Captive Splendors by Fern Michaels Read Free Book Online Page B

almost tied himself to Sara Stoneham! The very thought of it terrorized him. Malcolm had assumed that Sara’s family was still wealthy and influential. Instead, he had learned, and just in the nick of time, too, that because of the Stonehams’ religious views and rash statements against the Crown, their properties were, one by one, being stripped from them. A nice kettle of fish that would have been, being saddled with an ex-heiress who was a Puritan to boot!
    Wren was another matter entirely. How fortunate it was that he had made acquaintance with her, and so soon after Sara! Luckily, Sara was a wise girl who seemed to know when to keep her mouth shut. Malcolm grinned as he thought of the nights he had made love to Sara, and her passionate responses. That alone was enough to keep her quiet. A wise girl didn’t boast that she was no longer a virgin. What Malcolm couldn’t quite understand though, was the relationship between Sara and Wren. He shrugged. There was no accounting for women.
    He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a silver snuffbox. Turning it over in his palm, he gazed at his reflection in the polished metal. He never used snuff, considering it a nasty habit which spoiled one’s shirt fronts with grains of yellow tobacco. But the box had become an affectation he used to cater to his vanity. It was unseemly for a man to carry a mirror, and the box did just as nicely. He smiled at his reflection, proud of his sterling good looks, his smooth skin and strong chin and bright, intelligent eyes. Women had always turned to stare at him, and he reveled in their attentions. Perhaps his inheritance had been badly handled and stolen from him, but nothing, not even time, would ever steal his handsomeness. He had only to remember his father, whom he resembled. Age had improved his good looks, touching his dark, wavy hair with a feathering of gray at the temples, that added a distinguished air to his boyish charm. And Malcolm was careful with his diet, maintaining the slimness and grace of a dancer. Wren hadn’t stood a chance against his charms once he had put them into use. Any more than had Lady Elizabeth Rice, favorite paramour of King Charles. Malcolm laughed aloud. Wonderful, power-hungry, greedy Elizabeth, so ripe for an escapade with an ardent young man who was wise enough to keep their affair to himself rather than boasting about it to add to his own prestige.
    It wasn’t difficult to understand why King Charles, for all his self-righteous proclamations on the sanctity of marriage, preferred Lady Elizabeth to his dark and homely queen, Henrietta Maria. Lady Elizabeth was as fiery-natured as her flaming hair, and, most important of all, she was discreet, a necessity for a long regime as the King’s favorite.
    Malcolm had made her acquaintance quite by accident, almost in the same way he had met Wren. Lady Elizabeth had been taking the air in Hyde Park, and he had been so entranced with her beauty that he had boldly initiated a conversation. From there the flirtation had taken wing; when Elizabeth had invited Malcolm to a quiet dinner at her modest apartments on Drury Lane, he had quickly and eagerly accepted. They had been together several times before Malcolm had discovered that the King enjoyed sleeping beneath the same bed linens and between those same alabaster thighs.
    Malcolm had thought he had succeeded in keeping his financial difficulties from Elizabeth, but only a few nights ago did he realize this was far from the truth. At first he had feared she would put an end to their affair, but to his surprise she had watched him warily through her azure-blue eyes and told him about a certain collar being fashioned for the King to wear on the anniversary of his son’s birthday celebration. Bit by bit, Elizabeth had apprised Malcolm of the situation, carefully avoiding mentioning the name of the goldsmith who was creating the sensational collar. And sensational it would be,