Of One Heart - By Cynthia Wright Page 0,69

the couple seemed to notice him.

At length Sandhurst raised his head and arched a brow. "What is it—Playfair?"

The other man glared at him. "The Tower's in sight. I thought you might like to know!"

When Andrew released her, Micheline looked around curiously. A pale pink mist hovered over the Thames, but still she was able to make out the branching masts of vessels ahead on the river, and a forest of bare spires that rose above the endless maze of gabled rooftops.

London! They had arrived!

The closer they came, the more boats Micheline saw. The Thames was crowded, even at this hour, with vessels of every description.

"The city has such narrow streets that people would rather travel by water," Sandhurst explained.

"Look!" she exclaimed in delight, pointing at a trio of swans that passed the Stargazer in single file.

"You'll get used to them," he said, smiling, "and don't touch. They're fond of biting."

They sailed past the Tower, where the river ran through the bars of the Traitor's Gate, and soon approached London Bridge, with its twenty piers and nineteen arches. There they dropped anchor, amid the larger trading ships, and before long Micheline found herself on a barge, being rowed through the rapids under the bridge in progress upriver.

Sandhurst sat quietly beside her, his eyes hooded as he exchanged occasional glances with Jeremy, who constantly raised his brows this way and that and made all sorts of contortions with his mouth. His friend pretended to ignore him, and Micheline began to wonder if the poor manservant might have some kind of nervous disorder.

The barge drew up alongside a water gate that led to a splendid mansion of rose brick. Micheline was too awestruck by all she had seen to be surprised. This was obviously not Andrew's home, but only a means of reaching it, she reasoned. He handed her over to the first dry step while Jeremy dutifully paid the waterman.

Sandhurst was intending to sit with Micheline in the garden and tell her all, but his plan was spoiled by the appearance of one of his servants, who rushed down the steps to greet them as they came through the gate.

"Welcome home, my lord!" the boy cried enthusiastically. "We weren't sure if you'd ever come back!"

"Hello, Bartholomew," Sandhurst muttered, wincing when he heard the lad shout "Sir Jeremy" behind them.

Micheline's expression was confused. "Why does he call you 'my lord' and Playfair 'Sir Jeremy'?" The sight of his averted face sent a chill down her spine. "Andrew?"

"As it happens, I was just about to explain all that to you, Michelle." He led her over to a stone bench on the far side of the well-tended garden. The green shoots of daffodils and hyacinths were already poking up amid white, pink, and violet crocuses.

"Please, do!" Micheline exclaimed. "I have never been so puzzled! Whose house is this, and why are we here?"

Andrew stared out at the river, yet barely saw the fast-moving boats or the borough of Southwark on the south bank of the Thames. He sighed heavily, then turned to meet Micheline's urgent gaze.

"This house belongs to me, fondling, as does the Stargazer. Will you still love me if I tell you that I am not poor, but rich?"

"You know full well that I would love you in any condition, but I do not understand! How—"

"Wait. There's more. It seems that I have other revelations to share." He paused to let her absorb his words. "You should brace yourself."

She took a deep breath. "Continue."

"My name is not Selkirk, either, though it was my mother's name before she married. I don't make my living as a painter."

Micheline's head was spinning, and for a moment all she could think of was her discovery in December that Bernard had been a stranger all through their marriage, smiling and professing his love even as he deceived her.

"Sweet Michelle, it's time you knew the truth. I am Andrew Weston, Marquess of Sandhurst."

Chapter 21

London, England

April 4, 1533

"You're teasing me... aren't you?" Micheline whispered after a long moment of silence.

"You know I would not jest about something like this." Sandhurst took both her hands in his and found them cold as ice. "I know it's a shock, but I think that once you adjust to the idea, you'll find it quite agreeable."

"Agreeable?" she repeated weakly. "Should I rejoice that you have lied to me since the moment we met? Did everyone know? Were you all laughing at me behind my back?"

Closing his eyes for an instant, he sighed. "No one

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