Free Improbable Eden by Mary Daheim Page B

their beds.”
    The image Max had created conjured up a far different picture than he had intended. Eden giggled, envisioning Europe’s greatest beauties scrambling around in various royal boudoirs, beating each other over the head with satin bolsters while the object of their affections sat in majestic comfort, awaiting the evening’s victor.
    â€œ Eden ….” Max made no effort to keep the exasperation from his voice. “You must be more serious.”
    â€œ Oh, my … yes, but ….” She gasped, bringing her laughter under control. “I’m afraid I’m not a very serious person.”
    â€œ I realize that.” He sighed, taking in the merry, gamin features and the dark dancing eyes. Suppressing Eden’s ebullient nature was going to be difficult. William of Orange was a solemn sort, not given to mirth except when drinking late into the night with his Dutch cronies. But for Max, the hardest part was his discovery that Eden’s good humor was contagious. For a man who had seldom laughed in the past four years, the revelation came as a not entirely welcome shock. It did not seem right that any form of happiness should intrude upon his grief.
    â€œ As you will,” he conceded. “Amorous conduct can have its comic side. But Jack’s predicament is grim. He expects you to help him.”
    Composed at last, Eden nodded. “I know. I’m to blame, in a way, having been what drew him to Kent and into suspicion.” Guiltily she cast around for a way to prove her good intentions. “Can anyone else help us? What about my … mother? Should I call on her?”
    Max stifled his initial reaction. It had always appalled him that such a notorious harlot should have dared to mate with that model of honor and refinement, Jack Churchill. Yet, on the heels of his lecture to Eden, he could hardly admit as much. “Let’s see how Jack feels about that,” he temporized.
    â€œ If you say so,” agreed a more docile Eden. Max and Marlborough had to be right. Being the King’s mistress must be a prestigious post. As a child, she had witnessed firsthand the approval bestowed upon Charles’s favorites. Only in the straitlaced confines of her Huguenot home would such a vocation be considered immoral. And Marlborough’s future, if not his very life, was at risk. She owed him her very existence. Still, the idea of those tedious tutors hung over her like a dead weight, especially the riding lessons.
    â€œ I don’t like horses,” she began, but was stunned into silence by the crash of the window casement across the room.
    Eden screamed as Max leaped to his feet. Amid the shards of glass and bits of wood, a man tumbled onto the carpet, blood streaming from his hands. Max instinctively went for his sword, only to discover that he hadn’t bothered to put it on. In three great strides he had reached the intruder and set a foot on his neck.
    â€œ What knavery is this?” he demanded, glancing at the window to make sure no one else was about to descend upon them. “Speak, man!”
    â€œ Stay!” gasped the interloper, trying to move his neck from under Max’s heel. “Mercy! My life is in danger!”
    â€œ It is indeed,” muttered Max, but he took his foot away and reached down to haul the man into a sitting position. Slivers of glass fell to the floor, along with a few wood splinters. Max frowned as he recognized the uniform of a King’s cavalryman. “Well? Who are you? And why this violent entry?”
    The man stood, and managed on shaky legs to reach the chair by the dressing table. “Captain Thomas Craswell at your service, sir,” the man said, still fighting for breath. “I was being pursued along the rooftops. I …” he stopped, closed his eyes and covered his bloodied face with trembling hands.
    Max went to the door and called for brandy. Master Van de Weghe was already on