The Defiant Mistress

‘If I marry you, will you promise that no harm will come to Gabriel?’ she asked in an unsteady voice.

‘You used Vaughan to make me jealous, you minx.’ Samuel stroked her cheek in a gesture that was an obscene mockery of true tenderness. ‘A lively spirit is attractive in a woman. But you must know when to put an end to the teasing games. Vaughan is a fool twice over. For plotting against Cromwell and for not realising you only flirted with him to provoke me. But I’m the one you really want. If you come willingly to my bed tomorrow, I won’t accuse Vaughan of treason. Cromwell’s too well protected for the plot to succeed, and there’s no need to punish Vaughan for being vain enough to think he caught your heart.’

It was not the wedding day of Athena’s dreams. She’d left home to avoid marriage to Samuel. She had never once considered the possibility that there would come a time when she would willingly take vows with him.

She wasn’t willing now, but the image of Gabriel hanging limp in the hangman’s noose tormented her. No matter what the cost to herself, she couldn’t let such a fate overtake him.

After the brief ceremony was completed, Samuel took her to what she assumed was an inn. Athena hadn’t thought this far ahead. Samuel had made a pretence that there was nothing unusual about the marriage. Athena had slept in her own bed the previous night—though Spink had guarded the door. She hadn’t been able to sleep from fear and worry. She’d wondered where Gabriel was and what he was doing. She’d longed to send him a message to warn him, but with Spink on guard there was no chance of doing so. Besides, she was terrified that, if she made any attempt to contact Gabriel, Samuel would take cruel revenge.

In all her pacing and fretting she hadn’t allowed herself to think about what would happen after the wedding. It had been too dreadful to contemplate. And perhaps she’d hoped that by some miracle she would still be rescued at the last minute from her nightmare. But as Samuel led her upstairs her fears changed focus and became more acute. It was no longer Gabriel’s uncertain future that was at the forefront of her mind, but her own present predicament. The harsh reality of her situation threatened to overwhelm her. Did she truly have the courage to keep her end of the bargain with Samuel? What would happen to Gabriel if she failed?

She tried to speak, but her throat was so tight with fear she could barely force words past her cold lips.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she whispered.

‘In here.’ Samuel opened a door and pushed her inside.

Athena’s gaze locked on the large bed. Horror congealed in the pit of her stomach. This was what Samuel wanted. What he had wanted since he had first laid eyes upon her. This was why he had married her.

‘Remember,’ he said in her ear. ‘A willing wife in my bed or Vaughan dies a traitor’s death.’

The church had been stripped of all its ornaments. Even its name had been changed to satisfy the puritan dislike of idolatry. No longer St Mary’s, it had become simply a public meeting-place—but it still felt like a church. Whispers echoed beneath the high, vaulted ceiling.

Gabriel’s stomach clenched with tension. It was cool inside the building, but his palms were damp with perspiration. He laid his hands against his thighs and tried to ignore the increasing restlessness of his companions. He could hear the questions they asked one another, the growing doubt and disapproval in the softly muttered comments.

‘I said she was no good match for him!’ Lucy’s voice rose clear above the rest.

‘Hush!’ Lady Parfitt reprimanded her daughter.

Gabriel gritted his teeth. Where was Frances? Where was his bride?

The minister caught his eye and Gabriel forced his lips into a confident smile while his mind seethed with questions.

What could have delayed her? Was she hurt? His chest expanded as he dragged in a deep, anxious breath. He wanted to rush out of the church in search of her. It required all his self-control to remain still.

The church door banged open. Everyone turned to look. It wasn’t Frances. The new arrival was a nondescript stranger. He obviously had nothing to do with the wedding. The guests lost interest in him. They all focused their attention on Gabriel. He saw the curiosity, worry and, in some cases, morbid satisfaction in their faces.

Everyone in the church was there on his behalf. Only one member of Gabriel’s real family was present, but that didn’t matter. Gabriel had spent seven years apprenticed to the wealthy City merchant, Sir Thomas Parfitt. During the first two years of his apprenticeship Gabriel had lived in Sir Thomas’s household, treated almost as an additional member of the family. Then Sir Thomas had sent him to the Tuscan port of Livorno. For the next five years Gabriel had been trained to look after Sir Thomas’s trading interests in Italy. Now Gabriel was back in London, his apprenticeship complete. He was twenty-two years old, a member of both the Levant Company and the Mercers’ Company, and a freeman of the City of London. And he was getting married. Sir Thomas had made no secret of his disapproval of this improvident match, but he had not withheld his support from his young friend.

And now the bride was late. Very late.

Gabriel decided to send a messenger to her lodgings. Unlike him, Frances had no close friends or relatives in the city except for the aunt with whom she lived. If Frances was ill, her aunt would not be able to leave her. In her distress, perhaps the woman had not thought to send a message to the church.

Gabriel caught the eye of one of Sir Thomas’s younger apprentices, intending to ask him—

‘I have a message for Gabriel Vaughan!’ The stranger’s voice rang mockingly from the back of the church, startling everyone.

‘I’m Vaughan.’ Gabriel faced the man, his heart thudding with anxiety. ‘Have you come from Miss Child? Is she ill?’

‘Aye, my message is from the lady herself,’ the stranger confirmed.

Gabriel had no idea who the man was, but he expected the fellow would approach him to deliver the message. Instead, the stranger kept his station at the back of the church, grinning at the curious wedding guests. Gabriel started to walk down the aisle towards him.

‘Miss Frances begs your indulgence—but it’s not convenient for her to wed today,’ announced the stranger. ‘Just yesterday she had a better offer from a gentleman with a bigger purse and a bigger…’

The crude words rolled over Gabriel. He didn’t hear the gasps of shock and outrage from his friends. His confident stride faltered. For a few moments he was aware only that Frances had deliberately not come to the church. Frances didn’t want to marry him.

Stunned disbelief filled him. How could this be? Frances loved him. He knew she did. His unfocused gaze sharpened. He moved forward, intent on asking Frances’s messenger where she was. If he spoke to her, he was sure he could sort out the confusion. Frances was only seventeen. If she wasn’t ready for the serious commitment of marriage he would wait for her. He’d clearly been over hasty in his plans.

Then he saw that the stranger was backing towards the door, his lips still stretched into that same, unpleasant grin. Gabriel suddenly remembered and understood the full import of the message he’d been given.

Savage fury surged through him. ‘You’re lying!’ he roared and leapt for the stranger.

The fellow had anticipated Gabriel’s rage and fled through the church doors. Gabriel raced after him into the glaring sunlight. He seized the stranger just before he escaped into a narrow alley and slammed the man against the wall, his hands locked about a grimy throat.

‘Careful, lordling!’ the stranger croaked. ‘Squeeze harder an’ I’ll gut you!’

Gabriel felt the prod of a dagger against his belly. The blade pierced his clothes and cut his skin. He ignored it.

‘You’re lying,’ he said through clenched jaw. ‘Frances didn’t send that message. Where is she? What have you done to her?’

‘I haven’t done anything to her,’ the stranger replied. ‘My purse isn’t deep enough for the likes of her. But she’s found herself a nice rich protector now. He’s wealthy beyond her dreams—’ The man gasped as Gabriel’s grip on his throat tightened. He retaliated by pressing his knife harder against Gabriel’s stomach. ‘Not so tight, coxcomb. Your guts’ll make a nasty mess o’ those fine clothes of yours.’

Gabriel relaxed his grasp and shifted his weight as if he intended to step away. The stranger reduced the pressure on the blade. The next second Gabriel seized his wrist and spun him around in a shoulder-wrenching hold. He forced the man’s arm up behind his back and thrust him against the wall, grinding his face against the plaster.

‘Where’s Frances?’ he demanded harshly.

‘I’ll show you,’ the man choked. ‘No need to break my arm. I’ll show you.’

‘What is this place?’ Gabriel balked, looking around in displeasure.

From the outside he’d assumed he’d been led to an alehouse. From the inside it was clear that the building was both more sumptuous and a lot less respectable than he’d anticipated. He heard laughter and raucous voices behind one half-open door. Another door crashed open and a woman emerged, her head turned as she giggled teasingly at the occupant of the room. She was barely wearing her shift. The garment had slid down both shoulders, only her hands clutched to her breasts prevented it from falling off completely.

‘Frances isn’t here.’ Gabriel turned to leave. ‘You’ve brought me on a fool’s errand.’

His guide blocked his way, grinning with disagreeable self-assurance. Gabriel felt a stab of fear, not for himself, but for Frances. He’d been unwise to follow a stranger into an unfamiliar part of the City, but he was confident of his ability to extricate himself from trouble. Frances had grown up in the country. By her own account she had come to London less than a year ago to live with her aunt after the death of her father. She was still unversed in the many hazards of the sinful capital.

‘What have you done to her?’ Fear roughened his voice.

He made an involuntary movement towards the man and saw, just in time, the dull glint of the knife.

‘Upstairs, lordling.’

Gabriel’s heart thumped with apprehension as he mounted the narrow stairs.

‘In here.’ A thump between his shoulder blades directed him into a small chamber. ‘Now look here,’ said his guide in a low voice. ‘And keep quiet if you want to know the truth about your virtuous Frances.’

A spyhole!