by Lily Reynard
Antonia picked up a cloth, dipped it in a pot of cream, and began to remove the heavy makeup from her face.
But she was a free woman for the next twenty-four hours. She had won that much concession from the king. This might be the only time in her life when she could bestow her favors as she pleased.
Just once, she thought. I will stray just this once, and then I willingly submit myself once more to the yoke of a chaste wife.
Would God really condemn her if she lay with the man whom she loved with all her heart and soul?
And how did one approach a man with the intent of seducing him? She had always waited for her husband to make the first move when it came to marital relations.
That train of thought made her palms sweaty and her heart flutter with anxiety.
Her musings were interrupted when Mall entered her apartment. Antonia's maid bore a tray with a pot of Bristol soap, a sponge, and a soft-bristled scrub brush.
"Mall." Antonia rose and took the tray from her startled maid. "I'll take these down myself. In fact, you may have the rest of the afternoon and evening off."
"But, milady!" Mall began to protest. Her eyes narrowed. "Oh." Her mouth turned down in disapproval.
"Mr. Fitzgeorge will be leaving us soon," Antonia said.
She was not precisely trying to justify her course of action, but Mall's reaction stung.
"Let me unlace you and bring you something more suitable for assisting a gentleman with his bath," Mall said. Her tone was absolutely neutral, but her freckled cheeks were blazing. "There's no need to ruin a perfectly good gown."
Even if you're intent on ruining yourself. Her thought remained unspoken, but Antonia heard it clearly nevertheless.
Antonia changed quickly into the simple linen smock that Mall brought her, letting her maid unpin her hair and brush it out. It curled, long and luxuriant, over Antonia's shoulders. On impulse, she decided to leave it down, like a bride on her wedding night.
Apprehensive but determined, Antonia descended the curving privy stairs cleverly concealed behind a panel in her bedchamber.
They took her down to the bathroom in the basement that had been the fourth earl's pride and joy in the reign of Henry VIII.
Quivering with nerves, she came to a halt at the foot of the stairs, and clutched the tray she held.
The tiled stove used to heat air and water for a Turkish bath remained unlit, but there were two large buckets of gently steaming water on the tiled floor.
Kit had his back to her, and was in the midst of disrobing. His stained jacket was already folded on a bench that stood against one wall, and he was occupied in pulling his high boots off.
"Thank you—" he said, glancing over his shoulder.
He caught sight of her, straightened up and whirled around. "My lady!"
"Call me Antonia," she reminded him, her heart in her throat.
She put down the tray before it could slip from her shaking hands. She wanted him, but desire was a foreign and perilous landscape she had never traveled.
Then, because she could think of nothing else to do, she rose on tiptoes and kissed him full on the mouth.
He drew her close, his hands gripping her hair, and his mouth on hers was warm and deliciously rough with his growing beard.
He pulled away first, but kept her face between his palms. "Antonia, why are you here?"
"Haven't you guessed?" She tried to laugh, but found she only had breath for a short chuckle. Her heart was pounding. "But if you don't want me—"
"No! I do!" His grip tightened, as if he feared she might flee. "This is—" He swallowed, and she saw his Adam's apple move. "A gift beyond price. I didn't dare hope, but I have longed—" He kissed her again, this time hard, demanding. "But why—?"
She stopped his question with a finger laid against his lips. "Everyone at Court is now convinced I'm your mistress. If I've made this bed, then I should at least lie in it once."
It was easier to breathe now that she knew he wanted her, too.
"Only once?" he asked, with a wicked smile.
She returned his smile, feeling a quick pang of sadness. Picking up a sponge, she dipped it in the bucket of tepid water that stood at Kit's feet.
He caught her hand, and the sponge wept water warm as tears over her wrist. "Have I cost you your reputation, then?"
"Not you," she said. "Unless you have a hidden talent for scurrilous verse. Now, my love, get you clean. Infamous rogue you may be, but I'll have you a sweet-smelling one."
"As my lady commands," Kit said, grinning.
He yanked off his remaining boot, then stripped off his stained shirt, leaving him clad only in his stockings and breeches.
Antonia drank in the sight of him as greedily as a traveler drinking from a desert spring.
For the first time, she truly understood the Song of Songs: A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts. My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi...
He caught her staring, and said, a little abashed, "I'm a bit worn around the edges, but still mostly whole and serviceable, my lady."
"Worn or not," Antonia said, fervently, "you are quite the handsomest man I've ever seen without his shirt. 'Behold, thou art fair, my love.'"
Kit laughed, a little abashed, and unbuttoned his breeches. His stockings followed, leaving him standing magnificently nude on the brightly colored tiles. His prick was already half-erect in its nest of dark golden curls.
Kit frowned down at it with mock consternation. "My Adam's-arsenal stands ready to attack. Best beware, my lady."
"Antonia," she corrected him, laughing. She took his hand and led him to a low wooden stool that stood near the buckets of warm water.
She dipped her sponge to refresh it, and placed her hand on his neck. Kit closed his eyes with a sigh, and tilted back his head as she squeezed warm water over his head. She repeated her actions until every inch of his skin gleamed wetly. Throughout her ministrations, he sat with his eyes closed, a blissful half-smile on his lips.
Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out, she thought.
Then she scooped up a portion of the soft rosemary-scented soap from the pot and began to lather him with slow, sensual strokes. She alternated use of the sponge with the firm pressure of her hand, kneading the tight muscles under the slippery skin of his back and shoulders.
She soaped and massaged his arms to the fingertips, enjoying the feel of his muscles and warm flesh under her hands, then turned her attention to his chest.
As she knelt between his legs, she saw he was fully erect now, and a wicked thrill ran through her.
Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.
Antonia slowed her movements, turning them into caresses. As he had done to her in the garden, she now did to him, toying with his nipples, running her hands over his ribs and flat, muscular belly.
She felt him tense as her hands went lower, rubbing lather into his skin with small, circular motions, and he leaned back a little, silently imploring her to touch his prick.
She sat back on her heels, considering, for her efforts had aroused her nearly as much as they had him.
Then she deliberately began to wash his feet, and grinned as his obvious disappointment warred with the pleasure of her thumbs pressing the tendons in the arch of his foot.
Slowly she worked her way up past his well-defined calves and tautly muscled thighs, discovering along the way that he was ticklish in the backs of his knees.
When she reached the top of his legs, she stopped again. Kit groaned and opened his eyes. "Have mercy, Antonia!"
He took her hand and guided it to his prick.
It was hard as steel against her palm, slippery and hot. She yielded, wanting to touch him as badly as he wanted to be touched, and her caresses drew shuddering gasps from him.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my
beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit is sweet to my taste...
He pulled her down on his lap and kissed her hard, his tongue ravishing her mouth. His hands moved to her breasts, clearly molded against the soaking fabric of her smock, and it was her turn to gasp with pleasure.
He gently pinched her nipples, instantly hardening them, then attacked them through the fabric with teeth and tongue. She clutched at him and squirmed with helpless pleasure.
She felt amazingly wanton, sitting on the lap of a naked man in the middle of the afternoon, and far from the curtained privacy of her bed.
He began lifting the hem of her sodden smock, his hand tracing a maddening line up the tender skin of her inner thigh.
She raised herself up off his lap and shifted position, freeing the trapped fabric and giving him full access to the bare skin beneath her garment. She was on fire for him now, and groaned when at last his fingers reached the sensitive flesh between her legs.
...I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock...
"Please," she whispered, drawn taut as a bowstring with desire, desperate to feel him inside her.
He needed no other encouragement, and lifted her hips so that she could straddle him. She pulled the smock over her head, and lowered herself onto his lap.
Slowly, he slid into her swollen flesh, filling and stretching her with the most pleasurable of aches. She felt his mouth on her bare breast, rough and exciting, and moved against him.
...I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother’s house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me...
His hands gripped her hips, and he drove up into her, setting an urgent rhythm that she matched, her feet braced against the cool floor, knees flexing as she anchored herself against his shoulders.
Her world shrank to the delicious torment of his mouth suckling her breasts, his hand on her hips, and sheer pleasure of him inside her, thrusting against her with a maddening friction.
She tensed, rising on a wave of pleasure, and rode him hard, almost selfishly. Then the wave broke, and she groaned as the pulsing ripples of a most exquisite petit-mort overtook her.
He was close behind her. Two or three more thrusts, then she felt him stiffen. He groaned and his arms came around her.
Antonia held him for a long time, her cheek against his wet hair, as the last echoes of their mutual pleasure slowly died away.
His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.
At last, she rose to her feet. Her knees were weak, and she felt satisfied yet greedy for more.
Kit followed her up, looking every bit as shaken as she. "Where are you going?"
She smiled at him, and touched his cheek. "You're still covered in soap, my love."
"As are you." Kit flopped back onto the stool, smiling beatifically. "Odds-fish, but that's the finest bath I've ever had!"
Antonia raised the remaining bucket and poured the water over him in a slow stream, rinsing off the last of the soap.
As Kit reached languidly for a towel, she asked, "Did you know that that staircase leads directly to my bedroom?"
* * *
The remainder of the afternoon and all the long hours of the night were filled with kisses, and lovemaking by turns gentle and urgent. They dozed in each other's arms, only to wake and begin the sensual dance anew.
Antonia gloried in the taste of him, in the feeling of his skin sliding against hers, in the scent of their lovemaking, savoring it all.
Determined to drink her cup to the dregs, she found herself storing up the memories of this one day against the long drought that lay ahead of her.
In between their carnal bouts, they curled around each other in the soft expanse of her bed, speaking of little things.
Antonia described daily life at Long Cranbourne and her early misadventures there as a young Londoner out of her element.
Kit told stories of his exploits on the Continent, fighting for the French, the Spanish, various German princes, and, finally, against the Turks in Hungary.
The only subject Antonia did not raise was what she had promised the king.
Sufficient unto the day the evil thereof, she thought in the gray light of dawn, just before she fell deeply asleep, her head pillowed in the hollow of Kit's shoulder.
* * *
Scant hours later, Mall came to wake Antonia.
As Mall opened the bed curtains, Kit came instantly awake, tensed, alert.
Mall looked at his rumpled form, blushed, and beat a hasty retreat.
Kit blinked, then looked over at Antonia, gave her a smile that made her shiver pleasantly, then rolled close and gave her a long, lingering kiss.
"I wish you good morning, my lady," he said, putting just the slightest emphasis on the word my.
Antonia put her palm against his cheek, feeling the prickle of stubble and the warmth of his skin, and despite her best intentions, leaned forward and kissed him back.
Just once more, she thought. So that I can remember this...and this...
It was going much further than the kiss now, but Antonia did not want to stop. She was still a free woman, neither pledged nor promised.
Kit surprised a giggle out of her as his busy hands moved up her ribs, and then she stopped thinking as he tickled her mercilessly, until she was shrieking with laughter and breathlessly trying to fight him off.
But her struggles only served to excite him...and her. He pinned her wrists to the soft mattress and took her with wonderful roughness as she clutched his hips with her thighs and urged him on with kisses.
In the aftermath, she enjoyed a few minutes more of simply holding him as their hearts slowed.
He gave a contented stretch, like a great cat. "A most enjoyable way to greet the morning."
"Yes," she said, wishing futilely that there would be other mornings like this with him.
She kissed his forehead, still a little damp from their exertions, and slid her arm out from beneath his head. Then she sat up.
"Don't go," he said, putting a hand on her thigh. "Aren't countesses allowed to be slothful?"
"I must dress. I am expecting a caller," she said, trying to control the sudden sick feeling at the thought of what she must do.
Despite her efforts to school her voice and her expression, something alerted Kit.
He sat up, and his hand pressed down on her leg, holding her captive. "What kind of caller?"
He looked ready to defend her, and she felt tears well traitorously up.
"A suitor," she said flatly. "Come to offer me marriage. I shall accept."
She hadn't meant it to sound so brutal, not after what they had just shared.
Kit's face went blank, and he snatched back his hand as if she had just burned him.
Feeling old, and infinitely tired, Antonia escaped the bed. But she couldn't stop herself from looking at Kit as his expression worked its way through shock, anger, betrayal...and a dawning understanding.
He scrambled down, and she flinched as he loomed over her.
"The king," he said. It was not a question. "And it wasn't only eighty pounds he demanded, was it?"
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
"I won't allow you to do it!" he said, glaring down at her. "I won't hide behind your skirts while you're forced to marry someone else." He choked on those last words.
"And how will you stop me?"
"I'll stand trial. I didn't kill Chelmsford, and men duel all the time," he growled. "Maybe I should challenge the king to a duel for your hand!"
She thought he might be serious. "In truth, Kit, this wasn't about you. You were just a convenient excuse."
"He can't force you," Kit insisted, stubbornly. "A marriage isn't valid unless you consent."
"His Majesty didn't force me. I offered
him something he wanted, and in return I received what I wanted." If she started weeping now, she wouldn't be able to stop. "It was a fair bargain, and I am honor-bound to keep it."
"My God, Antonia. You should have left me in Newgate."
"Never," she whispered. "Kit, don't blame yourself. This isn't your fault. You were protecting me."
"And a fine job I did of it," he said, bitterly. His shoulders slumped. "Who is it?"
"Chelmsford. He'll—he'll be kind, I think. He was a better prospect than the king's other candidates, and I think we may suit." She shrugged.
"And what of us?" Kit took her hand. "Can we—?"
She shook her head. "This is the only time, Kit. I won't be an adulteress."
To her horror, Kit fell to his knees before her, and seizing her hand, crushed it to his lips. "You shouldn't have. Not for me. Not for me."
"But I love you." She sank down beside him. "You're noble and brave and—"
He stopped her words with a fierce kiss, and she tasted the salt of tears on his mouth.
"You are the bravest woman I have ever known," he said. "And I pray God you do not regret your decision."
"Never," she whispered.
She pulled off the wedding ring she still wore from her first marriage, her hand shaking so badly she could barely manage to remove it, and slipped it over his little finger.
"Chelmsford will have my respect, my fidelity, and my worldly goods. I cannot pledge you anything but my heart, Kit, but that is yours, always."
"Always," he echoed. "My love, I can give you nothing in return except what you have given me. I love you. I will love you when I am dust and ashes."
"And I, you." She rose to feet, awkwardly, wiping her eyes with the hem of her nightgown. It smelled of him, of them, warm and intimate. "Now, you must go."
He was still on his knees, his face white. "If you should ever need me, my sweet lady, I will come to you, and lay down my life if necessary."
She bent to kiss him one last time, then fled to her dressing room.
* * *
Antonia did not sob as she poured water into her basin and washed herself with a cloth. She was too numb to hurt yet. But two streams of tears ran uncontrollably down her cheeks as she began the ordeal of dressing and coiffure.