Conor. Ruth Langan

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      A servant approached to whisper softly, “Your seamstresses are here for the fittings for your new gowns, Majesty.”

      Elizabeth sighed. “You see how it is, Conor? A monarch’s work is never done. And I was so enjoying this little discussion. Will I see you tonight?”

      He kept his smile in place. “If you wish, Majesty.”

      “I do. We’ll sup in my private dining room with Humphrey and Dunstan and a few friends.”

      “Aye, Majesty.”

      Elizabeth set aside her goblet and stood. At once the others in the room got to their feet and bowed as she followed her servant out the door.

      Once they were alone, the crowd visibly relaxed. Without the pressure of the royal presence, they could be themselves.

      “Wine, O’Neil?”

      Conor looked up to find Lord Dunstan standing behind him.

      “Thank you.” Though he loathed the man, Conor was adept at playing the game. He kept a polite smile on his face as he lifted his goblet.

      “I understand we’ll both be dining with the queen tonight.” Dunstan accepted a goblet from a passing servant.

      “Aye.” Out of the corner of his eye Conor saw the young woman talking with Lord Humphrey. She had a way of looking down, and then peering upward through her lashes, that was most appealing.

      Seeing the way Conor watched her, Dunstan caught her arm as she passed. “Have you two met?”

      She seemed startled, like a creature from the wild about to break free and run. She took one look at Conor and stared down at her feet. Instead of replying, she merely shook her head.

      “Conor O’Neil, may I present Emma Vaughn.”

      “Vaughn?” Conor couldn’t hide his surprise. “Are you related to Daniel Vaughn, from Dublin?”

      “Aye.” Her voice was low, breathy, with that lovely lyrical brogue that years of English tutoring couldn’t erase. At that moment she lifted her head. Up close, Conor realized, her eyes were green, with little flecks of gold. Most unusual eyes, for a most unusual female. “Daniel Vaughn is my father. He lives outside London now.”

      “I’d heard. But he still keeps the estates in Ireland?”

      She nodded while studying him with equal curiosity. So this was the man who had all of London talking. And no wonder. Thick black hair fell rakishly over a wide forehead. His lips, wide and full, were curved in an inviting smile. But it was his eyes that held her. Eyes as blue as the Irish Sea. They remained steady on hers, holding her gaze even when she tried to look away. “There are tenant fatmers to work the land and tend the flocks.”

      Before she could say more she looked up to see one of the women beckoning to her. “Excuse me. I must take my leave.”

      “So soon?” Dunstan kept his hand firmly on her arm.

      “Aye.” She looked almost terrified at the prospect of being touched in this manner. “I am at the queen’s beck and call.”

      Dunstan looked from Emma to Conor and gave a smile. “Perhaps I’ll arrange for you to attend the Queen’s supper tonight. Would you like that?”

      She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be proper. I’m merely training...”

      “Nonsense. There is nothing I would like more than to have such a lovely creature beside me during the long, tedious evening. I still hold considerable sway with Elizabeth. Consider it done.”

      When she walked away, Dunstan watched until she exited the room. Then he turned to Conor. “A bit shy for my taste. And then there’s the matter of her clothes.” He wrinkled his nose. “But she’s a fresh enough face. I grow weary of the sport when the players are too eager.” He drained his goblet and set it aside. “I’m sure you know what I mean, O’Neil. Since it’s the same game you play with our queen.”

      Conor held his silence as Dunstan sauntered away. Let the others think what they would about his relationship with the queen. So far, though he had managed to stay out of her bed, he had her ear. He hoped it could remain that way.

      He was weary of thinking about Elizabeth and struggling to read her many moods. Keeping his features carefully composed he turned to stare into the flames of the fire, and thought about the young woman in the ill-fitting clothes. Emma Vaughn. Daughter of Daniel Vaughn, one of the most respected landowners in Ireland before his wife’s ill health had forced him to seek out the healing waters of Spain. Vaughn’s brother was bishop of Claire; his uncle one of Gavin O’Neil’s best friends.

      Conor thought again about the shy, demure young woman, unlike the other ladies-in-waiting who were so bold. There was something about her. Something almost familiar. As though he’d met her before.

      He made up his mind instantly. Surely he owed it to his father’s old friend to take her by the hand and lead her through the perils that could befall her at court. Especially at the mercy of one like Dunstan.

      Dunstan. That animal would leave her honor besmirched and her dignity in tatters. The thought of thwarting Dunstan was instantly appealing.

      Aye. He would do it. Not just because of Dunstan. And not only because her pretty little face had caught his eye. Nor because he’d admired her backside as she’d taken her leave. But because she was a fellow countryman.

      Aware that Elizabeth was a jealous monarch, Conor knew he would have to be very careful not to incur the queen’s wrath. He would keep his relationship with Emma Vaughn one of simple friendship. That would be best, especially in his line of work. Anyone who got too close stood a good chance of being burned, should the fires of war be fanned.

      Still, it would be good to have someone with whom he could shed some pretense. A true Irish lass with whom he could simply relax and unburden himself.

      In this den of vipers, both he and Emma Vaughn had need of at least one true friend.

      Chapter Three

      “Lord Dunstan has invited you to sup with the queen?” Amena, one of the queen’s favorite ladies-in-waiting, arched a brow in surprise. Then she studied Emma with a knowing smile. “I must admit I’m more than a little surprised. He usually prefers...” She shrugged. “No matter. It is considered quite an honor. What will you wear?”

      Emma picked through her meager wardrobe and chose one of her mother’s old gowns, which she had brought along because her own seemed completely unsuitable. “I thought this would do.”

      “Hmm.” Amena held it up to the girl and clucked her tongue. “It seems a bit...overlarge. But I suppose I could loan you a sash. And some decent slippers. I’ll send my servant with them.”

      “Thank you.” Emma watched as the older woman took her leave. Then she began pacing in front of the fireplace.

      Lord Dunstan made her uncomfortable. In fact, the very touch of him made her skin crawl. There was something about his manner. Or perhaps it was the look in his eyes. Whatever the reason, she mistrusted СКАЧАТЬ