Improper Seduction (30 page)

“Make way for the king!”

More footfalls echoed around the outer chamber. Bridget peeked out of the open door and felt her eyes go wide. Henry Tudor arrived wearing a coat that was far richer than the chancellor’s. He was a large man who limped a little. Everyone lowered themselves, and his escort placed a chair behind him when he stopped.

“My leg pains me these days.” He sounded gruff and frustrated by the toll age was extracting on his body, but sank down into the chair, stretching his leg out with a soft intake of breath to betray how painful it was.

“Hurry, miss, they will be calling for you shortly.”

The two maids pulled her away from the door, reaching for her wet dress with quick hands.

Calling for me …

That was exactly what she dreaded. Tension twisted through her, but she was not afraid. Suddenly, she felt determination rising up inside her so strongly she understood why her husband was willing to behave so lowly and fondle her bottom in front of others. The reason was, when dealing with men of low quality, you had to make your argument in a fashion they would understand. Chancellor Wriothesley was a man driven by his own greed for power. He would never hear any argument that pitted honor against gaining what he desired.

Which was her. The chancellor would give her to his dog like a scrap of meat, happily doing so because he had taken the scrap from someone else and need not give his hound anything of his own.

It sickened her.

Lord Oswald began sputtering in the outer room, and the maids increased their speed.

“You’d best hurry, mistress. Lord Oswald does not like to be kept waiting, and he is sure to be cross with you for having known another man before him.”

“He’ll likely strike you, but better keep your chin steady if you want to earn his forgiveness.”

“He won’t want me now.”

The maids both froze, but it was the look of pity in their eyes that convinced her that they knew of what they spoke.

“He will, and he will punish you for not coming to him a virgin.”

The maids kept their voices low, to be heard only in the bedchamber. Their familiarity with Lord Oswald’s expectations set Bridget’s spine straight.

There would be no simpering to that hound, and maybe she needed to follow her husband’s example and fight the man in the manner that he would understand. She cast a glance behind her at the door that was still slightly open. Just a finger width, yet ‘twas enough for her needs.

“Ah! You clumsy fool! You pinched me. Awhhh …”

Bridget raised her voice just enough so that it would filter past the door.

“Look at my skin! It is pink! And it hurts! You must be the worst maids in all of Whitehall Palace!”

She added a few more wails that gained her wide-eyed looks from the maids. But she felt no pity for them.

“Pardon, mistress.”

“Mistress? You dare to call me mistress? I am a lady! Are you so simple that you do not know who your betters are?” Bridget made sure that her voice was whiny and irritating. She reached for a silver pitcher that was sitting on the side table and threw it against the wall with every bit of strength she might muster. It hit with an explosive sound, the water in it splattering across the wall before it fell to the floor with another loud clang.

“I am a lady.
A lady!
Do you hear me? You had better make sure every stupid maid that you call friend here knows not to forget who I am. I am set to be Lord Oswald’s wife. His wife. He is the very best friend of Chancellor Wriothesley who is a member of the king’s privy council. By tonight I will have a much better set of chambers, with a grand bed and the finest sheets. By tomorrow I will be a lady of the queen’s privy chamber, I tell you! And I deserve it …”

She stomped her feet and blew out large huffing sounds beneath her breath.

“Now get me dressed this moment. If you even know how to serve someone of my station, that is. Did you get promoted from the fields this very morning?”

“No, my lady.”

“I do wonder. You are so slow and clumsy … Completely lacking in any skill worthy of nobility … Your mothers must have cleaned privies to earn their bread …”

Curan lost his focus.

He gritted his teeth with frustration, for only Bridget could steal his attention so easily and completely. Her words drifted through the closed door with just enough volume to be understandable. He wanted to chuckle at how contrary she was behaving to her true nature.

Yet part of him was furious that she was not allowing him to fight for her. He turned his attention back to the men in front of him and watched Lord Oswald turning pale.

“You said she was country raised and meek.”

Something hit the wall, filling the room with noise. Chancellor Wriothesley looked disgusted.

“I read most of her letters when they passed through on their way to France. The girl seemed sweet enough. There was no hint of greed in her words.”

“You read my letters?” Curan growled through his teeth, his temper nearly proving too much to control. His hands itched to wrap around the chancellor’s throat and choke the life out of him.

“I find that a most interesting bit of information myself.” Henry Tudor eyed his chancellor with growing unhappiness.

Chancellor Wriothesley laid a hand over his chest and stared at his monarch. “I read every dispatch that went on to Your Majesty. It was a precaution against spies passing false information to your Grace.”

Bridget was still having her fit, berating the maids and wailing behind the door. Lord Oswald was turning redder, and the man looked as though he had forgotten how to draw breath. When she began to use his name to berate the servants, his eyes bugged from his head.

“I’ll not have that brat for my wife. Absolutely not. I will select someone else.” He offered a wide reverence to the king before turning a swirl of his richly decorated coat, and departed, a few of the guards following behind him.

The chancellor lifted one hand that was sporting several large gold rings and began stroking his beard while he stared at Curan. “Interesting. I never perceived the girl to be anything but sweet tempered from her writings.”

For all his pompous dressing, Chancellor Wriothesley was no fool. His mind was sharp, and he did not like losing.

The king suddenly cleared his throat. “The nature of a woman is not easy for a man to judge. I have learned that lesson.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Henry shared a glance with Wriothesley that was very serious. “Perhaps you should take Lord Oswald over to York Place. I hear there are some newly arrived faces there. Ones I have not even seen myself.”

The chancellor reverenced his king, lowering his head in submission, but when he resumed standing there was a look of satisfaction on his face.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Your concern for your humble servant is most treasured indeed.”

“As I treasured your sure hand directing my affairs while I was away in France.”

Chancellor Wriothesley’s lips rose into the smallest of smiles before he departed, taking more of the guards away. The ones who remained were the personal escort of the king.

“He has a keen wit and runs the country better than anyone else I have given the authority to.” The king slid a glance over to Curan. “Removing him would not be my first choice. Edward is too young to rule.”

This utterance was the closest the king had ever come to admitting his time was growing short. But the signs were there. The pallor of his skin was more yellow than Curan recalled, and his eyes bore dark circles beneath them.

“It is not my choice, either, sire. Since it appears that my bride has managed to send them both looking for another, I suppose I shall have to be content with the outcome, if not the means.”

Henry smiled. “You don’t care for that, do you, Curan?”

“No, I do not. She is mine to shelter.”

The King tilted his head to one side. “I would normally agree with you, but there is something about that fit she just threw that makes me believe you may have discovered your match in female form. That girl has fire in her belly and a sharp wit. It would have been messy sorting out your claim against Wriothesley. The man will remain once I am gone. Your bride is wiser than you to realize that it is better he thinks her a spoilt brat and nothing he can make use of.”

“I still don’t like it, sire.”

“Neither would I, except for the outcome, of course.”

Curan growled, low and deep, and gained a chuckle from the king he had ridden with for years.

Henry Tudor cast a look at the bedchamber door. “I believe I would have a closer look at your bride, Lord Ryppon.”

Lord Oswald’s words came clearly through the door. Bridget froze in mid-wail when she heard the man rejecting her.

Rejection had never, ever been so sweet. She would cherish it for the rest of her life.

She blew out a long sigh but froze when she noticed the maids staring at her. Their eyes narrowed, but the elder of the two pointed a finger at the younger and lifted another finger to her lips. She moved closer to Bridget and plucked at her sleeve, mimicking the actions of dressing.

“We’ll keep your secret, miss. I’ll see to Agnes there. No one is hated more than Lord Oswald, but we all do his bidding else suffer for it.”

“Thank you.”

“Your husband is a fine man and right easy on the eyes. If I had one half as good to take care of me, I’d leave this palace in
the flutter of my eyelashes. But the good ones want a girl with a dowry because they’ve a mind for setting up a good future and all.”

Bridget heard the lament in the girl’s voice. She met the maid’s eyes and recognized that they were very much the same, only fate had been kinder to Bridget in giving her a man that she loved to fight for.

“Spying for the chancellor is the only way to keep our positions, and without them, we shall never earn enough silver to marry. We’re both on our own.”

Bridget suddenly recalled the money her mother had given her to bribe Curan’s men. Moving over to her trunk, she lifted the lid and dug it out of the shoe that she had stuffed it into.

“If you will keep your word to me, I shall give you what you desire so that you may leave this place.”

Bridget held out two gold angels. The women’s eyes widened because each one of the coins represented over a year’s wages.

“Do you mean it, lady? A gold angel for naught but our word on the matter?”

“I do. No one should suffer this life without the chance to love.” Bridget pressed the money into each of their hands. “Go and make sure you choose a man for his values, not his handsome face.”

“You truly do not belong here, Lady Ryppon. You’re a fine, decent soul. A true lady, not like the others who demand respect they do not earn.”

Bridget could not agree more. For all the finery that surrounded her, all she could see was the plotting and scheming. Amber Hill beckoned to her like a clean-flowing river that was not fouled by too many people living near its shores. The door pushed inward, and Curan looked at the two maids.

“Leave us.”

His gaze was hard and leveled straight at her. Bridget returned it while the maids offered them curtsies and fled the room.

Curan closed the distance between them, his footfalls silent. He reached out to tap her chin with a single finger of reprimand. She saw his thoughts turning in his eyes, but he shook his head.

“The king awaits you.”

Her eyes widened. “The king is still here?”

“Henry Tudor heard every word, my sweet Bridget.”

Bridget felt herself go pale. Her mother would be shamed, her father humiliated. Her brothers would never be able to show their faces at court again.

She was still not sorry. Not if it meant she might go back to Amber Hill with her husband.

“I will not keep him waiting.”

She walked into the outer chamber that still had the tub and water lying in puddles on the floor. The length of toweling was lying trampled among it all, and there sat the king of England. His royal guards stood at attention around him, while his head turned to her the moment she appeared. He lifted one hand that was crowded with large rings.

“Come here, Lady Ryppon.”

Curan squeezed one side of her bottom from behind the door where the king could not see his actions. She jumped forward, certain her cheeks would blister from the blush heating them.

“Your Majesty.” She sunk into a low reverence before completing the journey to stand in front of him.

“Straighten up, I would have a good look at you.” Henry Tudor might be sitting down, but the man sounded as though
he was mounted on a horse in command of an army. There was no weakness in his tone, no hint of him thinking that his will might be refused.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Bridget stood up and stared back at him with the same courage that had prompted her to behave so shamefully. The king’s stare was brilliant, almost cutting into her, but she refused to duck her chin. For some reason, she needed to hold her chin steady, to prove that she was worthy of being called Lady Ryppon.

“Strength is always best matched with strength, Curan.” Henry Tudor nodded. “I believe she has enough to give you the family you long for and not bore you to death throughout the seasons.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

There was the sound of hurried steps on the hallway, and the guards watching over the king tightened their hands on their long pikes. A hand knocked on the door, pounding on it without stopping.

“Open up! I must speak with you immediately, Lord Ryppon!” Even muffled through the heavy planks of the door, Bridget knew her father’s voice.

“Father? My father knows I am here already?”

“Gossip moves far too quickly through these corridors, Lady Ryppon. Personally, I find it disgusting.”

The king flicked his hand at the door, and one of his men opened it instantly. Bridget gasped when her father was revealed, but Curan made a low sound under his breath and grasped her wrist possessively. The strength he used startled her because he had always handled her with control. This was an iron hold, one that betrayed just how unhappy her husband was to see her father.