Unexpected Pleasures Read online

  As you did from him ...

  She frowned and moved slightly away. Even sound asleep she did not doubt that the man would rouse quickly if she was not careful in how she moved. He was a knight and not one dubbed with the title in the middle of a receiving room for the sake of who his parents were. Synclair was battle-hardened, a fact she had learned to respect because he was never easy to slip past. Of course she found that aspect of him hard to resist. There were far too many people in her life who demanded her respect without having earned it. She was drawn to Synclair for too many reasons, and passion was only one.

  She had to leave him.

  Pain slashed through her so harshly, she expected to feel blood seeping from her chest. It stole her breath both with its intensity and with surprise. Justina stopped, frozen in place while she looked back at the man sleeping in the bed she had shared with him. A longing to return to his side was strong inside her, urging her to discover if he would be happy to find her still in his bed when he awoke.

  That was pure nonsense, of course, another feminine idea that men only played lip service to when it suited their purposes. Even if Synclair had meant his words of last night, it would not change the fact that she could not choose to be with him.

  Justina moved across the floor with silent steps she had learned and practiced while leaving more than one bed. Her husband had often used her after drinking heavily and his temper was always sour when he awoke after such times. Escaping his chamber had been a pleasure.

  Unlike today. She had to force her feet forward while picking up her clothing, making sure that the fabric of her dress did not rustle. Her undergarments were scattered across the floor and some rested on the table. Finding her shoes proved time consuming and she looked back over her shoulder more than once to ensure that Synclair was still sleeping. She allowed herself one long look at him before turning her back on him and their night together.

  She eased from the room with all of her clothing hugged tightly against her chest. She didn’t stop to put her chemise on either. The house was still silent and dark, the hallway held in the grip of night. She heard every breath she drew and flinched when she gently closed the door because the sound it made seemed loud, though in reality was quite hushed.

  Early morning was often that way. She could smell the new snow in the air and feel the pinch of winter chill on her bare skin. No smoke tickled her nose yet, telling her that the servants were still sleeping, too. Justina stopped at the bottom of the stairs, gently placing her bundle of clothing on a table there. She shivered, gooseflesh rippling along her skin. She plucked her chemise out of the jumble and hurried into it to chase away the morning chill. Her nipples still drew into hard points and she shivered again while sitting down in a nearby chair to pull her stockings up her legs. Lacing her shoes on was simple with only the thin fabric of her chemise covering her midsection, but there was no way to lace her stays, so she lifted her dress and allowed it to settle around her without the stiffly boned undergarment. The dress wouldn’t conform to her curves without being laced as well but there was no time for that. The fabric covered her and that was enough for the early hour.

  She ducked out of the door, taking care to close it gently and leave the house sleeping. Outside, the landscape was glittering with fresh snow, all of it lying pristine and perfect without any tracks. The horizon was only beginning to turn pink, slim fingers of light cutting through the darkness. It was a time of day that she saw too often, but peace settled over her with the solace in knowing that she had made her escape once again.

  A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, a sense of victory filling her because she had taken her pleasure where she wished, and for once, at the command of no one.

  Well, except for Synclair. The knight had enjoyed telling her what his will was. She crossed the yard toward the stable. Her leather shoes were little protection against the snow that broke beneath her weight, allowing her to sink ankle-deep with each pace.

  She was thankful that the hunting house was built for easy access to the horses. Inside, her feet didn’t need to suffer the snow, and it was slightly warm from the coals lying beneath the ash in the fireplaces. Two stable boys rolled over when the horses stirred, their ears twitching when she entered. One boy lifted his eyelids and looked at her from where he slept near the fire. Justina lifted a hand and placed a finger against her lips. The boy pulled his blanket closer and closed his eyes once more.

  Obviously, a tousled-looking woman leaving at dawn was not an uncommon sight to them. Her cheeks flushed when she considered just how the two boys had become so familiar with seeing women leaving the house with their hair unpinned and clothing unfashioned. Henry Tudor had often kept his mistresses at the lodge, and his nobles followed in the King’s footsteps, spending the night hours in bed sport before making appearances at service. None of them were faithful to their wives, many more seeking divorces exactly as the King did. It made being a woman difficult and it also allowed men such as Biddeford to use their female dependents like prostitutes.

  Synclair had not made her feel like that ...

  The thought renewed her lament over leaving and she stiffened, because she had to return to the palace before day broke completely. For all the sordid things that happened by night, the court was a vastly different place during the light of day. She would treasure the memory but return to her place without further delay.

  She reached for a mare, one of several that were kept in the stable. Saddles were lined up along the railings of one stall. There was a sense of security in knowing how to saddle a mare with her own hands. She soon had the horse ready for its early morning ride and led it toward the stable door. She stopped and peeked outside before opening the door. The yard was empty and still, only her tracks marring the smooth surface of the snow.

  She swung up on top of the horse, gripping the saddle with her thighs while no one was about to critique her. Besides, what did it matter if someone declared that she was sterile because she rode astride? She had no husband to worry by such news.

  The mare cut through the snow with little crunching sounds. Justina saw her own breath turning white in front of her while she leaned down low over the neck of the animal. The crisp air flowed through her hair, making her as giddy as a child who had stolen away from her schoolroom tasks.

  But all too soon Whitehall came into view. The guards were diligent at the gates but they allowed her through without question since the saddle was marked with the arms of the King. She turned a corner and rode down to the stables where the King’s horses were kept, before slipping from the back of the mare and handing the reins over to a boy wearing the colors of the Tudor household.

  “Feed her well and warm her feet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Justina dug into a tiny pocket on the side of her gown and pulled a small silver coin from it. The groom’s eyes brightened, and he took the money, pushing it deep into his doublet.

  “Remember me not.”

  The boy nodded, casting his gaze at the mare. Justina hurried up the stairs that would take her inside the maze of hallways that made up the palace. She knew them well, turning and covering the distance to her chambers through the smaller hallways used by the servants.

  But she was not the only lady walking along the corridors this morning. Other women, whose hair flowed down their backs, made their way, too. They didn’t look up, did not make eye contact with her, but kept to their side of the hallway when she passed them. There were no words spoken but an undeniable feeling of regret permeated the stone hallways. Justina forced herself to not think of it as hopelessness for she wasn’t ready to become so jaded. She resisted thinking about the other women who were but hollow shells of what they had been when they first came to court, drunk on the stories of grandeur and royal majesty. Each of them had learned that marriage was for the gain of the family and their bodies a treat for the men to enjoy. While the horizon continued to brighten, more of her sisters made their way to their cham
bers and the role of respectable ladies.

  She was no different, no worse, but at least she had truly come from a lover this morning. She would hold that thought close to her heart and hopefully keep it from turning to stone.

  At least for a little bit longer.

  “Did he have you?”

  Justina pressed her hands over her mouth to smother a cry of surprise. Biddeford was sitting in the chair again, only this time hidden in the dark. She heard him snap his fingers and then there was a scuff against the floor before sparks flew out from a flint stone being struck. The groom had to strike it several times before the candle’s wick caught fire and light illuminated the viscount.

  Justina preferred the darkness, for his expression chilled her. Displeasure was showing clearly on his face and there was a warning in his eyes that she had suffered only a few times in the past.

  “The maid claimed that you rode off with Baron Harrow last night after he fought with Francis de Canis.”

  Of course the maid had told him. For a bit of silver any servant might be encouraged to recall where nobles went and with whom, even if those same servants had been paid to remain silent. One never knew; the only thing certain was that if one failed to bribe, the servant would most definitely talk.

  The viscount’s eyes narrowed as he raked her from head to toe. “You look well and truly tumbled.”

  Justina forced her enjoyment of the night down deep inside her, into a place that only she knew of. Reality had arrived, just as she knew that it would.

  “What else would he have taken me with him for?” She turned to hide her distaste for how her words sounded. Synclair did not deserve to be talked about in such derogatory tones; however, it was better than allowing Biddeford to know that she admired Synclair. The viscount might decide to make an example of him, just to prove his power over her. She would not take the chance. “But I am returned and no one the wiser.”

  The viscount slapped the table, the sound drawing her back around to watch him. The man didn’t have any qualms about striking women so it would be wise to keep him in sight.

  “Francis de Canis knows and he is most displeased with you, madam.” The hand on the table began to tap against the hard surface. “De Canis has powerful friends who enjoy his work enough to want to see the man happy.”

  A shiver crossed her face. She failed to suppress it and Biddeford noticed it.

  “Letting de Canis use you might have been advantageous.” He tapped the table again. “Then again, he is the sort of man who likes what he is told he cannot have best of all.”

  Justina watched the way the viscount contemplated her. He was weighing the amount of gain to be had, peddling her like a moor did a slave girl.

  “Continue to tell de Canis no. Let him nurse a swollen cock when you walk by him. Dance with him if he asks and tease him, but refuse him anything further.”

  Justina felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. She drew in a deep breath but knew that it was far too soon to celebrate anything. The viscount was merely attempting to drive up the price before he made a bargain.

  “We’ll see how much he desires your sweet flesh and more importantly how much he will give me to take you away from Baron Harrow.”

  “The Baron Harrow is on close terms with the Earl of Hertford.”

  The viscount made a soft sound of reprimand beneath his breath. He stood up and closed the distance between them. He raised one hand and stroked a single fingertip across her cheek.

  “Be very glad that your worth is in your beauty, else I would strike that insolence from you.” His hand trailed down to her arm. “A pity that I cannot even mark you where your clothing will hide it but I will not lament it very much. There are many who will give me a great deal to possess your body.”

  He twisted his fingers in her unbound hair, pulling the strands cruelly. She bent, leaning over while he watched her suffering, his hand never easing its hold.

  “You may fuck only when I give you direction to, my dear Baroness. Do not forget that again. Harrow hasn’t paid for your sweet flesh, so make sure he doesn’t sample it against my will or I shall be very displeased.”

  He released her hair and walked to the door while his groom scurried to arrive there before his master and open it for him.

  “Make sure you do not conceive.”

  The door shut with a whisper but still she flinched.

  Conceive? She would never make that mistake again, hadn’t allowed it to happen twice in spite of her husband’s rage over the lack of more sons to brag about to his friends. He’d beaten her for the lack of more children but she refused to allow herself to be caged with any more souls that she loved. It wasn’t hard to keep her womb empty. There were women who knew the way and they sold their herbs, which when seeped in hot water would keep a man’s seed from taking root.

  Justina turned and pushed the kettle over the fire. It was kept in her private chambers just so that she might brew her own remedy for the passions of the nighttime. But today, tears stung her eyes while she dug out the small, cloth-wrapped bundle that she would need. Synclair needed children, just not hers.

  But she couldn’t dispel the feeling that it was a pity she couldn’t allow nature to take its course. Maybe fate would bless her with a babe. At least then she would be returned to the country. But her child would be bastard born and subject to Biddeford’s will even more so than Brandon, because someday Brandon would inherit his title. Any child she conceived out of wedlock would have only her to champion it and the world was controlled by men. Synclair would not wed her; she wasn’t worthy of that.

  She pulled the kettle out of the hearth and carefully poured a measure of water into the wooden mug holding the little bundle of herbs. Steam rose into the air, tickling her nose with the scent of bitterness. She waited just a few moments before lifting it to her lips and draining every last drop. She would not hesitate or give herself time to fail.

  Tears wet her cheeks when she sat the cup aside and she lowered herself into the chair while feeling the hot liquid warming her insides.

  Lament? It was not harsh enough a word for how she felt.

  “His lordship, the Earl of Hertford, requires your presence.”

  Synclair snarled at the page but the boy didn’t flinch. Instead the youngster looked somewhat bored, his attention straying to the window and the winter landscape visible through it.

  “Tell your master I will be there shortly.”

  At least the earl was at Whitehall. Synclair looked back at the bed and growled. Oh yes, he was interested in going to the palace, but not to seek out Edward Seymour. The earl and his power were not what Synclair was interested in, but he was not a fool either. Justina was tangled in a sticky web and pulling her free would not be a simple task. Legend and lore liked to suggest that knights could be noble and win the day but that was rarely so. Honor might be present on the battlefield but a wise man didn’t expect it from his enemy. You had to be ready to fight, any way that the moment demanded. Let the minstrels sing their tunes of chivalry, but as for claiming his lady, he would need men such as Edward Seymour to make it happen.

  Synclair refused to think of the fact that he might fail. The memory of the night was so fresh in his mind, it felt like he might return to the bed and be once again in her embrace. He hadn’t slept so deeply in months, didn’t think he’d awoken so refreshed in years. All of it had dissipated when he had realized his bed was empty.

  He turned away from the rumpled sheets to begin dressing. Justina didn’t know him very well because the lady seemed to think that dismissing him was enough to gain her way.

  He was going to enjoy showing her the error of her ways.

  The Earl of Hertford received him like a prince.

  Synclair had to wait outside the receiving chamber while the doors were guarded by royal yeomen. They kept to their stations while Synclair scanned the room and discovered that he was not alone in wanting to see the earl. Ambassadors spoke to one another in
low tones, the sounds of foreign languages such as Italian, French, and German touched his ears. The fact that these ambassadors waited outside Edward Seymour’s door spoke much of the attitude of the rest of the crowned heads of Europe.

  They would be looking at the earl as the man controlling England. There was no other reason for the attendance of so many outside his chambers.

  The doors opened and the room went silent instantly as everyone waited to hear what name would be called.

  “Baron Harrow.”

  There was a mutter of frustration from more than one party. Synclair stepped forward. The earl spoke in the same instant that the doors banged shut, confirming that they were in privacy. Synclair offered the man a quick reverence and controlled the urge to grin. Seymour was a bit too eager. Henry would have made him wait before voicing what was on his mind.

  “Francis de Canis is a man many consider a friend of the King. Fighting with him was not in your best interest.”

  Synclair stared straight at the Earl of Hertford. “Is he Henry’s friend? Maybe I shall ask His Majesty about that.”

  Seymour’s eyebrow rose. “You have business with the King? What manner of business?”

  “Private correspondence from the Baron Ryppon. Lord Ryppon considers the King a friend I believe.”

  The earl relaxed, although it was only a slight change that most would have missed. Synclair didn’t. He’d remained alive riding across France only because he knew how to read a man’s face for the things that he didn’t want you to know. More than one young knight had been ordered into a hopeless battle for the better good of the army. He had learned not to be one of those pitiful men sacrificed by his better-blooded commanders so that they might live. The earl flicked his hand toward a chair.

  “I will be happy to see the correspondence to his majesty.”

  Synclair sat down and smiled. “You know me better than that, Edward. What duty is mine, shall be finished by my hand.”