If anything should happen to Sir Edward before her marriage—God forbid!—Deborah’s estate would be overseen by the King’s council and she become his ward. A marriage deemed suitable by His Majesty would be arranged, unless James coveted her estate. She might then be left to live a solitary life or sent to a nunnery, never to fulfill the bright promise of her youth.
Sir Edward knew he must see her safe one day, but he was still only in his middle years and a strong, healthy man. A few more months, even a year or so, could not harm her and would afford him joy.
Deborah completed the purchase of the gauntlets for her father. They were fashioned of soft grey leather and studded with pearls at the cuffs. She thought he would be very pleased with the gift and was smiling as she left the merchant’s shop. A startled cry left her lips as she walked into a man who was about to enter, stepping heavily on his foot and dropping her package.
‘Forgive me, sir! I was not aware of…’ The words died on her lips as she found herself staring into the mocking eyes that had haunted her dreams these past three weeks. Her heart began to beat wildly. ‘Oh, it is you…’
‘You seem determined to injure me, mistress,’ said Nicholas and bent to recover her package.
‘Indeed, I do not!’ Deborah gave him a speaking look, but despite her annoyance a smile quivered at the corners of her mouth, which had she but known it was quite delectable and extremely tempting. Face to face, she had to acknowledge that her cousin had been right from the start—he was a fine figure of a man! She had seen none to rival him at Court.
‘Your purchase, mistress.’
‘Thank you. I apologise if I injured your foot.’
Nicholas grinned. God’s body! She was a beauty—and such spirit! It was no wonder the memory of their brief encounter had lingered in his mind despite all attempts to dismiss it. Perhaps it was in part why he had returned to London sooner than he had intended, though he also brought news for King James.
‘You have no doubt made a cripple of me, mistress—but I shall struggle to bear the pain with dignity.’
His taunt was so outrageous that Deborah laughed. ‘You are a wicked tease, sir. I cannot think what I have done that you should mock me so.’
‘Nor I, come to think on it,’ he replied, his bold eyes challenging her. ‘Unless it is that your eyes are more lovely than the brightest star in the heavens—your lips as sweet as a rose dew kissed.’
‘You would rival Master Shakespeare,’ Deborah replied with a toss of her head. She had been to the theatre several times now, and found the performance entrancing, though the audience was noisy and often shouted at the actors whenever they disagreed with something that was happening on stage. ‘I shall listen to no more of this nonsense, sir. My cousin awaits me in the street and I must go to her.’
‘I believe she is pleasantly engaged,’ Nicholas said, a faint smile on his mouth. ‘You will allow me to delay you a little, mistress. May I be of service to you? Perhaps I could call chairs for you and Mistress Palmer?’
‘Thank you, sir, but I believe Master Henderson will escort us should we wish it—and my footman is close by.’ Deborah avoided looking at him. He was too sure of himself and her heart would not behave itself when she saw the way his eyes danced with laughter.
‘If Master Henderson puts his claim above mine I have no love for the rogue. I believe I shall call him out!’
‘Pray be serious, my lord.’ Deborah was beginning to remember this man’s reputation. She had been warned that he was not to be trusted. She ought to walk away at once, but her feet would not obey her. ‘Your levity does not become you.’
‘I fear you would like me even less if I were to show you my other side, lady.’
‘Yes, I do think you have a darkness in you,’ Deborah said with a considering look. There were two sides to this man, one charming and pleasant, the other dark and threatening. ‘I sensed it when we first met.’
‘Is that why you disliked me?’ Nicholas frowned. ‘You have no need to fear me, Mistress Stirling. I have never harmed a wench. It is true that I have a devil inside me, but it is for others to fear—not you.’
‘Do you speak of a Spanish gentleman, perchance?’
‘What have you heard of that accursed rogue?’ Nicholas’s eyes glittered with sudden anger, startling her. ‘I swear you will hear nothing to his good from me.’
‘They say you attack Don Manola’s ships—that you are little more than a pirate.’ Deborah tipped her head to gaze up at him defiantly. She did not know why she was pressing him like this, unless it was a perverse need in her to see his reaction. She would be a fool to let his charm sway her judgement of him. He was both a scoundrel and a thief.
‘Some would call me a privateer,’ Nicholas muttered, his mouth hard, features set into the harsh lines she had noticed before. ‘Know this of me, Mistress Stirling—I may be Le Diable to the Spaniard I attack, but I have never killed for pleasure.’ He touched his hat to her. ‘I bid you adieu, mistress.’
For a moment Deborah was quite unable to speak. She wanted to cry out, to beg him to wait and explain his meaning, yet could not force the words from her lips.
What could he have meant? Who killed for pleasure—Don Manola? It was what he had implied, yet it could not be. He was her father’s friend and Deborah would trust Sir Edward’s judgement above any other. He was considering a marriage between her and Don Miguel Cortes. Never would he think of entrusting her to the son of a man he did not admire or trust.
Was it merely spite on the marquis’s part, then? She would not have thought it of the man. Surely a powerful man like that would have no need of petty lies and innuendo? His weapons would be sharper and more deadly.
There was clearly some quarrel between Don Manola and the marquis. She imagined that the marquis truly believed his cause was just. Was it not always thus when men quarrelled? For herself she abhorred violence of any kind. It was surely wrong to attack another man’s ships? Men must be wounded or killed during the action. Yet seemingly the marquis believed he was behaving fairly. Why should that be?
‘Know this of me…I have never killed for pleasure.’
Once again Deborah shivered as she felt the chill go through her. She sensed a dark shadow hanging over her, as she had after their first meeting at Whitehall. Yet what had she to fear from him? Her destiny was not to run with his. Sir Edward would never contemplate such a match—nor did she wish it!
Deborah denied the prompting of an imp within her—a wicked voice that whispered she had never felt so challenged, so alive as when in the presence of the marquis. It was but a wayward thought that told her life had been almost too safe, too comfortable, that her true fulfilment as a woman would only come if she were brave enough to snatch at the burning brand this man offered.
For there had been fire in her when she gazed into his eyes. She had known a restless longing for something—but she knew not what. It was surely not to be in the arms of that wicked rogue!
Deborah shook her head. She was foolish to let him into her head. The Marquis de Vere was nothing to her, nor ever could be.
Sarah turned to her as she approached, her eyes glowing with excitement. ‘Dearest Deborah,’ she cried. ‘You will never guess what has happened since you were gone.’
‘What is it, cousin?’
Deborah was already certain that she knew. Master Henderson had spoken of his intentions. She smiled but held her peace. Let Sarah enjoy her moment of triumph to the full.
‘Master Henderson has gone to summon chairs for us, Debs—but that is not my news. I told him we were to leave London soon and he was devastated. He returns with us to the house and will beg my uncle for my hand in marriage.’ Sarah looked at her anxiously. ‘Do you think Sir Edward will look favourably on