Courtly Scandals

by Erin Kane Spock

  God’s teeth, what was she doing?

  She stepped away enough for Anne to pull back her arm and aim another slap. Mary met her blow with her arm. Then both ladies were reeling, their arms flailing at each other like windmills in a storm. Mary could not hold herself back as she screamed, not sure if any of her blows here landing. All she knew is she wanted to hurt Anne. Hurt her.

  “Halt.”

  It took a moment for the single, calm word to sink past the haze of anger. Halt.

  Mary stopped short, dropping her hands to her side. Anne, taking this as an opportunity, jumped forward only to be restrained by a black-clad arm.

  Mary’s vision cleared and focused. William Cecil, Baron Burghley, Secretary of State for Queen Elizabeth, stood in front of her. One arm wrapped around a sobbing Anne. The other hand rested on the dagger at his waist.

  “My lord Burghley.” Mary dropped back in an elegant reverance.

  “Mistress Mary.” Burghley gestured her to rise. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior. It is not to be condoned.” He spoke directly to his daughter, “A countess should behave as a countess.” Anne’s sobbing increased as Baron Burghley turned back toward Mary. “Mistress, I trust you will remove yourself from the Oxford household immediately?”

  A shout interrupted Mary’s response. Oxford. “Dear father, must you spoil all my fun?”

  Burghley turned to face his recalcitrant son-in-law. “My dear boy, I am certain that you will manage to entertain yourself amply.” He turned back to Mary. “I do not blame you for this.”

  Mary held back a sigh of relief as she reveranced one more time.

  Burghley, again, gestured for her to rise. She turned and, this time, the crowd parted for her.

  Mary held her bruised, scratched face high as she passed by both congratulatory and snickering courtiers on her way back to the Queen’s Privy Chamber. Entering through the leaded glass doors, she turned to face Sir Charles.

  He was still guarded by two of his own guardsman. It was clear from the pained look in his eye that he would have helped her if he could.

  Turning to leave the room, she held back her fear. Her tears. She was only here for Anne. She had nothing to recommend her to anyone else . . . Where would she go?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this.” Mary grimaced as Mistress Parry placed a cold cut of raw beef against Mary’s bruised face. Mary had come out of the altercation with Anne bruised and scratched. Mistress Parry had taken control of the situation, arranging for Mary’s belongings to be moved into one of the chambers in her apartments. She sent for the apothecary to treat the open wounds and called for meat to lay on the bruises on her face. Everything together was overwhelming, including the scent of blood. It was so intense—Mary couldn’t help wondering if it was the beef or her own.

  Mistress Parry wiped her hands on a clean cloth and sat across from her in front of the hearth. “I know you would do the same for me, were the situations reversed.”

  Mary laughed at the vision of Mistress Parry engaged in a fist fight with Anne Cecil. Mistress Parry joined in the laughter. “I think that I would have fared a sight better than you, Mary. You hardly put up a fight at all.”

  “I have never done injury to anyone. I have never even thought about it.”

  Mistress Parry waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I have thought about injuring a good many people.” She looked up abashed that she had spoken aloud. “Not that I ever have, of course.”

  “Of course.” Mary was silent for a moment before asking, “Is Anne well? The baby?”

  “The physician has attended her and said she suffers from melancholy and must rest, but that babe is well.”

  “Praise God.”

  “Indeed.” Mistress Parry stood and lifted the meat off Mary’s upturned face, inspecting the bruise before replacing it. “You should not blame yourself, you know. She took away your options. You had to fight back.”

  Mary wiped away some of the meat drippings from her cheek. “I only stayed here for her benefit. And now . . . ”

  “You can still return to Holme LeSieur as you had planned.”

  Mary sagged back in her seat, keeping her face lifted so she didn’t have to hold the steak in place. “It is true. I have lost nothing of true value. I just would have liked to have choices—to feel like Holme LeSieur was what I wanted instead of the only option available.”

  “You could always marry.”

  For the first time since she realized marriage was no longer an option, she wished it could be different. Perhaps Sir Charles might not mind a barren wife. He had no name to pass down . . . but then wasn’t the purpose of marriage to bear children? She shook her head and immediately regretted it. Mary sat up and took the tepid meat off her face and dabbed carefully to remove the residue.

  Even if Sir Charles wanted her, broken as she was, she’d made herself socially untenable. He would have a hard enough time surviving in this world due to his birth, something outside his control. “Mistress Parry, any man with the means to marry,” which couldn’t be Sir Charles anyway, so why brood over it? “would not wish for a scandalous wife.”

  Mistress Parry raised an eyebrow. “If a man loved you, he would not let a silly scandal stand in his way.”

  “I think we are up to three, no, four silly scandals. And if a man loved me and were free to marry,” Mary knew they were both speaking of Sir Charles, “he would deserve a better wife than I.”

  “If a man were free to marry . . . ” Sir Charles’s deep voice was soft, but resonated through the room. Mary and Mistress Parry turned abruptly at the sound.

  “If a man were free to marry,” he repeated, standing with one shoulder propped against the doorframe, his hair brushing the lintel above, “one would think he would be wise enough to choose what was best and not let the decision be made for him.”

  Her chest tightened and her breath caught. He knew what they were talking about. Was he saying he might choose her? With everything? Well, with everything he knew.

  “The man I speak of . . . ” Mary’s voice waivered. She knew what was right and what she wanted. They were not the same thing. Tears pooled in her eyes from the ache in her chest. “The man I speak of deserves every happiness. What if his decision was ill informed and he grew to regret his choice?”

  Mary crumbled the bloody linen in her hands as Sir Charles stepped closer.

  He knelt down beside her and whispered, “It would still be his choice to make.” He traced a finger along the bruise on her cheek and smiled. “You will have the look of a soldier tomorrow.”

  “It does not matter. I cannot show my face at court again, bruised or no.”

  He drew her close, cradled against his chest—his arms, a vise of warmth around her shoulders. “You did the best you could. No one could ask more. Lady Oxford will have a harder time living this down. Many are whispering that she is mad.”

  “Whispers!” Mary pulled away, glad to replace a growing despair over the life, the love she couldn’t have, with anger. “Gossip—all in the name of entertainment. The stories alleviate the ennui of the privileged. But look what harm it causes . . . ”

  Charles pulled her against him again. His touch was soothing, gentlemanly. He overstepped no bounds. “She is not well. She will return to her father’s home until the babe is born. Who knows what Oxford will do? I’m sure this will not inconvenience him in any way. He did seem overly perturbed that Burghley spoiled his fun.”

  Mary pulled away. Was there laughter in his voice? Surely not. She remembered the anguish on his face as he stood, restrained by his own guardsmen. “Why did you not intervene in the fight? I saw you there.”

  “And you saw my guard. I could not.” Charles sighed and lightly kissed her bruised cheek. “I wish I could have helped. I was about to—but Queen Elizabeth Herself commanded me stay. And, as if she thought I might disobey her command, she ordered me to be guarded.”

  “I don’t under
stand why.”

  “She said that some things were for the best and needed to work themselves out.”

  “Ha! She probably wanted to add Her own wager.” Mary was not bitter, oh no. Not at all.

  Charles’s mouth firmed into a tight line at her frustration toward the Queen. “Do not be unkind. Perhaps She knew best. Perhaps this needed to happen to free you from the Oxfords.”

  “What can a woman in my circumstance do with freedom?”

  “Anything you wish.” Mary looked up, surprised by Mistress Parry’s words. She had forgotten she was present. “You have powerful friends. Do not forget it.” Mistress Parry rose. “By the by, I will not return here this night after the festivities. I will attend Queen Elizabeth at the Countess of Spencer’s townhome. I hear there will be contortionists from the Orient.”

  “Aye, madam. I will be there until shift change at eleven and then return to the palace.” Charles stood straight, professional and strong in his guardsman persona.

  “I do hope our Mary will not feel too lonely during her recuperation tonight.” Mistress Parry rose and laid a hand on Sir Charles’s arm, directing him toward the door of the chamber.

  He met Mary’s eye as he turned to leave. She had no doubt he would come to her tonight. A spark of awareness shot through her body at the thought. She would be waiting for him. There would be no question about her wishes tonight.

  Tonight she would not let him be a gentleman.

  • • •

  Charles came into her room silently, bearing a bottle of sweet wine and two goblets. He had expected Mary to be dressed and waiting to greet him. He almost laughed when he found her swaddled on the floor in front of the hearth. Slipping off his boots, he padded over to stoke the fire against the growing chill in the room. Mary slept on, her lips together softly, her eyelashes a dark fan on her cheeks. She was so lovely.

  She did not wake when he scooped her into his arms and carried her to bed. Still wrapped in the quilt, he tucked her between the sheets. She felt perfect in his arms. It was hard to let her go as he pulled the coverlet over her. Charles picked up his boots and padded quietly to the door.

  “Don’t leave.”

  Charles turned to see Mary sitting up in bed, the quilt clutched against her breast and her hair a tousle of waves over her shoulders. Good God, she was naked under the blanket.

  Charles reminded himself that he was a gentleman. “You need sleep . . . ”

  Mary interrupted him with a shake of her head. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she whispered, “No, I need you.”

  He could not ignore her plea. He didn’t want to. Charles dropped his boots and moved to sit on the edge of her bed. “I have thought of you, of tonight, constantly . . . ”

  Mary took his hand and held it to her face, avoiding the bruise and scratches on her cheek. “I wanted to wait up for you.” Mary closed her eyes on a sigh as he rubbed his thumb across the fullness of her bottom lip. “But it appears that I failed.”

  Charles leaned closer, placing a lingering kiss where he had just touched. “You looked too sweet asleep.” He kissed the corner of her lips and ran his tongue across the seam of her mouth. “I did not wish to wake you.” He brought his other hand up to her face and caressed her bruised cheek softly with the back of his fingers. Careful. He trailed his touch down her neck.

  “You are so soft.” Charles followed the path of his hands with his lips, just brushing them against her sensitized skin across her cheek, her jaw, then slowly down her throat.

  Mary sighed and leaned into his touch. “Yes. This. Am I still asleep? Is this a dream?” she asked, her voice soft and groggy with sleep.

  “You’re awake. Either that, or we’re both dreaming.” Each heated breath, each sigh she uttered, stoked his desire, but more than that, that interrupted conversation with Mistress Parry had him questioning the future he assumed he’d have. The thought of taking the risk and redefining everything for Mary, it was frightening and exciting. It felt right. And this moment, with Mary giving herself to him, confirmed what he already knew. They belonged together. She needed him. By God, he needed her.

  Her pulse drummed a rapid beat against his lips as he nuzzled the hollow beneath her ear. Leaning heavier into her, he splayed one hand across her naked back and lowered her farther until her head rested on the pillow and she relaxed against the linens with a gentle sigh.

  Her creamy skin called to him, was so responsive. She even smelled sweet, like roses and honey. Slowly continuing his soft kisses to her collarbone and the rounded tops of her breasts, he edged down the quilt, exposing her to his hungry gaze. She was perfect, her nipples taught and pink, waiting for him.

  Charles had imagined them together like this since that first kiss. The time they had together in her chamber was restrained, but this already had the wanton feel of the magic they shared running through the snowy garden, that first kiss.

  • • •

  Mary gasped at the cool air against her heated skin. The heat of his touch, the cold night air, the pressure of his hands, it was an assault on her senses. And his gaze as he looked at her bare breasts, she needed him to touch her. Everywhere. Please God, let him touch her. “Charles, please . . . ”

  Mary wanted to scream. He was driving her mad with desire, with need. These soft kisses were not enough. His gentle caresses stirred and teased, but she needed more. She speared her fingers through his hair, working his curls loose around his face. He paused above her, his muscles flexed as he supported his weight, being a gentleman. She didn’t want a gentleman, she wanted the weight of him, his strength . . .

  “Charles,” she breathed, as she pulled him closer, “you won’t break me. Let me feel you.” He lowered himself, his body flush with hers, heavy and real. His mouth became less teasing, the kisses hotter, wetter, against her cheek, her neck. His lips claimed her, moving down across her bosom to take one nipple into his mouth. Her back arched, she let out a soft whimper at the sensual torture, his teeth grazing across the sensitive peak. “Yes,” she moaned as he sucked harder. This was what she had ached for. Calling his name softly, she cradled his head against her.

  He pulled away and gazed down at her, his hair a mane framing his face in the flickering light. His jaw was taught and his lips a tight line that firmed the clean planes of his cheeks with tension. His hands were fists at his side as he knelt on the mattress beside her, holding himself back.

  Hers. He was hers.

  There would be no holding back tonight.

  She rose to her knees, shrugging out of the quilt entirely. She didn’t need it anymore; even in the cooling night, her skin was on fire. Naked and proud, she met him eye to eye, and splayed her hands on his chest, pressing him back as she unhooked the front of his doublet and inched her fingers into the opening of his shirt. He resisted, still being a damned gentleman.

  “Tonight it is just us. I am tired of being a lady. Tonight I am just a woman.” She spread the halves of his shirt wide and licked his collarbone and up his neck. “You are a man.” She snaked her hand down to the waistband of his breeches. He flinched and the muscles of his abdomen quivered as she pressed her hand lower, finding him hard and hot even through the layers of fabric.

  “God’s teeth, Mary,” Charles swore, his voice a harsh whisper. “You are injured. I need to be considerate . . . ” He broke off in a gasp as she undid that final lacing on his breeches and released him into her hand.

  His manhood was a firm column of heat rising out of nest of dark golden curls. She drew her hand along his length, tracing along the rounded tip with one finger. For all her meager experience, she’d never seen a man’s penis directly. Charles winced and she looked up, alarmed.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” he gasped, stooping down to kiss her quickly, then leaned his forehead against hers. “But you might be killing me.”

  She smiled and wrapped her hand around him. His breathing was heavy, and she felt the light sheen of sweat where his head t
ouched hers. He put his hand over hers, not quite encouraging her to stop. She smiled when, instead of pulling her away, he showed her how to stroke up the shaft. A pearl of moisture formed at the tip, and she brushed across it with her thumb. His breathing became jagged, and he tried to pull her hand away.

  She smiled and turned her face up to kiss him and pushed him back onto the mattress.

  Naked and powerful, she knelt over him, straddling one leg, and took him in hand once more.

  Of course she’d heard quite a bit and she’d seen some illustrations in a book that no proper lady would ever admit looking at. When Charles had kissed her intimately, it had fulfilled a fantasy; she’d seen that in the book and wanted it for herself, if only for the look of bliss on the woman’s face in the illustration.

  She’d seen another image as well, similar, but it was the man whose face was a mask of combined joy and agony. She wanted that for him, the thought of pleasuring him adding to the warmth in her core.

  She leaned forward and took the head of his penis into her mouth. He cried out and grabbed her shoulders as she explored the smooth skin with her tongue.

  “Mary!” he gasped, the sound of her name on his lips tingling down her spine and pooling into heat between her legs.

  “Hmmm?” The hum vibrated through her lips and he gasped, the hard length in her mouth twitching against her tongue. She had no idea how this was done exactly, but it was fascinating. Earthy and primal. The shape, the taste, the heat . . . She released him and drew her tongue down and then back up to the rounded crown. She wrapped her hand around him and then took him between her lips again, imagining how it would be when he entered her. She squeezed her thighs together to sooth the growing ache.

  “I cannot,” he groaned as she extended her tongue along the length of him, taking as much of him into her mouth as she could. “You will undo me. This has to stop.” He placed his hand on her cheek and guided her off him slowly.

  She wanted to ask what she’d done wrong. It seemed like there should be more, that she would be able to bring him to joy just as he . . . Her thought was interrupted as he pulled her up on top of him and flipped them both over together on the bed.