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 found. 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.
Of course, that was not her lot, and the Church would tell her not to argue with God for what He had given her.
Well,
