The Boleyn Deceit (27 page)

Elizabeth came noiselessly beside him and, with her characteristic insight, observed, “You’ll have to settle this before we return to court. William will want to know why you two are quarreling. I know you don’t want to tell him she got drunk and slapped you.”

“You don’t think someone else will report it?” Dominic said savagely. “Lady Rochford is no friend of Minuette, and surely your uncle has informants in France.”

She shrugged, steady on her feet despite the rolling of the ship’s deck. “My brother can ignore everyone but you. Fix it, Dominic. Otherwise, he will be displeased.”

At the moment, he didn’t particularly care if William were displeased. In fact, he was tired of everything being about William all the time. But for his own sake he desperately wanted this fixed, so he went below and knocked on Minuette’s door.

Carrie opened it. “May I speak with her?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, my lord, she is resting and does not wish to be disturbed.”

She smiled helplessly, as though in sympathy with him but bound to follow her mistress’s orders. Dominic swore under his breath as she closed the door in his face.

Elizabeth must have appreciated his attempt—or at least recognized he was out of his depth—because she took the matter out of his hands once they landed at Dover. There were royal men and horses at Dover Castle prepared to ride on with them
the next morning, but Elizabeth took Dominic aside. “My aunt and I will be quite all right now. I thought you might like to visit your mother, since we are somewhat near Maidstone. Take Minuette with you.”

He would have protested, but in a move remarkably like William, she simply walked away. Knowing the folly of arguing with a Tudor, Dominic set his jaw and had Harrington arrange horses for a separate small party.

Minuette, however, was prepared to argue with the princess. The next morning, when Dominic approached them in the courtyard of Dover Castle, he heard her say sharply, “I do not need to be sent off like a child because you think I’m in a temper.”

“Then prove you’re not a child and do what I ask.” Elizabeth’s reply had the ring of royal steel in it. “I will make it an order if I must.”

Minuette whirled so suddenly that she stumbled into Dominic. He put a hand out to steady her. It was the closest they’d been since that last night at Fontainebleau, and her eyes held more than anger and disdain—though those were present. But there were also tears, like a deep well that has been troubled by a stone and not yet come to rest.

“Minuette,” he said beseechingly, and his tone must have warned her of his wish to take her in his arms right here, princess and royal guards be damned.

“Not here, Dominic.” She lifted her chin and her eyes blazed with fury. “People will talk.”

And so they rode together to his mother’s home, Dominic not sure which fears to focus on: his mad mother, his need to set things straight with Minuette, his duty to return to William and persuade him of the importance of the French marriage …

He’d once worried about his mother burning the house down around him. Tonight he would almost welcome it. At least it would be a distraction.

In preparation for dinner, Carrie brought Minuette a simple gown of moss green with embroidered cream flowers. Minuette shook her head. “I need something more … elaborate.” As armour, she meant.

“I’m sorry, mistress, it’s what there is. Most of your things went on to court with the princess.”

She searched Carrie’s guileless face and knew that her maid wanted her vulnerable tonight. Fine, she would prove that she could hold her own without finery and jewels. And since when do I need to hold my own against Dominic? she thought, a little forlornly.

Of course Carrie was right, for more reasons than one. When Minuette joined the table, she knew that she would have been wildly inappropriate dressed as a court lady. Dominic’s mother, Philippa, wore a simple dress of midnight blue and no jewelry except a rosary that her son tactfully ignored. It had a familiar look to it, and Minuette wondered if, like her mother’s, it had been a gift from the late Queen Anne. Philippa Boleyn Courtenay had been Anne’s cousin, and as young girls they had been very close. Before Philippa’s unhappy marriage and Anne’s turn to Henry and Protestantism.

There was also a clerk at dinner, a man named Michael, dressed with equal soberness. A skillful conversationalist, he had traveled extensively in Europe and entertained them with stories of scholars and sailors. Dominic, as usual, spoke little and seemed absorbed in watching his mother. Philippa appeared a little distracted and unworldly but not dangerous.

Until she brought up a dangerous subject. “I see you took care to be out of the country when your king burned a saint,” she said to her son.

Bonner was dead? Minuette opened her mouth in surprise, but Dominic cut her off. “Bonner was no saint, Mother. He preached treason, and would gladly have practiced it at any opportunity.”

“Men aren’t burned for treason, but for heresy. How could God not strike down your king for this? William is the heretic! Denying the presence of Christ, daring to take on himself the power of God. Your king—”

“He is your king as well, Mother. He’s the one who allows you this home, the clothes you wear, the food you eat. You would do well to remember that.”

“I would be damned if I acknowledge him as my king. Mary should have the throne. And she will when the world is set right.”

“Do you have anything to say to this?” Dominic demanded of Michael, who had listened with a closed-off expression.

He looked at Dominic mildly enough, but something in his eyes shook Minuette, and suddenly she realized what she should have seen before—Michael was no clerk. “The wicked take the truth to be hard,” the priest—for that he surely was—murmured.

“You will watch your words, and ensure my mother watches hers, or I will see to it that you are put out of England for good.”

Michael almost smiled. “You are not hard enough for the quarrels of religion, Lord Exeter. You have not studied your king so well to learn that.”

Philippa rose abruptly. Leaning down to take Minuette’s face in her hands, she rasped urgently, “My son
is
hard, though, child. Don’t you mistake it. The Courtenay men are all of them hard. His love will crush the life right out of you.” Her eyes glittered unnervingly.

“Mother!”

The priest intervened. “I’ll take her to her chambers. Come along, Philippa.”

He led her away and suddenly it was just Minuette and Dominic, and she knew the moment had come for confrontation. Trembling, she braced herself for his recriminations about her drinking and her appalling behavior that last night at the French court. She also braced herself to be angry about Aimée coming from his bed, but she was unprepared for what Dominic said first, or how he said it.

“My mother is right, you know. You have ample cause to regret that I fell in love with you.”

At once, her anger dissolved into bewilderment and hurt. “Do you mean that you are regretting having fallen in love with me?”

“Unlike you, Minuette, I mean exactly what I say.”

Oh, here came anger again. With a vengeance. “What are you implying?”

“I have watched you with William, and I have heard him speak of you, and I know that he has not the slightest doubt you love him. And I honestly don’t know if that is a result of his own delusions, or a measure of your ability to dissemble, or the simple fact that you are truly in love with him.”

“So this is my fault,” she said, feeling a stab of pain behind her right eye. “You think I’m a liar—to William or to you or perhaps both. That would be convenient for you because, if I am false, then what does it matter whom you take to bed?”

He flinched and she was savagely glad of it. “I did not take Aimée to bed.”

“Really? So it is only in public corridors that you kiss a woman while completely naked?”

“I did not sleep with her,” he said stubbornly. “She caught me unawares while I was asleep and I put her out at once.”

“It didn’t look like you were putting her out. It looked like you were enjoying yourself quite thoroughly.” She was almost frightened by the savagery in her voice.

Dominic’s cheeks darkened. “I swear to you by all that is holy, I did not sleep with her that night. We had a brief … liaison when I was last at the French court two years ago. She wished to take advantage of that. And think of me what you like, Minuette, but I have the desires and weaknesses of all men. I should not have kissed her as I did. But that was the whole of it, I swear. And you are avoiding my question.”

“I don’t believe you actually asked me anything.” With every patient statement Dominic made, she wanted more than ever to break his infuriating control. If that smug French girl could shake him so that he acted on impulse, why couldn’t she?

She wanted to hurt him as she’d been hurt, so she said the worst thing she could think of. “Will touches me, you know. When we are alone. You did not imagine we spend all that time playing chess, did you? His control is not as good as yours—or is it that he desires me more? He is careful, of course, of my honour. I am virgin still, if it matters to you. But I have spent much time with my eyes closed and his hands and mouth on me, and do you know what I see then? Always you.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Be honest? I know a woman is not supposed to feel this way, or at least a
lady
isn’t. But it is the truth. When I saw you kissing that woman, I wanted to be her. I wanted to be the one coming from you half dressed and wanton. I want
you,
Dominic, in every way. I think it is you who must regret loving me, for you have scarcely come near me for months.”

Her eyes were stinging and she struggled with all her might not to cry. She had meant to hurt him, not humiliate herself. She
hadn’t even known how deeply his coldness had damaged her until it spilled out.

Dominic moved so swiftly that she just had time to breathe in before he pulled her against him. His kiss was not gentle, not sensitive and careful like he usually was. It was demanding and brutal, and Minuette met it with equal passion. Her hands wound into his hair, seeking to tug him closer. His arms dropped to her hips and tightened, holding her fixed against him. At some point she felt herself back into the table’s edge. Dominic released her just long enough to shove a spot clear of dishes and food and then she pulled him with her as he laid her down on the wooden surface.

“You think I do not want you?” His voice was rougher than she’d ever heard it when he pulled away. “If I did not love you so much, I would show you this moment that my desire is the equal of any man’s. Do you imagine I have not thought of the possibilities? A
di future
marriage—we have made our future vows. I dream every night of cementing that promise with my body. And if we were anyone else, I would. But to do it right, Minuette, to marry with a priest and witnesses, so that it cannot be undone—that is worth waiting for.”

“So your honour will always be greater than your desire,” she snapped, shoving against his chest until he moved and let her up. She hated that he could be so reasonable when she seemed to be all blood and breath and warm skin.

“Do you want me to take you on a table?” he yelled. “Get you with child and make a hasty marriage after? The last court couple who tried that are both in the Tower!”

“Stop it!”

“I will not take you in secret. Give me the word, and I’ll go straight to William myself and tell him the truth.”

“We can’t just throw this in his face. He’s not ready to hear it.”

“He’ll never be ready, Minuette. I know you don’t want to hurt him. But he isn’t a child, and he wouldn’t thank you for treating him as such.”

“Don’t tell me how to deal with William!”

He shook his head. “I can’t do this anymore.” His voice was controlled now, and his expression. But his eyes were deep with sorrow. “You won’t confess, and I won’t lie.”

Her skin that had burned so hot flushed with cold. She knew that implacable tone—it meant that Dominic would not be moved. “So where does that leave us?”

“I won’t force the issue against your will. But I can’t be alone with you until this is settled. When we return to court, I will ask the king to give me leave. I should spend some time at Tiverton now that I am its master. When you have made your choice, you let me know.”

This isn’t happening, she thought. She stared after him blankly, bewildered and heartsick as he turned away. Before vanishing through the door, he stopped and said, “I am glad to know you are virgin still. If you were not, I should have to kill him.”

Elizabeth was reunited with William at their father’s lavish but still unfinished Nonsuch Palace. The fortified north side was medieval in appearance, but the south side had all the splendor of octagonal towers and decorative elements. Her brother greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks in the inner courtyard with its high-relief stucco panels, then led her into one of the towers for a private dinner.

Truly private, for he dismissed the attendants curtly and, the moment they were alone, snapped about her decision not to bring Minuette with her. “She’ll be as anxious to see me as I am to see her. Why did you send her on to Dominic’s mother?”

“As a courtesy. They have long been correspondents.”

“A courtesy the woman will not remember. Her mind is gone.”

“She is mad only now and again. Surely you can spare Minuette for a few days longer? Besides, this will help settle rumours of your affections, which you must know have already spread to the French court.”

What else could she say? Tell him that Minuette and Dominic had been quarreling (as much as one could quarrel with a maddeningly reserved man like Dominic), that Minuette had behaved erratically that last night in France, flirting outrageously and drinking far too much for her own good? She couldn’t say any of that. Nor could she explain the uneasy feeling that had settled in her stomach as she’d watched Minuette and Dominic at odds with other during the journey home.

One who should not be watching her in quite the manner that he is,
Walsingham had warned her. Surely he hadn’t meant Dominic. And yet …