“I think I am finished cutting branches for now,” she told him with a curt nod of dismissal.
Hurt flashed through his eyes and he clutched her basket close to his chest in refusal. Flowers showered the front of his doublet, one fragrant white petal floating upward to cling to the faint line of his eyebrow. This only served to make him look all the more young and foolish.
“You think me a stripling barely able to carry my own purse, don’t you?” In his words lived the deep shame of one who knows he’ll never be as much man as those around him.
Anne’s conscience twinged. “Of course not,” she lied. “It’s the thorns that concern me. They’ve done me damage enough. I’d not have your attire ruined as well.”
That restored his confidence, and he beamed at her. “Mistress, I would shred all I own to be of use to you.”
Instantly, the image of this girlish man dressed in nothing but tatters and a petal on his brow filled her. “Pray, do not,” Anne cried, half in jest, half in horror as laughter strained against her determination not to release it. “I vow I’d never ask such a thing from any admirer.”
His eyes took light in unfounded hope. “If not that, then what would you have of me?”
In his words Anne found the way to escape him without doing further injury. “Would you give me time alone to straighten my thoughts? The others and their argument have soured my mood. I’d walk with you to the wood’s edge,” she offered as a sop.
Although it wasn’t much of a gift, not with the meadow so near, pleasure blossomed on his face. “Your servant, mistress,” he assured her as he handed Anne’s basket to Patience.
As Patience took it she glared at her charge. Anne made a face at her and dropped her clippers into the basket. Master Kelway extended his elbow in invitation. Anne wound her arm into his, still trying to ignore the wayward flower on his face. His eyes came alive with a new sort of joy.
“Mistress, I cannot tell you how your touch pleases me. Say you want more of me than this simple stroll,” he begged quietly as they started toward the meadow.
Wicked delight rushed through Anne. Oh, but it was heady having so many men at her feet, even if she knew their pretty compliments were nothing but empty air. Each time any one of them threw himself before her she took a wee taste of the power the queen wielded over all of England’s men.
“How you tease,” she laughed.
With that the need to rid Master Kelway of the offending flower merged with her need to tweak Patience. Lifting her hand, Anne used the tip of her finger to dislodge the petal from his brow. Patience gasped, while Master Kelway’s face came to life with the belief he’d gained the heiress’s favor.
He dropped to one knee before her. “Sweet mistress, you do honor me with your touch,” he cried, claiming her hand as his own. “I vow, my heart is given, my body yours.” As he spoke, his fingers slipped up along her wrist to probe beneath the loose band of her shirtsleeve, his caress belying his earlier assurances of propriety.
Anne laughed at such daring from one she’d assumed meek. “First your clothing, now your body?” She let her voice lower into a husky, suggestive tone. “Pray tell, whatever would I do with your body?”
His eyes glazed. Whether images of her beneath him or visions of Sir Amyas’s fortune danced in his mind, Anne couldn’t say. His eyelids lowered, his mouth softened into a girlish curl. “Use it, use me as you will, mistress. I am yours,” he murmured.
“Mistress Anne!” Patience’s shrill cry pierced the woodland quiet.
Anne’s keeper thrust herself between them, toppling Master Kelway in the process. Pushing Anne back a step, Patience turned on the startled gentleman. “Such behavior! Get you gone from her!”
Anne laughed, spring’s exhilaration once more pulsing in her veins. There was joy in this game, for she could play it with impunity as long as her keeper stood guard and she stood in the knowledge that to give way would mean the exposure of her sin.
“Be off with you, knowing I’ll keep your proposal in mind,” Anne told Master Kelway as she turned back to the tree and her task, only to freeze where she stood.
Lord Deyville now stood beside the hawthorn. Although the old man still wore mourning attire, today’s doublet was relaxed in cut and his slashed breeches were made of soft leather. A great golden pin set with a green stone held his massive golden chain in place upon his breast. Even though the nobleman grinned at her, anger flashed in his gray eyes.
“What a tease you’ve become, Mistress Anne,” he called. “Why not come play that game with me? I daresay the outcome will be different.”
“How dare you speak so to my mistress!” Patience cried, sweeping past Anne to confront this next menace. Hands on hips, she commanded, “Begone with you!”
Lord Deyville’s gaze didn’t even flicker in the servant’s direction as he stared at Anne, his lips owning a taunting twist. The promise that he would not hesitate to commit adultery warmed beneath the anger in his gray eyes.
Bowing her head to disguise her reaction to him, Anne offered him just enough bend of her knee to acknowledge his superior rank. “My Lord Deyville, you honor me with your presence,” she said.
“Lord Deyville?!” Patience cried.
Anne’s gaze darted to her keeper. Amyas’s lackey stared at the nobleman, her expression awestruck. Patience’s hostility drained from her as she plummeted into a curtsy so deep her brown skirts puddled on the forest floor around her. “Pardon, my lord, but I didn’t know it was you.”
Her apology was wasted on the nobleman. Deyville’s gaze never left Anne.
“My lord,” Master Kelway said, offering his better a brief bow as he came to stand beside the woman to whom he’d promised himself, heart and body.
The nobleman shot the youth a harsh look. “I have private business with Mistress Blanchemain. Be off with you.”
Master Kelway stiffened, his already aching self-image injured anew. Anne wound her arm into the youth’s.
“There’s no need for you to go,” she sweetly told him, turning him into a shield to protect herself. “Whatever business Lord Deyville has with me isn’t private.”
“Go boy, unless you’d prefer to lose your position at court,” Deyville retorted, the calm coolness of his voice adding weight to his threat.
Master Kelway shrank into himself. He glanced from the nobleman to Anne. Although shame colored his cheeks his fear of losing the opportunities of court was greater than his pride. With a sorry nod of his head, he removed his arm from Anne’s and did as his better bid.
Anne’s stomach soured as Master Kelway so easily abandoned her. He was no different than any other man at this court, all breath and no backbone. She eyed Deyville in irritation and not a little concern. Lord Deyville’s lips parted. The baring of his teeth wasn’t quite a smile. Passion burned in the new color that touched his lean cheeks.
“Come, mistress,” he urged, his voice low and vicious, “ply your wiles on me as you did that stripling. Come see how a true man plays your game.”
“I cannot imagine what you mean, my lord,” she lied, pretending an innocence she had not owned in many a year.
Sharp amusement darted through his gaze. “Oh, but I think you can. This is what I most admire in you. Would you waste your fire on the mealy-mouthed or the meek? Nay, it’s a man not afraid to use the whip when necessary that you need, a man like me.”
Anne caught her breath in sudden fear. His was no threat, but a promise for their future. Only they could have no future. Deyville would never believe she came to court no maiden. His arrogance would convince him she’d ruined herself for no other reason than to spite him.
With no reason for pretense left between them, Anne stared boldly into his eyes. “Pray tell, my lord. How fares your wife? I have of late added her to my prayers.”
The lift of his brows dismissed her puny effort. “There’s been no improvement since last we spoke. I’m charmed that you should remember her. Know you, I’ll not soon forge
t it of you.”
“This is true, my lord. I’ve ofttimes heard her mention Lady Deyville’s name in her devotions,” Patience dared offer as she sought to amend her earlier error. Anne’s daily prayers, one hour each morn and one each eventide, were the only thing about her charge that pleased Patience.
Patience’s assurance didn’t provoke a glance from Lord Deyville as he crossed the glade to Anne and caught her hand. Startled, she yanked, trying to free her fingers. His hold tightened until she winced. All Anne could do was retreat to arm’s length from him.
He smiled at her. The goad was in his grin. He wanted her to fight; he wanted her to run so he might chase her. The thought of hurting her as he forced himself upon her thrilled him.
“Such kindness and caring on your part shouldn’t go unrewarded,” he said as his thumb moved over the ridge of her knuckles. As he touched the rent the hawthorne’s spike left in her thin glove, Deyville looked up in mock distress and tsked. “Mistress, your skin’s torn beneath the leather. My heart breaks to see you so injured.” As he spoke, he raised her hand to his mouth, keeping his gaze locked on her face. His eyes were hungry for more than a simple kiss upon her knuckles.
Anne tensed to battle him, fearing he meant to do rape right here, then relaxed as she caught the echoes of laughter and festive music rising from the nearby meadow. He wasn’t likely to do more than fondle her, not when someone might come upon them at any moment. Nay, he but sought to frighten her. Anne steeled herself to endure his caress without feeding him the reaction he wanted.
The tip of his tongue probed the tear to taste her skin beneath it. Anne’s jaw clenched against so lewd a caress.
Pleasure darkened his eyes to almost blue.
Patience squeaked as what should have been a brief touch stretched into something altogether different. She swept forward to stand alongside Anne. “My lord, you must release her,” the servant told the nobleman.
Straightening, Deyville caught his other hand around Anne’s wrist, turning her hand in his to unbutton her glove. As he did this, his lips parted. New color crept along his cheekbones.
Panic shot through Anne, sharp and deep. There was no telling how far he’d go with his torment if someone didn’t soon interrupt them. Against that, she again yanked on her arm, trying to reclaim ownership of her hand.
“Release me, my lord,” she demanded.
Rather than do as she bid he gave her arm a cruel twist. Stars burst to life before Anne’s eyes. All resistance collapsed as she fought to regain control of her spinning senses.
Patience gave a small shriek. “My lord, what are you doing?” she cried, wringing her hands.
The nobleman began to peel Anne’s glove from her hand. Anne curled her fingers, preventing its complete removal, but her palm was bared. Lord Deyville pressed a kiss to the cup of her hand.
“Mistress, I cannot help myself,” he murmured against her skin, peering up at her to gauge her reaction to his attempt at lovemaking. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her inner wrist then pushed up her shirtsleeve to kiss her inner arm. “What torment it is for me to watch all those other men sniff at your skirts. Mistress, my heart is yours, my body given to you to use as you see fit.” It was a profane mockery of Master Kelway’s harmless words.
He straightened with a laugh then jerked her toward him. Anne fell against his chest. Her hat tumbled from her head. She braced her hands on his chest and pushed. The nobleman latched his arm around her back to hold her against him.
Aged he might be, but there was no breaking his hold. Anne’s concern gave way to panic. What if no one walked by to stop him? As she opened her mouth to shout for help Deyville’s eyes took light with the hope that she would scream.
Anne snapped her mouth shut. Why would he want her to call attention to his attack? Her breath hissed from her as she understood. If Elizabeth learned of Deyville’s attack on her maid it wasn’t the nobleman she’d send from court. Nay, the queen kept her peers close just now. Instead her newest maid of honor would be the one to go, no doubt sent away in the mistaken notion that removal protected Anne from Deyville’s unwanted attentions.
Anne’s eyes narrowed. All that remained then was for Amyas to keep his granddaughter prisoner until Lady Deyville was buried and properly mourned.
“My lord!” Patience cried in protest, her shrill voice echoing in the glade. She darted closer, hovering right beside him. “You must release her.”
Irritation darkened Deyville’s eyes as the servant at last forced herself into his awareness. “For God’s sake woman, hold your tongue,” he snarled. “There’s nothing that happens between us now that won’t occur once we’re wed. Hinder me further, and I’ll see your employer beats you for it. Now, go yonder and sit until I’m finished with your mistress.”
Patience yelped at this. In her discomfort she turned on her charge. “Did I not tell you to fasten your sleeves? See now where your bold ways have brought you?!” Her voice quaked.
Anne gawked at her. What sort of help was this?! Damn that stupid woman! And damn this arrogant man for thinking he could make a toy of her.
Anne splayed her fingers across Lord Deyville’s chest and shoved with all her might.
Kit strode into the woodlands toward the glade where he’d last seen Mistress Anne, the muscles in his jaw so tight that his teeth gritted. Bad enough that he’d had the dream again last night, losing the better part of the night to it. The queen proclaimed that the hour for her maid’s first dancing lesson had come. Christ, but every eye in the field would be upon them.
Although Kit’s footwork was vastly superior now than when he’d first come to court, he was no Hatton or Leicester. What if Sir Amyas had already made his complaints? The easiest way for Elizabeth to remove him without embarrassing herself was to publicly expose his lack of skill.
Reaching the glade Kit stopped in surprise. Not a dozen yards from him stood Lord Deyville holding Mistress Blanchemain pinned to him. That hadn’t stopped the maid from doing her best to free herself. Although Deyville was a man half again her size and her better in rank Mistress Anne shoved at him with all her might.
“Aye fight me,” the old nobleman laughed. “Fight me and I’ll still have my way with thee. Come sweet, but press your lips to mine and I vow I’ll be satisfied.”
“What is this?!” Kit shouted then wondered why he’d wasted his breath. He could see what it was. That worm-eating son of a bitch meant to steal the very thing Kit needed to restore his brother’s title! Aye, and by the look of it the old man would have been between Mistress Blanchemain’s thighs in another few moments had Providence and the queen not sent him to find her.
Deyville turned his head to look at the interloper. Murder filled the old lord’s face. Mistress Anne also looked Kit’s way, hope of rescue filling her dark gaze. Hope for rescue she might, but doing so wasn’t as simple as barging in and demanding Deyville release her.
His thoughts racing, Kit swept his cap from his head and offered the peer a formal bow, as if coming across a nobleman forcing himself upon the queen’s maid was an everyday occurrence. “A thousand pardons for the intrusion, Lord Deyville,” he said in his best fawning courtier’s voice, “but I’ve come for Mistress Blanchemain.”
“Begone with you,” Deyville commanded as if Kit were some lackey, still holding tight to the maid.
Kit nearly smiled as he recognized the ploy. Deyville meant to prick his pride, trying to goad him into striking the first blow. Doing so would result in Kit’s banishment from court, neatly depriving Mistress Anne of a witness to corroborate her claim of assault. Deyville would need more than words if he wanted to provoke an attack.
“My lord, I fear I cannot. Her Grace commands I return to her with Mistress Anne. You’ll simply have to give her up.” Kit laded a goodly dose of sardonic amusement onto his words, making this a far better weapon than any blade. So armed he could draw something far more precious than blood from an arrogant lord.
Fury twis
ted the nobleman’s face. Instinct made him reach for the sword he didn’t wear. Mistress Anne was ready. With a great shove she propelled herself out of her captor’s arms. Yet off balance, she staggered backward until her maid caught her about the waist. Clutched together, the two women skittered to the edge of the glade and out of Kit’s view.
The nobleman glared at him, his closed fists at his sides. “You dare much by interfering in what is none of your concern.”
A tiny breath of amusement left Kit. Ah, but preventing Mistress Anne’s rape by another man was very much his concern. He plastered a simpering smile on his face.
“What would you have me do? I am at our Gloriana’s command.”
“So you would say,” the nobleman retorted, throwing the unspoken charge of liar at his opponent in a second prod for reaction. Had Kit been a different man Deyville might have succeeded, but no excess of conceit was going to cheat him of a chance to restore Nick’s title.
Now, it was Kit’s turn for a jab. He pressed his hand to his chest in an actor’s portrayal of astonishment. “My lord, if you don’t believe me, you need only come with us and ask the queen yourself. You’ll soon see what I say is true.” However carefully cloaked his challenge was there. Kit waited to see if the old man’s arrogance was great enough that he’d agree to confront his royal mistress with them.
Deyville face reddened, his hands clenched as he felt the sting of Kit’s verbal slap. It was the promise of Kit’s ruination at court that filled the old man’s almost colorless eyes. The nobleman’s threat came too late; participation in Lady Montmercy’s revenge plot already had Kit on a course for self-destruction.
With nothing left to lose, Kit dared to drive his knife just a little deeper. “Shall we go, my lord? We mustn’t keep our royal mistress waiting any longer.”
Deyville’s breath hissed from him. Without a word, he turned and strode from the glade.
Kit watched the nobleman stalk deeper into the greenwood, his mouth tense. To think that a ten minute delay might have resulted in finding Mistress Anne, sprawled and broken, after Deyville had had his way with her. What sort of man forced himself on a woman?
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