Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) (15 page)

While she enjoyed the view, Robert watched her with a pang of hunger. The wind whipped her hair and clothes tight against her body, molding to her curves, tugging at her skirts and lifting her petticoats like an eager lover trying to coax them off. The idea made him grin, something he was growing accustomed to since he’d met her only two days ago. He stepped close beside her, ready to steady her, a little anxious that she stood so close to the edge.

“There is your Sherwood Forest, and about seventh miles to the northeast on that twisting bend, lies Cressly. One can almost see her chimneys and turrets through the trees.”

Hope nodded. She stood on her toes and shaded her eyes and it almost seemed that she could. Was that a curl of smoke on the horizon where he pointed? Much to her surprise she felt a thrill of anticipation, curious to see this new country home.

They watched together, side by side, and she stopped herself only a moment before she leaned against him. There were many men who’d tried to pursue her, but she’d never been attracted to a man the way she was to this one. And how had they become so familiar so quickly? Only two days ago she’d had her heart broken yet she hadn’t spared a thought for it all day. Was she really so shallow?

She knew that attraction wasn’t something to be trusted. It was no gauge of character, and more often than not it was a fleeting thing. Certainly the captain...Robert...was the sort of man who appealed to her physically and there was nothing easier to charm than a heart that had just been rejected. Doubtless Charles’ calculated dismissal had made her vulnerable to the kindness of anyone who offered sympathy and support. Still...his thoughtfulness and consideration this afternoon had revealed a side of him that left her wondering if she might have misjudged him—and if they might not be friends.

Dusk was fast approaching. The sun hung low on the horizon. The sky had taken on a smoky orange cast topped with streaks of brilliant gold and wisps of purplish-blue. She shivered and he gave her his coat. It smelled like him. Musk and smoke, spice and leather. It was still warm from his body and she hugged it close.

“We’d best move on, elf. There’s something I’d like to show you, and these ledges grow tricky as it nears dark.”

Hope smiled at him, pleased by the casual endearment.
Elf.
She liked the sound of it. Elves were wild, beautiful and mysterious.
They are also free
. He offered her his hand and she took it without thinking. As they neared the castle walls she caught the scent of a powerful perfume resembling meadowsweet and blackthorn, coming from luminescent white flowers that climbed the walls and blanketed the ruins. “Robert, they’re lovely! How is it I failed to notice them before?”

“I’ve noted your penchant for flowers and thought you might enjoy them,” he said smugly. “’Tis why I didn’t bring you before late afternoon. They are called white catchfly, and grow here at the castle. Their petals only open from dusk to dawn. It’s only then one smells their perfume. Come now. We must hasten before it grows full dark.” He took her arm to steady her as the continued down the path.

“Thank you, Robert. It’s turned out to be a wonderful day. I’ve quite enjoyed it.”

“As have I, Lady Nichols. You’ve helped me see it all again with fresh eyes.”

Her eyes sparkled in the twilight and she warmed him with her smile. “Do you think Robin Hood and Little John might have trod this very path?”

“Perhaps. But not as most like to think of them. Doubtless, they were highwaymen and villains more than gentlemen thieves.”

“But they only robbed from the rich!”

“Yes, I know the story. But all thieves rob from the rich. There’s really no point in taking from the poor, is there? They’d not be worth the risk in time or loss of life.” It was too dark for him to see her warning glare.

“Well...they also gave to the poor.”

“I rather doubt that,” he said reasonably. “Paid them for their silence, more like, and paid them for drink and food. It would only be good policy to do so. They were not in a position to do him harm, but they could do him some good. Scouting, intelligence, warnings and such. No doubt a coin dropped here and there was a good investment at the time.”

Hope was almost sputtering now. “The stories say he suffered no woman to be oppressed or otherwise molested. He was a prince among thieves. A gentleman thief, the spirit of liberty for common folk against cruel taxes and forest laws made by the church and tyrants and…and people like you!”

“People like me?”

“Yes! Nobles and barons and earls who live in luxury, feeding off the spoils of other men’s labor.”

Live in luxury off the back of other men’s labor? Was she was comparing him to those soft-handed useless courtiers and sycophants that suckled at the royal teat? It stung. And two days of being
her
bought husband didn’t make it true.

“Might I remind you,
Lady Nichols that
you are people like me now, too? And what have you been living off in your palace and your town house in Pall Mall?”

“Oh! I will never be people like you. After all, I’m not good enough, am I? Nor would I want to be. You are all hypocrites and liars!”

“The man was a cutthroat, a robber and thief,” he snapped. “No wonder he’s admired by your kind.”

She stopped and jerked her arm from his grasp. “No doubt
you
would have seen him hang, Captain Nichols. Or maybe drawn and quartered first. And you know nothing about people like me! Maybe I
have
lived off of other men’s labors, but believe me I’ve worked and paid for every bit of it. Who are you to judge? I have done what I must to survive and prosper. Have you not done the same on the battlefield? Do you not do the same in holding your nose to marry me? At least
I
have never killed anyone!” She shoved past him, continuing down the path on her own.

“Hope, wait! The trail is dangerous in the dark.” He hurried to catch up with her, grasping her by her upper arm when she wouldn’t stop. “All I meant was that you grew up amongst the poor, who tend to take their heroes from rebels and those who flout the law.”

“And to remind me that I am a glorified whore.”

“No! To remind you that now you live the life of those nobles you insult, which makes you just as much a hypocrite as you call me.”

“Let go of me! I’ve told you before not to touch me,” she snarled.

“And I’m telling you that you’re not walking home alone in the dark.” She made to pull away from him and he hoisted her easily in his arms.

“Put me down, Captain. I’m well able to walk on my own two feet.” She struggled in his grasp but it only made him hold her tighter. She could feel the strength of him in his effortless stride, the muscles of his stomach, arms and chest—every inch of him was hard. There was no escaping. She ceased her struggles but refused to relax against him, her body as tense and rigid as that of an angry cat. He dropped her to her feet at the entrance to the inn.

“
Now,
I put you down.”

Robert needed a drink. He couldn’t remember ever drinking as much as he had over the past few days. She was exactly what he’d thought her. An impossible woman. He was almost grateful for their argument. At least things had righted themselves and were back the way they should be. He walked away, leaving her to find her own way to her room.

“And who are your heroes, Captain?” she called after him, her voice mocking.

“I have none,” he replied without looking back.

“I will tell you how many men I have fucked if you tell me how many you have killed.”

He slowed and stopped, then turned to face her, leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed and his head cocked as he looked her up and down. “I don’t care how many men you’ve fucked, Mistress Mathews, and I’ve stopped keeping count of how many I have killed.”

Hope was back to staring out of windows. Anything rather than acknowledge his presence. She must have imagined the brief warmth between them, for all traces of it were gone. After a day of pleasantries and simple pleasures, the thin veneer of civility between them had shredded as easily as flimsy tissue leaving them encased in frigid hostility once more. One moment they were enjoying the sunset and the next they were on the attack. She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened so quickly, nor why she’d deliberately provoked him when he’d dropped her at the door.
Did I want him to go? Or did I want him to stay?

That there was an attraction was undeniable. But he wasn’t the amiable companion he’d pretended to be yesterday. She was embarrassed to remember how she’d warmed to a few gently spoken words like an abandoned puppy, though it was only to be expected after being humiliated and betrayed. It wouldn’t happen again. She was a courtesan, not some dewy-eyed miss, and he was a bought husband. It hadn’t taken him long to show his true colors. When he came to collect her this morning, his cold gaze had flicked over her as if she were a bale of linen or a sack of sugar, just one more purchase to be carted home. It was better this way—without the masquerade.

She snuck a sideways peek at him from beneath her lashes. He seemed cramped and uncomfortable in confined spaces. The inn, the coach, even in her town house. He seemed a man meant to be outdoors. He’d neglected to shave again and dark shadows accentuated firm lips and strong chin and jaw. She didn’t know why she found this rugged look so appealing, particularly when it appeared he had spent the night drinking again.

She should feel nothing but contempt yet her body betrayed her. Despite her anger and his disdain, she felt the same intense awareness of him as she had when he sat across from her at the inn. It was the sensation of touching without being touched. She could almost feel the rasp of his stubble against her tender cheeks. Her lips burned as if his sullen mouth hovered, just a heartbeat from hers.

She took a deep breath, acknowledging a tender aching that weakened her limbs and squeezed her heart.
This man is a danger to me like none other if I let my senses rule my head
. A woman like herself, forced to make her way alone in the world, must always take care that her head ruled her heart. Yesterday had been an aberration. It was well they didn’t like each. It was far too easy to confuse lust with something else when friendship mixed freely with desire.

They passed a prosperous-looking village of half-timbered houses, clustered in a shady dell nestled in the woods. It was home to a forge, a substantial alehouse and an impressive looking water wheel and mill. Yesterday she would have asked Robert about it and its people but today she was rendered mute.

Not long after the village they approached Cressly through a magnificent alley of towering oaks. The ancient trees, as magnificent in size and shape as any she’d seen, created a cathedral-like sense of awe. Ignoring her surly keeper she perched halfway out the window when she spotted a small herd of deer. Their ears pricked forward but they made no move to bolt, watching the passing coach with mild interest as it circled round the bend.

Hope’s eagerness to see Cressly had been growing since she’d seen the view from Castle Rock. The pretty village and regal forest they had passed on the way were like something from the stories she had heard as a girl. She was excited to see the rest.

At first she caught only flashes—teasing glimpses of red brick, soaring turrets and towering chimney stacks, but as the drive straightened it revealed a beautiful three-story rust-tinted house with banks of white-trimmed windows. Set amongst a copse of trees with ample boughs to shelter and protect it from eastern blasts, it was draped by dark-green ivy and widespread Virginia creeper.

Edged by a moss-and-lichen-covered terrace, it sat on a gentle rise on a protected bend of the river. The Trent, girded by stately trees, some of whose boughs dipped gently almost trailing in the water, flowed right in front of its windows. A backwater made from its overflow was home to a pair of swans. She had never seen a home that looked more like it belonged just where it was. It seemed a natural feature of the forest, fields and river. Something that had grown there, rather than been built..

They came to a halt in an empty stone-flagged courtyard. A sweet scent wafted from overgrown beds of tangled flowers on either side of a broad gravel walk. There was no bustle of servants, no clutch of chickens, no curious children or barking dogs. As she stepped from the coach it was eerily silent. Just the rush of the river and the sibilant whisper of wind stirring the leaves. She accepted the captain’s proffered hand, though he offered her no greeting or welcome to his home.
My home now, too, Captain Nichols. Whether it pleases you or not.

A falcon cried overhead and a cool breeze sent a cold shiver up her spine. She imagined the house was watching her, taking her measure. She swallowed her anxiety, lifted her chin, and stiffened her spine. This lovely home was sadly neglected. It was almost ghostly with its unkempt gardens, smothered walls and silent courtyard. But it was the home she had always dreamed of. It called to her, asking to be loved and cared for and her heart ached to embrace it.
I need it and it needs me.

Yet in her dream the house belonged to her and she was independent and free. Charles and this stranger had put an end to that dream. This house could never be hers. It belonged to someone else. If Charles called her back, she would have to leave it for whatever pretty cage he chose to put her in. If he forgot her here, as she knew he might, it would become her prison, a place where she would live unwanted and unloved.

Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. It had taken such effort not to let this hard-eyed stranger see her pain. A few kind gestures and she’d been drawn to him immediately, taking his arm, leaning on his strength. But in truth she was alone. She had always been. She must rely on herself, trust herself, for therein lay her strength. In a life fraught with harsh lessons, trusting Charles had been her biggest mistake. Now
,
all that mattered was—