The Accidental Bride b-2 Read online

  Phoebe just looked at him in blank amazement. “That would be stealing,” she said.

  “Borrowing,” Brian corrected as patiently as before. “Not stealing, but borrowing. And just for a very few minutes. He’ll never know, or at least not until all the good has been done and you can explain it all to him.”

  “You don’t think he’d be angry at my borrowing his seal?” Phoebe demanded incredulously.

  “Perhaps a little,” Brian conceded. “But the end justifies the means. He’ll see that. He’s a reasonable man, just rather stubborn about certain things.” His expression became very grave again.

  “I don’t know how to convince you of how serious the situation is, Phoebe. If the high command decide Cato has betrayed them by letting the king slip, he’ll be destroyed.” He thumped a fist into the palm of his other hand. “It’s so frustrating, because he refuses to acknowledge the seriousness of it. He can’t see why anyone would question his loyalty.”

  “Well, neither can I,” Phoebe said tartly.

  “But they are questioning it.”

  Phoebe bit her lip. She knew it was true. However absurd it was. And Cato’s careless dismissal was not helping matters. She’d heard the unspoken criticism in Giles Crampton’s responses yesterday.

  “Cato keeps his keys on his belt.” Brian pressed his advantage as he saw her hesitation. “At night you could borrow them. Press them into a ball of wax, and I can have copies made very easily. Then we unlock the drawer and borrow the seal… just for a minute.”

  “Where’s this document?” Phoebe asked. She was still unsure. It was all so smooth and convincing and sounded so easy. But it was also wrong! She couldn’t imagine stealing Cato’s keys while he slept. It was so… so impossibly wrong.

  “Among my private papers.”

  “Well, I’d have to see it before I agreed to anything,” Phoebe stated. “Maybe, as you say, the end justifies the means, but I want to see what that end is.”

  Every time he thought he’d got her, she wriggled away again. Every time he thought he understood how to manipulate her, she suddenly threw an obstacle in the way. Naive one minute and infuriatingly down-to-earth the next. He had to learn never to take her responses for granted. She was unpredictable and definitely not the easy mark she appeared.

  He wanted this business over and done with. He wanted to see Cato in the dust. He wanted to see him dead. He wanted to see himself the legal owner of title and possessions. And then he would find some way to deal with this odd, troublesome creature. She was an untidy, ramshackle apology for a woman, and yet she had this peculiar potential. Every time he looked at her, he saw it. He couldn’t understand where it came from.

  Now he’d have to produce a document that didn’t exist, and produce it in a convincing form. It was a painstaking task that would take him hours even once he’d laid hands on the right materials.

  “May I see it now?” she pressed.

  “My private papers are not here. They’re in safekeeping elsewhere,” he said. “I’ll fetch them and you’ll see it in the morning.”

  “I would have thought they’d be safest under your eye,” Phoebe said with her customary bluntness. “It seems strange to hide them elsewhere. You have no other shelter but your stepfather’s roof, or so you’ve always said, now that you’ve been discredited with the king. Where would you put private papers? In a tree, or under a stone? Or are they with some friend? Although I didn’t think you had any left after you switched sides.”

  Brian listened to this artless speech that had gone straight to the heart of the single flaw in his hastily concocted explanation.

  “If I were to tell you, they would no longer be in safekeeping,” he stated dismissively. “You know nothing about the work I do. It’s beyond your ken, my dear girl.”

  Phoebe considered. If his work was all to do with stealing and borrowing and spying and hiding, then she wasn’t sure she wanted to know about it. But the fact remained that he knew what he was talking about, and he was offering to help her as a by-product of helping himself. Why shouldn’t she take advantage of it?

  “Show it to me in the morning, then,” she said. “Now, can we look at your sketches?”

  “Most certainly.” Brian smoothed the papers out on the linen shelf. “This one should be made up in linen, a loose weave, to accentuate the flow of the skirts.”

  “What color?”

  He looked at her consideringly. “A gold or bronze,” he said. “Now, this one in cambric. A simple patterned cambric.”

  “They look very sophisticated,” Phoebe said in some awe. “For everyday gowns, I mean.”

  “Compared with your present everyday gowns, they are,” he said bluntly. “It shouldn’t take the seamstress more than a week to make these up for you. Less if she has help. Then I suggest you throw away those dreadful garments you persist in wearing. And why don’t you do your hair the way I recommended?”

  “It takes so long,” Phoebe said apologetically. “It doesn’t seem worth it when I’m just doing ordinary things in the house or the village.”

  “Now that,” Brian scolded, “is a great piece of nonsense. You should always look your best, whatever you’re doing. Cato has always appreciated the finer points of women’s dress. What do you think he must think when he sees you dressed like that?” He gestured to her old gown. “That you don’t care to please him?”

  “Oh, but I do!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Indeed I do.”

  “Well, I know that, but does he?” He smiled suddenly. “Come, now, Phoebe, you must make the most of yourself. You have much to make the most of.”

  He turned to the door before she could recover from the careless compliment, saying over his shoulder, “If your husband returns this night, maybe you’ll have the chance to get the imprint of his keys. Do you have wax?”

  “It’s easy enough to acquire,” Phoebe muttered, still taken aback by the turn in the conversation. In these matters she trusted Brian’s judgment absolutely, and while, because she knew he was right, it was most unpleasant to be taken to task by him, by the same token, such a compliment had the ring of truth. And that was as disconcerting as the rebuke.

  Brian nodded his agreement and left the stillroom, his mind swiftly turning to the next stage as soon as the door closed behind him. He needed materials in order to forge a document that would satisfy Phoebe. He’d have to ride into Oxford for what he wanted. There were those in headquarters who could provide him with what he needed. A copy of the king’s signature and the heavy parchment the king would use, paper that bore a convincingly important seal.

  It could be done; it was just a nuisance. But it would be worth it in the end. Once he had the Granville seal in his possession, then he could wreak merry hell among Parliament’s men.

  Of course, no document incriminating the king would be forwarded to Cromwell, but Lord Granville would be responsible for any number of leaked documents containing top secret information sent under his seal to the king. Once Brian had a key to the marquis’s desk and thus to his private papers, there was no limit to what havoc he could wreak.

  Brian had practiced over the years forging his stepfather’s signature, but the opportunity to use it had never before presented quite such heady possibilities. It wouldn’t take long before the entire fabric of Parliament’s command structure was in tatters. And if Cato was executed for treason, then Brian’s dirty work would have fallen to another hand.

  It was all highly satisfactory, despite this minor inconvenience. Brian set his horse to a gallop along the Oxford road.

  * * *

  “The king’s escape alters matters considerably.” Lord Fairfax scratched his nose with the tip of his knife as he leaned over the map spread out on the long table.

  “I see no way to intercept him on his way to the Border, although we’ll send a party in pursuit. But there are any number of routes he could take,” Cromwell said sourly.

  “It prolongs matters some,” Cato put in. “But eventually
he’ll renege on whatever promises he makes to the Scots… or they’ll impose conditions that he can’t even pretend to agree to… and they’ll turn him over to us.”

  “You hope so, I assume?” Cromwell regarded him with a frown.

  “I know so,” Cato said firmly. “What we do with him when we have him will then be a matter for discussion. But I see little point in argument until he’s in our hands.”

  “Granville speaks truth,” Lord Manchester said. “Let’s not squabble over the final outcome until we have the possibility of a final outcome to hand.”

  “We could have that now if the king had not been permitted to gallop away from a sizable troop of our militia,” Cromwell stated.

  There were only the four men in the large ground-floor room of the farmhouse. Cato said quietly, “Oliver, if it was a mistake, then I beg indulgence. It was growing dark. We came upon them suddenly. There was no indication that the king was among them.”

  “You wouldn’t expect there to be,” Cromwell growled.

  “No, indeed not.” Cato shrugged. “I doubt there’s a man among us who hasn’t seen an opportunity slip through his fingers.”

  “Aye, there’s truth in that,” Lord Manchester declared. “Let’s move on to other matters, Oliver. Of pressing concern is this business with Walter Strickland. We’ve had no information from the Low Countries for two months now. The two agents we’ve sent to contact him have failed to return. It seems imperative to me that we discover if Strickland is still alive. If he is, then his dispatches are not getting through to us.”

  “And now, with this new development, it’s of paramount importance we discover what position the king of Orange will take in supporting Charles in his bid for protection from the Scots,” Lord Fairfax said.

  “He’ll support him if he agrees to establish the Presbyterian Church in England,” Cato observed, moving away from the table, his hand absently stroking the hilt of his sword. “But will kinship ties prevail if Charles loses Scottish support?”

  There was a moment of silence as the four men considered this. Then Cromwell said, “We need to send someone to find Strickland and bring him back if he’s still alive. We need face-to-face discussions now; dispatches are too uncertain.”

  “I’ll go,” Cato said quietly. “This situation needs a more than ordinary ambassador. And there are no pressing military concerns while the king’s pushing his way up to Scotland. Hopton in the West Country has thrown in the sponge. There are no more significant pockets of resistance.”

  Cromwell regarded him thoughtfully. “You have a point, Granville. But the mission carries some hazard, it seems to me.”

  Cato raised an eyebrow. His hand was now motionless on his sword hilt. “You think I might run from hazard, General?”

  “No, of course there’s no such implication, Granville!” Lord Fairfax exclaimed. “No man would ever question your courage.”

  “Not with impunity, certainly,” Cato agreed coolly, but his eyes still rested on the general as gently he drew his sword an inch from its sheath.

  Oliver Cromwell picked at a scab on his chin, then he shook his head slowly. “ ‘Twas just an observation, Cato. We’ve sent two agents who’ve disappeared into thin air. Strickland has vanished, to all intents and purposes. It seems obvious there is hazard in the mission. But I believe you’re well suited to take it if you’re willing.”

  “I have already said so,” Cato returned, pushing his sword back in place. The air seemed to lift and lighten.

  “I’ll take ship from Harwich to the Hook, then down to Rotterdam,” Cato stated.

  “The Black Tulip is the usual point of contact with Strickland,” Fairfax said. “How many men will you take with you?”

  “None.” It was a crisp negative.

  “Not even Giles Crampton?” Fairfax was incredulous.

  “Not even Giles. I’ve no desire to draw attention to myself,” Cato pointed out. “And clumping around Rotterdam asking questions in the company of a broad Yorkshireman will certainly make us conspicuous. Giles is a magnificent soldier, but espionage is not his forte.”

  He picked up his cloak and gloves from the settle beside the empty hearth. “I’ll travel as an English merchant looking to find transport for lace and Delftware. It’ll give me a good excuse to roam around the port. If there’s information to be found, it’ll be found where sailors and ruffians congregate.”

  “Aye,” Cromwell agreed with a dour smile. “And by the same token, you’d best watch your back.”

  “I’m a past master at that, Oliver.” There was a small pause as the possible significance of the remark sank in. “However, I don’t expect to look for the knife in the hands of my friends,” Cato continued deliberately.

  “I’ve no wish for a falling out,” Cromwell said gruffly after a minute. He held out his hand. “Godspeed, Cato.”

  Cato took it in a brief firm clasp, then shook hands with the others and left, calling for Giles Crampton as he emerged into the bright sunlight.

  Chapter 18

  “ But how long will you be gone?” Phoebe asked in dismay, pushing herself upright against Cato’s bare chest.

  “I can’t say for sure.” He reached up to pull her down again, but she resisted his encircling arm.

  “But Italy is such a long way away. And this mission… it’ll be dangerous, won’t it?” She knelt on the bed, looking down at him.

  “No more dangerous than anything else,” Cato said. “Come now, Phoebe, if I told you I was going to be away at a siege, you wouldn’t give it a second thought.”

  “Oh, yes I would,” she declared. “I’d give it dozens of thoughts! You could be killed at a siege, and that’s not a matter for indifference. How could it be?”

  “Maybe it isn’t,” Cato conceded. “But this journey will be no more dangerous than anything else I’ve been doing in the last several years.” He smiled up at her with a hint of placation, twining his fingers in the luxuriant fall of her hair obscuring her face. “And a damn sight less dangerous than a pitched battle. And I’ve been in a good many of those.”

  “But you could be gone months!” she wailed. “Across the sea. You could sink and be drowned.”

  Cato laughed. “No, that’s not going to happen. Although I admit I’d sooner not have to go anywhere by ship. I’m a terrible sailor.”

  “How?”

  “Sick,” he said with a grimace. “Sick as a dog from the moment the vessel puts out of harbor.”

  “I wonder if I would be,” Phoebe mused, her imagination caught by a whole range of possibilities.

  “Well, you’re not about to find out,” Cato declared. “Now, come back down here and let’s go back to where we were.”

  Thoughtfully Phoebe nibbled her lip for a second. Then she grinned mischievously and said, “I’ve a mind to try something different, my lord.”

  She swung herself astride him as he lay supine, and ran her hands up over his chest, her fingers playing in the dusting of dark curls clustered around his nipples.

  Cato brought up his knees so that he was supporting her back and then watched her lazily through hooded eyes.

  Phoebe moved her hands down over his flat belly and then up over his rib cage. She loved the feel of his body, the surprisingly soft skin stretched taut over the ridged muscles. She cupped his biceps in her palms, ran her hands down the corded sinews of his forearms where the hair grew thick and dark. She loved his wrists. They were slender, bony, amazingly strong; and his hands, broad yet elegant, hard yet so surprisingly tender, the fingers long, the nails pared and pink.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she concentrated on an exploration that never failed to delight her, never failed to reveal new areas, new possibilities, however often she made it. Leaning against his legs, she reached behind her to run her hands down the long, firm length of his outer thighs, then behind to the backs of his legs, the deep hollow behind his knees, the corded muscles in his calves, the sinew that ran from his knees to his
buttocks.

  Playfully she kept her exploration away from his sex, even as she felt his penis harden and flicker against the base of her spine.

  Cato reached up and took her breasts in his palms, caressing them languidly before he brought his mouth to her nipples, inhaling the delicate scent of her skin mingling with the sharper fragrance of arousal. The cleft of her body was hot and moist against his belly as at last she stroked his engorged and needy shaft of flesh. His teeth grazed the erect crowns of her breasts as he sucked upon them, flicking with his tongue, knowing how she loved such caresses, how they never failed to bring her to a peak of delight.

  Phoebe moaned softly and when his hands slid down her body, beneath her bottom, lifting her, she guided herself onto him, taking him deep within her with a little crow of triumph that made Cato chuckle through his own pleasure.

  Leaning back against his drawn-up knees, she moved herself upon him and around him, glorying in the control she had over her own sensation. Her eyes widened in delighted surprise as she understood how she could heighten her own pleasure by discovering where deep inside her the point of contact was the most sensitive.

  Cato continued to play with her breasts, content to let her bring them both to fruition in her own time and at her own pace. Her movements became more rapid, her skin damp and glowing with the growing intensity of sensation. She pressed the heated cleft of her body hard into his belly and cried out with delight as the waves of pleasure radiated through her loins, streaming into every cell and pore.

  At the same instant, Cato dropped his knees and drove his hips upward to meet her, and Phoebe fell forward, unable to contain a pleasure so exquisite it verged on pain. She felt his climax throbbing against her womb, and the hot flood of his seed laved the tight sheath that held him, and again, impossibly, the wave broke over her and she thought she couldn’t endure such joy.

  Cato stroked her damp back as she lay against him, her heart beating as fast as if it would burst from her chest.