wouldn’t you? I might tie you to the bed, however.”

“That you might, but not for long. Please, Royce. It may—God forbid—be our last time together.” She imagined the thin, evil face of Sussex gloating in triumph, Royce’s blood dripping from his blade. “Let us sleep now. Rest, and build your strength.”

His hand brushed her nipples lightly. She felt the first waves of yielding heat. “Royce, no. I have heard that a man…that when a man has a great thing to do, it is best that he retain his essence.”

This time he laughed outright, loud and long.

“Darling,” he said, “there is something about men that you do not know.”

Fog lay thick as coalsmoke above the streets and between the buildings of London. Royce and Selena, mounted on hired chestnut geldings, met Sean Bloodwell in the predawn haze. He sat on a nervous roan, and had strapped a long, leather case behind his saddle.

The sword
, she thought, shuddering.

Wordlessly, they clattered out of London and into the rolling countryside. Selena bit her lower lip until she was afraid blood would come, but Royce seemed calm and quiet. Fate has two manifestations, one of which might be altered, the other not at all. He was about to confront the second form of fate, and there was nothing to be done about it.

They rode like ghosts through the fog, which thinned to wisps and whorls as the sun rose. By the time they reached Kingston field, drifting tendrils of mist shimmered like pieces of rainbow above the green and brilliant grass. Two black thoroughbreds were tethered beneath an oak at the far end of the field, where Sussex and his second were waiting. The second was to arm and prepare his man for battle, to congratulate him in victory, to see to his body in the event of wounding or death. Sussex, Selena noted, had no doubts about the outcome of today’s confrontation. On a blanket beneath an oak was a bottle of brandy, a second bottle of wine, and a small basket of bread and cheese.

“Do you think it was wise to bring the woman, Campbell?” goaded Sussex as the trio dismounted.