The Silver Rose Read Free Page A

duchess of Marlborough. She sublimated physical passion in wielding control over her sovereign, whom she had dominated since she was maid of honor to Princess Anne at the court of Charles II.
    Simon kissed her hand again, a graceful gesture that should have sat oddly with the overwhelming physicality of his presence, accentuated by the plain, uncompromising dress and the lines of an old suffering etched into his face. And yet it didn’t. His eyes, blue and deep as the ocean, were filled with both understanding and humor.
    “Your husband will be home before Christmas, Sarah. And homecomings are all the sweeter for long anticipation.”
    She laughed with him, a flare of passion in her eyes. “If I were inclined to spread my favors, my lord, I swear you would be the first recipient.” She curtsied with another laugh and glided from the room.
    The humor left his eyes the minute he was alone. Leaningheavily on his cane, he limped to the door. Would Ranulf take the bait?
    “Can we turn this to good use, Ranulf?” Lord Roland Ravenspeare held up a hand to halt his elder brother’s explosive description of the events in the council chamber.
    “You can be certain Hawkesmoor is playing his own game.” Ranulf poured wine into two crystal goblets. “If we knew what it was, we could play to his serve.”
    Roland took the glass handed him with a nod of thanks. He had the cooler head of the two brothers, although he was castigated as a dull plodder in a family of lightning-tempered, impulsive, quick thinkers. “If you wish to keep your power and influence at court, we have little choice but to agree to the queen’s proposal,” he said slowly. “As long as Ariel can be induced—”
    “Ariel will do as she’s told.”
    Roland held up a placating hand at this interruption. He had less confidence than his brother in the compliance of their little sister, but nothing would be gained by mentioning that now.
    “Ariel married to Simon Hawkesmoor could be turned to our advantage,” he continued reflectively. “It could be arranged that the Hawkesmoor predeceases his wife, and the land will return to Ravenspeare hands beyond all possible dispute. In addition,” he added with a little smile, “a little amusement could be arranged at the Hawkesmoor’s expense . . . before, of course, he so unfortunately meets his untimely end.”
    He had his brother’s full attention. “Explain.”
    The Lady Ariel Ravenspeare galloped her horse across the flat, marshy fenland, the massive octagonal tower of Ely Cathedral—known throughout the land as the Ship of the Fens—stark against the gray autumn sky behind her, the spires of Cambridge fingering the sky in front of her. The wolfhounds streaked ahead of the horse, enjoying the exercise as much as the work of the hunt Ariel had brought down a snipe with her pistol, and the two hounds raced each other and the horse to reach the bird first.
    Ariel let her horse have its head. Bird hunting was tame sport for wolfhounds, but Romulus and Remus needed a daily full-out sprint with some purpose to it, even if it was only racing against a young stallion in order to mark a fallen snipe. Not that this was any ordinary stallion. Mustapha was bred from the line of a great racehorse, the Darley Arabian, and was the pride of Ariel’s stud.
    She saw the troop of horsemen against the lowering skyline as she reined in her horse. Her brothers were immediately recognizable on the causeway leading across the fens to Ravenspeare Castle. Ariel muttered under her breath. She turned in the saddle to look over her shoulder, then put her fingers to her mouth and blew a piercing whistle. Her groom was a distant figure on his sturdy mount, but at least he was visible, and in response to the urgent whistle he put his horse to a canter.
    Ariel snapped her fingers, bringing the dogs to the flanks of her horse, then she nudged her mount toward the party on the causeway.
    They had drawn rein and were waiting for her,