Wolf Bride (24 page)

‘Yes, my lord.’

There was no mistaking the matching ice in her voice now. With a disgusted expression, he released her arm.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ he ground out, and limped past her through the doorway and down the winding stairs. As he descended, a folded sheet of paper fluttered out from under his jacket, as though falling from inside his book. He paused, looking round in the dim light with a frown.

Before he could stoop to pick up the fallen sheet, Eloise acted on instinct and reached for it herself. She turned it over in her hand, just out of reach, her eyes widening. It looked like a letter, its secrets folded away where she could not read them, except for a single word written in bold, black handwriting across the top fold.

Margerie.

Her heart seemed to stop for one terrible instant, squeezing the breath out of her chest. Then it stuttered back into life at a brutal pace.

‘May I have that?’

Wolf held out his hand for the letter, his brows clamped together in a lightning frown. Yet the heat had gone out of his voice. The way he spoke to her was calm, almost distant, as though they had become strangers again. His sudden stillness hurt more than his anger, and she wished he was still blazing at her, for she preferred to meet fire with fire, not ice with ice.

Nonetheless, she handed it back, noting with relief that her hand did not shake as it brushed his. She looked into his eyes, meeting his cool stare with one of her own.

There was no point trying to pretend that she had not seen the name of his former lover written so boldly across the letter, but equally there was nothing to say about the matter. After all, what could she ask that Wolf would ever willingly tell her?

How do you still know Margerie, you duplicitous bastard? Why are you writing to her? Do you still love her? Still take her to your bed from time to time?

Does she please you better than I did last night?

The crushing pain inside her chest grew suddenly intolerable. Yet his face remained emotionless. This awkward moment on the stairs with a secret love letter meant nothing to him. That he was writing to a woman he had once been betrothed to should not concern her, his raised eyebrows seemed to say. She was his wife, and not his keeper.

Eloise tightened her lips and tried to pass him on the narrow stair, drawing in her skirts with a rigid hand. ‘They are waiting for us below. It is past dawn.’

She would rather not ask the questions pressing heavy as rocks on her heart than listen to any explanation that was sure to be a lie. The indignity would be too much to bear.

‘Eloise!’

His voice was so rough, she could not help herself. She looked up just at the sound of her name, and instantly regretted it.

His eyes were like a blue fire, scorching her. She could feel the heat from him as she lurched onto the same step as him, their bodies brushing, first hips, then shoulders as she turned awkwardly, trying to avoid touching him. It hurt to be so close to Wolf and know he despised her, that the man whose touch she had grown to enjoy no longer wanted her. Then she caught his male scent, deep and musky, reminding her of love in the afternoon, and her heart began to gallop, leaving her faint and in despair.

‘Wait!’ he insisted, and slammed his arm across the narrow stairway to touch the curving wall opposite, effectively locking her in place beside him on the step. His blue gaze dropped to her mouth, brooding there as though still angry.

‘We must leave for court at once, my lord,’ she reminded him through the clog of salty, unshed tears in her throat, and kept her gaze lowered. ‘There is no time to delay.’

Wolf cursed between his teeth, staring down at her. Then he stood aside, with obvious reluctance, and nodded for her to precede him down the stairs.

He followed more slowly, no doubt pushing the secret letter back inside the book beneath his jacket.

At the front entrance to the hall, he caught up with her again, his hand gripping her shoulder, bending to her ear so the waiting row of servants would not overhear. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet,’ he muttered, then straightened as one of his men saluted him. ‘Yes, Fletcher. Is Master Beaufort out there? Are we all prepared?’

‘Aye, my lord. We only await your coming.’

A slight smile twitched at the corners of Wolf’s mouth, and he glanced sideways at Eloise. ‘Indeed,’ he drawled laconically, then nodded, drawing on his tasselled leather riding gloves. ‘Best tell your men to mount up, then. For I have finished my business here and am ready to depart.’

He escorted Eloise to her covered litter, one hand pressed lightly into the small of her back, the warmth of that touch burning through her furred robe and travelling gown. Around them the assembled horses jabbed impatiently with their heads, stamping in the cold dawn light, and the cartmen began shouting farewells to those left behind as the first of the luggage carts set off for the south, trundling noisily towards the arched gateway. Wolf handed her up into the fur-lined interior of the litter, where Mary was waiting for her in silent excitement, then he walked away to his horse without another word.

One of the men blew a long staccato note on his horn, and a few seconds later several others took up the call.

‘Head south, men!’ Fletcher’s hoarse shout went up above the din of the blowing horns. He wheeled his liveried mount up and down the ranks, then signalled the six-man horse escort to fall into position beside the litter wagon. ‘South to Greenwich and the court of King Harry!’

Leaning out of the curtained litter, Eloise watched Wolf swing up into the saddle of his black stallion, his face grimmer than she had ever seen it before. Without even acknowledging her presence, he spurred forward to ride alongside the litter, engaged in some muted conversation with Hugh Beaufort.

Her heart ached at the sight of him, and of Wolf Hall disappearing from view as the litter wagon rumbled through the arched gate and turned south. Eloise looked up at the dark stone archway and was filled with a terrible sense of loneliness and desolation. She sat back inside, leaning against the cushioned velvet seats, and closed her eyes to avoid Mary’s curious stare.

Was it possible Wolf too thought her complicit in the queen’s guilt?

A cold fear clutched at her heart, for she had indeed been keeping secrets about Anne Boleyn. She had seen Queen Anne too intimate on several occasions with Thomas Wyatt and with Henry Norris, and others too. And now she must either give up her secrets and watch her former mistress condemned to death, or lie and risk her own neck on a charge of treason. She had only just escaped from the dark webs of court, it seemed to her, and now her life might be forfeit.

The litter jerked over the uneven ground, and she felt again the old familiar swaying that would keep her sick for days until they arrived. Rather the sickness of the journey though, she told herself, than whatever trial awaited her at court.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They had been two days at court and no summons had yet come for her from Sir Thomas Cromwell. Eloise looked up for the tenth time from her embroidery and stared at the closed door to their apartments, wishing she could see through its thick studded wood. She knew a guard stood outside that door at all hours, armed with a sword and pike, one of the king’s own yeomen. But was he there to protect them, or to prevent her from escaping the coming inquisition?

They had been given lavish apartments near the king’s own: high-ceilinged chambers decked out in gold and silver furnishings, soft deerskins on the floor, elaborate Tudor roses painted crimson on the roof crossbeams, a reflection of Wolf’s marked favour with His Majesty. But it was whispered that the gentleman whose rooms these had been now languished in prison, awaiting his trial for treason, and she could not help but fret that her turn would come soon.

Their first evening at court, Wolf had absented himself for hours, only returning late at night. His servant helped him undress and bathe before the fire, while she sat up in bed waiting. But he did not come to her, choosing instead to sleep on the daybed in the other chamber.

Jealousy nagged at her heart. Had her husband already taken his pleasures elsewhere that night?

Or perhaps he was afraid that even being alone with her could be dangerous to his reputation. There was still time, after all, for Wolf to disassociate himself from her before she was questioned. He could claim their marriage had not been consummated, or that she had not been a virgin when she came to him, that he no longer acknowledged her as his wife. There were many cunning ways to save his family honour if she went to the block.

The queen’s other ladies had been questioned too, of course. Some of her closest intimates had been interviewed at great length, their answers recorded on paper to be studiously compared with other accounts. Because her journey from the north had taken so long, she was one of the last among the queen’s maids of honour to be questioned. And it seemed much weight was to be put on her testimony, for some mischievous gossip had suggested an overly close friendship between herself and Sir Thomas Wyatt, one of the unfortunate courtiers accused of sleeping with the queen.

When Wolf had related this unpleasant lie, he had avoided her gaze, his mouth twisting as though disgusted by her behaviour. She had denied it at once, of course. But she guessed he must hate her for putting him through this shameful ordeal. Why else would he look like that?

It was late afternoon when voices and booted footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, and she heard the guard come to attention.

Eloise leapt to her feet, knocking over the embroidery stand, her heart racing.

Could this be the summons at last?

If only Wolf was there, to advise her what to do! But he had barely spent a moment in her company since their arrival at court, and had ridden out hunting with the king early that morning. He had not even slept with her again.

It hurt to lie alone at night, staring up at the beautifully ornate ceiling of her bedchamber, wondering where her absent husband was. Yet she could hardly blame Wolf for distancing himself from her. She had seen too many heads turn as she passed, courtiers whispering behind their hands, their expressions either cruelly curious or pitying.

The door was flung open. It was Wolf.

Catching her breath in relief, she sagged back against the high-backed chair. ‘Wolf,’ she managed huskily.

He bowed to someone out of sight in the corridor, murmured something in response to an unheard question, then softly closed the door to leave them alone together.

Turning back towards her, dark and straight in his mud-splashed hunting garb, his gaze met hers with a force which shook her. She stared back, instantly on fire for him. His gaze held her so tight she could not move, speaking without words, touching without hands. The blue glare of his eyes consumed her. It was like being struck by lightning, she thought, or staring into the blue dust of a whirlwind only feet away.

Eloise swallowed, shocked by the storm churning within him. What could have happened?

She would have spoken, but Wolf shook his head.

He laid a warning finger on his lips, and she realised he was listening to the men outside in the corridor. After another excruciating moment of stillness, she heard a man’s voice speaking softly, then booted footsteps receding along the corridor.

Her husband dragged off his cloak, then limped across to the sunlit window that overlooked the king’s gardens. She watched as he leaned out to pull the shutters closed, and found herself staring entranced at the rear view of his body, his buttocks sculpted, his hard thighs and calves outlined in tight black hose.

Eloise put a hand to her mouth, trying to control her passion. But the memory of him taking her on the bed in the hunting lodge reared up large in her head, and her body remembered that pleasure too.

Her palms were suddenly clammy; perspiration broke out on her forehead. She wanted him so badly it was a sweet burning ache between her thighs, a hunger which left her empty and trembling in the early hours, wishing he was inside her again.

By the time Wolf turned, she was standing before him, less than a step away. He looked down at her in the darkened chamber, very still and silent, a muscle jerking in his face.

He was so cold, she thought despairingly. Did he even want her anymore? Was that lust already gone that had inspired him to teach her so many tricks on their first intimate afternoon together?

She touched his cheek, and looked up at him without pretence, letting her own hunger show, too starved to hide what she wanted.

‘Eloise,’ he said harshly. His gaze flashed down to her court gown, the bodice pulled low to reveal the swell of her breasts, as was the fashion, even the rosy tips of her nipples just showing. ‘God’s blood, woman. I could take you right now on the floor, and to hell with whoever is listening.’

‘Then why don’t you?’

She stood on tiptoe so her lips could brush his mouth. His breathing altered, quickening suddenly, yet still he did not move. She laid a hand on his chest, then dragged it slowly and deliberately down to his flat belly. His heat enticed her fingers through the fine shirt and doublet, and she felt his heartbeat begin to race.

Could she seduce this man, inexperienced as she was?

‘Wolf?’ she prompted him softly, and ran the wet tip of her tongue along his lips, tasting him.