Читать книгу Darling Jasmine - Bertrice Small - Страница 10

Chapter 4

“Ma chérie!” Alexandre de Saville, comte de Cher, greeted his sister-in-law with a kiss upon each of her cheeks. “I had not thought to see you again in this life, for I love Archambault and scarcely leave it; and for you it is the same with your beloved Queen’s Malvern.”

“Adam is dead,” Skye said without further preamble, allowing the servants to take her fur-lined and trimmed wool cloak.

“Ahhh, ma pauvre soeur,” the count said, his face collapsing with his sadness. “But he was not ill?”

“He was old, Alexandre,” Skye replied. “Thirteen years older than you, and ten years older than me.”

“When?” The count escorted his guest into a bright salon, where a warm fire burned, and seated her. Almost immediately a servant was at their elbow with wine.

“Twelfth Night,” Skye answered him. “Nay, he was not ill, and he was in the midst of his family. One moment he was laughing at a jest, and the next he was gone. It was quite a shock for us all, and for Adam most of all, I imagine,” she finished with a small touch of humor.

“ ’Twas a beautiful death as you describe it,” the count said. “God assoil my brother’s good soul.” He bowed his head a moment.

Skye sipped her wine, marveling at the delicacy of the vintage.

His silent prayer over, the count raised his silver head, and looked at his sister-in-law. “It was kind of you to bring us this news personally, but I imagine ’tis not your only reason for being in France. You have come to take Jasmine and her children back to England, have you not, ma soeur?”

Skye nodded. “ ’Tis past time, Alexandre.” Then she went on to explain how Lord Leslie had followed her to Belle Fleurs. “Once he loved her, but now I do not know,” she concluded. “At least he is fond of the children, and that is a beginning, I think.”

“But not enough,” the count observed wisely. “What will you do to help our beautiful Jasmine, ma soeur, for you will do something. Of that I am quite certain.” He chuckled.

Skye laughed. “Am I so transparent in my old age then, Alexandre? You are correct, of course. I do want to help my darling girl. I thought if I can obtain Lord Leslie’s permission, I would bring the children here for a visit, then take them to Paris, and finally home. This way my granddaughter, and her husband-to-be will be forced to renew their friendship and work out their difficulties. Perhaps after I am gone you will invite them to Archambault. A bit of time alone together, and who knows what may transpire.”

“Ahhh, l’amour,” the count agreed. Then he said, “Of course you may bring Jasmine’s children for a visit, chérie. Helene and I would be delighted to have you. We, too, are great-grandparents. Our grandson, Phillippe, the next comte de Cher, has a little son, Antoine, named after my father. He will enjoy his cousins from England.”

“I was saddened to learn of your son’s death,” Skye said.

“These damned religious wars,” Alexandre de Saville replied irritably. “My son, Adam, had nothing to do with any of it, and yet he fell victim to the madness on his way home from a visit to Nantes. His wife, Louise, succumbed of melancholy shortly afterward, poor girl. They had but one child. Phillippe is a good man, however. He married early, and sired Antoine, and his baby sister, Marie, and his wife is again with child. He and Jasmine are of an age. We will let him entertain her, and Lord Leslie, while Helene and I just sit back enjoying the young people. There are certain compensations to old age, chérie, eh?”

“Damned few,” Skye replied, and she laughed. “Where is Helene?” I cannot return to Belle Fleurs without paying my respects.”

“Come with me then, chérie,” the comte said. “I will take you to her. The damp weather makes her bones ache, and she keeps to her apartments.”

“Where have you been, Grandmama?” Jasmine demanded of Skye on her return to the château. It had been a horrific week. She and James Leslie seemed to have nothing in common but her children, and could not seem to speak to one another unless one of them was involved. It did not bode well, and now Skye had disappeared, sending her granddaughter into a panic.

“I have been to Archambault,” Skye said calmly. She handed her cloak to a servant and settled herself in a chair before the fire, sipping thirstily at the wine handed her. “Well, my lord, have you and Jasmine had a good day?” She beamed toothily at James Leslie, who was seated opposite her, glowering into the flames.

“It stopped raining long enough for us to take the children out into the gardens,” the earl replied glumly.

“My brother-in-law, the comte de Cher, had the most delightful idea,” Skye continued on breathlessly. “He has suggested that I bring the children to Archambault for a visit and leave you two alone to become reacquainted again without the distraction of your family. I hope you will let us go. His grandson, Phillippe, is Jasmine’s contemporary, and has a little son a bit older than Charlie, and a tiny bit younger than Mistress Fortune. It would be so good for the children to get to know the French side of their family. Who knows! We may have a French princess for a queen one day.”

“How far is Archambault?” the earl asked.

“But a few miles across the fields,” Skye said brightly. “The comte, Alexandre de Saville, is Adam’s half brother. His son, named for my husband, was killed, and so it is his grandson, Phillippe, who is his heir. They are a lovely family.”

“How long a visit, madame?” the earl inquired.

“A week, or perhaps two,” Skye ventured, refusing to acknowledge her granddaughter’s outraged look.

“I will think on it, madame,” James Leslie said.

“It is a ridiculous idea!” Jasmine burst out. “Why should it matter if my children know the de Saville children? Once we have returned to England it will not matter at all. Besides, Charlie is not quite weaned yet. I couldn’t possibly let them go, Grandmama.”

“The decision is not mine to make, my darling girl,” Skye said with a nod in the earl’s direction. “And as for little Charles Frederick, it is past time, Jasmine, that he was weaned. Why the lad will be three in the autumn. I never nursed any of my children for so long a time. As for your children, and the de Saville children, one never knows when one might need help from a relation. ’Tis better to know one’s relations, even the distant ones, if possible. Alexandre de Saville is your great-uncle. His son, Phillippe, is your cousin. It could one day prove a valuable connection. Why I believe even Lord Leslie has relations here in France. Is that not so, sir?”

“Indeed, madame, it is. Two of my father’s uncles wed Frenchwomen. Their families live near Fontainebleau, southeast of Paris. I am acquainted with both branches,” the earl answered.

“There, you see!” Skye crowed. “The earl knows his French relatives.” Her smile took them both in with its warmth.

“I do not want my children separated from me,” Jasmine said stubbornly. Her look was definitely mutinous, her turquoise eyes angry. “I am their mother, and it is up to me what they do.”

“Nay, madame, it is up to me as their legal guardian,” James Leslie replied. “I think your bairns should go to Archambault to visit with their cousins. As for young Charlie, ’tis past time, madame, that he was separated from your tit. He’s got teeth to chew his food, and you’ll make a mother’s boy out of him if you continue on as you have.”

“Ohhhhhhh!” Now Jasmine looked truly affronted.

“My dears,” Skye quickly spoke. “I do not want Alexandre’s little suggestion to be the cause of dispute between you. Jasmine, my darling girl, be reasonable. The children have been cooped up here with you at Belle Fleurs for months. They need a change, and they need to be with other children of their own class. It will give them a chance to practice their manners and deportment before their return to England, when they must take their place in our society. You know that at one time or another they will go to court. Would you have them at a disadvantage? They will not thank you for it. Manners learned young are manners learned forever. Let them go to Archambault.”

“Well,” Jasmine amended, “ ’tis only a little way away.”

“Aye,” Skye purred in kindly tones, “and I shall be with them the whole time. I shall enjoy it, for it has been many years since I have visited with Adam’s family. Ahhh, what fine times we had at Archambault when your grandfather and I were young and ripe!” She sighed gustily, and her hand went to her heart.

“Do not overplay your part, madame,” the earl of Glenkirk murmured softly in her ear.

Skye’s face never betrayed her surprise at his remark. Well, well, she thought, he is brighter than I gave him credit for, is this earl of Glenkirk. Aye! I am doing the right thing in taking the children away, and forcing these two together to work out their problems. She would discuss the Paris leg of their journey later on, but not now.

“Oh, very well,” Jasmine decided, “but not for a week. It will take at least a week to make certain their clothing is in good repair, and to tutor them in their deportment.”

“I agree with you, madame,” James Leslie said with a small smile.

“You do?” Jasmine was somewhat surprised.

“We cannot always disagree,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye.

“Perhaps not,” she answered him, not certain what he exactly meant by the wry remark.

It was ten days before Jasmine was satisfied that her children were ready to leave for Archambault. She had kept her small staff busy washing, pressing, brushing their clothing until Skye had complained the nap would be worn off the fabrics altogether. The little trunks were packed neatly; the nursemaids given detailed instructions as to the children’s care, and what to do in the event of this or that.

Finally, irritated, Skye snapped at her granddaughter, “I have raised seven children, my darling girl, and I will be with my great-grandchildren. I know what to do. We leave on the morrow, and I’ll hear no more about it!”

The earl of Glenkirk repressed a small smile. Jasmine looked so worried. She was a good mother but far too obsessed with her offspring. He didn’t doubt for a moment that this little trip to Archambault for Madame Skye and the children was all the old woman’s idea. She had promised to help him, but he had not been certain he trusted her, especially after the last time. It would appear now, however, that his fears were groundless. She was whisking Jasmine’s youngsters off so that he might be alone with their mother. He didn’t know how she was going to do it, but he suspected that the children would not return to Belle Fleurs. He chuckled softly. What a holy terror Madame Skye was. He was glad to have her on his side this time.

In the morning, his arm about Jasmine, he watched as the grand old lady and the children departed Belle Fleurs. The rain had gone, and the day was bright and sunny. It was the end of February, and there was a definite hint of spring in the air. Jasmine sniffled, and he warned her softly, “Do not cry, madame, lest you distress the bairns. They are happy for this little adventure. Do not spoil it for them.”

“I have never really been parted from them,” she murmured low, attempting to disengage his arm, but he held her firmly.

“See how fine Henry, India, and Fortune look upon their ponies,” he pointed out to her. “They sit their mounts well. Was it you who taught them, madame?”

“Aye,” she said. “My father taught me when I was very small. In India women do not sit upon horses, but my mother had ridden with my father, and so he taught me. What freedom I had! I could hunt tiger and other beasts with my father and my brother, Salim. It was something my sisters were never allowed to do, if indeed they even considered such a thing.” She waved after the pony cart containing Charles Frederick and his nursemaid.

He turned her gently to reenter the château. “How many sisters did you have, madame?” he inquired. “I have five sisters, and three brothers. Two of my brothers and three of my sisters live in Scotland. The others live in Italy.”

“I was my father’s youngest child. My siblings were grown when I was born,” Jasmine told him. “I had three brothers, though two are dead, and three sisters.”

“Why did you leave India?” he asked her bluntly.

“My eldest brother, Salim, now the Mughal emperor, Jahangir, had an incestuous lust for me. He murdered my first husband, a Kashmiri prince, in order to clear his path to my bed. My father was dying and knew that my foster mother would be unable to protect me once he was gone. So he sent me secretly to England, to my grandmother de Marisco, with whom he had had a tenuous sort of contact over the years.” Jasmine laughed softly. “Before I left India my father learned that the priest who had been my tutor throughout my childhood was actually my cousin. My grandmother had sent him out to India to watch over me so she would always know if I was happy. Thank God for her!”

“And your brother never knew where you had gone?” he wondered.

“I do not believe so,” Jasmine said. “It was a very clever plot my father devised. Salim thought I had gone to Kashmir to bury Jamal’s heart in his homeland. My father did not die for two months following my departure from India. By the time Salim would have sent to my palace in the mountains it would have been late autumn, and the snows would be threatening. He could not possibly have learned that I was not in Kashmir until the following springtime, at which point I was safe in England. Salim knew little of my English mother. Even if he had unraveled the mystery of my whereabouts, what could he do?”

“Have you ever wished to return?” James Leslie said.

Jasmine thought a moment, then replied, “No. My early life in India was bound up with my father and brother, Salim, in a time when I was too innocent to understand his desires, and Jamal Khan, my first husband. My father and Jamal are gone. My brother has, hopefully, forgotten me at long last. My only regret is Rugaiya Begum, the mother who raised me. I was her only child. Now she has neither me nor the joy of my children, her grandchildren. For that alone I feel remorse. And for that reason I shall never forgive my brother Salim.”

He could see the genuine pain in her eyes as she spoke the words, and James Leslie wanted to ease her sorrow. “Let us ask your cook to pack us a basket, and we shall go for a ride, madame. ’Tis a fine day, and I am certain that you know many a pretty trail hereabouts.”

She was almost startled by his request, but January and most of February had been so wet and dreary. They had all been cooped up inside the château. Now with the children gone she was free to indulge herself in pleasure. She felt almost guilty, but then, shaking the feeling off, she replied, “Aye, ’tis a good day, my lord, for a ride!”

The cook, who thought Lord Leslie a very fine gentleman, packed the basket with a small chicken she had just roasted, a loaf of bread that had only been baked that morning, and was still warm; an earthenware dish of cold asparagus that had been marinated in white wine; a wedge of Brie cheese, two pears which she polished on her apron, and a goatskin of pale gold Archambault wine. The earl, watching her as she worked, took the finished basket from the cook and kissed her hand, bringing a flush to the good woman’s cheeks. She watched them depart her kitchens, clutching at the honored hand, and looking upon it as if it would never be the same again.

Returning to the hall he found Jasmine waiting for him. To his surprise she had changed her clothes, and was garbed like a boy in breeches, cambric shirt, and a fur-lined, sleeveless deerskin doublet with carved silver-and-horn buttons. James Leslie raised an eyebrow and suffered a moment of déjà vu. His own mother had once dressed as Jasmine was now garbed. “You ride astride,” he finally said.

“I can ride sidesaddle when the occasion calls for it,” she replied, “but I prefer riding astride as would you if you had ever tried balancing yourself in skirts upon a dancing horse, one leg thrown over the pommel of your saddle. ’Tis both uncomfortable, and discomfiting, my lord, not to mention unnatural. Surely you will not object?”

“Nay, madame,” he quickly answered, seeing the light of battle dawning in her eyes. “In fact I agree with you.”

She nodded and turned swiftly before he could see the amusement in her own glance. “Let us go then. It is fortunate you have your own mount, for I did not bring any but the coach horses with me from England. The stables at Archambault sent over a nice docile little black mare for me. She is pleasant to ride, but presents no challenges, I fear. If I had known I was to stay so long in France, I should have brought my own stallion.”

“I am reassured that you did not,” the earl said. “My own beast does not like the competition of another male animal about him.”

“Then we shall have to keep separate stables, my lord,” Jasmine said with a little laugh. “I do not intend giving up my horse for you.”

“There is plenty of time to discuss such things, madame.”

Jasmine turned, looking him straight in the eye. “There is no need for a discussion, my lord,” she said firmly, and then she stepped out into the courtyard of the château, where the horses were waiting.

James Leslie had the urge to laugh aloud, but he wisely refrained from doing so. He was very uncertain of this beautiful woman who was to be his wife, but he was prudent to keep such thoughts to himself. Lady Lindley was strong-willed and would have to be handled carefully. He mounted his stallion and looked to her. “Lead on, madame,” he said, making certain as he spoke that the hamper was firmly settled.

She led him through the gardens of the château along neatly raked gravel paths. He could see it was an orderly place, the flower beds mulched over with straw and uncluttered. The rose trees were well trimmed. A fountain tinkled merrily. A lily pond lay smooth, and uniced, in the sunlight. He could but imagine how lovely it would become in the spring and the summertime. Open on three sides, the garden was walled from the forest on the fourth. He could see a wicket gate in the stone as they approached it. Leaning down, Jasmine opened it.

“Close it behind you, my lord,” she instructed him as she rode through.

Complying with her request, he followed her into the woods along a barely discernible, narrow path that wound and wound through the leafless trees of the forest. He glanced behind him and realized he could no longer see the château. He heard the sound of a stream tumbling over rocks, and then they were upon it, the horses picking their way across the unstable streambed. At one point he saw deer amid the trees. It seemed that they were in the deepest wood, then suddenly they exited onto a grassy hillside. Below them a vast vineyard spread itself out, and on a far hill was a magnificent château.

“That is Archambault,” Jasmine said. “My great-grandmère was once the comtesse de Cher. Her husband, however, was not my grandfather Adam’s father. That was her first husband, John de Marisco, the lord of Lundy Island. Did you know that my grandfather was once seriously considered a pirate?” She laughed mischievously. “The old queen even put my grandmother in the tower at one time, for she believed that she was in league with him. My aunt Deirdre was born there.”

“I wonder,” the earl said with equal humor, “if the king is aware of your entire lineage, madame. Poor Jamie would be shocked.”

“Perhaps he would not want you to wed me,” Jasmine replied slyly.

“Alas, madame, were you one-eyed, and snaggle-toothed, the king would require our union, for you are the mother of his first grandchild.”

“Then it is fortunate that I am not one-eyed and snaggle-toothed,” Jasmine said drolly. She chuckled wickedly. “Would you wed me, my lord, if I were a hag and ugly as sin?”

“Aye, madame, I would, for I am the king’s loyal man,” James Leslie said. “The Leslies of Glenkirk have always been loyal to the Stuarts. It is our way.”

“What if the king were wrong?” Jasmine teased him.

“Royal Stuarts are never wrong, madame,” he told her.

“Divine right?” she mocked him.

“Aye, divine right,” he answered. “Would your father have allowed any man or woman to question his decisions?”

“Not as emperor,” she answered him, “but as a man my father was insatiably curious and always open to question. It was how he united a country and kept it united. Even in the matter of religion there was no right or wrong with Akbar. I was fortunate to be raised by such a man, for unlike my siblings, my father had time for me. Being the youngest of his offspring, and the child of his old age, there was always time for me. I was privileged, my lord, as few daughters are.” She stopped her mare and looked down over the sleeping vineyards. “Shall we stop and eat here, sir? The sun is warm, and the view fair.”

Agreeing, he dismounted, then lifted her from her own horse. While Jasmine spread a cloth she removed from her saddle pouch upon winter-dried grass, the earl took the basket from the pommel of his saddle where it had been hanging. They sat, and she spread the contents of the basket upon the cloth. He used his own knife to slice the bread, the cheese and the chicken into edible portions. There were two small silver goblets in the bottom of the basket, and Jasmine removed them, gracefully pouring the golden wine from the goatskin into them.

They ate, enjoying the food, but there was a paucity of sententious conversation between them. Jasmine gazed out over the vineyards below them and at the château on the hill beyond. James Leslie was equally quiet. His eyes wandered over the landscape, then to the woman who was his companion. She was, he thought, even more beautiful than she had been two years ago. But was there anything upon which they might build a meaningful relationship? He knew that they were capable of infuriating each other, but he did not want to spend the rest of his life with an angry woman. He had lusted after Jasmine once, and while he thought her capable of arousing his passions again, it was not enough. He wanted something more, and he would stake his life that she would want more too. But what? And how were they to find it?

“What is it you want?” he suddenly burst out.

Her face registered her surprise. “Want? What do you mean, my lord? I do not understand you. I believe I have everything anyone could want, and certainly a great deal more of it than most. I do not believe that I lack for anything, sir.”

James Leslie shook his head. “Nay, Jasmine, ’tis not material possessions I question you about. I know you are a wealthy woman in your own right, but there are other things than one’s tangible assets. Do you seek power, or amusement, additional wealth, or love? What do you really want that perhaps you do not have?”

“Ahhhhhh!” The light of understanding dawned in her beautiful and unusual turquoise-colored eyes. “Love? I had not thought if I should love again. The men I love die sudden deaths. Jamal and Rowan were murdered in their prime, and in both cases I was the direct cause of their deaths. Jamal’s because my half brother coveted me; and Rowan’s because my crown-appointed estate agent meant to kill me, and Rowan was in his way when the gun discharged. As for my poor Hal . . .” She sighed. “Henry Stuart should not have died before his time.”

“But you were not responsible in any way for his death,” the earl reminded Jasmine.

“Nonetheless he loved me, and he died,” she responded.

“If you loved me, I should not fear death,” James Leslie said.

Suddenly Jasmine smiled, and his heart jumped in his chest. “You seek some common ground upon which we may build a marital relationship, my lord, do you not?” And when he nodded in the affirmative, she continued. “Tell me, sir, did you love Isabelle Gordon, your deceased wife? Was she a pretty girl? Did you laugh together or cry together? How did she make you happy, my lord?”

He thought a moment, then said, “Bella was a pretty lass. She had long dark hair. Not the blue-black of yours, but rather a deep warm brown. I had been betrothed to her since my childhood, and we knew each other well. I believe I thought of her as I did my sisters. Then my father went off on an exploration of the New World and did not return. The king declared him dead, and I became the earl of Glenkirk. James Stuart insisted I marry immediately, ostensibly to get heirs on Bella so my line would not die out. In truth the king wanted my mother for his mistress. Declaring my father legally dead and forcing me into the position of head of my family was his way of making her presence at Glenkirk unnecessary. He ordered her to court.”

“God’s boots!” Jasmine burst out. “The king actually lusted after a woman? Why I thought him completely faithful to Queen Anne.”

“Other than his passion for my mother he was. It began before he married the queen, but ’tis a long story, and I will not bore you with it, Jasmine. Suffice it to say my mother fled Scotland and has not been back since. She lives in the kingdom of Naples with my half brother, and two half sisters. My stepfather died two and a half years ago.”

“And she did not choose to return?” How curious Jasmine thought.

“Nay she did not. She still fears James Stuart although I have assured her that he is a changed man from their youth. She says that cats do not change their stripes and that the climate of Naples agrees with her far more than that of Scotland. I think her memories of Scotland, however, are too sad for her to bear, whereas she and Lord Bothwell were happy all their years together in Naples.”

“Were you happy with your Bella?” Jasmine queried him.

“Aye, I was. She was a good lass, a good mother, and a wife a man could be proud of, madame.”

“You have not said if you loved her,” Jasmine pressed.

“Aye, I did love her, but in a youthful and inexperienced way, I believe as I look back. We were comfortable together, and had she not died so tragic a death, I believe we would have been happy for the rest of our lives.”

“ ’Tis how I loved my first husband,” Jasmine said.

“But not how you loved the second?” he replied.

Jasmine smiled softly and munched silently on a piece of cheese for a long moment. “Nay,” she finally admitted. “I loved Rowan Lindley in an entirely different way. It was as if we were one at times. You knew him, my lord. You knew the kind of man he was. Kind and generous. Loyal. A man who could laugh. That fate could snatch him from me, and from his children, is something I shall never understand.”

“And yet you were able to love again,” the earl said.

Jasmine smiled again. “Aye. But who could not love Henry Stuart? Everyone adored him. I did not seek his favor, you know. In fact I resisted him quite strongly, but he would not have it.” She laughed with the memory. “Hal would have his way in the matter, and I have his son to remember him by. ’Tis a precious gift, and more than most royal mistresses gain.”

“But that gift has forced you into the king’s arena, madame,” the earl noted. “Perhaps you should have been satisfied to take just jewelry and titles from Prince Henry.”

Jasmine chuckled. “There is no man in England who could gift me with jewelry, sir, for the jewelry I possess far surpasses anything you have ever seen. Rowan knew it, which is why he gave me MacGuire’s Ford. And Hal knew it, too. As for titles . . .” she shrugged. “I was born a royal Mughal princess. Only a queen’s crown would impress me, and it could not be.”

“So, madame, you possess lands, titles, gold, and jewelry in your own right, but still you must wed me. What can I give you that will make you happy, Jasmine?”

“Why do you care if I am happy or not, James Leslie?” she demanded of him. “The king has ordered us to wed, and wed we must whether I am happy or not happy. You have said you will obey James Stuart because the Leslies of Glenkirk have always been obedient to the royal Stuarts. What difference does it make if I am happy?”

The muscle in his jaw tightened. Jasmine Lindley could be the most irritating woman when she chose to be. Here he was holding out a rather large olive branch, and she was apparently refusing it. “Madame, I am not some monster who has been foisted upon you,” he began, “nor are you being martyred to any cause by being wed to me. There are several ladies in England who would be but too glad to be my countess. Once even your own stepsister sought that honor.”

“Do you wed me just because James Stuart orders you to, sir?” Jasmine asked him. “I do not like the idea that we must wed each other because of a royal command. When I was a young girl I accepted such a marriage, but it was my father’s dictate, and not that of a stranger.”

He swallowed the wine remaining in his cup, wishing that there was more, and sighed. “I cannot change what is, Jasmine,” he said quietly. “When I arrived at Belle Fleurs several weeks ago I was very angry with you. I believe I was close to hating you, and I did, I will admit, seek revenge upon you for embarrassing me so publicly. Being with you, however, has caused my anger to drain away. I admire you. You are a woman of courage and determination. There are some men who might not appreciate such characteristics in a wife, but I do. I am not certain I can offer you love now or ever, nor can you promise me love; but I will respect you, and I can offer you companionship. You will not suffer as my wife, and I will be a good father to your children, I swear it on the souls of my own dead bairns.”

“Will you force me to wed you before the court?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I am past vengeance, Jasmine. We can wed here at Belle Fleurs, or at Queen’s Malvern. The choice is yours, I promise you, but please, madame, let it be soon. We cannot afford to incur the king’s displeasure much longer.”

“Is he angry at you, too?” She was surprised.

“Aye,” he said with a little grin. “He said when the ram corners the ewe he should nae gie her freedom to choose her own pasture in her own time. Fortunately the Carr mess has kept him occupied, and he has not had too much time for me, but it would please him if we wed soon. He longs to see the little laddie, for he has not seen him since Charles Frederick was a wee bairn, and the boy is his grandson.”

“Promise me you will not let them take him from me,” Jasmine said. “That, I will admit to you, is my greatest fear. Once the queen told me how they took Hal from her, and she rarely ever saw him, and must beg permission from his governors when she wanted to be with him. I could not bear it if they took Charlie from me!” And her eyes filled with thick tears at the very thought.

He reached out and brushed the tears from her soft cheek. “They will not take him from us,” he promised her. “Henry Stuart was the heir, and the custom of farming the heir out an old one. ’Tis no longer done, thanks to the queen. Besides, darling Jasmine, your Charlie is but a royal bastard. He can never be heir to the throne. His importance is in his relationship to the king and the queen, not in his future.”

“But what if they want him?” she persisted.

“What they want is to see the laddie and know him. I am his guardian because they know I am an honest man and will not use the boy to my advantage or to build my power base. Charlie will remain with his family. I promise you this, madame.”

“I am afraid,” she said softly.

He took her gloved hand in his big hand. “You must trust me, Jasmine. ’Tis a great leap of faith for you, I will admit, but I beg you to trust me.” He could feel that her hand was cold beneath the leather. He attempted to warm it between his two hands.

A wind had sprung up, and the sun had now disappeared behind a hand of clouds. The promise of spring, earlier in the air, had entirely disappeared, and winter, it seemed, was returning.

“We had best go,” she said, disengaging her hand from his, and standing up. She brushed the crumbs from her breeches and began packing up the basket and cloth.

“You will consider what we have spoken on this day?” he asked her.

“We will marry in the spring at Queen’s Malvern,” Jasmine told him with a small smile, “but not upon the first of April, my lord. ’Tis an infamous date for us, and I would begin our relationship on a more cheerful note. Would you not agree? I think perhaps the fifteenth of the month would be suitable. I do not like May. Marry in May, rue the day, ’tis said.”

“You do not favor June?”

“Do you really wish us to try the king’s patience that far?” she gently teased, as he helped her to mount her mare. She smiled down at him, her eyes twinkling. “Of course June is a lovely month, my lord.”

“Did you not wed Westleigh in April?” he asked her, vaulting into his own saddle. Somehow the idea of marrying her in the month in which she had married another husband was irritating. Perhaps it was even the same day, thereby making it easier for her to remember. Even her monogram would remain the same. L for Lindley. L for Leslie.

“I married Rowan on April thirtieth, my lord,” she replied, her tone just slightly frosty, “but it is obvious that you prefer June. So let it be June fifteenth. It will do just as well, I think.”

The earl felt a momentary chagrin. He had behaved like a churl, and she had caught him at it and called his bluff. Now he would wait an additional two months, and the explanation given the king must be his. He swore softly beneath his breath, and, to his mortification, Jasmine giggled, or he thought she did. When he looked over at her her face was a smooth mask of bland innocence.

She led him through the vineyards of Archambault and onto the carriage road from Paris that he had ridden over before. They cantered easily along the path until they came to the almost hidden way leading to Belle Fleurs. Now she spurred her mare into a gallop, and her hair, so neatly in its chignon, blew loose, flowing behind her. He urged his stallion onward, realizing they were to race home, and, as he drew even with the mare, she looked over at him and laughed. Pulling past her he reached the château’s bridge before her and drew his beast up to await her, but she did not stop, and the mare raced by him into the courtyard of the castle.

Jasmine leapt down. “I won!” she bragged triumphantly.

“I thought the race ended at the bridge,” he protested, dismounting.

“Why would you think that?” she demanded.

“Because it was the logical end of the course,” he replied.

“Nonsense!” she mocked him, hurrying into the château, handing off her gloves to a servant. “A race ends at the door of the house. I thought everyone knew that.”

“I didn’t,” he said, an edge to his voice.

“Why not?” she countered.

“Because you didn’t tell me, madame!” he shouted.

“Have some wine,” she offered. “It will calm your nerves, my lord. Gracious, it was only a little race.”

He took the large goblet of fruity red wine and gulped half of it down. “Not telling me the rules is the same as cheating,” he growled at her, his dark green eyes narrowing. “If you are to be the countess of Glenkirk, you must be honorable in all things.”

“You are really a dreadful loser, my lord,” Jasmine said. “It was a silent challenge, and to believe the race ended before it ended was just plain silly. You will have to be quicker than that if we are to have a satisfactory relationship, my lord.”

“Are you always like this?” he groused.

“Like what?”

“Impossible! Totally, utterly impossible!” he roared.

“There is no need to shout, my lord,” she told him. “I do not think it is particularly good for you. There is a little vein right there”—her finger reached out, and touched the side of his head—“that is throbbing fiercely. I must teach you a little trick one of my aunts taught me when I was a child that will help you to calm yourself. You sit perfectly still and clear your mind of all thoughts, then just breath deeply in and blow the breath out. It is excellent for calming one’s nerves. I used it myself on occasion.”

He could feel the vein she touched beating a tattoo on the side of his head. There were but two ways to stop it and calm himself. He would either have to strangle her where she stood—and the thought at this very moment was deliciously tempting—or he would have to kiss her. He chose the latter.

Sweeping her into his arms his mouth found hers in a hard kiss. He crushed her against him, feeling her bosom, certainly fuller than it had been several years back before she had borne her children, push against him. He expected her to struggle, to give some expression of outrage. Instead Jasmine’s lips softened against him, and she seemed to melt into his embrace, returning his harshness with a tender, sweet softness. He had meant to conquer her, but instead found himself the vanquished. He was astounded as he released his fierce hold on her, not just a little chagrined.

She stood straight, looking up at him, although if the truth had been known Jasmine’s legs were as weak as a jelly. “ ’Twas either kiss or kill, was it not, my lord?” she taunted him wickedly.

He nodded, and, unable to think of any clever retort, said, “There was a time when you called me Jemmie, madame, and not always my lord. Do you think we can regain that place again?”

“You will never tame me, nor I you, Jemmie,” she replied in answer. “ ’Twill be a terrible match, I fear.” But Jasmine was smiling.

“Aye,” he agreed, “it will, but there is no help for it. I am the king’s loyal man and must obey. Still, a man might have a worse wife than you will be, darling Jasmine. As you are so fond of reminding me, you are rich, beautiful, royal, and clever,” he gently teased.

“I have always been a good wife,” she responded primly. “You will learn if you do not thwart me, I shall be loyal and bring no shame to your name, Jemmie Leslie.”

“In other words, if I give you your own way, we will have no difficulties,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“Exactly!” Jasmine answered him brightly. “How fortunate I am to be marrying so perceptive a man.”