“Georgie?” A tall young woman stepped into the band of sunlight cast from the window. Its golden beams caught the fire in her hair. With a delighted thrill of laughter, she sank to her knees and held out her arms to the great mastiff. “After all these years, is it really little Georgie?” She buried her face in his thick furry neck.
Taverstock whined, and danced a few side steps on his short bandy legs. Vixen froze in place. Her dark expressive eyes remained fixed on her master.
At the sound of the girl’s voice, Thomas skidded to a stop. He blinked. The goldsmith’s daughter of his youthful fantasies had returned as a beautiful woman. Her voice was lower, but still held the same tone of merriment. Stokes had not exaggerated. Her figure was indeed that of a graceful, supple willow. Her laughter reminded him of a clear, sweet spring on a hot summer’s day.
“Hold very still, Alicia,” Brampton whispered as he advanced upon the pair on the floor. “I shall take—”
“Nay!” Grabbing the man’s wrist, Thomas twisted it. The naked sword clattered to the floor. Taverstock barked with approval.
“What foul knavery is this?” Brampton whirled on Thomas. “You would set your cur upon my child? Is this your idea of hospitality?”
“Edward, peace!” His wife rose from her chair and came to his side. “’Tis no harm done. See? Alicia and the dog are in perfect friendship.” Turning to Thomas, she smiled at him. “Forgive my husband, Lord Cavendish. Our journey has been in haste, and with some danger. I fear we are much agitated.”
Thomas took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Georgie lie down, then roll over on his back while the girl cooed endearments to him, and rubbed his tummy. The great beast wriggled with pleasure. A sudden twinge of envy took Thomas by surprise. With reluctance, he returned his attention to the fuming man before him. Brampton looked familiar, yet Thomas could not place him.
“You wished to see me?” he asked brusquely.
Brampton patted his wife’s restraining hand, then straightened his cap that had been knocked askew. “I told that whey-faced servant that I wished to speak to the earl.” He glared down at Taverstock, who sniffed at his boots. “You are Thomas, as I recall?”
“I am, and I am.”
Brampton rolled his eyes to the heavens. “I am glad you are Thomas,” he said, drawing out his words. “Now, may I please speak with your father?”
“You cannot,” Thomas snapped. Sweet Jesu! How he wished that Brampton could. He helped himself to a cup of wine from the table.
Brampton sputtered. “By heaven, sir, we have come on a matter most urgent I have no time to talk in riddles.”
“Nor have I.” Thomas drained his wine. Over the rim of his cup, he watched the girl try to entice Vixen into her charmed circle. Sweat popped out on his brow. Very warm for this season, he thought with discomfort.
Brampton slammed his fist on the table, rattling the wine pitcher. “Where is the Earl of Thornbury?”
Thomas replaced his cup with deliberate care. “You are speaking to him.”
Brampton’s jaw sagged open. “You jest!” He appeared to deflate under his cloak.
“Nay.” Thomas readjusted his sliding black band. “Gaol fever. My father, then my brothers. They caught it in June at the assizes in York.” Pausing, he pressed his lips together to hold back the pain that welled up inside of him. “I remained at home.”
“May God have mercy on their souls,” Lady Brampton murmured, making the sign of the cross.
“Amen,” Thomas muttered under his breath.
“Amen,” echoed the girl in a soft voice. The heartfelt emotion in her simple word pierced Thomas to his heart. He couldn’t look at her.
A stricken expression swept across Brampton’s face. “All dead?”
Thomas nodded, not trusting his voice.
The older man shot his wife a quick look, then asked, “Did your father ever chance to speak to you of your marriage?”
The young earl grimaced. His father had rarely spoken to his third son except to find fault with him or one of his dogs. The old earl had never talked of gentler matters. Thomas shook his head.
“God save us!” Brampton poured himself more wine, then downed it in one gulp.
At this rate, Thomas wondered which of them would get drunk first. He held his tongue as he studied the older man. Long experience had taught him that people grew uncomfortable with silence, and would gabble anything to fill the void. By and by, he would learn Brampton’s innermost thoughts.
Sir Edward drew himself to his full height. Even so, he was still half a head shorter than Thomas.
“I am sorry for your loss,” his guest began in a firmer tone. “But my mission is still the same. Ten years ago, your father and I struck an agreement whereby you would marry my Alicia at the proper time.” He glanced fondly at the girl seated amid the dogs. “I had planned to keep her one more year. She is barely seventeen.”
Suddenly Thomas remembered the man. “You are the goldsmith—Roger Broom.”
Surprise widened Brampton’s dark brown eyes. “By the book! You have a better memory than I expected. Aye, ‘twas a disguise. Your father knew my true identity. But no more of this, the hour hurries past us. My wife and I must face for the coast before our ship sails for the Lowlands.”
Thomas grunted in reply, though his mind whirled at this news. Why disguised? Now why the flight?
“Alicia?” he asked aloud.
“By written agreement, and the dowry I paid to your father, Alicia is contracted to marry you. And the sooner, the better for her sake,” Brampton added in almost a whisper.
Thomas felt as if a lance had struck a blow against his chest. He glanced at the girl. She smiled back at him. He couldn’t breathe. She rose from the floor, then stepped over the sated Georgie. Hoy day! She stood nearly as tall as Brampton. She tossed her thick braid of hair over her shoulder as she advanced toward Thomas.
His heart thudded against his chest. She must hear its pounding, he thought. A drop of sweat rolled into his eye. He blinked. Her lush red lips parted. Her white teeth gleamed like little pearls. His hands grew clammy. A roaring filled his ears. He had never been this close to such perfection in his four-and-twenty years. His tongue seemed to swell two sizes larger, then it cleaved itself to the roof of his mouth.
She looked directly at him with a sparkle of her laughter in her matchless blue eyes. “Tell me, Sir Thomas,” she asked in tones of purest crystal. “Does your cook still make the most wonderful apple tarts in the world?”
Air! Thomas needed to breathe, or he would expire at her feet. He opened his mouth to answer that all the tarts in Wolf Hall were hers for the asking, but only a strangled gargle came out. Without attempting any more conversation, he wheeled around, and fled out of the hall. Taverstock and Vixen followed in hot pursuit. Georgie, that lumbering traitor, remained behind to enjoy more of Alicia’s caresses.
In the corridor, Thomas barely paused when he encountered his startled squire. “See to my guests,” he snapped at Andrew.
The slim boy lifted his eyebrows with surprise. “Aye, my lord.”
“Put her in the royal suite,” Thomas tossed over his shoulder. Tavie scrambled in his wake.
“Aye, my lord,” Andrew called after him. “I presume you are not referring to Vixen?”
The little greyhound gave him a reproachful look as she limped by.
“Go to the devil, Andrew.” Thomas shouted as he rounded