"Tonight. As soon as I've had time to bathe and dress. Speaking of dressing..." He looked down at himself, in tattered breeches and a stained coat. "Do you think I ought to change before visiting the king?"
"I should certainly hope so." Miss Mellon wrinkled her nose with disdain.
Ambrosia saw the quick smile on Riordan's face and knew that he'd been having fun with them. He shouted orders to their driver to stop in
Bond Street
.
Outside a shop they waited while Riordan stepped inside, inviting Geoffrey and Newton to join him. A short time later a young clerk walked out and lashed several bulging packages to the back of the carriage.
When the three men returned to the carriage, they were grinning like conspirators. But all Riordan said was, "I suppose you ladies would like to buy some clothes, since all your trunks were lost aboard the Sea Challenge."
"But we brought no money," Ambrosia protested.
He arched a brow. "We could help ourselves to some of the king's gold."
"We couldn't." The women looked outraged at his suggestion. Riordan burst into laughter. "Put your mind at ease, ladies. My credit is still good in London."
They made several more stops, at dressmakers' and milliners', adding more packages to the growing pile, before leaving the bustling city behind.
Soon they entered a lovely green park and rolled to a stop before a graceful manor house. Ambrosia glanced at Riordan's face. If he felt any pleasure at being home, he gave no sign.
They were helped from the carriage and welcomed by a housekeeper named Mistress Davis, who sent a team of servants scurrying in every direction, preparing rooms and baths, tea for the ladies, ale for the gentlemen.
"What about a meal, Captain Spencer?" Mistress Davis asked.
Ambrosia spoke for all of them. "It's so late, and we're so weary, we would rather bathe and retire, if you don't mind, Riordan."
At his nod of agreement, the housekeeper hurried away, relieved that she wouldn't have to see to a meal in the formal dining room. Instead, trays were dispatched to the various rooms and suites. Within the hour, the house had grown quiet, and many of the servants retired, knowing their guests were already tucked into their beds.
In her room Ambrosia sat by the fire, feeling warm and content. The only thing that would have made the night perfect would have been Riordan by her side. But the thought of him supping with the king had her smiling dreamily. What would he and the king talk about? How could anyone actually talk to the king of England? She tried to picture in her mind the Riordan Spencer she knew, visiting with the king.
The Riordan Spencer she knew. That made no sense. For she didn't know him. Not really. All she knew was that he was good and kind and decent, and that he had seen her and her family through a difficult time, without once entertaining a thought of deserting them.
She heard the door open, and turned, expecting to see the maid. Instead, Riordan closed the door, then leaned against it, looking at her in a way that had her heart stuttering.
He was dressed all in black. An elegant black waistcoat. Black breeches tucked into black boots. His dark hair still glistening with droplets of water from his bath. He looked as she'd first seen him. A dark, mysterious stranger.
She got to her feet and took a step toward him. "I thought you were with the king."
"I must leave for the palace now. But I had to see you before I left." He remained where he was, drinking in the sight of her. Her hair had been washed and scented, and hung down her back in a riot of damp tangles. She was wearing one of the ivory nightshifts purchased at a dressmaker's. The soft fabric revealed every line and curve of her body in a way that had his throat going dry. "You looked so pensive when I came in. What were you thinking, Ambrosia?"
She smiled shyly. "That I know so little about you, Riordan."
"You know that I love you. Isn't that enough?"
"Oh, aye." She walked closer, and the hem of her nightgown fluttered around her ankles.
He remembered the first time he'd seen her bare toes peeking from beneath the hem of her nightshift. She'd been on her way to her room. And he'd wanted, more than anything in the world, to take her into his arms and ravish her. He wanted the same thing now.
"How long will you have to stay with the king?"
"That is entirely up to Charles. Whether an hour, a day or a week, his wish is my command."
A week? The thought struck fear in her heart. She and her family couldn't possibly remain in London for a week. They would have to start home to Cornwall within a day or two. Would she get to see him again before she left?
She forced the thought aside.
She touched a hand to his cheek in a gesture so sweet, he sucked in a breath. "I'll miss you, Riordan."
"And I'll miss you. I wish..."
When he paused, she looked up at him. "What do you wish?"
"That I could just stay here and love you all night. And all through tomorrow. And tomorrow night..."
She laughed. "But would we get any sleep?"
"Nay. None. But what we would have would be far more healing than sleep." He gathered her against him and pressed his lips to a tangle of hair at her temple. "Oh, Ambrosia. Do you know how afraid I was when I saw you in that tavern?"
"Aye. As frightened as I was when you were sent into the sea, wounded and unconscious. I thought my poor heart would never beat again."
"Promise me you'll never put me through that again, love."
She drew a little away, staring up into his eyes. "Only if you'll make me the same promise."
He gave a long, slow sigh that might have been anger or despair. Then he caught her by the chin and lifted her face for his kiss. His gaze swept her, taking in the spill of dark hair, the haughty upturned nose, the pouting lips. And then he caught sight of the huge discolored welts that marred her beautiful throat.
"Oh, love. I can't bear the thought of the pain this must have caused." The words were torn from his lips as he pressed soft, tender kisses to each bruise.
"It's all right, Riordan. Now that we're safe, I've already forgotten the pain."
But he never would forget, he vowed. Not until all those guilty of inflicting this pain were punished.
The anger dissipated as he found her lips, and heat spread through his veins. He lingered over her mouth, loving the sweet, clean taste of her. Then he dragged her closer and kissed her until they were both trembling.
"I wish I didn't have to go, but I must. You understand, don't you?"
"Aye." She took a deep, steadying breath.
They heard the sound of a carriage, and the call of the housekeeper belowstairs.
"One minute more," he whispered, gathering Ambrosia tightly in his arms and brushing her lips with his. The heat grew, spread, until it threatened to become an inferno.
He lifted his head. "Now I really must go. The king awaits me."
"Aye. You must, Riordan."
He turned away, then swore and turned back, kissing her again. This time he allowed his hands to move along her back, lighting fires with every touch.
Their breathing grew harsh and ragged.
"Captain Spencer." Mistress Davis shouted from the foot of the stairs. "Your carriage is here."
He swore. And kissed Ambrosia one last time. Then he turned and opened the door, striding out before he could change his mind.
The door was firmly closed. His footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Ambrosia rushed across the room to the window and watched as Riordan stepped into the carriage. As it pulled away he glanced up to her window and lifted a hand in a salute.
And then he was gone. There was only silence as Ambrosia made her way to her bed. And as she climbed between the covers, she could still taste him on her lips. But what she wanted, more than anything else, was to have him here in her arms. In her bed. In her life.
Good morrow." Ambrosia walked into the dining room of Riordan's town house, where the others had assembled to break their f
ast.
They were all there, looking refreshed, and none the worse for their recent ordeal.
"How did you sleep, my dear?" Geoffrey Lambert stood and kissed her cheek, then held her chair.
"Quite well. Though I must admit, I missed the swaying of the hammock."
The old man caught Newton's eye. "Spoken like a true seaman, eh, Newt?"
"Aye, sir."
Ambrosia didn't bother to add that she'd missed Riordan even more. Somehow she'd hoped he would return during the night and slip into her room. But she'd awoken this morning to find herself alone. And so lonely.
Riordan's housekeeper, Mistress Davis, bustled in, followed by several servants, who began to serve the meal.
"Have you heard from Captain Spencer?" Ambrosia asked her.
"Nay. But then, it's quite common for the captain to be gone for months at a time without leaving word."
Ambrosia clasped her hands together in her lap, trying not to think about the implications of what she'd just heard. Months. She couldn't bear the thought of not seeing Riordan for days. What would it be like to be without him for months?
Hearing a knock on the door, the housekeeper hurried off to answer it.
Minutes later she returned, holding out a scroll. "This missive came for you, Miss Lambert."
"It ...bears the royal seal." Ambrosia stared at it for several minutes before she could summon the courage to unroll it.
When she'd finished reading she looked up. "We have been summoned to HamptonCourtPalace, to visit the king."
The others stared at her in disbelief.
She handed it to her old nurse. "Go ahead, Winnie. Read it for yourself."
Miss Mellon read, then nodded toward the others. "It is as Ambrosia said. We're..." She burst into tears. "Oh, dear heaven. We're invited to visit the king."
The town house was the scene of chaos, as five women prepared for the most amazing day of their lives.
There were gowns to decide upon, as well as shawls, gossamer petticoats, dainty kid boots and bonnets. They fretted over their hair, their skin, especially their faces, which were no longer pale as English roses, but instead had caught the bloom of the sun and wind on their voyage. They worried over what they would say, how they would curtsy, whether or not they would embarrass themselves in front of the vast assembly that was part of the king's daily life.
While the others walked around in a daze, Ambrosia was infused with new energy. She would see Riordan. Nothing else mattered. Not even the thought of seeing the king. Besides, she told herself, they would be lost in a sea of faces. From what she'd heard, there were often as many as two and three hundred people gathered in the public rooms of the palace. Who would notice them?
When the five women finally gathered in the parlor, they were delighted to find Geoffrey Lambert looking like the most distinguished gentleman they'd ever seen in fashionable satin breeches and a dark waistcoat.
Even Newton was fitted out in a waistcoat and dark breeches. But though he was dressed like a gentleman, he still moved like one who had spent his life aboard ship. And though he'd been offered a new pair of shoes, he refused, saying that since he had only one foot, it would be a waste of good money.
By the time the carriage arrived for the journey to
Hampton Court
, nerves were at a fever pitch.
Mistress Coffey was wearing a fashionable gown of black, with a lovely lace shawl embroidered with flowers and leaves on a black background.
Miss Mellon was dressed all in white. White gown, white shawl, her white hair looking as soft as down. Even her skin was as pale as a ghost, and they all feared she might take one of her spells.
Bethany, with her fiery hair and green eyes, had chosen a gown of emerald satin, with a daringly low neckline and long tapered sleeves, guaranteed to draw the attention of every man in the palace from four to four score.
Darcy had chosen watered silk, the color of sapphires to match her eyes. The gown was simple, with a rounded neckline that fell off the shoulders, and puffed sleeves inset with lace. The look was as innocent and demure as the young lady who wore it.
Ambrosia's gown was red velvet with a high, ruffled neckline that hid the angry welts still marring her throat. The skirt was full, the sleeves long and tapered, with points that fluttered over the backs of her hands. With her dark ringlets swept to one side, spilling over her breast, she looked every bit a fashionable London lady.
Seeing their high spirits, Geoffrey Lambert cleared his throat. "My dear ladies, I feel very fortunate to be accompanying the loveliest of England's flowers to visit their king."
"Oh, Grandpapa." His granddaughters smiled and twisted their hands in their laps, eager for the carriage ride to end.
But one among them was even more anxious than the rest, Geoffrey thought as he watched Ambrosia. And he had a pretty good idea why. She was missing her sea captain. He hoped Riordan Spencer was missing her as well.
The carriage started up the long, curving road that led to HamptonCourtPalace. The roadway was lined with the king's own soldiers, resplendent in their crimson-and-gold tunics, their swords at the ready.
Everywhere they looked, their party saw signs of regal splendor. The gardens, bursting with color. The fountains. The palace itself, which was favored by the king not only for its beauty and parklike setting, but for its country air.
As they came to a halt, a liveried aide stepped forward to assist them from their carriage. They were led inside, past milling throngs of people.
Ambrosia and the others could only stare at the titled men and their ladies who filled the halls.
"So many," Darcy said, slipping her hand into Ambrosia's for courage.
"Aye. Who are they, Grandpapa?"
"People here to petition the king for a favor. People here to redress a wrong. And many more, I suspect, who simply want an opportunity to see the king and be seen by others." He winked. "After all, where can the titled nobility of England go to display their power except where all the other titled nobility will see them?"
"You mean they simply spend all day standing about, hoping to be seen by others, Grandpapa?" Darcy's mouth dropped open.
"I would think so. At least whenever the king is in residence. And it looks as though we'll no doubt do the same."
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than they heard a shrill voice behind them. "However did you get in here?" Edwina Cannon and her mother hurried over, looking more than a little flustered to find their country neighbors from Land's End in such a grand place.
Before any of them could answer her, she beckoned to Silas Fenwick, who stood to one side, talking in hushed tones to several other important-looking gentlemen. "Silas. Come quickly. Look who's here."
When he caught sight of the Lambert family, his eyes widened. He turned away from the others and hurried over. "How did your day of sailing become a journey to London?" Though his words were spoken softly enough, there was frost in his eyes.
"We were having such a grand time." Geoffrey Lambert smiled. "It seemed a shame to turn back until we'd seen London. And once here, we were summoned to the palace."
Edwina turned to Silas with a pout. "I thought you said only the titled could enjoy the privilege of seeing the king."
"Aye." He patted her hand. But his gaze was fixed on Ambrosia, who stood beside her grandfather. "And it's true. Except in special cases." He turned to Geoffrey. "Perhaps you're in some trouble, Captain Lambert. You were summoned, you say?"
When the old man nodded, Silas's smile grew. "The king enjoys humiliating his enemies in front of the crowds. It makes a fine spectacle."
He saw that his words had the desired effect. Ambrosia closed a hand around the old man's arm. Her sisters crowded closer together. The two old ladies looked as though they would drop in a faint at any moment.
"I have considerable influence with Charles. Perhaps, if he is grievously offended, I may be able to temper his justice, which is ofttimes harsh." Silas offered
one arm to Edwina, the other to her mother. "Come, ladies. As special guests of His Majesty, we have seats in the gallery."
As he led them off, Edwina turned for a last glimpse of Ambrosia and her sisters. Then she gave a triumphant little laugh and tossed her head as she moved away.
"I'd like to strangle that little twit," Ambrosia muttered.
"You must stop that," Winifred Mellon whispered fiercely. "I raised you to hold your tongue and behave like a lady."
"Aye, Winnie. You did. But you also taught me it wasn't possible to make a rose from a thorn."
Ambrosia caught her grandfather's arm. "Please, Grandpapa. Can't we leave before we're called upon for public humiliation?"
"Nay, child. We'll simply have to show these people that Lamberts can take whatever life hands them. Even at the hands of our beloved king. Now stand tall and proud, and show them what we're made of."
Just then a hush fell over the room as a dozen or more robed figures entered the great hall and took their places on a raised dais. A moment later another robed figure pounded a staff on the floor and announced the arrival of the king.
Every man in the room bowed his head, while every woman curtsied. They kept their gazes averted until the king ascended the throne. But even when they straightened, nobody spoke. Nobody coughed. Not a sound could be heard throughout the great hall.
Ambrosia felt herself trembling. It didn't seem possible that she was actually here, in the presence of the king. As she glanced at the others, she knew their reaction was the same. Her sisters were staring at the regal figure, afraid to even blink. Mistress Coffey had a glazed look in her eyes, as though she was in a daze. And poor old Winnie was weeping into her handkerchief, she was so overcome.
The king whispered to one of his aides, who straightened and called in a loud voice, "Will Captain Geoffrey Lambert and his party step forward."
"Grand ...Grandpapa." Ambrosia was clutching his arm so tightly she was nearly cutting off his circulation. But he gently patted her hand, then led her and the others forward.
As she passed Edwina, she heard her giggle and whisper loudly, "Now they'll wish they'd stayed in Cornwall where they belong."