‘I am not wearing perfume. I washed at the castle. Perhaps the perfume of my special soap lingers in my hair.’
‘It does …’ Anton’s eyes went over her hungrily. ‘Come down to supper, Marietta.’ He held out his hand to her, a smile on his lips. ‘I would not dishonour you, but being here alone with you tempts me beyond bearing.’
‘If you want me.’ Marietta’s cheeks burned but she forced herself to speak. ‘I should not deny you. I have been married. I am not a shy maiden to run away from the truth of men’s desires. My husband did not often trouble me, but I do not fear physical union. I do not seek to turn you from your duty. All I ask in return is protection for my son … that if I am dead you will try to recover his inheritance.’
‘I have already given you my word on that,’ Anton said, his voice hoarse. She was so beautiful, and the scent she claimed not to wear was inflaming his senses. ‘You do not need to offer me anything, Marietta.’
‘Yet I have—I am offering more.’ she said, and moved towards the door, turning the key in the lock. ‘This is not just for you, Anton. Tomorrow or the next day may be my last day of freedom. I have just two nights left before I must face the King’s justice, and I would not spend them alone.’
‘You are certain?’ Anton moved towards her, taking her into his arms. ‘I do not want gratitude, Marietta.’
‘It is not gratitude I offer.’ She lifted her face to his, her tongue smoothing over her lips, wetting them. They were moist and soft, tempting. ‘I want to spend tonight in your arms, and tomorrow night. I want the pleasure I know you can give me … a pleasure I may never know again.’
If she told the truth she would spend every night of her life in his arms. Perhaps he would never love her, but she would be happier as his mistress than she had ever been as her husband’s wife.
‘God forgive me, I cannot resist.’ Anton bent down, scooping her up behind the knees and carrying her to the bed.
He had the smell of horses on him, and his own masculine musk, and it sent her senses spinning. Her body cried out to him, wanting, needing this gift. Perhaps it was not love, but his desire was strong. She felt his heat and it warmed her to the core.
‘You are so beautiful … so lovely …’
‘Take me, love me for as long as we have,’ Marietta whispered. She felt his lips at her throat and arched towards him, her body begging for his touch. Her mouth opened to the delicate flicking of his tongue. She met him, teasing and duelling in a dance of pure pleasure. Drawing him down to her, she gave herself to him, moaning softly as his hands sought out the most intimate places of her body. Heat pooled low in her and moisture ran as she welcomed his touch.
‘You are so hot and wet for me,’ Anton murmured as he entered her. ‘I have burned for you almost from the first.’
Marietta gave a cry of pleasure as he thrust deep into her. Her body arched to meet his, taking him deeper and deeper. Never once had she felt such pleasure in the act of love. He was young, strong and well made, his manhood filling her, stretching her despite the fact that she had borne a child. White heat licked its way through her body. She sighed and screamed, her fingers digging into him as the climax took her.
Anton looked down at the woman as she lay in his arms. He was not sure at what period they had shed their clothes. Was it after the first time he took her or the second? His need had been great, for it was many months since he had lain with a woman. The first time had been too swift, and his desire nowhere near slaked. Even now that he had loved her thrice he still burned with desire, wanted to feel the moist heat of her silken sheath enfolding him once more. At the moment she slept, her lips parted a little. She looked so beautiful, so soft and sweet, that he could hardly keep from kissing her body.
He had thought that once he’d lain with her the need would go, but it seemed stronger. It was almost as if he were bewitched, for he did not remember a night such as this with his wife. He had believed he loved Isabella at the start, but she had not set him on fire as this woman did. Isabella had been a shy virgin. In the beginning she had flinched from him, and he knew that his loving had hurt her at first, but even after their first child was born she had not welcomed his attentions in bed.
Isabella had rejected him, and the few times they had made love it had been cold and passionless. On the other hand Marietta was a passionate woman, her kisses warm, her body willing and welcoming. She aroused feelings in him that he had never known were there.
Anton rose from the bed. Marietta had no bad dreams to disturb her this night. Instead she smiled as she slept, one hand beneath her face. Was she a wanton? She had given herself to him fearlessly—but was he the first besides her husband to receive her favours? If he let down his reserve and took her into his heart would she break it? Jealousy turned inside him like a handful of maggots, eating at his stomach.
He was a damned fool to care! He should simply take what she offered and then move on. Yet he knew that she had found a way to penetrate his being; she was inside him, whether he willed it or no, and he would not be able to forget her as he had intended.
Anton wanted to wake up and find her by his side every morning! He wanted to lie by her side each night and make love to her until they both slept. He was not in love with her. Desire was not love. He wanted Marietta with a passion that surprised and even frightened him, but he would not let himself love her.
Yet if Marietta died it would tear him apart.
She would not die! Somehow he would persuade the King that she was innocent. He must, because he could not lose her.
He felt for the ring in the inner pocket of his jerkin. The Bastard of Rouen had taken it from Comte de Montcrief and the King wanted it returned. Why? He looked at it carefully, turning it over to examine it from all angles. The back of the stone was not open to the light but encased in gold. Anton had seen rings like this before, and knew that sometimes there was a little compartment behind the stone. The trick was to open it, and that was not always easy. He could see no obvious signs of a catch.
‘Anton?’
Hearing Marietta’s voice, Anton slipped the ring on his finger and turned to her. She was smiling at him sleepily, and as he hesitated she pushed back the covers, inviting him to return.
‘Do not leave me yet, I beg you.’
‘I shall not leave you,’ he murmured against her ear. In his heart he knew that he would never want to leave her. Love was not necessary when she could give him such pleasure!
He breathed in her perfume, the wonderful scent of her skin, her essence. She needed no other, for her own scent was intoxicating. Already he could feel himself hardening, feel the heat building, pooling deep in his belly. He wanted her again. He would never have enough of her.
‘I shall never leave you, little one.’
‘Anton … make love to me,’ Marietta cried as he began to kiss and suck at her breasts. Her body arched towards him as he slid his hand between her thighs. She was ready for him instantly.
‘My precious, wonderful woman,’ Anton said, hardly knowing that he spoke. ‘So warm and lovely. I want you more than I can tell you.’
He plunged deep into her, feeling her wetness as she took him in. She arched and whimpered beneath him, abandoned and wild with desire as they moved together. He had never known such pleasure in a woman. She was beyond anything he had ever dreamed.
Marietta woke again and saw that Anton was dressing. It was dawn, and the first rays of light were beginning to creep into the room.
‘I slept so long,’ she said. ‘I did not mean to sleep at all.’
‘We both slept,’ Anton told her, and bent to kiss her once more. ‘If I stay longer everyone will know I spent the night with you. I must leave, or you will have no reputation left.’
‘Do I have any to lose?’ Marietta asked, and sat up. Her long hair tumbled over her breasts and fell across her face. Her skin was flushed, her body pliant and sensuous, a feeling of well-being stealing over her. ‘It matters little to me, Anton
. If the King spares me I shall be proud to be known as your mistress—for as long as you wish.’
‘My mistress …’ Anton looked at her. ‘You have the right to more, Marietta. You are of gentle birth.’
‘I was the wife of a nobleman of France, but it brought me little happiness. Last night you gave me more than all the jewels my husband heaped on me. I shall be content as your mistress—and when you tire of me I shall ask for nothing more than a place to live. For my son I ask much more.’
‘You love the child, and would see his fortune and rank restored to him.’ Anton nodded. ‘You have my word that I shall do all I can for him. As for the rest … we shall speak of this when the King has made his judgement.’
Marietta saw the ring on his finger. ‘You wear my husband’s ring?’
‘I was trying to discover its secret. He did not show you?’
Marietta knelt up in the bed, her body pink and warm from sleep. ‘Does it have a secret? He never spoke of that to me, though once he said a good friend gave it to him. I wondered why he chose it above all others.’
‘Perhaps it is merely sentiment,’ Anton said, and tugged at the ring. ‘It went on easily but now it will not come off.’
‘You must wet your hand with soapy water. If the water is cold it will make it easier, and the ring will slip over the knuckle.’
‘Yes, I shall do so when it must come off. For the moment it is safe enough on my hand.’
‘Why is it so important?’
‘I do not know,’ Anton told her. ‘I am leaving now, to order breakfast and prepare the men for our journey. You should dress and come down for we must be on our way soon.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Marietta sighed as he closed the door after him. He was still determined to take her to London to the King. Had she hoped that he might change his mind after spending a night in her arms? She had given him pleasure, but his will was still strong. A little chill slid down her spine.
Anton desired her, but his duty to the King still came first.
Anton glanced at the woman riding just ahead of him. She sat her horse well, and pride was in every line of her body. What would he do if the King condemned her to a terrible death?
Wild thoughts of delivering the ring but not the lady had been running through his mind. He could send her to Spain, where he had friends and she would be cared for until he came for her. Surely he had done all that his royal master had asked of him?
Yet it would not sit well with his honour to lie. If he told Henry the truth he could well find himself in the Tower, his head on the block. Marietta would be alone, with no one to help her, and she might be sent back to England to face justice, or worse still to France. Even if they managed to escape the King’s justice, others might somehow hear of it and condemn her. Only with the King’s pardon could she be free.
No, he would not disobey his King, for that way lay dishonour and despair for them both.
He would plead Marietta’s case, use all his influence. Perhaps his father and uncle would add their voices to his if he asked it of them. Henry must listen, for Marietta was innocent of any crime. Anton would never believe her guilty of murder. She was too warm and beautiful to harm anyone.
Had she bewitched him? A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he remembered the night he had passed in her arms. She was beautiful, warm and desirable. He had felt things that he had thought dead in him … desire, warmth … love?
Anton’s smile dimmed. No, he would not give her his heart. He had been hurt once, and only a fool offered himself to the fire twice.
The feeling of despair swept over him, causing his expression to become severe, his mouth to set in a hard line. Even when Marietta turned her head to look at him Anton could not smile in response. He had good cause to know that women were faithless. When he lay with Marietta he had come close to giving her his heart and soul, but now the doubts were creeping back into his mind.
Why had she invited him to lie with her? Was it because she hoped that he would help her escape the King’s justice? Would she have lain with any man to gain her own way?
He tried to rid himself of the unworthy thought, but it worried at him like a wild dog at a dead sheep, tearing at his guts. Somehow Marietta had got beneath his skin. Even though the doubts had returned to torment him, he could not wait for the night, when they would lie together once more.
Marietta had seen the harsh expression on Anton’s face. How could he look at her so if he cared for her? Had the night they spent together meant nothing to him?
Holding her head high, she fought off the tears that threatened. She would not let anyone see that she was unhappy. Anton had made love to her so sweetly, yet now he looked through her, as if their night of love had never been.
Pride came to her rescue once more. She had learned to bear so many things. Anton’s indifference was just one more. Perhaps he believed that she had bewitched him … that she was a witch. He desired her, but she had not touched his heart.
Turning her head to glance at Miguel, she surprised a look that came close to hatred in his eyes. Why did he look at her so?
On the ship she had sensed that he was angry. What had she done that he should look at her that way? Miguel became aware of her gaze and smiled. Perhaps she had misjudged his look? Perhaps her fear made her see shadows everywhere?
She turned her head away, her heart aching. The journey seemed long and the day was cold, wind blowing into her face and whipping her hair into tangles. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, as much to hide her face as to keep out the cold. It would shame her if Anton realised that she was breaking her heart for him. Let him think her a wanton if he would!
When at last they stopped at an inn to take refreshment, it was Miguel who came to assist her from her horse. His hands were firm about her waist as he lifted her clear, his fingers bruising her flesh beneath the thin gown. She looked into his eyes and saw a spark of something she did not at first understand.
Breaking from his hold, she moved towards the inn, her head held proudly. She had recently seen that look in another man’s eyes—the Bastard of Rouen had looked at her with a mixture of desire and resentment.
Surely Miguel did not feel anything of that nature for her?
Could a man want a woman and yet dislike her at the same time?
Marietta shuddered. She had known what her fate would be at the mercy of the Bastard. Was Miguel another such man?
No, surely not! He was Anton’s friend and his confidant. He would not lust after her because he must know that Anton had spent the night with her.
Was that the reason she had seen anger in his eyes as they rode? Was he jealous because he wanted her for himself? Or was there another, deeper reason for his hatred? He must believe her a witch!
Perish the thought! A man like Miguel would not hesitate to see her put to the test. She dared not think what might happen to her if Anton abandoned her.
Perhaps it was all imagination? Miguel had treated her with nothing but the respect due to a lady. Her experience at the Bastard’s hands had made her too suspicious. He was Anton’s friend and he had helped rescue her from the Bastard of Rouen. She must stop seeing enemies at every turn.
Marietta’s thoughts were confused and fearful as she forced herself to eat a little of the bread and meat, and drink the ale provided. The future loomed dark and dangerous. Her instincts told her that even if she escaped the King’s justice she would not be safe.
Why was she so cursed? Would she never find the happiness she craved?
When they finally stopped for the night, Marietta was bone-weary. Alone in her room, she brushed her long hair and undressed, getting into bed. She had locked her door, because she was not sure that Anton would come to her and she did not wish anyone else to walk in as she slept.
She lay for a long time, listening to the wind in the eaves. Somewhere a shutter was loose, and every now and then it shut with a bang. Her eyelids seemed heavy, closing
even though she tried to stay awake, listening for Anton to come. For a long time Marietta struggled against the weariness but in the end she fell asleep.
She did not hear the soft knock at her door, or Anton’s voice as he asked if he might enter. The latch was lifted but the door did not open, and after a moment or two he walked away.
Waking with a start as a loud knocking brought her from her strange dreams, Marietta jumped out of bed and went to the door. It was morning. She must have slept all night! A tavern wench had brought her water to wash, and some bread and honey to break her fast.
‘The lord said that he wants to leave as soon as you are ready, lady.’
‘Thank you. I shall not keep him waiting long.’
Marietta dressed quickly, washing her face and hands. She combed her long hair back from her face, securing it with jewelled clips. Eating some of the bread and honey, she hastily gathered her things.
Had Anton come to her room after she had fallen asleep? She had meant to stay awake for him, but the journey had tired her too much.
She went downstairs to the hall and saw that Anton was standing there, talking to Miguel. Both men turned to look at her, but neither of them smiled. They looked so serious! She feared that they both expected the worst—that she would be hanged as a murderess.
‘Forgive me if I have kept you waiting,’ she said. It took all her pride and courage not to give way to tears. ‘I was tired and slept deeply.’
‘No matter,’ Anton said, and his tone was harsh, his manner shutting her out as if that night of passion had never existed. Why did he not smile at her? Did he think she had locked her door against him—or was he accepting that she would soon be a prisoner in the Tower? ‘We should reach London this evening—unless we are delayed.’
A Wayward Woman Page 36