Heather Graham (5 page)

“Oh, I think not!”

“She’s an excellent rider.”

“Ah, but he is a man, challenged.”

“My money is on the girl.”

“Your Majesty, you’ve a bet!” Anne agreed, laughing. She leaned low, nudging her horse with her heel, and started to race herself. Charles, laughing delightedly, followed suit.

When they came into the courtyard at last, where grooms quickly materialized to assist the king, he was smiling still.

Pierce had reached the courtyard first. He had already dismounted from Beowulf. Rose Woodbine was just now slipping down from her mount.

The king slipped a coin into Anne’s gloved hand. “Well, m’lady, he is an exceptional man, we do agree on that!”

Anne nodded, still smiling herself. “But that is quite an exceptional young woman, too, Your Majesty.” She hesitated, curious. It was certainly none of her business, but despite the king’s marriage, his amorous exploits were the talk of all London. He was a charming man. Charming—and wicked and as determined as the devil when he chose. His eyes were dark and very sensuous, and the way that they followed a woman made her feel special. Perhaps he had cast his eyes upon the American girl, Mistress Rose.

Suddenly Anne found herself wishing that the very beautiful American girl were the king’s newest love. It would dim Pierce’s interest.

Charles lowered dark lashes over his eyes for a moment, then met her gaze, a secretive smile playing on his lips. “She is not an, umm, intimate friend, Lady Anne, if that is the question that lurks beyond those innocent and beautiful eyes. She’s a sweet young thing, really. Totally innocent. And though I may have my failings, m’lady, I’m not a lecher.”

“Dear Lord! No, of course! You’re the king!” Anne said.

“What is it? What on earth is going on here?” Pierce asked, approaching them, still dripping wet. He had been giving a groom very explicit instructions on how Beowulf was to be rubbed down. Anne was certain that he had scared the poor boy speechless with his stern words, but then he’d pressed a heavy coin into his hands to make it all worthwhile. Pierce was a very demanding man, but generous to a fault. Like Charles, he never forgot the lean days, or what a kindness might mean to someone less fortunate than himself.

“Where is Rose?” Anne asked him.

“I assume the young harridan made straight for her chambers,” he said. He was about to slip an arm around her shoulders, but hesitated, grimacing. “Alas! I am a mess. I think I must aim straight for my quarters, too. Forgive me, Your Grace?”

Charles waved a hand at him. “You
are
a mess, m’lord DeForte! Whatever possessed you to go for a cold swim with Ashcroft Woodbine’s daughter?”

“Sire, I did not choose to go swimming. ’Twas the girl’s decision, I swear it!”

The king smiled slowly, shaking his head at Anne, his dark eyes sparkling. “It happens to the best of men upon occasion, Anne. They must all be boys, unwilling to lose a contest.”

“There was no contest—” Pierce began, but he could see that the king was laughing. He paused, lowering his lashes. “All right, Your Majesty. You are the king; it will be your way. My love,” he said to Anne, “you will excuse me, I pray?”

“Indeed,” she replied.

“Between you and Mistress Woodbine, you have quite ended the hunt!” the king exclaimed. “Get away then. I shall go for a walk in my gardens. Join me, Lady Anne? I’ll have fair company, and therefore Pierce shall pay for his part in the fracas!”

Pierce, who’d been looking at her hopefully, frowned at the king’s words. Longing for assistance washing his back! Anne assumed. Ah, well, she’d been feeling some fine twinges of jealousy. Let him feel the same!

She smiled, linking her arm with the king’s. “I think a short walk is in order. I do live to serve my king!” she told Pierce sweetly.

“Umm,” he muttered, bending low over her hand. “Take care, my love, how you serve him!”

She ignored him. Charles gave him a smile quite like a wolf who had consumed a quail. He and Anne were both enjoying themselves a bit at Pierce’s expense, but then again, Pierce was certainly able to tolerate their teasing.

“Fine then. I shall join you at dinner,” he said. “Very clean!” he called to Anne, for she and the king were already moving on. Out of earshot, Anne began to laugh, and the king joined her, and for several moments they traveled the beautiful trails and mazes of roses and flowers set in the gardens. Then Anne, who didn’t really want to miss all of the bath, discreetly excused herself, and hurried away to Pierce’s chambers.

They were conveniently near her own. Although she was an heiress in her own right, well of age to choose her mate, she shared much of her property with her younger brother.

She sighed, just thinking about Jerome.

He was her half-brother. They had nothing in common, and sometimes he exasperated her badly. Anne’s largest inheritance had come to her from her own father, but their mother had been an heiress as well, so Anne and Jerome had jointly inherited some property. Since it brought in a good income, they were forced to manage it together. He was also her blood, she reminded herself constantly. All of the inheritance from her mother’s side would go to him should something happen to her; she had even promised her mother when she had lain dying that—should she marry—she would leave half of her father’s estate to Jerome as well. Of course, if she and her husband were both to die, Jerome would inherit all her property. King Charles had witnessed her will himself, so she knew that her affairs were in order.

Jerome had nothing to say about the way that she ran her life, but he liked to think that he did. He had his own choices for her as far as a husband went—and she wasn’t fond of them.

Actually, maybe that was one of the reasons she felt a certain sympathy for Rose Woodbine. With the death of the elder Lord Bryant, Jamison Bryant was now the girl’s official guardian. And Jamison always made her shiver a little. Jerome was always telling her that she should be flattered—Jamison adored her above all women. But there was something about him she didn’t like. Jamison was sly, and manipulative. She felt he undressed her each time he looked at her. He would pounce if he ever got the chance—actually, he had already tried to do so.

Maybe she and Pierce had tarried too long, going about so freely, the way that they were. Pierce’s parents were both gone now, and the two siblings he might have had died before they had reached the age of one. He owed no one explanations, except the king perhaps, and the king asked for none. Still, for her sake, he was entirely quiet about their relationship.

Anne smiled, hurrying along the hall to his door. When she reached it she looked about, slipping inside. Sometime soon, within the next week, she determined, they would set a date for a wedding!

She closed the door behind her. He was in his bath, his back to her, knees protruding from the water, his dark head with its rich, curling hair just above the rim of the tub. “Is that you, Peter? I could use another kettle of water here. Did I tell you what that little witch did? She threw mud in my face! The wretched little commoner. Ah, but I could use a back rub!”

Anne crept nearer the tub, grinning. Wretched little commoner, hmmm? She had to admit, she liked Rose herself. The girl might be a colonial, and a bit too independent because of it, but she was also very courageous. Even if she was just a bit jealous, Anne admired her.

“Peter, I’d have some water, please! Talk to me, man. Cat got your tongue, or have you gone daft?”

She knelt down behind him, whispering against his ear as her fingers landed lightly upon his shoulders. “I thought that you might prefer the back rub first. But then again, if Peter is coming …”

His hand fell upon hers, locking it against his flesh. “Bolt the door!” he advised her huskily.

She did so. When she returned, he had apparently decided to forgo the back rub. He was standing in the tub, and for a moment she stood back, savoring the sight of his nakedness. There were a few scars on his shoulders, one long one down his back. But to her, they didn’t mar his masculine appeal a bit. Pierce was incredibly built, standing perhaps an inch and a half taller than the king. His shoulders were wickedly broad, and his upper arms curved with hard, sculpted muscles earned from years of wielding his sword, ever in his sovereign’s defense. His torso tapered to a narrow waist, his hips were lean, his legs long and powerful. And now, as he stood there waiting, grinning at her, what was between those legs was long and powerful, too.

Her heart shuddered a bit. “Now, m’lord, I’ll need your back if I’m to—”

She broke off with a squeal, because he stepped from the tub and pulled her into his arms, laughing as he whirled her about. “You’re terrible!” she whispered.

“No, I’m wonderful. Give me a chance to prove it.”

“I mean you’re a—”

“Lecher?” he said, frowning. “A very jealous one. You, m’lady virtue, were walking with the king.”

“He was charming,” Anne said innocently.

“I shall be more so.”

“Hard to prove by the way you handled Mistress Woodbine!”

She was startled by the suddenly dark look in his eyes. “She is a vixen,” he said simply, “while you, my love … I will simply charm you to tears!”

“Prove it!” she challenged.

A wolfish grin touched his face. Before she knew it, she was naked, feeling the powerful touch of his fingers, the liquid fire of his lips. Here, there, so intimately. The searing tip of his tongue sliding down the valley of her breasts. Lower. Laving upward again. Downward. Downward. Oh!

She gasped, fell back. He carried her to the bed and touched her all over, and then he was with her, one with her, and she was filled with the hot steel of his body, soaring. She was a fool. She hadn’t actually run wild, but being mistress of her own fate, she had known several men, all of them fine and brave. But none of them compared to Pierce. None was so sensual, none could sweep her so high that it was near to dying …

As she lay with him long, long, minutes later, she thought how she’d hate to lose all this. She felt a renewed tinge of jealousy for Rose Woodbine. Maybe Jamison would fall madly in love with his new ward, sweep her off her feet, and marry her.

No. She was jealous, but she didn’t really want that to happen!

His arms closed around her. “What is it?”

She leaned her cheek against his bronzed chest.

“I want you to apologize to Mistress Woodbine tonight,” she told him seriously.

“What?”

“Pierce, you are a great noble! The king’s good friend. You must set an example at court. And I’ve never seen you behave so badly! Please, apologize to her!”

She heard him set his jaw. She could tell that he wasn’t going to apologize. He would do almost anything for her; she knew that. Except go against the dictates of his conscience. The girl had really angered him.

Well, that was good, wasn’t it? There was really no need for her to be jealous.

But it was going to make all the rest that she wanted to ask him to do so much more difficult!

“Pierce—”

“Annie, she’s a wayward little vixen, and she needs a good switching from what I can tell.”

“She’s far too mature for a good switching,” Anne said with a soft sigh. “She’s spirited—”

“She might well have killed someone, Anne, she was so reckless, and—”

“She does ride excellently.”

“Umm, and she is completely confident in her own talent. She deserves to be beaten—”

“You beat her this afternoon.”

“I was not racing—”

“You were.”

“Beowulf was determined,” he said defensively.

Anne laughed. She touched his nose lightly. “You bested her. Show some mercy!”

He shook his head, oddly frowning. “I don’t think that anyone ever bests her, Anne. Because I don’t think she knows when she’s been bested. No, I will not apologize to her.”

“But—”

He twisted, staring at her fiercely, taking her into his arms. “M’lady, I’ll not apologize to her, and I’ll not let her get between us again!”

“But, Pierce—” Anne began, pleased.

“But, Anne!”

“Really, you should take pity on the girl.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, her father was once very good friends with Lord Victor Bryant, his wife’s second cousin, and so he entrusted her into Lord Bryant’s guardianship while she was in England.”

Pierce frowned.

“But Victor Bryant passed away last month. Which leaves her in the care of Jamison Bryant.” She sighed. “He makes me very nervous. He is one of my half-brother’s dearest friends, and he’s always—oh, I don’t know! He’s a very attractive man—”

“Aha!” Pierce teased.

She shook her head wildly. “Attractive—but unnerving. I am ever so grateful to be of age, and an heiress in my own right, or else I’m quite afraid Jerome would try to hand me—body, title, and riches!—straight over to Jamison. Honestly, I fear for the girl.”

Pierce shrugged. “Her father is still alive. I don’t believe young Jamison really has any rights over her.”

“Perhaps not. But still …”

“Besides,” Pierce said, “she probably deserves marriage to some unnerving but attractive fellow.” He rolled over, grinning, drawing a line delicately around her breast. “Her father is after me, you know.”

Anne smiled slowly in return, smoothing back his dark hair. “So I heard.”

“And?” He arched a brow.

“Well, you are quite taken. That is one of the reasons she worries me. She needs a mate, but not Jamison Bryant!”

“Well, don’t trouble yourself about her. That would be like worrying about a tigress. All right, then, my love! You keep an eye upon her, as I assume you’ve already chosen to do.”

“I have. But, Pierce, I very much want you to use your influence on her behalf.”

“My influence! Anne, I don’t know—”

“You should just let it be known that you are interested in the girl, that perhaps she has your—protection. It might well keep her safe.”

“From?”

“From the likes of her guardian!” Anne said. “Jamison is very good friends with Jerome. And though he is my blood, my dear half-brother is sometimes capable of a certain …” She hesitated. “He loves to plot and trick, Pierce. And at times, he can be evil!”