Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"You have been in mourning for Rowan for over a year now. I really do believe it is time enough," the Countess of BrocCairn said to her daughter, Jasmine Lindley. "Quite frankly, my dear, any further display of sorrow on your part is quite excessive."

"How easy it is for you, Mama," Jasmine replied bitterly. "You have never lost a husband to death, have you? I, however, have lost two." She stared with deep concentration at the pastoral view outside of her day room windows. The late summer hills were lush with greenery, and the river flowed as serenely as it always did.

Velvet drew a deep breath to keep from losing her temper. Rowan's death had been an unexpected tragedy that could not be changed. He was gone, and would not come back. It was time for Jasmine to begin thinking about another marriage. She could not spend the rest of her life alone. She was simply too young.

"Alex and I want you to come to court with us in the autumn," Velvet said. "Sibby and Tom are going as well. The court is really a very exciting place these days."

"The court," Jasmine said primly, "is a sewer, I have heard. I am amazed that my stepfather would consent to go there. I believed him to have better sense, Mama, but perhaps he finds it easier to humor you than to have to argue with you. I cannot go. I have the children to consider. They are far too young to accompany me."

"God's foot, Jasmine!" her mother said, irritated. "The children most certainly should not accompany you. One goes to court for pleasure. My grandchildren are perfectly safe here at Cadby. All are sturdy, thank God!"

"They are too young for me to leave," Jasmine insisted.

"Nonsense!" Velvet said firmly. "India is practically three and a half; Henry is two and a half; and Fortune is past her first birthday. They all have their nurses, and if you think for one moment that Adali would let any harm come to them … Why, he is devoted to them all."

"Your mother is right," Skye said. She had remained seated and silent until now.

"Grandmama!" Jasmine had counted on Skye to back her.

"Well, she is," Skye said. "Rowan would dislike it intensely that you have shut yourself away here at Cadby. He was so full of life, the rogue! As long as you remain here, my darling girl, you become more ingrown. You are making a saint out of a man who was very much a man, and what is worse, you are spoiling your children terribly."

"They have no father!" Jasmine cried, tears welling in her eyes.

"That is no excuse for giving in to their every whim and wish," her grandmother said sharply. "I have raised enough children myself to know certain danger signals. India is an absolute little terror these days. Henry follows her every lead. As for Fortune, for all her wee size, she is a tiny tyrant, screaming herself red in the face if she is not immediately gratified. Do not delude yourself into believing that they will outgrow these bad habits, that it is only because they are small. They will grow worse with each day, each week, each month, each year, unless you begin to discipline them, Jasmine. If you cannot, then you must allow others to do so. Let me have my great-grandchildren at Queen's Malvern for a little time. Go to court with your mother and the rest of the family. You must think of marriage eventually, Jasmine, even if you do not think of it now."

"The queen gives the most delightful masques," Velvet enthused.

"Which the king never attends," Jasmine replied.

"Oh, Jamie is such an old sobersides." Velvet laughed. "He always was."

"Except when it comes to his laddies," Jasmine said. "I hear that young Kerr is still his majesty's favorite. They say he has taught the fellow Latin, but I hear he should have taught him English, for his Scots English is almost unintelligible."

" 'Tis true," Velvet admitted, and then she added, "He has Anglicized his name, my dear, and calls himself Carr these days."

"How does the queen bear it?" Jasmine demanded.

"Bear what?" Velvet replied. "The king is devoted to her, and to their children. She has had nine, even if they did not all live. Although the princes are her favorites, Henry most of all, Princess Elizabeth is her father's pride and joy. The king and the queen have different interests, and were they not so much the center of our universe, we should notice nothing amiss with their relationship. The king is given to being demonstrative with those of whom he is fond. Lady or gentleman, there would be gossip, Jasmine. Now we must think about your wardrobe. Styles are changing, and you will need a new one."

"If I go, will you come with us, Grandmama?" Jasmine asked.

Skye laughed. "Nay, darling girl, I am past that, I am happy to say. I shall remain quite contentedly at Queen's Malvern, and attempt to instill some respect and some manners into your children. Henry will benefit from having a man around the house. Your grandfather may be an old man, but he is still a vital one. Why, he hunts several times a week even now. It is time that both Henry and India learn to ride."

A small spasm passed briefly over Jasmine's face. "My father taught me to ride," she said. "I remember him saying that it was not the custom for Indian ladies of high birth to ride horses, but that as Candra had been a most excellent rider, he thought perhaps that I should enjoy learning. I did, and was so glad he taught me. It meant that I could go hunting with him, and with my brothers, unlike my elder sisters."

"How old were you when he taught you?" Velvet asked.

"I was just three," Jasmine replied.

"Well," Skye said briskly, "it is settled then! You will go to court with your mother. As for your clothing, Velvet is correct. You will need a new wardrobe. Fashions are finally changing. Though the necklines are still square and low in front, they have become high in the back. Necklines are wider, too, on the shoulders, and large collars of linen or lace are now quite de trop. Skirts are shorter as well, and not quite as full. I shall send Bonnie to you. She is such a clever seamstress."

"Well," Jasmine considered, "perhaps I could go to court for a little while, Grandmama, I know the children are safe with you, but you must promise me that you will not be too harsh with them. They do miss their papa so very much. I know I spoil them, but I cannot help it."

"They would not even remember their papa if you were not constantly reminding them of Rowan," Skye replied tartly. "Your idealized picture of him gives him the burnish of saintliness that he most certainly did not possess. It is good that you do not allow your children to forget their father, my darling girl, but do not make him so perfect that your son will be unable to live up to his memory, and your daughters forever comparing him to their suitors, who will also be unable to measure up. That would be a great tragedy." Skye patted her favorite grandchild's hand lovingly. "You have not forgotten how sweet love can be, my darling girl. Do not deny your daughters the experience when the time is right for them."

Bonnie was sent for, and arrived from Queen's Malvern with her assistant Mary. Together the two women set about in the waning days of summer to sew Jasmine's new wardrobe. A traveling jeweler and his apprentice arrived at Cadby and fashioned a number of beautiful buttons for the new clothing, using the gemstones that Jasmine supplied. While the jeweler set the stones within their frames of silver and gold, his apprentice dexterously carved additional buttons from ivory, bone, and polished wood.

"I am positively green with envy," Sybilla declared as she examined her stepsister's new clothes before Rohana and Toramalli packed them carefully for the journey to London. Sybilla had grown plumper with the birth of each of her four children, the youngest of whom had been born in late winter of that year.

"I have much too much," Jasmine declared. "Take whatever you fancy, Sibby. I haven't had time to grow attached to anything yet."

Sybilla sighed, and then she laughed. "I couldn't possibly fit into anything of yours, Jasmine. You remain impossibly willow-slim, while I am as plump as a partridge ready for the table. Tom, however, doesn't seem to mind. He says he likes having more of me to love, and swears I keep him quite toasty on cold winter nights."

"Tom has put on a bit of weight too," Jasmine noted. " 'Tis all your love, and the good food you see he has. He is disgracefully content for a man who was such an old bachelor."

Sybilla laughed again. There was a new softness about her. All the sharp edges seemed to have gone. "I fear that I am content too," she admitted. "Tom is the best husband in the world."

"I am glad you are happy," Jasmine replied softly.

"Ohh!" Sibby cried. "I did not mean to sadden you, Jasmine."

"You did not," Jasmine hastened to assure her stepsister, and then she cleverly changed the subject. "Are you looking forward to the court, Sibby? I am not certain it is the place for a respectable woman without a husband in attendance. What do you think?"

"I think you fret too much," Sibby said. "Court is really quite exciting. We went last autumn before I was too uncomfortable with Elizabeth. Oh, Jasmine, 'tis so nice to have a little daughter. She is so much easier than the boys. Girls are, aren't they?"

Jasmine chuckled. "I had not noticed. Neither India nor Fortune strike me as easy. In my family 'tis Henry who is the easiest."

In early October Jasmine, in the company of the Gordons of BrocCairn and the Earl and Countess of Kempe, traveled up to London to join the court. After settling themselves into Greenwood, they went to Whitehall to pay their respects to their majesties.

The king, Jasmine thought, seemed to show his age more now. His skin had become coarse-looking, and he was a trifle jowly, but he greeted the young dowager Marchioness of Westleigh in kindly fashion.

Jasmine was looking particularly lovely this evening. Her gown was of heavy burgundy-colored silk with a large collar of ecru lace that extended low on her shoulders. The simple underskirt was of deep rose brocade. The same brocade showed through the small slashes upon her sleeves. The ankle-length, bell-shaped skirt of her gown revealed elaborate silk-covered shoes decorated with pearls, and when she turned suddenly, a glimpse of rose-colored silk stockings decorated with delicate gold-thread vines could be seen sheathing her slender legs. She wore a long necklace of large pearls held in front by a brooch of diamonds and rubies. From her ears hung long, pear-shaped pearls, and upon her arms were several bejeweled gold bangles.

The young widow curtsied low to the king, allowing both him and his handsome young favorite, Robert Carr, an unrestricted view of her beautiful bosom. "Your Majesty is most kind to receive me once again," Jasmine said softly as her skirts blossomed about her.

"We are pleased to see ye returned safely from Ireland," James Stuart replied, motioning her to arise, which she did. "We hope ye will bide wi us a wee while, Lady Lindley. Yer beauty can but enhance our court, is that nae so, Robbie luv?" The king looked up at the young man lounging against his throne. His eyes were misty with his affection.

Barely interested blue eyes swept over Jasmine and dismissed her as unimportant. "Aye, my dear lord," came the expected reply.

"Ye hae nae met our Robbie before, hae ye, Lady Lindley?" the king said, sending the young man another loving look.

"Nay, my lord, I have not," Jasmine replied, feeling as if she were intruding upon a lovers' rendezvous, and not standing in the middle of a crowded receiving room.

"Robbie luv, Lady Lindley is a most wealthy widow. She will need a new husband ere long, will ye nae, my lady?" The king smiled.

"Eventually, my lord, I hope to remarry," Jasmine said in cool, measured tones, "but for now I still mourn my beloved Rowan." Reaching into her bosom, she withdrew a scrap of linen edged in delicate lace and wiped away a tear. "This is my first venture into the world since his untimely death. Do you like children, Viscount?" she queried Robert Carr, whom the king had made Viscount Rochester earlier in the year. "I have three little ones at home, and although my dear grandmama says they are badly spoiled, I adore them. When I finally remarry, I shall want more children."

The king, who was sentimental over his own offspring, smiled at her. "Aye, bairns are a true blessing, Lady Lindley, but ye canna spare the rod if ye dinna wish them to grow up unruly. Is that nae right, Robbie? The bairns must be whipped well to instill respect and Christian behavior into their wee souls. 'Tis a parent's duty."

"Oh, aye, my lord," Robert Carr agreed, looking as if children were the furthest thing from his mind right now. Indeed, his glance kept straying in the direction of the beautiful and voluptuous Lady Essex.

"Ohh," Jasmine said, "I could never allow my darlings to be whipped. It is too cruel, sire."

"Mothers are generally as soft as custard," the king said, in a tone implying that women, bless them, were weak. "Well, I am yet glad to see yer return. Now go and pay yer respects to the queen, madame."

Jasmine curtsied to James Stuart once again and backed from his presence.

A hand was placed firmly beneath her elbow, and a voice said in her ear, "A most masterful performance, Lady Lindley."

Jasmine whirled about to see who would dare be so bold, and with a tiny gasp, curtsied in mid-stride. "Your Highness!"

Prince Henry grinned at her mischievously. He was a very handsome young man who favored his mother and his grandfather, the unfortunate Lord Darnley. Blue-eyed, with red-blond hair and an inordinate amount of charm, he was beloved by all who knew him, and was considered England's great hope. "Did you see the look on Rochester's face when you said you had three children, madame, and desired more? He must have been absolutely terrified that my father was going to propose a match between you." The prince chuckled. "Did I not fear the formidable reputation of your grandmama more than I dislike Robert Carr, I should have encouraged my father to the deed. His Robbie is secretly courting Lord Essex's wife."

Jasmine laughed. "You would do better to fear me, my lord, rather than my grandmama," she teased the prince, "should you encourage your father to match me with anyone! I will choose my own husband."

"Do you have anyone particular in mind, madame?" he queried her, fascinated.

"I am really not of a mind to marry at all, if you would know the truth," Jasmine replied. "I think, perhaps, that I am a jinx to any man who loves me and makes me his wife. Both of my husbands have been murdered. I am intelligent enough to manage my own life, and I already have children to comfort me in my old age."

"But what of someone to comfort you now?" he said softly, dropping a quick kiss on her bare shoulder. "Did you know that you have the most incredible blue eyes, madame?"

"So I have been told, sir," Jasmine said dryly. "I am four years your senior, and you, my lord, are very bold."

"So I have been told, madame," he mocked her, his eyes twinkling.

Jasmine laughed helplessly before his charm. "I really must go and pay my respects to your mama," she said. "My family has already done so, and they will wonder why I have been such a laggard, sir."

"Allow me to escort you, madame," the prince said politely.

He led her across the room, not just a few heads turning to see who the prince was with, for most at court did not remember Jasmine's previously brief visit. The word was quickly passed. 'Tis the dowager Marchioness of Westleigh. A most wealthy woman. She has the king's favor.

Jasmine curtsied to the queen.

"Ahh," said Anne of Denmark, "I am happy to see you, my dear, but so sad at your loss. Still, you will be a definite asset to the court. Can you learn lines easily? We have the most divine masques, and a lady of your beauty cannot help but want to be a part of our revels."

The queen's reputation for frivolity was more than well-deserved. Still, she had done her duty to the crown, producing nine children, though only three, Prince Henry, Prince Charles, and Princess Elizabeth, had lived to maturity. The king loved his Annie, and as long as she did not involve him in what he referred to as her "silliness," he was happy to allow her whatever she wanted. Aiding her in her many lighthearted endeavors was Master Inigo Jones, who planned her masques and designed both the jewelry and the costumes.

"I am just now coming out of mourning," Jasmine told the queen, attempting to escape her royal clutches.

"You would make a magnificent Autumn, would she not, Master Jones? We are to do a masque next week celebrating the harvest, Lady Lindley. You must be our Autumn!" the queen insisted.

"I am going to portray the Lord of the Harvest," Prince Henry said, wickedly encouraging his mother onward.

"Yes! Yes!" the queen replied, beaming at her eldest and most favorite offspring. "Henry does not often indulge me in my little entertainments, but he did promise me this time, did you not, my love?"

"Indeed, madame, I did," the prince answered, kissing his doting parent's plump white hand. "And if Lady Lindley will take the part of Autumn, I believe your masque will be a great success, Mama."

"Then it is settled!" the queen said, smiling brightly at Jasmine.

The dowager Marchioness of Westleigh curtsied again to the queen, and escorted still by the prince, eased from her presence.

"Traitor!" she hissed at the prince once they were away from the queen's hearing. "You did nothing to help me at all. Instead you encouraged your mother on in her charming folly."

"I will help you with your lines," Henry Stuart said. "Indeed, we will have to spend a great deal of time together rehearsing."

"You are impossible!" Jasmine said, unable to refrain from laughing. Henry Stuart was a very delightful young man.

"Now there is a word I have never heard describe my most royal and august self," the prince told her. "I am considered quite the opposite of my dear parents, you know. Mama is a delightful silly creature who would harm no one, and my kingly father, though wiser than most would believe him, is unorganized and overly sentimental. I, on the other hand, am considered orderly in my mind and habits, sensible to a fault, and possessing a great wit; not to mention, madame, a strong healthy body, and a disgracefully handsome face."

"And Your Highness is modest to a fault as well," Jasmine said wryly.

Henry Stuart burst out laughing, and those around them turned to stare, wondering at the prince's amusement, and also at the beautiful woman he was escorting. "Ahh," the prince said with a knowing smile, "now they will all begin to talk. Are you prepared to be gossiped about, my dear Marchioness of Westleigh, for you will be gossiped about, you realize."

"I am the dowager Marchioness of Westleigh," Jasmine corrected him, "and why will I be gossiped about? Why, none of these people know me. Why would they gossip about me?"

The prince led her to a windowed alcove with a cushioned seat, and invited Jasmine to seat herself. Settling himself next to her, he said, "There are many reasons to gossip about you, madame. You are outrageously beautiful, for one thing. You are an unknown factor here at my father's court, which in itself arouses curiosity. You are in my company, and obviously have the facility to amuse me, which, of course, leads shallower minds to wonder what else you might do for me. You see, I have no mistress at the moment. In fact I have never had a formally recognized mistress.

"People cannot help but wonder what kind of a Stuart I am. Am I like my father, who, although he has loved the ladies in his time, now seems to have a tendre for young men? Or am I like my great-great-grandfather, and my great-grandfather, both of whom had large capacities for loving women?" The prince took her hand in his and, raising it to his lips, kissed first the back of it, then, turning her hand over, kissed her palm and the sensitive skin of her wrist. His blue eyes met hers in an unspoken question.

Jasmine found herself flushing with surprise. She knew immediately what kind of a Stuart Henry was. A passionate Stuart. This young man had caught her with her guard quite down. "I am a king's daughter, my lord," she said quietly. She must put him off without offending him. One did not anger a prince, particularly one who would one day be a king of England. "You have taken me by surprise, I fear."

Henry Stuart laughed, obviously pleased with himself and with her answer. "I have not yet taken you, my love, but I shall. When you arrived tonight, I could not believe how beautiful you were. We did not meet when you were last at court, for I was at Richmond, keeping at my studies. My mother, of course, wrote to me about you. She was fascinated by your heritage, your wealth, your beauty, particularly your unusual, magnificent eyes.

"When I returned to court, eager to meet you, I learned that you had returned to your grandmother's home in the Midlands to be married. I was truly disappointed. Then tonight you came to Whitehall. I recognized you immediately, although we had not met. 'Twas your wonderful turquoise-blue eyes that gave you away. I immediately sought out Lord Salisbury, and he told me that you were now widowed. God bless little Cecil! He knows everything."

Jasmine was astounded. "I do not know what to say, sir," she told him. His interest was certainly obvious, his intent quite crystal clear. Jasmine was not certain what she should do.

"Lean forward," he said to her.

"What?" she responded.

"Lean forward, madame. I wish to kiss you," the prince replied.

"Sir!" She feigned outrage. She must put a stop to his boldness as quickly as possible. It was a most difficult situation, which seemed to be growing more difficult with each passing minute.

"Lean forward," he said a third time. "Surely you do not want to cause a scene, madame, and you will if you refuse me. But one kiss, my love. What is the harm in it? You are widowed, I, a bachelor."

He was right, Jasmine thought, silently chiding herself for being foolish. There was really no harm in a simple kiss in a practically public place. The prince was not yet betrothed, and she was a widow. It was quite flattering, actually, that he wanted to kiss her. With a little laugh, and a shake of her head to indicate that she thought him quite naughty, Jasmine leaned forward, closing her turquoise-blue eyes and pursing her lips as she did so.

Henry Stuart grinned to himself, well-pleased. With one hand he cradled her head, his sensuous mouth slowly meeting hers in a series of small kisses that finally became a very deep, passionate one as his lips worked seductively against hers. She stiffened, obviously thought better of it, and relaxed, only to tear her head away from his, gasping with shock as his other hand plunged into her bodice to cup a breast.

"My lord!"

He forced her head back to his and said softly against her lips, "Open your mouth for me, my love." His roaming hand caressed her fervently. "God's boots, your skin is like silk!"

She felt his tongue pushing against the shield of her teeth; her nipples growing taut with the gentle strokings of his skillful fingers. How had a simple kiss become so damned involved? Jasmine wondered muzzily. His tongue plunged into the hollow of her mouth, finding her tongue, which he brushed against with growing ardor. Desperately she marshaled her strength, and placing her hands against his velvet-clad chest, shoved him away. "Stop, my lord, I beg you!" she managed to whisper. "Stop it this instant!"

"You intoxicate me, madame," he groaned, his head dipping to her cleavage, his lips kissing the bared flesh of her bosom, while his marauding hand continued to fondle her with growing urgency.

The bodice of her gown felt tight. She could hardly breathe. What on earth was she to do? His passion was such that he would have her on her back shortly, futtering her for all the court to see! The thought was overwhelming, and her stomach suddenly roiling, Jasmine said with total candor, "Stop, my lord! I am going to be sick! Would you have me vomit all over your fine, bejeweled doublet?"

Henry Stuart lifted his head from the perfumed softness of her breasts and met her gaze. What he saw brought him sharply back to reality. Jasmine was very pale. Tiny beads of perspiration had broken out upon her smooth, high forehead. "My love!" he cried. "What is it? Dear heaven, I have been a complete fool! I have taken you unawares in my eagerness. Forgive me, Jasmine, but I cannot seem to control my desire to possess you. I see now that I must." The prince arose and signaled a passing servant. "Wine!" he commanded.

The request was quickly met. Henry Stuart pressed a goblet into Jasmine's hand even as he gulped down several mouthfuls from his own goblet. The wine seemed to calm her upset stomach, and Jasmine drew a clear, deep breath. "Thank you," she said, but nothing more. What was she going to do about this situation? She had never imagined that such a thing could happen to her. She was totally confused. Oh, Rowan! she thought. What am I to do? God, if only her grandmother were here!

Her legs were shaking slightly as she forced herself to her feet, leaving the goblet on the seat behind her. "I must find my family," she said. "They will wonder where I have gotten to, my lord."

"I will escort you, madame," he told her, his hand slipping beneath her arm once more.

Jasmine realigned the bodice of her gown with as much dignity as she could muster. "I am ready," she said.

"Are you?" he murmured, bending to kiss the lobe of her ear.

"Stop it!" Strength flowed back into her limbs with her anger, and Jasmine stamped her foot. Two bright spots of pink colored her cheeks.

"Excellent, madame!" he said with a chuckle. "You have fully recovered. Did you know that I quite adore your little mole? I shall kiss it the next time that we meet, which will, I hope, be soon."

"I do not know how long I will remain with the court," she quickly replied. "I have my children at home. I have never yet been separated from them until now. I miss them. I think I shall return to Cadby within the week."

"I shall forbid it," he answered her with a laugh. "I want you here at court where I may enjoy your company, my sweet marchioness."

"I am the dowager marchioness," she responded sharply.

"You are far too young to be a dowager," he chuckled. "Ahh, BrocCairn, I return your lovely stepdaughter to you, Cousin. She is to take part in my mother's masque next week. I shall be calling upon her so we may rehearse our lines together. You will see that she is available to me when I call? You are staying at your mother-in-law's house on the Strand as usual? Greenwood, I believe?"

"Yes, Your Highness," the Earl of BrocCairn replied, bowing politely to the prince. "We are at Greenwood."

"Madame." The prince bowed over her head, and then left them.

Alexander Gordon raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Indeed, my dear Jasmine, it would seem you have made a conquest, and a very, very important conquest at that. Henry Stuart has certainly never before shown such a public interest in a woman. You may consider yourself honored."

"Honored?" Jasmine looked slightly appalled. "He has made it quite clear, my lord, that he wishes to make love to me. I cannot countenance such a thing! I am not some light-skirted creature with low morals. I did not come to court for this!" Her cheeks were pink with her outrage, and the Earl of BrocCairn thought that his stepdaughter looked particularly beautiful at this moment.

"If Prince Henry wishes to make love to you, Jasmine," the earl said slowly, his deep voice so low that only she could hear him, "you do not have any choice but to gracefully acquiesce, my dear. You have no maidenhead, nor a husband's honor to protect; and Henry Stuart will be England's next king. It would not be politic, I fear, to refuse him."

"Are you telling me, my lord, that I have no choice in the matter? What of my honor? I am an emperor's daughter, and every bit as royal as this prince!" Jasmine declared vehemently.

The Earl of BrocCairn took his stepdaughter's hand and patted it comfortingly. "You know that I am related to the king, my dear, but do you know how the relationship came about?"

Jasmine shook her head.

"The king and I share the same grandfather, King James the Fifth. My grandmother, Alexandra Gordon, was his mistress for a time. My father, Angus Gordon, may God assoil his good soul, was the result of their passionate union. Stuart kings, and Stuart princes, are notorious for their loving natures. Why, it is said that they are related to half of Scotland or more." The earl chuckled. "There is no shame in being beloved by a Stuart, I assure you. If indeed this is what Prince Henry desires, you must accept his suit graciously without protest. It would not be very wise, Jasmine, to cause a scandal, or to embarrass the prince."

"If I remove myself immediately from the court," Jasmine told her stepfather, "then the matter is ended, and no one the wiser. I shall leave tomorrow for Cadby, my lord."

"You will not," he replied, and when she gasped with surprise, Alexander Gordon said, "The prince has made it quite plain that he wishes you to remain here with the court, Jasmine. Neither of us misunderstood him. He has made me a direct party to this matter. If I allow you to go, I will be guilty of disobeying the king's son. I cannot be. Now that the prince has noticed you, the very well-being of our family depends on his royal goodwill. You cannot simply think of yourself, Jasmine. You have all of us to consider."

"That is not fair!" she cried. "I did not ask for this honor, and I do not want it, my lord!"

"What is the matter?" Velvet joined them, looking worriedly at her daughter. "Jasmine, my love, you look pale. Are you all right?"

"No, Mama, I am not all right," Jasmine replied, distraught.

"Prince Henry seems to have become enamored of your daughter, madam," the earl told his wife. "She is not pleased about it."

"Oh, dear," Velvet said nervously. "How enamored, Alex?"

"Totally enamored, my darling," he answered her.

"Ohhh dear!" Velvet exclaimed. "What are we to do, then?"

"We can do nothing," he said. "Jasmine, no matter her strong objections, will have to accept the inevitable. What is so terrible? She is not being asked to give up her life, or her wealth. A handsome, charming young man wishes to make love to her. I do not understand all the fuss being made over it," the earl concluded testily.

"I shall leave for Cadby tonight!" Jasmine declared desperately.

The Earl of BrocCairn said nothing in response to his stepdaughter's dramatic proposal. Instead, when they returned to Greenwood, Alexander Gordon gave orders to the household staff that Lady Lindley, who was suddenly unwell, was to not leave the house. He then personally locked Jasmine in her apartments with Toramalli and pocketed the key, to his wife's deep distress.

"Jasmine will never forgive you for this, Alex," Velvet fretted. "She is a princess born and raised. How can she tolerate being asked to be the prince's whore? It really is quite untenable, my lord."

"Being a royal Stuart's mistress is hardly considered a deep dishonor," the earl insisted to his wife. "Give her a few days and she will think better of it, I am certain. This is not India, after all."

* * *

"Would you want this for Sybilla?" Jasmine shouted at her stepfather the following day, when he came to reason with her.

"Placed in your situation, Sybilla would know her duty, and do it, damnit," Alexander Gordon said heatedly.

Jasmine threw a vase of roses at his head, which the earl ducked as he swiftly retreated.

"She is certainly your daughter, madame, with her hot temper," he told his wife in the hallway. "I was reminded of our youth as I fled that vase. It seems I remember similar incidents between us."

"And despite all the years I have been your wife," Velvet teased him mercilessly, "you have learned nothing about dealing with the women in my family, Alex. I shall remonstrate with my daughter. I would not have missed my target."

Henry Stuart ended the contretemps by coming to call at that moment. When Jasmine refused to come down to receive him, he was directed to her apartments by the earl, who accompanied him.

"How dare you!" Jasmine said furiously at their appearance. "Leave my apartments this instant, my lords! I am not receiving today!"

"Toramalli, come with me," the earl ordered the tiring woman.

"I am sorry, my lord," Toramalli replied, "but I take orders from no one but my mistress."

Alexander Gordon advanced upon the small woman, and picking her up about the waist, hauled her kicking and shrieking from her lady's presence. Henry Stuart closed the doors to Jasmine's apartments behind them, and turning the key in its lock, slipped it into his pocket.

Jasmine watched him wide-eyed. "If you come one step near me, I shall scream!" she told him.

"Why?" he asked her, moving past her to seat himself by the fire. "May I have a goblet of wine, madame?"

If his intent was to make me feel foolish, Jasmine thought, he has certainly succeeded. "What are you doing here, my lord?" she demanded.

"We have our lines to practice for the masque next week," he said blandly. "Mama says to tell you that Master Jones and his seamstress will come to Greenwood tomorrow to fit you for your costume." He smiled at her, and then said, "My wine, madame. I am fair parched."

Jasmine moved cautiously around him and poured a deep red wine from a crystal decanter into a small chased-silver goblet. Handing it to him, she stepped quickly back, standing silent as he drank.

"Ahhh," Henry Stuart said, swallowing his wine. "This is a most excellent vintage, madame. Who is your wine merchant?"

"The wine comes from my great-grandparents' estate in France," she answered him. "I will arrange to have several barrels sent to Your Highness. The estate is called Archambault."

"Come and sit by me, Jasmine," he said, motioning to an upholstered stool by his chair.

She shook her head, remaining where she was. "What do you want of me, my lord?"

"Many things," he said quietly.

"You must be specific with me, my lord. I do not wish to misunderstand you. My family and I have been quite at odds over our meeting at Whitehall last night. I do not think I am the sort of person to enjoy court, and I would go home to Cadby, but my stepfather will not allow me to go. He says I cannot offend Your Highness. He says that you obviously desire me, and 'tis an honor."

"I do desire you," Henry Stuart responded with a small smile. She was so charmingly serious, he thought. He had never before met a woman like Jasmine. "You, however, my love, do not consider my interest in you an honor, do you? Why is that?"

"I am an Imperial Mughal princess, my lord," she replied, knowing that he, a prince born, would certainly understand.

He did, but said, "I have never taken a mistress before. Oh, I have had my share of women, the first when I was eleven, but I have never fallen in love with a woman enough to want her for myself. Not until I saw you, Jasmine. A royal Stuart would not settle for anything less than an Imperial Mughal princess," he concluded with a small smile.

"I have been told that your ancestors were not quite as discerning as Your Highness. Indeed, it has been reliably reported to me that your family is related to more than half of Scotland," Jasmine answered pertly, a trifle more relaxed, and with a twinkle in her eye.

Henry Stuart laughed. "Now, there is another thing," he said. "You can make me laugh. You have a wickedly sharp wit, madame." Then he grew serious. "Jasmine, I admit to wanting to make love to you, and eventually we will, but when we do, it will be because you desire me as well. I apologize for accosting you at Whitehall, and frightening you. I am ashamed to say I could not help myself. I hope you will forgive me, my love. Now may there please be a pax between us?"

"Will you unlock the door to my chambers?" she said.

Reaching into his doublet, he withdrew the key and held it toward her. "Do you trust me now, madame?" he asked.

Jasmine stared a moment at the key he proffered. Her stepfather was correct when he said she could not refuse Henry Stuart's overtures. This was England, not India. She was no princess here, but he was the heir to England's throne. She could not afford to incur the king's ill will. She had her children to consider. If she were forced to flee the royal wrath in England, where could she go this time?

"Keep the key, my lord," she told him. "I have your word that you will behave yourself, and the word of a royal Stuart can be trusted, I am certain." Jasmine approached and sat down upon the little stool by his side. "What are the lines I must learn for this masque of your mama's?" She tipped her face up to his, looking deep into his light blue eyes.

Henry Stuart gently caressed her dark head, and then he said, "Look away from me, madame, else I be overcome with my desire for you," and when she blushingly complied, he said, "I shall tell you the story we are to perform for the masque. It is quite simple, as are all of Mama's little entertainments. The emphasis is upon the music, the dance, the costumes, and the beauty of the players.

"Summertime, who shall be portrayed by my cousin, Arabella Stuart, does not wish to yield her hold upon the earth to her sister, Autumn. She has drawn the flowers to her side. They fear Autumn's frosty fingers upon their dainty petals. The trees, however, are overcome by their own vanity, for they wish to exchange their plain robes of summer-green for Autumn's colors: scarlet, gold, and purple. The two sisters and their allies war back and forth, but Autumn, cleverer than Summertime, enlists her lover, the Lord of the Harvest, in the battle. Once he has decreed that the growing season must end, Summertime has no choice but to yield to her sister, Autumn. She departs sadly while Autumn and the Lord of the Harvest dance together in triumph."

The prince chuckled. "As I have said, 'tis quite simple. Mama, however, adores such follies. You, my love, will be a beautiful Autumn. You shall quite put to shame poor Arabella, who is, in my opinion, a bit long in the tooth, and overripe for her role as young Summertime. Arabella ought to be married and with a houseful of children, but alas, she is my father's first cousin, and the only direct heir to his throne who is of his generation. Their fathers were brothers.

"When old Queen Bess died, there were some who talked of putting Arabella on the throne of England instead of my father. She is fortunate to be living in this time, for in another time she would have been imprisoned, and perhaps even murdered for her unfortunate bloodlines. Instead my father keeps her in an unmarried state at court. Poor creature. She has hot Stuart blood running through her veins, even as I have."

"These three roles, then—Summertime, Autumn, and the Lord of the Harvest," said Jasmine, "are the only speaking roles?"

"I believe so," Prince Henry replied. "The trees and flowers may have a line here or there. Young ladies of the court will play the flowers, and young gentlemen the trees. Roles in my mother's masques are quite coveted."

Henry Stuart then explained the dialogue to Jasmine, and together they rehearsed their parts. When they both realized that the day was waning, the prince arose and took his leave of her. He did not attempt to kiss her, which Jasmine found reassuring, yet strangely disquieting.

"May I come tomorrow?" he asked her.

She nodded. "We will need more practice, I fear, if we are to do this well. Perhaps you should bring your cousin Arabella, so we may practice together, my lord. I do not wish to be taken unawares by another player, and disappoint her majesty with an awkward performance."

"That is an excellent idea," the prince agreed, and departed.

When he had gone, Toramalli flew back into Jasmine's rooms, inquiring anxiously, "Are you all right, my lady? The door was locked, and I could not get back in after the earl had removed me. Your mother gave him merry hell for it, I can tell you." Toramalli chuckled. "She accused him of behaving like a whoremaster, and the earl grew red in the face and shouted that he would not allow her daughter to destroy them all just because the prince sought to bed you! Does he really seek to bed you, my princess? He is certainly a merry, handsome young man."

"Indeed he does desire me, Toramalli," Jasmine replied slowly. "Eventually I shall have to yield myself to him, as he is to be England's king one day. I really cannot offend him."

"It does not seem too terrible a task, my lady—I mean, to fall in love with Prince Henry. He appears most amiable," Toramalli observed. "You are not, after all, in love with another, or betrothed. You are your own mistress in all matters regarding yourself and your children."

"You are absolutely right, Toramalli. I thank you for your common sense, which for my part I seem to have lost," Jasmine said, then she smiled a soft smile. "He is very handsome, isn't he? And he is certainly kind and amusing."

"It is time that you took a lover, my lady," Toramalli told her. "You have mourned your good lord and husband well over a year, and that is quite enough. You are young, and you are beautiful. Your juices of life flow generously, and should be mingled with those of a strong, young lover."

It seemed to Jasmine as if the whole world was conspiring against her to place her in Henry Stuart's bed. Her stepfather insisted that such a role was acceptable within the polite society in which they moved. Royal bastards were also, if recognized and doted upon, acceptable. Jasmine found that very perplexing in light of the attitude that would be taken had the full truth of her birth been known by the court. It appeared that the king had kept her secret to himself. It was obvious that the English court had one set of standards for themselves and another for the rest of the world.

Prince Henry, in the company of his cousin Arabella, arrived the following afternoon. Jasmine had to agree with the prince. The "Fair Arabella," as popularly known, was, in her late thirties, far too old for youthful Summertime. She was, nonetheless, a pretty woman with fine eyes, and graceful hands which fluttered constantly with her nervousness. Still, she spoke her lines well, and generously complimented Jasmine on the way in which she played her part.

When Inigo Jones and his seamstress arrived to fit Jasmine's costume, Arabella Stuart departed, but the prince remained.

"If you will disrobe to your chemise, Lady Lindley," the royal designer said.

"Sir?" Jasmine was most startled by his request.

"I cannot fit your costume over your own garments, madame," was the reply.

The prince sat smiling. He was obviously not about to leave.

Toramalli bit her lip to keep from giggling, and moved to help her mistress. Jasmine sent her a dark look.

"You will be barefooted for the masque, my lady," Inigo Jones informed her politely, "but I must measure your ankle, for it shall be bedecked with a small wreathlet of grapes. Your natural coloring is really quite marvelous, you know. I shall gown you in shades of crimson and gold! You must wear your hair loose, my dear. I shall personally show your tiring woman how to dress it."

Master Jones and his assistant tossed lengths of colored silk about, twining certain colors together, wrapping her this way and that. It seemed to Jasmine that their efforts were quite useless, particularly when, after a period of time, she was set free from their ministrations. As they gathered up their materials to depart, Master Jones told her, "You will have your costume in three days, madame. It shall be delivered to Greenwood. Make certain you take good care of it."

"I cannot believe that my costume will resemble much of anything, my lord," Jasmine told the prince afterward. "I do not know what he did."

"He is an extremely clever fellow," Henry Stuart reassured her. "Wait and see, my love, you will be quite surprised by his efforts. May I take supper with you, Jasmine?"

"I do not know if supper will be available at Greenwood tonight, my lord," she told him. "My mother and stepfather had planned to dine at Whitehall with Sybilla and Tom. Toramalli, go to Mrs. Evans and see if she can prepare something sufficient to satisfy a royal appetite."

After wrapping a scarlet velvet chamber robe trimmed in thick, soft marten about her mistress, Toramalli curtsied and hurried off.

"We will eat here before the fire," he said, as if it had already been settled. Henry Stuart knew it unlikely that the cook would refuse to feed him. She would consider it an honor. He stretched his long legs out, warming the soles of his boots before the dancing flames.

Jasmine said nothing. Instead she moved to pour him some wine. She had hoped to have more time, but it was obvious he would not give her any more time. He was clever, she had to admit. He had chosen an evening he knew her family to be gone from the house, and he would seduce her in her own bed, where she was most likely to feel more comfortable. Jasmine smiled to herself admiringly. Henry Stuart would be a marvelous king one day. He was an excellent tactician.

"My lord." She handed him his goblet.

Placing it upon the little table next to his chair, he reached out and drew her down into his lap. "I want you in my arms where you belong, madame, not seated primly across from me with your marvelous eyes watching my every move with trepidation. When I kiss you, I want you to open your mouth," he commanded her, taking a drink from his goblet. Then he did kiss her, and slowly transferred the wine from his mouth to hers, his eyes never leaving hers.

Jasmine swallowed the liquid, shocked by the sensuousness of the act. Henry Stuart might be young, but he was obviously no stranger to passion. "You have never had a mistress?" she queried him.

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "Are you jealous already, madame?" His hand slid beneath her robe and stole slowly up between her legs. "I came to England's court when I was nine. I have told you that I became a man at eleven. When I was thirteen, I dallied a bit with Frances Howard, who is now Lady Essex. Being a very spoiled and proud lady, Frances likes to believe she was my mistress. She was not. I have never considered keeping a mistress until now." His slender fingers caressed the soft flesh of her Venus mont. Then, a single digit sought for, and found, the tiny jewel of her womanhood.

Jasmine could feel the tip of his finger, motionless on her flesh, simply touching her. Her cheeks grew warm and her heart jumped within her chest nervously. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her breath catching in her throat as she struggled to breathe normally. She could feel his lips brushing the top of her head, and all the while, she was more and more intensely aware of his finger touching her. Just when she thought she could bear it no longer, the single finger began to stroke her little jewel with a tender, light touch.

"Look at me," he whispered to her.

"I cannot," she murmured back, feeling inexplicably shy.

"Aye, you can, my love," he told her. "I adore it that you are so demure with me, but you must not be reticent, Jasmine. Now, my darling, look up at me. There is nothing so terrible about what we do. I am simply touching you, my love. Look at me," he crooned low.

Slowly she raised her head, and when finally their eyes met, he bent to kiss her. His mouth was warm and incredibly sensuous on hers. He kissed her tenderly at first, his kiss deepening until she was so overwhelmed with its sweetness that she silently prayed it would never end. She arched herself, twisting her body to meet his lips, aching suddenly with her need to be possessed by him. "Please!" she half sobbed as the seductive workings of both his mouth, and the marauding finger, began to arouse her more than she thought she could bear.

It had been so very long since she had known passion, and Jasmine was very aware now that she needed passion in her life. She was more than just the mother of Rowan Lindley's three children. "Please!" she repeated, and cried out softly as she felt two of his fingers penetrating her, moving quickly to ease her need until finally she collapsed against him, weeping bitterly, half relieved, half shamed by her own conduct.

He cradled her tenderly within the security of his arms until her little sobs had dissipated. Then he arose, setting her on her feet. "You can stand," he told her as he walked across the room to the door and, turning the key, locked it. "Where is your bedchamber?" he demanded.

Wordlessly Jasmine pointed, and Henry Stuart nodded, removing her velvet robe first. Then, hooking his hand into the neckline of her chemise, he ripped it open in a single stroke and pulled it off of her. He stood silently for a long moment, his blue eyes sweeping over her. With impatient fingers he yanked his own clothing off. When he was as naked as she, he stood for a brief time allowing her to see him. He was tall, with long, graceful limbs, a smooth, broad chest, and a manhood already engorged with his desire for her.

Silently he lifted her up in his arms and carried her into the bedchamber. Near the fire, which burned brightly, giving the room its only light, was a tall mirror in a carved silver casing. Henry Stuart stood Jasmine before the mirror, standing behind her so they might both gaze on their naked images, erotically reflected in the dim, smoky glass. His hands moved from her shoulders down her torso to cup her breasts in his palms. Tenderly he fondled the proud, high cones of flesh, teasing the dark, rosy nipples into sharp little points. His red-blond head dipped low to kiss her neck and shoulder with deep sensuous kisses, his mouth hot and moist upon her flesh.

Jasmine's dark head fell back against him. She had never in her life, she realized, felt so helpless before a man's passion. He was in full and total control. She was not afraid, however. For some reason, what was happening between them was right. His teeth sank into her shoulder, and she moaned with her rising, overwhelming desire. He turned her about to face him, their lips met fiercely and they kissed each other until their mouths were bruised and aching.

Slowly he forced her to her knees before him, his hand cupping his throbbing member, offering it to her, and she took him in her mouth. Henry Stuart's eyes closed and he groaned with the pleasure she so quickly gave him. Her mouth drew strongly and rhythmically upon him. Her tongue swept over and around him, teasing lightly but insistently. He struggled against his own lust, and won. He wanted far more than just the little they had shared so far.

"Enough!" he growled harshly. He pulled her to her feet as she released her hold on him, pushing her back so that she fell upon her bed, her legs hanging over awkwardly. Kneeling quickly, he drew her slender limbs over his shoulders, his head pressing forward between her shapely thighs, his tongue seeking her out.

Jasmine cried out sharply at his touch, which was almost painful to her in her aroused state. She felt as if she were close to bursting into flames, and gasped desperately for air. Her limbs felt leaden and weak. She was helpless before his sweetly marauding mouth, and yet the pleasure filling her was almost too much to endure. She didn't want him to cease his divine ministrations even if she died from it.

"Sweet! Sweet!" he groaned low against her moist flesh.

She arched to meet him, encouraging him in his lust, needing it, craving it, pleasured beyond her wildest dreams by it. She had loved Jamal Khan with a girl's first love. She had loved Rowan Lindley with a woman's love. She did not love Henry Stuart, but she did need him. She needed this passion. She wanted it. She would have it! Or she would die!

The prince released his hold upon her and, standing, pulled her completely onto the bed. His strong young body covered hers. She felt him penetrating her, and Jasmine wrapped herself around her lover, encouraging him in his efforts. He thrust furiously into her passage, rousing her further and further until she cried out with fulfillment, but even then he was not satisfied. Once again he drove her up passion's peak, this time, however, tumbling over into the sweet abyss with her.

Returning slowly to his senses within the comfort of her embrace, he said, "Madame, you are a fit mistress for a king."

He laughed when she replied, "And you, my lord prince, are certainly more than a fit lover for an Imperial Mughal princess!"

"Then it is settled between us, is it?" Henry Stuart asked.

"Aye, my lord. I will be yours, but you must be faithful to me, my Hal," Jasmine told him.

"And if I am not?" he teased her.

"Then I shall not be faithful to you either," she said with utmost seriousness. "I shall never forget that you are to be England's king one day, Hal. But you must not forget that I am a princess born. Who could you bed who would be my better? There is no one, and therefore you would bring shame upon me. I will not countenance it, my lord."

"Someday I will have to take a wife," he said.

"A wife is a wife," she answered. "I will forgive you a wife."

Henry Stuart laughed again, genuinely amused. "My darling Jasmine, I absolutely adore you! There has never been anyone in my life who could satisfy my passions as you do, or make me laugh as you do. Swear to me that you will never leave me, my love."

She looked into his eyes and thought that he was a very sweet man. If she was the prince's official mistress, she would always be safe from marriage. She would be her own mistress by being the prince's.

"I will never leave you, my Hal," she told him. "Unless, of course, you no longer desire me."

"I cannot," he said with utmost seriousness, "ever imagine not desiring you, Jasmine, my love."

"Then it is truly settled," she replied.