did? She did say that you had gone to play tennis, but merely indicated that this pastime would separate us for the afternoon. Then Iris and Anne Boleyn took me out to the garden and introduced me to a lot of strangers who stared at me as if I were very odd. It was horrible! After a few minutes the two of them drifted off to converse with their friends and left me alone with a boring man named Cromwell. I didn't even know I was allowed to watch your silly tennis match!" She paused, thinking, and narrowed her eyes. "I don't suppose that Iris happened to turn up in the gallery?"
He began soaping his chest again, watching as if to make certain he didn't miss a place. "Now that you mention it... I do believe I might have seen her there."
Micheline paced angrily beside the tub. "I knew it! That witch! I hate her, and I hate this place, and I wish we'd never come!"
"Fondling, come here. Sit down beside me." He indicated a low stool near the fire. After a moment she grudgingly obeyed, and Sandhurst reached out to take her hand, muscles playing over his shoulder and arm. "This is part of the reason I wanted to bring you to court before our wedding. I'm a marquess, and you would be a marchioness, and we should always have to spend some time at court, if only to keep the peace with King Henry. I have enough trouble as it is dodging his efforts to transform me into a faithful courtier."
"What do you mean?"
He sighed. "Nothing. I'll explain it all to you later, after we've left Hampton Court." As much as he longed to confide in Micheline, he did not want to add to her distress by detailing his potential problems with the king. She had more than enough to deal with on this first day with the English court. "All that's important now is that you understand that there are more burdens involved in becoming my wife than just tolerating my relatives."
She dropped her head, pressing her cheek to his strong, damp hand. "Sometimes I wish you were just plain Andrew Selkirk after all."
"No more than I, my love, I can assure you! However, fate dealt me a different hand. If I were a commoner, I would not only be free of royal obligations, but I could also close the door on my past. As it is, if you marry me, you shall always have to contend with women I knew before you and I met. I'm a dozen years older than you, Michelle, and I'm a man. Iris is not the only ghost from my past who will haunt us. Unfortunately the court abounds with females who once hoped to become the next Marchioness of Sandhurst."
"You needn't boast!"
He smiled, encouraged by her flash of humor. "I'm trying to be honest. I want you to be aware of the possibilities, in case you should decide that the negative aspects of marriage to me outweigh the positive. It would devastate me to see you unhappy later on."
Now Micheline was ashamed of the harsh words she had spoken. She gazed at Sandhurst, achingly aware of his lean-muscled naked body so near to her. The firelight only accentuated his sculpted good looks, and suddenly she realized that this was the first time she had ever seen him fully unclothed in the light. Not that she was brave enough to look beyond his hard arms, tapering chest, and the handsome legs he propped on the lower rim of the bathtub. Sighing a little, Micheline thought that it would be wonderful if she could shed her costly gown and climb into bed with him, forgetting about the royal assemblage downstairs.
But Andrew was right. She had to make the best of their time at Hampton Court. Nothing would be solved if Micheline continued to alternately rage and sulk.
"I see your point, my lord," she told him sincerely. "I must learn to cope with Lady Dangerfield and her ilk on my own. I apologize for behaving like a spoiled child."
"No apology is necessary." Gently he drew her near until their lips touched, parted, then touched again. "Besides, I could never love a saint. You are never more ravishing than when you're angry."
Tears stung her eyes. Reluctantly she whispered, "I suppose I should leave you to dress."
He arched a wicked brow. "If you stay, I shouldn't dress at all..."
Chapter 25
April 6-7, 1533
Supper passed pleasantly enough.