The Virgin's Daughter (30 page)

Both his hands were on her now, but he touched her nowhere else, though his lips were so near her cheek she could smell the wine that had made him so reckless.

“He may even,” Julien continued, and suddenly scooped her up and strode to the bed, “lay you gently down so that your hair spills across the linens.”

She must stop him, they could not do this, but her body rebelled against her scruples and wanted nothing more than to be laid on her bed by Julien. And more—she wanted him with her.

Julien complied, at least partially. He stretched over her, palms flat on the bed above her shoulders so that he hovered just inches over her without touching. “And what then, Lucie?” he whispered. “What is it that you will want then?”

Without thought, she raised her head and kissed him. Her hands went to his shoulders, tugging at him, but he would not move even when she—to her great shame—found herself arching up to try and feel him against her. She had never guessed that the promise of touch could be as unbearably arousing as touch itself.

And then, with a shudder, he gave in, and she could feel the whole long length of him against her and she would have gasped if her mouth wasn’t so thoroughly absorbed. She ran her hands across his chest, trying to find the laces of his doublet and shirt.

But Julien pulled back sharply, his eyes no longer seductive, but harsh. “This is what you will want,” he ground out. “Two bodies moving entirely as one. And that is what my brother can never give you. Because it is not just your pleasure that matters. As much as I
want to undo you, Lucie mine, to make you tremble until you have forgotten yourself entirely, there is one thing I want even more than that.”

“Julien—”

He shoved himself off the bed, backing away from her as he spoke. “I want to be undone by you. I want to be the one to come to pieces in your arms, to forget there is anything in this world but the two of us. That is what should be between a man and woman, between a husband and wife. Nicolas can never give you that. He will always be in control. Is that really the man you want in your marriage bed, Lucie?”

She scrambled to her feet, the colour in her face blanching to white as desire turned to fury. “What I want is none of your business, Julien. Except to respect my choices and leave me alone.”

He turned his back on her, but moved no further for what seemed to be hours but was probably no more than a minute or two. When he faced her again, incredibly, he had himself under control. His voice was brusque. “I apologize. I am, as you no doubt noticed, extraordinarily drunk. It will not happen again. I shall accompany you and Nicolas to England. And I shall come no nearer to you the entire time than the most correct gentleman ever would.”

When he’d left, Lucette huddled on her bed, arms wrapped around her knees, and wept until her head ached. She felt as desolate as she had at fifteen, when she’d learned that Dominic might not be her father. She should have known better than to fall in love with Julien—every relationship in her life Lucette had managed to destroy.

Perhaps that was the legacy left her by the king.

INTERLUDE

September 1574

“H
er Majesty, Elizabeth!”

At the herald’s cry, every man bowed and every woman curtsied, all eyes modestly lowered as the Queen of England, Ireland, and France entered the Great Hall and processed slowly to her throne. Lucette Courtenay was accustomed to the formality of Queen Elizabeth’s birthday celebrations, for she had attended with her family since she was twelve years old.

Today was different. She was sixteen now, and she stood alone, on the opposite side of the hall from her siblings and parents.
Parent, singular
, she corrected herself fiercely, and kept her eyes averted from where the Duke and Duchess of Exeter stood with their three children. Like her, they ignored the curious glances of the crowd.

One could always count on the Courtenay family to scorn public opinion with dignity.

Lucette did the dance of appearing carefully attentive while assessing which of the young men present would be the best partner in her planned act of defiance. She had considered logically beforehand,
but now let her own interest guide her. Henry Howard looked as though he’d spent the previous night doing something other than sleeping blamelessly alone; Matthew Arundell looked puffy and yellow. Not that she needed to be attracted to her partner in crime, but it wouldn’t hurt.

Finally, she admitted that there was only one real option: Brandon Dudley. He had just turned nineteen, and those who’d known Robert Dudley swore Brandon was the very image of his Gypsy-dark uncle. After an unpropitious infancy—born in the Tower to Margaret Clifford, a royal cousin of Elizabeth; his father, Guildford Dudley, executed immediately after the boy’s birth—Brandon’s fortunes had improved when Elizabeth took the throne. Margaret Clifford had been married off at the queen’s command to the onetime rebel Thomas Howard, fourth Duke of Norfolk. And though Norfolk had condemned himself to death this very year in another rebellion, Brandon Dudley had not suffered for it. He had been raised by John Dudley, the Earl of Warwick, older brother to both Robert and Guildford Dudley, and was thus protected both by his Protestant upbringing and by Queen Elizabeth’s personal favour.

Perfect, Lucette thought grimly. Two personal favorites of the queen will make a very good pair.

She set about her seduction at once. When the formal reception dissolved, Lucette snaked her way to Brandon’s side and greeted him with a flattering smile. “Might I beg the favour of your company?” she asked. “A certain persistent gentleman is determined to talk at me until, presumably, I am so bored I would agree to anything simply to have done listening to him.”

Brandon’s lips quirked to quite charming effect. “I should never abandon a lady to such a fate,” he said gallantly, offering her his arm. “Would you care to walk in the gardens?”

It was a very pleasant hour. Brandon was as good a conversationalist as he was handsome, and his sense of humour aligned nicely with Lucette’s—a certain cynical point of view that led more to
amusement than disdain. By the time they separated, Lucette had promised to dance with Brandon that evening and she thought matters were progressing nicely.

As Lucette finished dressing for the evening, Pippa, only twelve, watched her fuss with the enameled necklace of Tudor roses around her neck, and there was a crease of concern between her green eyes. Pippa herself was elaborately gowned in dark pink, for she would spend the evening in attendance upon Princess Anne. Only when she opened the chamber door to leave did Pippa say, “Do you know what you’re doing, Lucie?”

“Feasting and dancing?” Lucette answered lightly. “I’ve known how to do that since I was eight.”

Pippa sighed and Lucette walked away before her disconcerting little sister could say anything else. I do know what I’m doing, she thought crossly, and set off with firm steps to do it.

Apparently she had hit the right note in both dress and manner, for Brandon’s eyes lit up when he saw her. As they danced, Lucette put into practice all her theoretical flirting skills and was very pleased with his response. More than once throughout the evening she caught her father—
no
, she corrected,
Dominic
—watching them with an impassive expression that pleased her even more.

It was ridiculously easy to maneuver Brandon into a secluded corner of the lantern-lit garden and get him to kiss her. She had nothing to compare it to, but he clearly knew what he was doing, and despite the careful calculation that had led her here, Lucette found herself dizzy.

From there matters progressed as she had planned. Brandon followed her from the gardens to the orchards and pressed her against a tree. He was an enthusiastic partner as long as she kept her hands in his hair. But when she began to unlace his doublet, Brandon hesitated.

“I don’t think—” he began.

“Good,” she whispered. “Don’t think.” She kissed the base of his throat and felt him swallow.

“Lucette…”

She moved one of his hands to the neckline of her bodice and for a few minutes he ceased to protest.

His doublet was unlaced, her hands on the fine linen of his shirt and marveling at the hard lines of his chest. If this was what men felt like, why had she waited so long? Brandon’s hands roamed across her stiff bodice and tightly cinched waist, and she whispered, “We don’t have to stay outdoors.”

He groaned. “This is not a good idea. You are so young—”

“Old enough to know what I want.”

“Your father will kill me.”

Lucette felt herself flush and snapped, “Do you not want me?” Wouldn’t that be the greatest irony—to set about a seduction that she could not fulfill for lack of compelling male interest.

Further proof that she was nothing like her mother.

She was torn between retreating and launching herself at him to force the issue. And then, like so many other things in her life, the issue was decided for her.

“Walk away, Dudley.” Dominic stepped into view, looking as disinterested as ever but no doubt taking in every detail of Brandon’s open doublet, his hands cupping Lucette’s curves, her mouth red and full from wanton kissing.

Brandon dropped his hands as though burned, stepping away so hastily that Lucette could not but be insulted. “Lord Exeter,” he stammered, looking suddenly very young himself. “My lord, my deepest apologies, I would never—”

“Did you not hear me? I will not say it again.”

Lucette had never heard Dominic sound like that before, and ice swept through her veins.

At least Brandon had the courtesy to shoot her a look of apology, but he disappeared without another word.

Dominic didn’t speak, either, but took Lucette by the arm. She let him lead her back to the palace, head high and fury bright as he towed her to the family apartment. Minuette was there, and seemed
to take in the situation in a single glance. Lucette waited for her mother’s reproaches, but this time she kept her mouth closed and allowed her husband to lead.

“What,” Dominic said, his tone all clipped fury, the more dangerous for his habitual control, “in the name of God were you doing?”

“I should think it was fairly obvious.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you playing at, Lucette? Do you want to destroy your reputation and dishonour your family with so little thought? And don’t tell me you have conceived some grand passion for the Dudley boy. You were simply using him.”

“Perhaps I was,” she shot back. “Like mother like daughter, after all.”

Dominic raised his hand and Lucette took a step back. Was he really going to strike her?

“Dominic!” Minuette commanded, and Dominic dropped his hand at once.

“Apologize to your mother,” he ground out through a tight jaw.

Lucette stood tall and met Dominic’s eyes without faltering. “You cannot command me,” she said clearly. And then, the five words that had been aching inside her for months, the words that would put an end to years of lies. “You are not my father”.

SEVENTEEN

A
fter riding to Portsmouth to bid Philip goodbye, Anne returned to court, which had moved the short distance from Hampton Court to Richmond Palace. Elizabeth had fretted uncharacteristically while her daughter was gone, and for once she did not make haste to remove the princess elsewhere. After the trauma with Philip and the end of their marriage, it was affirming to look at her daughter each day—and to know that she had won.

Not that she let Anne know how pleased she was. Being allowed to remain at court was reward enough, was it not? Besides, there was other news aplenty to keep Elizabeth occupied.

The anger in and against London’s foreign population continued to erupt in intermittent violence. Amidst the usual xenophobic graffiti and smashing of doors and furniture were disturbing undertones of religious dissension. Slurs and taunts against Protestants in general and the queen in particular kept having to be scrubbed off walls. But once seen, such venom could not be unseen.

Walsingham reported on the latest beatings and burnings of
property one hot Thursday in July. “It was the Flemish weavers who bore the brunt this time,” he said.