The Scandalous Duchess. Anne O'Brien
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He brushed it aside with a little gesture, much as he had brushed the twigs from the richly figured cloth. ‘I’m rarely mistaken for a servant, much less Robert. Some would say it was good for my soul and I should thank God that I am reminded of the humility of Christ.’ But there was laughter in his voice as he looked round, taking stock, graciously accepting a psalter from Henry, ruffling his son’s hair much as he had ruffled his own. ‘It’s too cold in here. They’ll all come down with the ague.’ With a grin he pulled his soft felt hat low onto his son’s head so that the fur brim covered the child’s eyes, making Henry chortle with delight. ‘Take them to my rooms, Alice, and make them comfortable. Lady Katherine and I will arrange to bring books and whatever else she considers we need…’
‘An excellent thought…’ Without fuss, Alice rounded up and ushered the little party of children and nursemaids out. Leaving me to face my nemesis. There he stood, between me and the door, hands loosely at his sides, his eyes watchful, expression unreadable. There was no escape and he would require an answer from me.
He must have seen me glance at the open door.
‘No…’ Within a breath, he had taken one stride and possessed himself of my hand, his frown deepening. ‘You are frozen.’
And without more ado he seized my other hand, pulled me down to the settle just vacated by his daughters, wrapped my hands in the fur-lined folds of his mantle and held them firmly against the breast of his tunic, tightening his grip when I struggled to release them. Since to continue would be fruitless, and undignified, I gave up the lost cause and simply sat. Beneath my palms I absorbed the beat of his heart, hard and steady, far steadier than mine. All my thoughts were dominated by the one: he was too close, too overpowering, and I did not know what to say to him.
‘I did not know that you were returned,’ I said, inwardly flinching at the banal comment.
‘I had to. I had to see you,’ he replied evenly.
His eyes were dark, their usual brilliance muted, the flat planes of his face still.
‘This is wrong,’ I remonstrated. ‘I must not be here with you like this.’
‘Do you deny me the right to comfort you?’
‘You have no right.’ Panic rose in me, because his touch made my blood beat in my ears.
‘I am Plantagenet.’
Delivered with a swagger that took my breath with its arrogance.
‘So I am yours to command?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know what you want from me, sir.’
‘You. I want you.’
And I struggled even more to find a reply. ‘Your loyalty is to your wife, my lord.’
Beneath my palms I felt him inhale, and tensed for a blast of Plantagenet irritation. Though his response was lightly made, it was unnerving in that he picked up our conversation as if there had not been a strained hiatus of six weeks.
‘You know what I want, Katherine. In God’s name, I made myself plain enough. Too plain. I think if I recall correctly I showed a lamentable lack of finesse—but I had hoped you would reconsider. It’s been too long. How long is it since you came to me and I offered you my service and bed?’
The simplicity of that statement made my own heart bound. ‘Six weeks, my lord.’ I knew exactly.
He laughed, making me feel foolish. ‘So you have been counting too.’
And suddenly I cast off any thoughts of the difference in our status. We were no longer royal duke and loyal dependent, simply a man and a woman encountering a choice that was no choice, and never could be.
‘My answer is no different now,’ I said.
‘Nor is my desire to have you with me. Are we at stale-mate? I wanted you then. I want you now.’ His words were low and urgent, forcing me to listen and consider rather than wilfully reject. ‘I cannot accept that you are indifferent to me. I can feel the blood raging through my body as I hold you, just as I can feel the beat of yours throbbing in your wrists.’
How horribly true. How could I deny what he could sense through the simple fact of our proximity? My throat was dry, my heart furiously beating against my ribs, as his heart did too with increased vehemence against my palms. I would be a fool to claim indifference when my cheeks were flushed with sudden warmth and my whole body trembled.
‘If I kissed you now, this very moment,’ the Duke surmised, eyes as keen as one of his goshawks in the mews, ‘I wager your lips would be warm and welcoming.’
So did I. I knew they would. Close enough that I could see my own reflection in his eyes, it was impossible to hide the turbulence of my thoughts. Helplessly, I turned my face away.
‘If I kissed you, how could you deny the attraction that draws us together?’ Lifting our joined hands, he turned my face to his. ‘Do you fear me? I don’t think you do—and I’ll not kiss you without your permission.’ And with a smile that hacked at the base of all my convictions: ‘Will you be my love, Katherine?’
But I was not so lost to good sense. ‘I can’t!’ Why could he not see? ‘It was wrong then and it is wrong now.’
‘That’s what you said last time.’
‘And I say it again. You should not ask it of me.’
Formality had fallen away from both of us. His eyes moved over my face, as if absorbing every feature. At first their hard brightness had returned, full of what I could only interpret as displeasure that I refused him. But then they softened, perhaps with regret. ‘It is not my intention to distress you.’ It had the sound of a benediction as his grip loosened a little. And then, when I had thought he might actually accept my denial of him and leave me, his gaze sharpened as it flicked over my person.
‘Why are you not wearing my rosary?’ So he had noticed the simple length of wooden beads at my waist, replacing the coral.
‘Because it is an unsuitable gift from you to your wife’s damsel.’
‘Unsuitable? What is unsuitable for the Duke of Lancaster to do?’ Arrested, he lifted his chin. ‘I thought it most suitable. I thought you would like it, and would find more use for it than a hanap.’
‘I do. Of course I do. It is magnificent.’ I felt an urge to shake him, as a woman might shake any obtuse man who could not follow her line of reasoning. ‘To give me such a gift—a gift of such portent—and then ask me to become your mistress, when I am part of your new wife’s establishment…it is too much.’
His brows, previously amused or lightly assured, drew into a flat line. ‘A sin, in effect.’
‘Yes.’ My mouth was dry, my heart as cold as stone, but it must be said. ‘It is immoral,’ I whispered. ‘It goes against all I learned as a child, in my upbringing at your mother’s hand. And in your careful raising too, I imagine.’
Nostrils flaring, the royal blood had never been so obvious. ‘If a man had said that to me, I would have cleaved his head with my sword. So you accuse me of immorality, Lady de Swynford?’
‘Yes. No…’ I had, hadn’t I? I felt my face flush again as I stumbled over my muddled response.
‘Well, that’s clear enough.’
‘It’s not clear at all!’ His fingers tightened around the soft wrappings as I tried to pull away again. ‘It weights on my conscience.’
‘So you reject me because of conscience.’
‘Yes. But not only that.’ I determined to explain. ‘I would never become the mistress of a man who did not respect me, or whom I could not respect to the same degree.’ So I asked him. A question I had never asked any man, certainly not a question I could ever envisage