The Boleyn King (22 page)

But as she looked in his eyes—a light, clear blue that surprised her for some reason—the ready words died away and she felt again that faint panic closing off her throat.

“I … I don’t know what to say.” That much, at least, was true. She saw his hurt, deep and immediate, and hastened to ease it. “I do care for you, very much. And I thought I was ready for this. But …”
I’m frightened
, she wanted to cry,
and I don’t want to hurt anyone
.

He released her hands and said stiffly, “I would never presume to offer any addresses I did not feel were welcome.”

Stricken by the look in his eyes, Minuette said, “They are not unwelcome. It is myself I am unsure of, not you. Would you give me a little time to think? A day, even?”

She fixed him with a pleading look. When he moved away, Minuette clung to his arm and tilted her head in appeal. She could not bear for him to leave unhappy.

He hesitated, then reached out one hand to cup her chin. “You look just like a bird when you do that. A most enchanting bird.”

Minuette had wondered what it would be like to be willingly kissed. She closed her eyes as Jonathan’s lips, soft and dry, brushed against hers. It was not quite what she’d expected—her breathing did not falter and her heart continued to beat its normal rhythm—but it was pleasant enough.

They did not linger by the river. Jonathan escorted her back to the great hall, where he bowed himself away with a kindness that only increased Minuette’s guilt. She nearly went after him, but her nerve failed her. She was not prepared to say yes. Not yet.

She looked around the crush of courtiers, wondering if she should find Elizabeth and excuse herself for the night. There was an ache behind her eyes and she felt a great need for quiet.

She found Dominic, watching her unsmilingly as he leaned against the far wall. In an instinct she did not stop to analyze, she headed straight for him.

“Come dance with me, Dominic,” she said, her heart pounding an unfamiliar rhythm.

Dominic shook his head. And when Minuette laid a hand on his arm, he stepped away and made a bow in her general direction before turning and vanishing into the crowd.

All at once, her confused emotions crystallized into clear anger. What did he mean, ignoring her like this? What had happened to his earlier happiness?

It was easy to track his dark head, as he was taller than almost everyone around him. He moved rapidly, and Minuette had to catch up her skirts to keep pace. He went down the stairs and wound his way through courtyards and doorways and arches until they were in a part of Hampton Court she’d never been before. Narrow lanes carved between brick buildings that, by the smell of things, housed kitchens and storehouses. The pastry house was all right, with its heat and scent of bread and sweets, but soon she was wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming smell of fresh game and fish. Servants brushed past with platters of sweetmeats and trays of comfits. Minuette ignored the stares directed at her, though she did look up at the rumble of thunder overhead. It was too dark to tell if rain was imminent.

Dominic turned a corner, and Minuette thought she’d lost him. But when she rounded the corner, he was waiting, with arms crossed and a scowl that would frighten off most women.

“What do you think you are doing traipsing around these lanes in a dress that cost more than these people will see in their lifetimes?” Dominic had always liked to lecture.

The tone of his voice called up her own combative instincts. “I wouldn’t be traipsing around if you hadn’t run away from me as though I had the plague.”

Something flared in his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to follow.”

“Dominic, why are you angry?” His mouth opened, as if to deny it, and she rushed on. “Yes, you are angry at me. What has happened?”

“You’re imagining things.”

Her temper increased at the flat denial. “You’re a rotten liar, Dominic. However did you manage as a diplomat?”

Even in the shadows of the torchlit alley she could see his cheeks darken, and she was momentarily sorry.

But only momentarily, for he said, “I hear you’re betrothed to Eleanor’s brother. I imagine you’ll quite enjoy family gatherings with Giles Howard.”

Minuette let out a gasp, feeling as though he had hit her. Almost at once Dominic apologized. “That was unforgivable. My temper got the better of me.”

“Then you admit you are angry.”

At last he let out a long sigh and shook his head. “Only with myself. I wanted something and, in my arrogance, made no effort to secure it. And now it is too late.”

Minuette searched the face she knew better than her own and felt a faint prickling at the ends of her fingers. “What did you want?”

Dominic uncrossed his arms and moved forward until Minuette was forced to step back. She stopped only when her back came up against the wall. She spared a thought for the condition of her gown, pressed up against the smoky yellow brick, but she couldn’t concentrate. Rain began to fall, cool against her flushed skin.

He put his hands flat on the wall on either side of her shoulders and leaned in so near that she could feel his breath. His eyes were like liquid emeralds and his hair fell in curved wings around his face.

His voice came soft and clear. “Do you love him?”

“What?” Minuette had to scramble to think what he meant. “Who?”

“The Percy boy. Do you love him?”

The thought of Jonathan Percy seemed unbelievably distant, as though she were struggling to remember a mere acquaintance, not a man who had kissed her in the dark a short time ago.

Dominic stepped back so suddenly that, although he had not touched her, Minuette felt that a support had been withdrawn. Beneath the yards of heavy silk, her legs quivered and she had to will them to keep her upright. The wall at her back helped a little.

When he spoke again, it was with the distant courtesy of the court. “Forgive me. You need not answer that. He, of course, is in love with you. A desirable quality in a husband.”

She swallowed hard and tried to think of a sensible reply. Just then a servant bustled into the lane and stopped cold, his expression comical as he looked between her and Dominic. No doubt the poor man was wondering what he had interrupted.

Minuette was wondering quite the same thing.

In that same infuriatingly remote voice, Dominic said, “Do you wish to return to the dancing?”

“No, I … my chamber will do.”

It was just as well Dominic walked with her, for Minuette still had no clear idea of where she was. But for all the company he gave, she might as well have asked a servant to escort her. He did not so much as take her arm.

When they reached her door, Dominic bowed and turned away. She could not bear it—she could not let him leave without even a word. She took a step forward and laid her hand on his arm.

He turned slowly and she bit her lip, waiting for his eyes to meet hers. But he did not look at her face. He stared at her hand as he lifted it off his sleeve into his own. She shivered as her fingertips went from the velvet of his doublet to the warmth of his skin.

Why was she breathing so hard? She was quite accustomed to having her hand kissed, and it had never roused in her anything but amusement. Certainly not the trembling that had now seized her entire arm.

With exquisite care, Dominic turned her hand so that it rested palm upward, cradled in his. He raised it and Minuette drew in her breath, waiting for the touch of his lips against her palm.

His mouth came to rest, soft and gentle, on the inside of her wrist.

The sensation was so completely unexpected that Minuette thought her heart had stopped. How was it that a touch on her wrist could send waves through parts of her body completely unrelated to either hands or arms?

And now, finally, he was looking at her. Caught in his dark, insistent gaze, she realized how she must look—hair curling damply from the rain, cheeks burning, lips parted. Above her self-consciousness, she felt the tension of opposing wishes—to stay in this moment forever, or to plunge headlong into whatever it was that came next.

The bell’s toll sounded sharp and loud, shattering the silence in which they’d been wrapped. At the first peal, Dominic dropped her hand and jerked away as if he’d been burnt. The bell continued tolling, slowly at first, and then with a rising urgency.

He swore softly. “I have to go.”

She managed a nod. Dominic opened his mouth, then tightened his lips, as if restraining words he wanted to say. She watched him stride firmly away to whatever emergency the bell was signaling. He did not look back.

William paced the length of his privy chamber, the beat of temper in his head matching the rhythm of the sounding bell. Rochford watched him in quiet stillness, his eyes hooded.

Within a quarter hour the gentlemen of the council were assembled, Dominic amongst them. The men were grim-faced and silent as they faced their king, and in spite of the seriousness of what he had to say, William felt a brief shiver of pleasure that not one had looked to Rochford.

He had rehearsed his words while he waited. “I have received a message from the French. Henri’s armies have taken possession of Guînes.”

Guînes was a town long ceded to the English, and, looking from one lord to the next, William could see the same sweep of emotions he’d been through in the past hour. Northumberland was outraged, Norfolk was angry but already calculating what came next, Dominic …

Dominic looked blank, and William wondered if he’d even heard him.

He let his voice rise a notch. “I have expelled Henri’s ambassador. At dawn he will be on his way to France. And so shall we.”

It was an exaggeration, of course, for the kind of expedition William planned could not get under way in less than a month. But he could send a small coterie ahead immediately, and he wasted no time giving orders.

“Lord Northumberland, you have charge of the muster. A thousand knights on horse and ten thousand men-at-arms assembled and ready by mid-July. Lord Sussex is your second.”

He looked next to Dominic. “Lord Exeter, you will command the advance. Choose two dozen men. I want you in Calais in one week.”

There would be further orders, of course, more precise instructions on what he wanted accomplished and when. But William knew by instinct that the best thing was to send them off roused and ready and not to cool their blood with details just yet.

He felt again that rise of triumph as the lords bowed and took their leave. Rochford was amongst the last to go. Bestowing one of his rare smiles on William, his uncle said simply, “Well done, Your Majesty.”

Only Dominic was left, still looking rather stunned. “Dom? I need you moving now.”

His eyes cleared. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Dominic?” William’s voice stopped him at the door. “If you were any older, I’d have given you charge of the entire campaign. I can’t push Northumberland too far—not yet. But yours is the advice I’ll be listening to.”

Once he was alone, William could feel the anger he had leashed beginning to threaten his restraint. If Henri thought he would be cowed by the threat of battle, he was wrong. The blood pounded in his ears, and he felt as though he might jump out a window just to unleash some of his tension.

With a clap of his hands, he summoned a page hovering outside the privy chamber and sent him to tell Mistress Howard that the king wished to see her.

29 June 1554
Hampton Court

It is dawn, and once more I’m writing by the first light of morning. How could I have known that between one sunrise and the next, everything would change?

I didn’t know I could feel like this. I didn’t know anyone could feel like this. I’ve been so superior this last year, wondering how Alyce could have been so weak as to get with child. But if the bells had not rung last night …

I watched Dominic ride out an hour ago. We are at war, it seems, and naturally Dominic will be in the midst of it. He looked up just before leaving and seemed to see straight through the shadows to the window where I stood. It can only have been my imagination that his mouth softened into a smile, for I could not see that clearly in the darkness
.

It was not my imagination. I know he smiled
.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dispatches from Dominic Courtenay, Marquis of Exeter, to Henry IX, King of England
5 July 1554

We are keeping to the security of Calais while our numbers are few. The officials here have little more knowledge than do we—that the French took possession of Guînes ten days ago with no warning and meeting only a minimal resistance. I will ride out tomorrow and see for myself. I cannot imagine that the population is happy about the change of control. I know that the citizens of Calais are unhappy about the French armies being only six miles away. 7 July 1554
Calais

The French give every appearance of being firmly entrenched at Guînes, but I suspect their troops are not deep. The banner over the castle is that of Michel St. Pierre, a man of more bluster than skill. I cannot fathom why Henri would entrust such a man with command—unless this occupation was a casual idea that Henri never expected to succeed. If so, he will have been almost as surprised as we were when Guînes fell, and he will be less prepared for war than we expected. All to our advantage, if we can move quickly. 11 July 1554
Calais