Edward Marston - The Wildcats of Exeter

While he put on his apparel again, Nicholas Picard deliberately kept his back to her. It was not the only thing which peeved her about his visit.

‘What is wrong?’ she asked.

‘Nothing, my love.’

‘Why do you turn away from me like that?’

‘No reason,’ he said, making the effort to face her again and managing a token smile. ‘Is that better?’

‘Something has happened,’ she decided. ‘What is it?’

‘I called to see you and taste the sweetness of your company.

That is what happened. Have you so soon forgotten?’ he teased her. ‘Five minutes ago, your lover lay in your enchanting arms.’

‘He did not,’ she complained, sitting up on the bed and pulling a robe around her naked shoulders. ‘That was not my lover I held in my arms. It was a complete stranger. His body was like yours but his mind was a hundred miles away. And he had no heart whatsoever.’

‘My love!’ he protested.

‘What is going on?’

‘I have told you — nothing!’

‘Do not try to fob me off with lies.’

‘They are not lies.’

‘I know you too well, Nicholas,’ she reminded him. ‘Better than any woman knows you. Far better than that ice-cold wife of yours.’

‘Leave her out of this,’ he warned.

‘I was hoping that you would do the same,’ she said crisply.

‘But you seemed to be looking over your shoulder all the time, as if she was in here watching us. Is that your fear? Discovery? Are you afraid that Catherine will find out about us?’

‘Silence!’

Nicholas Picard spoke with more anger and authority than he intended, using the peremptory tone he normally reserved for erring servants or irritating Saxons. She was cowed by the force of his command and lowered her head in submission. Picard was at once irked and guilt-stricken, annoyed by her questions but sorry to have snapped at her with such open contempt. He wanted to make amends by putting a comforting arm round her but something held him back. She was deeply hurt and he was unable to soothe her in the way he had done so many times before. The rift between them widened still further.

While he finished dressing, Picard studied her carefully and tried to reconcile the competing emotions in his breast. Did he still love her? He was not sure. She was still very beautiful and he felt a faint stirring of lust as his eye roved over her sensuous body once more, tracing its graceful curves and caressing its silken skin. No woman had pleased him like this one though many had tried. With the signal exception of his wife. Mention of Catherine cut him to the quick. He rode into Exeter to escape her indifference, not to be forcibly reminded of it. Until today, his mistress had completely understood the terms of their relationship. Now she had broken the rules. She talked about his wife.

Head still bowed in contrition, she murmured her apology. ‘I am sorry, Nicholas. Forgive my folly.’

‘You were provoked,’ he admitted.

‘I was frightened.’

‘By what?’

‘Your behaviour towards me,’ she whispered, looking up at him with a wan loveliness that almost made him reach out for her. ‘I count the hours until your visits. They have been few and far between of late which means that each one is more important to me than the last. I expect too much, I know. It is a grievous fault. But I was so disappointed today. I am bound to wonder if it is because of some failure on my part.’

‘No, my love.’

‘Do I not attract you any more?’

‘Of course you do.’

‘Can I not delight you?’

‘Blissfully.’

‘Then why do I feel so inadequate?’

He fell back on the charm which had served him so well in the past. ‘You are the most wonderful lover in Creation,’ he said with a flattering smile, ‘and any man would envy me for possessing you. The fault is not in you, my sweet. I was distracted, I confess it. I have much on my mind at the moment. When I come to you I can usually shake off my worries, but they were too tenacious this time. It is I who should be asking for your forgiveness.’

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she said, judging it the right moment to rise from the bed and step into his embrace. ‘I am honoured that you come to me. All that I strive to do is to make it a special occasion for you.’

‘And you do,’ he assured her. ‘Every time.’

‘Until today.’

‘My mind is troubled.’

‘About me?’ she asked in mild alarm. ‘Am I the cause of your anxiety?’

‘No, no,’ he said but his denial carried no conviction. ‘It is another matter which weighs upon me. Royal commissioners are due in the city any day. Amongst other things, they will investigate my affairs and may even challenge my right to certain of my holdings.’

‘How can that be?’

He shook his head dismissively. ‘Let it pass.’

‘I will let nothing pass when it preys upon you so,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘If you have worries, share them with me. Everything that touches upon your life is precious to me.

Surely you realise that by now?’ Another kiss, softer and more lingering. ‘I love you.’

The warmth of her body was exciting him again. Holding her tight and stroking her hair, he tried to work out what to say and do. She was not making it easy for him. He had come to Exeter in order to tell her that they had reached the parting of the ways.

On the ride to the city, he had rehearsed his speech a dozen times. He vowed to be firm but considerate, making a complete break but doing so as gently as possible. A letter would have been cruel. After all this time, he owed her an explanation to her face. It was the only fair way to end their romance.

But he reckoned without her charms. Instead of spurning them for ever, he yielded to them again in the misguided belief that he was doing her a favour rather than satisfying his own primal urges. In the intimacy of the bedchamber, he felt, he could break the news to her in a less painful way, but he had done the opposite.

His desultory lovemaking was a declaration of intent. Sensitive to his moods and responsive to every motion of his body, she knew what he was there to tell her. Fear of losing him made her give herself more eagerly than ever before. She pleasured him until they neared exhaustion.

Yet it was not enough. She must be told. For a number of reasons, Picard simply had to walk away from the house in Exeter for good. Their relationship was too dangerous to continue. He searched for the words to bring it to a conclusion but it was she who spoke first.

‘Do you remember how we first met?’ she said, looking up at him.

‘By accident.’

‘Happy accident.’

‘Yes,’ he said gallantly.

‘I was about to leave the cathedral as you were about to enter.

You looked so proud, so upright, so handsome. I have never had such sinful thoughts on consecrated ground.’

‘Nor I.’

‘Every time I go to the cathedral, I think of you.’

‘That is good.’

‘It has such significance for me.’

‘And for me, my love.’

‘Is that the truth?’

‘Yes.’