‘Sir Jon?’
He nodded. ‘And Jack and Francis Lovell.’
‘And Robert Percy, whom you told. But they are the only ones. Not even Mary Kymbe knows you are the father of my child.’
‘So, four people apart from us. It is not a safe secret. Cicely, and your mother will not leave you alone until you give her an answer. Nor, I hazard, will Bess.’
‘I will tell them both it is Sir Jon’s child.’
‘Which response proves you have already made your decision,’ he pointed out.
She looked at him. ‘Bess will know I do not speak the truth about him.’
‘To Hades with Bess, Cicely. She cannot do anything to you, because she mishandles Henry. Bess mishandles everything. She could secure him if she really put her mind to it. He does not wish to have a resentful wife, he would prefer some warmth. He is not the most uxorious man in the world, but we all want some warmth, Cicely, even him. Bess seems not to see it. She is not your equal, Cicely, nor ever will be.’
He gathered her close again. ‘You must become Lady Welles, Cicely, for that will protect you. I know you love me, and that you love my son John, whom you do not wish to hurt. But he has to be hurt. You have a child to protect now, a defenceless child, and your duty is to him.’
‘Him? I carry a boy?’ She looked quickly at him.
‘You believe so, do you not?’
‘Yes, I suppose I do.’
His wry little smile reappeared. ‘And please, for the love of God, resist the temptation to call him Richard.’
‘How could there be another name?’
‘Easily. Just choose one.’ He traced her lips again. ‘You know what you must do now, Cicely. You do not need me to tell you.’
‘I do need you. Always,’ she whispered.
‘And you will always have me, do you not understand it? Losing my living self has dulled that common sense and insight that makes you so exceptional. I once offered myself for your confidences, because you had always supported me when I needed you. And I did need you, Cicely, I make no pretence that it was otherwise. Sweetheart, I can no longer care for you physically. Sir Jon Welles can. And he will, although there is an obstacle that I think has been overlooked.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There exists the ticklish matter of the marriage contract I had drawn up for you, with Ralph Scrope.’
She hated the very word Scrope, and could not believe she had once enjoyed Ralph’s false smiles. He was a few years older than her, and all that had passed between them was a glance or two and some smiles, yet he had sought Richard’s consent to a marriage, claiming she desired it and that her father had agreed. Ralph wanted the advantage of a Plantagenet bride, and the royal status she would bring to him. But she had soon dissuaded Richard from the match, even though, in the belief that she wanted Ralph, he had already had the documents prepared.
Because she had rejected him and then accepted John of Gloucester, Ralph had punished them by turning upon Richard and going over to his enemies. Ralph it was who had brought about the detainment at Sheriff Hutton.
Richard interrupted her thoughts. ‘The contract was real enough, Cicely. I did have it drawn up.’
‘But did you sign and seal it?’
He shook his head. ‘I had given you my word there would not be any such marriage. My word is always my bond. The contract was supposed to have been destroyed. My secretary was trustworthy and would not have kept it, appended my seal or forged my name. Someone else did that, probably Scrope himself. I underestimated his capacity for revenge and treachery.’
Her lips parted, for it seemed so obvious. ‘Where is the contract now, Richard?’
‘I have no idea. The unlovable Willoughby may have it, but others were there when Henry’s men took Nottingham Castle. Several of them believed it was genuine, and that you and Scrope were lawfully wed. Henry does not seem to know of it, for I think you would have heard if he did. You must warn Sir Jon, because if the document, for which there appears so much factual evidence, cannot be disproved, there will have to be an annulment. Such things take time, and with my seal and apparent signature, it may not be easy. It may also not be in time to legitimize your child. Our child.’
She reached for his right hand, just to feel the warmth of his flesh, and the shortened little finger she loved so much.
‘I am not real, Cicely,’ he said gently. ‘I wish I were. Your mind gives me life. That is all.’
‘I do so want your love again, your body.’ She gazed at him. ‘I do not imagine this. Not this.’
‘You do, sweetheart. Whatever you experience with me will be a phantasm. I am a phantasm.’
Her heart turned over with the force of her love. He aroused such feelings, such emotions, such . . . everything. How could his queen have preferred another?
‘You wish to know about Anne?’
She nodded. ‘I will never understand how she could not have cleaved to you, completely and unquestioningly.’
‘Because you are the one who loves me like that, and I worship you for it.’
‘But you are temptation in human form, and have me so enslaved that I scarcely know night from day. Why did you not make her love you? You could have done it.’
‘Such unquestioning faith in my power to beguile? Yes, Cicely, I could have seduced her into loving me as I then so wished she did, but she made no real effort to forget her first husband, and it smothered something in me. I know now—because of you—that I did not love her enough.’
‘But—’
‘She made it too plain, although I do not think she realized how much she gave herself away. I remained a good husband to her, and to outward appearances we were happy and in love, but she was not truly in my heart any more than I was in hers. The marriage was a close friendship, and I did mourn her passing, but I had long since lost interest in tempting her from her indelible memories.’
‘She believed you loved her completely.’
He smiled a little. ‘I know, and I did not disabuse her of that impression.’
‘It would have eased her conscience if you had.’
‘More wisdom and advice, Cicely?’
‘I spent many hours with her when she finally became really ill. She told me the truth, and she was so anxious for you, Richard. She asked me to stay close to you and support you. Me!’
‘Were you in love with me then?’
‘Not that I realized, but yes, I was.’
‘If you did not realize, why do you feel guilty? Sweetheart, if I had told Anne how I really felt, it would have hurt her far, far more. Believe me, it would. I had known her since childhood, and understood her. She believed she gulled me, and that soothed and sustained her because she thought I was happy. I could not spoil that for her.’ He paused. ‘And as I know your next question will be to ask why I did not make sure Bess fell out of love with me, I will tell you that I chose not to.’
‘Why? She made life intolerable for you.’
He smiled. ‘If I had dealt with her as I should have done, it would have hurt you. She is your sister, and at the time you tried so hard to shield her. I thought too much of you to cause you pain through her. I could have taken her aside, said hurtful things, and left her in no doubt whatever that I did not want her. It would have been easy enough, but I . . . I made a mess of it all,’ he finished a little dryly. ‘Does that satisfy your curiosity?’
‘Partly. I cannot think you could ever make a mess of things.’
He laughed aloud. ‘Jesu, sweetheart, I made a mess of a lot of things. And look where it got me. In my makeshift grave at thirty-two. Please allow me down from the pedestal upon which you are so determined to place me.’
She smiled. ‘I love you so,’ she said softly.
‘You may not when I have finished with you tonight. But first, Sir Jon Welles. I think we have established that you mean to accept him, but I wish to hear you say it.’
‘Richard, if I proceed with him, I will be letting it be thought I c
onducted a traitorous love affair while at your court.’
‘Then allow it to be thought. You are not in my court now, remember.’
‘I would not want it believed, in any court, that I was so despicable to you.’
‘Survival is what matters now, Cicely. It will not hurt me, because I know I had no finer, truer-hearted soul near me than you. I know you have not lain with Jon Welles, that you did not even meet him until Sheriff Hutton. So let it all wash over you, sweetheart. It is not important. You are important, and our son.’ He looked at her. ‘And there is another side to this, you know. You fear giving the wrong impression about what you supposedly did in Nottingham, but Sir Jon takes a far greater risk, because by saying he is the father of your child, he will be implying to Henry Tudor that he consorted with a highborn Yorkist lady who was actually within my household. Close to me by blood as well as friendship, someone known to be deep in my confidence.’
‘Not how deep. At least, Henry does not know, but Sir Jon certainly does.’
He smiled. ‘Think on, Cicely. Henry received no useful information about my plans, so he will wonder if his half-uncle was the one confiding the secrets. So Sir Jon does not propose lightly, because the moment he broaches it openly, he puts himself in jeopardy. He will need all his half-sister’s support, believe me, because she is the only one with any influence over Henry. The only one, apart from Jasper Tudor, who holds back from such matters. I believe something happened in Brittany that has taught Jasper a signal lesson about when and when not to be drawn into Henry’s private affairs. But that is immaterial now, because it is Jon Welles of whom we speak. He persists in taking risks for you, Cicely, and he does it out of regard. He has told you of his feelings, oh, maybe not to the full, but certainly enough to convey to you that he is honest in everything. Yes he desires you, but he is honourable. Margaret will lend her full support because she loves him enough to want him to have a wife who is both a king’s daughter and the queen’s sister. He, who is not royal himself, will become so through you.’
‘That was my only attraction for Ralph.’
‘But not for Jon Welles. He wants you for sincere reasons. Nothing less. So marry him. Make his chivalry worthwhile.’
She looked at his eyes in the lamplight. ‘I will.’
‘Good. Now I have to speak to you about Henry Tudor, who now recognizes you as a much warmer prospect than your sister.’
‘No!’ But she remembered Henry saying something of her trying to rival Bess.
Richard turned away. ‘He would not have tolerated anyone else praising me as you did, vehemently, to his face, and then accusing him of dishonouring my body.’
‘I could not help it.’
‘Yes, you could, you simply gave in to impulse. You will have to do better. Few men can resist the erotic challenge you present. Sometimes there is a wanton look in your eyes, in the way you move and behave, that cries out what a damned good fuck you are!’
‘Richard!’ He had never used such a word to her before.
‘Cicely, I look at you and it’s certainly what I think. What I know! You are a creature of love, sweetheart, delightfully abandoned and sensuous, so willing to caress and coax, to give yourself to every fleshly pleasure, to share all the things men dream of. And men know it. It shines in everything you do. That eagerness, that need for satisfaction, that desire to pleasure and be pleasured, that exquisite anticipation and sharing of the final moment, when the man you are with gives his soul to you, not only his seed. That is how you are, Cicely, and there is nothing you can do about it.’
She could not take her eyes from him. ‘You cannot really mean it, Richard,’ she whispered.
‘But I do. Jesu, you really have no idea, have you? I have lain with you, sweetheart, I know what I am talking about. You are joy itself. And now Henry has been exposed to your bewitchery.’
‘He cannot possibly regard me in that way. I gave him no cause.’ Could she really have had such an effect upon a man as cold and cynical as Henry Tudor?
‘And you gave Scrope no cause, yet look what happened. Do you imagine Henry would have mentioned his bed so often if it were not in his mind? You are definitely not yourself at the moment, my love, for the Cicely I last lay with was more quick-witted and intuitive. Sorrow has taken away your edge. Henry’s character is contorted, his emotions deliberately stifled, but that does not mean the man has no urges. Are you listening to what I am saying? Really listening?’
‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘I listen to everything you say. When you first came to me here, you gave me such heart. I felt so supported and able to face the obstacles. But then . . . when you had gone, I became weak again.’ She could not meet his eyes. ‘Richard, I think I know best, but do not actually seem to know when to speak or when to hold my tongue. I am so emotional and illogical that I have become foolish. I know it.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘And I am frightened. I am so ill in the mornings and sometimes during the day as well, and I feel so very strange. And . . . and it is your fault!’
He pulled her into his arms again, and ran his fingers gently through her hair. ‘Yes, sweetheart, I rather suppose it is my fault, but I am afraid I cannot undo my part in your troubles.’
‘Nor do I wish you to. Richard, being with you like this makes everything feel better.’
‘And this is not real anyway,’ he said gently.
‘It is!’
He did not correct her again. ‘Cicely, my sweetest love, you can manage without me. When things once overwhelmed me, I asked you what I should do. Do you remember? On the tower at Nottingham?’
She nodded.
‘You said there was only one thing I could do, and that was be the king. There is also only one thing you can do now, Cicely, and that is guard yourself and our baby. You have no other choice. I am so very sorry that my love has left you like this. It was the one thing I truly feared for you, and now I cannot help you. Because . . . I – am – not – fact.’ He spaced the words deliberately and emphatically.
‘Please do not make me admit it, Richard. Please,’ she whispered, her eyes bright with tears.
He gazed at her. ‘You still break my heart,’ he breathed.
She reached to take his hand and pulled it almost roughly to her lips. ‘I am sorry to be so weak and helpless today. I will try never to be so again.’
His fingers curled lovingly around hers. ‘You are neither weak nor helpless, Cicely, you are a Plantagenet, and such a Plantagenet. And do not apologize for something that is, after all, my fault.’ He smiled.
‘I seem to recall that experiencing your “fault” was very enjoyable. Too enjoyable, for you left me wanting you all the time.’
‘I am fairly sprightly, considering my accursed back, but all the time might have been beyond even me.’ He took her face in his hands. ‘Promise you will not tangle with Henry again, or anything remotely resembling it.’
‘How can I give you my word about things I do not yet know? You will have to be content with that answer, Richard, because—as you keep saying—you are not real anyway.’
He looked at her for long moment. ‘Oh, Cicely, you have an incredible capacity to captivate, but you do not yet know how to ration it.’ He sank his fingers into the hair at her temple. ‘Sweet reason does not seem to work with you right now, so you have to be taught a salutary lesson in what can be done with the gift you use so lightly. You need to be confronted with it, sweetheart, and I mean really confronted.’
‘Richard?’ She could only whisper his name.
‘You have no notion at all of what attraction I am capable when I choose. I have never really exposed you to my ability to seduce and persuade, but for your own sake, your eyes need to be fully opened.’ He moved away, went to lean back against the wall again and then faced her. ‘Come to me and kiss me, Cicely,’ he said, very softly, his lips curved with promise, his eyes dark and warm.
She could not move. He was fascinating, a beautiful, desirable prize that she wanted so very, ver
y much . . . yet she could not take even one step towards him.
‘Come to me and kiss me. Succumb to temptation, seduce me as you say I seduce you.’
‘Richard?’
‘Do it.’
Chapter Six
Cicely hesitated, but was at last able to go to Richard. Gladness washed richly through her as she slipped her arms around him and lifted her lips to his. Her body sang the moment she held him, but if she expected her kiss to be returned, she was mistaken. He made no move at all, not even to straighten from the wall, but by his very stillness encouraged her to do as she would with him. And so she did.
She caressed him, adored him and stroked him—so intimately that she was lost in the bliss of it. Time and again she was overtaken by those familiar sensations, those waves of exquisite pleasure between her legs that being with him like this always wrought into life. She was incapable of not exulting in him, of not experiencing this voluptuous reward. Still he did nothing, only to simply give silent, motionless consent.
His body was hers, and yet was not. He offered himself, but she did not have the key that would unlock the barrier he placed between them. It was unbelievably erotic. He dominated her senses without doing anything at all, except be there, permitting her to touch him. He tantalized, lured, tempted . . . and gave unbelievable gratification without a single caress.
But she wanted more. So much more. She pleaded with her lips, begged with her body, willed him to embrace her, but still he did not. And yet somehow he conveyed everything. He was so much in command of her that she felt incapable of resistance. Or pride. She wanted him to return her passion, needed him to do it. He had never failed to hold her before, never made her strive for his love, and the feeling was intolerably affecting. She was enthralled by his incredibly sensuous sorcery.
She took his face in her hands to kiss his mouth. Kiss it so much that she crushed her own lips as well as his. Her love was so vibrant and imperative that she could not help herself. She used all the skills she possessed, remembered the things she had done with him in the past, tried everything she knew, and when he remained unmoved, she wept.
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