Page 75 of Ondine
Justin stumbled his way through the drunks and tables after John Robbins. He lost no time, yet when he reached the street, there was no sign of Robbins. Though he looked in all directions, he could not find a clue to follow, for the snow was trampled to a black mush that allowed for no prints.
Heaving a great sigh, he at last gave up and returned to the tavern.
Anne! Oh, bloody damn her! If she wasn’t always turning up when she was least wanted! Turning up—and twisting knives, so it seemed. She was leaning over the table, talking, as Justin approached their group. He shook his head briefly to Clinton in silent admission that their quarry had been lost.
Anne! He should have known, he realized ruefully, that she might be part of the clientele of such a place!
Having failed in pursuit of Warwick, she was too lusty a wench to spend time seeking out another of his ilk.
What drew men to her also caused them to tire of her.
Her very mien spoke of forbidden and carnal pleasure, and promised at the same time that she should never be trusted.
Warwick! He swore to himself as he thought of his brother.
Little might Warwick have known that simple pleasure would have these consequences.
It had been a heated affair, a negligent indulgence upon the part of the Earl of North Lambria, but it would haunt them all, so it seemed, for an eternity.
Warwick’s marriage still meant nothing to Anne.
Fair or foul, Justin knew, Anne meant to have him back.
She could not comprehend that Ondine was no light infatuation for Warwick.
Much more than his wife, she was the one woman he could adore, in passion and tenderness, forever.
He sighed wearily. Anne was just a damnable thorn in his side for the moment, accosting them at precisely the wrong moment.
Yet she was far more than a mere irritation, for now they would have to hunt and pray and spend long, long hours searching for John Robbins and swearing to him that they could protect him and his family if he came forward with the truth.
“Justin! How very rude for you to depart just as I arrive!” Anne said sweetly, moving so that he could sit.
Justin noticed that Clinton appeared so tense, he might be ready to kill; Sarah was flushed, yet her eyes were bright, like one ready to do battle.
“You disrupted us, Anne,” he said lightly, retrieving his ale then, for he felt he needed it badly.
“Oh, I saw! I do apologize, yet who should suspect that you were involved in a mysterious assignation!” Anne laughed. “Do tell me all about it, Justin! Who was that man?”
“I told her that we’d a horse stolen,” Clinton said quickly, impatiently. “That we found this character to give clue to the thief—but have now lost him.”
Justin shrugged and stared at Anne. “So you have heard.” He smiled pleasantly, determined to become the aggressor before she could plague them further with questions.
“Anne . . . Lady Anne! Now, what on earth would you be about in a lowly—brothel such as this?”
Anne shrugged, tossing back her dark hair, smiling at Justin, eyes sparkling with vivid energy. “Oh, I do grow bored of some of the endless protocol at court! ’Tis fun to view the lowlife now and then; ’tis exciting, don’t you think?”
Justin stared at her a long moment and thought that she was, indeed, a striking woman.
Beautiful . . . and so completely sensual in every word and movement that any man felt his blood stir at the sight of her, at the sound of her husky words.
There was that undeniable sultriness about her.
Yet he thought that she did not compare with his sister-in-law.
Ondine’s golden beauty was an even greater thing.
The carriage of her head was so alluring, the sound of her voice so lovely, even beguiling.
She had courage in abundance, which Anne did not lack, but she had more.
Ondine carried a passion within her that Anne lacked: where she loved, she would love deeply; whom she honored, she would honor forever.
Despite that sensual stirring that Anne could cause, Justin felt that all masks had been lifted; he knew Anne for all that she was—and wasn’t—and decided that he was enough the rogue himself to enjoy a game of wits with her.
He smiled in turn at brilliant eyes.
“Tell me, do you come here only to ‘view’ others?”
She laughed softly, untouched by the taunt. “Justin Chatham, you, sir, are a blackguard. Tell me why the question, and perhaps I will give an answer.”
“An idle one, merely.”
“Umm,” Anne murmured, then her eyes flashed across the table. “How strange that Sarah comes here, too!”
“On my cousin’s arm,” Justin commented.
Anne’s eyes widened with mischievous humor.
“Ah, yes, and what a fine arm! Clinton, at times I do believe you the finest specimen of a well-structured breed! Why, ’tis your work, I would think.
Shoulders broad, arms that bulge. Ah, yes, fair Sarah!
What an arm you’ve chosen! Yet don’t deceive yourself, dear.
Your father’ll not approve Clinton. He’s no real Chatham, you know, but takes his name from the house and grounds!
He’s the bastard branch, poor Sarah! No marriage there, alas!
But I must agree . . . for the sake of lust alone, surely you could have chosen no one better, for I do understand that abilities run in families, just as eye color, or height! You choose your lovers well.”
Justin held his breath; he wanted to throttle Anne then and there—Clinton’s temper was notoriously near to Warwick’s.
Only Anne would dare to say such things, and perhaps even she had pushed too far this time.
He turned to answer Anne in scathing fashion before Clinton could reply, yet it seemed unnecessary, for Sarah was no little mouse herself.
“Ah, Anne, you do speak truly! I’m ever so glad of that strong arm to lean upon!
I choose my lovers with the very greatest care, and then, though marriage eludes me, I give my heart to one at a time.
Chatham? Aye, I find that the name fits him well, for ’tis a noble family, and I find him most noble. ”
“Bravo!” Anne cried, clapping delightedly.
She turned once again to Justin, carelessly dropping the matter.
“I’d heard that you and Clinton were drinking and rousting and probably deflowering a score of unwary young virgins.
Where is that brother of yours, the great lord of Chatham himself?
And his fair and delightful bride, of course? ”
Justin sipped his ale and grinned conspiratorially. “Ah, I would think that you could well imagine the scenario, Anne! They’re young, they’re lovers, so passionate, so in love! They’ve told none of their actual whereabouts; they’ve gone off, entirely alone, to enjoy none but one another!”
Anne kept smiling, yet she spoke through her teeth, affording Justin endless satisfaction.
“How—lovely. And how romantic. Yes, I’d say I can well imagine the scenario. He takes a common gallows’ bride. The two of them—off to live as peasants!”
“Needing nothing but love!” Clinton added charmingly.
Whatever wounds she had inflicted upon them were avenged in that one smiling moment. Anne stood, having tired of the conversation, so tense that her smile was strained indeed.
“Well, I must be off. I shall leave you to your hunt. But, oh, I have heard you’re arranging the most wonderful dinner parties! You must invite me soon.”
“With the greatest pleasure, Anne!” Clinton stated, winding his arms around Sarah and pulling her to him. “That is, of course, if you can bear the company of a bastard branch.”
“Don’t be silly, Clinton! I find bastards—like this rubble—most amusing!”
She was gone, but Clinton took no offense. He laughed, then shook his head, staring at Justin. “How could anyone so very beautiful be so evil?”
“I don’t think she’s evil, darling,” Sarah murmured, stroking his cheek.
“She’s like a spoiled child; if she does not get what she wants, she thinks until she discovers a way to procure it—no matter who she hurts in the way.
And,” Sarah mused, “she wanted Warwick Chatham very badly. I think she actually loves him.”
“I don’t think she knows the meaning of the word,” Justin said impatiently. “And she did some serious damage here tonight.”
Sarah slipped a hand across the table to cover his. “I can find John Robbins again. I know that I can.”
Justin nodded worriedly. Time was playing against them.
He didn’t like the fact that Warwick was at Deauveau Place.
Warwick was usually as careful in planning as he was powerful in a fray, but this, this was different.
Justin could not forget how his brother had looked when they had given chase the day that Ondine had disappeared from the races.
Nor could he forget the utter horror on his face when they had discovered Ondine so very near to death in the chapel.
He sighed. “Time . . . time plays against us. We must hurry. We need John Robbins to come to the king; we need to sweep into Deauveau Place before . . .”
“Before what?” Sarah queried softly.
“Before my brother sees his wife too close to this vicious cousin of hers and loses his mind, and thus his temper!”
“How did you two allow him to go there!” Sarah exclaimed.
“No one tells Warwick what he will and will not do.” Justin sighed, then he rose, discouraged, yet determined afresh. “Come. let’s get out of this wretched place.”
Clinton and Sarah followed his lead. Justin noted Sarah’s soft hand on his cousin’s arm and felt a little pang. Though she was whispering, Justin could hear Sarah’s words.
“She is right, though, you know. My father would never let us wed. Yet I care not, for I do love you—and I will be with you!”
Damn Anne! Justin thought for the thousandth time—so casually did she wound others!