Seducing Anne (15 page)

She gulped as her heart sunk. What could she say to this? She
could
feel it, blossoming in her racing heart and spreading outward like warmed honey. But how could she betray the king’s trust this way?

“Does that frighten you?” His right eyebrow quirked up.

“No. Should it?” She shifted her feet as she tried to stand stationary. Her legs were twitching beneath her, and her hands wanted to flex and then ball up.

“Nothing about me should frighten you.” He had them walking again. “Henry does a fabulous job of that by himself. It is him you should concern yourself with in regard to safety.”

The space above the bridge of her nose furrowed. “What did my ladies-in-waiting tell you?” she cried out as quietly as she could.

“I know how he treats you. I do not have to question anyone to know. Just as people can tell we are more than friends but not quite lovers—I can tell he mistreats you. What has he said and done to you that is inappropriate?”

“Let us talk of more pleasant things . . .” Her palms were sweating, and her throat was unbearably dry. She tried to swallow, but it was not to be.

“It seems I must question your ladies after all.” He gave her a look that said he would find a way to unearth all there was to know about her—with or without her help.

“Very well.” She handed him the key to her chamber, since something told her he would insist on opening it for her.

He did, gave her a pleased smile and her legs wobbled for a moment at the look he gave her—full of warmth and honest affection. She moved through the door after she had composed herself once more and then greeted her few ladies bustling about inside, cleaning and doing their morning chores.

“Mr. Moore and I have some business to attend to. We are not to be disturbed,” Anne told Jane Seymour.

Guy went rigid at her side, pulling his shoulders back and almost shoving Anne behind his right shoulder.

“Mistress Seymour,” he said, his voice tight.

She curtsied, went silent and shuffled out of their way.

“Stay away from her,” Guy whispered in Anne’s ear as they headed through her various front chambers to get to her prayer closet.

“Why? She is always quiet. She is one of the few ladies that does not gossip and make up stories about the king and his voracious appetites for womanly flesh.”

Guy gripped her hand tightly, squeezed and quickened his pace. “She is not your friend. If you remember nothing else that I ever tell you—remember that.”

She nodded and kept pace with him.

When they got to her closet, her face heated.

It was a little messy. She was up late last night worshiping and praying for a stronger constitution to fend off this man to her right, but yet, here she was. Had God forsaken her for having such lewd thoughts about Moore?

She swallowed—this time successfully, though her throat was still scratchy and parched.

Hopefully he would admire the ornate tapestries instead of the scattered books on her prie-dieu.

“What lovely furnishings you have,” he said, looking around.

He moved over to her kneeling spot and fingered the embroidered canopy above it.

God, those fingers . . . She had to look away, so she cast her eyes at his feet, but even the simple way he moved with fluid ease did something to her, so she chanced looking at his stunning features once more.

“Lavender,” he mused, running his fingertips across the small purple flowers she had stitched into the fabric herself.

“Yes.” She dropped her chin to her chest and took a deep, fortifying breath.

She had no idea it would feel this intimate to have him in her most cherished place.

This was where she poured out her heart to God.

Exactly what Guy professed he wanted her to do to him. But how could she? If he knew what a sinner she was, what she wanted to do to that body of his, he would know she was unworthy of being at court at all.

Never mind the Chapel Royal. She went to confession yesterday, but she failed to mention she burned inside for this man, rather than her betrothed—His Majesty.

Guy set his palm across the altar, and she gasped, choking on her breath. The sight of his hand there made her nipples tighten and her breasts go heavy.

“Lord help me,” she whispered to herself, her eyelids going heavy.

“Come here, my precious flower. I want to inhale your scent while stitched bowers of lavender are overhead. It might be the closest I will ever get to Heaven.” Guy patted the altar.

Her knees almost buckled, but somehow her feet carried her forth.

“You intend to smell me?”

“Yes. And other things as well. But you do not need to know what I intend. I still want to know what Henry has said and done to you that has harmed my girl.” He lifted his hand that had been almost lovingly stroking her furniture of worship, and he crooked his index finger, beckoning her over to him.

Evidently she was moving too slowly for his liking.

She smiled, but her lips twitched with nerves, and her breathing went ragged at the hungry look he was giving her.

“Tell me, little lavender, what sins the king has to atone for. Confess to me—here and now.” He reached for her and set her against the altar, trapping her as he wrapped his thighs around hers.

“Only God can judge a person’s soul. I have neither the heart nor mind to determine what he has done to sin against his Maker.” She shrugged while setting her palms on his chest, focusing on the silver laces of his black velvet doublet.

“You smell too good to be true. My own personal angel with the scent of flowering fields.” He bent his head down and inhaled deeply at her neck.

For some reason she could not explain, her neck tipped back and she made this tiny gasping moan.

His fingers ghosted over her throat, even pinched a little, then he cupped the back of her head and brought her back so she was face-to-face with him. He rubbed the tip of his nose alongside hers.

“Tell me what he does that you dislike. No one else will hear. The music is playing in the chapel and wafting in through your window.” His eyes burned into hers.

“He says I am too gullible to believe you have good intentions. He yelled at me when I said you were neither a rake nor a fortune seeker. You have not once tried to advance your station, and after being here nearly two weeks, that is unheard of!” She slapped her palms on his chest.

“What else? He has done more than yell. Did he touch you?” His eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth for a brief moment.

“Yes.” Her eyes drifted down to his laces below his Adam’s apple. She reached up and ran the back of her index finger knuckle across it, and then watched mesmerized a moment later. He wore stubble, which was not the fashion. She marveled at the masculine roughness of it and how it called out to her, taking her breath away. His throat bobbed, and she was struck immediately at how his Adam’s apple was more prominent than Harry’s and how Guy had some dark, seductive chest hair, peeking up through the slit of his collar.

It made her dry mouth decide to water.

Why was she so transfixed by this dark Vulcan before her? Must he be so beautiful and enticing—like a dark promise of erotic delights?

Her breath caught in her throat when he growled at her touch.

She jerked her hand off his neck.

“Place your hands on my chest,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” She placed them both flat as he asked.

“How did he touch you after you argued?”

“H-he . . .” Her voice shook, and her cheeks heated. “I . . . cannot speak of such private matters.”

“Little one, it is Guy before you. No one else will hear. Tell me. I need to know.” He dropped a kiss to her forehead.

“He touched my duckies,” she said, cringing. Guy disliked that word, and she could understand why. It was very childish and crude-sounding.

“How?”

“My
lord
?” Her eyes shot to his as she questioned his meaning. Surely he did not expect her to recount the sordid event in detail?

“Show me how he did it. I must have the facts.” He blinked with a stern set to his brow, but his eyes were soft and full of sympathy.

She bit the inside of her bottom lip, making it dip a little at the chin. Her heart stopped beating as she groped his chest the way Harry had. She twisted his nipples, or tried to through his slippery fabric. “’Twas not soft.”

“No, it was not. I can see that. Does he know how to treat a lady at all? You have your maidenhead, and yet he manhandles you like he would a stag he’s just hunted and killed.” He huffed with a grating sound, and his eyes darkened. “Show me how he kissed you when he was touching your breasts.”

“I cannot!” She gasped and dropped her hands away from him.

“Show me, lady, or I shall enact what I think he did.”

She shifted backward, creating space between them.

“You leave me no option then. This is how I envision him treating you—like nothing more than a piece of meat to devour without even savoring.” His jaw clamped shut and twitched. He loomed over her next, then licked her neck and cupped her breasts. Softly at first, then his breathing increased in tempo. He slid her ass up onto the altar and flung her legs around his hips.

He made this snarling sound, then bit lightly above her right breast, where the flesh was exposed. His fingers pinched her nipples and squeezed the tissues hard.

She jolted at the feel of his heated touch. God, it was glorious to have his hands on her in this fashion. She whimpered and moaned. Why did this feel good when he did it, but felt so reprehensible and dirty when her betrothed touched her this way?

“Not hard enough?” he breathed into her neck as he nipped his way up to her jaw.

She shook her head. It was impossible to get enough air. She could barely breathe.

Her body was leaning back, wanting to be horizontal, but his arms went around her and he crushed her to his chest.

His manhood was stiff and pushing into her between her legs, rubbing and making her so wet, she worried she might drip down her legs.

“Tell me this instant you hated it when he did these things to you,” he demanded, his voice a low, hypnotic timbre.

She sucked in a shaky breath. “I called him a douche over and over in my head. I did not want him to breathe on me or touch me at all. Why? Why must I feel torn about him now when we are to be married as soon as the divorce is final?” She gripped onto Guy’s shirt, pulling him closer to her, when there really was no space as it was between them.

If she could but pull him closer. Nay—if she could have him
inside
her.

She closed her eyes and groaned as thoughts assaulted her of this man lifting her skirts, unsheathing himself and penetrating her. It would feel so good she might never be able to look at Harry again.

“P-please,” she said through a feeble, constricting throat.

“Please, what, lavender?” He inhaled at her cleavage and licked between her breasts. His hot breath washed over the top of her chest, making the moist areas burst into gooseflesh. “You want me to fuck you here in your closet where you worship God?”

“Y-yes . . . God help me—yes!”

He dragged her down to the floor with him. His thick bulging cock assaulted her, rubbing on her left thigh through both their clothes as he lay on top of her. It would only take one moment for him to unsheathe himself and be inside her if he so chose.

“You are not ready for that, little one.” Yet, his right hand was crawling under her skirts, and his fingers whispered up her left thigh.

“Oh God!” Her head fell back. She was lightheaded, and her vision was blurring.

“Tell me if anything hurts, sweetheart. I want to bring you unending pleasure.” His fingers were in her most private of hairs and then delving into the slick folds of her puss.

“Right there . . . This is what you crave from me,” he said, touching this tiny spot at the top of her cleft that made her entire womb convulse. The knot of nerves was swollen and slippery. What had she heard the ladies call it? The clitoris?

She folded in on herself when he rubbed it harder, then pinched it. “Oh my God!”

“Yes, sweetheart. You do want more. You are so slick for me, my hand is almost coated. I love it.”

“You do?” she asked, choking on her words.

“Of course. How else would I slide right in there and dissolve that hymen of yours?”

“D-dissolve?” Her nipples tightened even more when his fingertip was inserted inside her a little.

Never had she felt anything in that spot of her body before.

Her legs quivered around him and went lax as her hips spread open.

This overwhelming need to feel the pulsing rhythm of something stiff and long inside her, spread throughout her entire body. It was all she could do to keep from crying and begging him to take her.

“I n-need relief,” she cried out, her back arching.

“I know you do—and I will give it. Patience, sweet flower. You will have what you so desperately need.” He kissed her breasts over her clothes, nipped at her hardened nipples and pulled on the right one with his lips.