Kissed by Shadows by Jane Feather Page B

leaves. Behind the mask his mind moved rapidly along well-traveled routes.
    It was not possible alone to take on the might that was the Holy Roman Empire and its vile confederates, but there were others who shared his loathing, the devouring force of vengeance. Together they could send Philip of Spain, one arm of that empire, slinking home, driven out by a hostile people, his appetite for England unsatisfied, his emperor father's grand design in ruins.
    As long as the marriage produced no child.
    Even if Mary conceived, no one expected her to carry a child to term. If she did, then there were those in place who knew how to deal with it. His own task lay with the other strand to the royal plot: Lady Nielson and the child she carried. And what better way to overturn a plot than to be intimately involved in its execution?
    The acknowledgment brought a bitter derisory smile to his lips. His plans were already in place. He needed only to gain Pippa's confidence, and he believed he was well on the way to doing that.
    One woman's peace of mind was a tiny price to pay for the many thousands of lives that would be saved.
    And for the satisfaction of vengeance.
    Or so he told himself as he left the grove, directing his steps back towards the voices and music under the beech trees.
             
    “Tell me, Martha, is your mistress quite well, do you think?”
    The maid turned from the armoire at the sound of Lord Nielson's voice. “Oh, sir, you startled me. I didn't hear you come in.”
    “You were busy,” Stuart observed with an engaging smile. “You are most diligent in caring for my wife.”
    Martha, with a gratified air, smoothed the folds of the velvet gown she had been about to hang up in the armoire. “I do my best, my lord.”
    “Yes, indeed you do.” He closed the door behind him with a snap, and stood leaning against it with a deceptively casual air. He had no desire to be surprised by Pippa's sudden return to her bedchamber.
    “So, Martha, have you noticed anything amiss with my wife? Does she appear to be in good health?”
    Martha hesitated. She was not in her mistress's confidence, a fact that she resented as much as it puzzled her. Lady Pippa could not possibly imagine that her maid, the woman who served her in the most intimate fashion, would not notice the absence of her terms, the morning's greenish pallor, the fluctuations in her appetite, and yet she had said nothing. It had occurred to Martha that perhaps her mistress didn't recognize the signs, but she had dismissed the thought. Lady Pippa was no naive girl.
    But why would she keep her pregnancy a secret? It was advanced enough now to be confirmed. Martha pursed her lips in thought.
    “Well, girl?” Stuart's prompting was sharp, his eyes narrowed in impatience.
    Martha decided she needed to keep in his lordship's good graces. It wasn't as if Lady Pippa had taken her into her confidence and asked her not to disclose the information.
    “My lady hasn't said anything to me, sir, but I think it likely that she's with child,” she said, her eyes downcast, her hands demurely clasped against her skirts.
    Stuart felt a great wash of relief. It was over then. Never again would he have to deliver her unconscious to the antechamber. He would have no further part to play. His wife would become now the concern,
the property,
of the Spanish.
    Revulsion and the old fear followed close on the heels of relief. What would happen to them all now? Pippa was safe while she carried Philip's child. Her husband was a necessary prop as the proud father-to-be. But once the child was delivered . . .
    But perhaps he could use the pregnancy as a bargaining counter. Perhaps he could now negotiate Gabriel's freedom from persecution. It didn't matter for himself, he deserved whatever Fate, or Philip and his cohorts, had in store, but Gabriel was an innocent. He knew nothing of this.
    As innocent as Pippa.
    Stewart nodded at Martha and left the chamber hurriedly. There were some