“The Chancellor belongs to the old school of statesmen, my dear. He’ll neither pimp nor bribe, but thinks it’s possible to get along in this world by honest hard work. I’m afraid there’s a new model politician likely to prove too hard for him.”
“I don’t care what his morals are! He was good friends with my father and I think it’s damned bad manners his wife doesn’t make me a call! Why, I’ve heard he even tells you you shouldn’t waste your time on a jade like me!”
Charles smiled, one arm over the back of the chair and his legs crossed, his eyes lazily admiring as he sat watching her undress. “The Chancellor has been telling me what I may and may not do for so many years I believe he half thinks I pay him some attention. But he’s a very good old man and very loyal, and his intentions are the best even if his understanding is sometimes faulty. However, I wouldn’t trouble myself with whether or not his wife calls, if I were you. I assure you she’s a dull old lady and no very entertaining company.”
“I don’t care whether she’s dull or not! Don’t you understand? It’s just that she
He laughed. “I understand. Let’s forget it—”
He got up and went toward her and Barbara turned, just slipping her smock down over her breasts, to look at him. Her eyes lighted with a bright passion that was perfectly genuine, and as his hands reached out a shudder of expectation shook her, driving everything else from her mind. But not for long.
As they lay in the bed, her head resting on his shoulder so that she could feel beneath her cheek the pulsing of his blood, Barbara said softly, “I heard the most ridiculous rumour today.”
Charles was uninterested and merely murmured, “Did you?”
“Yes—someone told me that you’re already married to a niece of the Prince de Ligne—and have two sons by her.”
“The Prince doesn’t even have a niece, so far as I know. None I’ve married, anyway.” His eyes were closed and he lay flat on his back, a faint smile on his mouth. But he was not thinking of what they were saying.
“Someone else told me that you’re contracted to the Duke of Parma’s daughter.”
He did not answer and now, raising herself on one elbow, she said anxiously: “You’re not, are you?”
“Not what? Oh, no. No, I’m not married.”
“But they want you to marry, don’t they? The people, I mean.”
“Yes, I suppose they do. Some fat squint-eyed straight-haired antidote, no doubt,” he said lazily. “Odsfish, I don’t know how I’ll ever get an ugly woman with child.”
“But why should you marry an ugly woman?” With one pointed forefinger she was tracing a pattern in the matted black hair on his chest.
He opened his eyes and looked up at her, and then his face broke into a grin and he reached out his hand to stroke her head. “Princesses are always ugly. It’s a tradition they have.”
Barbara felt the excitement begin to mount within her, and her heart was pounding at a furious rate. Unable to look him full in the face, she dropped her eyes before she spoke. “But-Well, why marry a princess if there’s none you like? Why not—” She took a deep quick breath and her throat felt dry; a sharp pain stabbed at the base of her skull. “Why not marry me?” Then she raised her eyes quickly and looked at him, searching.
Instantly Charles’s face grew wary, the smile faded, and it settled once more into the old lines of moody cynicism. She could feel him draw away from her, though actually he had not moved at all. Barbara was shocked and she looked at him with horrified disbelief on her face. She had been so sure, so perfectly confident that he loved her madly, even enough to make her his wife.
“Sire,” she said softly, “hasn’t that ever occurred to you?”
He sat up and then left the bed to begin dressing. “Now come, Barbara. You know as well as I do that it’s impossible.”
“Why?” she cried, growing desperate. “Why is it impossible? I’ve heard it was you who made the Duke marry Anne Hyde! Then why
Someway I’ll make him marry me. I know I will. He’s got to. He’s got to!
With his breeches on he pulled the thin white linen shirt over his head and fastened the full sleeves at the wrist. He was eager to get away from her, bored and impatient at the prospect of a useless quarrel. He was, and he knew it, thoroughly infatuated with her, for he had never found a woman more exciting to lie with. But if she had been Queen of Naples he would not have cared to marry her—he knew her too well for that, already.
“The two cases aren’t exactly comparable, my dear,” he said now, his warm voice low and soothing, hoping to lull her into quiet and then get away. “My children will succeed to the throne. James’s, most likely, never will.”
