Seducing Anne (10 page)

She blinked and then smiled wryly. “Oh, so you do not want what I have for you? I meant to find a way to give it to you over dinner, but there was no time.”

“You brought something for me?” He stopped walking and loomed over her like a greedy, overgrown child.

His mind raced over what it could be. Was it a miniature painting of her? Was it a jewel or a book? His breath hitched when she reached into the folds of her dress, into a hidden pocket and pulled her fist back out, concealing whatever it was she possessed.

“This reminded me of you, and I thought you would like it, even though I do not know you very well.” She paused.

“Give it to me, then,” he said, sounding more than greedy—sounding downright desperate.

“Put your hand out, and I will.” She smirked, swaying back on her feet as if she needed a better perspective of him.

“Shall I close my eyes, too? Is that how far you intend to take this?”

“No, you can watch. It is nothing impressive.” She placed a folded up parchment in his hand. “Read it later when you are alone.”

He failed to blink, move or think. “You wrote something for me?”

“It is a poem—and very apt after tonight.” She chuckled. “You shall see. It is rather silly, but it is for you and no one else. Feel free to burn it in your fire afterward, for I do not think it worth keeping.”

He took her hand in his, the paper tucked between them. His eyes were sharp and focused entirely on her. “It is from you—that means I keep it. And see if you can stop me from sleeping with the damned thing under my pillow, along with the sprigs of lavender I’ve scattered about to remind me of you.”

She gasped. “You did th-that?” She gulped.

“I did. I want my bed to remind me of you, and maybe it will invite you in from across the hall.”

“I could never,” she said, dropping her head.

He tipped her chin back up with his hand that was not clasping her palm tight. “You could, and I hope someday you shall. But not only at my behest, but because you want to and cannot abide another night away from me.”

Her eyes were heavy-hooded once more. “You talk of us as lovers. That can never be.”

“Why?”

“Because I am to be the king’s.”

“You would be his whore, but not my possible future wife? I would honor and cherish you. He has a wife already even if he has already sent her away from court. You would relegate yourself to being his mistress he can throw away at a whim?” His head screamed at him,
What are you doing
? He could not marry her, but something inside him was crumbling. He could not allow her to be Henry’s, and he had no idea why, but the idea crushed him inside.

“No, I . . . I will be no man’s mistress. I have avoided it thus far.” She took her hand out of his and stepped back. His hand on her chin fell away. “You barely know me, sir. And while I am sure you can say these fine things to many a lady and get her in your bed in this fashion, I am not as keen to do such a thing. I have a sister with so many horrendous salacious titles—I have vowed I would never be like her.”

“I know . . .” Mary Carey had been dubbed the “English Mare, his hackney” by King Francis of France himself. He bragged he’d ridden her often so it was a well-earned title. It was rumored she’d been Henry’s mistress at one point as well, and he may have fathered her two children.

“Mary is a good woman, but she has been prostituted out by my father and uncle. I refuse to be chaff in the court’s whirlwind—not here and not in France either.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“That is the last thing I would ever desire for you. All right—so you will not be mine. You will not be Henry’s either. You will find your own destiny, and I will help you find it.”

The discussion was done—he led her over to the horse, helped her on, then untied it and joined her on top.

As soon as they were back at the stable, she curtsied and ran off.

Oh shit. How was he supposed to protect her now?

He hadn’t considered she’d run off like that.

But then he hadn’t ever considered what it would be like to try to seduce and impregnate a woman with numbered days. He had never had to bed a woman he knew would be dead within four years from his arrival.

Today was May 10, 1532—her execution date was May 19, 1536.

He kicked the stall on his way out and gripped the back of his tense, sore neck.

Four goddamn years. She was vibrant, beautiful, intelligent and worth more than this whole fucking kingdom.

And he could do nothing to stop her fate from happening.

Or could he?

Guy took his time entering the court walls, giving himself a moment to cool down.

No one paid him any heed once he was inside, until he was in the corridor, heading toward her rooms. Then they all gave him a look of fear and possibly loathing.

He ignored it. They didn’t matter.

He needed to apologize—set things straight. She was probably scared to death since he’d put her in this precarious position with Henry.

As he went over how to say he was sorry, he was halted by Nicholas Carew.

Guy stuffed her letter she’d given him into the pocket of his breeches when Carew wasn’t paying close enough attention to Guy’s hands.

“I was unaware you were here,” Guy said, grimacing and placing his hands once more on the back of his neck. He was sure he looked a wreck—a man in need of a stiff drink and a fast fuck.

“Yes, I saw you, Moore. You made a scandal of Mistress Anne over dinner and dancing. Was it worth it?” Nick scowled.

“It was worth it to me,” Guy replied.

Nick’s eyes assessed him with a shrewd look. “And how, pray tell, did you get these clothes? You did not take the money I had set aside for you.”

“I like to make my own way,” Guy said, dropping his arms and straightening out his doublet. “I have my means to earn money.”

“And you have your own way of angering the king beyond repair. He was looking for her and ready to tear down the entire forest to find her. Where did you even hide? And why, for the love of God, did you leave my home without at least taking a horse? I am supposed to be here to help you. I had a charger ready for your sole use.”

Guy frowned, and his head lined with wrinkles that could rival an old crone. “I will secure my own destrier as well. When I joust, I want to know the beast is mine—not borrowed from anyone else.” And when Guy tossed Henry off his own horse with the tip of his lance, he wanted to know it was his beast that aided him. He would take full credit for unmasking the king and showing the world sooner rather than later what a bloody tyrant he was.

“I see . . .” Nick shifted away from Guy and smirked. “And are you going to reveal your hiding spot in the forest?”

“Why should I?” Guy approached his own chamber door.

“I suppose you are right to hide your methods from me, since I can report you.”

Guy turned and huffed. “Report me for what? Stirring up a hot-tempered king who would find some other reason to leave a trail of tears behind if not for me? He only needs an excuse to throw his great burgeoning weight around. I am getting the job done. The package will be delivered at the proper time. There is nothing amiss to report.” His accent slipped for a moment as he got choked up over the thought of them removing him from this assignment and putting someone else in his place. “I will have her in my bed. Don’t you worry about that.”

“I worry about a lot of things. It is my specific job to worry precisely about this job with Anne.” In three strides, Nick was in his face. “You watch what you do in this court. Henry is not to be trifled with, and she has to bed him around the same time she does you, so it appears to be his babe in her womb.”

“I know,” Guy growled, hiding his shaking fists behind himself.

“I will see you at the gambling tables, and for now—rest. She is not here anyway.”

Guy’s heart dropped. “Where is she?”

“The king saw her enter the grounds, and he questioned her. She yelled at him and ran off. We think maybe she is hiding in her brother’s chambers, but we are uncertain.”

Guy was ready to go find her when Nick’s hand gripped his shoulder and pushed him back.

“Rest. She is well. She knows how to handle the king. She has been doing it long before you arrived here.” Nick gave him a scathing look and then departed down the corridor.

The back of Guy’s fist pounded into the wall, and then instead of going to his chamber, he went back to the hall.

He questioned several servants over the next hour, discovering where the betting games for the night would be.

In Henry’s own personal chambers, of course.

He groaned and went after the bull, undoubtedly skulking in his room and intimidating every servant in his sight.

Once he knew where to go, he took off, taking no thought for how he might explain himself to His Majesty.

When he entered Henry’s chambers, welcomed in by Nick himself, he was awestruck by what he saw.

The king was hunched over in a big overstuffed chair in the corner, brooding.

This was a man in deep withdrawal—shaking head to toe, barely able to focus his eyes and quietly seething inside.

Anne was an addictive substance, and once in the blood, it was hard to get her out.

Unfortunately, Guy was already feeling the effects of her magic, too.

It was odd, but just seeing the indomitable Henry VIII like that made Guy’s spine ache, and his legs struggled to move.

Were all his joints locking up? This was his fault. He’d done this to the great monarch.

Part of him was glad the king was suffering, but another part of him knew this man would do incredible things, and many of those would be inspired by Anne.

Improvements in architecture, sanitation and water supply, and then of course there was the religious reformation that she directly affected.

Fuck! He looked away, and without a word, took a seat at the closest gambling table.

Wyatt was there, flirting with some woman Guy was unfamiliar with.

“Might I join you?” Guy asked.

The king’s head immediately flung toward him when he heard Guy’s voice.

“I will join, too,” the king said, pushing himself up to standing and striding right over to them.

A few people left the table, looking fearful of the king and his surly mood.

They could tell immediately he was out for Guy’s blood.

“By all means, Majesty, we would love to include you,” Wyatt said, scooting over so there was a wide berth for Henry.

Anne was missing, but maybe she’d join them later.

“Do you know everyone here?” Wyatt asked Guy.

“I certainly am aware of who you are, Wyatt,” Guy answered. “But I am unfortunately unacquainted with these lovely ladies.”

“This is Mary Carey,” Wyatt said, motioning toward a busty blonde, nodding and making eyes at Guy. Good God, Anne’s sister was incredibly flirtatious.

“Nice to meet you,” Guy responded.

She kept eyeing him like she knew exactly what kind of physique lay beneath his clothing.

“This is Lady Rochford, Mary’s sister-in-law.” Wyatt introduced the next lady.

She was a mousy woman, without much substance to her. Her eyes were closely set together, her sandy blonde hair was lackluster and she had pitted cheeks.

Anne Gainsford, one of Anne’s ladies-in-waiting, was introduced next. She was a stout lady with a constantly furrowed brow and shrewd, assessing dark eyes.

“And this is Jane Seymour,” Wyatt said when he got to the final blonde, a slight lady, looking afraid of her own blinking eyes.

Guy couldn’t help but wince when she was announced. This was the woman to replace Anne after her untimely death.

It was lucky he didn’t flinch at Lady Rochford either, since she was one of the key players responsible for Anne’s future condemnation.

“Place your bets,” Henry said, cutting into the conversations beginning to take place.

The king shuffled the cards and was getting ready to deal when Guy reached into his pocket, pulled out what he planned to bargain with and smacked it down on the middle of the table.

Everyone gasped when he removed his hand, and there sat the ring Anne usually wore that Henry had gifted her with—the very one Guy had whipped out of her hand upon meeting her.

“How did you . . . ?” Henry’s speech failed him.

As if being summoned, Anne entered the room right then and curtsied when the king looked her way. When he glowered at her, she ignored it and came directly to his side.

Her eyes widened when she saw her jewel displayed on the table, but other than that, she gave no noticeable reaction, behaving as if it was perfectly normal and understandable for Guy to have her ring on his possession.

“Take a seat, darling, and join us,” Henry told Anne, yanking her down onto his lap.

Her eyes stayed on the table. It was obvious she was avoiding looking Guy in the eyes.

Henry handed her the deck. “Deal, my love,” Henry told her, wearing a smug grin he directed at Guy.