The door slammed against the wall and juddered on its hinges. Desire’s whole body jerked with shock at the violent interruption. Her head snapped around to stare at the newcomer.
The Duke of Kilverdale stood in the doorway.
Her heart lurched with alarm, then began to pound sickeningly in her throat. She’d forgotten she was the Duke’s uninvited guest.
Kilverdale was an inch or two shorter than Jakob, but his arrogant bearing and magnificent black periwig more than compensated for the slight difference in height. He scanned the room, his hawklike gaze sweeping impatiently over Desire before coming to rest on his cousin. His eyes narrowed as he looked Jakob up and down.
‘Diable! Are you hurt?’ he demanded.
His question surprised Desire. The Duke’s voice was harsh and impatient, completely lacking in warmth, but she did not associate him with even this hard-edged concern for another’s well-being.
‘No,’ said Jakob calmly.
For several long moments Kilverdale continued to stare at his cousin. Desire wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or offended that he had barely registered her presence. Perhaps he hadn’t recognised her. Could he have forgotten her? Their brief interaction had had a profound effect on her life. It was a double humiliation to realise how quickly he’d dismissed her from his memory.
Behind him she could see several members of his curious household, many of them craning to get a better view of her and Jakob on the bed.
Horror seized her at being caught in such a compromising situation. With more haste than dignity she scrambled to the edge of the bed and stood up. Her sudden movement attracted Kilverdale’s attention. He turned his head to look at her and she felt like a panicked rabbit drawing the eyes of a hawk.
She lifted her chin, defiantly returning his penetrating gaze. She knew the housekeeper’s ill-fitting clothes made her appear even more unsightly than usual—perhaps even ridiculous. What cruel words would Kilverdale have to say at finding her alone on the bed with his handsome cousin?
Her hands locked in the folds of her skirt so he wouldn’t see them tremble. Would he accuse her of bribing Jakob to lie with her?
She saw the moment Kilverdale recognised her. He stared at her for a few moments in unmistakable shock, then glanced between her and Jakob as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Desire’s heart beat so rapidly she felt sick. She wanted to look at Jakob, but kept her head rigidly facing forward. She could not bear it if she saw Jakob exchange a glance of crude, hurtful male camaraderie with his cousin. She braced herself for the two men to joke at her expense.
‘I was told you were sleeping outside the door,’ Kilverdale began, addressing Jakob. Behind him there was a muffled titter from one of his watching household.
Without a backward glance, Kilverdale took another step into the room and slammed the door shut with a deceptively casual gesture. Desire heard a muffled groan from the other side of the heavy oak. She felt no consolation that at least one eavesdropper had received his or her just reward.
‘I did,’ said Jakob, his deep voice sounding quite unperturbed. ‘But this morning her ladyship kindly agreed to examine my hands. There is more light in here than in the gallery.’ As he spoke he swung his long legs off the bed and stood, placing himself slightly in front of Desire and between her and Kilverdale.
Desire took an instinctive step backwards so that she wasn’t standing quite so close to Jakob. She was glad he was trying to pass off the situation in such a matter-of-fact way, but she was embarrassed by any proximity between them.
Kilverdale’s gaze flicked to Jakob’s bandaged hands. He frowned. ‘What’s wrong with them?’ he demanded.
‘They are a little sore.’ Jakob shrugged dismissively. ‘Inconvenient, but not significant.’
‘He burnt them!’ Desire burst out, her overwrought nerves finding outlet in irritation at Jakob’s casual response.
‘Burnt them?’ Kilverdale’s eyebrows flew up. ‘I thought you had more sense than to put them in the fire,’ he said, once again exclusively addressing his cousin.
‘He didn’t put his hands in the fire!’ Desire exclaimed, indignant on Jakob’s behalf. ‘He burnt them putting out my skirts.’
‘Your skirts were on fire?’ said the Duke, for the first time speaking directly to Desire. Her heart sank as she saw a well-remembered glint replace the momentary confusion in his eyes.
‘My dear coz…’ he glanced at Jakob ‘…I had no idea you are such an incendiary lover. You must share—’
‘Var tyst!’
‘Be quiet?’ Kilverdale repeated, anger suddenly throbbing in his voice. ‘You want me to be quiet? I’ve just spent the past day and night searching for your ill-begotten hide through the dregs of London! How the hell did you end up in Newgate?’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Jakob.
‘Diable!’ Kilverdale looked from Jakob to Desire and back again. ‘I shouldn’t have wasted my time. I’m going to have breakfast.’ He walked out, the door slamming once more behind him.
‘Worry can make a man bad-tempered,’ said Jakob, in the intense silence created by Kilverdale’s sudden absence.
‘Worry!’ Desire said disbelievingly.
‘Henderson told us last night that Kilverdale only read the message I sent from Newgate yesterday. I expect he’s been searching for me ever since,’ Jakob said.
‘Looking for you?’ Desire stared at Jakob. ‘Because he was worried about you?’
‘How did he offend you?’ Jakob asked.
Desire crossed her arms in front of her and turned her head away. The memory was hurtful and humiliating. She couldn’t bear the idea of Jakob knowing what his cousin had said about her. When he’d heard Kilverdale’s cruel words, would he look at her differently, see her through the same eyes as the Duke?
‘Älskling?’ Jakob moved towards her.
She stepped back and fetched up against the wall. Before she could duck away he braced his arms on either side of her, resting his knuckles rather than his palms against the wooden panel. He was far too close, confusing her emotions and her thoughts.
She glared at him. ‘Stand away!’ she ordered, doing her best not to let him see her agitation.
‘In a minute.’ He frowned down at her, as if trying to divine her secrets. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked, after a few moments.
His question took her completely by surprise. She been expecting a more determined interrogation. She stared at him blankly, then realised what he was most likely suggesting.
‘I’m not eating with him!’ she exclaimed vehemently. The idea of sitting at table with Kilverdale was unthinkable. ‘I want to leave. Now!’
‘You may not be hungry, but I am,’ Jakob said reasonably.
‘Send a message to Arscott at once,’ Desire commanded. She laid her hands on Jakob’s chest and tried to shove him away from her. She might as well have been pushing at a block of granite. Jakob didn’t budge.
‘Arscott?’ He frowned at her suggestion.
‘At my house in Kingston. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it last night,’ she said impatiently. ‘He’ll come and fetch me and you will not be troubled with me any more. Move!’ She pushed against him more violently.
‘’Will you tend to my hands?’ Jakob asked, allowing her to dislodge him from his position.
Desire put her hands on her hips. ‘Have you heard a word I said?’
‘Yes, my lady.’ He smiled faintly, though his amusement didn’t seem to reach his eyes. ‘We have things to discuss before we leave here,’ he said.
‘I have nothing more to say to you.’ She clamped her lips angrily together.
‘No, but I have things to tell you.’
‘About what?’ Something in his voice caused her to feel a frisson of apprehension. For some reason she didn’t think he was looking forward to the discussion he claimed he wanted.
He put his hand out to her and she stepped smartly out of his reach. He let his arm fall.
‘I’m going to get something to eat,’ he said. ‘I’ll have something sent up to you.’
‘I don’t want anything.’
‘You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten,’ said Jakob, with irritating disregard for her stated preference. ‘And then we’ll talk.’
Jakob found Kilverdale in the small parlour, eating a plate of cold turkey pie. For his comfort the Duke had removed his periwig and sword. His own hair was less than half an inch long, though just as black as the wig he favoured. Without the abundant curls cascading around his shoulders, his lean face seemed even more hawklike.
The Duke looked up as the door opened. His gaze rested briefly on Jakob, then roved past his cousin, as if he were looking for someone beyond.
‘Where’s her ladyship?’ he asked, an uncharacteristic edge to his voice.
‘Upstairs. I’ve ordered some food to be taken up to her.’ Jakob strolled over to sit at the table with his cousin.
The rigid set of Kilverdale’s shoulders eased. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Have some pie.’
‘In a minute.’ Jakob put the small pot of Desire’s salve and some fresh strips of linen on the table, and then unwound the bandages from his hands.
Kilverdale leant across to look at the damage and grimaced. ‘Messy.’
‘Superficial.’ Jakob applied some more ointment to his palms. ‘They’re already healing. Her ladyship’s salve eased the sting.’
‘She made it from the plants in my garden,’ said Kilverdale, his tone unreadable. ‘I’ve now had a full account of your arrival here half-naked and her ladyship in charred, burnt skirts.’
‘You didn’t take the time to hear all that before you burst in on us?’ Jakob said, well aware of his cousin’s impatient temper.
‘Of course not!’ Kilverdale watched as Jakob tried to manipulate a clean bandage with awkward fingers. ‘Diable! You are clumsy, I’ll do that.’
Jakob surrendered the bandage without protest. His cousin looked tired. His touch was gentle as he wrapped Jakob’s hands, but his eyes were stormy.
‘Did you catch up with Athena?’ Jakob asked. The last time he’d seen Kilverdale, the Duke had been in a hurry to find their mutual cousin. In April, Kilverdale had gone to escort Athena home from the English convent at Bruges, only to find she’d already left for Venice. He’d spent the summer chasing her all the way across Europe and back again. ‘Is she safe?’
‘She’s to marry Halross,’ said Kilverdale curtly. ‘At the moment they’re both guests of Swiftbourne. Halross blew up his house in Fleet Street with gunpowder to make a fire-break, so they have nowhere else to stay.’
‘Do you know how the fire started?’ Jakob asked. ‘I’ve heard it blamed on everything from a Dutch baker to French fire-setters. Not to mention God’s punishment for the decadence of the Court,’ he added drily.
‘It did start in a bakery, but the baker isn’t Dutch,’ said Kilverdale. ‘It was an accident. A normal house-fire that burned out of control. Enough chatter!’ He finished binding Jakob’s hands and banged the pot of salve on the table. ‘Why were you in Newgate?’ he demanded. ‘And what are you doing here with her?’
‘We’re here because this was the only safe place I could think to bring her,’ said Jakob, ‘that was in rowing distance of London.’
‘You rowed with these hands?’
‘That’s what did most of the damage. I only had a few blisters from the fire.’
‘You’re a fool.’ Kilverdale swore comprehensively in French.
‘Not that much of a fool,’ Jakob said drily. ‘I didn’t know when I set out that you and the lady are sworn enemies.’
‘I’m not—’ Kilverdale chopped off his hasty reply.
Jakob sat back and looked at his cousin. Kilverdale gave his full attention to cutting a slice of pie for Jakob. Jakob had already noted the absence of servants. A sure indication the Duke had not wanted witnesses to their conversation.
Jakob wanted to know what lay between Desire and Kilverdale, but it seemed the Duke was no more eager to enlighten him than Desire.
‘It’s your fault I was consigned to Newgate,’ Jakob remarked.
‘What?’ Kilverdale’s head jerked around.
‘If you hadn’t stolen my clothes and taken the only horse at the inn, I wouldn’t have fallen into bad company,’ Jakob said.
‘It didn’t take you long to make free with my wardrobe,’ Kilverdale retorted, eyeing the splendid brocade coat Jakob wore.
‘Lady Desire wanted me to remove my finery when she discovered it was yours,’ said Jakob. ‘She seems to regard you as the devil incarnate.’
He glanced sideways and saw a dull flush darken Kilverdale’s lean cheeks.
‘I just spent the night searching the Clink for you!’ The Duke’s temper exploded. ‘What the hell happened to you?’
Jakob described his first meeting with Potticary at the Dover inn and how that had led to the attempt to abduct Desire on Saturday.
‘Her steward killed Potticary and Ditchly,’ he concluded, ‘and I was sent to Newgate. There was some notion of lynching me from the roof parapet, but her ladyship would not permit it.’
‘Diable! You are a bigger fool than I ever realised. If you are not in a hurry to answer Swiftbourne’s summons—that I understand. But don’t die to avoid him.’
‘I didn’t die,’ said Jakob, remembering too late that Kilverdale’s father had been hanged by Parliamentarians after the Royalists lost the Battle of Worcester. As far as Kilverdale was concerned, his father’s death had been murder. An unlawful lynching. It wasn’t surprising he reacted so strongly to the possibility of Jakob meeting the same fate.
‘I shouldn’t have left you at Dover!’ Kilverdale thumped the side of his fist against the table. The crockery rattled and a knife jumped over the edge and clattered on to the floor. ‘What the hell are you laughing at?’ He glared at his cousin.
‘The main reason Potticary thought I was the kind of shady character he might be able to hire was because of my association with the disreputable Jack Bow,’ said Jakob mildly, referring to the alias under which Kilverdale had been known at the Dover inn. ‘If you hadn’t left in such a rush, he would probably have tried to hire you.’
‘To abduct Lady Desire.’
‘Yes. Though I didn’t know our intended quarry until the day of the attempt.’
‘Diable! How did you escape Newgate? And why in the name of God did you then proceed to abduct the lady while the whole of London is in flames!’ Kilverdale’s voice rose. ‘There was no need to prove your ability to succeed where Potticary failed.’
Jakob smiled briefly. ‘Despite the determination of both you and the lady to think the worst of me, my intention was to rescue her, not harm her.’
‘I know that!’ Kilverdale shouted in exasperation. ‘But does she?’
‘We managed tolerably well together—at least until you arrived.’
‘True.’ Speculation suddenly gleamed in Kilverdale’s eyes. ‘I was told you were sleeping at her door—but the lady seemed most taken with your charms when I found you in bed together.’
‘I was sleeping outside the door,’ said Jakob. ‘Until she trod on me in the darkness as she tried to escape.’
‘So, not content with holding her against her will, you set out to seduce her?’
‘No.’ Jakob’s flat denial cut across Kilverdale’s angry French muttering. ‘I did not seduce the lady. Her virtue and her honour are intact.’ He held Kilverdale’s gaze with his own.
Kilverdale’s lips twisted. ‘She is a very wealthy woman. Many men would be overjoyed to be caught in a compromising situation with her.’
‘You do the lady a disservice,’ said Jakob quietly. ‘Her wealth is not her most appealing quality.’
Kilverdale’s gaze dropped. ‘We have still to discover who hired Potticary,’ he said.
‘We?’ Jakob was used to his cousin’s impulsive behaviour, but he sensed something more than a restless spirit lay behind Kilverdale’s implied intention of helping Desire.
‘Did he give you any indication at all?’ Kilverdale asked, ignoring Jakob’s quizzical expression.
‘He didn’t tell me directly, but he mentioned a name in my presence,’ said Jakob. ‘I didn’t know who he referred to at the time.’
‘Now you do?’
‘Yes.’ Jakob repeated the name and his suspicions.
‘Diable!’ Kilverdale stared at Jakob. ‘Have you told her?’
‘Not yet. My credit has been a little shaky with her ladyship. Especially when she found I was bringing her to your house. It took all my efforts to convince her it wasn’t you who had hired Potticary.
‘She thought I—’ Kilverdale’s shock was unmistakable. ‘My God.’ He rubbed a hand across his face. Jakob saw that his fingers weren’t quite steady. ‘How could she think that?’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’ said Jakob.
‘Tell you? She hasn’t—’
‘She refuses to discuss you.’
Kilverdale threw Jakob a quick glance, but looked away again before he spoke.
‘It was the late autumn of 1660,’ he said. ‘The King had been back in England for five months. I’d returned from exile in France in June. I was taken out of England when I was three years old—I had almost no memories of this country.’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘This is of no relevance.’
Jakob waited.
‘Our estates—my estates—had been confiscated by the Roundheads,’ Kilverdale continued. ‘Given to a regicide high in Cromwell’s favour. That was fortunate for me!’ His hard crack of laughter held no humour. ‘Not all Royalists loyal to the King regained their estates, but no amnesty was granted to regicides, so my trustees recovered my principal estates quite easily. Then Heyworth decided to arrange a marriage for me. I knew nothing of the matter till Heyworth informed me I was to play host to Lord Larksmere and his daughter.’ Kilverdale’s voice rose in remembered outrage. ‘The damned Roundheads had murdered my father and stolen everything that was mine, but for the sake of expediency I was to marry the ageing daughter of one of my enemies—because she was an heiress!’
‘Hardly ageing!’ Jakob said, startled. ‘This was six years ago!’
‘She is four years older than me,’ Kilverdale countered. ‘I was twenty, she was—’ He dragged in a deep breath and clenched his hands convulsively, then made an obvious effort to appear more composed. ‘They visited us in Sussex.’
‘I can see why you objected to Lord Heyworth’s interference,’ said Jakob, after Kilverdale had been silent a few seconds. The Duke’s father had named Lord Heyworth as his son’s guardian, but Kilverdale had spent all his youth in exile in France. Heyworth, on the other hand, had returned to England in the mid 1650s. For several years he’d had minimal influence on his young ward. Jakob suspected Heyworth’s overzealous marriage plans for Kilverdale might have been prompted by guilt at his earlier lack of care.
‘He was a meddling old fool.’
‘So you rejected the lady?’ said Jakob, and received another sidelong glance from his cousin. This was the part of the story Kilverdale clearly didn’t relish telling.
‘We could leave it at that,’ said Kilverdale. He leapt to his feet and took a hasty turn around the room.
‘I was half-drunk! I was playing billiards with Denby. Fortescue was there, and a couple of others. You recall how large the bow windows are in the long gallery? The billiard table stands in one of them. From where we were, we could not see Lady Desire and her father approaching us from the other end of the gallery. Denby and Fortescue were twitting me about my match to an aging Roundhead heiress, and I said—’
Kilverdale broke off, his lips twisting as if he’d bitten into something horrible. Jakob waited.
‘Larksmere challenged me, right there by the billiard table,’ Kilverdale continued. ‘My friends laughed and said I couldn’t fight an old man, it would be murder. The lady…she begged her father to come away. It was…an ugly scene. They left. There was no marriage.’
‘What did you say?’
Kilverdale threw Jakob a fleeting, tension-filled glance.
‘I said…’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘I said she was ill named, that she could not arose desire even in a satyr.’ He inhaled again, his nostrils flaring. ‘I said that, if I had to take such an old, ugly, scar-faced wench to wife, I’d need a beautiful whore in the bed with us to stir my passion—or I’d never be able to rise to my husbandly duty.’
‘Heliga guds moder!’ Jakob was appalled at Kilverdale’s uncharacteristic cruelty. ‘I’m surprised her father didn’t run you through immediately!’
‘Feel free to assume his mantle.’ In a few quick strides Kilverdale crossed the room and seized his sword. He tossed it to Jakob.
‘You want me to skewer you to appease your guilty conscience?’ Jakob caught the sword automatically. He knew his cousin well enough to be sure that Kilverdale was bitterly ashamed of what he’d said, but that wasn’t of much value to Desire. She had been deeply wounded by Kilverdale’s words. Jakob was angry on Desire’s behalf, but she needed restitution, not revenge.
‘Did you never think of simply apologising?’ he said. ‘Explaining it was not her who had offended you? She was as much a victim of Heyworth’s meddling as you were.’
‘Would you forgive anyone who spoke so of Birgitta or Lunetta?’ Kilverdale demanded.
Jakob paused, considering his sisters. ‘I would probably kill him,’ he admitted.
‘Later, I—’ Kilverdale began.
Henderson, the Duke’s steward, suddenly burst through the door. Jakob and Kilverdale swung round simultaneously at the interruption.
‘The lady’s gone!’ Henderson gasped.
‘What?’
‘She was standing outside the door. I thought she meant to join you—but then she ran to the front door. She—’
‘Overheard me!’
‘The river!’ said Jakob, cutting across Kilverdale’s horrified exclamation. Under any other circumstances the Duke’s appalled expression would have been comical, but Jakob didn’t have the leisure to enjoy it.
He ran after Desire. Kilverdale called out to him. He lifted a hand to acknowledge his cousin’s words, but didn’t slow his pursuit of Desire. He caught up with her just in time to see her jump from the landing stage into the little rowing boat. The boat pitched and Desire waved her arms wildly, then virtually fell on to the wooden seat. She quickly regained her bearings and pulled in the rope. Jakob made it into the boat just as Desire pushed away from the shore.
‘Get out!’ She tried to whack him with the oar.
Jakob managed to grab it before she did him any serious damage.
‘You don’t want to hurt me,’ he reminded her.
‘I want to fry you in hot oil,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Let go!’ She jerked at the oar.
‘You’ve got another one,’ he pointed out. ‘An oar’s almost as good as a pike in the right hands. Have you had much practice?’
‘What?’ She stared at him as if he’d gone mad. ‘I don’t want to fight you—I want to row!’ She gave another tug at the oar.
‘Oh, very well then.’ He released his hold and Desire nearly overbalanced backwards.
She righted herself and angrily fitted the oars into the row-locks. Then she settled herself squarely on the wooden seat, took the oars in a commanding grip, and began to row.
Jakob decided to keep quiet and wait out events. The tide was against them. Through a combination of poor technique and lack of strength, Desire was making very little progress. He assumed that, when her first rage had passed, she would surrender the oars to him.
He’d underestimated her. At first she dug the oars fiercely into the water as if she was vicariously battering the Duke with every stroke—but it didn’t take her long to realise she wasn’t getting very far. As Jakob watched, her mood changed from anger to determination. She frowned direfully as she struggled to make the boat go where she wanted.
‘Don’t bite your lip,’ he said suddenly.
‘What?’ Her eyes focussed on him, almost as if she was surprised he was still there.
‘You might bite through it.’
‘Oh.’ She took his advice and continued to wrestle with the oars.
‘Don’t dig the blades so deep,’ he said, a few minutes later. ‘You waste effort.’
Desire frowned and adjusted her stroke.
She was breathing heavily and her face was wet with perspiration when she abruptly stopped rowing.
‘I shouldn’t have run away!’ she said vehemently. ‘I should have forced that evil-tongued serpent to eat his words.’
‘A very reasonable ambition,’ Jakob agreed.
‘Father tried.’
‘I heard.’
‘I was so frightened. I thought they would kill him! There were four of them—the Duke’s friends!’ She slapped her hand angrily against the oar handle. ‘They sprawled about—insolent and disrespectful. Hateful long legs sprawling everywhere! They despised us because Father had fought for Parliament. And they were young and strong.’
‘Very young.’
‘When you were twenty, did you think it funny to belittle a man three times your age and ten times your worth?’ Desire demanded fiercely. ‘My father was sixty-seven years old when we were guests of the Duke. He was a brave, honourable man—and they treated him like a senile old fool! They had nothing to recommend them but their silk and lace and their cruel, clever little verses—but they despised us. He despised me.’
Jakob had no difficulty identifying who he was. He was sure Kilverdale’s antipathy to Desire and her father had been far less personal than she believed, but he judged that now was not the time to say so.
‘We knew the King favoured Kilverdale,’ she continued more calmly. ‘That’s why Father considered the marriage. As soon as the King returned, Father bought the Letters Patent of Pardon—to absolve him of anything he might have done against the King during his Majesty’s absence—but he still wanted to do everything he could to protect my future. He wanted me to have a good husband who would protect me.’
Jakob nodded. ‘I will seek the same for my daughters—should I be granted any.’
Desire threw him a quick, almost suspicious glance.
‘I thought…after that event, I thought that if the Duke and his friends represented the future of England, I wanted no part of it,’ she said defiantly. ‘Nothing I have heard about the Court over the past six years has made me change my mind.’
‘Not all men are courtiers,’ said Jakob.
‘Some are rude abductors!’
‘I rescued you.’
‘You are a scurvy, dissembling rogue!’ she told him angrily.
Jakob grinned. ‘If you don’t stop arguing and start rowing we’ll soon come to grief,’ he told her.
‘What? Oh, no—’
A waterman cursed fluently and fended the little boat off with an unmannerly shove of his long oar just before it collided with his wherry.
‘A fop and his strumpet quarrelling over command of their flagship!’ the waterman mocked them.
‘I am not a strumpet!’ Desire was still far too angry to be self-conscious. In any case, the disrespectful and frequently foulmouthed shouts of the Thames watermen had often drifted up to her on her rooftop. She had never before encountered such a fellow at water level, but she knew they often tried to intimidate their passengers. Desire wasn’t in the mood to be intimidated, so she just switched from arguing with Jakob to bandying words with the wherryman.
‘You don’t deny he’s a fop, then?’ the waterman jeered, jerking his head towards Jakob. ‘Soft hands all bandaged, relying on a woman to do the work. Do you use that sword to pare your nails, pretty boy?’
‘Don’t provoke him!’ Desire ordered the waterman, alarmed.
She looked at Jakob, fearful his natural outrage at the waterman’s insult might lead to immediate violence. But Jakob’s expression was so placid she decided he must not have understood the waterman’s thick London accent. Just to be on the safe side, she tried to grab the Duke’s sword that, securely contained in its scabbard, Jakob held across his knees.
‘Now what?’ he demanded, refusing to yield it to her. ‘If you want to brawl with the man use your oars—then you’ll be evenly matched.’
‘I don’t want to brawl!’ Desire was scandalised. ‘I don’t want you to stick that sword in him.’
‘Why the devil would I want to do that?’ Jakob sounded completely exasperated.
‘He insulted you?’
‘I’ve heard worse.’
‘I thought you didn’t understand.’ Desire gazed at him in confusion.
‘You’ve used up all your guts to decorate your fancy sleeves,’ the waterman contributed, sneering at Jakob.
‘I lived a straightforward and well-ordered life before I met you,’ Jakob told Desire, ignoring the waterman.
‘You stole me!’
‘I should have left you to burn.’
‘Oh, your hands!’ Even in the midst of her bad temper, Desire had already realised she would never be able to row all the way back to London. ‘We’ll hire you,’ she told the wherryman, making an instant decision. ‘Give him your buttons,’ she ordered Jakob. ‘You can use the sword to cut them off. They’re silver,’ she added to the waterman.
‘How do I know that?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘They could just be gilt.’
‘Oh, I don’t think—’ Desire stopped. She’d been about to say she didn’t think the Duke of Kilverdale would wear anything less than real silver, but it occurred to her that the boatman might then think the coat was stolen and refuse to accept the buttons in payment.
‘Give him your coat,’ she said to Jakob. ‘That will more than pay our fare back to London.’
Jakob sighed. ‘I admire your enterprise, lady, but if we are to hire the fellow I would much prefer to pay with coin.’
‘You mean you have money?’ Desire was quite astonished at the idea. ‘On your person?’
‘It’s an idiosyncrasy of mine,’ he replied. ‘To carry a small amount of money when I venture out.’
The waterman laughed. ‘I see you aren’t as ill matched as I first thought,’ he declared. ‘Why don’t you spend less money on your back and more on hers?’ he asked Jakob. ‘I’ve never seen a sadder gown on a wench. She’d do you more honour in a comely dress.’
‘My clothes were burnt in the fire,’ said Desire. ‘It’s not his fault I had to borrow someone else’s.’ She accepted the waterman’s steadying hand to help her into the wherry. ‘His hands were burned saving me,’ she added. She wasn’t feeling at all charitable towards Jakob, but it wasn’t fair to let the waterman think he was nothing but an idle fop. ‘And then he rowed me halfway to Putney last night before I found out he was hurt and bandaged his hands. He is a halfwit.’
The waterman grinned. ‘It’s a common failing of men—so says my wife.’
‘She is a wise woman.’
Desire settled herself as comfortably as she could; then, for the first time since she’d run down to the river, she was at leisure to look towards London. While she’d been rowing, she’d done no more than throw quick glances over her shoulder.
There was still a thick pall of smoke over the City.
‘It’s still burning,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Lord, it’s still burning.’
She gripped her hands together on her lap and kept her eyes fixed on the column of smoke as the waterman and his apprentice propelled the wherry towards her home. Yesterday she’d had her back to London as Jakob rowed her to safety. Now she was facing the horror. She sat, straight-backed and silent, as the two pairs of long oars dipped in and out of the Thames in practised unison, taking her to a home which might be no more than a smouldering, blackened shell.
At last, after a couple of miles had been covered, she bent her head and put her face in her hands. Her world was in a state of total flux. London was burning. Kilverdale’s cruel words rang in her ears over and over again. Jakob was sitting close to her, confusing her with his presence. He’d kissed her and taunted her until she did not understand what he wanted from her—or how to behave with him. She longed for the quiet sanctuary of her garden. A place where she could feel safe from the curious or hostile gaze of strangers. But her garden might have gone for ever.