Seducing Anne (13 page)

Could Guy find a way to change all this? Prevent her from getting that upset? What if he warned her somehow? He could also tell her that when Henry started having affairs after their marriage, she had to ignore it. She could not let her tongue get carried away and start speaking ill of him behind his back.

According to history, she would even make fun of his lack of skill in bed and then mock his large sized undergarments.

This was not the woman he knew right now. She was not an embittered soul, speaking ill of anyone. She wouldn’t even call the king an asshole, for fuck’s sake. She had to have a code word to say how she truly felt about that tyrant who professed to want her as his bride.

Guy kept looking over at her, and she’d give a shy smile in return.

“I want to kiss you, little lavender. You may need to walk further away if you do not wish to be taken in my arms,” he warned.

“I am a brave soul, and I am betting I can handle you when you cannot even walk straight.” She snickered, walking with her head held high.

“I will give you straight.” He shoved her up against the garden wall. “You do not have to kiss me back, but I
will
taste you.” He bent his knees, was unsteady for a moment, but managed to remain locked in place as he inhaled at her neck and brushed his lips over the pulse in her throat. “Smell so goddamn good. You weaken me, and pull at my senses, begging me to taste”—he traced a line with the tip of his tongue along her pulse point—“suck and mark you. Would you were mine, and I did not have to show you what a pig that king is.”

“Douche,” she whimpered, and her body trembled as her breath hitched.

“Please tell me you refer to him and not me.”

She chuckled under her breath. “I will allow you to ascertain the answer to that yourself.”

He bit her neck, growled and then let go. “No. Tell me yourself. We are not to play that game.”

“But you can lick and bite me at will?”

He shook his head. “Have I harmed you?”

She pushed on his chest, and he relented, falling away from her, his heart plummeting into his toes. “Anne . . .”

“You know who we have given that code word for, and it is most decidedly not you, sir.” She flashed a brief smile and motioned for him to join her as she went back to traversing toward the bowling lanes.

As they neared the outdoor bowling alley with two wooden lanes, about twenty feet wide and nearly two hundred feet long, he doubled his pace—Henry was there, and he appeared to be betting on the outcome.

Wyatt was in the mix with a few other men Guy had not met at this point.

“Count me in,” Guy called out when he was near enough for them to hear.

Anne gasped at his side, keeping pace.

“You are certain you want to bet when you are not allowed to play?” Henry said with a smug tone.

“Harry!” Anne’s tone was sharp.

“You know the rules. Only wealthy noblemen are permitted.” Henry smirked.

“It is fine. My leg is troubling me anyway.” Guy smirked right back. Anne would most likely stay at his side now, due to his reminder of his injurious state.

Henry beckoned her over with a wave of his wrist.

“I will watch today,” she said, dismissing him.

“You will do no such thing. I require you to play with me,” Henry insisted.

Her eyes were steady on him. “You appear to already have an even number, so unless this good man joins us, we would be unbalanced.”

“He’s
already
unbalanced—the douche,” Guy said under his breath.

She stiffened and pinched Guy’s thigh, hidden behind her skirts.

He fought off a gigantic smile and the beginnings of a hard-on.

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Henry threw his arms up in the air. “Join us then if you both please, but you are on my team,” he told her.

She nodded, then smiled with a placid expression affixed in place.

Guy was able to make it over without wobbling much, and he prayed his legs would cooperate and be steady for this game of bowls.

He placed his bet promptly, and to his dismay he wound up being on Wyatt’s team.

Anne was charming as ever, winning over everyone in the garden, surrounding the lane and watching the game. There had to be thirty to forty people in the crowd.

She flirted masterfully but was always appropriate, never crossing the line.

All who were near her seemed to vie for her attention.

Well, all except Guy. He merely admired her and inwardly glowed over the fact he was acquainted with the other sides of this woman the rest of them would never be honored enough to know. He knew her as vulnerable, sweet, caring and thoughtful. She had a deep need to connect and feel valued. There was this fire in her for the eternal quest of truth and knowledge. She was brave and witty and guarded most of the time. It was the unguarded moments she shared that he cherished most.

This woman was beautiful inside and out, and shined from every angle of her he had seen.

The game went along, and Henry was boasting about the strength of his arm.

Anne praised him but was always genuine about it.

His eyes would brighten each time she gave him any sign of affection at all.

A pang of jealousy ripped through Guy, but he made sure to appear unaffected. It was difficult to keep from curling his fingers into a fist and letting his jaw clamp down.

Wyatt stepped up to their lane, and when one of the pins took a few moments to wobble and then fall down, Henry declared it was not a valid point, that the pin was knocked out of bounds.

“Your long roll was off,” Henry bickered.

“’Twas a fair shot,” Wyatt came back at him, shocking all those observing the game.

Murmurs drifted through the crowd.

“Concede, lad. I tell you, Wyatt, the game is mine,” the king droned like it was taking every last bit of patience he owned.

Wyatt clicked his tongue, wore a faint smirk and then pulled out a long yellow ribbon with one of Anne’s rings she wore as frequently as the garnet one Guy had taken into his possession.

In a flash, Henry’s face was red, his eyes narrowed and his body coiled as if he would wrestle this little imp to the ground if he said one more thing to irritate him.

Wyatt must have been emboldened by Guy’s flaunting of Anne’s ring a week ago at cards, because he strolled over to the pin in question, used the yellow ribbon to measure it from the set boundaries and then popped up, standing at his full, meager height of at most five-foot-nine. “It is indeed mine, sire.”

It hit Guy at once—he’d read this story. Wyatt was supposed to have the garnet ring for this—on the yellow ribbon—
not
the topaz ring.

Had Guy already fucked up history?

He turned away, and his breathing escalated while his head pounded.

His hands gripped above his knees as he doubled over. What if this escalated the time line somehow? What if she was to die sooner because the king was now upset with two men, instead of one? Wyatt would be imprisoned in four years’ time and accused of having an affair with Queen Anne, then later released because of his connections and money.

Jesus, Guy was a wreck—sweating and near ready to pass out.

A second later, he could hear Anne moving swiftly toward him, so Guy stood up straight and managed to leave the area before he made a greater scene.

He needed time to think.

Time to be away from her and determine how to play this out better.

Perhaps it was
time
to enlist Carew’s help and see what Nick suggested to get things back on track.

* * *

Nicholas was less than helpful. He seemed to be more interested in attending Mass than giving advice, so at his request, Guy followed him to the Chapel Royal, even though Guy was not especially keen on religious services.

Anne would be there, but now he was unsure of how to proceed with her.

He had heard she was arguing a lot more with Henry lately.

And not backing down much at all.

She was in his face, howling back—or so that was what the servants were reporting.

Fuck! What could he do to help her now?

She had asked him to study religious texts with her and to pray alongside her.

He had yet to do that.

Though he was well versed in the Bible, he did not relish the idea of being any kind of moral authority on what God would want.

“This sucks horse’s ass,” he breathed as he filed in behind Carew.

Henry and his entourage, along with Anne and presumably her brother, George Boleyn, since he looked so much like her, were kneeling in prayer before a large crucifix with a carving of Christ hanging on it.

He grimaced and looked away, thrusting his eyes at the form of Anne, praying.

She was very devout. Anyone could see she had a deep love of her Savior, and she was completely devoted to her beliefs.

There was no false modesty about it or putting on a pious act.

He sat in the front pew, watching her and forcing himself to breathe since his lungs kept seizing up on him while his heart swelled large and tender for her.

She wore a soft blue dress with few adornments, and of course, she smelled mouthwatering as usual.

This goddess was making
him
—Guy Moore—want to bow at her side and pray.

He didn’t do that.

But for her—maybe he should try.

If this was how Henry found a way into her heart and why she had originally fallen in love with him, maybe it was worth it.

He swallowed hard, found himself drifting over to her and dropping down to his knees, even though he was still a little stiff from his time travel attack this last week.

She tossed him a quick look of approval when she peeped at him for a moment, smiled and then went back to her silent prayers with her eyes closed.

His knees made a popping sound and protested as shooting pains tore down his legs, but he held his position.

Without knowing how to really offer up a prayer in his heart, he went through the motions, but then something happened.

As he peeked over at her as well, his heart filled to capacity with some nameless emotion that swelled and took over.

His eyes misted, and he was overcome once more at the idea of this precious woman being punished later by the man on the other side of her—all because Henry couldn’t contain her.

God, please do not take her back home with you. I know you miss her. I don’t blame you—I have no idea how I’ll go on without her. She’s taken a portion of my heart and an even bigger part of my soul. Tell me how I can protect her. Why can’t she live? Elizabeth’s siblings don’t really ever rule for any substantial period of time. Henry does not need six wives he can massacre and set aside at will. How is this the justice of Heaven? Anne is lovely beyond belief. She’s all that a queen should be—equitable, seeks your guidance and wants only to do good. Why must you give her the Job treatment and strip everything good from her? She’s not a prophet to be tested. She’s my Anne. Just let me have her. I’ll take her away from here if that is the answer . . .

He sniffed, and his cheeks were moist.

Why was he crying? God no! Henry would see, and he would find a way to use it as leverage against him.

A soft hand wrapped around his when he dropped his arms with his head penitently bowed.

He squeezed her hand, and his heart mimicked the action as he continued to pray in his mind.

She is so beautiful. She deserves better than Henry. There is no lesson learned from her death by anyone. It’s a needless waste, and I know you do not waste or destroy your good creations. She is the best creation you have ever made. I have never met another woman like her, and I have met many influential women who have raised up key historical figures. Think how much more powerful Elizabeth can be if her mother is there to guide her.

Pangs of unbearable sadness ripped through his chest as he breathed in ragged gasps.

He was sobbing now.

His knees gave out on him, and he sat his haunches back on his calves.

She moved back with him, watching over him, no longer praying.

Henry stopped, too, shooting Guy a nasty warning look.

Guy wiped away the traces of proof that he was weak in comparison to the great Sovereign Lord.

But then when someone is heartless and soulless, they would not cry while praying, would they?

Guy struggled to his feet, and Anne helped him. He should have been embarrassed, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was honored to have any contact at all with her that she would allow.

And the fact she didn’t shy away from helping and touching him in front of these influential people spoke volumes about who she was as a person.

“I have to leave,” he whispered.

She smiled and nodded, and that was when Guy saw it—her eyes were moist with tears, too.