Her energy and confidence were coming back again. She looked at Buckingham, still there beside them, with an impudent grin. “Thanks, your Grace,” she said, though she knew that he had given her the false box not to help her but to humiliate his cousin.
Buckingham made a comical face. “I protest, madame. I assure you I had no hand in your luck—not I. Why, all the world knows I’m an honest fellow.”
As the three of them laughed at that Amber was conscious of the lords and ladies moving everywhere about them, glancing in her direction—and she knew what they were thinking. The King had taken her part tonight, defied and embarrassed Castlemaine before them all; it could have only one meaning. The Countess of Radclyffe would soon be the topping mistress at Court. Amber thought so herself.
As they stood there looking at each other, the smiles slowly fading from their faces, Buckingham said good-night and left; they did not notice. Amber knew that she was in love with Charles—as much as she would ever be with any man but Bruce Carlton. His dark lazy eyes stirred the embers of desire, at which Radclyffe had rudely raked but never once brought into flame, and she longed with all her being to lie in his arms again. She had completely forgotten that Radclyffe must be there nearby, watching them, and her recklessness was now so great she would not have cared anyway.
“When can you escape your duenna?” murmured Charles.
“Anytime. Whenever you say.”
“Tomorrow morning at ten?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll post a sentry to admit you at the Holbein Gate—on this side.” He glanced up, over her head, and then smiled faintly. “Here comes your husband—and he looks horn-mad already.”
Amber had a sharp unpleasant sense of shock.
She felt resentful that he should have the effrontery still to be alive, when she had no longer any use for him and had half imagined he would somehow disappear from her world like an exorcised demon. But he was there now—beside her, and Charles was greeting him with a pleasant smile. Then the King was gone and Radclyffe extended his arm to her. Hesitating for only a moment, she put her fingers on his arm as they started slowly from the room.
For a long while Amber struggled to return to consciousness. She felt as if there was a heavy pressing weight on her head and her eyeballs throbbed. A twisting cramp in her neck sent pains shooting out along her shoulders and down her back as she began to move, moaning softly. She seemed to have been aware for some interminable time of an uneven rolling and jogging motion that shook her from side to side and made her sick at her stomach. With a great effort she forced herself to lift her eyelids and look about, striving to discover where she was and what had happened to her.
She saw first a man’s small veined hands, clasping a walkingstick which he held between his legs, and then as her eyes raised slowly she found herself looking into Radclyffe’s impassive expressionless face. She now realized that part of her discomfort was because her legs were bound together, about the thighs and below the knees, and her arms tied close to her sides. They were in his coach, and the window pane showed only a grey sky and green meadows with lonely bare-branched trees. She wanted to speak, to ask him where they were—but an intolerable weight on her head pressed down, heavier and heavier, until at last she slid off again into unconsciousness.
She was aware of nothing more until she suddenly opened her eyes to find that the coach had stopped and that someone was lifting her out; she felt the cool fresh evening air in her face and took a deep breath.
“Try not to wake her,” she heard Radclyffe say. “When she’s in these spells she must not be disturbed or it may cause another.” It made her furious that he should dare tell anyone such an insulting lie about her, but she had no energy to protest.
The footman carried her, covered with her cloak and a long fur-lined robe, toward the inn and someone pushed open the door. The room was warm and filled with the savoury smells of fresh-baked bread and a roasting-joint which turned in the fireplace. Dogs circled about, wagging their tails and sniffing inquisitively, several children appeared, ostlers ran to unhitch the horses and a cheerful landlady came to greet them. At the sight of Amber lying with her head limp against the footman’s chest and her eyes closed, she gave a sympathetic little cry and hurried forward.
“Oh! Is the lady sick?”
Radclyffe brushed her aside. “My wife is indisposed,” he said coldly. “But it’s no serious matter. I’ll attend to her myself. Show us to a room and send up supper.”
