Gods forgive him, but he returned his finger to the spy hole and peered into his queen’s bedchamber. Her lovely red hair hung to the tops of her naked buttocks and rippled with her movements. It took him a moment to realize she rode atop another woman as if she were astride a horse. His gaze traveled from her blissful smile to her lovely breasts. His free hand flexed with the memory of how her skin had felt beneath the curl of his fingers. How delicious it was to hear her gasp when he pinched her nipple.
Elizabeth reached out and massaged the other woman’s breast, exactly as he’d done to her earlier that day. A low moan came from the pillows and his gaze traveled up, past a shock of onyx hair to the face of Lady Morecambe. Her lips parted, and Elizabeth bent low to kiss her lover.
Rox hated himself for watching, but couldn’t turn away. His cock ached for the women—a pain he could never alleviate, and it served him right. What better punishment for his wicked behavior?
He rubbed himself through his breeches and rocked with Elizabeth’s movements. When the women’s breathing came in gasps, his did as well. When Lady Morecambe called out her lover’s name, Rox bit his lip to keep from shrieking his release. He’d not touched them, but felt as if he’d been there, with them. When he lifted his fingers to his lips, he smelled their fragrance on his skin.
Enchanting.
Shuddering and spent, he leaned his forehead against the wood and peered into the room once more. The women’s bodies sat together, their legs crossed one over the other, their breasts touching as they gently stroked each other’s skin. It was too intimate, too personal.
Just before he was about to look away, he saw Lady Morecambe bend her head and bite Elizabeth’s breasts. His queen groaned and arched into her lover’s mouth. When her lady lifted her head, crimson covered her lips and two tiny bite marks marred his queen’s perfect breasts.
Rox gasped and covered his mouth with his hand, his knees wobbly. Elizabeth didn’t seem to hear, but Lady Morecambe looked directly at him with a wicked smile that made his heart flutter wildly.
She licked her blood-stained lips and—gods help him—he lusted for a taste.
Sunlight seared his closed lids and Rox groaned against the onslaught of blinding light. He covered his head with a pillow to block it out and turned to his side, only to be blocked by a warm body. He lifted the pillow and blinked into the face of his queen.
Panic ripped the last vestiges of sleep from him and he sat up, an apology on his lips. Was he late for an event? Had she sent for him and he slept through it? Then, like a drip of wax slowly making its way to his skin to burn through the fragile layers of flesh, he recalled his spying, and shame washed over him, chased closely by mortification.
She would send him away, possibly even to Scotland.
“Good morning, darling Roxy. Did you sleep well?” She smoothed the hair off his face with a smile. “Such gorgeous brown curls. I feel I could play with them all day and never tire of it. Is there something you could do all day, or night if you prefer, and never get enough?”
He scrambled to a sitting position and tucked the pillow behind his back. His nightgown hung loose at the collar and Elizabeth’s attention was drawn to the thin cut on his neck.
“Oh dear. Have you been fighting?” She ran her fingers from his curls to his throat and sucked in a deep breath. “I can smell your blood. It’s purer than any I’ve encountered before.”
Without asking, she leaned forward and ran her tongue over the wound, nipping it lightly with her teeth. He jerked against the pinch of pain, but did not pull away. Heat wound its way through his skin to thicken his blood. His damned cock, already half-hard with his morning dreaming, stood to full attention beneath the thin fabric of his nightdress.
“You’ll be the death of me, my queen.”
“Oh, darling Roxy, I will be the life of you. Now, tell me, what did you see last night?” She stroked her finger along his cut and studied the blood on the soft pad before putting it into her mouth and sucking so hard her cheeks caved inward.
A groan full of want escaped his lips, and he shifted so that his aching member might find relief, but it was not to be had.
“I happened upon Honoré in the chapel, ma’am. She was praying—in Latin—and I didn’t want to disturb her, but found it odd that your protector would be Catholic.” Rox paused, unsure how much to share.
“Tell me everything, darling Roxy. And don’t lie or I shall know.”
Honoré must’ve already told her about his visit to the secret passage. It would do no good to deceive his queen if she already had the full story.
“Your lady gave me the wound, ma’am. She thought I was spying on her, which I wasn’t, and insisted I then spy upon you.” He swallowed and fidgeted with his nightdress. The memory of Elizabeth with Lady Morecambe made his body flush with expectant excitement. “I did, Your Majesty. I spied on you and your, erm, friend.” He held his hands at his chest, palms pressed together. “I swear on my father’s grave I will tell no one what I witnessed.”
“On your father’s grave? Do you believe he was such an honorable man to deserve such praise?”
“Pardon?”
Her chuckle further confused him.
“Never mind. Tell me everything you saw. Leave no detail out.”
A little flutter of heartbeat throbbed against the delicate skin of her bare throat. The pulse of her life was just there, close enough to kiss. He leaned forward and pressed his lips upon her flesh, and a rush went through him. It reminded him of racing his horse across a field as fast as they could go with the wind brash across his face. He felt alive in those moments, just as he did now with his lips on his queen’s throat.
He heard her heartbeat as if it were his own.
She drew away and arched an eyebrow at his audaciousness.
With a mumbled apology, he began his sordid tale, leaving nothing out. When he came to the part where he soiled his breeches, she grinned and placed a hand over his still hard cock.
“I will forgive you, young Roxy. This one time. Do not ever spy on me again, do you understand?” He nodded miserably and she licked her lips, a glint of mischievousness in her eyes. “Do you swear it?”
“I do. I swear to you, my queen, I will never spy on you, and I will speak of this to no one.”
She leaned forward and put her hot mouth over his cut. Pain, raw and thrilling, sizzled through his veins and he pulsed with need. Her moan went straight to his cock and a second mouth covered his erection. His gaze flashed to a curtain of black hair. Lady Morecambe. When had she entered? Or had she been there the whole time? He’d quite lost track of reality, it seemed. Easy enough to do when in the presence of his queen.
With Elizabeth sucking his neck and her lady his cock, he was quite put out with what to do with himself. Did he fondle his queen? What about her lady? And, ooooh, God’s truth, it mattered not, for he spilled his seed into Lady Morecambe’s talented mouth.
He moaned his pleasure and closed his eyes, delighting in the little tickles that each woman gave him. When he opened his eyes a moment later, Elizabeth and Morecambe were gone. He hadn’t even heard them leave. With a huff, he lay back where the sunlight pierced through the window to dance upon his face and he pulled the pillow over his eyes. When he turned away from the light, he was met with the sight of a very pretty girl. He blinked as he sat up and cocked his head.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“A few minutes, Your Grace.” She curtseyed and grinned. “Her Majesty sent me to prepare you for the day.”
“Prepare me? But…she was just here.”
“No, Your Grace. The queen is in her rooms, getting dressed. I’ve just come from her with my instructions.” She unfastened her bodice and shimmied out of her gown. Her chemise followed and a moment later, she stood naked before him. “Are you ready?”
He lay back, thoroughly confused. Had it been a dream? Was it all a dream? The chapel, the queen’s rooms? He reached two fingers to his
neck and came away with blood. Fresh blood, as if someone had been sucking on the wound. Surely, that was odd for a dream.
“You say the queen sent you herself?”
“Aye, Your Grace.” She scrambled onto the bed and lifted her leg to straddle him, just like he saw Elizabeth doing last night.
“Then please, prepare me for the day.”
Dream or no, he might as well enjoy it.
Well satisfied and slightly glowing after his morning spent making love to the fetching lady Elizabeth sent to him, Rox strutted like a peacock to the park where the Master of Revels had set out the day’s entertainment.
Lady Delilah was, by all accounts, far more appealing than the whore his father had forced upon him for his thirteenth birthday. Each time a patter of guilt touched his heart, Delilah assured him the queen not only approved, but would later revel in every delicious detail she would share. A fact that spurred him to excel at his duties. By the time she left his rooms, she’d assured him the queen would be quite pleased.
The clear sky and crisp temperature gave him a jauntiness to his step, and by the time he reached the park, nothing could sour his mood. Elizabeth sat in an elaborate pavilion of reds and golds, with pennants waving in the breeze. Furs and pillows surrounded her, and she looked quite small in her protected space. Her ladies hovered close, their heads bent in conversation. As he approached, several met his gaze with a silent challenge, while a few others giggled and looked demurely at the ground. Lady Delilah sat beside his queen, and he paused in his step. Then, remembering Delilah had been sent by Elizabeth, he continued on with confidence.
“Your Grace, join us, please.” Elizabeth called from her sanctuary, and he turned to obey.
“How may I serve, Your Majesty?”
“Oh, quite well, so I’m told.” She and Delilah snickered at that, and the warmth of a flush crept up his neck.
“Then my queen is contented?”
“Rather.” She looked out the front of the pavilion toward the frozen pond. “Will you be partaking of the games today? I’m afraid I’m too chilled for merriment, but Lady Delilah would be more than happy to accompany you for the entertainments that require a couple.”
Rox held out his arm. “I would be delighted.”
The gaggle of ladies bent their heads and covered their giggles, although not very well. He inclined his head in their direction with a wide smile that said if they should be sent to his rooms, he would endeavor to be memorable for them, as well.
With Lady Delilah on his arm, he strolled through the snow-covered garden toward the pond, where a game of broom ball was in progress. Boys as young as five battled to score a point by whacking a stuffed pig’s bladder between two markers. He’d spent many a happy winter’s day playing with his brothers and friends back home, but he was far too old now.
“You look sad, Your Grace. Is there anything the matter?”
“I was pontificating on what we lose as we get older.”
“Yes, but think of what you gain.”
“Valid point. I suppose a morning abed with you was far superior to a rousing game of broom ball.”
“You suppose? I might need to revise the details I gave Her Majesty. Excuse me.” She pretended to turn in a huff, and he stopped her with a low laugh.
“You win. I would take this morning over any of my childhood memories.” His gaze wandered over the grounds and stopped at the sight of two women tucked beneath a tree.
Gracefully, he steered himself and Lady Delilah in the women’s direction and suppressed the flash of concern that whipped up his body. There, hidden slightly, were Lady Morecambe and Honoré. They did not appear to be having a friendly conversation, but he was too far away to hear.
“What do you suppose that is about?” Delilah indicated the women, and he shrugged.
“I do not pretend to understand the ways of women. Perhaps you would be a better judge.”
“I don’t know, but they aren’t happy.”
At that moment, Morecambe slapped Honoré.
He and Delilah both gasped.
“Shocking!”
“Quite. Shall we check on them?” He sped their approach, but stayed wary.
Honoré leaned forward, and Rox clearly heard the threat in her tone. “You’ll regret that, Morecambe. Mark my words.” She spun on her heel and stormed through the snow.
Morecambe gazed after her, a disquieting expression on her face. Not anger, nor sorrow, but resignation.
“We should tell the queen what we’ve witnessed.” He started to turn them at the same time Morecambe swept the area. Their eyes met, and he felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. A moment later, it was gone. And so was Lady Morecambe.
“Penelope will tell her. It concerns us not. Why should we let it spoil our day?”
“Penelope?”
“Lady Morecambe. The queen is not so fastidious about titles when in private.” Delilah’s shrug was indifferent and adorable.
“Then please, call me Rox.”
She snuggled closer and purred. “What shall we do first, Roxy?”
Hearing the name from her lips didn’t give him the same thrill it did hearing it from Elizabeth. Delilah said it with an off-putting sense of ownership. If the queen were vexed with him and trying to fob him off on one of her ladies, he’d do well not to flirt with Delilah or any of the other ladies. The first chance he had, he’d ask Elizabeth what he’d done to upset her. Well, besides spy on her and her lover.
God’s truth, he was an idiot. He never should’ve listened to Honoré. She set up a pretty trap, and he’d walked right into it.
“Do you know much about the Queen’s Lady, Honoré?”
“The French bitch? Only that the queen’s favorite from two years past, Lord Ramsey, recommended her. She’s newly from the continent. None of the ladies like her, but the queen prefers it that way. If we are friendly with her assassin, it might evoke emotions in her that would create a conflict should one of us ever step out of line.”
“Why do you call her a bitch?”
“Because she likes it like a dog.” Delilah looked at him with no condemnation in her eyes, just simple honesty. “You know, with the man from behind? No? Well, I’ll have to show you how it’s done, Your Grace.”
He spent the rest of the afternoon eager for when he could return to his rooms with Delilah, but she insisted they attend the outdoor theater set up near the palace and play four rounds of Blind Man’s Bluff. After the second round, he began to suspect she liked tormenting him. It was all a game, he decided. Being the queen’s favorite, his standing at court: all of it was one giant game of chess.
All he had to do was play smarter than the others, and he just might win. But what did winning look like? He’d go back to his hereditary home where his mother, now Dowager Duchess, still lived and pretend to be happy with his life? At some point, he’d take a wife and make an heir, plus a spare or three. Occasionally he’d come to court and see his Elizabeth on the arm of her latest favorite.
Would he be one of the ex-favorites who gazed longingly at his queen, or would he be arrogant and angry to be set aside for a younger model?
Three months ago, his life was laid out for him in boring predictability. But now he was the master of his future. What did he want that future to be? There in lay the rub—he had no idea.
A snowball crashed into his face with cold, stinging pain. He shook himself with a swear word that would curl his mother’s eyelids and glared at the ruffian responsible. His queen stood outside her pavilion, head thrown back with raucous laughter, a snowball in her hand.
He immediately bent to make his own frozen projectile and grinned when she shrieked. At times, she appeared far younger than her sixty-nine years. As she romped over the snow, she looked like a robust young woman of around his age.
Whatever his future held for him, as long as Elizabeth was part of it, he would be satisfied.
That evening’s feast was lively and filled with dancing, mumme
rs, and a play. Elizabeth sat through it all with Rox at her side. He did his best to keep her entertained, but it was obvious her attention was elsewhere. Too often, her gaze swept the great hall, searching for someone, but not finding her. Rox didn’t have to guess who it was—he’d also noted Lady Morecambe’s absence.
After yet another sweep of the room and a disgruntled sigh, he told his queen of the argument between Honoré and Morecambe.
The queen waved him off. “They despise each other. Honoré came highly recommended to me. We have nothing to fear from her.”
“I am sorry to have led you to believe I had anything but concern for your person. If you trust Honoré, that is good enough for me.”
“You don’t trust her? Why? Because she sent you to spy on me?” Elizabeth chortled. “Darling Roxy, do not concern yourself with Honoré. Are you not pleased with Lady Delilah? If not, I can send any one of my ladies to you. Pick one.” She indicated the group of pretty ladies huddled near the yule log.
“I have no qualms with Delilah, ma’am. Though I wish it were you in my bed, if I’m honest.” He sucked in his breath and stared at her with an apology on his lips. He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud.
“And don’t think for a minute I’m not jealous of my lady. But, one cannot be the Virgin Queen if she is bedding all of her favorites, can she?”
Her chuckle warmed the place in his heart that had gone cold with fear she would banish him.
“You are the most magnanimous woman I know.” He pressed her fingertips to his lips. “I am grateful for all you’ve given me, and hope my presence is half as beneficial to you.”
“Oh, Roxy, you have no idea how much I adore you being by my side.” She winked then and rubbed her hand over his breeches.
They spent the rest of the evening in enjoyable banter, with the queen by turns pinching and rubbing his hardened cock. With her continued ministrations, he was left in a state of constant torment, which he suspected his queen quite enjoyed. She was such a tease and he loved her all the more for it.
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