The Last Boleyn(124)

“It made me sick to see them cavorting around like that,” she admitted. “Anne was absolutely jubilant. But I imagine you were having your own revels tonight, since you mention it.”

“I hardly hated the old man the way your sister and father did.”

“I meant with sweet, cow-eyed Dorothy Cobham, of course.”

He swung his long legs over the side of the bed and sauntered toward her. “Oh, of course, especially since I have loved Dorothy Cobham for some ten years now and visit her bed in Whitehall whenever I can, despite the danger and the damned cold weather,” he mocked. He bent to kiss her and she turned swiftly sideways to him, evading his mouth and hands.

“I know full well of your attentions to her. Everyone could see at the masque—the public nuzzling, the hand holding, her rude giggles which everyone heard.”

“I have no doubts your sister embellished the details well for you on the barge on your way back tonight. Perhaps since the grand Lady Anne was watching me so closely tonight I allowed Dorothy to put on a show for her.” Mary bit her lower lip guiltily and was glad it was too dim for him to see her face clearly.

“Or did your father tell you how I spent the afternoon riding with His Grace and that Dorothy was one of the women who went along? Well, whoever told you, I am pleased to have you jealous.” His hands crept to her waist.

“I am not jealous of that little twit.” She pulled from his grasp.

“What happened in Anne’s room tonight? Did they say something to hurt you?” he inquired.

“No more than usual, and I am pleased to say I handled my father rather well. He had more plans for me, you see.”

His voice came taut and hard in the low dancing firelight. “Like what?”

“To keep Anne calm and to accompany her to France.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you meant with His Grace or a marriage. The trip to France will be fun. I am going too.”

“And that is supposed to make it fun for me, or did you mean for yourself? Is little Dorothy going along? You surely do not think I relish seeing you fawning all over her whether in France or here, do you?”

“That is quite enough of this foolishness and your temper, sweetheart. The wind on the river was cold and I have missed you.”

She walked over to the table and sloshed wine in a goblet. “Did you hitch a ride with that dark raven Cromwell?”

“I would not ride with Cromwell if my life depended on it, lass. I will not have him know I visit here, though the man seems to breed spies and might know already. While I am in His Grace’s favor, I fear him not. Did Cromwell say anything to you?”

“About what?”

“About anything personal. I can tell by the way he looks you over every time he lays eyes on you he desires you, though I cannot blame him there.”

“Desires me? You think so?”

“Yes. The man would like to have you in every sense of the term, love, though I give him more credit than to actually ask for you as some sort of reward from your father or the king. He is clever. He does not openly covet advancement the way others have. Poor Wolsey’s riches pulled him into the mire as much as this damned divorce or the Boleyns.”

She felt icy at the thought of Cromwell’s eyes on her, so coldly, so completely. She drank her wine. “Did you send Nancy to bed?” she inquired while pouring another glass of wine.

“No. I told her where Stephen was awaiting me, and she went down to see him. She misses him. We really ought to find a way to merge our two meager households so they could be together.” His arms came around her from behind and he nuzzled her neck.

“I do not intend to be so easy for you when you are so sweet on that Cobham wench,” she said.

“And I do not intend to take long rides on the cold Thames and be turned out of the bed of the woman I love,” he returned, and his arms tightened.

“You may have the bed. I shall sleep elsewhere.”

“My temper is right on the edge, sweet. You have seldom seen my temper and you would not like it. Turn around, and I will unlace you.”

She began to tremble at his tone, but she was angry. What right did he have to order her into bed with him? Anne was lying down the hall thinking that William Stafford was the fondest, gentlest lover. And her father still meant to use her for whatever suited his plans. Play the whore for Stafford if you must, he had told her once. She did not belong to any of them to command like this!

She felt his hands on the laces at her back, and she pushed out hard against him. Startled, he dropped his arms, and she darted from his grasp toward the fireplace. She was instantly grabbed off her feet and plopped down on the bed in a tumble of skirts and loosed hair. Staff threw himself down beside her.

“Take your hands off m—,” she began, but he held her so close that their noses touched. He would not dare force her at Whitehall with people all around and her sister’s guards within shouting distance. Everyone would find out about them, and he would never allow that. He was bluffing.

She shoved him away, and it was the last thing she could remember doing for a long while after. She had intended to struggle but she only met his ardor with her own. When it all ended, her cheek was tight against his, and her lips rested in the short hair at his temple. She began to laugh, happily, crazily.