its tiny cleft, Micheline replied. "I appreciate your good wishes, my lady. And now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to Lord Sandhurst."
"You can't hide behind him just now, madame," Iris said with a wicked smile. "He's gone to play tennis with the king, and they will probably be occupied for hours."
* * *
Micheline sat in her spacious Hampton Court bedchamber, her indignation growing by the minute as she waited for Andrew to return from his afternoon of male camaraderie. It was nearly time for supper, and still he had not knocked at her door. For her own part, she had bathed again while Mary aired out her gown, and now, with her hair freshly dressed, Micheline looked even more beautiful than she had that morning, for anger stained her cheeks with color and put sparks in her eyes.
"Where can he be?" she demanded of Mary.
The young girl squirmed uncomfortably. "No doubt there's an explanation, ma'am. Lord Sandhurst is a very thoughtful man. Why, ever since I came to his household, he's always been frightfully kind. Most noblemen wouldn't even notice a common little kitchen maid, but Lord Sandhurst is so considerate-—"
Micheline rolled her eyes. "Mary, if you are going to be my lady's maid, you ought to have the decency to at least pretend to take my part at times like this!"
"Yes, ma'am," she agreed meekly.
Remembering that Mary had said her sister was a pastry cook here at the palace, Micheline said, "I'm sorry if I seemed rude; certainly none of this is your fault. You're excused for the evening, Mary. I shan't need you until morning."
"Oh!" Her heart-shaped face lit up. "Thank you, ma'am!" At the door she turned, adding, "And I don't think you're one bit rude! I think you're wonderful!"
Alone in the huge chamber, Micheline murmured, "I'm glad someone does."
Then she straightened, listening. Were those voices on the other side of the connecting door? Had Andrew returned to his rooms without even stopping to apologize to her? Fresh outrage sent her marching to the paneled door and caused her to pound on it with her fist.
"Andrew? Are you in there? I wish to see you right now!"
"Then by all means, enter!" he invited her, sounding infuriatingly amused.
Micheline threw open the door and boldly entered his chamber. To her consternation, she discovered Sandhurst lounging in a steaming bathtub in front of the fire.
The ever-discreet Joshua Finchley was arranging his lordship's clothing on the bed, but the sight of Micheline's shocked expression made him swallow in embarrassment.
"You may leave us, Finchley. I won't be needing you again tonight."
Gratefully the older man made a hasty exit.
Micheline stood paralyzed on the far side of the room, unsure of what to do or say until her betrothed inquired casually, "What happened to you this afternoon?"
She gasped, incredulous. "What happened to me!?"
"Didn't I just say that?"
The fact that he was naked in the bathtub suddenly meant nothing to Micheline as she marched across the chamber and exclaimed, "I was not the one who sauntered off to play tennis for hours on end after promising never to leave the side of my betrothed!"
"Am I to assume that you are angry?" Sandhurst tried with little success to look concerned, but his mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled.
She found this expression of his particularly appealing and tried to steel herself to resist. "How observant you are, my lord!"
He had been soaping his chest but paused now and reached out to touch her hand with wet fingers. "Sarcasm does not become you, fondling. You must know that I had no choice but to play tennis with the king, any more than you had a choice when he decided that you must meet Anne Boleyn. Besides, I meant for you to watch our match. I bade Lady Dangerfield show you the way to the tennis court's gallery."
Helplessly Micheline felt herself soften. When he gazed at her and spoke in that low, masculine voice, anger was impossible. "Lady Dangerfield?" she repeated rather plaintively. "Why would you give that woman a message for me? She hates me, Andrew!"
"The king and I passed her on the stairway, and she said she was bound for Anne Boleyn's chamber. It seemed a logical request at the time."
"Well, she never told me. Your precious Iris is a witch! How could you have loved her for so long?"
"I never loved her; I've told you that. In any case, she didn't become a witch until you appeared on the scene."