The Last Boleyn(110)

“A penny for your thoughts, Staff.”

“I cannot see selling my thoughts for a mere penny, lass, when the Lady Anne seems to value them so highly. But then, for one of your sweet kisses I have been greatly longing for lately, and which seem now to be in short supply, I would consider it.”

She felt little butterfly wings flutter in her stomach. “Agreed.”

“Come here and pay up then. You can hardly expect a near invalid to chase you around the room, Lady Mary.”

His voice had that old teasing tone, but he did not smile. She marvelled at the shift in mood he seemed to have undergone from the chatting, cordial man of a few moments ago at their card game.

She scraped her chair back and went to stand over him. He sat almost a foot from the table, but his arms were so long he had reached the cards easily. He lifted his head; his probing eyes reflected the glow of the big cresset lamp on the table. She bent down, leaning closer, her breath coming through parted lips as her soft mouth met his hard one. His lips opened immediately to caress hers, moving against her, tasting her. Then the kiss was over. He had not touched her otherwise. Was he really so unsure of her reaction after that night last week when she had not let him make love to her at Banstead?

She started to straighten, but his uninjured arm moved quickly to stay her, and he said, “Kiss me again. I have two thoughts I think you would like to hear.”

Inches apart in the drifting lamp glow, their eyes locked. She almost swayed into him at the impact of her desire for him, but she steadied her hands on the arm of his chair and lowered her mouth to kiss him once more.

You have fallen in love with him all over again, a voice deep inside whispered to her. Again since he rescued you after Will died at Hampton, again at Banstead, again at Hever, again this very moment.

She could not breathe. He was making her dizzy.

“You—I,” she stammered after she broke the kiss. She did not want him to know he could still do this to her. “I just did not want to fall against your bandage and hurt you, my lord,” she blurted.

He seemed so composed after their kissing, but his smile was gently teasing again. She stood to move around the corner of the table. “You have not told me the two thoughts I just paid for,” she protested.

“One is how much I yet desire to love you—to have you be mine.”

“Yes,” she said, but she stepped farther away around the table. He finally stood and moved after her. He turned her to him with one hand on her shoulder.

“Do not get huffy or sulk like your spoiled little sister,” he said.

“It’s just that I need some time to sort everything out.”

“Fine. Only, I intend to be in the sorting when all is said and done. And do not be so jumpy as if I would dare to take you here on this padded bench. Your mother and little sparrow of a governess would not approve of Lord Stafford half so much if they caught us, I warrant, although your sister might like to know how it is truly done.”

She grinned and put her head against his good shoulder. His voice went on, low and calm, “I know it is late, and we are both tired, love, but I do not want today to end because then there is only one more before I leave.”

Her voice came muffled against his soft linen shirt. “I know, my Staff.”

“Let’s go outside and walk along the moat just for a few minutes. We will go out through the kitchen and herb garden.” His warm fingers curled around hers, and she went willingly.

The kitchen was cast in melded grays, the vast cavern of the fireplace on the far wall gaping darkly with no embers burning on this warm night. Somewhere nearby a dog stirred, growled low and rolled over as they passed. The door to the gardens stood ajar, and the intoxicating aroma of mingled herbs swept in with the night air. The grass felt damp against her slippers and smelled unutterably sweet.

She followed him along the fringe of the garden on the grassy path until they turned the corner by the edge of the inner moat. Across the narrow stretch of water, the overpowering scent of roses wafted to them on the balmy night air.

He stopped, still holding her hand. She whispered, “There is a little stone bench farther on if you want to sit.”

“No, but Anne’s bedroom window is not anywhere above here, is it?”

“No.”

“Then this is fine. Mary, my other thought is that now that you are free—unmarried and marriageable—and since I do not trust the king or that cat-eyed sister of yours not to marry you off to someone they fancy for their own gain—” He paused and stepped closer in the darkness. “I just could not bear to lose you again after all the waiting, now that we are so close. I cannot—I will not let another man have you!”

She moved against him, stretching her arms up around his neck. “They will not, my lord. They cannot. I am a new widow and just because Anne rides so high in His Grace’s favor now does not mean they can marry me off to just anyone. If someone so much as suggests it—my father even—I will tell them no.”

He rocked them back and forth gently, holding her to his hard body with one hand firmly on the small of her back. “Ah, my sweet Mary. Have you been through so much and still think things are so simple then?”

“Not all things, my Staff, but how I feel about you is simple now.”

He stopped rocking and pulled her closer to him. “I thought maybe you had forgotten the words. Hell’s gates, do I have to be bleeding all over the bed before you tell me?”