Conspiracy Of Hearts. Helen Dickson
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“Well?” Serena snapped irritably.
“What are you gawping and grinning at? Is it your intention to finish what Thomas Blackwell began?”
Unperturbed by her anger, Kit laughed. “If you believe that, I can only assume that the fiery color of your hair has baked your brain.”
“Do you think that because I was unwilling to succumb to his vile attentions I might be more amenable toward yourself? I have a care for my virtue and am particularly choosy who I surrender it to!”
Kit chuckled. “I don’t doubt it!”
Conspiracy of Hearts
Helen Dickson
MILLS & BOON
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HELEN DICKSON
was born and still lives in south Yorkshire with her husband on a busy arable farm where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.
Contents
Chapter One
1605
Riding beside her brother Andrew—a Jesuit priest in his late twenties, who had been home to Dunedin Hall in Warwickshire for three weeks and was returning to his priestly duties at the Vatican in Rome—Serena Carberry sighed with deep regret at their parting. It had been so good having him home again.
Pride stirred her heart at the sight of him. Never had she seen a man who looked less like a priest. Officially all priests were classed as criminals by the Government, and so it was necessary for them to disguise themselves in order to avoid detection, which was why Andrew was garbed in the fine apparel of a gentleman, consisting of a deep purple velvet doublet, puffed trunk hose of the same hue, and a short matching cloak lavishly embroidered with gold thread around a high stiff collar.
His features were tanned by the hot Mediterranean sun, and his auburn hair fell to his shoulders from beneath a purple toque. With all this, together with his humorous mouth and laughing green eyes, he possessed all the charm and sophistication of a gallant one would expect to see at the court of King James.
Andrew looked at his sister with a deep and abiding affection. ‘I’m glad you accompanied me so far, Serena. I could not have wished for a prettier escort.’
‘I wish you didn’t have to go, Andrew, but I know you must. It’s far too dangerous for you to remain in England. But I miss you and James dreadfully,’ Serena said sadly.
James was their younger brother who was a pupil at the Jesuit school at St Omer, near Calais, a school which attracted the children of wealthy Catholic families in England. For a young Catholic man to be educated with the possibility of obtaining a university degree in England, it would compromise his faith, as it would involve taking the Oath of Supremacy—an oath acknowledging the supreme spiritual authority of the Crown instead of the Pope, one that no Catholic could swear, which was why any kind of education was sought abroad.
‘I’m glad you are to see him before going on to Rome,’ Serena went on. ‘You have my letter to him safe, don’t you?’
Andrew patted a pocket in his doublet. ‘I have it next to my heart. I intend spending several days with James before travelling on to Rome.’
Andrew studied his sister, struck by her beauty, by the vibrant colour of her auburn hair and the burning luminosity of her eyes. In the two years he had been in Rome, she had changed in a way that delighted him, and also filled him with misgivings, for she had bloomed into an extremely lovely and exotic creature who would be sure to draw the attention of every hot-blooded male.
At nineteen she was still headstrong, with an uncurbed wildness to her spirit. The bones of the adolescent girl had fleshed out, becoming rounded and supple. Her heart-shaped face, with its angular cheekbones, the dark wings of her eyebrows and twin orbs of her vivid green eyes were both captivating and bewitching. When she smiled her soft lips curved upwards, betraying the sensuality of the woman she had become.
‘You will take care, won’t you, Andrew?’
‘I will. But Father worries me. He follows the dictates of his religion and his conscience too rigorously for my peace of mind. He’s never slow to voice his opinion—which may lead to trouble. In this time of renewed persecution against the Catholics in England—since King James has not the slightest intention of tolerating the old faith—he must be diligent.’
‘I know. But ever since the king ordered all priests to be put to death, and imposing severe fines for recusancy once more, there is little wonder Father is angry. Nowhere in England can the Mass