‘I almost came to like you. I found a morsel of what I presume to be the humour of the real Henry Tudor, and could even smile with you.’
‘And enjoy me a little more than you expected,’ he interposed.
She ignored the remark. ‘I did not even wish to leave you alone in that remorseless room, but then . . . then you had to prove to the world what a monster you are. You accuse Richard of being such a creature. He certainly was not, but you most certainly are. You had John of Gloucester tortured until his mind could take no more, and then you paraded his pathetic husk before the court. As a Christmas entertainment! Maybe you even tortured him yourself! Did you? Did you?’
‘Did you ever lie with him? Did you? Did you? Oh, do not answer, for I know it already. You lay with him, and he—or Richard—is the father of your child.’
‘No, Henry. Sir Jon Welles is the father of my child.’
He faced her again. ‘You appear to have been very free with your favours, Cicely.’
‘Not free enough, as far as you are concerned.’ She wanted to fight him, to beat him with her fists, bite him, kick him!
He glanced away and then back again. ‘You always test my temper, do you not? Always.’
‘And you revel in it.’
His cold eyes lightened for a moment. ‘So I do, cariad, so I do. If you were not so far gone with child, believe me I would have you on that bed in a blink of whichever of my eyes chooses to obey. I need to have you, to plunge so deep into you that I almost split you in two. Do you understand what I am saying?’
‘Yes. That I am the object of your unspeakable lust. You are saying that when you next instruct me to come to court, you will force me into your bed. You know that I will come because you will threaten to do to Lord Lincoln what you did to John of Gloucester. You will probably threaten my husband as well, in spite of the affection you claim to have for him. He is your uncle, your mother’s beloved brother, but you would not hesitate to torture him if you thought it would make me do all you wish.’
‘How accurate you are, my lady.’ He coughed suddenly, and turned away as he tried to control it.
She was puzzled, remembering he had done the same in that room in the Tower. And he struggled again to suppress it. ‘Henry?’ She had to touch his arm.
‘I am all right.’ His hand went briefly over hers, and then away again.
‘You do not need to be as cold and stern as you are, Henry. You are the king now, and when you are married to my sister, and you have your first heir, you will be secure beyond all doubt.’
‘I am secure anyway, Cicely, for I am king by right of conquest.’
‘That is not the security I mean. I speak of your dynasty. You do not want to have to marry a Yorkist princess, my sister least of all. I imagine your very personal dislike for her is due to the scandalous rumours about her feelings for Richard. That alone would be enough to make you hate her, would it not? As well as the fact that to marry her you have had to re-legitimize her.’
‘Which brings us back to your confounded brothers.’
‘Indeed.’
He looked at her. ‘I do not want your sister, Cicely, and it has nothing to do with whether or not she craved Richard.’
‘She did not lie with him.’ No, I was the one who did that.
‘She and I are so ill-matched that I vow we can barely stay in the same room.’
‘You merit each other. And now you have to marry her. Your thoughtless little dibble could well see her already with child. Another daughter of Edward IV deflowered before marriage.’
He smiled. ‘Jesu, lady, you are a fighting hen! How does my uncle cope?’
‘Very well, because I feel only love for him.’
‘Really?’ He drew a long breath. ‘So, you keep the invective for me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am flattered.’
‘Do not be.’ She turned away.
‘Come, lady, you wish to spit your venom, so please feel free. You have my permission.’ He folded his arms and waited.
She faced him again. ‘You invite it?’
‘It will come sooner or later; it may as well be now.’
‘You are a disgrace to the crown of England, Henry Tudor. You do not deserve to wear it, and you certainly will not die a loved monarch. You are already twisted with fear and jealousy, you start at shadows and see treachery all around you. Well, perhaps seeing treachery is what you deserve, for your throne is founded upon it. And you look at many of those around you, knowing they once swore fealty to Richard, and you wonder greatly. What they did once, they could so very easily do again. Look what they did to him!’
‘Dismemberment appears to be another of your many talents, Cicely. Oh, how you fascinate me. I could watch you all day, jostle words with you all day, and fuck you all night. Perhaps fuck you even while we jostle words. I actually bask in your loathing. I believe you are my hair shirt, there to provoke me and gratify me at the same time. And I stand here now, telling you how I feel. Unbelievable.’ He examined his fingernails.
‘Please explain to me why you do the things you do. I know that you abhor your own actions. You do, do you not? I could not see past your defences if that were not so. Why, Henry? Why were you so dishonourable and without mercy as to torture poor John of Gloucester?’
‘Because he lay with you! He may have been the first! He, or his damned father, took what I wanted! I cannot torture Richard now, but I can and will torture his damned bastard!’ He closed his eyes, and she knew he regretted the words. ‘I did not mean that,’ he said, turning away.
The temptation to tell him it was Richard who had been the first was almost cripplingly tempting. Just for the exquisite pleasure of seeing this man’s face. ‘I cannot give you a purity I no longer have, Henry.’
‘And even if you could, you would not give it willingly.’
‘And you are surprised?’
He met her eyes. ‘No, I suppose not.’
He came closer, and the scent of cloves almost caressed her. ‘I do not care that you feel as you do toward me, Cicely. I do not care that you might have warmed to me had I not revealed myself to be totally beyond redemption. I care only that I have you, and am able—quite literally—to relieve myself of this intolerable desire.’
‘How romantically you express yourself.’
He put his hand to her face, a tender gesture that would have melted her soul if it had been Richard. ‘Do not fight me too much, sweet Cicely, because I will not always let you win. I am not very virtuous, you see, but then I think you have already gathered that.’ His thumb caressed, once again evoking memories of Richard.
‘You are not very anything, Henry, least of all good.’
‘Whereas you, my lady, appear to be very good indeed at lying on your back.’
Her hands clenched, and she almost struck him.
He smiled. ‘Do it if it will make you feel better.’
‘If it is what you want me to do, then you may be sure I will not.’
‘Now, how was I able to predict that response? Have you not yet realized that every time you speak to me like that, you merely increase my desire?’
She met his eyes and said nothing.
‘The deposit was not sufficient,’ he said then. ‘ I must be more certain that the goods are worth the asking price.’
‘This is not a market place, Your Majesty.’
‘No, it is a bedroom, my lady. You see? I still think of beds when I am with you.’
‘What, exactly, do you require by way of an increased deposit?’
‘Another kiss will do, and not a little peck, such as you bestowed upon me at the Tower.’ He smiled, and for half a heartbeat it reached his eyes.
She gazed at him. ‘Are you really the same man who sat on that throne at Christmas and behaved so very unpleasantly?’
‘I am always unpleasant, Cicely, or had you not noticed?’
‘I had noticed how you pretend it, Henry. You simply find it entertaining to confo
und and instil fear, but it is your peculiar notion of false amusement that disturbs me more. Your real sense of humour, the one God gave you, is sharp and clever, and so very . . . affecting.’ What a word to light upon where this man was concerned. ‘But you hide yourself away, like a squirrel fearful of endless winter. You are the king, your reign should stretch before you for decades to come.’
‘Should? It will.’
‘But what will it entail? If you are like this now, I hardly dare imagine the awful man you will eventually be. Please do not continue like this. Please. As you twist yourself, so you will twist England with you. And you can step back from it now, before you sink further. Please, Henry.’
He looked at her, an unidentifiable expression lighting his eyes. ‘Oh, Cicely, what you do to me.’
‘Henry?’
‘Kiss your king,’ he said softly.
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Please.’
He entreated? He actually entreated her? She was suddenly trapped. She should know what to do. She should know! But she did not. Here he was, the King of England, Richard’s fatal enemy, John of Gloucester’s destroyer, her tormentor, and she did not know what to do. Because he asked her. Because he suddenly seemed more threatened than threatening. And because he again stirred desires within her.
‘Is it so much to ask?’ His voice was quiet.
‘You are so very clever, are you not, Henry?’ she whispered. ‘You play upon everything that . . .’
She could not finish because she wanted to kiss him. Wanted to rescue the Henry Tudor that still dwelt inside him. It was the same feeling she had experienced in that Tower room, the abrupt recognition of being attracted to him, the need to protect him. Protect him? Now, after that had been done to John of Gloucester? How could she possibly find this man alluring in any way? Perhaps because there were two Henrys, one abhorrent, the other peculiarly engaging. Dear God, she was losing her own self in this! But whatever her own conflicting feelings, she dared not refuse him, because he bargained with Jack’s life and sanity. And with Jon’s.
‘Must you debate to that extent?’ he asked. ‘A kiss is not so very much, is it?’
She knew she had lost this battle, not only because she had to obey him, but because she wanted to obey him. She was ashamed and confused, for this was the one man in all creation whom she should despise. He was the enemy of all she held dear, but she wanted to kiss him, and be kissed by him. And so she went close enough to put her arms around his neck and draw his head slowly down towards hers, until their parted lips brushed softly together, dry and then gently moist; moist and then richly seductive. She dwelt upon the moment, enjoying the brush of his hair against her arms and the way he submitted to what she did.
In her mind’s eye she saw the awfulness of his jealousy, but then she also saw his almost touching smile, his curious blend of uncertainty and random charm, and yes, his fear. He was a heady blend, but he bartered with two men who were dear to her, and she must make herself well worth their lives.
Never again would she be able to smell or taste cloves without thinking of Henry Tudor. She knew how to kiss a man, how to please him and make him want more. Oh, how she knew it. Henry would never dream of dibbling Cicely Plantagenet against a wall, because he would want to prolong his pleasure with her.
She dragged her mouth luxuriously over his, slipping her tongue between his lips, and breathing softly through him as if to stir his soul. She kissed his neck and his throat, and then his closed eyes. Her hands found their knowing way over him, prying through his rich clothes and finding places she could hardly believe she touched. She had learned so well how to make love, taught by that other king and matchless lover. Such lessons, learned so eagerly. Now this king wanted her, as his lips and caresses told her more each second.
Her fingers pried erotically into his hair, twining at the nape of his neck, and slipping softly over his scalp, winding just a little until the pale auburn threads coiled over the back of her hand. He was Henry Tudor, not Richard, but for these seconds she stood on the brink between the two. Two kings, one so beloved she could hardly bear to think of him as she kissed the other. But Henry was desirable, and his kisses were skilled and enticing. She wished it were otherwise, to enable her to do this now without a conscience. But it was impossible. John of Gloucester shone before her, and guilt weighed. She failed Richard. In this one thing she failed him so very much.
And so she thought of vengeance as she exposed Henry to the gift that Richard had shown her so well how to use. She offered no pity to England’s new king, nor did he seek it. Perhaps he even read her mind as he returned the kiss with a hunger that revealed just how deeply engaged his feelings were.
He inhaled the scent of her, and moved his cheek against hers as if it was something he had waited to do all his life. He did not seem to care how much he revealed of himself now. Nothing mattered, except that she gave him what he desperately yearned for.
Such emotion and desire seized him that she thought he might take her to the bed, whether or not she was six months with child, but when he pulled her further into his embrace, her unborn child was suddenly very much between them. He released her and drew back immediately, closing his eyes and pressing his lips tightly together as he forced himself to regain control.
‘Have I offended you?’ she asked, uncertain of the exact reason for his withdrawal. The child? There seemed no other possibility.
He turned to lean his hands upon the table, his head bowed so that his long hair fell forward to obscure his face from her. It was a moment or so before he straightened to look at her again. ‘No, you have not offended me. You made me forget myself almost completely.’
‘Is that not what you want of me?’
‘Perhaps. I do not know what I want, Cicely. Yes, I do, I want you, in all your facets, and I am faced with the knowledge that at Lambeth I should have followed my instincts and chosen you instead of your sister. But no, that would not have done either, because you were already with child. And now you are married to my uncle as well. I simply cannot have you, can I? And I want you so very much. As if that were not enough, I must also accept that you despise me. You are bound to, are you not? I wish to God I had never touched John of Gloucester, but I did. Forgive me, Cicely, please forgive me such a disgusting crime. I would not do it now. Do you understand? I would not do it now.’
‘Oh, Henry, I do not know what to say or do. At this moment you are the real Henry Tudor again, are you not? And I appreciate you more for it. Even with such a monstrous act to cast a shadow over everything, I cannot entirely shun you. It is not what I want. What I want is to plunge that feared dagger into your miserable heart.’
‘Treason?’ He smiled with a hint of ruefulness. ‘What a relief. You alarmed me for a moment there. If you like me, you may not be rude to me.’
‘What made you stop? Just now, why did you pull away from me?’
‘You tempted me too much. I wanted to have you here, now, but I will not take a woman who is six months with child. A girl of only thirteen gave birth to me, a small girl who suffered greatly on account of it. Yes, Cicely, I do have scruples. But not enough of them to leave you alone in future. You know how to fuel a man’s lust, do you not? Who taught you? If not Richard, then John of Gloucester? I think not; he is little more than a boy. My uncle? I am not convinced of that either. So who was it? Who introduced you so sweetly to the pleasures of the flesh? Lincoln?’
‘No. The Earl of Lincoln is only my cousin. We get on well and like each other, but that is all.’
‘Who then? Your husband? Jon Welles is such a satisfying lover?’ He laughed.
‘Why do you laugh? Do you think he is without attraction? If so, you are wrong. He is a very gallant, attentive, charming man, and this Plantagenet bird descended from the tree into his arms.’
‘The branch must have broken.’
‘No, I jumped.’
‘It was Richard, I know that. I will always know that, and you
will never admit it.’ His strange eyes rested upon her. ‘I have never before been so violated by a kiss. You certainly have a remarkable talent.’
‘Is that not what you sensed from the very first time we met?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. You are so very tempting and provocative, Cicely.’
‘I am sorry to have upset your well-planned existence.’
‘You have certainly done that.’ He continued to look at her. ‘What must it be like to be loved by you? Not used by you, as you have just used me, but truly loved.’
‘You will never know, Henry.’
‘More is the pity, although I think I will know what it is like to satisfy you. Just without the involvement of your heart.’
‘Or yours. Have done with this, Henry. I have shown you today what I can do. You will have everything I have to offer, I swear it. But you must stay your hand where my husband and cousin are concerned. If you do anything at all that touches shabbily or cruelly upon them, you will not receive the promised goods in the manner you hope. I will lie beneath you like a corpse, and my lips will not soften against yours. You will have to do all the work, even to the parting of my legs and the exposing of my breasts, and I can tell you now that it will not be a pleasurable experience for you. There will only be my limp, lifeless flesh, which description will soon apply to the royal cock!’
‘So, that is to be my fate if I am a bad little Henry. But if I am a good little Henry?’
‘I promise you a sweet fleshly experience you will remember forever. You have my word upon that.’
‘Dear God, I almost faint at the prospect.’ He linked his fingers and tapped his lips. ‘You know how to bargain, Cicely.’
‘And you know how to play very unfairly indeed. Aping vulnerability.’ He did not ape it, and she knew it. He was vulnerable. Although who would ever believe it?
His smile came and went in the blink of an eye. ‘It was quite unconscious, I assure you.’ Their eyes met, and he came to her again. ‘Whatever takes place between us in private, Cicely, I need to know you will never speak of it elsewhere.’
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