Unexpected Pleasures (10 page)

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Authors: Mary Wine

BOOK: Unexpected Pleasures
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He twisted his fingers in her unbound hair, pulling the strands cruelly. She bent, leaning over while he watched her suffering, his hand never easing its hold.
“You may fuck only when I give you direction to, my dear Baroness. Do not forget that again. Harrow hasn't paid for your sweet flesh, so make sure he doesn't sample it against my will or I shall be very displeased.”
He released her hair and walked to the door while his groom scurried to arrive there before his master and open it for him.
“Make sure you do not conceive.”
The door shut with a whisper but still she flinched.
Conceive? She would never make that mistake again, hadn't allowed it to happen twice in spite of her husband's rage over the lack of more sons to brag about to his friends. He'd beaten her for the lack of more children but she refused to allow herself to be caged with any more souls that she loved. It wasn't hard to keep her womb empty. There were women who knew the way and they sold their herbs, which when seeped in hot water would keep a man's seed from taking root.
Justina turned and pushed the kettle over the fire. It was kept in her private chambers just so that she might brew her own remedy for the passions of the nighttime. But today, tears stung her eyes while she dug out the small, cloth-wrapped bundle that she would need. Synclair needed children, just not hers.
But she couldn't dispel the feeling that it was a pity she couldn't allow nature to take its course. Maybe fate would bless her with a babe. At least then she would be returned to the country. But her child would be bastard born and subject to Biddeford's will even more so than Brandon, because someday Brandon would inherit his title. Any child she conceived out of wedlock would have only her to champion it and the world was controlled by men. Synclair would not wed her; she wasn't worthy of that.
She pulled the kettle out of the hearth and carefully poured a measure of water into the wooden mug holding the little bundle of herbs. Steam rose into the air, tickling her nose with the scent of bitterness. She waited just a few moments before lifting it to her lips and draining every last drop. She would not hesitate or give herself time to fail.
Tears wet her cheeks when she sat the cup aside and she lowered herself into the chair while feeling the hot liquid warming her insides.
Lament? It was not harsh enough a word for how she felt.
 
“His lordship, the Earl of Hertford, requires your presence.”
Synclair snarled at the page but the boy didn't flinch. Instead the youngster looked somewhat bored, his attention straying to the window and the winter landscape visible through it.
“Tell your master I will be there shortly.”
At least the earl was at Whitehall. Synclair looked back at the bed and growled. Oh yes, he was interested in going to the palace, but not to seek out Edward Seymour. The earl and his power were not what Synclair was interested in, but he was not a fool either. Justina was tangled in a sticky web and pulling her free would not be a simple task. Legend and lore liked to suggest that knights could be noble and win the day but that was rarely so. Honor might be present on the battlefield but a wise man didn't expect it from his enemy. You had to be ready to fight, any way that the moment demanded. Let the minstrels sing their tunes of chivalry, but as for claiming his lady, he would need men such as Edward Seymour to make it happen.
Synclair refused to think of the fact that he might fail. The memory of the night was so fresh in his mind, it felt like he might return to the bed and be once again in her embrace. He hadn't slept so deeply in months, didn't think he'd awoken so refreshed in years. All of it had dissipated when he had realized his bed was empty.
He turned away from the rumpled sheets to begin dressing. Justina didn't know him very well because the lady seemed to think that dismissing him was enough to gain her way.
He was going to enjoy showing her the error of her ways.
 
The Earl of Hertford received him like a prince.
Synclair had to wait outside the receiving chamber while the doors were guarded by royal yeomen. They kept to their stations while Synclair scanned the room and discovered that he was not alone in wanting to see the earl. Ambassadors spoke to one another in low tones, the sounds of foreign languages such as Italian, French, and German touched his ears. The fact that these ambassadors waited outside Edward Seymour's door spoke much of the attitude of the rest of the crowned heads of Europe.
They would be looking at the earl as the man controlling England. There was no other reason for the attendance of so many outside his chambers.
The doors opened and the room went silent instantly as everyone waited to hear what name would be called.
“Baron Harrow.”
There was a mutter of frustration from more than one party. Synclair stepped forward. The earl spoke in the same instant that the doors banged shut, confirming that they were in privacy. Synclair offered the man a quick reverence and controlled the urge to grin. Seymour was a bit too eager. Henry would have made him wait before voicing what was on his mind.
“Francis de Canis is a man many consider a friend of the King. Fighting with him was not in your best interest.”
Synclair stared straight at the Earl of Hertford. “Is he Henry's friend? Maybe I shall ask His Majesty about that.”
Seymour's eyebrow rose. “You have business with the King? What manner of business?”
“Private correspondence from the Baron Ryppon. Lord Ryppon considers the King a friend I believe.”
The earl relaxed, although it was only a slight change that most would have missed. Synclair didn't. He'd remained alive riding across France only because he knew how to read a man's face for the things that he didn't want you to know. More than one young knight had been ordered into a hopeless battle for the better good of the army. He had learned not to be one of those pitiful men sacrificed by his better-blooded commanders so that they might live. The earl flicked his hand toward a chair.
“I will be happy to see the correspondence to his majesty.”
Synclair sat down and smiled. “You know me better than that, Edward. What duty is mine, shall be finished by my hand.”
“Edward, is it?” The earl's eyes narrowed. “Are we friends then?”
“It has been said by some, even you as I recall.” Synclair didn't allow his emotions to color his tone. “Unless you're too tempered by these palace walls to recall what it was like to have me riding at your side in France while half of those fine nobles hid behind the army for fear of their lives.”
The Earl of Hertford frowned. “My memory is sound, even if your judgment is as astute as ever. These walls do change a man. Yet I summoned you here to make sure that those who would take issue with you over your fight with de Canis know that I consider you someone I do call friend.”
There was a warning in the earl's tone, one Synclair knew he'd be wise to heed. The Earl of Hertford was a very powerful man and one who didn't have to suffer any man insinuating that he was less than honorable, but there was always more than one way to win against those who felt they should never be argued with because of their high position. Synclair shrugged.
“So what if I took Justina away last night? She is a widow and I snatched her fairly away from de Canis, so who should care? I doubt the man remained lonely for long. At least that is what rumor says about him.”
Seymour's lips twitched up. “I concede that point in your favor. Just have a care for her guardian. Biddeford likes to keep her close and her favors in his hand to dispense to those that he chooses.”
Synclair ground his teeth together, holding his emotions behind a face that told the earl nothing except what he wanted the man to know. It was not the first time he had listened to men discussing women like they were mares for the buying but today, he discovered that it irritated him almost beyond his endurance to hear such talk centering on Justina. He found that he was taking it personally.
“I plan to make an offer for her.”
The earl choked on the wine he'd just swallowed. “Offer? Are you mad? She's been known by a few too many.”
“Not that many, not more than I have known. I want her.”
“You're a man, you wench and enjoy it but you don't have to marry Lady Wincott to gain that. Enjoy her, while you investigate some of the pretty little heiresses here for the winter.” Seymour waved his hand to dismiss the topic.
“I've had enough girls. I want a woman in my bed.”
The earl shrugged. “And so you have one. I hear she's more fair under her gown than in it and knows her way around a man's member very well.”
Synclair felt his fingers curl into fists. The earl suddenly sat forward.
“Be careful, so newly lord Harrow, your face tells me that you're actually jealous. That isn't a wise position to take in this time of shifting alliances. Don't make any enemies, especially for the sake of a woman. They are replaceable.”
“I'll remember that you said that.”
“Good.” But Seymour frowned, clearly noticing that Synclair did not agree with him, but what made the earl frown was the fact that Synclair wasn't very concerned about the fact that he did know. Most men at court feared him and did everything in their power to appear as though they agreed with everything he said.
Synclair offered the earl a slight smirk. “Come now my lord, don't you grow weary of having your ego buffed? Every man has his own ideas.”
The conversation wasn't satisfying him. Synclair sipped the fine French wine Seymour offered and allowed the man to turn the conversation away from Justina. But there was warning in the earl's eyes that he stared back at with unrelenting determination. The earl finally sighed.
“I believe you have gone mad up on that borderland, Synclair. Marriage is for gain.”
“Her late husband's estates are profitable, and I believe they can become more so with the right steward. Unlike the late Lord Wincott, I plan to run my lands and those under my jurisdiction, not through a secretary while I am at court.”
“That might gain you a better yield on your crops and income but the lady has a son who will inherit those lands.” The earl sat his goblet down and stroked his beard while he contemplated the matter. “Still, it will be many years before that happens, which could allow you to make quite a sizable sum on something that you will owe no inheritance tax upon. A clever idea actually, I can see the appeal of it.”
“Exactly, and I will have the lady herself, a proven breeder of sons. Virgins do not bring that sort of promise. One of those heiresses might be naught but a yoke around my neck if she proves barren.”
The earl snorted. “Or gives you a daughter.” He shook his head and scratched at his beard. “You won't hold onto any coin if you have a wife that births naught but girls, but one that is barren, her, you might divorce.”
“As if I want anything to do with that spoilt kettle of fish.” Synclair grumbled. “I've done enough deeds alongside the King to find myself in need of the blessing and goodwill of the Church.”
The earl sobered, something flickering in his eyes that Synclair understood. They had both sinned plenty in their campaigns, one might call it duty but that did not change how the memories struck a man when he was sipping his wine and no one was around to praise him for things that he found regrettable.
“Divorce is messy, I will grant you that. But the Viscount Biddeford enjoys the income from her son's properties now and he will not release those easily.” The earl slapped his leg. “So wed her, if and when she conceives. Wait until her belly rounds, so that you know she is not deceiving you.” The earl smiled. “I will support you, if you need to wed in a hurry.”
“Will you witness the ceremony?”
That was asking for a great deal from a man such as the earl. It would place his name on the matter and make it impossible for him to whisper that he had not supported it all along. Such favors did not come easily and Synclair's intention to leave court didn't offer Seymour much opportunity to call upon him when he was in the mood to have the favor returned. The realities of court intensified his need to pry Justina away from it. This was an example of what had seen her leaving his bed before sunrise. The calculating look in Seymour's eyes renewed Synclair's need to free her from this life where there was nothing genuine. He longed to leave it behind himself and share his future with a woman that would cherish a country life every bit as much as he would.
Justina would, he was certain of it.
The earl drew in a stiff breath.
“If she is breeding, yes.”
Synclair nodded but the earl held up one finger.
“But only if she is carrying, Harrow. Beyond that, the times do not permit me to upset the men who consider de Canis indispensable. You'd be wise to remember that he has many nobles who would not cross him because of the things he knows them guilty of having a hand in. If you plan to make Lady Wincott's lands profitable, you will need other men to do business with. Make an enemy of de Canis and that might never happen.”

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