“I’m not certain. Let me think on it some,” she called back over her shoulder. “Are you content to wait until I’ve calculated the value of my kiss, no matter how long that might be?”
“Mistress, I’d wait for you until the world ends,” he said. Pretty words, belied by the disappointment in his gaze.
Anne’s smile broadened. “And so you very well may.”
“Why, you little tease!” he cried, the sound stained with laughter.
He started after her, but Anne skipped away, her swinging skirts tossing cast-off petals with every step. She turned toward him, her hands on her hips. “Nay, I’d call it tit for tat. This is nothing more than payment for how you frightened me near to death by calling out of the shadows this morn.”
He came to a stop before her, then swept his hat from his head and offered her his most graceful bow. “I am justly repaid.”
With a sigh, he straightened. “Well, since you’ll not kiss me, I suppose we’ve nothing left to do save kneel before our mistress and see if she lets us keep our heads attached to our necks today.”
Behind his smile Kit’s teeth were clenched in frustration. How could he be wanting her so badly he could barely think when she seemed untouched by the slightest pang of desire? Bertie was right. She’d seen his plan for her on that first day and was now warned against him.
At least there was no hesitation on her part when he again offered his arm. Nay, no hesitation at all. Dear God, but it was both heaven and hell to have her so close to him. While he stewed in his own juices, she glanced happily around her, savoring the garden’s beauty as he led her to its far end.
There, Mistress Mary, along with the prim-faced countess of Warwick and pretty Lady Scrope, bore Elizabeth company this morn. These women already wore their green and brown hunting attire while he and Mistress Anne had to wait until after this audience to change into the day’s required costume. Without farthingales beneath their skirts, their clothing clung strangely close to their legs.
Mistress Mary pointed to them, and Elizabeth turned. As with all her other garments the queen’s attire set her above the rest. Her forest-green doublet was decorated with golden ribbons and a great pin set with emeralds, while a tall white plume waved from her hat.
“Why, here is our Mistress Blanchemain, looking fine indeed this morn,” she called out, sounding as pleasant and sweet as any woman might. Whatever soured the royal mood these past days seemed to have eased.
As Kit and Mistress Anne reached her they began to kneel. Elizabeth waved her hand. “Nay, I’ll have none of that this morn. Here, walk with me a moment.”
Startled, Kit glanced at Mistress Anne. She was as surprised as he that they should be allowed such intimacy. There was nothing for them to do save join their queen as she strode a few yards back into the garden.
“You should be aware that there is a wager,” Elizabeth said without preamble as she stopped. She glanced between her chosen dancing master and that man’s student. Even in the day’s rain-grayed light the jeweled pins that held her curls in place glinted.
Her gaze settled on Mistress Anne. “It seems the earl of Leicester believes you won’t dance even the slower dances before summer’s end. Indeed, he swears a Galliard will be out of your reach before Yuletide.”
“Madame?” Mistress Anne asked softly, the hesitation in her voice saying she wasn’t certain what response was expected of her.
“I, however, have more faith in you, lass,” Elizabeth went on, a touch of a smile lifting her thin lips. “I wagered against him, saying you’ll not only be capable of all the dances by July’s end, but be expert in the La Volta, as well.”
The queen turned her attention on Kit, her dark eyes afire with the need to best her favorite. “Have you the skill to accomplish this?” she asked, handing him the opportunity of a lifetime.
Although Kit had no hope of ever trading on it, he couldn’t resist the chance of forever fixing his face in his monarch’s memory. “Fie on you, Madame,” he dared to tease. “You’re attempting to alter the conditions of the wager through this meeting.”
Elizabeth’s fine feathery brows lifted as she grinned. “Fie on you for pointing that out. Think on it as naught but a bit of a hedge.” The intensity returned to her dark gaze.
“In all truth even if I said nothing to you, I’d remain convinced our Mistress Anne can swiftly learn to dance. At the Maying I saw she owns the ability, but an apt pupil needs a clever teacher. Now, tell me true, can you do this?”
Kit glanced down at Mistress Anne. There was worry in her gaze. She feared what might happen to them were they to fail in this endeavor.
Bitter amusement filled him. That wasn’t where she needed to spend her worry. If he had his way with her, they’d both be gone from court before July’s advent. He looked back to his monarch.
“Madame, I think if we practice on a daily basis without interference from others, I’ll have her dancing the La Volta by July,” he lied.
Mistress Anne’s hand clenched on his arm, her nails digging through the fabric of his coat, doublet and into his shirt. Although no trace of it showed in her face, Kit read her grip with ease. She was furious with him.
Elizabeth’s grin was wide and pleased. “But of course it must be private. It wouldn’t do to have Leicester think I had any hand in this, now would it?”
With her words the queen doomed any appeal Old Amyas might make for Kit’s removal. More than that, she gave Kit reason to spend time closeted with his intended victim. Thoughts of failure in his quest for Nick’s title disintegrated.
“Madame,” Mistress Anne cried, almost dropping into a curtsy as she spoke, “will folk not think me forward for spending so much time alone with Master Hollier?”
Too caught up in her need to win the wager, the queen waved away her maid’s concern. “No one save for a select few will know you’re alone together. Moreover, Master Hollier is my gentleman and will behave as such.” Kit caught the note of warning in this. “You’ll also have the musicians and your governess as chaperones.”
This time, when England’s monarch glanced between them, the joy of scheming showed on her face. “Now, here is the how of it. I’ll see a place set aside for your daily use, but once a week you must still practice within sight of all others. In those practices Mistress Anne must seem clumsy and flat-footed.”
She paused to look at her maid. “I saw how your pride ached at the Maying, and know this public display will gall you right smartly. Take heart and let them think you clumsy, content that you will prove them wrong, come July.”
Kit felt Mistress Anne’s start of surprise at this; she hadn’t been to court long enough to realize there was little that Elizabeth missed. “Aye, Madame,” she replied. “I’ll look forward to that day. What of my duties?”
Elizabeth smiled, delight beaming from her. “Your schedule will be arranged around your time with Master Hollier. Now, be you also warned that the earl will ask you to dance in the coming weeks, testing you. Take care and reveal very little of what you’ve learned. Step upon his feet if you must.” The thought of her maid treading upon her favorite’s toes made the queen smile again, the movement of her mouth owning a certain sly satisfaction to it. “Need I warn either of you that no one should know of this conversation or our plan?”
“Your secret is ours to keep, Majesty,” Kit assured her. God knew he wasn’t going to invite the court to watch him seduce this woman.
Mistress Anne only nodded as if she dared not open her mouth for fear of what might leap off her tongue.
“Aye then, we’re settled with this,” the queen replied, more than satisfied with all that had occurred. “If you feel you need a tutor to aid you, but slip me notice and I’ll see the man hired. These lessons will begin upon the morrow, for on this day, we hunt. Now, hie with you both and be off to prepare. We’ll have us the fair roebuck this day.”
“Majesty,” Kit said with a bow. Beside him, Mistress Anne offered a small bob. Even before they’d begun to back away the queen whirled and strode to her companions.
“Hie with all of us,” the queen cried out. Whether her voice was light in anticipation of the day’s exercise or at the thought of hoodwinking her favorite there was no telling. “‘Tis time to rouse the house and be at our pleasure.”
“Come with me,” Mistress Anne hissed, catching Kit’s arm in both her hands. She nigh on shoved him down the path away from the queen’s party.
He let her drag him nearly halfway to the garden gate without protest. Why complain, when he could happily enjoy the seductive shift of her breasts beneath her bodice as she stomped? When the path forked, she turned into a secluded leafy grove.
Even though he knew she was furious with him, pleasure woke as the branches closed around them. ‘Ere too much longer she and he would be lying in just such a place, doing more than sharing the kiss he’d promised her. The anticipation of their lovemaking was enough to send Kit’s desires winging anew.
Once Mistress Anne was certain they were private, she grabbed him by the arms and stared up into his face. “What are you thinking!” she cried softly. Terror and anger tangled in her question.
Kit almost laughed. The last thing she needed to know was what he was thinking. Instead he set out to soothe her into his clutches as best he could. “Do you not see that this opportunity can do us both good?” That was not quite true, as lying with her would do him more good than her. “By God,” he continued, “but I can’t tell you how many men would slit my throat for a chance like this.”
Mistress Anne’s eyes widened as anger ate up even her terror. “You’ve traded my safety and well-being for a chance at royal favor!”
Kit blinked in surprise. If the queen won her wager, her gratitude would be equal to the triumph she felt at besting Leicester. This could well mean a promotion to a better position at court. The possibility of restoring Nick’s title through fair means hovered just beyond his reach then slipped away. To win favor, Mistress Anne would have to dance and dance well, indeed. It was far-fetched to think they could cram a lifetime’s worth of lessons in less than three months.
Still, if Kit wanted her alone and vulnerable, he had to appear as if he believed the feat possible. “She’ll hardly separate our heads from our necks for failing,” he protested. “Nay, the worst that will happen is that we’ll be relegated to the ranks of the invisible. Now, I’ll have no more of this nay-saying. You’ll dance and do it well come July’s end. Set your eyes upon success, and trust me.”
His conscience screamed in protest over his choice of words. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how much he could hate himself. By July, she’d be deflowered and driven from court. The only positive in all of this was that he’d be dead by that time. Since he was no longer a follower of the Roman faith and not quite a faithful Protestant, Kit supposed he’d find himself in hell. Just punishment for his sins, no doubt leaving him beyond caring over the harm he’d done to her.
“Nan?” Mistress Mary cried. “Nan, are you here?”
Anne started at her cousin’s call then pressed a finger to her lips to bid Master Christopher to silence. When she glanced over her shoulder, she gave thanks that the branches were thick enough to shield them from Mary’s view. Not that her kinswoman would tell tales, but it was unseemly to be discovered in hiding with Master Christopher. Despite the queen’s assurances Anne would have to be far more careful about who saw them and where.
“Nan?” Mary’s voice was more distant, suggesting she had moved away from their bower.
“Let me go first,” Anne quietly commanded her dancing tutor. “I’ll not have Mary think ill of us.”
Master Christopher bent his head toward her in agreement. “But of course. Anything to please you, mistress.”
“So you would say,” she retorted.
Turning, she darted out of their bower to the path, and stopped to glance up and down the thread of colored tile. There was no sign of her cousin. From the distant stables, horses whinnied and grooms shouted as they prepared for the hunt. Nearby, spades scraped into earth as the gardeners set to their daily chores.
“Mary?” she called.
“Nan?” Mary called back, having moved farther from Anne’s hiding place. “Where are you?”
“I’m coming to you,” Anne cried. Lifting her skirts to follow her kinswoman’s call, she left the path and made her way over a tiny hillock. Mary caught sight of her, and turned to meet her. As she crossed beneath a brace of trees, brushing their low hanging branches as she went, she won a shower of moist petals for her efforts. As they met, Mary laughed and swept them off the shoulders of her green hunting doublet.
“I vow this place is too wild by half. It’s almost indecent.”
“Now you sound like Patience,” Anne replied as she linked her arm through her kinswoman’s.
“Are you calling me ill-tempered and narrow-minded?” Mary cried.
“You know I am not.” Anne smiled as they matched their strides and made their way back to the path. There was joy to be had in walking alongside a woman who had no liking for mincing steps. She glanced over her shoulder. Master Christopher had left their hiding spot. Gentleman that he was, he headed toward the opposite side of the garden.
When she looked back to Mary, she found her kinswoman’s eyes alive with the thrill of prying out secrets. “I may have discovered something.”
“About Lady Montmercy?” Anne lowered her voice into the tones of conspiracy, even though she was certain they’d not be overheard. To date, she’d had no luck finding anyone willing to speak of the noblewoman.
Some of the sparkle left her kinswoman’s eyes. “Well not precisely about her. It’s about the old lord Montmercy from Master Williams, the earl of Pembroke’s secretary.”
“So tell me,” Anne demanded quietly, knowing this was the prod for which Mary was waiting.
“It seems there was bad blood between the old lord and Sir Amyas some years ago when they were both serving on the Court of the Wards,” Mary said. “Master Williams said they nearly came to blows more than once, requiring the ushers to part them.”
Anne frowned. Although this was interesting it wasn’t the answer she needed. “Is there more?”
Their progress along the path startled a squirrel. The creature leapt up a sapling to chitter at them in irritation.
“It seems that Lord Montmercy had a gift for ferreting out his enemies’ secrets then using them to his advantage.” Mary glanced up. “Moreover, he hated the Protestant lawyers who gained power in court.”
“Of which my grandsire was one,” Anne murmured, then she sighed. “While this is reason for my grandsire to despise old Lord Montmercy, there’s nothing here that might make him fear the lady.”
“Nay,” Mary agreed. “There’s something more. It has nothing to do with your grandsire, only Lady Montmercy, but it’s a trifle odd.”
“What’s that?” Anne asked.
“It seems Lady Montmercy surprised all the court when shortly after our mistress’s ascension to the throne she asked that her son be given over to royal wardenship.”
Anne considered this a moment. Lord Andrew had been born just before his sire’s death in the last year of King Edward’s reign. “He would have been, what, six years old then? Although that is a bit young, there are pages of that age in court right now.”