“There must be no hint of collusion, my lord. The settlement must be a private thing between yourself and Sara, and I cannot involve myself in that process. You must go yourself and get her signature on whatever settlement you both agree upon. Then we will submit the divorce to the law courts. Your friend Sir Edward Coke can expedite things for you, but I cannot.”
“Damnation!” said Shane, frustrated by all the red tape.
Jacob Goldman smiled at his impatience. Shane Hawkhurst would never have been suited to the law, with its minutiae of detail that ignored tide and time. “I’ll draw up a legal document for you and leave blank what properties you will deed her, what monies and jewels she is to receive, and you can fill them in when you reach an agreement. In return I think you should keep the land in Ireland, since you went to such inordinate lengths to acquire it,” said Jacob in an amused tone.
“Ah, Jacob, to be Irish is to know the world will break your heart before you are thirty.”
Jacob’s lips twitched. “I believe we have a similar saying in Hebrew.” They grinned ruefully at each other.
When Shane returned to Thames View, the baron had an urgent message for him from Ireland. The O’Neill had written a curt note of the rumored transfer of hostages from Dublin Castle to the Tower of London. These hostages of the important O’Hara and O’Donnell clans had been in Dublin Castle as insurance against the two great clans joining the rebellion. Shane was aware that O’Hara and O’Donnell were in the thick of it and were O’Neill’s staunchest allies, but he resented the curt note ordering him to ferret out when they would be transferred and to free them from the Tower of London. The O’Neill never asked; he took it for granted, as his due.
Shane, his nerve ends rubbed raw by the queen and Sabre and his recent picnic at the Fleet, sat down and sent off an equally curt reply to O’Neill.
Consider it done, but expect nothing
further from this quarter.
S.
Before dispatching the note he showed it to the baron, who nodded his silent agreement. Then he put the matter from his mind and changed the subject. “I’m going to Blackmoor on personal business. I don’t know where the hell Sabre has gone, but at least she has a maid with her, and Mason, who is a sensible man. Probably Matthew knows where she is and I suppose I could wring it out of him, but she won’t return until I straighten out the mess at Blackmoor. I know her only too well. So, the sooner I leave, the sooner she will be back home where she belongs.”
The baron gave him a long look, which he found hard to define. It was a mixture of omniscience, perception, and sympathy, and yet it was a droll look, as if he possessed information Shane did not. He shrugged and packed his saddlebags for the journey to Blackmoor.
Chapter 21
When Sabre’s small party arrived at the remote property of Blackmoor, the dogs of the estate, unused to strangers, would not let them past the gates. They were extremely territorial animals who had been allowed to roam freely, so that no human guard was necessary. When Travis, the head groundsman, came to investigate the hullaballoo the dogs were causing, he had to whip them off before the horses and carriage could enter the estate and move up to the house.
Meg was terrified and actually shook in her corner of the carriage. It was not merely the dogs, but the remote wildness of the place. Mason, used to London’s sophistications, was determined to take everything in his stride. Whenever he felt apprehensive he looked at Sabre’s serenity and was immediately reassured. Blackmoor had no butler but was maintained by a housekeeper-cum-cook who went by the picturesque name of Mrs. Mole. Mason saw that he would have to establish a pecking order immediately, and Meg busied herself unpacking Sabre’s trunks, determined not to stray from the safety of the master bedchamber.
Sabre went straight to the kitchens, took a quantity of meat from the pantry, and went in search of the groundsman. “Ah, Travis, there you are. I want you to pen most of these dogs up. They terrify my servants and, I admit, make me a little nervous. I want freedom to roam about without fear of dog fangs sinking into my throat.”
“Beg pardon, missus, but they do protect us from danger, an’ I don’t mean humankind, for we seldom gets strangers lurking about.”
“What danger?” asked Sabre uncertainly.
“Over yon’ is Exmoor Forest, teeming with beasts. There’s wild boars and wild bulls, there’s wolves and wildcats too. Some so bold they’d come for our sheep and goats, aye, an’ the horses in the stables too.”
“I see,” said Sabre. “Then pen half the dogs by the sheep and goats and put the others in the stable. They may run freely for an hour each day.” She surveyed the pack of dogs that gathered when they smelled the meat she was carrying, and only Travis’s whip kept them at bay.
“Those two shaggy gray creatures as big as donkeys … are they wolfhounds?”
“Yes, missus, Irish wolfhounds.”
“I want to make friends with them. Fasten up all the others and leave those two with me,” she directed. She quickly threw the meat to them, It disappeared down their throats instantly. Then she held out a tentative hand and said, “Here, boy, good boy!” They allowed her to pat their matted coats, all the while sniffing loudly about her person to see if she had more meat concealed. Taking all her courage in her hands she turned her back to them and walked slowly toward the house. They followed her instinctively, sensing she was lady bountiful, and as she glanced back quickly, she saw one of the pair actually wagging his tail. Within twenty-four hours the pair of shabby wolfhounds had formed a bond with Sabre and followed her everywhere. When night fell they even lay across the threshold to the bedchamber, and she felt quite secure.
Blackmoor was such a quiet place after London and the court of Queen Elizabeth, that for once Sabre had lots of time to think. At last she was going to take the revenge she had plotted for so long. She tried not to let her mind go beyond that point. She would tell him who she was and demand her divorce, and there was an end to it! But her treacherous mind kept straying across the boundaries she had set for it. There was not an end to it, a small voice kept telling her, for she was carrying his child. The last thing she needed was a divorce. She clung stubbornly to her goal and clamped her mind closed on all thoughts of the future. Sometimes her imagination took flight and she feared that the queen had thrown him in the Tower and he would not come. Other times she feared that he would never divorce Sara Bishop to marry Sabre Wilde; men simply did not marry their mistresses. That night she dreamed of Shane and it was so vivid, she awoke shaking. When he had seen that he had been married to a woman he had taken as a mistress, he recoiled from her in horror. He insisted upon a divorce immediately and returned her to Reverend Bishop, who was determined to spend the rest of his days heaping scorn upon her.
The brilliant sunshine of the May morning dispelled the terrifying dream, and she chose her favorite outfit to lift her spirits higher. It was the fashionable white velvet riding dress with the deeply cut black silk vest. She was just brushing out her burnished copper tresses when the dogs set up such a racket, it sounded as if pandemonium had broken loose. Her two wolf hounds joined the excited chorus of barking and ran through the rooms to the front door of Blackmoor.
She dropped the hairbrush and snatched up the dog whip she carried when she ventured outside, and followed the two great dogs. They were standing on hind legs clawing the front door and she had to order them back before she could open it. They sprang through the entranceway with fangs bared and drooling, and she thought, God help whatever they are after.
She ran like the wind after the wolfhounds, who bounded to the gates of Blackmoor. They saw each other in the same instant. Clad in white velvet, her copper hair flying madly in disarray, she lifted the dog whip high in the air.
Hawkhurst, on Neptune, was having a devil of a time controlling the terrified horse, which reared and screamed as the two giant dogs flung themselves upon horse and rider. He stared at her in stunned disbelief, shouting out over the animals’ rack
et, “Sabre, what the hell are you doing here?”
Instead of beating off the dogs, she brought her whip arm down to lash his thighs and legs, and she repeated the action over and over.
She screamed, “I am here to get my divorce. My name is Sara Bishop Hawkhurst!”
He was so shocked, he was speechless. He ordered the wolfhounds to heel, but Sabre urged them on to attack, and Neptune was lathering in a wild frenzy. With superhuman effort she and the dogs managed to prevent his access through the gates. He shot her a look that pierced her soul, then wheeled the black stallion and thundered off.
She was panting heavily from exertion and from emotion. In a daze she made her way back to the house and closed the door of her bedchamber to savor her victory. She knew something important had happened. She could feel the silk of her undergarments against her body until she felt she must scream. He was the handsomest man in the world to her and finally, irrevocably, for the first time she admitted to herself that she loved him. She loved him with all her heart and soul. She ached in her belly for him to lie with her naked all night and make love to her. She knew everything about him, his identities, his treason, his spying, his helping Ireland, and none of it mattered. She had always loved him!
She allowed the deep passion she felt to wash over her. Then she threw the hated whip from her and flung herself down upon the bed to sob out her heart.
Suddenly, the door opened and closed with such a violent crash it almost came off its hinges. She cried out in alarm and arose to face Hawkhurst, angrier than she had ever seen him.
“Explain yourself!” he thundered, taking a menacing step toward her, and she shrank back in fear.
“I am your wife!” she cried out accusingly. “The bride you married by proxy. I was nothing to you … less than the dirt beneath your feet! You banished me here, to the back of beyond, while you went off whoremongering with the queen!” The tiny buttons on the black silk vest had burst open and her breasts thrust magnificently from its confines. Her burnished hair swirled about her like a cloak of fire and her temper flamed and crackled, filling the chamber with her injured pride and indignation. “I came to court with one purpose in mind—to get even with you. I was determined to become your mistress— and now I want my divorce!”
“Sabre, you have raised your hand to me, your knife to me, and today your whip to me. Up to now I have exercised great patience with you, but that’s it—you’ve used up every last ounce of patience I ever had. I am going to give you a long-overdue lesson in wifely obedience!”
“I’ve tasted your brutality before,” she flung at him.
“Brutality? I worshiped you! How dared you and Matthew go against my orders and come to court? The court stinks—it is no fit place for a wife of mine!”
“I don’t wish to be your wife any longer, I want my divorce!” she hissed.
His angry gaze licked over her and she saw the naked lust in it. “I want my rights,” he demanded.
“No!” She gasped. “Don’t touch me.”
“As my mistress you could refuse me your favors, as my wife you cannot!” He snatched her into his arms and his dark head dipped to burn a fiery trail of kisses across her breasts. His hands tightened on her savagely as he shook her. “All those fights you provoked because I was wed to Sara Bishop. You wicked little bitch, you provoke me more than any woman alive!” He groaned and pulled the velvet riding dress off her shoulders and pushed it down her hips. She kicked free of it and stood resisting him in her silken undergarments.
“How could you deceive me by being two different women?” he accused.
“How can you, of all people, say that? You are at least three different men!”
His mouth came down on hers in a heart-stopping kiss that lingered and lingered. Her defenses were crumbling. As he pulled her to him in an embrace, and as she felt the hard length of his body, she was lost, terribly lost.
“Sabre, I adore you,” he whispered, and she melted against him, needing to hear more.
“Shane, please,” she murmured.
“Say it again,” he demanded hoarsely. “I want to taste my name on your lips.”
“Shane, Shane, Shane.”
“I really am a bastard, my love. I deprived you of your wedding night…. We’ll have it now,” he promised, quickly removing his clothes.
“But it isn’t night … it’s morning,” she protested faintly.
He laughed deep in his throat. “I’ll keep you abed until night, never fear.”
Then he slowly and leisurely began to pleasure her. The first two hours were well spent in kissing. He kissed her ears, eyelids, her beauty spot, her throat, her temples, her fingertips. There was not one place upon her delectable body that did not receive his worshipful kiss. His hand slid down the warm, smooth curve of her back, pressing her closer, crushing her breasts tightly against him until Shane’s thoughts could not move beyond the awareness of her taut little nipples. He tantalizingly caressed her lips with his tongue, while he pressed her hips closer to his, letting her feel the throbbing pressure of his manhood.
They lay on their sides facing each other, their thighs entwined, their breath mingling into one as they exchanged slow, languid kisses. Shane gathered her into the curve of his body and sighed against her lips. “You have bewitched me, Sabre Wilde.” He cradled her tenderly in his arms, utterly enjoying the role of husband. “Do you realize how long it has been since we made love?” he whispered. “You add such spice to my life; without you I am like a man starved.”
Shane knew well that the torment of delay was a very sweet thing, and the longer the play and more unendurable the waiting, the greater and richer was the final joy of fulfillment. Sabre had been fully aroused for over an hour now, and her desire was so heightened, it threatened to reach the edges of madness. Her tongue darted out to lick the corners of his mouth and he lost control. His open mouth plummeted down in a brutal kiss. His lips forced hers apart and his tongue thrust through with overwhelming savagery. His restrained desire broke through in a rush as he yielded fully to the heat of his lust.
She could not breathe, she could not form a sane thought. Her loins throbbed with the scalding heat of his arousal. She arched against him in surrender as he plunged into her, and his domination of her gave him such pleasure that he cried out, “You are my wife and I will take you whenever I desire, wherever I desire.”
Sabre slid her silken sheath from his shaft. “Will you, my lord?” she said dangerously.
He grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the bed. “Whenever! Wherever! My lady!”
“And I will have my divorce if it’s the last thing I do!” she vowed.
They faced each other naked across the bed, both panting angrily, their blood up.
“I will never divorce you,” he said with finality.
“But I have the means to blackmail you. I still have Walsingham’s secret files on you!”
“You false bitch, you told me you burned them.”
She tossed back her hair. “What I tell you and what I do are two different things!”
His eyes burned into hers. “They must be in this room, close to your treacherous hand.” He tore the clothes from her wardrobe, tore open the drawers and flung their contents to the floor, then moved toward her trunks.
“No, Shane!” she cried out, realizing he would discover them immediately.
He flung up the lids of the trunks and dumped out their contents. “You’ll tell me if I have to choke it from you,” he threatened.
Sabre went white as her face drained suddenly of blood. The papers were not there! “My God, they’re gone! Someone has taken them,” she cried.
“What lying jade’s trick is this?” he demanded savagely.
“No trick, I swear on my life.” She threw open the door. “Meg! Meg, get in here.”
The maid came running, and Shane had to snatch up his breeches and struggle into them.
“Where are the papers I put in the very bottom of my trunk?”
The girl was blushing furiously at Sabre’s nakedness. “P-papers?” she stuttered. “There were no papers when I unpacked the trunk.” Sabre could tell the girl was too afraid to lie.
“Mason,” she said aloud. “Let’s hope he knows where they are.”
Shane looked at her very skeptically as she slipped on her bed gown. When Charles Mason arrived, he kept his face passive, pretending he had not heard the violent shouting match between these two.
“Charles, this is very important. When I packed my trunks at Thames View, I put some papers in the bottom of my trunk and now I can’t find them. They’ve disappeared! Meg says they weren’t in the trunk when she unpacked. Do you know anything about them at all?” she begged.
“Madam, I know nothing. I’ll go and fetch the driver and ask him.”
The Hawkhurst groom who had driven the coach was duly summoned and looked blank when questioned about missing papers.
Shane’s disbelief was growing rapidly. That the file was “missing” he believed a lie. She knew damned well where it was!
The groom turned to Shane and shrugged. “Matthew carried the trunks down to the carriage and they weren’t touched again until I carried them up to this room.”
“Matthew?” shouted Shane.
“It couldn’t have been Matthew,” Sabre said faintly.
Shane said curtly to the servants, “Thank you … you may leave us alone now.”
They filed out and he faced her furiously as he demanded, “Did Matthew know about Walsingham’s file?”
“No … yes … oh, my God, I was so angry with you, I told him I had the means to make you give me a divorce. He looked so blank when I spoke of a file on you that I realized he knew nothing and I changed the subject immediately. He offered to carry my trunks down to the carriage and I let him.”
“Do you know what you have done?” demanded Shane. “I’ve protected him from all knowledge of O’Neill since we were boys. It was all in the file, wasn’t it?”