The Virgin's Spy (Tudor Legacy #2)(107)

“I never could make you do what I wanted,” she complained.

He made a sound between a laugh and a cough. “Do you think so?”

There was a queer note to his voice that made Pippa sit up and study him sharply. His face looked placid as always, but she caught the slightest quiver at the corner of his mouth.

“Matthew?”

All her life, Pippa had viewed the world with an awareness of shifting layers of meaning and feeling. Most often it was Kit whose emotions pressed in upon her, Kit who came to her in flashes of his present life. But just now her emotions were entirely her own. And in all that brilliant, beautiful day, there was only one thing she wanted.

So she took it.

Pippa leaned in so suddenly that Matthew startled back. She gave him no chance to speak or wonder or think at all. She simply kissed him.

It was, of necessity, inexpert. Pippa was not in the habit of kissing the gentlemen of her acquaintance. She was attractive and wellborn and wealthy, but she also had a formidable father who, rumour had it, had nearly killed Brandon Dudley several years ago after discovering him in passionate concord with Lucette. All of which meant she would have to take the initiative with any man—and with no one more than Matthew.

Almost at once, as though sparked by the touch, Pippa could feel Matthew’s responses layered with her own. His first instinct was pure physical response—his second, to pull away. But because she felt it coming, she put her hands on the sides of his face to keep him engaged.

And once past his second instinct, Matthew let himself return her kiss. Having nothing to compare it to, Pippa had no idea if he was experienced or not. All she knew was that it was right. They fit perfectly, as she had always known they would.

Despite her curious double awareness, it was still a surprise when Matthew spoke. “I love you,” he whispered in a suspiciously rough voice into her hair when they released each other to breathe. “I have always loved you, Philippa. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

She laughed, a little breathlessly. “Why does everyone think I know everything?”

“Only the things that matter.”

And just like that, like a candle being snuffed out, the brilliant day vanished and Pippa was wrapped in a dream or vision—a very specific one that had crept into her life so long ago it seemed to have always been with her. Rushlight and fog, insistent hands and masked faces, melodious Spanish voices mixed with the unmistakable lilt of the Scots, the certain knowledge that she was dying…

It had never frightened her—until now. Because for the first time, a new element was added to the familiar litany of her life’s eventual end. “Run, Philippa. Run now!” Matthew’s voice. Matthew’s beautiful, beloved voice, strained with fear and anger. But she could not run, because he was bleeding and if she left him he could not live—

Pippa gasped, the shock of it like falling into an icy Devon stream in winter. She came back to the hillside, the warm sun on her face, and Matthew grasping her hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She slipped out of his hold and stood up, still disoriented as to time and place. All she could think of was to get away as quickly as possible. “I don’t always like what I know,” she managed to say. “And neither would you. Don’t follow me, Matthew.”

She walked away, knowing he would not press her. Matthew’s restraint always won out.





1 November 1584


Middleham Castle


Dear Kit,

I confess to being unreasonably envious of you just now. Would you believe that it snowed here yesterday? Yes, it melted by morning, but when I think of you and Stephen in the temperate Loire Valley I want to board the first ship that will take me away from Yorkshire.

And yes, I know, I am the one who counseled Anabel to take up residence this far north. But do you not remember Madalena’s Moorish grandmother telling me that I am by nature contradictory? Who am I to gainsay such a wise woman?

I am not the only contradictory female in Yorkshire. I suppose you know from Anabel that Brandon Dudley and Nora Percy married suddenly last month. Not, despite what the gossips say, because there is a child coming too soon—no, for all its apparent suddenness, this wedding has been looming for some years. I am only surprised that they waited this long. Nora is already thirty and has been in love with Brandon forever. But her mother did not approve—probably because Eleanor Percy hoped one day her daughter would learn to be as cynical at manipulating men as she is herself.

Not that Eleanor’s manipulations have been particularly successful lately. The Earl of Ormond proved willing to be her lover, but not her husband. And with the dangerous situation in Ireland, he has finally broken with Eleanor for good and sent her back to England. She was not invited to her daughter’s wedding.

Nor was the queen informed in advance, despite Nora being her niece. Anabel is a little tense, awaiting her mother’s response.

I wish you would write more often. To me, not just to Anabel. It has been surprisingly lonely being apart from all my siblings. At least you and Stephen are together, and Lucie has Julien. Still, there is little time to indulge in self-pity in this household. Anabel is almost as ferocious a ruler as her mother, and Matthew…



Pippa Courtenay broke off writing. For a woman who had often been told she never lacked for things to say, she could not find the words to finish that sentence. How to explain her current tenuous relationship with Matthew Harrington, a man she had known since birth? At the age of fifteen, she had allowed herself one reckless moment with him—and had spent the last seven years ensuring they never again crossed the boundaries of simple friendship.