Page 54 of Wild Hearts

"Let me give you a tour of Denmark House. There are rooms you've never even seen, I wager. Did you know, for instance, that there is a chapel deep below ground, under the reception rooms?"

She laughed. "I did not realize you were religious, sir!"

"Stop teasing me. I'm living the life of a monk, and you know damned well you are to blame." His look became intense.

"Did you not tell the I was a refreshing change? Unique, in fact?"

"You are lovely, my darling, but I want you."

"Ah, you wish to marry me?" she teased, eyes sparkling.

"I don't want a wife, I want a mistress. It's my brother who is taking a wife tomorrow,"

She looked puzzled for a moment. "If Sir Philip Herbert is your brother, why don't you have the same name?"

"My dear, I'm the Earl of Pembroke. Herbert is our family name."

"Forgive me, milord, my ignorance is truly appalling," she said, blushing.

"You enchant me when you blush. If you won't spend tonight with me, be with me at the wedding tomorrow?"

"If your brother is one of the King's favorites, why is he allowing him to wed tomorrow?"

Pembroke hugged her to him. "Little innocent. The King isn't jealous of his favorite's women, especially if they regale him with all the intimate details, but they must not enjoy other men."

"I see," she said faintly.

The wedding of Sir Philip Herbert and Lady Susan Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford, though it was supposed to be a private ceremony for relatives and close intimates of the King, was one of the social highlights of the festive season. Once more the whole of Anne's Court would make the journey along the Strand to Whitehall. The ceremony was to take place in the royal chapel, and the wedding feast would be celebrated in the banqueting hall.

Queen Anne and her ladies seemed so determined to dress ostentatiously, they were bound to outdo the bride. Today the Queen wore a deep royal blue gown, which had a mantle of cloth of gold that stood up in a fan shape behind her head and fell to the ground in heavy folds. It necessitated the aid of two maids-of-honor if she moved a distance greater than three feet. Once again Tabrizia noted the colors that dominated were gold, red and purple. By contrast, she stood out from the crowd. She wore a pale green tissue gown edged with silver ribbons. It set off her beautiful hair to perfection and allowed the roses to bloom in her delicate complexion. Though she knew it was neither spectacular nor regal, she was aware that she was the prettiest female at Court. The other ladies seemed unaware that their choice of colors was too harsh for them.

Tabrizia had never attended a wedding before, and the religious ceremony held all her attention. Much of it was in Latin, since King James had a passion for the language. Nevertheless, she found the altar, vestments, the incense and the music stirred deep feelings within her. As the couple were given the sacrament, exchanged vows, and she received his ring, Tabrizia felt tears come to her eyes for the beauty and sanctity of the ceremony.

In the banqueting hall the Queen's players put on a tableau purporting to be an allegory about wedded bliss. It was filled with angels with large golden keys, which were supposed to be the keys to Paradise. Naked children with bows and arrows were supposed to be cupids and cherubs, but the damage they were intent on inflicting upon each other with the deadly weapons forced the tableau to come to a rapid climax.

The food, for a change, was still warm. There was never a shortage of meats and game birds, for the King and his gentlemen hunted every morning of their lives. When the food was cleared away, the tables were pushed back to make room for dancing. Although Tabrizia had had very little practice, she did not lack partners. Even some of the King's favorites sought her out, and she came to the conclusion that they enjoyed female company more than they dared admit to James. Pembroke spent as much time as he could with her, although his duties as groomsman to his brother kept him busy.

The finale of the day of course was the "bedding." As the hour grew late, the jests more ribald and the bets more ridiculous, the whole assembly accompanied the bride and groom to their nuptial chamber. The King had his arm around Philip as they maneuvered the stairs, and none knew just who supported whom, so flown with wine were they.

Tabrizia stood wide-eyed as the gentlemen of the bedchamber stripped Philip naked and the maids-of-honor did the same with Lady Susan. No blushes covered this bride—she needed no urging to climb upon the bed. As two of the King's favorites lifted the groom onto the bed, King James cried, "Remember our bet--- twice you said, you young ram. Facta non verba." He chortled. "Deeds speak louder than words!"

Tabrizia, a flaming blush upon her cheeks, spun on her heel to flee the coarseness of the chamber. A dark figure standing just inside the door reached out a strong hand to stay her flight, and a deeply pleasant voice asked with concern, "What is it, mistress?"

She raised her head and gazed into the steady, unblinking gray eyes of Patrick Stewart. She faltered over her words. "They are... they are actually..." She could go no further, as the words caught in her throat and the crimson blush spread down her throat.

He said slowly, drinking in her delicate beauty, "Modesty in a Court lady is indeed a rarity."

"I... I have not been long at Court, milord," she whispered, lowering her lashes to her cheeks. "Please let me pass."

"Nay, I will escort you wherever you wish to go," he told her firmly.

"I am returning to Denmark House, milord. I thank you for your offer, but I have been at Court long enough to know I must never be alone with a gentleman."

"I shall take you in my carriage. You will be safe with me." He spoke with such authority, she believed him when he promised she would be safe.

A great black coach pulled up at the entrance the moment the Earl of Orkney emerged from the building; its driver was flanked by a pair of stag hounds. As he assisted her up into the vehicle, her hand rested on his arm, and she felt the strong, corded muscle flex beneath the black velvet of his sleeve. Effortlessly, he swung into the coach and took the seat opposite her, so that he could gaze his fill of this fragile enchantress who had dropped into his hands. The lantern cast a pale glow over her, picking out the highlights of the silken mass that caressed her bare shoulders. She cast her eyes down and concentrated on bracing herself against the sway of the coach. A shiver escaped her, and he immediately leaned forward to wrap her in a thick fur rug, his eyes daring her to object. Her heavy lashes fluttered downward as he continued to stare at her. He admired the creamy skin and the soft pink mouth that seemed fashioned for kissing. As the silent tension stretched between them almost to the breaking point, the coach drew to a stop before the blazing lights of Denmark House.

She sprang forward quickly. "Thank you, milord."

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