Unexpected Pleasures

by Mary Wine

  “I am honest with you, Synclair. I have no more liking for it than you. Yet it is the truth. You must not seek me out.”

  “And you, madam, would be wise to learn that I am not given to making declarations lightly.”

  He meant what he said, she could hear the determination in his voice. It was there in his expression, too, and Justina discovered she had too much liking for the way he looked when he was staring at her. It was so tempting to sink into his gaze and allow it to wrap around her like a cloak that could cut the chill of life’s injustices.

  A blast from a hunting horn broke through the early morning from somewhere back in the trees. The sound startled the horses, sending a twist of fright through her belly as she heard the stallion snort; if the animal reared up they would be directly beneath its sharp hooves. Synclair twisted in an instant and reached for the reins of his stallion, gripping the leather just as the horse was rising up. With a powerful motion of his thick arms, he controlled the huge animal, moving in a slow circle as he soothed it with several long strokes down its face. Justina blew out a stiff breath as relief tingled across her skin.

  Hounds suddenly swarmed through the trees, weaving around the trunks while they pressed their noses to the ground.

  “Do my eyes deceive me? Synclair, man, when did you rejoin the court? I thought you were with Baron Ryppon.”

  It was the Earl of Hertford who came through the trees, his voice cutting through the silence. But his attention settled on her, his gaze sharp and questioning.

  “Good day to you, Lady Wincott. I had not heard that you were returned to court either.”

  Justina lowered herself, but Synclair answered the earl before she rose again.

  “Lady Wincott passed the summer with Baron Ryppon and myself at Amber Hill.”

  Edward Seymour, brother of the late queen, Jane Seymour, leaned over to offer his hand to Synclair. It was a mark of high regard from a man who held an extremely high position in England, thanks to the fact that his sister had given Henry the Eighth the son he longed for so much. He was a prince in everything but blood, and since Prince Edward Tudor was only nine years old, the earl would most likely have a great deal of power while the boy grew up.

  “Has Ryppon given you leave for your service to him then?”

  “I am finished with my time, my vow completed and satisfied.”

  The earl nodded. “An excellent time to be finished with your training. I can use a man like you by my side.”

  The hounds began to howl with excitement, and the earl turned his attention to them.

  “Join me, man. We’ll catch some supper to enjoy together.”

  The earl didn’t wait for them; he kneed his stallion and set off after his hounds.

  Justina had taken advantage of their conversation to reclaim her mare. The animal had shied away from Synclair’s stallion and was searching through the fallen autumn leaves for grass, but there was little left alive. Running a soothing hand along the neck of the mare, Justina grabbed a handful of her skirt to allow her to place her foot in the stirrup. She was keenly aware that they were once more alone.

  A shiver crossed her skin. She was far too sensitive to the knight, one of the reasons she had taken to the road to escape him. She lacked the strength to resist the pull she felt toward him.

  Two hands closed around her waist, drawing a gasp from her startled lips. Synclair lifted her easily to the back of her mare, his lips twitching with amusement when she stared into his eyes with astonishment. Many a man boasted of his strength, but there were few who might actually prove it. Among those, she had rarely discovered one who knew how to control his grip such as Synclair seemed able to do. His embrace had been solid, yet painless. She felt her resolve weakening even further because to have a man that was considerate of his strength for a lover must be pure delight.

  It was something she must not allow herself to taste, but she saw in his eyes the intention to make his touch intimate. Synclair didn’t hide it from her, and let her view the desire darkening his eyes. A chill went down her back, spreading out over her skin until it reached her breasts. Behind her corset, her nipples drew into hard beads, startling her with the quickness of the response.

  “You should not.” She didn’t finish her warning because it was too difficult to form into words what she wanted him to refrain from doing, and she feared that her voice betrayed her growing desire. It was more than his touch, it was the way his blue eyes probed hers and the way her belly tightened just because she knew he was closing the distance between them.

  “And you should not protest when you enjoyed my kiss so well.”

  Her hand gripped his, where it still sat at her waist, prying at his fingers to remove them, but he captured only her hand, pulling his fingers along her bare palm before relinquishing his hold on her.

  “It is a pity we were interrupted, Justina. I promise to remedy that.”

  Her eyes widened once again and she scoffed at herself. Such lack of control was unlike her and destined to land her in a great deal of misery.

  “Do not. There is nothing for us to talk about.”

  Synclair moved to his horse and gained the saddle in another fluid motion that left no doubt about how much strength the man had in his body. The stallion turned in a circle, demonstrating that it was a fit mount for the knight who rode him. The animal snorted, shaking its head while pawing at the ground with eager anticipation.

  “I disagree, Justina.”

  Only three words, but they sounded like a sentence being issued by a magistrate. She felt them as much as she heard them, her body quivering with trepidation. Synclair shot a hard look at her before giving his stallion its freedom. The animal surged forward and her mare followed instantly. She tried to pull the reins up to slow the mare, but heard Synclair chuckle in response to her efforts.

  “The mare has more wisdom than you, Justina.” He turned to look at her. “She does not fight against what she craves.”

  The mare was increasing her speed to catch the stallion, and the stallion tossed its head again to encourage the mare. Justina felt her face turn red with her temper.

  She was not a mare.

  Lust would not control her, not now, not ever. She refused to crumple in the face of her emotions. Even if she did enjoy his kiss, there was nothing to be gained from yielding to such pleasure. The only thing that would happen would be more despair when the viscount decided to whom she would be sent. She would be tormented by the lack of enjoyment she found in that bed, because she would now know what it felt like to enjoy being kissed.

  Better to never know. It would be far wiser for her to bury the need clamoring inside her so deeply that it might never rise up to tempt her.

  Better ... wiser ... and more lonely than she had ever felt.

  Yet that was the way life was.

  Biddeford was waiting in her chambers again. Whitehall Palace had several secret passageways, and she had been placed in her current chambers to ensure that the man might come and go without being witnessed. Still trying to regain her composure, Justina was far from pleased to see him. She needed sanctuary, a place to collect her thoughts and seal them behind her poise once more.

  It seemed she was going to be denied that as well. She frowned and turned her back on the viscount under the guise of placing her riding gloves on the table, but she could not remain there for long.

  “You did well this morning.”

  Justina didn’t enjoy the compliment. Any form of praise coming from Biddeford always had an ulterior motive. She could see the way the man’s eyes shifted while he plotted. In a way, she pitied him, because he never seemed satisfied. He wore the finest clothing and supped on the best food. He didn’t reek from hours spent breaking his back in the fields, and still the man struggled to gain more.

  “I was quite surprised to see you riding with the Earl of Hertford, but that pleased me greatly. What was he talking about?”

  “Hunting.”

  The viscount
frowned at her, his eyes narrowing. A trickle of fear made its way through her.

  “He wasn’t talking to me but to Sir Synclair, who is newly returned from the north.”

  “I noticed such.” Biddeford paused for a moment while he considered that fact. “Synclair desires your sweet body.”

  “He does not.” The words left her mouth too quickly and too sharply. Justina turned her face away and sat her hat on top of a table to conceal her expression while she struggled to regain her composure.

  The viscount clicked his tongue in reprimand. She heard his steps behind her and she stiffened as revulsion went through her. He was going to touch her and she hated his fingers upon her flesh. Today, she had to fight the urge to cringe because her emotions were so unruly.

  He turned her to face him and tapped her chin with one finger.

  “Yes, you were separated from me too long.” He leaned closer, so that she felt his breath against her cheek. “I suggest you find your balance, sweet Justina, else I shall have to design some task that will firmly remind you whom your master is.”

  He placed a kiss against her neck, and she shivered with distaste. Bitterness filled her mouth to the point that she had to fend off retching. She discovered herself agreeing with him because she had been away too long and now she knew that there were places where life was decent such as it had been when she was with Lord Ryppon. Such knowledge bred a desire to escape from everything at court but her son’s fate would not allow such. She swallowed her distaste, forcing it deep so that she might turn to look at the viscount with an expression that was devoid of her true emotions.

  “I did as you commanded this morning, my lord.”

  The viscount snickered. “So you did, but that does not change the fact that our newly returned baron finds you pleasing to his eye.”

  “Baron?”

  Biddeford shrugged and moved to the small door that would lead him to the concealed passageway. “Yes, Synclair has inherited the title of Harrow from his uncle who died without issue. Since he appears to be in good standing with the Earl of Hertford, you shall allow him to think you find his attentions ...”

  Justina felt her breath freeze in her throat. She couldn’t use Synclair; she didn’t have the ability to conceal what she was thinking around the knight. She would fail, and revulsion for such a task was thick enough to choke her. Synclair was everything noble. She couldn’t soil that.

  “I shall allow him to think I find his attentions ... how, my lord?”

  “Amusing, for the moment. I am more interested in the Earl of Hertford. Dress yourself more fashionably and see if you can gain an invitation to join his party for supper.”

  She had never known so much relief as she did when that door closed behind her guardian.

  Except for the day her husband had died.

  Her knees felt weak and she pulled in deep breaths while she attempted to steady herself. Despair wrapped its boney grip around her now, threatening to crush her beneath the weight of what Biddeford demanded. Oh, one would think it a simple matter, so much less repulsive than some of the things she had done in the past, but Synclair’s face rose up to torment her with how noble he was.

  Could she not at least have one memory of a man that was untarnished by the smut and soot that seemed to be her life? If for no other reason than it kept part of her heart alive with the notion that there were men, rare and few, but living, breathing men who spoke the truth and served honor.

  She needed that. Needed it so badly she ached with it. Tears burned the corners of her eyes.

  “My lady? A letter arrived from your son.”

  A sob broke through her lips as she turned to take the folded parchment the maid offered her. The woman assumed she cried because she longed for her child so greatly, but the truth was that she wept because she simply could not fend off her unsteady emotions any longer and feared they might consume her, leaving her child at the mercy of Biddeford.

  Brandon’s writing was neat and clear, his spelling correct even if his sentences lacked the polish that age would bring. The maid fetched her a linen square to keep her tears from marring the letter. Justina read it three times through before forcing herself to fold it and lock it in the small chest that sat on top of the table where she kept all of Brandon’s letters, from the very first ones that were naught more than a practice of his letters, with pictures of what he would have rather been doing instead of his studies, to the one that she held today. The neat stacks of parchment gave her the strength to banish her tears and turn around to wash and dress. Brandon was in the country, her efforts gaining what was truly important. Her own feelings did not matter, that was the path that all mothers must follow.

  At least the good ones.

  The Earl of Hertford enjoyed merry company.

  The man had his own large chambers in the palace and that included a large receiving room he must have set his servants to preparing before he left on the hunt. Long trestle tables lined the room, with ornately carved chairs set along their outer edges so that all who sat there would face in at one another. The tables were laid with fine pewter plates and silver-handled dinnerware. There was pepper and nutmeg, their scents casting even more joy to the moment because of the great cost such spices sold for. At the end of each table was placed a salt cellar, its position indicating that the master of the house granted leave to everyone to speak freely while supping this night. He might have kept the salt near his hand, and no one below the salt’s position might speak unless they were addressed. Sitting below the salt was never much fun.

  Justina heard the minstrels before she entered the room. The sounds of them playing their lutes, mandolins, and even the virginals set the mood for celebration to the delight of the courtiers fortunate enough to be allowed past the Earl’s personal retainers. Somewhere, the Queen would be holding her own supper, most likely with the princesses in attendance. Still another gathering would be around the Chancellor Wriothesley and the men who supported him. While the King failed to appear, court would become a separated place, with each person having to make a choice on whom to attend. People were judged by such decisions, the gossips keeping track of who attended whom. Justina approached the Hertford retainers and watched as they cast a look back at their captain for his word on her. A barely noticeable nod from the man granted her liberty to walk into the room with all of its festivities.

  A juggler performed at one end of the room, capturing the attention of most of the guests. But Justina discovered herself drawn to a large bird sitting near the head table. As large as a pheasant, the bird’s feathers were blue and gold and its beak curved. It was a parrot of some sort; the king kept one that she had heard speak several words. The bird watched her with large eyes, looking for all the world quite intelligent.

  “You have a taste for the exotic, as do I.”

  Francis de Canis wasn’t wearing velvet or brocade. The man was more of a rogue and dressed in clothing that was functional. His face bore the proof of his rugged lifestyle, with scars that told of fights in years gone by.

  He stood between her and the room because she had stepped up onto the raised dais the bird’s perch was sitting on. Behind her lay a hallway, used to connect to the private chambers of the earl.

  “I enjoy a good chase, Lady, and you have not disappointed me.”

  Justina stood her ground, conscious of the hallway behind her and how easy it would be for de Canis to molest her in one of the rooms beyond. No servant would help her and the nobles were all occupied with the juggler.

  “I do plan to disappoint you, sir, for I shall have none of this game.”

  His clothing had warned her that he was a man who enjoyed doing things himself, but that still did not keep her from being shocked when he pushed her down the hallway. His hands delivered a sharp jab to her belly, below her stays where her flesh was soft and unprotected. Her breath went sailing out of her lungs, leaving her gasping for enough to cry out with. Pain filled her body and she stumbled backward out
of the need to shield herself from more blows.

  “You shall have it, Lady, and the rougher the better will please me well.”

  The light from the festivities became muted when de Canis reached for her again. This time, he grabbed her upper arms and flung her toward a doorway like a bundle of laundry. Justina stepped on her skirts and fell across the floor in a tangle of fabric. She was torn between the need to cry out and the fear that being rescued might offend the nobles who considered de Canis indispensable.

  The bastard knew it well, too. His face was glowing with victory and a smug smile sat on his lips.

  “You are no maiden and no man’s wife. Your last lover is gone to the borderland to breed his wife, so you, madam, need a new master, and I will be happy to prove my worth to you.”

  He reached for her, but the word master ignited her temper. She was sick unto death of hearing that she must obey.

  “You are not my master!”

  She launched herself at him, clawing at his face while pushing at the floor with all of her strength. Her nails sunk into his skin, drawing warm blood for a moment before a heavy blow landed across her face. Her body twisted with the strength of the strike and she stumbled away from him, trying to keep her footing while turning to glare at him.

  “Step aside, sir, for I will not play your game.”

  De Canis smiled and chuckled beneath his breath. Gloating sparkled in his eyes while his expression turned mean.

  “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

  He stepped toward her and Justina gathered her strength to fight him. She would not yield to him even if it might save her the pain of being beaten. She preferred the bruises of the flesh to ones on her soul.

  But a strangled sound came from him and his foot never touched the floor. Instead he was hauled backward and thrown into the hallway. Justina gained only a glance of the man responsible and it was enough to send a shiver down her back.