Letter of Love

by Virginia Henley

Original Copyright 1996 © Virginia Henley

Ebook copyright July, 2011 © Virginia Henley

Cover Copyright 2011 © Marsha Canham

Online edition published July 2011

First published by Leisure Books, January 1996. All rights reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without permission in writing from Virginia Henley.

Chapter One

"Your mother was a willful little jade," the queen said, thumping her first on the magnificently carved desk. "Some maggot in her brain made her throw away her position of maid of honor by making that disastrous marriage with a common spy, rather than accept the union I had arranged for her with the Earl of Devon. Even the flamboyant name she chose for you flouted convention."

Burgundy Bedford stood silently before Elizabeth, thinking the queen looked like a corpse that had been resurrected. How she hated this bitch of a woman! Well, if Bess thought her mother had been willful, she would soon learn that Burgundy Bedford was even more headstrong and unbiddable!

Elizabeth's red wig screamed its falseness to the world, making Burgundy wonder if her own abundant wine-colored tresses had triggered this tirade against her mother. The queen was overdressed in silver gauze, slashed with red taffeta. Pearls and rubies studded the lining of the high-collared gown. In contrast, Burgundy wore one of the queen's castoffs in dark green velvet.

"Before you follow in your mother's footsteps, I have made arrangements for you to marry into that same noble family." The queen's expression altered for the worse as she smiled. "The husband I have chosen for you is Lord Nicholas Mountjoy. So you see, I hold no grudge against your mother, who was, after all, my dear friend at one time."

So the rumor Burgundy had heard was true! Elizabeth was marrying off her profligate favorite before he scattered any more bastards about her realm. Well, she'd be damned if she'd have the queen's leavings! Burgundy lowered her lashes so that the shrewd Elizabeth would not see the rebellion in her eyes. She curtsied. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said sweetly, trying not to recoil as Elizabeth presented her beringed, bony fingers for Burgundy's kiss of homage and gratitude.

"Lord Mountjoy is without. I think it is time you two met each other."

Burgundy's lashes flew up to reveal shocked surprise in her violet eyes. As if by magic the anteroom door swung open to admit the broad-shouldered Earl of Devon. She was trapped!

His black eyes swept her from head to toe before he gave his complete attention to the queen.

"Nicholas!" Elizabeth greeted him intimately. Her voice was the only thing still beautiful about her.

He was one of the Queen's Gentlemen, an elite corps of royal bodyguards, and clearly in the inner ring of the court's charmed circle.

"Your Majesty... Bess," he replied in a tone equally as intimate as hers.

Burgundy watched the byplay between the aging monarch and her arrogant courtier with distaste. With both hands Elizabeth opened the front of her gown as if she were too hot, so that the whole of her bosom was visible! Finally the queen tore her eyes from the powerful male before her.

"Mistress Bedford, I present Lord Nicholas Mountjoy, Earl of Devon, who has graciously agreed to become your husband. I hope you realize the enormous honor he does you, for though your grandfather is a baron, his estate is much diminished and your mother's marriage to a commoner made you plain Mistress Bedford."

Burgundy's chin went up.

"Mistress Bedford could never be 'plain,' Your Majesty," Mountjoy asserted.

"Pish, sirrah! Continue your wooing in yon garden, not in my presence, you rogue!"

"Glorianna's radiance can never be eclipsed." He bestowed a passionate kiss upon his sovereign's hand.

The queen's fan tapped Burgundy on the breast in a signal of dismissal and perhaps envy. "This marriage will unite two great shipping families, which will benefit not only yourselves, but England. I trust you are mindful of this great honor, mistress."

Burgundy curtsied once more, then withdrew from the Queen's Presence Chamber, her back as stiff as a ramrod.

Nicholas Mountjoy's lips twitched with secret amusement as he followed the curvaceous beauty out into the formal gardens of Hampton Court Palace. "A stroll in the maze, perhaps?" the deep voice behind her suggested.

Burgundy spun about, hands on hips. "My lord, I beg you not to sacrifice yourself upon a commoner." Her voice dripped with sweet sarcasm.

"Your blood is good enough, I warrant," he drawled lazily.

"I have no doubt of it," she said coldly, 'but since a Mountjoy wasn't good enough for my mother, a Mountjoy certainly isn't good enough for me, sir!"

His dark brows drew together and his jaw clenched as he suppressed his anger at the insult. Like mother, like daughter. Lady Jane had spurned his father, so Burgundy would refuse him. "Your mother caused a fine scandal when she flouted the queen's wishes. Surely you are not so reckless, Mistress Bedford?"

"That is the last insult I shall ever suffer from you about my mother!" she flared. "Must she be condemned forever?"

"I am happy she did not wed my father... that would make us brother and sister and tempt me to incest."

Burgundy said coldly, "You may be an earl, sir, but you are certainly no gentleman!"

"My reputation precedes me," he mocked.

She nodded stiffly. "And your presence offends me. I prithee, begone."

"I don't dismiss so easily," he said, taking her wrist in a vise-like grip before she could escape. "Stop this nonsense, mistress. The queen wishes this match and has arranged for the marriage to take place while I am on leave from Ireland."

"Remove your hand from my person, sir, before I stab it with my bodkin." Her voice almost froze him.

Before Nicholas Mountjoy had come into the garden, he had been indifferent about Elizabeth's choice of bride for him; that it pleased the queen was enough. He was indifferent no longer. The wench was an instant challenge. He decided to have the little bitch at any price.

"You are an ice queen in need of a damn good thawing." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Thoroughly.

Burgundy forced herself to remain passive until he loosened his hold; then she drew back her hand and slapped him full in the face. "You arrogant swine!" she hissed.

Nicholas was amused again. It was the first time he'd ever been slapped before he had his hand beneath a lady's skirts.

She fought back a retort that she would not marry him because she wanted another. No one must learn of Anthony Russell, a fellow spy of her father's who had been wooing her for almost a year. Her mind darted about like quicksilver. She must contact Tony; they would have to elope. He'd been pressing her to it for months, and now she wished she had listened to him.

The autumn wind suddenly rustled the fallen leaves amidst the Michaelmas daisies. Burgundy's lashes swept to her cheeks. She shuddered. "Let me go, my lord. I'm cold."

"So I've discovered," he taunted.

Her lashes lifted, and he felt the full impact of blazing violet. His mouth curved. "Burgundy should be warmed by the hands before being tasted," he said softly, freeing her wrist, but enjoying the flush upon her cheek before she fled.

Chapter Two

"Whatever is amiss, my lamb?" asked Burgundy's waiting woman.

"Oh, Nan, the queen has finally tallied the bill for my education."

"And the price is marriage, as we suspected?"

"Aye. She is determined to wed me to Mountjoy, just as she planned for my mother."

"Only this time she won't be thwarted," warned Nan.

"Aye, but she will!" Burgundy vowed. "Tomorrow we will go into the city. I have a notion to see a play."

Every fortnight they went into London to John Bedford's townhouse. Her father, who was employed by the queen's spymaster, was usually off on Walsingham's business, and the house was convenient for shopping and visiting the Globe Theatre. It was at her father's London residence that Burgundy had met Anthony Russell, and Nan knew they often attended the playhouse together.

Burgundy penned a note and summoned a page to dispatch it. Nan fervently hoped she wasn't planning anything foolish.

Nan was thankful Burgundy had chosen a warm cloak for the wherry ride on the Thames. Winter was just around the corner.

When they arrived at the townhouse, Burgundy donned her mask and went off to see a performance of The Merry Wives of Windsor. A deliciously ironic choice, under the circumstances!

When Anthony Russell slid into the seat beside her in the gallery, Burgundy slipped her hand into his. When he squeezed it, her mouth curved sweetly beneath the mask, and she let out a sigh of relief that Tony was in London. Her attention was all taken up by his whispers and the players' antics, so it was not until the interval between acts that she looked across the gallery to see Nicholas Mountjoy. She stiffened, then remembering she wore a mask, forced herself to relax.

The Earl of Devon was squiring Dorothy Devereux, whose scandalous reputation forbade her attendance at court. The voluptuous blonde, though heavily painted and patched, was incredibly attractive and rumored most wanton by nature.

Beneath her mask, Burgundy's mouth turned prim. It was women like that who gave playhouses a bad name and caused the Puritans to call them little better than brothels exhibiting bawdy fables. I thought the wages of sin were supposed to be death, but judging by yon whore they are expensive jewels!

The profligate earl's marriage would obviously not interfere with his mistresses, Burgundy thought with distaste. When she realized she had missed most of the last act, Burgundy whispered to Anthony, "I want you to come back with me for dinner. I have something most urgent to discuss."

Nan was not surprised when Anthony Russell escorted Burgundy home, but she was disturbed. That her mistress had brought him back to sup did not bother her; it was the plans that might be hatched that worried Nan.

Against her better judgment she allowed her charge her privacy, hoping Burgundy would confide in her before she committed any folly.

She thought perhaps the time had come when she should give Burgundy the legacy that her mother had entrusted to her. As the hour grew late, Nan entered the fire-lit chamber to see the young couple cuddling and whispering together and she was convinced the time was at hand.

Nan climbed to the attic with her candlestick and lifted the lid of Lady Jane's trunk. With reverent hands she withdrew the book she had kept for twenty years. It was centuries old, and though Nan could not read, she appreciated the beauty of the handwritten pages, now yellow with age. She re-wrapped the treasure in the cloth of purple velvet and took it down to her bedchamber.

Before the embers of the fire died low, Burgundy and Anthony Russell had made plans for their secret marriage. She hadn't told him to whom the queen planned to marry her, only that the wedding was imminent and that there was a need for great haste. Anthony promised to take care of the license and find a willing priest who would make it legal.

"I've been looking at a house in Surrey, in the country. Would you like that, sweeting?"

"Can you afford it, Tony?" she asked with concern.

He laughed. "I have money aplenty, Burgundy. I sell information, and it brings a high price in Elizabeth's England."

"I hate her!" Burgundy said with passion.

"Softly, my sweet. Walls have ears. We could end up in the Fleet for what we plan, or worse, the Tower."

Burgundy shuddered. "I care not. A few months of prison is preferable to a life sentence in a loveless marriage!"

They lingered long over their good-night kisses. Anthony fervently wished Nan Greenwood wasn't in the house or he would persuade Burgundy to let him stay all night. She,too, was tempted to spend the night in Tony's arms, but knew that one more week would melt away as swiftly as snow in summer, and then they would be married.

Upon her return to Hampton Court, Burgundy was again summoned by the queen, but this time she was serene in the knowledge of her secret plans.

"Mistress Bedford," Elizabeth said in a voice that carried to the other ladies in the chamber, "it seems that Lord Mountjoy is well pleased with my choice of bride."

Burgundy felt the women's glances as they looked at her with speculation.

"Well, mistress, what do you have to say to me?" Elizabeth demanded archly, tapping her foot on the parquet floor.

Burgundy immediately went down before the queen in a gracious curtsy. "I thank Your Majesty with all my heart. I am unworthy of the honor you do me."

"Tush, child, I shall have my reward when I see Lady Jane's daughter become the Countess of Devon." Elizabeth's lips twitched as she heard her ladies gasp. "I am giving a private dinner in the Presence Chamber this evening to celebrate your betrothal."

The queen's imperative hand summoned her Mistress of the Wardrobe. "Mistress Bedford is to wed in a sennight. See that she is fitted with a gown worthy of a countess."

That evening when Burgundy entered the Queen's Presence Chamber, she had rehearsed her role as if she were an actor on the stage of the playhouse. No more sparks must fly between herself and Nicholas Mountjoy. She must be all sweet submission. Burgundy swallowed hard as he came to meet her; sweet submission was probably beyond her.

His dark glance swept over the violet taffeta that matched her eyes, moved up to her throat with its snowy ruff, and came to rest upon her earbobs.

"Good even, Burgundy," he said low. "Pearls are for tears. I think I shall gift you with amethysts." His voice was as rich as his apparel. His doublet was wine velvet, his monogram pricked out in garnets, or were they rubies? Yes, rubies, she decided when she saw his earring. Nothing so paltry as garnets for the arrogant earl!

Tonight the chamber was lit by hundreds of candles, bathing the strolling musicians with their lutes in a romantic glow. Burgundy clung sweetly to Mountjoy's hand as he led her forward to make her curtsy to the queen, then seated her beside him in the place of honor.

Nicholas noted immediately that the light of challenge was gone from her eyes, replaced by a look of deference. The little bitch is a consummate actress!

She caught a look of secret amusement on Mountjoy's dark face, as if he knew something she did not. It made her slightly uneasy. She ran the tip of her tongue across her full bottom lip and flushed as his eyes followed it.

"My lord, I fear the queen exaggerates when she refers to the Lyntons as a great shipping family. They were great once, but, alas, their fortunes and their fleet have dwindled over the years."

"I could be instrumental in restoring the Lyntons' fortunes," he replied smoothly.

Burgundy shook her head. He watched the play of light and shadow on her silken tresses and longed to bind himself in them. A half-smile of apology curved her soft mouth. "My lord, I am afraid Her Majesty is trying to fob me off on you. The Lyntons cast out my mother when she wed John Bedford."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "They will doubtless welcome you to their bosom once you are wed to me, mistress."

They can go to hell and you with them, thought Burgundy. Instead she said, "Perhaps, perhaps not. I must warn you the queen always likes to get the best out of any bargain."

"Elizabeth's shrewd all right. Shrewd enough to use your grandfather's vessels to help transport my reinforcements to Ireland in exchange for this union," he said, grinning.

So that was her attraction... her grandfather's ships! The situation got better and better. Elizabeth, Devon, and the bloody Lyntons deserved each other! What sweet revenge when they all learned the poor little pigeon had flown the coop.

Chapter Three

Nan Greenwood stood gazing through the leaded panes into the darkness with unseeing eyes. The picture she saw so clearly was in her mind's eyes, as she relived the night Burgundy's mother died.

The pain was as sharp as if it had happened yesterday. The lump in Nan's throat almost choked her. Behind her, the fire crackled and she turned to gaze into its flames, remembering... remembering:

Sleet dashed against the windowpane of the bedchamber as Nan tried to poke up the meager fire.

"Don't cry, Nan. I brought it all upon myself and I am resigned to my fate."

"Jane, my lamb, you mustn't say such things. You have the babe to live for now."

Jane smiled poignantly and shook her head. "It's all right, Nan. It is very important that we don't pretend anymore. There are things you must promise to do for me. I have no one else."

Nan was almost overcome. If only the Lord in his mercy would take her instead.

"Bring me a quill and parchment. I must write a letter to the queen begging her forgiveness. I am going to ask her to see to my child's education. I must find words that will pull on Elizabeth's heartstrings."

"She has no heart, Jane. She flew into a fury and dismissed you because you flouted her authority."

Jane shook her head again, then brushed the burgundy tendrils from her baby's temples. "The queen will do what is right, as I should have done."

Lady Jane Lynton, maid of honor to Elizabeth Tudor, had fallen in love with John Bedford, a secret agent of Walsingham's. The intrigue had been exciting until she suspected she was with child. Rather than marry the man her family and the queen had chosen for her, she eloped with her lover and turned her back upon her duty to others. And as the legend of the ancient book foretold, disaster had followed.

Jane had been dismissed from court amid a scandal. Her parents had disowned her. Trouble had not drawn her and her new husband closer, but had caused bitter feelings. John Bedford was away much of the time in France and Holland, leaving Jane in poor lodgings in London with only her devoted Nan for company.

Then ill luck befell the Lyntons. Their merchant ships sank in storms, their precious cargoes were lost at sea, two sons drowned, and then the queen had withdrawn her patronage and bestowed it elsewhere. Now, Jane lay dying, her lifeblood ebbing away in childbed, leaving her babe motherless.

When Nan took the queen's letter from her, Jane clung to the quill. "One more letter... this one for my daughter. Promise me you will keep this book safe for her. It has been in my family for generations, lovingly passed down from mother to daughter through the centuries."

Nan's heart constricted as she heard her lady's voice growing weaker. "Do not give it to her until she is old enough to comprehend the legend. This ancient book is her legacy. I hope she is wise enough to see that 'With Honor Comes Glory.'"

When Burgundy came from the dinner party she found Nan sitting with the book in her lap. She unfastened her ruff and kicked off her slippers. "Nan, it was kind of you to wait up for me. Please take that worried look off your face; I want to share my plans with you."

"I know you are about to take a big step in your life, my lamb, but before you tell me your decision, I must keep a promise I made to your mother after you were born."

"Nan, what are you talking about?"

"This book. Your mother asked me to keep it for you. She said it was a legacy, handed down for generations from mother to daughter."

"But why did you wait until now?" Burgundy asked, taking the book.

"Because I feel in my heart the time is right."

Burgundy carried the book into her chamber, lit the candles, and lifted the cover. It was old, ancient perhaps, and a thing of great beauty. Obviously it had been treasured and lovingly preserved down the centuries. The capital letters were illuminated so that the T's were broadswords, the V's kite-shaped shields, and the S's fiery dragons.

Burgundy felt great awe as she traced an inscription by a woman named Genevieve Betancourt, dated over two centuries ago. As Burgundy began to read, deciphering the Latin with ease, she realized the tale was a legend and also a great love story. It was fanciful and romantic, as all legends ought to be. Burgundy was swept away to another time and another place, totally caught up in the story as she turned page after page.

Between the sheets of parchment, she discovered a letter. It bore her name! Her hand trembled as she picked it up and realized it was written to her by her mother.

My precious Burgundy:

How do I convey what is in my heart in one short letter? I want you to know that from the moment I conceived you, you became the most important thing in my life. I hope you will forgive me. Because of the choices I made, you must suffer.

From the beginning I realized that you would need a special guardian angel and have prayed for months that God would not turn his face from me.

Though we will never see one another, I have passed on the only legacy I have. I am entrusting this book to Nan Greenwood for when you are old enough to understand its powerful message. When the time comes, you too must pass it on.

I have written to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, begging her to educate you, knowing you will received the finest education in the world. I hope she forgives me, I hope my parents forgive me, and also the Mountjoys, but most of all, I hope you forgive me.

I beg you not to grieve over my death. I am content because God has answered my prayer to give you a special guardian angel. He has chosen me. Know that I shall love you forever.

Jane Lynton Bedford

The words blurred together as Burgundy wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her mother's presence in the chamber was a tangible thing, as if she reached out to put loving arms about her.

She read and reread the letter, tracing the words with her fingertips, so grateful to have her mother's last precious thoughts.

Burgundy tucked it beneath her pillow and readied herself for bed. Then she again took up the book, reading with new insight. Gradually, as time melted away, she began to feel as one with all the women who had gone before. She turned the page and read:

The Quest:

You alone decide your Destiny.

At the crossroads, choose wisely,

One path is cursed, the other blessed.

Life is a double-edged sword.

You have free will to carve out the rock!

Will you rise or fall, succeed or fail,

Taste ambrosia or bitter aloes?

To find the key, ask what is neverending, everlasting;

What is noble and sacred, selfless and eternal?

The answer is Love.

Love is the greatest power on earth.

Pass on the gift of Love.

With Honor Comes Glory!

Chapter Four

The next morning as the wardrobe mistress fitted her with a gown for her wedding, the tale was still with Burgundy. It had caught her imagination, filled her senses, and touched her heart.

Womanlike, she stroked the heavy satin of the dress, delighting in the crystals scattered across the square-necked bodice. It was such a beautiful wedding gown, she decided not to waste it, but would wear it when she wed Anthony. Of course no one would see it save the bridegroom, but that would be enough. Burgundy hugged her secret to herself, silently counting the days that remained until Saturday.

Phrases from the ancient book floated through her mind as she went about her daily routine, and she found she had memorized the letter. On her deathbed, her mother had written to the queen, begging her to educate Burgundy. And Elizabeth had given her the finest education in the world. For the first time she appreciated the queen's generosity. Without it, her life would have been unendurable.

A page brought Burgundy a note from Nicholas Mountjoy, asking her to ride out with him in the afternoon. She sent a gracious reply, accepting the invitation.

The first frost made the ground hard beneath her palfrey's hooves as she trotted from the stables beside the earl. Her habit was peacock velvet; her gloves and feathered hat matched perfectly. She realized they had been presents from the queen.

Mountjoy's dark eyes licked over her like a candle flame. He was in a black doublet and high black boots today, and his short black cape, lined with crimson, made him look as dangerous as Lucifer.

"The ceremony is arranged for Sunday in the chapel, an' it please you, Burgundy." His voice was as smooth as the black velvet he wore.

"Is that as close as you can come to a proposal, my lord?" she asked, playing a game of cat and mouse.

"You want a proposal? Then how's this? I propose you deal honestly with me. I propose you play me no tricks. I propose you make me a dutiful wife, and in return I promise to make you the best damned husband in the realm!"

Burgundy's guilt made her blush. He spoke as if he knew her secret, but that was impossible, unless he were in league with the Devil. She cast him a pretty, sideways glance to divert him. "What do you mean by dutiful, my lord?"

"The qualities I demand in a wife are chastity, loyalty, honor... I would add obedience, but I fear that is asking the impossible of you," he said with a wicked glint in his eye.

"You are most perceptive, Lord Mountjoy."

"Call me Nicholas." It sounded like an order. An order she would ignore.

"What else do you deem dutiful?"

"You will have to leave Court. I must return to Ireland almost immediately. The day after the wedding, we leave for Dunster Castle."

"Dunster is in Devon," she said, startled.

"Certes it is. I am the Earl of Devon."

"As if you'd let me forget," she mocked. Silently she thought, The damned knave would pack me off to Dunster, alone all winter, while he's off playing war! "Surely you would allow your wife to stay at Court for the Christmas festivities?"

"Absolutely not. The Court's festivities are designed for flirtation and intrigue. You will await my return at Dunster. Your grandparents are less than twenty miles away in Lynton."

She almost gasped. He expected her to visit her grandparents. "They want naught to do with me."

"Strange, then, that they entrusted me with this letter." He took the sealed packet from his doublet and handed it to her.

Burgundy drew rein while she broke the seal and scanned the lines:

Dearest Burgundy,

We are so proud and happy that you are about to become the Countess of Devon. I am sending this letter by Nicholas Mountjoy so that you will receive it. I suspect all the letters I sent through your father never reached you.

I beg you will come to see me when you arrive in Devon, if you can spare the time. Having you back will ease our heartbreaking loss of Jane.

Sarah Lynton

Burgundy tucked the letter in her bosom, her thoughts in disarray. "I'm freezing! I'll race you to yon copse," she challenged, digging in her heels, leaving him standing.

Nicholas took off after her, determined to win. He knew she would lead him a merry chase if he allowed it, but he made up his mind that he would not. In this marriage, he would lead and she would follow. And by God's wounds, she would learn to love it!

When a triumphant Nicholas looked over his shoulder to see by how much he had won, he discovered she had cheated him of his victory. She had turned her mount the moment he passed her and headed for the stables.

"Devious little bitch!" he swore. Then he decided to go about the business as he would a military campaign. Since he had no time to lay siege, he would have to storm her walls. Nicholas Mountjoy was determined to win this battle. She would go down in defeat. He would accept nothing less than unconditional surrender!

He was after her in a flash. He overtook and captured her in minutes, dismounted and lifted her down in a heartbeat. Then in full view of the leaded windows of Hampton Court Palace, he mastered her with his mouth. When he let her go, she was panting. Fascinated, he watched her breath float from her lips and turn frosty in the freezing air.

Violet eyes blazing, she lifted her hand to strike him. He seized her hand before it made contact and gave her a small foretaste of his physical strength. When she stilled, fear threatening to replace her anger, Nicholas Mountjoy deliberately stripped the glove from her hand and lifted her palm to his lips. When he traced a pattern upon her flesh with the tip of his tongue, the gesture was so intimate and erotic, Burgundy blushed hotly.

"Four more days," he murmured.

Three, she thought silently, wishing Saturday were already here.

Before he released her captive hand, he said, "Go and pack for Dunster."

"Yes, I shall pack today," she said breathlessly, then added silently, But I shall pack for Surrey, not Dunster, you arrogant swine!

And Burgundy did begin to pack.

"Nan, I should have told you sooner, but you have probably guessed, I don't intend to marry the man Elizabeth has chosen for me, any more than my mother did. Anthony Russell and I are being wed on Saturday."

Nan did not scold her, but Burgundy could tell that the news saddened her. All she said was, "Jane came to regret her decision deeply."

"Nan, I'm in love! We're going to live in the country, in Surrey. You will come with me, won't you?"

"Of course I will, my lamb."

When Burgundy undressed, the letter from her grandmother fell to the carpet. She called to Nan, "I forgot to tell you; I received a letter from Sarah Lynton today."

Nan asked stiffly, "After all this time, what did she have to say?"

"She said she had written before, but suspected my father destroyed her letters."

Nan sagged visibly. "Ah, God, I wondered why she never tried to contact Jane. Sarah Lynton was a good woman. Perhaps she did write, but your mother never received the letters."

"Why would my father destroy them?" Burgundy demanded.

"Ah, child, you have no idea the bitterness that dishonorable union caused."

There it was again. It seemed everyone spoke of honor and dishonor. Burgundy retired, but when she was in bed, she took up the book once more. Its lure was irresistible. Now that she examined it more closely, she saw that most of the women whose hands it had passed through had added inscriptions to the book. Some had lost love, but those who had striven against all odds with honor had found their soul mates. Some of the descriptions of love were rapturous. The last words she read before she slept were, "With Honor Comes Glory."

The next two days were reflective ones for Burgundy, as she considered carefully the step she was about to take. When finally she examined her conscience, she was troubled to realize it was not clear. Again and again she went over the reasons for making the choice she had, until it came to her that the sticking point was the word "honor." She wavered, first leaning one way and then the other. When Saturday dawned, she decided she would compromise her honor for love's sake.

She donned the lovely wedding gown, then carefully concealed it beneath her best velvet cloak. Resolutely, the faithful Nan wrapped herself up warmly and followed her charge down to the water-stairs. Each carried a small trunk with the personal belongings she would need until the rest of their luggage could be sent for.

When they arrived at the London townhouse, Anthony Russell was there before her. His face looked pinched; Burgundy had no idea how long he had waited in the freezing cold.

"Oh, Anthony, come upstairs and get warm. My own hands are like ice."

"Just for a minute then. It won't matter if we are a bit late. I'll just slip the priest an extra five pounds."

His words jarred Burgundy's nerves. It secretly appalled her that a man of God could be bribed.

Nan bustled off to see to some hot tea, leaving the young couple so they could be private.

Burgundy turned from the fire to face Anthony and said the strangest thing. "I cannot marry you."

"What did you say?"

"I'm sorry if I hurt you, Anthony, but I cannot marry you."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"I don't know. I only know I cannot do this thing," she said wretchedly.

Russell laughed cynically. "Shall I tell you why? You have decided to go to the highest bidder! A title and a castle are too tempting to refuse."

"My God, that's not the reason!" she cried out, appalled at his accusation.

"Then answer me this: Are you in love with Nicholas Mountjoy?"

"No! I don't even like him!"

"Then if you are not marrying for love, it must be for money."

"That's not true, Tony. I'm doing it for honor's sake."

He laughed. The sound wasn't pleasant. "If this is some misguided attempt to right the wrong your mother committed, you are sacrificing yourself for a hopeless cause. Grow up, Burgundy. There is no such thing as honor!"

Chapter Five

As Burgundy stood in the chapel on Sunday morning, she fervently hoped that Anthony Russell was wrong. She clung to the hope that there was indeed such a thing as honor. Why had she changed her mind at the last minute? Was it because of the book, because of the letter? Both those things and more. It was as if someone were guiding her to choose this path.

Beside her, the Earl of Devon silently overwhelmed her with his powerful presence. His dark eyes had searched her face with an intense look as she came to stand with him at the altar. Apprehension curled inside her belly.

Queen Elizabeth, garbed in silver and white, failed to detract from the exquisite bride. The queen wore a self-satisfied look that plainly said, without her fine hand at the rudder, this perfect union would never have been launched.

A dropped pin could have been heard upon the frosty air as the priest asked, "Do you, Burgundy, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?"

"Yes, I do, yes," Burgundy replied quickly before she could change her mind. The rest was a blur-- the ring, the kiss, the congratulations, the rice. The thing was done quickly and irrevocably. Wed as long as we both shall live! Burgundy realized with a sense of impending doom.

Her groom spoke urgently with Elizabeth, then came striding toward her. "I'm sorry. There is a need for haste. We leave on the next tide. Did my man pick up your trunks?"

"Yes. Excuse me. I too must speak with the queen."

Nan never left her mistress's side. "I am pleased you have done your duty, child," she whispered as Burgundy approached the queen.

"Your Majesty, I want to thank you."

Elizabeth bent toward her intimately. "Lord Mountjoy is a fine prize. The name says it all!"

"Nay," Burgundy said, her cheeks as rosy as the dawn had been. "He would have been my last choice! I came to thank you for all you have done for me. The education you gave me was a priceless gift."

"How could I have done otherwise, child, with your mother's spirit hovering to make sure I did my duty? Devon awaits you, and patience isn't one of his virtues."

Aboard ship, Nicholas took her belowdecks. He assigned Nan a small cabin, then took Burgundy into a larger one, next to Nan's. "This is ours. It's rather spartan, and not very conducive to romance, but with any luck and a strong wind, you"ll only have to spend one night aboard. We should reach Devon before midnight tomorrow."

Burgundy's throat ached with unshed tears. She had done this thing so that she wouldn't feel guilt over acting without honor, but now she felt a crushing guilt for what she had done to Anthony Russell. How would she endure Mountjoy's dominant presence in this small cabin? They would be caged together like two wild beasts.

When he left, her legs felt like water. She sank to the bunk, wondering how she would get through the rest of the day, let alone the night and all day tomorrow. Then that thought was replaced by a bleaker one. How would she get through the rest of her life?"

She thought of all the women in the book, all the women who had gone before her, and drew strength from them. She decided to go up on deck. She had only sailed on the Thames; this should be an adventure. She stood at the rail until the vessel reached the open sea. The bitter cold wind penetrated through her clothes.

Suddenly, Nicholas was beside her, wrapping her in a sable cloak with a hood of soft gray fox. "My wedding gift."

She was angry that he was giving her something so costly. "Think you it will thaw an ice queen?" she challenged.

His dark eyes held hers. "One way or another, I will make you hot for me, Burgundy."

She wanted to fling the fur into the sea, but the bitter wind made her cling to it possessively. She turned her face from him, but already he was walking away.

The moment the ship headed south into the Strait of Dover, nausea swept over her like one of the waves beneath her in the pewter sea. "Some bloody adventure," she muttered through tightly clenched teeth. She went back to her cabin, where she found Nan in a similar state.

"Oh, my lamb, I hope you don't feel as poorly as I do."

"Go and lie down, Nan, and I'll do the same. What can't be cured must be endured. Isn't that what you've always told me?"

"All we can do is pray," Nan advised, going to her own cabin.

Burgundy wrapped her arms about her churning belly. "Pray for death,"she muttered irreverently.

All afternoon and evening she rolled about the bunk in the living nightmare that was mal de mer. Finally, unable to bear the heaving cabin longer, she staggered up on deck. The seas were high; Burgundy lost her footing as she was thrown against the ropes.

A curse dropped from Mountjoy's lips as he saw her floundering. He turned the wheel over to his captain and sprinted to his wife's side. "What in hellfire are you doing up here? It isn't safe!"

"I'm sick... dying... I needed fresh air..."

He grabbed her up into his arms before she was swept overboard, and carried her down to their cabin. He tossed aside her sable, set her down upon the bunk, and began to unbutton her wedding gown. She clutched the dress to her bosom, moaning. He forcefully loosened her fingers from the fabric. "Your misplaced modesty is ridiculous. I've undressed a woman before."

He was too forceful, like a tempest, sweeping her clothes from her, tossing them aside, flinging a nightgown over her nakedness. He propped her against the pillows while he poured her wine.

"Drink this. It will settle the queasiness. God's wounds, wench, are you sure you're descended from a long line of seafarers?"

For answer she vomited most indelicately into his lap. "My wedding present," she gasped.

His eyes glazed black fury; then his sense of humor came to his rescue. "Touché, Burgundy, I swear you did it a-purpose."

She shook her head, feeling slightly better. "No, but I wish I'd thought of it. I enjoyed spewing on you!"

Mountjoy made himself scarce the rest of the voyage. Meals were sent to her at regular intervals, but food was the last thing either she or Nan needed. They nursed each other as best they could, and by the evening of the second day, finally got their sea legs. Even so, they were grateful to set foot on terra firma two hours earlier than Mountjoy had predicted.

Dunster must have had a watch out for their ship, for before they dropped anchor in the bay, the lights in the castle atop the cliff were blazing in welcome.

They were met at the entrance by a man of middle years with a square build and an air of calm competence.

"This is Mr. Burke, my steward. He will take care of any problem you may have, no matter how difficult," Nicholas said warmly. "This is my countess, Mr. Burke. I was married at Court."

The steward's eyebrows rose ever so slightly at the news.

Nicholas watched his face intently. "Her name is Burgundy... Burgundy Bedford... Burgundy Lynton Bedford."

She saw the light dawn upon Mr. Burke's countenance. She was relieved to see that he was neither shocked nor disapproving. Actually, he seemed pleased.

"Welcome to Dunster, Lady Mountjoy."

"Thank you, Mr. Burke. This is Nan Greenwood, who has been with me all my life. She's had a rough voyage and should go straight to bed."

"Welcome to Dunster, Mrs. Greenwood." He smiled at Burgundy. "Come, my lady. Let me show you to your chamber."

Burgundy didn't even glance at Nicholas for his approval; she simply followed Mr. Burke, instinctively knowing she was in very capable hands.

The master bedchamber was huge. A fireplace was built into one of the granite walls, and the other three were hung with tapestries. A deep-piled carpet covered the floor, and the bed was hung with emerald velvet curtains.

In no time at all, Mr. Burke set the servants to building a fire, hanging her clothes in the wardrobe, and carrying in a bath for her.

"Thank you, Mr. Burke. Could you see that Nan is provided with a bath? Seasickness leaves a horrid miasma."

"I have already seen to it, my lady. The master has asked that supper be served up here. He asks permission to join you."

The corners of Burgundy's mouth twitched with amusement as she studied him. "Mountjoy doesn't ask permission for aught. Those are your own words, Mr. Burke."

He neither confirmed nor denied. "I wish you joy on your fist night in Dunster, my lady."

After her bath, Burgundy put on a nightgown, then added a lavender-colored bed-robe for good measure. She was brushing her hair when Nicholas came in without knocking. A sharp rebuke was on her lips, but before the sparks flew, two servants brought in supper trays.

The food was delicious, far better prepared than the meals at Court. Burgundy ate sparingly, however, not wanting to repeat her indelicate performance.

Mountjoy's dark eyes roamed over her, missing no detail. She'd be damned if she'd avert her eyes and play the shy maiden. Instead, she boldly surveyed her new husband. His velvet bed-robe was black and gold. She guessed he wore nothing beneath it; even his feet were bare.

"I hope you like Dunster, Burgundy."

"I imagine daylight will confirm my suspicions that it's a forbidding fortress on a windswept coast. I warrant the only way I'll survive the winter is in front of a roaring fire."

"The winters are somewhat cold," he acknowledged, "but Devon's waters and climate are generally mild. Spring arrives early, and then Devon becomes incredibly beautiful."

"When do you leave for Ireland, my lord?"

"Tomorrow." He rose from the table and held out his hand. "We only have till dawn."

Burgundy was vastly relieved. All she had to do was get through the next few hours.

Nicholas moved straight to the bed and turned back the fur covers. Burgundy was agitated; the gesture set her teeth on edge. When Mountjoy removed his robe, she was annoyed with herself to find she averted her eyes and played the shy maiden after all.

She had no choice but to remove her own bed-robe. She did so quickly and slipped between the sheets, shivering with apprehension at the ordeal awaiting her.

He found her breath-stoppingly lovely, but prickly as a bloody thistle. His hands were strong, firm and insistent as they reached for her.

Burgundy stiffened as she was implacably drawn to his hard body. When he tried to kiss her, she averted her face. When his hand roamed to intimate places, she recoiled.

Nicholas schooled himself to patience, but finally realized she was determined that he would not woo her into a giving mood. She left him no choice. He intended to consummate this union tonight, whether his bride was willing or no. He managed to perform the hymeneal right without her cooperation, yet without her actual refusal.

Burgundy lay absolutely still; her husband's harsh breathing was the only sound in the room. There had been pain, but the ordeal had not been as devastating as she had expected. The worst part was the guilt she felt over Tony.

When Mountjoy saw the tears upon her cheeks, he flung himself from the bed. Burgundy wiped away the tears, sighing heavily.

"If those sighs are for your lost love, madam, they are wasted."

Burgundy sat up quickly, her dark violet eyes liquid with tears.

Jealousy rode him relentlessly. "Anthony Russell took my bribe not to go through with the marriage."

She sprang from the bed like a tigress. "That's not true, you lying bastard! It was I who withdrew-- for honor's sake." She laughed and cried at the same time. "I sacrificed myself for honor's sake, if you can credit such naiveté!"

"Sacrifice?" he thundered, his black eyes glittering with suppressed violence. "The penniless Mistress Bedford sacrificed herself to become the wealthy Countess of Devon!"

"I hate you! Get out!"

Nicholas Mountjoy bowed with arrogant contempt. "I am thankful I am on my way to Ireland."

"I hope you never return from the barbarous, ill-fated place!" she flung at him as he departed, crashing the door upon its trembling hinges.

Chapter Six

Within the week, Burgundy received a visit from her grandmother. Sarah Lynton had her own shade of hair, gray now at the temples. Her care-worn face had once been as beautiful as Burgundy's.

"My dear, I have waited twenty years for this day."

"I never received your letters, and Nan swears my mother received none either, though she watched for them so hopefully."

Lady Lynton took Nan's hand eagerly. "How can I ever thank you for staying with Jane through all her suffering and taking the responsibility of her child upon your shoulders?"

"It was a labor of love, my lady. I only wish Jane could have known that you forgave her before..." Nan began to cry.

"Oh, my dear." Lady Lynton said, gathering Nan in her arms, "no tears, I beg you. This is a time for rejoicing. To be united with our granddaughter brings us such joy. And another wonderful thing has just happened. Her Majesty has renewed our export licenses."

Mr. Burke served them refreshments so that Burgundy and Sarah Lynton could become better acquainted.

"Tell me, my dear. I gave Jane an ancient, treasured book when she was very young. Was the book ever passed on to you?"

"Yes, it was my mother's last wish that Nan keep it safe for me." Burgundy hesitated, then confessed, "'Tis because of the book that I agreed to marry the Earl of Devon."

"Your mother refused Nicholas's father, but now you have set everything right."

"Well, perhaps not everything, but I am happy that we are now close to each other, Grandmother."

Before Sarah departed, she extended the hospitality of Lynton Hall, and Burgundy promised to come to meet her grandfather and her one remaining uncle.

The following week she was surprised by a visit from her father. She expected him to be angry with her for marrying the Earl of Devon. Not so much because Anthony Russell was a friend of his, but because her mother had been contracted to wed a Mountjoy. John Bedford, however, seemed resigned to it.

"Somehow it seems inevitable. Jane missed out on being a countess, but her clever daughter did not."

Burgundy was stung. Though father and daughter had never been overly affectionate, they had always been able to speak their minds to each other.

"You think me clever, Father? Apparently not clever enough to guess you destroyed my grandmother's letters."

"Sarah Lynton more than disapproved of me; she loathed me. There was much bitterness over the marriage. When you were born and your mother died, I didn't want it all dragged up again, and by that time the Lyntons had other troubles to occupy them."

"Sarah has been to see me. We are going to try to close the chasm."

John Bedford nodded. "I suppose that is as it should be. I only came to see if you were happy with your choice of husband."

Burgundy laughed shortly. "We do not deal well together. I'm afraid. Mountjoy probably regrets the union by now. My parting words were rather venomous. I wished he'd never return from Ireland."

"You very well may get your wish."

"What do you mean?" she asked bluntly.

It was privileged information, but after a slight hesitation, he told her, "Five thousand Spaniards are on their way to Kinsale, to aid Tyrone in his rebellion."

Dear God, it couldn't be true. Yet who would know better than one of Walsingham's spies?

When her father departed, she went straight to Mr. Burke. "You must somehow get a message to Nicholas. Can it be done quickly?"

"I'll have a ship and a captain within the hour. Will you write the letter, my lady?"

"Yes," she said quickly, before she could change her mind.

My Lord Mountjoy:

I have word on the best authority that Spain has sent 5,000 men to aid Tyrone. As your wife, I am honor-bound to inform you immediately. I regret my parting words to you. They were most undutiful and now taste like ashes in my mouth. B.

As the weeks went by, she heard nothing from Ireland. To pass the hours of the short winter days with their long evenings, Burgundy decided to teach Nan Greenwood to read.

At first Nan protested. "Oh, my lamb, I have all the knowledge I'll ever need. I'm too old to learn."

"Age has absolutely nothing to do with it, and you don't need to read for knowledge. There is no sin in reading for pure pleasure! Don't refuse, Nan. It is a gift of love. How else can I repay you?"

Nan agreed because Burgundy wished it. The lessons were so successful that Burgundy called the housemaids together and offered to teach reading to anyone interested.

The housekeeper protested, "I don't think it a good idea, my lady. It will put notions into their heads. What if their new learning prompts them to look for higher stations in life?"

"I should be delighted!" Lady Mountjoy asserted, to the secret amusement of Mr. Burke.

Gradually, Burgundy came to realize that the message of the ancient book had been right. She had acted with honor and she was most content with her life. Her grandparents' shipping business now thrived, and they gave her love and also a sense of her heritage, something she had never known she lacked.

One of their ships returning from Ireland brought the news that Kinsale had fallen, the Spaniards had been sent packing, and Tyrone put to flight back to Ulster.

Burgundy realized her husband would soon return to England, and she dreaded the reunion.

Spring arrived, bringing with it Nicholas Mountjoy. He was taken off the ship on a litter, but, refusing to be carried feet first into his own castle, he called for his favorite horse.

When Burgundy saw his dark head appear in the courtyard below, he looked even more arrogant and blood-proud than she remembered. But when she saw Mr. Burke go to his side to help him dismount and half-carry him into the castle, her heart was in her mouth. He had received a bad sword wound to the thigh which refused to heal.

Black eyes sought violet. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

Her heart turned over in her breast. Why was he apologizing to her? Was he going to die? Was he going to be a cripple for the rest of his days? Not if she could help it, she vowed!

"Bring him upstairs," she bade Mr. Burke.

When Nicholas was on the bed, she picked up her scissors and advanced upon him, intending to cut off his hose and bandage.

Nicholas appealed desperately to Burke. "You can see to it. Burgundy, is isn't pretty!"

"Nothing about you is pretty, Mountjoy. I received a fine education from the queen's own tutors. Herbs and the care of wounds was taught by Elizabeth's physicians. Why do you not wish me to look at your leg? I know it is not from modesty; you have none."

His lips twitched with amusement despite the pain. She was exactly as he remembered her. An instant challenge to his manhood, and he knew he would have her no other way.

"Burke is no slouch at caring for wounds. Surely you don't wish to slight him? But if you wish to fight each other over me, go to it."

Burgundy began to laugh. "You damned rogue. Two dogs slavering over a bone would amuse you, so we shall desist." She nodded her head to Mr. Burke. "You may have the pleasure of stripping him."

Her humor covered her apprehension. When the long, puckered wound was uncovered, she was furious. "Bloody hell, who stitched this?"

"A field surgeon. Conditions weren't exactly ideal."

She saw that he was gray about the mouth. She knew she must act decisively; womanish hand-wringing and tears would avail him nothing. "I'll cleanse it, if your hand is steady enough to restitch it, Mr. Burke." Burgundy knew hers was not. Before she went for her herbs and hot water, she poured Nicholas a goblet of brandywine.

Please God it deadens the agony.

After he was bathed and bandaged, he wouldn't eat, but dozed occasionally between bouts of restless tossing. Burgundy sat with him, quietly reading her precious book, so that she could monitor his condition.

About midnight, something awoke her.

"Burgundy... I'm so damn cold."

She moved to the bed and put a hand to his forehead, expecting him to be fevered. His skin was icy. She tucked the furs about him put extra coal on the fire, then slowly undressed.

In the big bed she moved carefully to his side. His body was just as hard as she remembered, but it was considerably colder. She wrapped her arms about him and pressed her warm flesh to his. Gradually, his restlessness subsided, and finally she knew that he slept.

His words floated through her memory: "One way or another I will make you hot for me, Burgundy."

Before dawn he cried out in his sleep and thrashed wildly. He was not burning hot; she doubted he was delirious. "Nicholas, wake up. It's all right, it's just a nightmare," she soothed.

He opened his eyes and thanked God he lay in his own castle, in his wife's arms.

"It was a nightmare," he said low. "Ireland."

A lump came into her throat. She could never imagine the nightmare that it must have been. He and his brave men had won against all odds. He had done his duty for Queen and Crown. It would have been catastrophic if Spain had seized Ireland to launch an attack on England.

"It's over, Nicholas. It's over." She feathered kisses across his temple, and he closed his eyes to savor her tender concern.

In a few days, dispatches came from the queen, thanking him and offering her congratulations on his victory. The only thing Elizabeth regretted was that he had spared the lives of the Spaniards and sent them home. She thought the enemy should have been put to the sword.

Nicholas flung the letters across the chamber.

Burgundy picked them up and read. Then she smiled at him. "I am proud of you. You acted with honor."

"You understand," he said with wonder.

Nicholas Mountjoy gradually regained his strength with the care his steward and his wife administered. He still couldn't walk far, but he and Burgundy rode to strengthen his leg. They rode along the sand, splashing through the waves that grew warmer each day.

Rhododendrons and azaleas filled the castle gardens with their brilliant blooms, and the scent of roses and lilacs wafted in through the open windows. Whenever Burgundy came close, desire flared in him.

Desire had awakened in Burgundy, too, and she found excuses to be with him, to talk, to touch. His thigh no longer needed a dressing, and she was almost regretful. The sexual tension between them became a living, breathing thing. Burgundy knew she would scream if he touched her.

She would scream if he did not!

One night Nicholas pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Ah, sweet heaven, the taste of her was intoxicating. With frenzied hands he bared her silken flesh for his avid gaze, his fingers, his mouth.

His body was as yet not fully known to her and she wanted to learn the feel of every powerful, sculpted muscle. She wanted to look at him, to smell him, to taste him. She pushed off his robe so that she could indulge the fantasies she'd had about his hard body.

Nicholas moaned with pleasure as he caressed her full, soft breasts. He explored her slowly and sensually, arousing and heightening all her senses. His lips caressed her throat and shoulders, feathering kisses, nibbling her silky flesh, whispering love words. Then his hand sought her heat below, filling his nostrils with her woman's scent. He closed his eyes, inhaling, savoring her awakening passion.

Burgundy gasped as he slid his finger inside her. The pleasure was exquisite. Her sugared sheath contracted upon him, and he rejoiced that she was so passionately responsive. He knew this was the moment he had been waiting for. Now in her pride and passion he would make her wholly, gloriously his. He came full over her then, she opened for him, and he plunged down into Paradise.

When he was sheathed to the hilt, he whispered all the things he would do to her, how it would make her feel, and how exquisite it felt to be deep inside her at last. They were drunk with love. She arched against him blindly; he thrust, scalding himself in her heat. He was big and hard and everything she had ever imagined he would be. The hot sliding friction of his savage thrusts aroused her to a frenzy. She loved the weight of his body on hers, adored the throbbing, pulsating fullness deep inside her, reveled in the exciting male scent of his skin, as he unleashed the fierce desire that had been riding him for so long. She was so tight and hot, Nicholas thought he might die from pure pleasure. The tremors seized them at the same exquisite moment. She clung and shivered and cried his name.

Later, as she lay in his arms, he cupped her cheek tenderly. "Do you love me, Burgundy?"

"Yes, I do," she answered quickly. She knew she would never change her mind.

His arms tightened around her. His lips brushed her brow, moved lightly over her temples, then gently kissed each eyelid. "I've loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, Burgundy.

They lay entwined, whispering, murmuring, for hours.

"I've been thinking... perhaps swimming would strengthen your leg. What think you, m'lord?"

"Mmm, if we swim by moonlight, if we swim naked, I think it would strengthen me considerably." He stood up and pulled her by the hand. "Let's try it."

Much later, after they had dried before the fire, he lay abed watching her write in a book. "What are you doing, my love?"

"Perhaps I'll show you someday." She smiled as she looked down at what she had written:

WITH HONOR CAME GLORY!

Burgundy Mountjoy, Countess of Devon,

1602.

The End

I hope you enjoyed this short story set in Elizabethan times. You will find all my books at my website http://www.virginiahenley.com

Here is an excerpt from my novella Love And Joy, which is set in Restoration England:

"Stop!" Joy Ashley cried, fleeing across the big kitchen.

"Don't you mean: Stop, my lord?" corrected the young man who'd had far too much to drink.

Astonished, she blurted, "You're not a noble of the realm!"

"'Ods balls, Richard, there's insolence for you," drawled his friend Carlton. "A scullery maid with the airs of a lady."

"I warrant a lady would be more forthcoming with her favors than this little baggage," Dick Humphries complained, cornering the maid once again.

"Leave me alone!" she bade both young men in her sternest voice, knowing from experience it would do little good. They had come home for the weekend from the University, and had had more than their share of drink this night.

"I only wish to share a little Joy with my friend," Richard said. "Where's the harm in that?"

Carlton St. Clare laughed at the witty word-play on the little wench's name and moved across the kitchen to aid his friend. "And I want the same, to share Joy with Dick," he added lewdly.

"You're drunk and disgusting!" Joy cried, spying her opportunity to push her employer's lecherous and spoiled son up against the hot kitchen oven.

As she shoved him, he staggered back, more from drink than force, and though his knee breeches and heavily embroidered waistcoat protected him from the cast-iron oven, he did burn his hand slightly when he saved himself from falling. "Little bitch!" he hissed. "It's time you learned to respect your betters."

"I may not be able to read or write, but that doesn't make you my better! A Cambridge education obviously hasn't turned you into a gentleman."

Carlton roared with laughter. "She's right, old man, you can't make a whistle of a pig's tail."

Richard made another grab for her and as she tore away from his grasp, the cloth of her much-washed cotton dress ripped apart, revealing a pair of deliciously tempting breasts. A foul epithet dropped from his lips. He glared at his companion, demanding, "Can't you help me?"

"I'd rather help myself," Carlton drawled, suddenly realizing the little wench had a rare beauty.

A plump figure immediately filled the kitchen doorway. "For very shame, Master Richard!" cried Bessie Bumble, the cook whose kitchen they were despoiling. "The little maid has bin on her feet for fourteen hours. The last thing she needs is to fight off a ravishing!"

"Shut your mouth and get back to bed, old woman, if you want to keep your job here." Dick Humphries' tone was so threatening, Bessie Bumble stepped back in alarm.

The two gallants managed to corner the maid between the pantry and the Welsh dresser that boasted a collection of pewter Joy had polished to look like silver only this morning. Her breasts rose and fell as she panted with apprehension. All she could think of was the knife drawer, but it was forty feet away on the other side of the kitchen.

When Dick Humphries' hands took hold of her breasts, as if they were peaches ripe for plucking, Joy dipped her head and fastened her teeth into his thumb.

"You shouldn't have done that, you little whore." With deliberation he tore what was left of her dress and petticoat from her trembling body.

With a sob, Joy snatched off her mobcap and held it in front of her to cover her nakedness. The moment she did so, a mass of red-gold curls tumbled down about her shoulders.

"Glory of God, she looks like Botticelli's Venus rising from the waves," Carlton St. Clare said with appreciation. "Since I'm your guest, Richard, 'tis only fitting I go first."

"Not bloody likely, but you can hold the little wildcat for me, then I'll return the favor,"Dick said, fumbling with the front of his breeches.

Bessie Bumble panted up the backstairs holding a shawl over her night rail with one hand and a fluttering candle with the other. She rat-a-tatted on the master bedchamber door, then tried to catch her breath.

Presently, the mistress of the house, Hortense Humphries, opened the door and demanded. "Whatever is it?"

"Oh, ma'am, ye must come down to the kitchen and put a stop to the shameful goings-on."

"What is going on?" Hortense again demanded.

"It's Master Richard, ma'am, and that friend of his... they're foxed, ma'am, and making a shambles of my kitchen."

"How dare you? My son has never been intoxicated in his life!"

"No, ma'am," Bessie said, "but ye'd better come quick to put a stop to their fornication."

Hortense's long face froze. "Lewd language is forbidden at Humphrey House, Mrs. Bumble."

"It's lewd acts ye should be worried about," Bessie muttered under her breath.

Hortense was about to ring for her ladies' maid, then decided to put on her dressing gown without help. "You do realize it's after midnight?" Hortense said darkly as she followed Bessie down the backstairs.

The lamps still ablaze in the kitchen lit the room up to reveal to Mrs. Humphries exactly what was happening. One word from Hortense was enough to shrivel her son's rampant desire along with his cock. "Richard!"

As the two young wastrels stepped away from the girl, their long waistcoats covered their private parts, but revealed Joy Ashley's nakedness in all its youthful glory.

"I am appalled to learn what has been going on in my own kitchen!" Hortense Humphries' lips were stiff, her words stilted. "Ashley, you are dismissed. I will not tolerate a strumpet on my staff. Collect your things and begone!"

"Nay, ma'am," Bessie Bumble protested, "ye cannot put the lass out on a London street in the middle of the night!"

"It seems to me the street is where she should be plying her trade. Oh, very well, I suppose I'm a soft-hearted fool. The girl may stay until morning. But she had better be gone by the time you cook breakfast or you may find yourself accompanying her."

The male miscreants had slipped through the doorway unscathed, vanishing into the upper west wing before Hortense had even rendered her verdict. With one last disdainful glance at the servants, the mistress herself swept from the kitchen to return to her bedchamber.

Bessie pulled off her shawl and wrapped it about Joy's shoulders. "Are ye all right, love?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Bumble, they had me cornered."

"Don't thank me, I managed to get ye sacked."

Joy shuddered. "It's not the first time and I don't suppose it will be the last."

"Yer shivering; go to bed, child. Ye'll catch yer death standing on this cold flagstone floor. We'll figure out something in the morning."