Lord Fox's Pleasure

Already occupying a special place in Prudence’s mind, it wasn’t the mention of Adam that caused her to look curiously at her aunt, but Lord Fox. ‘Lord Fox? You mean the same Lord Fox whose estate adjoins our own in Surrey?’

‘The same. If you recall, my dear, Thomas often mentioned him in his letters.’

‘I know very little of Lord Fox or his family, Aunt Julia—only that his uncle has occupied Marlden Hall in his absence. I was too young to take in everything that was happening when Thomas left. All I was concerned about was that by supporting the King at that terrible time, if he had not escaped to France he would have been hunted down and hanged.’

‘You are right, Prudence. We must thank God that he got away and that things have turned out the way they have. After being absent for so long, no doubt all three gentlemen will be eager to return to Surrey to pick up the threads of their lives,’ the older woman said. ‘Especially Thomas, now he has a wife. Now—enough gossiping,’ she said, shooing her niece away. ‘Away with you to the balcony.’

Prudence did as she was told, looking forward to being reunited with her brother. During his absence she had awaited his letters eagerly. They had been frequent, telling them of his life in exile. Practical and talented and not content to spend his time in idleness and debauchery, which was the case of many of the King’s entourage seeking succour in Paris, Thomas and the energetic Lord Fox had left the capital to serve in the French army, embarking on what would turn out to be several years of active military service.

The whole of Europe was in a tangled web of international politics at that time. France was unsettled due to a struggle for power between Louis XIV and the French nobles. With the French King eager to be on good terms with the new English Republic under Oliver Cromwell, the exiled King Charles, who was politically unwelcome in France, was told to leave the French Court—a step that was a necessary preparation for an English alliance. Eventually he was invited to the Spanish Netherlands. After crucial negotiations, which were on the surface successful, and with his eyes fixed on his restoration and believing Spain could help him achieve this, King Charles had formed a Spanish alliance.

In Bruges where King Charles had founded his own regiment of guards, Thomas had transferred his allegiance and enlisted in one regiment of English guards that was placed under the Earl of Rochester, and went into service under the Spanish flag. Adam Lingard had joined him.

Lord Fox, having parted company with Thomas long before that, had become something of a mystery figure. According to Thomas’s letters, he had embarked on a tour of the East to seek adventure and wealth as a soldier of fortune, and was not seen or heard of again until King Charles was preparing to return to England. Lord Fox had arrived in the Spanish Netherlands accompanied by his personal servant, a native from the Dark Continent he had acquired on his travels.

Rumour had it that he had amassed great wealth. However, in his absence his estate had been confiscated. If he were impatient to return home, no doubt he would succeed in securing his estate sooner rather than later for a price. Having fought with the King at Worcester, Lord Fox would have claims on his gratitude and may already be assured of a promise of favour from His Majesty, who was not returning to England a wealthy man.

Before going to join the others on the balcony, Prudence went to the courtyard and picked a sprig of May blossom which she secured behind her ear. She then picked a small bunch of sweet-scented flowers she intended throwing to Adam when he passed by. Securing the colourful blooms with a thin band of blue ribbon she went back inside, disappointed when she reached the balcony to find that the crush of family and servants was so great she had difficulty in seeing anything at all.

Pushing against Goodwife Gilbey’s ample form and careful not to crush her posy, Prudence looked down on to the royal route to Whitehall, her heart uplifted by the sight that met her eyes. The whole of London was poised in pulsating anticipation. Tapestries, banners and garlands of flowers hung from buildings, and a giant maypole—forbidden during the long and miserable years of the Protectorate—had been erected further along the Strand.

The music the people danced to with their partners as they wound the colourful ribbons round the pole had to compete with the many church bells being rung all over London, the thundering of guns and cannon and trumpets blowing. Mingled with shouts of inexpressible joy from the people lining the route, it all became a cacophony of sound, and the merry jingle of Morris dancers’ bells and the thwack of their sticks as they pranced along performing their ancient steps, not seen or heard for many a long year, gladdened the heart.

And then, at last, the procession came into view amid cheers of jubilation—a procession glittering with gold and silver and silken pennants fluttering in the breeze. Holding her breath, Prudence was spellbound as heralds blowing long slender trumpets passed by, followed by soldiers, the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of the city in scarlet gowns and gold chains. Then came the darkly handsome King Charles II, his cloak heavy with gold lace. Today was his thirtieth birthday. He was flanked on either side by his two brothers, all three attired in silver doublets.

The populace pressed forward the better to see, and they were not disappointed, for a sea of colour passed before their eyes. The slowly passing cortège consisted of noble-men and gentlemen displaying a style of dress and colour such as England had not seen in many years. Doublets in cloth of silver and gold, rich velvets, wide-brimmed hats with curling, dancing, impudent plumes, footmen and lackeys in liveries of scarlet, purple and gold. The people responded like a starving mass. Why, they asked themselves, had they waited so long in calling their King home? For that day every man, woman and child in England was a Royalist.

The procession went on and on, moving at a snail’s pace down the Strand, past Charing Cross and on to the sprawling palace of Whitehall. For what seemed an eternity, Prudence stood waiting for Adam to appear, all the time growing more and more irritated by Mary’s three young children either standing on her toes or knocking against her legs. Looking down into the heaving mass of people lining the street her eyes suddenly alighted on Molly, recognising her by her long blonde hair that fell about her shoulders. Miraculously she had managed to secure a place in front of the rest. Impulsively Prudence turned and slipped unseen back into the house and out into the street.

Unfortunately she was unable to penetrate the heaving crowd. She tried shoving and squeezing her way through, but it was no use, and she was too small to see over the heads. Dismayed, she was about to return to the house, when a man on the fringe of the crowd chose that moment to look round. Observing her plight, he took her hand, his face forming a semblance of a smile, his eyes glinting in his tanned features.

‘Allow me. It is treacherous for a young woman to try and push her way through this crowd. In the time it takes you to reach the front you will be trampled.’

He nodded to the man he was with—a burly fellow with a small beard and watery, bulbous eyes. In amazement Prudence watched as between them they parted the heaving bodies like Moses dividing the waters of the Red Sea, and she walked through the parting of the waves like the children of Israel passing into the wilderness of Shur.

She turned to the gentleman to express her gratitude. Although he was not strikingly tall he was above medium height and reasonably attractive. He had dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders, a tanned complexion and a thin brutal mouth. Meeting his eyes she saw they held no shyness whatsoever. They were piercing, pale blue and bold and nakedly appraising. His gaze was very steady, giving him a peculiar intent expression, and there was some element of cruelty in their depths and in his presence which commanded the attention. Prudence was unable to interpret what she saw. It was of a dark and sinister nature and beyond the realms of her understanding, but she was repulsed by it and shuddered beneath his stare, drawing back, feeling distinctly uneasy and wanting to get away from him.

‘Thank you so much.’

He bowed. ‘For a lady as lovely as you, it is an honour, mademoiselle,’ he said, smiling into her eyes in a way that made her feel even more uncomfortable.

When the crowd had swallowed up the gentleman and his companion, Prudence shivered as if a cold wind had just blown over her. He had addressed her as mademoiselle but his voice wasn’t accented so she doubted he was French. Perhaps he was much travelled. Finding herself beside Molly, the man who had made it possible was forgotten as she became caught up with excitement of the occasion.

Molly welcomed her with a wide, cheeky grin. ‘Hello, love,’ she said. ‘Glad to see you’ve come down from the balcony. It’s much more fun down here among the crowd. Things are positively humming today. Come to look for your brother, have you?’

‘Yes,’ Prudence answered, not having told Molly of her secret fondness for Adam Lingard. ‘I shouldn’t think it will be long before he comes along.’

‘Have you ever seen such a sight and so many gorgeous men? These bluebloods certainly know how to dress and are so exciting to look at,’ Molly enthused, her eyes devouring each Cavalier who rode past, positively melting beneath the smiles they bestowed on her. ‘There won’t be a girl in London safe tonight.’

Prudence smiled at her friend. With her full mouth, pert nose and vivid green eyes, Molly was extremely pretty. She was taller than Prudence, and had a superb figure, admirably displayed in a yellow-and-white striped dress with a tight waist and low bodice. Molly positively exuded good humour and a jaunty self-confidence Prudence couldn’t help but admire. Turning from her, she allowed her gaze to wander. That was the moment when something compelled her eyes to look at a Cavalier astride a tetchy, splendid black thoroughbred advancing slowly towards them, his dark-skinned, Oriental-garbed servant riding by his side.

The man’s tall figure, powerful and perfect in symmetry, commanded everyone’s eyes and admiration. He was dressed in sombre black, his doublet slashed with scarlet, and his black curls tumbling to his white lace collar beneath his plumed hat. Exuding an animal magnetism, his face was swarthy, lean and devilishly handsome, with a long aristocratic nose, wide forehead and well-chiselled lips. His chin was firm and strong and indented with a small cleft. On the whole it was an arresting face, the face of a knave, a scamp, but it was also an arrogant face, a face stamped with pride and centuries of good breeding.

‘Who is that man?’ Prudence breathed, mesmerised by him.

‘Why, don’t you know?’ Molly said excitedly, who was unashamedly knowledgeable in most things concerning the opposite sex. ‘It has to be Lord Fox. I thought you of all people would know that since he comes from your part of the world. Handsome, isn’t he?’

‘And he knows it,’ Prudence remarked drily when she saw him flash a smile at the crowd, his teeth brilliant white in his dark, attractive features. ‘But how do you know who he is?’

‘It can’t be anyone else—not with those looks. He’s reputed to be as dark and as tall, if not taller, than King Charles himself; his skin is burned almost as brown as a Moor’s from his time spent travelling far and wide—in the East and in Africa. He’s a man of mystery, and I heard tell that he’s learned all manner of things and strange practices. It’s also said that he’s managed to acquire great wealth from his travels.’ Molly became dreamy eyed as she devoured the swarthy, handsome man on horseback. ‘He looks like a bloomin’ prince to me.’

Prudence listened in thrall as Molly went on to tell her of Lord Fox’s exploits and the reputation he had acquired abroad. She was amazed to learn that behind his easy façade lay a man of great intellect, of tremendous courage, daring and fierce determination. There also lay a ruthlessness and dedication to duty that made his enemies fear him. He was branded ‘The Fox’, so named because of his craft and cunning and the bloodshed he left in his wake. To his enemies he appeared like some black and terrifying malevolent spectre on the field of battle, outwitting and defeating all those who dared oppose him. Some even believed him to be under the personal protection of the Devil.

Prudence doubted the authenticity of what Molly had been told, reminding herself that her friend was easily taken in. Nevertheless, she was unable to repress a shudder as she dragged her eyes away from that particular gentleman and glanced at the two following in his wake. She suddenly felt her heart skip a beat on vague recognition of her brother. His face was older and leaner than she remembered, but it was him. Her eyes shifted to the man riding beside him, and a gasp of delight escaped her lips when she recognised Adam’s smiling face.

Impulsively and recklessly—her two greatest faults—she closed in on the riders until Adam was almost level, lifting her arm to throw her posy, but at that moment the crowd around her surged forward, forcing the posy out of her hand prematurely, and she watched in dismay as it went soaring through the air, before coming to rest on Lord Fox’s horse in front of him.

Chapter Two

F ocusing his eyes on the posy, Lord Fox’s lips parted in a lazy white smile. Withdrawing one of his gloves, he picked it up and held it to his nose. A ring of gold-and-ruby splendour flashed when it caught the sun. Turning his head and seeing so many smiling faces, he searched them all until his eyes alighted on Prudence, his instinct telling him that she was the one who had thrown the posy. He swept off his wide-brimmed plumed hat to her, revealing a shock of collar-length jet black curling hair, which shone beneath the sun’s rays.

Replacing his hat, he stared at her long and unashamedly hard, his eyes boldly impudent, interest flickering in their depths. Treating those around her with another smile, this one even more dazzling than the one before, becoming caught up in the heat of the moment and with laughter rumbling in his chest and a roguish gleam in his eyes—the kind of gleam that must have charmed every female along the royal route from Dover to London—he suddenly reached down and plucked Prudence off the ground as if she weighed nothing at all, settling her in front of him, facing him, on his horse, his iron-thewed arms encircling her and holding her close.

Looking down at the delectable bundle of nubile flesh, her glorious hair in wild confusion, he allowed his gaze to linger on the entrancing perfection of her flawless skin, tanned to the colour of pale honey. Meeting her startled eyes and noting that they were the glorious colour of two huge saturated purple pansies beneath the heavy sweep of her sooty black lashes, Lucas thought she had the face of an angel.

‘Dear Lord!’ he breathed, completely enchanted. ‘I truly think I must have died and gone to heaven—and, if that be the case, then I must tell St Peter to lock the gates and keep me in.’

Prudence should have anticipated his next move but, so taken aback by what he was doing, and unaccustomed to men of Lord Fox’s calibre, she was totally unprepared and left with no time to protest when he lowered his head and captured her lips with his own.

His kiss was slow and deliberate, his lips warm and skilled. Placing his hand behind her neck, he splayed his fingers through her soft hair, holding her head firm. Lucas knew that she was frozen with pure surprise. Her lips were like ice for the first few seconds, then slowly they warmed under his, warmed and softened, parting a little so that her breath sighed through. Feeling her yield, he tightened his arms to support her. She was like a flower, fragrant and sweet.

Never having been kissed before, Prudence didn’t know what to expect or how to respond, but as his mouth boldly courted hers, his tongue savouring and parting her lips to probe and explore, she became lost in a sea of sensation. In that moment she felt the hardness of his body under the velvet doublet. She breathed in the essence of him, the scent of him, hardly able to grasp what he was doing.

When he finally withdrew his lips from hers, she stared into his eyes—gypsy’s eyes, green and brown and flecked with gold, eyes that made her think of brandy, ripe golden corn at harvest time—and the dark glow in their depths was as mysterious and deep as a rushing mountain stream. Her senses swirled and she felt a tremulous frisson of excitement, of danger, as primeval as time itself. She was vaguely aware that they were still moving slowly along with the procession and that they had drawn everyone’s attention. Molly’s face was a distant blur, her mouth agape, her eyes as big as saucers.

When someone came from behind and rode alongside she came to her senses, feeling a slow, painful blush rise up and stain her cheeks crimson. Anger and indignation at the audacity of Lord Fox flared inside her. If she hadn’t been imprisoned against his chest and unable to move her arms, she would have slapped his face good and hard for his impertinence.

‘Oh! How dare you? You are outrageously bold, sir. Too bold.’

He smiled, his eyes scorching hers. ‘Not as bold as I would like to be, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his voice reminding Prudence of thick, soft velvet.

Suddenly a voice rang out beside them. ‘You, Lucas, run true to form. Allow me to point out that this is no common doxy—so now if you will be so kind as to release my baby sister…’

Lucas looked quite taken aback, then he loosed his laughter, his white teeth gleaming like a pirate’s in his swarthy face. ‘Sister? Good Lord, Thomas. You are not serious?’

‘I am deadly serious. Now, unhand her, you reprobate. Prudence is still a child and very impressionable.’

Prudence stared at the elegant figure of her brother, not at all pleased at being referred to as a baby or an impressionable child. Thomas’s features were tight and she knew he was trying to make light of the situation, but she could sense his displeasure on finding her out on the street with the common folk.

Her eyes shifted to Lord Fox. With as much disdain as she could muster in her humiliated confusion, she raised her chin a notch. His eyes narrowed and gleamed, and a strange, unfathomable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his gaze dipped lingeringly to her soft lips.

‘Why, Thomas, I think I’m going to enjoy getting better acquainted with your little sister.’

Prudence, who had been paralysed into inaction by the unexpected arrival of her brother, wriggled out of Lord Fox’s embrace and off his horse—exposing more than was decent of her slender, stockinged legs, almost choking on her ire while dozens of scathing remarks became tangled in her mouth. She glowered up at him, her cheeks stung with indignation. ‘Why, you arrogant, insufferable beast—not if I can help it you won’t. You can go straight to the devil for all I care. Now be so kind as to return my posy,’ she demanded, holding out her hand.

‘But you gave it to me,’ he said soothingly, his imperturbable, dancing gaze studying her stormy amethyst eyes. ‘Do you make a habit of bestowing gifts and then asking for them back?’

‘The flowers were not meant for you.’

Lucas raised a quizzical brow, reluctant to relinquish the small posy of fragrant blooms. As quick as a flash Prudence snatched them out of his grasp, but not before Lucas had plucked the sprig of May blossom from behind her ear and secured it to the front of his doublet with a diamond-and-pearl encrusted stick pin. His eyes snapping with amusement, he reached down and with his fingers gave her a light, suggestive chuck under the chin.

Swallowing her outrage, Prudence turned from him and went to Adam, wishing he would snatch her off the ground on to his horse and kiss her the way Lord Fox had just done. But she knew he wouldn’t. Adam wasn’t like that, unless his years on the Continent had changed him. Secretly she hoped he hadn’t changed. She couldn’t bear to think of him kissing anyone but her.

Adam was clad in green and gold, his hair beneath his plumed hat as fair as Lord Fox’s was dark. Gazing up at him with adoration and pleasure, Prudence handed him the posy. For three years she had been rehearsing what she would say to him when this moment finally arrived, and now all she could say was, ‘Welcome home, Adam. I’ve missed you—we…we all have.’

A slow, appreciative smile worked its way across Adam’s fair features. Touched by her simple gift, reaching down he took the posy out of her hand and tweaked her cheek fondly between his finger and thumb, as he would have done to a child. ‘Thank you, Prudence. I’m looking forward to seeing you and your family later.’

The procession was moving past Maitland House and the crowd thickened about them. Prudence was forced to step back. Thomas nudged his horse towards her.

‘I do not know the meaning of this, Prudence,’ he said, his tone leaving her in no doubt of his deep displeasure, his eyes observing the creamy swell of her breasts, telling him that his sister was no longer the little girl he remembered, ‘nor do I care to know. However, it will not do. Go and join Arabella and Aunt Julia on the balcony and watch the procession from there. I will see you later.’ His curt nod dismissed her.

Mortified by everything that had happened to her in the last few minutes, and knowing that her indiscretion would not go unpunished, Prudence didn’t look up to the balcony before entering the house, so she wasn’t aware that the laughter had faded from Arabella’s eyes, or how pale her face had become when she had watched the spectacle of Lord Fox kissing her sister, or how the colour had intensified when she had taken the posy from Lord Fox and given it to Adam.

Arabella felt physically sick with the force of the pain that attacked her, realising how blind she had been where her sister and her thoughts and feelings were concerned. Recalling the times over the past three years when Prudence often disappeared into a daydream, she now knew why and was deeply troubled and saddened by it—saddened because she knew Adam had quietly married Lucy Ludlow, their brother’s sister-in-law, at The Hague.

Arabella was not alone in her disappointment. With his huge hands clenched into tight fists, Will Price’s face had worked with fury as he had watched the powerful and infuriatingly handsome Lord Fox sweep Prudence off the ground and kiss her soundly in front of the entire population lining the Strand. When Lord Fox had done with her and she had taken her posy and given it to the flaxen-haired Cavalier following in his wake, Will had felt a rush of bitterness like he had never known before.

Will was obsessed by Prudence Fairworthy. Still in his early twenties, his face was already showing signs of debauchery and overindulgence in every vice. His lusts were easily satisfied by whores, but Prudence was different. She was the sister of a gentleman and not to be tumbled like a strumpet. Throughout the twelve months he had known her, he had oft anticipated not only the gratification of sampling the delights of her supple young body, but the time he would take over it. He had trailed after her like a besotted fool while she had kept him at arm’s length, behaving like a prim little Puritan. And now he had watched her behaving like a brazen hussy, throwing herself at the preening Cavaliers like a shameless harlot.

‘The bitch! The deceitful bitch!’ he ground out between clenched teeth, his fury turning to cold, hard resolve. Her obvious indifference to him and his lowly station in life had made him keep his distance but, after what he had just witnessed, he’d be damned if he would do so any longer. When next they met he wouldn’t show any consideration for her finer feelings—if the slut had any.

With rage burning inside him like acid, Will turned on his heel and headed away from the Strand, sickened by the spectacle of the arrogant, pompous, returning Royalists—silently damning each and every one of them to perdition, but somehow his curses proved less than satisfying.