Unexpected Pleasures Read online

  “That is true, even if I find your ability to mask your thoughts quite entertaining ... that is when it is being directed at someone else.”

  Curan reached down to where his wife’s belly was gently rounding. Their first child was growing in spite of the winter closing its grip over the land. Snow flurries drifted in the air, melting when they made it to the ground. Synclair was tense, the knight intent on checking his horse before he mounted. He reached out to tug on a strap and then another, walking all the way around the horse before nodding with approval.

  That had always been the man’s way. Synclair left nothing to chance, no detail overlooked. He had served out his time with a diligence that was worthy of the knight’s chain he wore. Synclair lifted one booted foot and placed it in the stirrup before rising in a single fluid motion to gain the saddle. His body was powerful and accomplished the task with ease, giving testimony to the years the man had trained. Two white plumes topped his helmet, proclaiming his rank to anyone approaching him.

  Somehow, Curan didn’t think that Lady Wincott needed to see Synclair riding toward her. Unless he missed his guess, the lady would feel the knight closing in on her. His own sister had gifted her mare to Justina so that she might flee back to court. Curan wished Jemma hadn’t interfered. One more day and Synclair would have been free to claim the lady.

  Synclair never looked back but set his spurs into the belly of his stallion and leaned down low over the neck of the animal when it lunged forward. A small party of men followed the knight newly released from service. These were Harrow retainers, men who had been waiting for their lord to finish his sworn duty.

  “I do hope Justina is looking over her shoulder, Husband.”

  “Come now, Wife, do you wish her to be any easier to bring to heel than you were?”

  His wife frowned at him. “Bring to heel?”

  Her complexion darkened as she chewed on his choice of words. “I was attempting to be a dutiful daughter.”

  Curan felt his own mood darken. “I believe Justina feels she is doing the same, but I for one hope Synclair can interfere in that duty.”

  His wife lost her annoyed look. “As do I.”

  For love was worth the sacrifice of pride.

  The palace, despite being full of people, was unnaturally hushed. Justina made her way through the hallways, feeling the eyes of the people she passed rest on her. They inspected her, critiquing her poise and every detail about her person from the position of her hands to the angle she held her chin. Fans lifted and ladies leaned closer together to whisper about her, not really caring if she noticed. When one was at court, it was simply best to expect to be talked about; when one did the things that she had done, gossip was sure to follow.

  “Lady Wincott.”

  Francis de Canis drew her name out in a low tone that left no doubt in her mind that the man was debating just how high her price was. He was a dangerous man, one who sold his services to high-born nobles and didn’t quibble over spilling blood in the process of delivering what he’d promised.

  He didn’t wait for her to offer her hand but instead reached out and captured it while she was completing her curtsy.

  “I must say, it is a delight to see you gracing these hallways once more.”

  “How kind of you to say.”

  Justina didn’t tug on her hand; resistance would only encourage a man such as he. He thrived on making conquests, and putting up a fight was sure to cause him to double his efforts to claim her. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed an overly long kiss against the back of her hand, but he stared into her eyes while his mouth lingered over her skin. Lust darkened his eyes along with the unmistakable flicker of arrogant intention to have her at his mercy.

  Justina offered him naught save for a bland expression. His fingers tightened around hers before releasing.

  “We must see more of each other, now that you are returned. You will have to tell the Viscount that.”

  “The Viscount Biddeford is my most dear cousin by marriage. His very great kindness to me since my husband died makes it impossible for me to do anything so bold as to tell him what to do.”

  Justina lowered her lashes to conceal just how revolting she found his suggestion. The man hunted amid the court for any woman he considered to be wanted by other men. Well, she knew a thing or two about how to survive at court, and one was to use formal politeness to gain her way. It pleased her to be able to give a man such as de Canis such empty words because he was a man that enjoyed having women kept beneath the heels of other men. Let him watch that same meekness being used against him for a change.

  “But does he show his appreciation of your devotion as well as I might?” There was a hint of a promise in his voice but one she would be foolish to take sanctuary in. She would only be trading one monster for another. De Canis would use her and then sell her without a care to who bought her favors, so long as he was well pleased with the transaction.

  “As I said, he is most dear because of the great concern he lavishes upon me. I do not believe there is a single hour of the day that he is not sure of where I am. He is very careful to make sure I am well settled in every moment.”

  Aye, well settled and well paid for ...

  “Yes, I have heard that he keeps you close, Lady Wincott. Which accounts for my surprise in discovering you here. Quite alone as it seems.”

  “I am to attend her majesty the Princess Mary.”

  “Ah ...” He boldly reached out and trailed one finger across the surface of her partlet. Beneath it, the swell of her breast felt his touch, and she fought the urge to cringe.

  “That would explain you covering up such delightful treats.”

  He was daring her to show her true temper and abandon her meekness. Justina brushed by de Canis but not before she heard him chuckle. The man had a habit of decorating his lovers with expensive jewelry, proving that in spite of his common birth, he was a man of means.

  He wasn’t the only one walking the halls of Whitehall Palace. There were new men of means who owed their fortunes to the sacking of the monasteries and cathedrals. King Henry Tudor handed out the riches to those who aided him in driving the last of the Catholic Church from England, but he took much of that money back when those common men came to him to buy titles.

  It was a petty circle, one fueled by greed, and now that King Henry Tudor was dying, the fighting over what was left was growing more frantic. The King’s only son, Edward, was a boy of nine. True power would be held by the men named in the King’s will to govern for the young prince whom King Henry had spent so much effort trying to have.

  Justina turned a corner and discovered the Princess Mary strolling on the green with her half sister, the Princess Elizabeth. The weather was cold now and the grass more brown than green, but the two sisters walked side by side while surrounded by onlookers.

  Justina had to force a lump down her throat before she could walk any further. The onlookers sickened her with their sly glares and whispers. Mary Tudor was a grown woman now, but her father had never seen her wed. Both sisters had spent many years labeled as bastards while the King married again and again in pursuit of more sons. Only now, at the end of his life, was Henry Tudor spending time with his daughters. It was Queen Catherine Parr who urged her husband to do so but Justina couldn’t do anything save pity the two princesses for the rough road both had been given by life.

  “The Lady Justina, Dowager Baroness Wincott.”

  The chamberlain announced her and struck the stone walkway with his white staff while Justina lowered herself. Neither princess even looked at her, but several heads turned in her direction as she joined the crowd. Newly arrived daughters stood in their fine dresses near their mothers or guardians while they hoped to be noticed by someone important. Justina moved through the crowd, offering curtsies to many but avoiding engaging in true conversations. People were pressed almost too close in their quest to be near the royals, everyone talking in hushed tones while they tried to thin
k of ways to gain whatever they wanted. Justina moved through them, intent on the same thing, to gain enough of the princesses’ attention to satisfy Biddeford.

  “Lady Wincott.” Another chamberlain struck the stone walkways, startling her.

  Justina faltered for a moment because she had not expected her name to be called so soon. She recovered quickly, hurrying to the man wearing the tabard of the King. She lowered herself and waited for the princesses to raise her, but it was an older woman who spoke.

  Queen Catherine Parr was much younger than her husband, and she sat beneath a canopy with her ladies. In fact, there was not a single gentleman beneath the fabric, the chamberlain standing a full twenty feet away.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  The Queen set her embroidery aside, looking disgusted by it. She changed her expression quickly, as though she had made a great error in allowing any emotion to show. A smooth expression appeared on her face as she looked at Justina.

  “It is said that you have returned from the high country.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  The Queen folded her hands perfectly and sat them in her lap. “Perhaps you might sit and offer us a bit of entertainment with details of your travels.”

  “Of course. Is there something in particular Your Majesty would like to hear about?”

  The Queen tried to sound happy but there was a hint of boredom in her tone. Justina nodded and stepped forward while a chill went down the back of her neck. There was a tension beneath the canopy she had not felt from the Queen before. Her ladies cut quick glances between one another before they all folded their hands and adopted the same posture that the Queen did. Each looked like a doll that had been carefully dressed and posed by its owner. The rest of the court pressed forward but were kept behind the chamberlain so that no one was near the Queen. Not one of her ladies moved or spoke, they simply waited. The Queen kept her hands folded and seemed to search for a question.

  “Were the flowers and clover in bloom?”

  It was quite a benign topic and one that stunned Justina. Catherine Parr was well known for her love of books and study. It was one of the reasons Henry the Eighth enjoyed her company. It was known that she often debated theology with the King when they were in privy. She had been heard to say that such debates took his mind off his leg wound and that she was happy to be able to ease his pain.

  And today she asked about flowers and clover ...

  There was a hint of fear in the Queen’s eyes and a pinched look around her lips. Justina felt the tension wrap around her and she clasped her hands together, just as sedately as Catherine Parr was doing.

  “The clover was indeed quite lovely during the summer. . .”

  Justina didn’t know why, but she could feel the anxiety in the air, so she spoke of springtime foolishness, and noted with unease that the Queen seemed to listen intently.

  The Queen retired early, taking her ladies and the princesses with her. Justina forced her expression to be smooth while she walked the distance to her rooms. Being housed in the palace was the doing of Biddeford, but for the moment she was pleased to not need to travel to a townhome for the night. That would have required her to either ride or take a carriage. She might wait quite some time for her carriage or mare to be brought up from the stables because they were an entire city block from the main palace. The only way to ensure her mare was brought forward soon would be to press some silver into the groom’s hand.

  Her chambers were very nice, if a bit small. She had two windows and they were a very nice luxury for they allowed the rooms to be aired out. Many of the interior rooms had the scent of smoke lingering halfway down their walls from the fires that had kept their inhabitants warm during the winter months.

  But her chambers were not as private as she might have liked. The viscount sat at the table in the front room, sipping expensive French wine from a glass goblet. His manservant stood silently behind him which was a reminder to her that Biddeford considered himself worthy of service at all times of the day.

  “Do you like it?” He held one of the glass goblets up so that the candlelight shone through it. The wine in the glass was visible, and he tilted the glass back and forth to display its translucent ability.

  “A gift from the King.” Smug satisfaction coated his voice while he took another sip from the delicate glass. Justina stood and waited while he set the goblet down. There was a flicker of his eyelashes, indicating that he knew she waited on him, but he did not grant her permission to sit. The heels were digging into her feet now and the skirt of the gown had begun making her lower back ache hours ago, but she could not sit in the presence of her better without his leave.

  “How did you find our Queen?” There was thicker smugness in his voice now and a satisfied gleam in his eyes as well.

  “Her Majesty was very welcoming.”

  “You mean she was boring and meek.” Biddeford chuckled. “Yes, our dear Queen almost found herself in the tower like so many of her predecessors.”

  Justina failed to smother her gasp of horror. The viscount tapped the table while smiling at her.

  “Chancellor Wriothesley had the arrest warrant penned and the guard marching off to take her away when she somehow learned of the affair and threw herself on the ground at the King’s feet to beg for mercy.” Biddeford waved his hand through the air. “To beg for her life, actually.”

  Justina felt her own throat contracting. There was no way to ignore the rising horror that filled her; the look of enjoyment in Biddeford’s eyes doubled it.

  “The clever woman managed to soothe the King’s ego by spouting some nonsense that she had argued with him only to distract him from his festering wound. She burned her books and told her ladies to follow her example. She therefore kept her head, for the moment.” He reached out to finger the thin stem of the wineglass. “She has been properly submissive ever since, a rather good example of how a woman should conduct herself if she wants to live.”

  He took another sip from the wine. “However, Chancellor Wriothesley lost some of his influence over the King during the matter of the Queen’s investigation. Edward Seymour has been enjoying His Majesty’s company a little too much for my taste since then. Seymour will be hunting tomorrow. Make sure you ride with his party.”

  “I thought you detested the Earl of Hertford. He must know that I am your servant.”

  The viscount stood, his enjoyment fading. “I do hate him, which is why I want you to ride near the man. Since you spent so much time with Ryppon, it is possible the man will believe you have changed your allegiances, even if you can do nothing to change the legal fact that I am your guardian. Let him see you looking pitiful and needy. He’s been known to have a softness for pretty women. We shall exploit that if he is foolish enough to take the bait.”

  Biddeford left, his manservant stepping forward to pick up the wineglass before following his master. Justina felt her heart beating softly, as though it was afraid to make too much noise. Now she realized what it was that she had felt around the Queen and princesses today. Fear, thick and choking, it hung over them like a fog that made everyone want to speak only in the most hushed of tones.

  The chamber door closed and she winced at the sharp sound it made. Her heart instantly began beating faster, the feeling of being trapped tightening around her until she felt the need to run. Fast and as far as her legs might carry her away from the hideous man who had just invaded her chambers.

  Of course that was the entire point of Biddeford’s visit tonight. He knew the art of intimidation well, understood how to upset any sense of balance she might gain for herself. A tremor traveled over her body, followed by another and still more until she was quivering. Fear, thick enough to taste, permeated the air.

  The maids returned and helped her disrobe with nothing but pinched looks on their faces. Justina longed for darkness and sleep to give her relief from some of the dread, but when she lay in bed at last, in nothing but her chemise, there was no peace to be fou
nd. Instead another face rose from her mind, one that sent tears to burn her eyes. Her fearful mind reached for this memory, needing the strength that shone from his eyes.

  Synclair ...

  The man she had no right to long for or even think about. He was her opposite, everything honorable, while she was scarlet with sin. The knight had been sworn to serve Lord Ryppon and he had done so obediently. It had been Synclair who locked her away once her treachery was discovered, but he had not done so with disgust. The knight had boldly claimed a kiss from her that she still felt lingering on her lips.

  You feel that kiss because you are too weak to ignore the memory. . .

  So true, and still she allowed herself to sink into her mind’s recollection of the way the knight had felt against her. Somehow, she had never really thought that a man might feel so good, that she might take pleasure from his harder body. His kiss had been hard and punishing, demanding a response she had been powerless to deny him. For a few precious moments, her mouth had mimicked his, returning that kiss because she longed to, not out of obligation to her husband, or because she had been ordered to by the viscount. One sweet kiss that she recalled because it was genuine, but it was also a cruel torment because after the rush of sweet enjoyment, her mind returned to the times she had used her kisses to deceive. Misery wrapped around her as she saw Synclair standing so stiffly on the walls of Amber Hill, attending to his duty while always casting looks toward her tower-top room.

  She had rejected him. Pushed him away and labeled him a blackard.

  That was a kindness on her part.

  Synclair was noble and pristine. He deserved a wife who matched his virtue with her own. It didn’t really matter anymore. She had left the knight far behind and the memory of his kiss was the only thing she would ever have of him.

  The tears fell down her cheeks, but the darkness allowed her the luxury of not having to fight them. Instead she wept for the innocent bride she had been and the disappointment her husband had turned out to be. Knowing Synclair made her pain even worse for she knew that there were men worthy of the innocent she had been. There were knights who ladies might save themselves for and have their affections rewarded with faithfulness and honor.