Her eyes shined with a veil of unshed tears but her lips pressed tightly with a surge of pride. “You do not believe it?”
“I did not say that. But I still must find him.”
Rosamunde strode across the room and before he could react, she took his face in her hands, brought it down to hers, and kissed him.
She meant the gesture to be a short kiss of gratitude, and Crispin knew it for what it was once his initial shock wore off. But her nearness and her touch destroyed any scrap of sense. Still clutching the necklace, he grasped her shoulders and crushed her small frame to his chest. He deepened the kiss, savoring her lips, her taste, her tongue.
It lasted only a moment more until, reluctantly, he withdrew from her.
“Rosamunde,” he whispered, still clutching her arms, caressing her forehead with his own. “After all this time, do you still love me?” He drew back and searched her face. “For God sake, at least lie to me!”
“Which lie do you desire?” she asked, her breath steaming on his lips. “The lie that says I feel nothing, or the lie that says I do?”
“Seven years have passed and I burn for you still!”
“You should have wed by now.”
“How could I, with thoughts of you smoldering in my heart?”
“And still you would defend Stephen’s innocence?”
Stephen. The name cooled his flesh and he released her. “You put words in my mouth. If he is guilty, then I know my duty.”
She inhaled a trembling breath. Tears quivered on the tips of her lashes but never fell. “But I came here to tell you he has been abducted. I want to hire you to find him.”
“The sheriff has already hired me to find him.”
“But Crispin, you can’t-”
He took her hand and slapped the necklace into it. “Take it back. When I search for Stephen it shall be under the auspices of the sheriff.”
She stared at him, eyes wide and dark. She did not put the necklace back around her slender neck. Instead, she clutched it in a trembling hand she kept close to her thigh. “I tell you he’s been abducted.”
“How long since you last saw him?”
“A sennight. Surely a ransom would have been demanded by now?”
He narrowed his eyes. “A sennight? Are you certain?”
She looked at him with hollow eyes, shook her head, and sank to the chair. “I’m not certain of anything anymore.”
Walking to the window he took a deep breath. The cold air seeped in through the cracks in the shutters and he inhaled it, though it was filled with the stench of the meat markets below.
“Whom do I trust, Rosamunde? You-whom I have heard no word from in seven years-or my good and honest friends?”
She raised her eyes. “Why did he go to such a place as the Boar’s Tusk? It was far outside his usual havens.” She blushed when she said it. She must have realized it was now Crispin’s favorite refuge. “Was he meeting someone?”
“Yes. He did meet someone. The man he killed.”
She raised her chin defiantly and he backed down.
“Rosamunde, could this man be someone you knew?”
“He could be any number of Stephen’s acquaintances.”
Crispin hesitated. He needed to ask, but knew it might also put her in danger. He measured her, remembering her strength of character, her fearlessness. “Rosamunde, do you know whether Stephen knew any unusual knights? Any…Templars, for instance?”
“Templars? There are no Templars.”
“It was said Stephen argued with this man about something he possessed that Stephen wanted. Is any of this familiar?”
She shook her head. “Nothing, I am sorry to say.”
“This man also met briefly with a woman. If we could ascertain her identity it might throw light on the matter.”
“None of these tidings mean anything to me. I wish they did.” Rosamunde rose and laid her hand on his sleeve. “I know Stephen has caused you much grief. But many years have past. And he is my brother.” Her head lowered. “I am staying at the White Hart. If you discover anything, you may send a message to me there. Please help me, Crispin.”
She pulled the latch and passed halfway over the threshold before he asked, “And if I cannot? If he is dead? Then…what of us?”
He cringed immediately upon saying it. He expected her expression to change, wanted dearly to see something in her face to indicate her feelings. But he saw nothing. Only an expression of duty seen often on the faces of chatelaines and obedient, submissive wives.
“Fare well, Crispin,” was all she said. Her long fingers touched the empty spot where her necklace had been, and then she turned, her train fluttering after.
Crispin stood in the doorway and listened to the last of her footfalls disappear before he closed the door. He glanced at the table and saw the necklace there. He scooped it up, weighed it in his hand, and tossed it on the bed.
He sat heavily on the chair and scooted it to the table. He ran his hand up over his head and mashed down the thick tangle of black hair in an attempt to quell his many thoughts.
The door whined open and Crispin expected Jack Tucker to be standing in the doorway twisting his tunic hem into a knot. But when he looked up it was not Tucker.
Vivienne stood with a hand still on the door. She glanced back down the stairs at the receding Rosamunde and then lifted her chin to look down on him through her long lashes. “Is this a bad time?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“A bad time?” He sighed. “No, of course not.”
She walked into the room. When last she stood there the room was in chaos. At least now his lodgings were in a better state.
At the threshold Jack poked his head in for only a moment before he sighed and pulled the door closed.
“I tried to shadow your knight,” Crispin said, remembering his manners and rising. He wiped his face, trying to excise the emotions. “But he was not there.”
“I am not surprised.”
“And why is that?”
“Things have changed.”
“You have news then? Is there something you wish to share with me?”
“I only wish I could. But there is much I cannot say.”
“Because of this…object?”
“That and more.” She stepped to the window and peered through a broken slat to the street below. When she turned to Crispin again, her face seemed paler.
“Lady Vivienne?”
“We must speak quickly. I fear…” She looked back at the window and then moved hastily away as if afraid of it. Her face was tight when she intoned, “The man I sent you to follow may in fact be dead.”
“Then the situation is lost.”
“No. There is still another man. I am certain he is now in possession of the object. You might find him at the Rose.”
“And his name?”
“That I still cannot say. But I can describe him. This man is tall and auburn-haired. And he has something of mine I need. It is a desperate need.” She lowered her face and whispered, “He is a dangerous man.” Her gaze darted once more toward the window. “I fear he will find me.”
“What is it you fear?” he asked quietly.
“He is a violent man. I know he means me harm. But this thing he has stolen from me. It could mean my own death if I do not retrieve it. You do not know, you cannot know, how helpless a woman is.”
His gaze roved over the sensuous curves of her body and he almost smiled. Not so defenseless.
“I suppose I must tell you who this man is. Whatever he says of me, you must not believe him.”
“And I should believe you because you are my client?” What was left of Vivienne’s coin still rattled in his purse. “I do not enjoy being made a fool of even for coin. Your manner has been strange, my lady. You have offered nothing but obfuscation…and you have behaved most wantonly.”
Instead of the contrition he expected, she gave a wry smile. “Other women find their comfort in prayers and solitude. But mine has always been in the company of men. Their attention, whatever form it takes, gives me solace. Have you ever felt alone and frightened?” She laughed carelessly. “Of course not. How foolish of me. You’re a man.”