He grabbed on to her thighs and hooked them around his waist. In one smooth motion, he lifted her hips before driving himself deep into her. Any other thought was lost to a hot sense of fullness, of completion. He belonged there, inside her.
She closed her eyes and arched her back, taking him fully. Her bare heels against the velvet pleats of his breaches, she pressed him forward.
A moment before, holding the core of him between her lips, she had felt powerful. Now, naked and needy, stretched tight around him, she felt different. Part of him. More, somehow.
He pressed his forehead to hers once more and met her gaze. Despite the tension in his face, his eyes still smiled. She smiled in return as he pressed his lips to hers. Any attempt at being a gentleman, of being gentle, was gone. This was raw and necessary. He thrust into her, grinding himself against her body with each movement. It was rough and perfect.
Mary felt hot, ravenous. Her body writhed against him as he pulled her to him, her fingers clawing at his doublet. Face to face, Charles deepened the kiss, sucking firmly and then biting her bottom lip. Mary nipped back, her body exultant as she gripped him inside. He levered himself over her on one hand while his other lifted her buttock, pressing her up against him in time with each thrust. No more soft caresses.
Mary whimpered as he squeezed the globe of her bottom, his fingers pressing into the sensitive flesh. She was on fire, her body aching with need as his motions became wilder, stronger. The steady thrusts became harder and he shifted up onto his knees, his hands pulling her against him with each slam of his body. The sounds of flesh on flesh, the scent of her own arousal . . . This was what she wanted. Raw coupling with no rules. She was just a woman, and he was just a man. Her man. She tightened her legs around him, rising up to meet each thrust. She shivered at the heightened sensation that was so close, almost enough. His breath was strained, the tension still in his jaw, but the smile was still in his eyes, the eyes he never took off hers. She bit her lip as he moved his hand from her bottom to her hip, then over her abdomen and down . . . She clenched around him as his fingers found where their bodies joined.
His hips kept their powerful rhythm as his thumb found the center of her pleasure. She was swollen and ready, aching for his touch. The soft pressure from the rough pad of his thumb, a gentle spiral of heat, and she was lost. She embraced the sensation—stripping away all sophistication and self-consciousness, she allowed herself to simply feel.
Mary couldn’t breathe. Her whole world was a white ball of flame, and she was being consumed by the heat. Her body tensed under his, still taking his powerful thrusts. She could feel him so deep inside her, pressing against her, filling her even as her world exploded. She stiffened around him, holding him to her with the strength of her legs as he pressed forward one more time and held there, his cries joining hers as he became part of her.
• • •
Lying replete, wrapped in each other, it took some time for Charles to be able to think clearly. He smiled into Mary’s hair as she tenderly toyed with his hair. “Am I crushing you?”
“Yes, but don’t move. I like it. It feels like you are supposed to be there.” She tightened her hold on him as if she wanted him to know that he was going nowhere. Fine with him. Well, almost.
“Stay here,” he said as he placed a kiss on her nose and rolled out of the bed.
She reached after him with a weak protest. He leaned down and kissed her again, this time properly. Her mouth opened under his, ready and wanting. He almost fell back down to her, aroused again, but he stood and stepped away. Her pout was adorable.
He took in the sight of her, lying back against the pillow, her hair a silken web across the linens, breasts high and firm, catching his eye with each rise and fall of her chest. She was so beautiful. Her face sleepy with the contentment of a woman well pleasured. She looked at him, her eyes promising more.
“Are you leaving?” Mary asked, her expression going from replete to sad in an instant.
“Hush, my love,” Charles whispered with a broad grin as he shrugged out of his doublet. “I want to feel your skin against mine.” His breeches and hosen followed. He stood there in only his linen shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t do this properly before.”
“I’m not.” Mary rolled over onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows with a saucy smile. Her hair tumbled down her back and over her shoulders. The firelight glinted off the curve of her white bottom, gilding her nakedness.
He threw his shirt onto the chair and joined Mary on the bed, pulling her to him. She fit in the crook of his arm as if she were his missing piece. She lay her cheek on his chest and sighed as he pulled the quilts over them.
“This is where I am meant to be,” she murmured against him, her eyes closed, her mouth curved in a smile.
He traced along her cheek, careful of the bruises, and down her jaw to her neck. “May I stay with you tonight? I will leave before the servants come.”
She opened her eyes and smiled more fully. “I hope you stay. I don’t think I can let you leave. I’ve looked forward to sleeping in your arms almost as much as I looked forward to making love with you.”
He turned to her and held her to him, their bodies flush from hip to toe. Her smile relaxed into something softer, her lips ready for his kiss. He did not want to disappoint.
When they broke the kiss, they were both breathless and heated, the quilt pushed off the bed entirely. He ran his hand down her back and then up along her ribs to cup her breast. She gasped and pressed into him.
“Mary-my-love, I can think of nothing better than sleeping with you in my arms. But we don’t have to sleep just yet.”
• • •
Mary woke just before dawn, still on top of Charles. She laughed softly as his snore ruffled her hair. “Charles, you must wake up. It is almost morning.”
Charles woke with a start and sat bolt upright, almost causing Mary to fall out of bed. After a moment of disorientation, he laughed to himself and laid back down, cradling Mary gently. “My apologies, I had not expected to sleep so soundly. What time is it?”
“I do not know the hour, but morning is approaching. The palace is waking even if the sun is not.”
This time Charles had a care for Mary as he sat up and got out of bed. Leaning over, he tucked her firmly back under the quilt and planted a quick kiss to her lips. “I must be gone. I am on duty again today.” He put on his hosen and breeches and sat down to pull on his boots. “Today there is a frost fair upon the Thames. There will be merchants and entertainment, all on the ice. The Queen will be in attendance, weather permitting, and so I must be there.” He found his linen shirt and shook out his doublet. “Will you be all right today?”
Mary stayed cocooned in her bed. The room was freezing. “I will be fine. I am sure I will stay secluded, which is just as well. I wonder if the Earl and Countess of Oxford will attend. The earl seemed quite healthy yesterday.”
Charles’s voice was suddenly harsh. “The earl can rot in hell.” At Mary’s surprised expression, Charles softened his tone. “You cannot be surprised I dislike the man . . . ”
“No, I would be more surprised if you liked him.”
“True.” Charles laughed and crossed the room to kiss her once more. He sighed against her lips. “I hate leaving you here like this.”
Mary reached one arm out of her quilts to give a friendly push. “Go. You have a job to do.”
With one last kiss, Charles quietly left her room.
Mary sighed deeply and relaxed into her mattress. Last night had taken her completely by surprise. Her couplings with Thomas had been something she had done for love, but had had very little to do with her own desire. It had been more for him. They had been somewhat awkward, but pleasant. But none of those experiences had prepared her for the level of intimacy she had shared with Charles. The ways that he touched her, kissed her, she had been so open to him, so vulnerable. Come to think of it, with Thomas neither of them had removed any clothes.
There could be no comparison between the two.
She had expected to have pleasure, but she had not expected to feel so . . . human. So real. Even when they lay there after they made love again, naked and sweaty, her limbs entwined with her lover, she felt right. The ideals of courtly love and marriage seemed shallow compared to this. This was primal. Charles had drawn out responses from somewhere deep inside her. It had been amazing. Charles made her feel like a real woman and not the courtly lady she pretended to be. She felt complete. Whole.
How empty would her life be once Charles was no longer in it? Mary’s last thoughts as she fell back into sleep were hardly comforting.
Chapter Fourteen:
On the Seventh Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me Seven Swans A-Swimming . . .
Mary stretched her arms luxuriantly over her head. She did not race to rise and dress. She did not worry about whether or not anyone needed her. It didn’t matter that the court thought she was a violent whore. Right now she could still imagine the feel of his lips against her skin, his hands all over her. Claiming her just as she claimed him. Just thinking about it sent tremors through her body, and she closed her eyes, savoring the feeling. Right now life was perfect and nothing mattered except how she felt, how Charles made her feel. At least for a few minutes.
Her door opened with a loud bang. Time was up.
“Wake up, slugabed.” Mistress Parry entered the room with a gush of cool air.
She was followed closely by the Countess of Spencer, Frances LeSieur’s mother.
With a sigh of resignation, Mary sat up in bed and mentally girded herself. She should have jumped up to reverance the countess, but she was naked. She was sure Lady Spencer would forgive the impropriety. “This is unexpected.” Mary did her best to be patient while she watched Mistress Parry throw open her wardrobe doors and start rifling through the meager selection of Mary’s gowns.
“Yes, well, Blanche told me about your scandalous reputation last evening at my home. Queen Elizabeth confirmed that the situation is such that it needed to be taken firmly in hand before it escalates any further.” Lady Spencer sat beside Mary on the bed and started to pick through her tangles. “Whatever did you do to your hair?”
Mary brought her hand to her head abruptly. Her hair was a mass of knots. Oh no. Not only was she still unclothed, but her linens were a wreck, tangled as if she had been performing acrobatics in her bed, which, in a way she had. There was no hope to disguise what had occurred in her chamber.
Blanche Parry looked up from her task to take in the scene with a bark of a laugh. “Bess, if you do not know what happened here, you are an older bat than I took you for.”
“Pish. The question was rhetorical.” Lady Spencer looked at Mary and laughed. “Not very discreet, are you, my dear?”
Mary wrapped herself in a sheet as she stood up and walked across the room to the ewer to splash water on her face. Catching herself in the mirror, she laughed. The bruising was severe, swollen and purple under her eye and over her cheek. That, coupled with her disheveled state, she did look a fright, except for the glow in her cheeks and the smile in her eyes. She accepted a chemise from Mistress Parry and put it on. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning visit? Can it wait until I am dressed?”
Blanche handed Mary a farthingale. “We decided you should attend the Queen at the frost fair.” Mary stepped into the hoop skirt and tied it at her waist as Lady Spencer wrapped a corset around her and started to lace it. “You are the subject of quite scintillating gossip around the court here at Whitehall, and perhaps beyond. The only way to survive it is to appear as if it is of no import.”
“Yes.” Lady Spencer took over the explanation as she tightened the lacings on Mary’s corset. “You do not do things by half, do you, girl? The gossip is quite impressive, not to mention yesterday’s debacle. If I have heard everything, it appears that you attempted to murder your lover, Lord Oxford, and you may have murdered your previous lover.”
“I thought that the gossip had turned to Lady Oxford in regard to her husband’s attack.”
“Oh, it has for the most part. But you are not free of that suspicion just yet.” Blanche settled Mary’s overskirt over the farthingale and hooked it at the waist. “And Lady Oxford is a countess, so is given a greater benefit of the doubt.”
“And . . . ” Lady Spencer paused dramatically as she settled Mary’s bodice over her head, “since you cannot have the Earl of Oxford, you have seduced his bastard elder brother.”
Mary let out a choked laugh at the last bit. This part was new. “I seem to have been quite busy.” She lifted her arms to allow both ladies access to the lacings at the side of her bodice.
Both older women chuckled as they finished securing Mary’s bodice. Blanche continued, “Indeed you have.” Stepping back, she gave Mary’s gown of fine cranberry wool an approving nod. “Although I am pleased that you and Sir Charles have gotten along so well.”
“And so quickly,” Lady Spencer added as she tied off Mary’s lacing. “Could you not have waited until you were no longer quite such a person of interest among the court?”
Mary slid her arms into the coordinating fitted wool sleeves. “Ladies, what has Sir Charles to do with this? If anyone knows of our . . . acquaintance,” Mary chose the word carefully, “that should do no more than imply that I am promiscuous, something they have already determined. And why would they care about the goings on between a country knight’s daughter and a guardsman?”
Mary finished adjusting the fit of her sleeves, pulling the pleated cuff of her chemise out at the end to flourish against her hand. It took a moment for her to note the awkward silence that had settled upon the room.
“What is it?”
“Sweeting, I thought you knew.” Mistress Parry picked up a comb and started to pick at Mary’s hair. “Sir Charles is the son of John de Vere, the Sixteenth Earl of Oxford. Ned de Vere’s half brother.”
Surely not. Of course he was not. He would have told her, wouldn’t he? Why hadn’t he told her? He hadn’t lied about it, but not telling her was just as bad when he knew everything about her troubles with Oxford. Would it have made a difference to how she felt for him? Was Charles a different man because he was brother to the most disgusting and cruel man in Christendom? Or did it honestly not matter? One brother had threatened to rape her, and one brother had found her quite willing. Maybe she was as debauched as everyone thought and she just didn’t know it yet. It felt like God was playing a cruel jest on her. It was almost worthy of a play: Her lover’s brother had killed her other lover. That had a good ring to it. Mary’s thoughts were so muddled and random that she started to giggle.
Mistress Parry and Lady Spencer remained silent but exchanged meaningful glances, which made Mary laugh a bit harder. Imagine these two great ladies with nothing to say? They had certainly said quite a bit already, but Mary couldn’t blame them. They were only trying to be helpful. And now they were obviously confused by her response. Perhaps they thought Mary had gone mad. Maybe she caught it from Anne. The thought just made her add a snort to the laugh, which then started her laughing again.
Mary dabbed the tears from her eyes as she tried to still her laughter, only to notice that Mistress Parry had started laughing too.
“Well . . . ” Lady Spencer began awkwardly. Mary thought she might be the only woman alive to ever see Lady Spencer, the famed Bess of Hartford, discomposed. “It is good to know you can see the humor in the situation.” She could tell from Lady Spencer’s tone that, perhaps, the idea that Mary had lost her mind was a valid concern.
Blanche sat down on the bed, her own laughter increasing at her friend’s uncertainty.
“Ladies, do not worry for me. I am as sane as I should be under the circumstances.” Lady Spencer did not look relieved. Mistress Parry was still laughing. Mary smothered her own urge to continue laughing and continued, “The situation is ridiculous and I can do nothing to change it. That my reputation is in tatters is of
no matter. I have a sure position with Mistress LeSieur at Holme LeSieur, so my future is not uncertain. And Sir Charles’s family ties are of no consequence. Our time together was never destined to go beyond Twelfth Night—I have always known that.” Mary said those last words, words that she should say, with complete certainty. At the same time, she realized that they were no longer true.
The urge to laugh was gone.
The same could not be said for Blanche Parry. With a visible effort and many stuttered beginnings, Blanche finally calmed herself enough to address the issues as she saw them.
“I thought you and Sir Charles would suit—of course you know, I was matchmaking. I am truly pleased you found each other and do not begrudge you any happiness.”
Sir Charles was Oxford’s brother. Did that change the happiness he brought to her? She’d thought she had been happy before, with Thomas. But that was nothing compared to how she felt now. No, this time was different. It was heartbreaking to think she only had five more days.
• • •
Sir Charles, his red uniform peeking out from beneath his furred cape, stood to one side of the Queen’s procession. He had such a strong chin, the cleft adorable in such a masculine face. Oxford’s chin was much weaker.
Mary mentally shook herself and looked away. She was not going to think about the muddle she was in. She was going to be a stately lady in attendance to the Queen, just as Mistress Parry and Lady Spencer had ordered. She would enjoy her day, ignore the gossip, and not obsess over the new knowledge about Charles’s paternity.
It would be an easy thing to enjoy the day. The frost fair on the Thames was magnificent. Tents covered the ice, bedecked in vibrant swaths of canvas. The merchants had their wares displayed on tables, strung along leather thongs, and hanging from pegs. There was a little bit of everything here—leather bound journals of smooth paper; beads of painted clay, wood, and even real precious stone; and finely wrought pewter goblets and tankards. This was not the first time she had been to a market fair, but it was the first time she had attended with the Queen. The goods were more opulent, everything polished to shine in the white winter light. The ice itself, though grimy with ash and foot traffic, had a luminescence to it that made the ground seem as if it were glowing. Mary focused on immersing herself in the wonder of the day and tried to ignore the gnawing worries threatening to swallow her.
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