Читать книгу The Defiant Mistress - Claire Thornton - Страница 8

London, June 1658

T onight a maid…tomorrow a bride.

Athena’s heart sang with expectation. Her mood was as sunny as the afternoon as she stepped lightly along Cheapside, slipping with practised ease through the crowds that thronged one of London’s grandest thoroughfares. Her route took her past some of the City’s most renowned silk mercers’ and goldsmiths’ shops, but she didn’t spare them a second glance. She had finished her own less exalted shopping and she was on her way home.

Tomorrow she would be Gabriel’s wife.

She experienced a brief frisson of tension as she contemplated her wedding night—she could not help but feel a little nervous at what some of her wifely duties would entail—but she loved and trusted Gabriel. Whenever he held her in his arms or kissed her he always tempered his male passion with exquisite tenderness for her innocence. In fact—she skipped out of the path of a sedan chair carried by two sweating porters—in fact, sometimes Gabriel was a little too tender. One of the chairmen turned his head to look appreciatively after her, but she was used to men’s admiring glances and she didn’t pay any attention. Her thoughts were too full of her coming wedding night. A quiver of illicit anticipation stirred deep inside her as she imagined how much more passionately Gabriel would kiss her when he no longer had to keep such a tight rein upon his desire. Tomorrow night she would find out.

She turned off the broad expanse of Cheapside into a narrower side street. Here, even in the summer, the houses with their projecting upper floors were too close together to allow the mid-afternoon sun to penetrate all the way to the ground. The shade provided a respite from the glare of bright sunlight, but only an illusion of coolness. The air was hot and still. Athena’s skin felt gritty with the grime of the city.

She pushed a strand of damp blonde hair away from her face and turned her thoughts to the supper she meant to prepare for her aunt. It was the last night she would spend under Aunt Kitty’s roof and Athena wanted to show her appreciation for the older woman’s generosity and kindness. She had already bought most of the ingredients she needed early that morning. This second shopping trip had been to fetch the few items she’d originally forgotten because her mind had been too full of Gabriel.

Well, for the rest of the afternoon and evening she would not let so much as one stray thought of Gabriel cross her mind. She would concentrate only on preparing the most splendid supper imaginable for Aunt Kitty—and her reward…her reward would be to lie in bed and think of Gabriel all night! Athena couldn’t suppress the saucy smile that tugged at her lips at the prospect. Her whole body hummed with happiness as she stepped into the passage that led to the small courtyard in front of her aunt’s lodgings.

‘Hello, Athena.’ A man’s voice spoke suddenly from the shadows.

She jumped, her stomach lurching with surprise, but at first she was startled rather than afraid.

‘You naughty girl,’ he said, chiding her in a repellently indulgent tone. ‘What a tease you are.’

Samuel?

Horrified disbelief held Athena immobile for several seconds. She recognised that hateful voice, but she’d hoped never to hear it again. Samuel didn’t belong in London. He had no place in her new life. How had he found her?

He moved into the light, his glittering eyes roaming greedily over her body. Her skin crawled at his lascivious interest.

‘Such a tease,’ he said thickly. ‘Have you been getting impatient for me to find you, sweetling?’

He reached towards her.

She jerked backwards, bumping her basket against the wall. The impact jolted her into action. She spun around, driven by a panic-stricken need to run as far and as fast as possible.

Samuel lunged forward. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him.

‘Don’t run,’ he said, his breath scalding her cheek. ‘I’ve been patient, but now it’s time you came to heel.’

‘No!’ Athena desperately tried to break free. ‘Let me go! I won’t marry you!’

‘Yes, you will.’ He twisted her arm painfully, punishing her for her resistance. ‘It’s arranged. Your father approves. Your mother—’

‘Josiah Blundell is not my father.’ Athena continued to struggle. ‘He’s my stepfather. My real father would never force me to marry you.’ Her voice shook with scorn and contempt. ‘He would have protected me from you.’

Samuel hissed angrily. ‘Your fine father is dead. He was nothing. I am Cromwell’s friend,’ he boasted.

‘I doubt he even knows your name!’ Athena mocked him, too angry to be cautious.

Samuel’s uncle, and her stepfather, Josiah Blundell, was indeed Cromwell’s friend. She knew that Josiah did have some influence with Cromwell. But she was sure the same could not be said for the twenty-three-year-old Samuel. He was an indulged only son, and Josiah Blundell’s favoured only nephew, but he could not lay claim to any great achievement in his own right.

‘He does, you bitch!’ Samuel’s grip tightened cruelly. ‘And if you don’t mind your manners, you’ll find out how much.’

‘Leave me alone.’ She flailed wildly at him with her basket, ignoring the pain in the arm he held as she tried to kick her heels against his shins.

‘A woman should show more respect for her husband.’

‘I’ll never marry you,’ Athena panted. ‘I’m going to marry someone else.’

Samuel swore vilely and forced her along the passage and across the courtyard into her aunt’s lodgings. ‘Be quiet, or the old woman will pay,’ he threatened her.

Athena stopped struggling, appalled at the possibility Samuel might take his spite out on Aunt Kitty. He shoved her across the threshold and into her aunt’s parlour. Then he released her.

Athena stumbled forward, nearly tripping over her skirts. She righted herself and whirled around, frantically searching the room for her aunt.

‘She’s not here,’ said Samuel. ‘A little precaution I’m sure won’t be necessary. She’s come to no harm. As long as you behave yourself, she’ll be back here soon enough.’

Athena stared at Samuel. He had wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her, and all his life he’d been given what he wanted. Fright and anger jangled through her. She had done everything in her power to escape him. It seemed monstrous that he should have found her now, on the very eve of her wedding.

Most of Athena’s life had been lived in the shadow of the war between King and Parliament but, though she had heard dreadful stories of battles and sieges elsewhere, the conflict had not directly impinged on her childhood. That had changed in 1656 when she was fifteen. Her father had died and she’d discovered that her family’s situation was more precarious than she’d realised. Sir Edmund Fairchild had secretly sympathised with the royalist cause, but he’d trod a skilful path through the volatile rivalries of his predominantly parliamentarian neighbours. On Sir Edmund’s death, the Fairchild estate had passed to Athena’s younger brother, Luke, but the new baronet was only six years old. The Parliamentarian leaders of the county looked covetously upon Fairchild Manor.

To safeguard her family and preserve her son’s inheritance, Athena’s mother had remarried eight months after Sir Edmund’s death. She had chosen as her second husband one of their closest neighbours, Josiah Blundell. Josiah was a man of stern, puritan feeling—but there was no doubt he held Athena’s mother in stiff-backed affection. Upon their marriage he had promised to preserve the young baronet’s inheritance and protect the rest of the Fairchild family. So far he had been as good as his word—except in one respect. From the first he had been in favour of a match between his nephew, Samuel, and Athena.

Athena had done everything she could to change her stepfather’s mind. But Samuel only ever revealed his most charming face to his uncle, and Josiah could not understand Athena’s objections to the marriage. At last, in desperation, she had fled from her home in Kent to the bustling anonymity of London. She’d taken refuge with the widowed sister of her father’s brother-in-law, a distant family connection she was sure was unknown to Josiah and Samuel. To make it even harder to track her down, she had altered her name from Athena Frances Fairchild to the less memorable Frances Child and pretended she had no family apart from Kitty.

But now it seemed all her efforts to make a new life had been in vain. Samuel had found her.

She stepped back, moving her basket instinctively in front of her. It was a flimsy shield and an inadequate weapon, but it was all she had. She lifted her chin and forced words through her fear-tightened throat.

‘You can’t make me marry you,’ she said. ‘You can drag me to the altar, but you can’t make me say the words.’

‘Yes, I can.’ There was an expression of gloating self-satisfaction in Samuel’s eyes. ‘You will say the words willingly.’

‘Never.’ Fear chilled her. He was so horribly confident. She had to get away from him.

Athena backed up another step. Samuel stood in front of her. From the corner of her eye she could see the doorway on her left. She didn’t dare look in that direction in case she signalled her intentions to him. She took another hesitant step backwards, looking down at the basket she held in front of her. Suddenly she hurled it at Samuel and made a dash for the door.

She saw Moses Spink, Samuel’s friend, too late to avoid capture. She struggled wildly in Spink’s arms, hardly aware that Samuel was speaking to her. At last his words penetrated her angry, panic-clouded mind.

‘…unless you want to see Vaughan hanged for treason.’

‘What?’ she gasped, lifting her head to stare at him through a veil of untidy blonde hair. ‘What sick nonsense are you talking?’

‘Your noble bridegroom is a spy for Charles Stuart,’ Samuel informed her triumphantly. ‘I have one of his letters to prove it. He is a traitor—and here is the evidence that will hang him.’

‘You’re lying.’ But despite her bold denial, doubt crept into Athena’s heart. Gabriel Vaughan was the third son of the Marquis of Halross. As the youngest son he had to make his own way in life and he’d chosen to apprentice himself to a City merchant. But he’d once mentioned to Athena that, during the Wars, his father had fought for the King. A picture of Gabriel rose powerfully in Athena’s mind. He was so full of glorious male vigour, so high-couraged and honourable. Had he decided to follow in his father’s tradition and take up the cause of the exiled King?

‘See for yourself,’ said Samuel, as if reading her thoughts.

Spink released her. She stepped out of his reach with a proud toss of her head, but she couldn’t prevent her hands from trembling when she took the tattered fragment of letter Samuel held out. She knew Gabriel’s writing. He had composed a sonnet for her a month ago. He had presented it to her with a flush of hopeful male awkwardness, not quite at ease with the romantic gesture; but Athena had been so enchanted with him that soon he had puffed out his chest with pride in his lover’s skill.

Now she recognised his confident initials signing the letter and the sentences above that clearly proved his involvement in a plot to kill Cromwell and restore Charles II to the throne.

‘Your choice is simple.’ Samuel’s voice came to her from a distance, as if her head was underwater. She felt as if she was drowning. ‘Marry me tomorrow in place of your traitorous bridegroom—or Vaughan will hang.’

Athena looked into his eyes and knew it was not an idle threat. If Samuel showed this evidence to Josiah, her stepfather would go straight to Cromwell—and then Gabriel would die. One of Athena’s uncles had been hanged by the parliamentarians after the Battle of Worcester—simply because he had fought at the King’s side. If an officer in the King’s army could be treated so dishonourably, then a King’s spy would receive even less quarter if he fell into his enemies’ hands. Athena could not bear Gabriel to suffer a traitor’s death.

‘If I marry you, will you promise that no harm will come to Gabriel?’ she asked in an unsteady voice.

‘You used Vaughan to make me jealous, you minx.’ Samuel stroked her cheek in a gesture that was an obscene mockery of true tenderness. ‘A lively spirit is attractive in a woman. But you must know when to put an end to the teasing games. Vaughan is a fool twice over. For plotting against Cromwell and for not realising you only flirted with him to provoke me. But I’m the one you really want. If you come willingly to my bed tomorrow, I won’t accuse Vaughan of treason. Cromwell’s too well protected for the plot to succeed, and there’s no need to punish Vaughan for being vain enough to think he caught your heart.’

It was not the wedding day of Athena’s dreams. She’d left home to avoid marriage to Samuel. She had never once considered the possibility that there would come a time when she would willingly take vows with him.

She wasn’t willing now, but the image of Gabriel hanging limp in the hangman’s noose tormented her. No matter what the cost to herself, she couldn’t let such a fate overtake him.

After the brief ceremony was completed, Samuel took her to what she assumed was an inn. Athena hadn’t thought this far ahead. Samuel had made a pretence that there was nothing unusual about the marriage. Athena had slept in her own bed the previous night—though Spink had guarded the door. She hadn’t been able to sleep from fear and worry. She’d wondered where Gabriel was and what he was doing. She’d longed to send him a message to warn him, but with Spink on guard there was no chance of doing so. Besides, she was terrified that, if she made any attempt to contact Gabriel, Samuel would take cruel revenge.

In all her pacing and fretting she hadn’t allowed herself to think about what would happen after the wedding. It had been too dreadful to contemplate. And perhaps she’d hoped that by some miracle she would still be rescued at the last minute from her nightmare. But as Samuel led her upstairs her fears changed focus and became more acute. It was no longer Gabriel’s uncertain future that was at the forefront of her mind, but her own present predicament. The harsh reality of her situation threatened to overwhelm her. Did she truly have the courage to keep her end of the bargain with Samuel? What would happen to Gabriel if she failed?

She tried to speak, but her throat was so tight with fear she could barely force words past her cold lips.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she whispered.

‘In here.’ Samuel opened a door and pushed her inside.

Athena’s gaze locked on the large bed. Horror congealed in the pit of her stomach. This was what Samuel wanted. What he had wanted since he had first laid eyes upon her. This was why he had married her.

‘Remember,’ he said in her ear. ‘A willing wife in my bed or Vaughan dies a traitor’s death.’

The church had been stripped of all its ornaments. Even its name had been changed to satisfy the puritan dislike of idolatry. No longer St Mary’s, it had become simply a public meeting-place—but it still felt like a church. Whispers echoed beneath the high, vaulted ceiling.

Gabriel’s stomach clenched with tension. It was cool inside the building, but his palms were damp with perspiration. He laid his hands against his thighs and tried to ignore the increasing restlessness of his companions. He could hear the questions they asked one another, the growing doubt and disapproval in the softly muttered comments.

‘I said she was no good match for him!’ Lucy’s voice rose clear above the rest.

‘Hush!’ Lady Parfitt reprimanded her daughter.

Gabriel gritted his teeth. Where was Frances? Where was his bride?

The minister caught his eye and Gabriel forced his lips into a confident smile while his mind seethed with questions.

What could have delayed her? Was she hurt? His chest expanded as he dragged in a deep, anxious breath. He wanted to rush out of the church in search of her. It required all his self-control to remain still.

The church door banged open. Everyone turned to look. It wasn’t Frances. The new arrival was a nondescript stranger. He obviously had nothing to do with the wedding. The guests lost interest in him. They all focused their attention on Gabriel. He saw the curiosity, worry and, in some cases, morbid satisfaction in their faces.

Everyone in the church was there on his behalf. Only one member of Gabriel’s real family was present, but that didn’t matter. Gabriel had spent seven years apprenticed to the wealthy City merchant, Sir Thomas Parfitt. During the first two years of his apprenticeship Gabriel had lived in Sir Thomas’s household, treated almost as an additional member of the family. Then Sir Thomas had sent him to the Tuscan port of Livorno. For the next five years Gabriel had been trained to look after Sir Thomas’s trading interests in Italy. Now Gabriel was back in London, his apprenticeship complete. He was twenty-two years old, a member of both the Levant Company and the Mercers’ Company, and a freeman of the City of London. And he was getting married. Sir Thomas had made no secret of his disapproval of this improvident match, but he had not withheld his support from his young friend.

And now the bride was late. Very late.

Gabriel decided to send a messenger to her lodgings. Unlike him, Frances had no close friends or relatives in the city except for the aunt with whom she lived. If Frances was ill, her aunt would not be able to leave her. In her distress, perhaps the woman had not thought to send a message to the church.

Gabriel caught the eye of one of Sir Thomas’s younger apprentices, intending to ask him—

‘I have a message for Gabriel Vaughan!’ The stranger’s voice rang mockingly from the back of the church, startling everyone.

‘I’m Vaughan.’ Gabriel faced the man, his heart thudding with anxiety. ‘Have you come from Miss Child? Is she ill?’

‘Aye, my message is from the lady herself,’ the stranger confirmed.

Gabriel had no idea who the man was, but he expected the fellow would approach him to deliver the message. Instead, the stranger kept his station at the back of the church, grinning at the curious wedding guests. Gabriel started to walk down the aisle towards him.

‘Miss Frances begs your indulgence—but it’s not convenient for her to wed today,’ announced the stranger. ‘Just yesterday she had a better offer from a gentleman with a bigger purse and a bigger…’

The crude words rolled over Gabriel. He didn’t hear the gasps of shock and outrage from his friends. His confident stride faltered. For a few moments he was aware only that Frances had deliberately not come to the church. Frances didn’t want to marry him.

Stunned disbelief filled him. How could this be? Frances loved him. He knew she did. His unfocused gaze sharpened. He moved forward, intent on asking Frances’s messenger where she was. If he spoke to her, he was sure he could sort out the confusion. Frances was only seventeen. If she wasn’t ready for the serious commitment of marriage he would wait for her. He’d clearly been over hasty in his plans.

Then he saw that the stranger was backing towards the door, his lips still stretched into that same, unpleasant grin. Gabriel suddenly remembered and understood the full import of the message he’d been given.

Savage fury surged through him. ‘You’re lying!’ he roared and leapt for the stranger.

The fellow had anticipated Gabriel’s rage and fled through the church doors. Gabriel raced after him into the glaring sunlight. He seized the stranger just before he escaped into a narrow alley and slammed the man against the wall, his hands locked about a grimy throat.

‘Careful, lordling!’ the stranger croaked. ‘Squeeze harder an’ I’ll gut you!’

Gabriel felt the prod of a dagger against his belly. The blade pierced his clothes and cut his skin. He ignored it.

‘You’re lying,’ he said through clenched jaw. ‘Frances didn’t send that message. Where is she? What have you done to her?’

‘I haven’t done anything to her,’ the stranger replied. ‘My purse isn’t deep enough for the likes of her. But she’s found herself a nice rich protector now. He’s wealthy beyond her dreams—’ The man gasped as Gabriel’s grip on his throat tightened. He retaliated by pressing his knife harder against Gabriel’s stomach. ‘Not so tight, coxcomb. Your guts’ll make a nasty mess o’ those fine clothes of yours.’

Gabriel relaxed his grasp and shifted his weight as if he intended to step away. The stranger reduced the pressure on the blade. The next second Gabriel seized his wrist and spun him around in a shoulder-wrenching hold. He forced the man’s arm up behind his back and thrust him against the wall, grinding his face against the plaster.

‘Where’s Frances?’ he demanded harshly.

‘I’ll show you,’ the man choked. ‘No need to break my arm. I’ll show you.’

‘What is this place?’ Gabriel balked, looking around in displeasure.

From the outside he’d assumed he’d been led to an alehouse. From the inside it was clear that the building was both more sumptuous and a lot less respectable than he’d anticipated. He heard laughter and raucous voices behind one half-open door. Another door crashed open and a woman emerged, her head turned as she giggled teasingly at the occupant of the room. She was barely wearing her shift. The garment had slid down both shoulders, only her hands clutched to her breasts prevented it from falling off completely.

‘Frances isn’t here.’ Gabriel turned to leave. ‘You’ve brought me on a fool’s errand.’

His guide blocked his way, grinning with disagreeable self-assurance. Gabriel felt a stab of fear, not for himself, but for Frances. He’d been unwise to follow a stranger into an unfamiliar part of the City, but he was confident of his ability to extricate himself from trouble. Frances had grown up in the country. By her own account she had come to London less than a year ago to live with her aunt after the death of her father. She was still unversed in the many hazards of the sinful capital.

‘What have you done to her?’ Fear roughened his voice.

He made an involuntary movement towards the man and saw, just in time, the dull glint of the knife.

‘Upstairs, lordling.’

Gabriel’s heart thumped with apprehension as he mounted the narrow stairs.

‘In here.’ A thump between his shoulder blades directed him into a small chamber. ‘Now look here,’ said his guide in a low voice. ‘And keep quiet if you want to know the truth about your virtuous Frances.’

A spyhole!

Gabriel bit back a curse. What kind of fool was he being played for? He took a step backwards and felt a dagger against his side. He’d half-turned towards the man, intending to deal with his impertinence once and for all, when he heard a muffled voice he thought he recognised.

Shocked and disbelieving, he put his eye to the spyhole. Frances? Dear God, it was Frances!

Gabriel pressed his hand flat against the wall as he watched her accept a wine posset from a man he’d never seen before. Frances drank and handed the vessel back to her companion. The man made a show of turning the cup so he could drink from the very place her lips had touched. He spoke, complimenting her on her beauty and Frances smiled at him!

Gabriel’s hand closed into a fist, his knuckles pressing into the plaster as he saw Frances lift her face to be kissed. The man’s lips touched her cheek and then her mouth. Frances laid her hands on his shoulders, inviting his liberties.

A few moments later the man turned Frances and began to unlace her bodice. She allowed him to remove it and made no protest when he fumbled at the neckline of her chemise. The man exposed her breast and bent his head to lay his mouth against the soft flesh.

Gabriel broke free from his horrified paralysis. He reared up and around, nearly blind with outrage and the pain of betrayed love. So intent was he on confronting his traitorous bride and her lover that he’d forgotten his companion.

The man hit Gabriel neatly on the back of the head with the hilt of his dagger.

Gabriel’s awareness clouded. He struggled to remain conscious, but his knees sagged and he slid painfully into darkness. The last thing he heard was a woman’s mocking laughter.

Athena sat on a straight-backed chair in the dark, waiting with sick dread for Samuel to come to bed. Her cold fingers twisted and curled ceaselessly around each other as she thought of all that Samuel had done to her in the two weeks since their wedding day. Soon he would join her again. Waves of revulsion surged through her. She twisted her fingers against each other until her hands hurt.

When she had fled from Samuel ten months earlier, it had never occurred to her that her flight would eventually end with her back in Kent and married to him. But at least Gabriel and Aunt Kitty were safe. To Athena’s huge relief, Aunt Kitty had been restored unharmed to her home a couple of days after the wedding. Athena didn’t place much faith in Samuel’s integrity, but he had kept his promise where Aunt Kitty was concerned. She had to believe that he would also keep his word not to inform on Gabriel.

Samuel veered wildly in the things he said about Gabriel. Sometimes he claimed Athena had only allowed Gabriel to court her to provoke his— Samuel’s—jealousy. At other times he said things that indicated he did know that Athena really loved Gabriel. On those occasions it was easy to believe that Samuel had married her primarily to punish her for rejecting him, rather than because he wanted her.

Athena found a certain, terrible, comfort in her conviction that Samuel had married her to punish her. It meant that Gabriel was relatively safe from arrest. After all, if Gabriel was seized and executed, Samuel would no longer have any power over her. Athena had repeated that simple fact to herself over and over again during the past fourteen days. She was keeping Gabriel safe. It was the only thing that had enabled her to endure her new life. Her head jerked up, her breath catching in her throat, as she heard footsteps outside the door. She squeezed her fingers cruelly together in anticipation of Samuel’s entrance, then realised what she was doing and forced herself to fold her hands quietly in a semblance of serenity. She would not give Samuel the satisfaction of knowing how much she feared him.

The room was suddenly illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle. Samuel walked across the room to stand over her.

‘Sitting in the dark? I’ve married an economical wench,’ he said sarcastically.

‘The light strains my eyes,’ she replied in a low voice.

‘You were thinking about your lover!’ he accused her. ‘Dreaming that he might come and claim you!’

‘No.’ Late at night, when Samuel slept, Athena yearned for such a miraculous rescue. But she’d already discovered how angry Samuel became when he thought of her with Gabriel. His charade that she’d only trifled with Gabriel to incite his jealousy had worn very thin.

‘You’re lying, you whore. You look so sweet and innocent, but beneath that beautiful face you have the heart of a harlot.’

Athena gazed slightly to one side of his face, trying to let his tirade wash over her. She was starting to learn how to survive his verbal abuse. Let him rant and rage and do as he pleased. Eventually he would go away, lose interest, or simply fall asleep. She could survive.

He hated it when she didn’t respond to him. What he had always craved most from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her was her attention—her smiles and favour for preference, but at the very least her attention.

‘He’s gone to Turkey!’ he jeered.

‘What?’ Athena’s eyes jerked to Samuel’s face.

‘Your faithless former bridegroom. He never turned up for the wedding, you know. I had him watched. If you’d failed to keep our little bargain, I would have had him arrested. But he doesn’t even know you jilted him because he never went to the church! He never meant to marry you!’

‘I don’t believe you!’ Athena could not—would not—believe Samuel’s cruel claim. Gabriel loved her. She knew he did.

Samuel laughed. ‘Did you really think you meant more to him than a pleasant interlude? He sailed in one of Parfitt’s ships for Turkey two days ago.’

‘Turkey?’ Athena whispered. She knew that Sir Thomas Parfitt’s trading interests extended to the Turkish empire and perhaps beyond. Gabriel had often talked about how much he’d enjoyed his years in Italy. Could it be true…?

‘You said he was plotting against Cromwell.’ She tried to make sense of how the letter incriminating Gabriel in the plot against the parliamentarian leader fitted with the news that he had sailed for Turkey.

‘Fickle noblemen. They treat everything as a game.’ Samuel dismissed Athena’s comment with a disdainful gesture. ‘You’re lucky I found you in time. Otherwise you’d have been left standing alone at the church. The whole world would have known you for a foolish maid, easily duped by a faithless cavalier. Come to bed, wife.’

Athena did not protest. Since their wedding day Samuel had required no more from her in bed than her passive acceptance of him, and it was over quicker that way.

Later she lay on her side, listening to him snore behind her, silent tears running down her cheeks. Until tonight she had still preserved a glimmer of hope that Gabriel might be looking for her. That somehow there was a way out of the nightmare her life had become. Of course such hopes were not logical. If Gabriel found her, it would put him at risk and her sacrifice on his behalf might end up being for nothing. But still she’d hoped for a miracle: that her love for Gabriel and his for her would triumph over Samuel’s obsessive desire to possess her.

But Gabriel had gone to Turkey. Despite her longing to believe otherwise, she was already half-certain Samuel’s story was true. She knew Sir Thomas Parfitt traded there. Gabriel was adventurous and ambitious. He would surely see this new venture as an exciting opportunity to improve his fortune. Besides, it had been Gabriel’s presence in England, his vulnerability to arrest by Cromwell’s agents, that had given Samuel his hold over her. Why would Samuel tell her Gabriel had left, and thus willingly relinquish his power over her if it wasn’t true?

Athena swallowed an anguished sob. All her efforts to protect Gabriel had been meaningless. By now he must be beyond Cromwell’s retribution. And he hadn’t even gone to the church to marry her. She had pictured him so many times waiting for her, worrying about her, trying to find her—and now it seemed he didn’t even know or care that she hadn’t turned up.

Her throat burned with stifled grief. It had all been for nothing. And now she no longer had the thought of Gabriel’s safety to sustain her in her nightmarish marriage. She had nothing at all. She opened her eyes and stared into the darkness at the bleak future ahead of her. Soon Samuel would destroy her spirit. She could already feel her self-confidence seeping away day by day. Soon she would be so browbeaten she would no longer have the will to resist.

She could not let that happen. Slowly her despair hardened into cold determination. Gabriel had left England. It made no difference to his safety whether she stayed with Samuel or not. She had run away before, she could do it again. And this time she would make sure Samuel never found her.

But…but…

A small doubt slipped into her mind. What if Gabriel came back to England after she’d left? Would Samuel inform on him just for spite? She bit her lip—no matter how inconstant Gabriel had proved, she couldn’t bear the thought he might hang. Before she left she would find and destroy the fragment of letter Samuel had shown her that proved Gabriel’s complicity in the plot against Cromwell. Then she would disappear.

And she would never again be any man’s dupe.