Chapter Fourteen: Golden Splendor

"Remember, Lady Eleanor, the king has promised me your hand in marriage. I would be well within my rights to have you up against the wall right now!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Eleanor could not believe how dark and menacing Heath Blackwell appeared in the early morning mist. She felt her knees actually knocking together as she confronted him, though she forced herself to show no fear. Instead she tilted her chin and looked right into his intense, almost hypnotically fascinating dark eyes. "My hand was promised to you, but my heart is something you will never have, not until you understand the meaning of kindness and consideration for others."

"Is it out of consideration for others that you crept out of the Widow Folger's lodgings before daylight this morning?" Heath Blackwell asked. "Or were you going to meet some secret lover?" He moved closer, his powerful arms on either side of her, pinning her against the stable wall. "Or maybe you were going to betray your kindly benefactor to the king's all-purpose villain, Thomas Cromwell?"

"I hate Cromwell! He wanted me to spy on you, and even on the Widow Folger, but . . . but . . . but I'm going away instead!" The last words came out as a squeak as Eleanor's defiant pose disintegrated. The nearness and heat of Heath's intensely male personality acted on her nerves like hot water on sugar. When he kissed her lips she resisted with spirit, pushing against his chest, but as the kiss deepened her arms went around his neck as though she were under his spell. It was shameful to yield so easily, she thought, fiercely scolding herself. It was disgraceful. It was . . . it was . . . oh, it was heavenly!

"Where are you off to this time, my wandering love?" Heath broke the kiss just as Eleanor was leaning into it.

"Mistywood," Eleanor gasped, still reeling from the effect of his shameless assault on her senses. "There's good wool to be bought there. It's the home of Lady Agatha Grey." Clutching at her cloak, she also found the little bag that held the ointment for Lady Agatha's arthritis.

"Is this a mission of mercy, or a matter of profit?"

"It's a little of both, I suppose." Lady Eleanor tried to sound proud and cold and haughty, but Heath's cheeky grin made her smile back in spite of herself. "The Widow Folger's been teaching me the wool business. I have a right to support myself, don't I?"

"That's my clever golden beauty." The deep laugh the scoundrel let loose in reply sent shivers chasing down her spine. Suddenly Heath was dropping something heavy into her damp palm. "Still, it's only right that your future husband provide you with sustenance for the journey ahead."

"That's very kind, but I hardly think . . . " The leather purse filled with gold coins was nothing out of the ordinary, but Eleanor's tongue tangled as she beheld the heavy, shimmering gold necklace Heath Blackwell hung around her slender neck. Not only was the chain pure gold, but the cross was studded with emeralds and rubies!

"George Boleyn and the king's other dogs have been sniffing all around my ships, my docks, my warehouse, looking for the treasure taken from that Irish monastery," Heath explained, his deep voice both soothing and mysterious. "I haven't seen any missing treasure hereabouts, Lady Eleanor. Have you?"

"N-no, no, I don't think I have." Dazed by the opulent splendor of the ancient religious talisman, Eleanor could only blink her blue eyes in astonishment as Heath Blackwell carefully tucked her secret gift out of sight under her cloak.

"That's my golden girl," Heath whispered, kissing her lightly on the lips. "You take your treasures off to Mistywood, now, and keep them safe. When the time is right I'll come and claim what is mine."

And then he was gone, into the swirling mists of early morning.

"Heath, wait! I can't . . . I won't . . . " Words became a choking murmur as the golden beauty pressed a slender hand to her throat. Heath had given no reason for his lawless actions. Or for his trust in her. She had only two choices; aid him or betray him. Lady Eleanor Luke stood rooted to the spot, trembling from head to toe.

Weighted down with golden splendor.