It was then, although utterly impossible, that words began floating above her head, gentle and warm and strangely familiar. It was from the invisible shadows that a soft voice said, ‘Leave the child alone, Geoffrey. You have frightened her enough.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Andrew Cobham walked over to the bed and stood looking down at the almost-naked woman staring back up at him in blushing amazement. He said softly, ‘Well, little one. I believe it is high time I took you away from here.’
Lord Marrott stood abruptly. ‘What is this?’
‘Spare me your temper, Geoffrey,’ Andrew said. ‘It is simply a misunderstanding.’
‘Misunderstanding be damned,’ Marrott was breathing fast. ‘If you think I’ll stand back while you carry the trollop off from under my nose to your own bed –’
Andrew smiled. His eyes remained cold. ‘It happens that I know this girl, although I had not expected to see her here,’ he murmured. ‘Throckmorton is no doubt to blame, and presumably the girl was simply obeying orders. She therefore deserves neither punishment nor your revenge.’
‘A wench climbs bare-arsed into my bed, then tries to cry off? I’ll have her thrashed. Don’t stand in my way, Feayton.’
Tyballis was aware of approaching silver velvet, the delicate lace edge of a shirt collar, and the thick soft warmth of grey fur. Large hands took hold of her, brushed over her breasts as he pulled away the covers she had tugged up, revealing the limp remainder of her skirts. Andrew Cobham’s smile was almost lazy, almost incidental. ‘What a pity,’ he said. ‘You are not entirely naked after all.’ He ignored the other man as he gathered Tyballis up in his arms. Then he turned. ‘You really don’t want my enmity, Geoffrey. Behaving in a manner you would very soon regret would not serve you in the least. And over such a small matter. What, I wonder, would your dear mother say?’
Marrott had turned quite red, an unfortunate match to his scarlet velvets. ‘Don’t pretend you have her ear, Feayton. And I don’t believe you have the king’s ear either. But if you think to make me look a fool –’
‘We all do that for ourselves, my friend,’ Andrew smiled. ‘But I shall not mention this incident to anyone else, and will, if you wish it, approach Throckmorton on your behalf.’
‘Throckmorton,’ Tyballis stammered from the depths of his embrace. ‘But he’s coming – coming here – any minute – at four o’clock.’
Looking down at her nestled in his arms, it seemed he frowned a warning. ‘No, child, he is not,’ Andrew said softly. ‘Throckmorton has not been welcome at court for some years, and will be less so now. He asked someone else to deliver the merchandise. This was a man who, somewhat ironically, asked that I come in his place, believing I should be more welcome due to my – friendship – with his lordship here. Our business is already settled. Now I shall take you home.’
‘Business? Settled?’ quavered Tyballis. ‘But Lord Hastings – watching guards – outside –’
‘Hush, little one. This is unwise. Trust me.’ With Tyballis cradled against him, Andrew Cobham stood a moment. ‘Forget this, Geoffrey. Throckmorton simply meant to secure his business with bribes, but is inept as always. Nothing more.’
Marrott stood solid in Andrew’s path. ‘Inept? More than that, I think. The damned man’s never sent a trollop to me before, and this one is – well, never mind about that.’ His eyes, furious and unblinking, remained fixed on Andrew. ‘I never requested this last batch, you know Feayton. There’s something dirty about the whole set up, and you seem too damned involved for my liking. Throckmorton may be a blackguard and a fool, but I warn you that I am not.’
Andrew Cobham still smiled. ‘Fool is not one of the many things I’ve called you so far, Geoffrey. But your quarrel is with Harold, not with the girl. And if you wish to take it up with me, then I advise you to choose a better time. Certainly if you wish to stay in his highness’s good graces, then not here at court.’ He bowed, an infinitesimal bend of the neck, stiff backed. ‘But now I shall take your leave. Until the next time.’ He lifted Tyballis a little higher, a little tighter, and strode quickly to the open doorway. She clung to him. He said nothing more until they had left Marrott’s chambers.
They encountered no one. Some way down the corridor, Drew stopped and set Tyballis firmly back on her feet. He then swung off his great velvet coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. As he held it against her a moment, the fur-trimmed edges pulled together, the clasp of his fingers was hard knuckled against her breasts. His voice and his expression remained cold. ‘It seems you have left your shoes behind,’ he said. ‘It would be singularly futile to go back for them now, but just how do I carry a naked woman across the entire breadth of London in this storm?’
‘I’m not naked,’ Tyballis sniffed.
His gaze drifted slowly and almost contemptuously downwards from her face to her small bare toes. ‘If you think that, my child, then you are nearly as naive as dear Geoffrey.’ Abruptly he tipped one finger beneath her chin, roughly forcing her face up to his. ‘And just what the devil were you doing in his bed, anyway?’ he demanded, his voice now harsh. ‘I have had a damnable day, and you, my dear, are not at all what I expected at the end of it.’
‘It’s – complicated.’ She shook him off and looked adamantly away.
‘No doubt,’ he said curtly. This time he took her hand and led her quickly along the corridor, several times turning to take narrower and darker passages.
His grip was firm. She made no attempt to wriggle free. ‘The others,’ she mumbled, panting a little. ‘Lord Hastings’ rooms. They’re waiting.’
‘They are not,’ he said briefly. ‘They have been sent home.’
Surprised, she said nothing else until suddenly he pushed open a small door and a blast of slanting rain hit them full square. A long wooden pier led directly from the door to the river and a turgid rush of sweeping grey waves lashed the sides, slopping over the boards. The Thames was in flood. She clung to Andrew. ‘No,’ she whispered, staring ahead at the angry water.
He shook his head. ‘I have no choice,’ and tossing her up again into his arms, strode with her along the rickety planks.
This was not the royal pier. No gilded barges fluttered their pennants and no liveried palace servants awaited their noble masters. This was the pier for the delivery of supplies and for the servants’ use, so only small battered wherries bobbed and danced, loosely roped. But it was late, and the wherrymen were no longer plying their trade, leaving the boats empty except for the stinking slop of the waves. This did not seem to concern Andrew Cobham, and with a sudden lurch that frightened her, he swung Tyballis over his shoulder and with one hand smacked hard against her rump, he began to climb down the steps into the water.
Taking the first covered tilt-boat, Andrew dumped his parcel onto the passenger bench under the awning, and with a small knife from inside his boot, loosened the locked bars holding down the oars. He rowed out immediately mid current, loose, easy strokes as the wherry cut through the storm. Tyballis crouched terrified in front of him, gripping white-fingered to the edges of the bench where she sat. Finally she managed to gasp, ‘You know how frightened I am of the river, and you know why. So, does it have to be this way? Are you so angry with me?’
His voice swept away on the wind. ‘I cannot in all honestly say I am not angry. But travelling by river has nothing to do with that. Think, child. It is late evening, the city gates are locked against us. There is no other way home but by boat unless I wake up the Ludgate keeper. But offering bribes while carrying a naked woman might not be quickly forgotten. I’ve no wish to be arrested. And I cannot take you to an inn overnight, which I would infinitely prefer. Remember, the rest of your merry minstrels are waiting at home in agonised anticipation. We must at least put their fears to rest. But I shall not drown you. I am a fairly experienced oarsman.’