The Greatest Lover in All England by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page B

your duty to stay where your guests can observe you. You will allow me to guide you in this matter, as you will allow me to guide you in the matter of your marriage.”
    â€œMy marriage?”
    â€œTo me.” She rested her narrow hand on his sleeve. “Jean told me of your trifling objections, but you’re alogical man, and I feel sure you’ll soon see the good sense of my ways.”
    Looking down on the jeweled cap which covered her fall of blond hair, he wondered if he stood a chance against Lady Honora’s determination and his own need for affluence. Then he remembered the mystery girl and how he would use her. He had only to keep her at the forefront of his mind, and Honora’s schemes would be for naught.
    Lady Honora inspected him as if he were a peasant recruit in Her Majesty’s army. Without care for those listening to the play, she spoke in a normal tone of voice. “You look quite odd, and you will of course wish to decide that our marriage is your idea. A man does like to believe he is the master of his destiny. But in the meantime, do your hostly duty and sit in the place I have procured.”
    Bursting with indignation, he snapped, “Damn my hostly duty, and damn—”
    The audience turned as one and hushed him , as if he were the only one inhibiting their enjoyment of the play, and the actors raised their voices and their eloquence to reclaim the attention due them.
    With her own unique interpretation, Lady Honora said, “You see, I am right. They wish you to sit with me.”
    She tugged at him again, and he gave up. After all, what did it matter where he sat or stood or thought? The play would unfold, but its plot could never compete with the plot that filled his mind.
    With many polite murmurings, he worked his way through the crowd, following in Honora’s wake. In some distant part of his mind, he appreciated the laughter the two players dragged from the spectators. He was glad the actors kept his company entertainedwith their passionate moaning for a heartless lady, Earlene.
    As if his thoughts had conjured her, she appeared—the woman he’d kissed, the woman he’d lusted after, the woman he would perhaps court. She walked onto the stage, and her appearance was greeted by a roar of appreciation from the audience.
    Did they know her? He glanced around eagerly. Was she some noblewoman who strode the boards as a jest?
    But no, the audience’s appreciation was coarse and impersonal, caught up in the play and waiting eagerly for the next line. What did it mean?
    He looked at her again, and saw her with new eyes. He’d assumed her to be a poverty-stricken, lacking-in-taste noblewoman. But now…his gut tightened. Leaning toward Lady Honora, he murmured, “Who is she?”
    â€œWho is who?” Lady Honora asked, her tone precise and austere.
    â€œWho is”—he nodded at the stage—“she?”
    Puzzled, Lady Honora followed his gaze. “She’s the wife who cuckolded her husband.”
    â€œNo!” He scrubbed the back of his hand across his lips and tried again. “I mean who is she, really?”
    â€œReally?” Lady Honora turned to face him. “Really? She’s an …he’s an actor, one of Sir Danny’s troupe. Why are you—”
    The rest of her words were lost to him as he staggered to his feet. He never heard the cries to sit down or felt the jabs from the people behind him. He knew only one thing.
    He’d kissed a boy. He’d kissed a man .

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    It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard.
    â€”K ING J OHN , III, i. 4
    But had he really ?
    Lord Bothey kicked Tony’s knee from behind, and he collapsed back onto the bench.
    Had he really kissed a man?
    The mere thought made him want to spit, to leap up on the stage and knock that Tom-farthing buttercup into next week. But something stopped him. Something niggled at him. Some evidence, some disregarded