‘Very well – though he will welcome you. His buckhounds have grown quite unruly of late.’
Thomas grinned. ‘We shall soon tire them out on the hunt. I hear the woodlands of your estate are unsurpassed in these parts.’
Sir Anthony inclined his head in acknowledgement.
‘I am sure the King will find even greater diversion with your arrival – and that of some other attendants,’ he replied. ‘Sir John Graham has secured a place for a new protégé. Let us hope he does not serve the King ill at this evening’s banquet or it will put him out of humour.’
Frances exchanged a glance with her husband and saw her surprise mirrored in his face. Sir John guarded his position in the privy chamber jealously and was not known to encourage potential rivals.
‘Well now,’ Sir Anthony said briskly, ‘I must not keep you from your chambers. You will be tired after your journey.’ He motioned to the page, who was standing a few paces behind him, then bowed his farewell.
Frances looked out across the neatly appointed privy gardens that stretched across the expanse of the south front. The heady scents from the orangery that lay below came to her on the breeze. She looked forward to tasting some of its bounty. Sir Anthony was famed for the delicacies that were served at his banquets – they had certainly won favour with the old Queen.
‘Will you not come to bed, Frances?’ Thomas whispered, as he nuzzled the back of her neck.
Still gazing out of the window, she felt him begin to unlace her gown, his fingers working slowly at first, then with growing impatience. When at last her stays hung loose, he eased them from her shoulders and untied her heavy skirts, which rustled to the floor. Savouring the touch of his hands as they snaked from her back around to her belly, she drew in a breath as they moved downwards, caressing the inside of her thighs through the soft linen of her shift.
She turned to face him, kissing him hungrily as her fingers worked at the laces of his hose. When he had pulled off his doublet, she lifted his shirt over his head and ran her hands along the contours of his chest, relishing the warmth of his skin against her fingertips. He bent to kiss her again, but she led him towards the large mahogany chest that lay at the end of the bed and pushed him down onto it.
Taking a step away from him, she slowly, deliberately, drew up her shift, gradually revealing her nakedness. Seeing his eyes fill with longing as they roved over her body stoked her own desire. Unable to withhold any longer, she moved to sit astride him. Slowly, she began to move, her hips pressing against Thomas’s until they matched her rhythm. A bead of sweat trickled down her back as she felt the delicious, rising tension deep inside her, crying out as the waves of pleasure pulsated through her. The muscles of her husband’s back grew taut, then he gave a deep shudder and sank down against her, his damp forehead pressing into her neck.
They remained like that for several minutes, caressing each other’s cooling skin as their breathing slowed.
‘I think the King was right all along, Frances,’ Thomas said, his eyes glinting. ‘You must be a witch. How else can you have such power over me?’
She kissed his forehead, which tasted salty. ‘Then you shall be forever cursed, husband,’ she said.
CHAPTER 2
4 August
‘Come, my love,’ Thomas urged. ‘We are late enough already.’
Frances looped her arm through his and together they weaved their way through the clusters of guests in the hall. Even though the windows had been flung open, the air was already stifling. Not for the first time, Frances regretted the fashion for tightly laced dresses in brocade silk and other heavy fabrics. Already, she longed for the hour when she and her husband could retire to their chamber and divest themselves of their finery. But Sir Anthony was renowned for his hospitality: the feasting and entertainment would continue long into the night.
The minstrels struck up a lively flourish and the courtiers fanned out on either side of the room in preparation for the dance. Frances was thankful they had started with a sedate pavane, for the heat was sapping her energy.
They had performed only a few steps when the music came to an abrupt halt and everyone turned at the rapping of a staff on the flagstones. As