The Widow and the Spymaster Ch. 01

Note, this is a very slow burn with little sexual activity in this first section.

The Widow and the Spymaster -- Part 1

The king's spymaster paused hearing a woman's voice on the other side of the tapestry obscuring the hidden passageway's exit.

"Thank you Marie, the bath looks wonderful," the woman said. He heard soft splashes of water and a contented sigh.

Lord Jerome allowed himself a small smirk although for all he knew the bather was a pruned old matron. His smirk flickered into a frown. These quarters hadn't been used for some time, Jerome considered. Casting his mind back he recalled the Lady Emelia Dewitt had come with a small retinue to plead her father's case before the king. They were housed in this wing, but the great lady herself would be situated in rooms suiting her station further down. Perhaps the poorer cousin was holed up in this smaller room instead of comfortably situated in the adjoining suite? How odd.

Jerome sucked in a sigh. It would take quite a while to retrace his steps along the secret passageways to the west tower. Fatigue and haste had made him uncharacteristically careless. The king's latest foibles had taken him until well after midnight to mitigate using Jerome's secret retainers and many foreign contacts.

His ears perked up at the retreating footsteps of the bather's maid and making a decision, he stepped silently from his concealment and made his way soundlessly towards the outer door. Luckily, stealth was one of his peculiar talents.

To his surprise, the bathing lady took this exact, unlucky moment to rise from the large tub and turned towards him. The woman froze in shock, her pretty mouth hanging open and her lush body tense. Jerome noted with chagrin that he stared at the woman a few beats before clearing his throat to offer some sort of quick-thinking apology.

He bit off his attempt at words with a curse when he saw her waver and sway. She reached to catch herself on the side of the tub, but she would have painfully crashed onto the stone floor if Jerome hadn't caught her swiftly with sure-footed speed.

He tried to ignore the fact that the dripping, naked lady was in fact, gorgeous. Her damp skin was smooth and luxurious, and her body nicely curved. Despite his considerable height, the naked, womanly body fit perfectly into his own as he held her upright. He winced as he felt his own body begin to respond. How long had it been? His musing cut off with her muffled shriek as she began to struggle against him.

He gently lifted her from the tub amid her flailing and set her down on the plush chair beside the fire. Jerome deftly handed her the blanket from the other chair and she took it, clutching it to her front and staring at him through huge, accusing hazel eyes.

He stood and took a quick bow, "My lady...

She cut him off, "What do you want? You are the king's advisor... Sir, I mean, Lord Jerome Morcant are you not? I have done nothing wrong" her voice was clear and she now sat stiffly peering up at him.

Jerome arched an eyebrow and responded in a quiet, serious voice, "No, my lady, I am the one in the wrong here. I am sorry to have frightened you."

She blinked and responded wrinkling her perfect brows, "Do you make a habit of... a habit of accosting visiting widows in their... rooms?"

He hid a small smile behind his hand as he pretend coughed and explained, "No, my lady, you see, I did not recall that these rooms were habited this evening. I was simply taking a, eh, shortcut from the west tower, you see." This seemed to mollify her a little and he followed her gaze down to her perfect toes peeking out beneath the blanket. She replied nodding to herself, "yes, I asked to be moved into a separate room just this evening. My cousin, that is, the Lady Emelia, was expecting company."

I bet she was, thought Jerome. Lady Emelia was known as a bit of a permissive player in courtier circles. It was possible the Lady Emelia was entertaining the king himself tonight to sway her father's cause, but his informants would have apprised him if that were the case. What was the cousin's name though? He didn't think he'd seen her at court before. His mind clicked through the vast store of information held in his apt brain as he recalled finally, "My Lady Agnes Dewitt, I fear this has been an unconventional introduction for us both." The Lady Agnes frowned.

"However," continued Jerome, his eyes growing sharper as he captured her gaze, "I would be most grateful of your forgiveness and... discretion." Lady Agnes gazed up at the handsome, but deceptively mild-faced spymaster with the cold eyes and bit her lip, "yes, my lord, discretion would be my wish as well."

Jerome's gaze couldn't help but be drawn to her mouth as she nervously bit her plump lower lip. His breath deepened remembering that beneath the brocade blanket swathed around her, this woman was all soft, sweet, bare womanly flesh. He had to check himself from a desire to move forward and what, touch her? Shove apart her soft thighs and plough into her sweet, wet hole? What the hell was wrong with him? Surely it had been too long since he'd slept. In truth, it had been over a year since he'd released himself with a woman; too many complications and never enough time for such distractions. He shook himself slightly before offering another short bow and turning to leave the tempting lady.

As Lord Jerome reached the door, he turned hearing the Lady Agnes called out to him softly, "Sir Jerome, if you could please forget this ever happened and especially not tell my cousin, the Lady Emelia. I am a poor relation, you see, and cannot afford a scandal." Agnes was now standing like the statue of a Grecian goddess, the blanket wrapped around her elegant figure. Jerome's eyes swept over her and he offered a small smile and a curt nod, "Of course my lady, as you say."

As the door closed quietly behind him and he continued down the dark hallway, Jerome found himself amused rather than self-recriminating. Coming upon an unknown at this late hour could have been a colossal blunder, but even if the lady spoke of their odd encounter, who would believe her version of events over the king's own confidant? Besides, she had more to lose than he, although, he should perhaps wall up that particular hidden passage.

Jerome felt inexplicably tired once he finally returned to his own chambers. He really didn't normally need much sleep. Once in bed he groaned, stroking the length of his semi-roused member which would not, it seemed, forget the Lady Agnes and her plump, ready body. "Please forget this ever happened," she had said. He sighed as he began to work his cock. Not bloody likely.

Lady Agnes Dewitt rubbed her hands over her face before taking a drying cloth to her long, wet hair. Her expression was grim as she finger-combed the long tawny locks. This was an unmitigated disaster. Hopefully, she could trust the discretion of Lord Morcant. She grimaced. If she were trying to keep a low-profile, she couldn't have done worse than have such a drastic incident with the one man at court who knew everyone and everything. He had the ear of the king for gods' sake!

It could have been worse, Agnes thought with a shudder. She shook herself. She could be ruined for simply being alone in the same chamber with him at this late hour. At least the Lord Jerome hadn't seemed shocked or worse, interested. In fact, he had curiously seemed to take the catastrophic, embarrassing incident in stride.

Agnes pulled on the clean shift the maid had left her. She was grateful she had excused Marie earlier. Agnes had felt a bit guilty at having kept the poor servant up so late. Thank goodness Marie wasn't party to her naked tumbling from the bath tub into the arms of the sleek Lord Jerome. Servant's gossip was as rampant as courtiers' in the capital.

If only she could get out of Heathcourt. Aunt Evangeline had promised if Agnes would simply accompany and keep an eye on her reckless, extravagant cousin Emelia during this sojourn, Agnes would not have to enter court life again. Uncle Bertram had finally ceased his urging Agnes to remarry when he fell into a bit of a scandal all his own. Agnes was so close to being able to quietly shelter herself away with her books and her weaving.

Perhaps her aunt would forgive her if she came back early? Agnes was finding keeping an eye on her robust and fun-loving cousin near to impossible. "Oh dear cousin, you worry too much," her cousin Millie would laugh her off with her captivating green eyes twinkling.

Agnes lay in bed, pulled up the fine covers, and snuffed out the candle, but could not quiet her running thoughts.

At least, Agnes considered, she had managed to fade into the background at court as much as possible. It had been tricky as she knew she was tall for a woman and her appearance was appealing to some men. She wasn't entirely past her prime, though she was a widow. Luckily, there were plenty of men and women at court striving for the exact opposite of fading in. Truly, Agnes had never seen such pageantry and finery. Beautiful men and women flittered about court like gilded butterflies, seeking favor with the royal and the powerful.

That thought calmed her. Surely, the illustrious spymaster, Lord Jerome, had his pick of comely young maidens or lads if it came to that. He had wealth, influence and a handsome face. Agnes' breath caught and she warmed thinking of the brief heated looks the Lord Jerome had given her when he thought she wasn't looking. She huffed. He was male after all. Probably nothing he hadn't seen before. She found herself weirdly annoyed at the thought.

Agnes sighed. Hopefully, Lord Jerome would indeed forget their strange, indecent encounter. She knew as she restlessly tossed and turned in the fine court bed that she would not.

It had been a few days since he had unfortunately surprised the Lady Agnes in her midnight bath. Or fortunately, he thought with a wry twist of his lips. However, the lady had near spymaster-level talents for remaining unavailable and unnoted at court thought Jerome.

He did always have plenty to keep him busy with palace intrigue and now this sorted affair with the Duke of Lancaster and his mistress, eh mistress-es, Jerome corrected himself. Jerome closed his eyes and pinched his brow with forefinger and thumb. Rather than an unwanted distraction from his work, thoughts of Lady Agnes and the glimpses he'd had of her beautiful body seemed a pleasant respite. Jerome picked up a glass of golden mead and took a small sip of the heady beverage.

Four quick raps at the door meant it was his assistant, Giles. "Come," Jerome responded while shuffling the papers on his desk into a tidy stack.

His slight, but sharp-eyed assistant gave Jerome an apologetic smile, "King Ernhold requests your presence in the east chambers," Giles said with a short bow. "Also, these have come from Lady Graventhane." Giles discretely handed over letters stamped with the Graventhane crest of wolves.

Jerome raised his eyebrow and deftly pocketed the letters then followed Giles swiftly out of his office to the king's chambers.

Jerome spied the head priest and the king's general, Sir Martel Cadence, among those in the sitting room of his majesty's elaborate chambers. The priest sat, with his yellowing, keen eyes like a prized cat on a velvet chair. The burly, muscled general stood discretely by the fireplace and he and Jerome exchanged silent nods.

"It is impossible!" bellowed the king pacing back and forth. "She is impossible! I will have the Aden Vale from her greedy brother's hands, and I will wed her to do it if need be!" The king threw up his large hands in frustration as he turned to see Lord Jerome enter.

"Ah, Jerome, finally. Glad you could tear yourself away when your king needs you," the king levied in an exasperated tone. Jerome took no notice and approached gracefully with a practiced, calm demeanor.

"I assume you mean the Erstun Princess, my king," responded Jerome smoothly.

"Of course, goddamn you," the king growled. "The damn woman says she will not give up her lands beyond the vale unless it is part of her dowry."

Jermone nodded to himself thinking of course she won't, the Erstuns are no fools. "My king," Jerome began, "perhaps this is not the setback that it may seem."

"Have you ever been married?" the king roared at Jerome then continued on without awaiting an answer, "damn inconvenient if you ask me. I already have an heir off poor Fiora. May gods rest her soul."

Jerome heard the head priest of the order gasp and gesture to the seven then repeat the king's hasty blessing. It was all Jerome could do to not roll his eyes. The head priest was truly one of the most corrupt creatures in Heathcourt and probably arranged for the abrupt 'sickness' that took Queen Fiora so shockingly quickly.

"What if the princess were to marry someone else?" Jerome suggested evenly.

"What?" raged the king, "Those southern bastards would never go for that. Who would even be worthy of a princess excepting royalty?" The king slumped down into an overstuffed chair and grabbed a huge, silver-studded goblet, taking a deep draught.

"Well," Jerome responded, tapping his lip as if in thought "perhaps someone of great importance to the crown." Jerome caught General Cadence's eyes narrowing at him across the room. "Perhaps a favored general, who has not yet taken a bride, could enjoy the honor of the Erstun Princess Leanne's hand? And, a trusted ally would no doubt be amenable to the needs of the crown as far as the vale is concerned."

The king raised a bushy eyebrow at this and set his drink down heavily, "Old Martel, you say?" the king considered.

"General Martel Cadence is only a few year older than myself," Jerome offered and then winced realizing his mistake instantly.

"Hmm," mused the king. Jerome opened his mouth to speak, but the king spoke over him, "You yourself have not taken a bride Lord Jerome?" smirked the king. "What are all these titles and lands I bestow on you without someone to share it with eh?"

Jerome caught a glimpse of General Cadence's gruff lips twisting up in a small smile as the bulkier man turned toward the firelight. The king continued, "And, one could argue, there is none more close to the crown than you." A strangled sound emitted from the vicinity of the high priest, but King Ernhold ignored it, slapping Jerome on the back. Jerome stood his ground, but he felt his right eye twitch.

Jerome's mind calculated furiously. Marriage to the Erstun Princess Leanne and attachment to her unfortunately prodigious and protective family would cause quite a stir in the kingdom and would encourage scrutiny not at all conducive to Jerome's clandestine activities. Surely, he would be able to help the king see that, but Jerome blanched as he saw a light of triumph in the king's eyes.

Drastic measures, thought Jerome before offering, "Sadly, your highness, I am already betrothed and have been for some time."

The king blustered at that, turning to Jerome, "Then become 'unbetrothed,' I command it!" retorted the king.

"Ah, normally, my king, I wouldn't hesitate, your will is my bond, however, the lady in question has already been compromised, you see."

Jerome plunged on, affecting an air of deference and solemn regret, "It would be a blight on my honor if I were to leave her after all we have been to each other. Imagine the public outrage and the scandal."

King Ernhold narrowed his eyes consideringly at Jerome, but after a pause, slapped Jerome on the back yet again, "you sly dog. How dare you keep such information from your King? Only I should be able to recommend and bless the union of my closest council. When were you going to tell me? I will have Hildegard and the groomsmen set about preparations immediately. Who is the lass who has captured my spymaster's heart... " the king guffawed, "or at least his manhood, in her grasp?"

Jerome's smile froze on his face. Shit.

"Her name is Lady Agnes Dewitt," replied Jerome silkily after barely a beat.

"Ah," the king replied drawing his brows together obviously trying and failing to put a face to the name. "Oh, the little redheaded strumpet's cousin? Ha! I would never have thought" rejoined the king. The king's expression clouded and then soured when he finally recalled the dower figure of Lady Emelia's frumpy cousin frothed in a ridiculous wimple.

"It has come as a bit of surprise to us as well," Jerome murmured. Out of the corner of his eye, Jerome spied a withering glance directed at him from General Cadence.

"A surprise?" growled the king. "You said this was a longstanding betrothal betwixt you and the lady?"

"Yes, indeed," Jerome responded smoothly, "but love never ceases to surprise us no matter the passage of time does it not?"

The king screwed up his face into a frown, but clearing his throat offered, "If you say so, Jerome. If you say so." The king then added to himself, "We will see what the young devil thinks a year hence of married life."

Jerome heard the priest titter in the background as the General Cadence spat into the fire before turning a thunderous look Jerome's way. This seemed a good time to make his exit, thought Jerome. He would need to find Giles forthwith.

The next afternoon, Jerome sat in his offices, his graceful hands steepled in front of him on the dark wooden desk. His eyes seemed to focus on nothing as his assistant Giles entered and closed the door softly. Giles clasped his hands behind his back and stood at the ready awaiting Jerome's instructions.

Well, thought Jerome, his eyes flickering over his trusted assistant, along with the marriage proposal he'd sent to Lady Agnes' uncle, he'd sent a generous amount of coin as well as promises to intercede on Sir Bertram Dewitt's behalf with the king. Surely the Dewitt family could provide little hindrance to his plans even if they'd a mind to, and he couldn't imagine Sir Bertram Dewitt would be in any position to decry Lord Jerome's influence and coin. All that remained now, Jerome smiled grimly, was to inform the bride.

"Yes, Giles. What did you find out?" Jerome asked in clipped tones.

"She is in the south garden, my lord, next to the royal chapel," responded Giles.

Jerome frowned at that, "Is she alone?"

"Yes, my lord, her cousin has been eh, detained by Sir Rolf," Giles answered, giving Jerome a meaningful look.

"Good," Jerome responded with a quick nod. "Here, these are for Lady Graventhane," Jerome said handing Giles a satchel of the forged documents she had required of him. "See that Lady Graventhane and only Lady Graventhane receives them." Giles took the package and swiftly secured it.

Jerome looked up to see Giles had not left, but was rather hesitating in the doorway. "I guess congratulations are in order my Lord," Giles offered, a twinkle in his eye.

Jerome raised an eyebrow and smiled wanly to which Giles seemed to blanch. "Hmm," replied Lord Jerome thoughtfully, "we shall see."

Lord Jerome did a double-take when he came upon the Lady Agnes sitting sedately in the less visited, south garden. The lady wore a formless gown in a ghastly color that nearly turned the lady's pretty face ashen in comparison. Her long, luxurious hair was completely covered by a bulky wimple much more suited to a grandmother than a young woman. When she spied him drawing closer, she hunched over the small book in her hands seemingly completely engrossed. Lord Jerome smiled and was not fooled one bit.

"Well met, Lady Agnes," he greeted congenially and took a seat by her side on the garden bench. Lady Agnes took in a sharp breath and shifted slightly away from his body before closing her book and peering over at him with a pinched expression on her face.

"Lord Jerome," Agnes offered curtly.

For some reason, Agnes' reticence and affected matronly manner brought a boyish grin to his normally staid features. It was hilarious he thought, viewing the meticulously costumed creature before him; that she thought she could hide the distinct beauty of her face and form with such silly subterfuge. Indeed it was difficult to keep the heat out of his gaze when he looked closely upon the vibrant skin, even features and furious hazel eyes that bore into him beneath long lashes. It was all he could do to not let his eyes wander to the pert, pretty breasts he had seen dangling plumply above the bathtub that fateful evening.