Geoffrey Condit Read Free Page B

maybe pleasure seeking, but he is far from an idiot.”
        Peter studied her.  “Why would Buckingham threaten a Trevor?” 
        “For money,” she said.  “I’ve heard his servants whisper that  he owes every moneylender in London.”
        “With his estates?”  Peter shook his head.  “It doesn’t make sense.”
        She twisted her fingers together.  “His private extravagances is astonishing.”
        “So Buckingham wants Trevor wealth.  To get his foot in the door, he pry’s it open with one of the enemy?”  His voice raised in disbelief.  “Someone whose family has felt the full displeasure of York?”
        Catharine averted her gaze and swallowed.  “I am not his agent.   I hate him.  He forced me into this marriage.”  Her voice rose in indignation.
        Peter gripped her shoulders.  “If that is true, then why did he chose you?  The duke has the Bohm estates.  He shouldn’t be short of money.”  He released her.
        “Question begets question, my lord.  A riddle that has no answer.”  She smoothed her white cambric dress, and tugged at her iron wedding ring, but it wouldn’t go over her knuckle.  She began to despair, and now understood the frantic feelings of a trapped animal.  
         “You are part of the answer new wife with the saucy tongue and sharpened wit.”  His tawny eyes locked with hers.  “I shall not rest until I have the answers.”
        She swallowed, silently cursing Buckingham, and the insanity which caused her to marry this man with a face out of a nightmare.

 
     
     
     
     
    2
     
     
    The red glow from the embers spilled on the marble floor before the great hearth.  A smoldering anger framed the questions in Peter’s mind.  What do I do about Catharine?  Why did Buckingham force her on me?  What does he want her to do, expect her to do?  What could she do?
        There was no question that Buckingham planned this attack, had chosen Catharine for his weapon.  But why Catharine?  She was resentful, not worldly.  What was so special about her that she was forcibly put in his household?  A sudden sense of danger and fear for his people rose in his mind, tightening his stomach muscles.  God’s Blood, why?
        Jesus wept,  I walk a dozen tightropes already.  I don’t need more.  He drew an uncertain breath and reviewed what he know about Henry Stafford, Second Duke of Buckingham, next to Henry Tudor, the last of the Lancaster Princes.  His Father, Humphrey, Earl of Stafford, had died at the Battle of St. Albans in ’55 for Lancaster.  His grandfather, the First Duke of Buckingham, died for Lancaster at the Battle of Northampton in July of ’60.  This Second Duke, rich beyond need, pleasure loving, and proud, never let anyone forget his lineage.
        The former King, Edward IV, never trusted Buckingham, and excluded him from government.  The private man he did not know beyond friends warning that the man was prideful and arrogant.  He’d met the duke casually in social settings, but had never been impressed one way or another.  Now it seemed, under King Richard, his true colors had come forward in a disturbing fashion.  I’ll have to see what my agents can find out.
        And Catharine?  God, how revolting I must seem to her.  She must loath me for my looks.  Janus.  One side normal, the other a ravaged nightmare.  He swallowed, raised his callused hand to trace the deep gathered scar down the side of his face.  His fingers shook.  When he stood beside her, waiting for the priest to begin, she’d averted her eyes, hunched  her shoulders, twisting on nervous feet.  And later, when he’d transferred the kiss of peace to Catharine after the mass, he’d felt her dry lifeless lips.  Why he expected more he did not know.  A little death has begun to grow inside of him then.  A mourning for what might have been.  He wanted to touch her hair, but hadn’t dared.  Her