The Lady Series (22 page)

Duke Humphrey’s tower was a building like none Anne had seen. But then again all she’d seen of the world was Owls House and its nearby village, her grandsire’s London house, a glimpse of Whitehall and Westminster, and now Greenwich. She eyed the place. Massive, squat and square, the tower rose high above its thick enclosing walls, tall arched windows piercing its stony sides. Glass glinted in its westward face. Above the crenellations that edged the tower’s top like giant teeth perched a steep, conical roof, lead tiles the color of pewter.

Glancing to the side, thinking to ask Bertie about this place and its history, she caught back the question. Kit’s servant had the look of a man going to his execution. His brow was clouded, his gaze aimed at the hillside a few feet ahead of them. Anne fought back a laugh at the thought that Patience should beam so over marriage while her husband-to-be walked beneath a cloud.

Kit stepped into the center of the tower’s arched entryway. Anne set aside all worry over her future to drink in the sight of him. Against the evening’s warmth and their upcoming activity he’d shed his doublet, cap and gloves, leaving him dressed in naught but his full sleeved white shirt and a pair of brown breeches. Dark stockings displayed his well-made legs while the evening’s breeze made free with his hair, tossing the golden-brown strands. Dark circles hung beneath his green eyes, and his face was drawn and tight.

“Is your master ill?” she asked Bertie.

“What?” The startled servant glanced up at his employer, then to the woman he escorted. “Nay, he’s well enough, only tired. That nightmare of his kept him from his rest last night.”

“Nightmare?” Anne asked, hoping for Bertie’s explanation. She was too late. He was once again lost in his own thoughts.

That left her no choice but to smile at her tutor as they strode into the entryway. “Good even, Master Christopher.”

He returned her smile with his own, and Anne sighed. How she loved that slow turn of his lips. Right now, the pleasure meeting with her made his eyes glow.

“Where is she?” Bertie asked in what was nearly a demand, his voice echoing oddly in this short, stone tunnel. He fell silent as if startled by the effect, and began anew. “Where are we to be tonight, master?”

“In the garden through yon gate,” Kit replied, pointing the direction for his servant.

Bertie moved off like a sleepwalker. Anne waited for Kit to offer his arm for them to follow after, but he didn’t. Subtle pleasure flowed through her. Kit intended a moment alone for them. Once again, the breeze lifted and his hair shifted with its breath.

“You’re looking very windblown this even, master tutor,” she told him as she reached up to straighten his hair. “There.”

Golden sparks came to life in Kit’s eyes. “My thanks, mistress.”

When he didn’t extend his arm, but simply stood where he was watching her, Anne dared to breach the wall that stood between them. Hoping to tease him into further intimacy, she said, “Bertie tells me you suffer with a dream.”

Kit’s brow furrowed. “He spoke to you of my dream?” he snapped.

Disappointment ate at Anne. May God damn her, in hoping for more between them all she managed to do was ruin their last evening together. “My pardon, I didn’t mean to pry.”

In the next instant his anger dissolved, leaving only regret in its place. “Pardon, mistress. It’s not you I meant to chide.” Kit turned his gaze toward the tower’s courtyard and watched Bertie disappear into the lush foliage of what was surely the garden. “It seems my servant speaks of me to every woman he knows.”

A discussion over the behavior of their servants wasn’t what Anne wanted from him this night. Nay, what she wanted was to feel all of him against her when she knew full well it was impossible. She sighed. Better that she died at Deyville’s hands for her lack of purity than to suffer Kit’s scorn over it.

Reaching out, Kit caught her hand. His fingers entwined with hers, his palm hard, his touch gentle. Anne shivered when he moved his thumb atop hers in a subtle caress. Startled, she once again met his gaze. Pleasure had returned to his eyes.

“Come dance with me, Nan,” he invited, his voice low as he claimed the use of her pet name.

As he waited for her response, his face softened until Anne was certain love for her glowed in his gaze. Her heart broke. Why couldn’t this moment have happened a month ago?

Despite all that was loomed before her, exhilaration followed, driving away thoughts of what lay before her. Right or wrong, she wanted to follow up on the promise in his eyes.

“I will, Kit,” she whispered, speaking for the first time the name she’d used for him in her mind these past months. He smiled, as if it pleased him to hear her name him so, then led her into the garden.

Even the most forlorn of folk, of whom Anne felt sure she was one, would have been seduced by this evening. Clouds filled the yet blue sky like a herd of newly washed sheep. Blessedly free of stench, a warm breeze tossed the branches of the tall trees lining the garden’s four walls then played in the thick and tangled roses and hawthorn growing beneath them. A neat square of grass sat at the garden’s center, this level bit of lawn lined by spicy smelling stock and pinks, a fragrant dance floor, indeed.

They practiced a Galliard this night, the fast-paced dance requiring much footwork and a good amount of leaping on the man’s part, or so Kit claimed. Anne stumbled her way through the steps long after she knew them by heart. This she did, because each time she pretended to fall Kit caught her close. For that brief instant she’d lean her head into his shoulder and imagine he was hers, and she, his. Then, before her ploy became obvious to those who watched, she’d push away with a laugh at her clumsy footwork.

As one hour became two the bouncing had loosened Anne’s braid. Her coif slipped back to dangle by its strings between her shoulder blades. Her collar, however, stayed primly tied. With no corset and a bodice cut so low, the opening of her shirt would reveal far more than she was willing to display.

Colors marked the passage of her last hour in Kit’s presence as the sunset stained the tower’s western face. The gray stones glowed golden-orange, then melted into poignant lavender as twilight’s deep blue velvet curtain seeped up its eastern wall. When bats began to flutter from the tower’s cap, panic set it. Once darkness came their time together would be forever finished when there was yet so much she needed from him.

“Master Hollier,” the musician called out, flexing his fingers as he paused, “‘twill soon be too dark to walk home.”

Anne willed Kit to command him to play on. Instead the man she loved stopped and released her hand, then glanced in surprise about the garden. “I had no idea it was so late. I’ll get your pay anon.”

As Kit went to fetch his purse Anne glanced to where Patience and Bertie had been seated in study. They were afoot and waiting to depart. Regret filled her, the emotion so deep she swore she’d die from it. She was losing Kit when nothing more than a lifetime in his presence would suffice.

Patience’s expression was soft and sad. Anne drew a startled breath at what she saw in her governess’s gaze. Patience knew Amyas meant to call her away from court.

In the next instant Patience leaned her head toward Bertie and whispered something. His eyes widened, his brows high upon his forehead as he looked at Anne. A touch of a smile came to life on his face. Then, together, the couple turned and started through the trees for the garden’s gate.

Anne’s new liking for her once-despised governess burst into love. Patience knew more than Anne’s imminent departure from court. She was offering her mistress a chance to share time alone with the man she loved. The unexpected and precious gift brought stinging tears to Anne’s eyes.

Coins jingling in his hand, Kit turned and tossed the coins to the musician. The man snatched them out of the darkening air with ease. With a swift movement, he shifted his instrument over his shoulder. The lute landed against his shoulder with a ringing thud.

“Go you on ahead,” Kit told him, coming to once more stand beside Anne. “We need a few moments to catch our breaths. For this night Mistress Patience can walk back with my man.”

“My thanks, Master Hollier,” the man replied with a salute, departing through the trees with a musical rattling of his strings.

“Have Mistress Patience and Bertie gone already?” Kit asked.

Fearing the truth would cause him to hurry their departure put a swift lie on Anne’s lips. “I think they but stroll.”

“Well, they’d better be quick about it. The caretaker will want to lock the gates in another few moments,” Kit replied, reaching out to take her hand. “Yesterday, you spoke of the La Volta, wanting to try a few steps. Shall we do so while we wait?”

Nay
, Anne wanted to scream. Her interest in the La Volta had died with Lady Deyville and dancing was the last thing she wanted to do with Kit. However,
I beg your pardon, Master Hollier, but I’d really rather lay with you
, hardly seemed an appropriate reply.

“Aye, that would be fine,” Anne heard herself say. “Perhaps, if you but lifted me once and turned? Every time I watch our queen’s majesty do it, I think it must be like flying.”

Dear God, she prattled like some featherhead all because her need to feel his mouth on hers was now urgent. Aye, and growing all the more urgent with each passing moment. Who knew how long Patience would wait before she called to them?

“As you will,” her Kit said with a smile. “Put your hands on my shoulders. You must brace yourself, holding still as I turn.”

Nodding, Anne drew her hands along the strong line of his shoulders as if she were seeking the right spot. Her palms came to life with the feel of him. Warmth throbbed deep in her being. Her breath caught. Then again, perhaps dancing wasn’t wholly a waste of time, after all.

“Are you ready?” There was a new huskiness to Kit’s voice.

He set his hands at her waist. A thrill shot down Anne’s spine. His eyes alive with wanting, Kit’s mouth softened in desire. Desire for her. Anne caught another breath. If she touched her lips to his it wouldn’t be gentle sweetness she found in that melding, but something more substantial.

“Aye,” she whispered.

He lifted her. Beneath her hands Anne felt his muscles tighten as he held her aloft. It was a quick circle he turned. She gasped as her skirt flew. Already half undone, her braid fell open with the movement, her hair spilling free about her.

“It does feel like flying,” she laughed, yet held high in his arms.

His second, even swifter turn caught Anne by surprise. Her hands slipped, and she dropped against him with a cry, latching her arms around his neck as she fell. He caught her close.

All of her was pressed to him. The beat of his heart was hers. Heat tore through her, her need for him so deep she shuddered. Their mouths were close. It would take but the smallest movement of her head to touch her lips to his.

Even as she warned herself that in giving herself to him she could but win her Kit’s hatred, she turned her head and closed the distance between their lips.

“Kit,” she breathed against his mouth.

A low, deep sound rumbled from him. He caught her mouth with his. His lips slashed across hers, demanding her response. Anne’s arms tightened around his neck as she gave him what he wanted and triumphed in what he shared with her. Then his arms relaxed as if to release her. Anne loosed a quiet sound of despair. She tightened her hold on him to pull herself closer still then took his mouth as her own.

A great breath shuddered through him. Kit caught her face in his hands to kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her brow then her ear. She moaned in soft delight, the sensations he made in her every bit as wondrous as she’d dreamed they’d be.

When he kissed a line down her throat she placed her hands against his shirt, smoothing her palms over the masculine swell and fall of his chest. Even with fine cotton between her hands and his skin the feel of him was enough to set her need for him aflame. He loosened her collar. She trembled. When he kissed the spot where her neck met her shoulder Anne gave over caring what he might think of her were he to discover her secret. All that mattered was that he should make himself one with her.

Never, Kit swore to himself as he loosened the ties on Nan’s collar then kissed her exposed shoulder, had he known pleasure like this. If the months of wanting her had heightened his senses, he was glad for it. Sensation surged in him as he stroked a hand down her side and curled his fingers around the fullness of her breast.

She arched into his caress, offering herself to him. Heat tumbled through him. He brushed his thumb against her breast’s peak. Even through her shirt’s fabric he felt her nipple tauten. Wanting to place his lips where his fingers touched drove him beyond any other consideration. He tugged her shirt open then drew a shaken breath. Her breasts were exposed, his to see, to feel, to taste.

Rather than cry in shock Nan arched again, her hips pressing to his in eloquent invitation. Kit lowered his head and brushed his tongue against her nipple. She moaned softly, her fingers threading in his hair, urging him to caress her so again. He did her bidding, closing his mouth upon the peak of one breast and cupping his hand about the other.