His words washed over her, needing no answer. It mattered nothing what she’d thought, for that would have spoiled their moment of reunion, which, in different circumstances, might have been bitter indeed. Besides, she could scarcely remember what her thoughts had been, for her fur mantle was now a pool around her feet and she was being lifted and swung round to the bed that Molly had been preparing. His hands were comforting, as though they knew what other caresses her body might have endured, and though Ginny sensed his eagerness, she delighted in his skill that brought every surface to life at her pace, for her enjoyment, for the comfort she had not thought to find elsewhere that night.
He had littered the floor with his clothes before she even noticed that he was as naked as she. Then he took her slowly through every lesson she had learned with him, and some others that were new, making up time spent apart when both had wanted only each other’s comfort and the intimate acquaintance of bodies that had been rushed into a marriage for all the wrong reasons. There were still matters to be resolved, but in this unexpected coupling, they knew to put everything else aside, to give unstintingly, and to take whatever was offered without question.
Intending to make it last as long as possible, he explored the silken folds of her body with careful hands, smoothing and stroking over every surface, feeling the responses that told him of her desires, the sighs of ecstasy, the moans that rose up from the deepest awareness of her needs. She trembled and gasped as his mouth teased and touched her breasts, reminding her in some faraway place of her childlessness, her longing to suckle, to mother and to bear his child. Etta had sat before her on the saddle for most of the way, asleep and nestling into her body at times, fuelling the wordless longings to be fruitful that now tugged at her womb as his lips tugged at her nipples, causing her to cry out with each surge of pleasure. ‘Now, Jon... Now, please...now!’ she moaned, opening herself to him like a flower.
He had waited so long to hear it, his name spoken in desire from the one he had never thought to possess during all the tribulations of the past years. This beautiful creature, this angry, resentful, haughty woman who had almost escaped capture until fate had finally shown him the way. She had not liked it. He was not sure she liked it yet, but this was one way she would follow him willingly. So now he took what she was offering with all the generosity of a careful lover, gently overpowering her with his hard, muscular physique over which her hands played to complete the mental picture of him through her fingertips. Her deep sighs spurred him on to play every variation on that one theme and, when he held himself above her, she became once more aware of the change of pace, deeper and faster, like a sudden storm. Now, for the first time, Ginny discovered the final element that had escaped her on previous occasions, the all-consuming wave of bliss that held her breath deep in her lungs, surging through her body like a tide before releasing it on a long sweep of languor. That part of him she held inside her continued to pulse softly, its energy dissipating along with hers, dissolving all those bitter thoughts she had brought from Lea Magna and leaving her awash with the kind of fulfilment that, before this, had stayed just beyond her reach. Whatever he had done in the past, nothing could now convince her that he had wanted it, and, lying close in his arms, she thought briefly of what she had to tell him that would wait until tomorrow and of how she would do it so as not to cloud all the bright loving they had just shared. But she was asleep before reaching any conclusion, and it was only in the early hours, when she turned in his arms, that the plan began to take shape.
* * *
‘Was he really exhausted?’ she asked him as they dressed. ‘Greenwich is not so very far, is it?’
His grin was boyish and heartbreakingly handsome. ‘No, my sweet, it isn’t, but he had a little help, one might say.’ His head was bent as he tied his breeches. ‘A little liquid help.’
‘You got him drunk, when you knew he’d sent for me?’
‘No. But his leg was painful after that ride and I thought he’d be better off asleep than with my wife. So I gave him a double dose of the stuff his physician left for him, for his pain. No harm done. Much better for him to leave a man’s work to a man, eh?’ Tucking in his shirt, he looked at her with a smile that melted her knees.
‘That was dangerous,’ she whispered. ‘That was very risky.’
He came to where she was standing in front of the mirror, putting his arms around her waist, his lips to her neck. ‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘It was. And that’s what I shall do to keep you to myself, my lady.’
‘I’m glad you did, Jon, but please be careful. Don’t let anyone see you do it.’
‘They won’t. But now I have to go. He’ll expect me to be there.’
‘Will you return when he’s up and about? I have something to show you.’
‘Something nice?’ he said, caressing her arms. ‘Pink and soft, is it?’
‘Yes. I brought your daughter from Lea Magna. Yesterday.’
The hands hesitated and dropped away as he stood back apace, his reflection in the mirror suddenly clouded by disbelief. ‘You’ve what?’ he said. ‘You’ve...?’
Ginny turned to face him, sure she could manage his surprise. But it was more than surprise she saw in his face. ‘Yes. While you were away. I went to see Etta and I’ve brought her back here. I want you to see her, Jon. We could...’
In her eagerness, she had not thought that he would place any other construction on her act than the one she had intended, which was to bring them all together. But now his attention turned towards the rumpled bed where they had spent the night in each other’s arms, his expression not of surprise, but of dawning realisation. ‘So,’ he said, ‘we seem to be covering the same ground, my lady, do we not? A night of sweetness in return for—’
‘No!’ Ginny cried. ‘No...no! That’s not so! How can you believe that, after what we’ve just shared? How can you?’ She took fistfuls of his doublet to shake him, her voice rising in despair. She could see now how it must have looked.
‘Then what am I to believe, woman?’ he snapped. ‘You go off to Lea Magna without telling me, without permission, and bring back the child when you know full well I do not want her to be here, of all places? You spend a night of passion with me and then you present me with this? Not a request, even, but already done. Well, you can take her straight back, Ginny. I won’t have her here at court.’
What am I to believe? How many more times must they say that to each other?
‘Listen to me, Jon. She’s not at court. She’s at my sister’s house. We can live together, all three of us, in your house at Westminster. Isn’t it time, now? Please?’
‘No, it isn’t. And you should not have involved Sir George and Lady Betterton in this escapade without my knowing of it, either. That puts us all in an intolerable position, aiding one partner against the other. She goes straight back. Today.’
He would have turned away, but Ginny caught at his arm and pulled him back to her, determined to make him discuss the matter reasonably. ‘I know,’ she said, wrapping herself round him so that he could not escape, her head tucked beneath his chin. ‘You’re quite right. It was wrong of me to go without permission and to bring her back without asking. But I went on the spur of the moment, not waiting for your absence, and I had no intention at the time of removing Etta, nor did I ask Maeve and George beforehand. They knew nothing of it until yesterday. But I could not leave her there, dearest one. I could not.’ Her voice became husky with emotion as the mothering ache filled her breast again and he felt her tremble against him. ‘I could not. She needs me—both of us—and I need her, too. She’s with Maeve’s children and you should have seen her with them. She’s never seen others like herself before. It was magical. She ought to have brothers and sisters. We should make some for her. Could we not make some, Jon? You and I? And live as Maeve and George do, partly in Westminster and partly at Lea Magna? Their children don’t c
ome to court.’
‘I’m not giving in, Ginny. You are disobedient.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she croaked as tears dripped off her chin.
‘She will have to return. Your duties with the queen will demand all your time.’
‘But will you come with me this morning and see her? Will you, Jon? For my sake? Before we take her back?’
He took her arms and eased her away from him. ‘Expect me later on when His Majesty is in council. Does the queen not expect you?’ He spoke curtly.
‘Not until after noon. And you’ll come with me?’
‘I’ll come, but don’t think I shall change my mind. I shall not.’
‘My loving was not about wanting to change your mind, Jon. It was because I wanted you. I think I have always wanted you.’ She looked down at her hands as she spoke, not trusting herself to accept what she might see in his eyes. She felt his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her head for him to study, showing her his dark, liquid irises that intentionally gave her no clue about his response, only the anger that had been there before. She stood, trying to control the trembling in her legs as he closed the door quietly behind him. In the night, she had not seen it happen quite like that.
* * *
They rode to Maeve’s house in Westminster, although it was only very close to the palace of Whitehall, taking with them a wagon for Etta’s things to be returned to Lea Magna. Sir Jon, still determined not to give way by as much as an inch, cast a cool but appreciative eye over the soft green gown that Ginny wore, with its hanging sleeves of white fur. Over her hair, she wore a close-fitting bonnet of matching white fur that tied under her chin, and short boots of green kid on her feet, and she knew the outfit suited her well. She had no real hopes of persuading Sir Jon from his plan, but wondered if Maeve would help, somehow.
As it was, Sir George was there, too, in the large welcoming stone-built house so different from the sumptuous halls of Whitehall, and their arrival was welcomed by childish shouts from little Edwin, holding a small Etta by the hand, and from Aphra, who followed like a mother hen with her chicks. Behind them, Sir George and Lady Betterton held out hands of greeting to their visitors, whom they had half expected. Smiling, they noted without comment the sparks of anger in Sir Jon’s eyes as well as the uncertainty in Ginny’s, and knew that diplomacy would be called for, if matters were to be resolved to their liking.
Sir Jon was apologetic. ‘Forgive this invasion,’ he said, grasping Sir George by the arm. Doffing his cap to Maeve, he apologised again before Ginny could speak, and she knew he was more concerned that it would look as if he was not master in his own house than that they had come unannounced. His new wife, he told them, had made decisions about his child without consultation. It was a mistake. Etta would have to return to Lea Magna.
Etta, smiling broadly, was being held by each hand, obviously the centre of attention, adored by everyone for her striking good looks and sunny nature, her curiosity and her speech, which was not as advanced as it might have been if she’d had the company of others. With arms up, she rushed to meet Ginny to be lifted and cuddled, and carried in to the large parlour where the aroma of new bread wafted across beams of sunshine. A large biscuit was shoved into her hands and from there into her mouth without a second look except at her father, who came in for some serious study by two nut-brown eyes.
Ale was poured and handed out, courtesies observed, apologies discounted. ‘She’s a beautiful child, Jon,’ said Sir George. ‘She’s pert, too. Bright as a button. Do you not think she needs more than the company of her nurses? Would you not think of having her near you, now you have Ginny?’
Sir Jon did not answer directly. ‘Are they allowed the run of the house?’ he said, watching the young things chase after a hound puppy. ‘Do they not get lost?’
George laughed. ‘Did you, when you were a mite? ’Course not. They have their nurses with them. I can’t imagine what life would be like without our two. Why not let her stay, Jon, and live with you and Ginny in the house down the road? Better than poky apartments at the palace, surely?’
‘You know why not, George.’ The reply was soft, but delivered with a sharpness that escaped none of them. ‘I prefer to keep her at Lea Magna. And we both have duties to perform.’
‘So does George, Sir Jon, but little ones need a mother,’ said Maeve gently, ‘and Etta now has one. Can you still justify keeping them apart when they both need each other? Didn’t you say you needed a stepmother for her? Well...’
Sir Jon stood abruptly, walking away from the argument he couldn’t face.
Behind his back, Etta wriggled furiously on Ginny’s lap, demanding to be put down with a squirm and a slither of skirts. Dropping the biscuit, she walked on sturdy legs over to where her father stood by the window, looking out across the shining river and, because she could reach no higher, grabbed him around one leg, her head just reaching his knee. ‘Papa!’ she said softly. ‘Papa. Mine!’
The room became still and silent, waiting to see what Sir Jon would do. He looked across at Ginny. ‘She’s never said that before, has she?’ Then he bent and picked his daughter up with large hands that spanned her middle, holding her to him, face-to-face at last, brown eyes regarding, assessing, reading the thoughts behind. She sat on his arm comfortably, touching his nose with one tender finger. ‘Wha?’ she said to him.
‘Nose,’ he said.
‘Nose?’
‘Yes, nose. That’s right. Where’s your nose?’
She thought, then touched her nose. ‘Nose.’
‘Good. Now mouth. Where is mouth?’
Her fingertips touched his face. ‘Papa mouth,’ she said. ‘Mine.’
He smiled at the confusion. ‘No, mine.’
Etta was not at all confused. ‘No...mine!’ she insisted. Then, flinging one little arm round his neck, she laid her chin on his shoulder with her fluffy, bright, copper hair next to his black jawline beard and stuck a thumb into her mouth, half-closing her eyes in contentment.
For a moment, Sir Jon’s nose and mouth rested beside the downy head, and to some it might have looked as if he was quietly amused, though Ginny thought otherwise. Whatever the reason for this sudden emotion, it was quickly controlled before it overtook him, and just as suddenly he was himself again, commanding and wanting to be seen as the one to make decisions on domestic policy without persuasion. ‘I could open up the house, I suppose,’ he said. ‘We both need more privacy and the space to spread out. We might even do some entertaining. Perhaps we’d better go and take a look, Ginny. Do I get a biscuit, too?’
It was Sir George who brought him one. ‘You deserve more than a biscuit, Lord Raemon of Risinglea,’ he said. ‘Congratulations. We should be having wine.’
Ginny caught her husband’s quick guilty glance in her direction and she knew he would have told her had it not been for the argument over Etta that morning. ‘I shall be embroidering coronets all over his shirts,’ she said. ‘And I shall expect a bit of bowing and scraping from my family, too, if you wouldn’t mind.’
The smiles she received from Lord Raemon of Risinglea and his small daughter were conspiratorial and heartwarming.
Chapter Eight
While Lord Raemon’s Westminster house was being prepared, it was decided that Etta would remain with Maeve and George, and to all intents and purposes, it looked as if that episode was over and Etta’s future decided. The news of Sir Jon’s new title, however, could not be allowed to slip away without comment, especially after the earlier misunderstanding when Ginny’s motives had been doubted. ‘Is this where I get to talk of rewards, my lord?’ she said on the way to Tyburn House. ‘You will forgive me if I do a little blaming of my own, I hope, but I think our scores are equal now, are they not?’
‘You might think so, my lady,’ said his lordship. ‘But apparently it was the new Earl of Essex
who put my name forwards to be rewarded with a title for services to His Most Gracious Majesty. Not for any domestic reasons.’
‘Services? You mean in Cromwell’s department? Cyphering?’
‘Decoding cyphers, yes. You knew.’
‘Of course. I assumed that...well...’
‘Naturally. Now, can we close that chapter and move on? We have a house to look at, and arrangements to make. And a child to install, with all her belongings.’
‘Yes, husband,’ she said demurely. ‘Thank you. As you say, we should move on.’ Though ambiguous, the wish was genuine. Yet there were still matters unresolved between them and sensitive facts to be revealed that would slow down the pace unless she could discover more about the inexplicable resistance she had just witnessed regarding Etta’s move to London. Obviously he did not particularly want the king to see her, but could this be because Jon’s experience as a cuckolded husband was so very painful, when he had loved his beautiful wife? Was the shame of it still lingering, the reminders of it so terrible? And was that why he had decided not to share her, Ginny, with the king after all? Because he had lost his beloved first wife that way? Bearing the king’s child? What other explanation could there be?
* * *
It was only a short distance to Tyburn House farther upriver from Westminster, kept open by a small staff for Jon’s occasional use, though it was large enough to accommodate a growing family. Imposing, red roofed, part stone and part timber, it stood on the banks of the River Thames with gardens sloping down to the wooden retaining wall at the water’s edge and a mass of smaller buildings built round a courtyard with an orchard beyond. ‘I would rather be living here than at Whitehall,’ Ginny said as they passed through the gatehouse an hour later. ‘Didn’t you think I might like to set up my household here, with a proper staff?’
Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded Page 17