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Authors: Brenda Joyce

House of Dreams (41 page)

BOOK: House of Dreams
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Cass clutched her throat, unsure of what was happening now.
Images of her aunt, convulsing on the floor, turning blue from lack of oxygen, filled her head.
And as her eyes closed, as she choked and choked for lack of air, the image of her aunt changed, and Cass saw herself, as if she were up high on some perch, looking down from an aerial view, and she watched herself choking to death, and then she was prone on the floor, her face turning blue.
Darkness cloaked her.
Cass fought her way up through the thickness of it. And when the blackness turned to gray, when there was light, she opened her eyes, expecting to find Isabel standing there, staring down at her.
But no one was there. And Cass realized that she was lying on the floor, on her back, panting harshly, staring up at the ceiling.
The corridor was very still and very silent.
Her breathing was obscenely loud in comparison.
And then Cass saw her.
Standing a few steps away, by the wall.
Isabel.
Cass tensed. Waiting for a knife to flash, almost certain that Isabel would stab her to death just as she—or someone—had stabbed the electrician to death, just as Antonio's grandmother had stabbed her husband to death. Fear made it hard to breathe all over again.
But Isabel just stood there. Her stare was brilliant, blazing, and then she turned and walked down the hall, toward Cass's bedroom.
Cass began to breathe. The scent of violets was rapidly diminishing. She gulped down fresh air, again and again, until the scent was almost gone.
Cass managed to climb to her feet. She felt shaky and disoriented. But she hadn't imagined what had just happened. She had suffered an attack just like her aunt, she had come very close to death, and she had just seen Isabel. Isabel, who had allowed her to live.
And she had gone down the hall, into Cass's bedroom.
Cass staggered against the wall. She stared toward her room—the door was closed. Cass thought she had seen Isabel walk through it, but she wasn't sure.
She didn't want to move. Not unless it was to flee back downstairs. But somehow her feet moved in the opposite direction and she started down the hall, her heart pounding now in sheer dread, not wanting to do what she must do, incapable of stopping herself from forward movement, using the wall for support, staggering against it. At the door she paused, afraid.
Isabel would be on the other side. And then what?
Cass again found it hard to breathe, but this time it had nothing to do with asphyxiation—it had everything to do with panic.
Open the door.
The voice was there, inside her head, loud and clear, a command.
Open the door.
She found herself reaching for the knob. Even though she wanted nothing more than to run away, as fast and as far as possible. Even though she knew that it was Isabel, there inside her mind, whispering to her.
Open the door.
Cass obeyed, pushing the door open.
Isabel was not present. Her bedroom was deserted.
Cass buckled against the doorjamb.
Thank God!
And as she sighed hugely in relief, she saw her glowing computer screen.
And even from a distance, she knew words were there, and she understood.
Isabel had left her another message.
Cass did not, could not, move.
She had no idea how long she stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the screen of her laptop, at the tiny white letters illuminated there, from a distance that made it impossible to see clearly. She finally started forward, one foot after the other, slowly, numbly, dumbly, in a state of dread.
Cass halted—then reached out to grip the desk for support.
I AM YOUR SISTER NOW.
And when will you tell his lordship the truth?”
Isabel's temples throbbed. They had remained in their rooms at the palace after all, and she sat in a high-backed chair, to ease her back, which ached constantly these days. Her eyes closed. How she wished that Helen would go far away. She had become a nag and a shrew, and outwitting her was never an easy task.
Helen handed her a cold compress for her temples. “Is there a reason you do not wish to tell your husband that you are with child, Isabel?”
Isabel did not meet Helen's gaze. “I have waited to be certain I am truly bearing his babe,” she said coldly. Abruptly, she stood. At her feet, Zeus did so as well. He had grown fat these past few months, eating too many leftover scraps.
Helen made a sound, half snort and half disbelief, and walked away. Isabel was relieved. And tears filled her eyes.
Her belly did not protrude in her clothes, not yet, but when she was naked, she could see a new firmness and swelling. She had not had a single monthly time since her marriage, so she might very well be four months pregnant. Isabel's stomach lurched.
A chamber pot was nearby and she used it, retching uncontrollably. When the spasms had passed, she remained on her knees, crying, until Zeus's warm wet nose touched her cheek.
Instantly she sat on the floor, pulling him into her arms, hugging him tightly.
What if the child was Rob's?
Oh, how foolish could she be, to take a lover before getting an heir! What if the child had Rob's blue eyes and blond hair?
Perhaps, she thought, inhaling raggedly, Alvarado would never know. Her own eyes were blue, her hair neither red nor gold, but some unusual shade in between. He might never know—they all might never know—until the child was well grown, and bearing some distinct resemblance to either man. Her temples felt as if they could split her skull in two.
“Oh, Zeus,” Isabel whispered, stroking his silken head while he regarded her out of wide, worshipful eyes, “what did I do?”
But it was far too late for regrets, and how could she regret her love for Rob, which remained stronger than ever? She had yet to tell Rob, but she had seen the look in his eyes last night, when he had covered her small belly with his large hand, exploring its new firmness. And when he had looked up, the question had been there in his unwavering regard, for Isabel knew him so well now—and she had looked away.
Rob, who had just fathered a stillborn boy and whose wife had died during the birthing. Rob, who had no heir, not even a bastard one.
Before she could dwell on her dilemma anymore, Helen reappeared in the bedchamber. “'Tis time for you to go down to sup, Isabel, or should I send the count a message that you are not well enough?” Disapproval remained in her tone and her eyes.
Isabel bit her lip. Helen knew that she had a lover, Isabel was quite sure. There had been too many afternoons to count when Isabel had reappeared in her apartments, dreamy eyed and smiling, unable to think of anything but Rob, with Helen scowling at her. If only she had been a bit more discreet, she thought, in despair. Isabel stood up.
“Do not move about so suddenly,” Helen scolded. “You must be careful, Isabel.”
Isabel waved at her. “I am more than careful. No, I will go down.” She smiled wanly. She was not joining her husband because she wished to do so, but because it pleased him, and she was terrified now of falling from his favor.
Isabel did not hurry as she moved through the many halls and corridors of the palace. She had long since become familiar with the manner of life at court. She nodded at several gentlemen as she passed, while ignoring the loud argument transpiring between a group of Spanish courtiers and their English counterparts. The foreigners and Englishmen were fighting, often violently, every single day. In fact, her husband frequently complained about the treatment of his people, not
to mention the court, the food, the drink, the entertainment, and just about everything else English.
Thank God he did not complain about her.
“Countess?”
The voice was familiar, yet it was not. Isabel faltered, glancing at a throng of men striding toward her.
Vivid blue eyes found and held hers. Isabel suddenly realized that she was face-to-face with Douglas Montgomery, and she faltered. She had not seen him since she had deceived him when he had come to court to press his suit for her hand.
He strode forward, his gaze never leaving her face, and he bowed.
Isabel was stunned by his presence, and more than that, she finally realized that her heart thundered hard in her breast. But dear God, what must he think of her? “Lord Montgomery,” she managed.
He straightened, and now his gaze slid quickly over her face before returning to her eyes. “Yes. I see I made such a singular impression upon you that you still remember me.”
Isabel realized, too late, that he was referring to the horrid deception she had practiced upon him, and she flushed. “My lord, I hardly know where to begin. I do apologize for my behavior when we first met—”
“I knew you were in disguise,” he said.
Isabel just stared at him, at a complete loss.
His smile was slight. “I was very insulted, but that is all in the past now, is it not? You have long since been married, as have I.”
Her heart continued to thunder—Isabel could not understand why. “I truly did not wish to insult you, my lord.”
“I have no wish to dwell on the past. The future is what interests me—as does the present.” His gaze locked with hers.
Isabel understood and she could not quite move. She ensnared him still. And she could not help feeling absurdly pleased.
“I wish to congratulate you on your marriage,” he finally said after a long and awkward silence.
Isabel knew she blushed. “And I, on yours.”
He smiled then. “Have you heard? My wife is with child. We expect the babe to come in May.” His eyes were lit with pride.
She remembered her own state—and dilemma—and her smile faded. “That is wonderful, my lord.”
He took her hand again. “The strangest look of worry—or was it sorrow?—has just passed through your eyes, my lady. What could possibly cause you such grief?”
Isabel was taken aback. She wet her lips, casting about frantically for a reply. “You mistook me, my lord, for I hardly worry over much these days.”
“Then I am glad, but I know what I have seen.”
Isabel stared. The urge to confide in him overcame her, and she had to tell herself not to be a fool. “Then you do know more than I,” she said, as lightly as she could.
Suddenly he tucked her arm in his. “Let us stroll. Will you walk with me, my lady?”
She glanced at him. She should go on about her affairs, but it was too pleasant to see him again after all this time, and she nodded as they began to walk. “Yes, please.”
“How do you find life at court?” he asked.
“I find it interesting and entertaining,” she said. “Do not forget, I was rather a country mouse until my uncle recalled my very existence.”
His gaze was warm. “I doubt you were ever a country mouse. You are too clever and too beautiful.”
She slowed. There was no mistaking that his words were a compliment. But she was not discomfited, not in the least. She was oddly elated. And as she met his searching regard, she felt amazed. Why, he is so upright, so proud and so sincere, and as handsome as Rob. How had she failed to notice when he had come to court as a suitor?
Suddenly she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake. As suddenly, dismayed, she cut off her thoughts. “What brings you to court?” she asked quickly.
“In truth, I thought it time to see you again,” he said quietly, no longer smiling.
Isabel halted. Their gazes had locked and she could not move.
“'Tis not exactly what you must think.” He gripped her arm. “Since that day we first met, when you tried to trick me with that wretched disguise, I have not been able to forget you. In truth, I think I am somewhat smitten.” His smile was self-deprecating. “But that is not why I have come to speak with you.”
She regarded him with growing unease. If he was not here to flatter her, then why was he present? “I do not understand.”
He was so dark of eye, so dark of countenance. “Isabel. There are so many rumors, rumors I have not believed, but now we must speak of them.”
She faced him, suddenly frightened. “What rumors? Oh—rumors of
the king's desire to go to war in France? The queen is pregnant, you know.” She knew she spoke so quickly that her words were jumbled. “The king will never leave until after the babe is born, well into the spring.”
He gripped her arms. “Rumors abound about you, Isabel, rumors I have not believed. But I have met your husband. I have met the admiral. And I see the pain and conflict and worry in your eyes. Dear God, I understand now, everything, including why you rejected me—but you play a dangerous game.”
Isabel could not move. His words caused her to reel, almost blindly. “What … rumors? I know not of what you speak!” she cried, too loud, her tone high and out of pitch.
He tightened his grip. “The court talks about you and Admiral de Warenne, my dear.”
Isabel stared at his dark, handsome face. She wanted to say, He is my cousin. She could not form a single word.
The court talks about you and Admiral de Warenne.
No! It was not possible! Her vision blurred, the hall around her darkening.
“Do not faint,” he said, throwing one strong arm around her. Before she knew it, he had lifted her into his arms, was striding across the hall, while she fought the blackness, thinking,
The court talks about you and Admiral de Warenne
, and then she was being lowered onto a stone bench in a small garden where the air was damp and wet with mist. “Breathe deeply, no, do not sit up,” he said firmly.
Isabel lay on the bench, breathing rapidly, shallowly, his words an ugly, terrifying refrain in her mind. When she opened her eyes, they blurred with tears, and his handsome, concerned face was there.
“If the world knows of your liaison, it is only a matter of time until your husband does, as well,” Montgomery said.
She stared, and suddenly she was holding his hands tightly, shaking her head. She should lie, deny everything; instead, she was crying. “How could they know? How could anyone know? Except, mayhap, for Helen …”
His regard was piercing. “Does it matter how they know?”
She struggled to sit up; instantly he put his arm around her to aid her. “I love him,” she heard herself whisper.
“I know you do.”
There was something in his tone that made her gaze lift to his.
His smile was twisted. “Life is incomprehensible, is it not? Even after my thirty-two years, even after all that I have witnessed, and lived through, I still fail to understand God's will.”
Isabel could only agree, silently. Did the entire court know?
Oh, God! He has to be wrong!
“De Warenne is a fortunate man,” Montgomery said.
She met his gaze. “Do not, my lord, say anymore,” she finally said.
But his next words were not what she was expecting. “And he is not worthy of you.”
“Do not slur him out of your jealousy!” she cried.
“I do not deny my jealousy, but I speak the truth. For if he loved you, he would not place you in this position.” Montgomery remained grim.
“Do not speak of what is not your affair.”
“But you are my affair, Isabel. I did not mispeak when I said God's will is strange and incomprehensible. Otherwise there would be but one woman in my heart—my wife.” He stared. “You must be careful, Isabel. Trust no one. There are so many petty jealousies here, and there are spies everywhere.”
She stared. “I understand.” She realized he was going to leave, and oddly, she was not ready yet for him to do so.
“Should you ever need to reach me, you can leave a message at Carew Hall. The manor is on the Thames, and my servants are trustworthy. I will not turn my back.”
Isabel felt more tears rise up, along with a confusion she could not comprehend, and an equally incomprehensible, accompanying fear. She nodded. “Thank you, my lord. That is an offer I may one day accept.”
“I pray you will never have to,” he said.
 
 
“Yes, Isabel? There is something you wish to say?”
Her husband was working late, as always, dealing with matters of diplomacy and state. Isabel hesitated before his desk, Montgomery's dark image instantly coming to mind. He had been haunting her thoughts ever since their unexpected encounter earlier that day.
BOOK: House of Dreams
7.6Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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