Arlington carefully placed his spread finger-tips against each other. “And how does your Grace propose to get rid of this menace to my life?” His tone was faintly, but politely, sarcastic, and there was the suspicion of a sneer about his mouth.
Buckingham now put on an air of good-natured frankness. “Your Lordship knows me too well to believe that I act only in your interests. I’m heartily sick of her myself—she’s cost me a great deal of money and I’ve got next to nothing by it. But we don’t dare poison her or have her kidnapped and shipped away. Old Rowley would never forgive it.”
“Your Grace is a chivalrous man,” observed the Baron in mock admiration.
“Chivalry be damned! I want to get her out of England—and I don’t care how it’s done so it doesn’t bring reprisals on my head!” He wanted to get her out, in fact, before she had a chance to tell someone that it was he who had plotted the Baron’s death. In his opinion the island would no longer comfortably hold both him and the Duchess—and he did not intend to leave.
Arlington dropped his aloofness and superiority. He knew that the Duke was lying baldly but he was altogether in sympathy with his proposal. For her influence with the King was just great enough to make her an inconvenience. If she were gone it would be one woman less for him to deal with. And he had no doubt Buckingham was now thoroughly frightened out of his intention to murder him.
“I think I know a way to make her leave England immediately, and be glad to go,” he said.
“How, for the love of God?”
“Suppose your Grace leaves the business to me. If I fail—then do your worst on her, and with my blessing—”
Amber sat in her coach, nervously tearing to shreds a lace fan she had snatched up as she ran out of the house. It was still so early in the morning that mist hung low on the trees along the Strand and the tops of the great houses disappeared into the thick of it. She felt sick and weak as she waited, and was almost sorry that she had come, for it terrified her to think of actually coming face to face with him again.
She had bribed one of Almsbury’s pages several days ago, and not three-quarters of an hour before he had come to the Palace to tell her that his Lordship was going down to the wharves. Amber, sound asleep when he arrived, had flung on her clothes, pulled a comb through her hair and set out. Now as she waited she tried with shaking hands to powder her face and paint her lips, but her eyes searched anxiously through the coach window more often than they looked into the mirror. It seemed to her that she had been sitting there a long long while and that he must be already gone. Actually, she half hoped that he was, for desperately as she wanted to see him her fear was perhaps even greater.
Suddenly she caught her breath, sitting up intense and alert, dropping the mirror and powder-box into her lap. The great door of Almsbury House had swung open.
Now, while she watched with passionate anxiety, both Bruce and the Earl appeared, spoke to someone behind them, and walked down the steps. Neither took any notice of the hackney which stood beyond the gates, half lost from view in the yellow fog. For three or four minutes they stood talking, waiting for their horses, and when the grooms had brought them they mounted and came toward her at a leisurely pace.
Stiff and trembling with excitement Amber sat there, wretched, sure she would never be able to summon courage enough to speak to him. Then, just as they came abreast of her coach, she leaned forward through the opened window and called his name.
“Lord Carlton!”
Both their heads turned swiftly. A look of surprise crossed Bruce’s face, and he reined in his slow-moving horse. Half turned in the saddle, he sat looking down at her.
“Madame?”
His voice spoke to a stranger. His eyes had never seen her before. Amber’s throat swelled with pain and she wanted to cry: Love me again for just a minute, darling! Give me something happy to remember.
Very softly she said: “I hope her Ladyship is recovered?”
“She is, thank you.”
She searched his eyes with eager tenderness. There must be
“You’ll be sailing soon?”
“Today, if the wind serves.”
Amber knew that she was going to make a fool of herself. With the most terrible effort of all her life she murmured quickly, “A good voyage, my lord,” and as her lashes dropped her closed fist came up to press against her mouth.
“Thank you, madame. Goodbye.”
