“Do my eyes deceive me? Synclair, man, when did you rejoin the court? I thought you were with Baron Ryppon.”
It was the Earl of Hertford who came through the trees, his voice cutting through the silence. But his attention settled on her, his gaze sharp and questioning.
“Good day to you, Lady Wincott. I had not heard that you were returned to court either.”
Justina lowered herself, but Synclair answered the earl before she rose again.
“Lady Wincott passed the summer with Baron Ryppon and myself at Amber Hill.”
Edward Seymour, brother of the late queen, Jane Seymour, leaned over to offer his hand to Synclair. It was a mark of high regard from a man who held an extremely high position in England, thanks to the fact that his sister had given Henry the Eighth the son he longed for so much. He was a prince in everything but blood, and since Prince Edward Tudor was only nine years old, the earl would most likely have a great deal of power while the boy grew up.
“Has Ryppon given you leave for your service to him then?”
“I am finished with my time, my vow completed and satisfied.”
The earl nodded. “An excellent time to be finished with your training. I can use a man like you by my side.”
The hounds began to howl with excitement, and the earl turned his attention to them.
“Join me, man. We’ll catch some supper to enjoy together.”
The earl didn’t wait for them; he kneed his stallion and set off after his hounds.
Justina had taken advantage of their conversation to reclaim her mare. The animal had shied away from Synclair’s stallion and was searching through the fallen autumn leaves for grass, but there was little left alive. Running a soothing hand along the neck of the mare, Justina grabbed a handful of her skirt to allow her to place her foot in the stirrup. She was keenly aware that they were once more alone.
A shiver crossed her skin. She was far too sensitive to the knight, one of the reasons she had taken to the road to escape him. She lacked the strength to resist the pull she felt toward him.
Two hands closed around her waist, drawing a gasp from her startled lips. Synclair lifted her easily to the back of her mare, his lips twitching with amusement when she stared into his eyes with astonishment. Many a man boasted of his strength, but there were few who might actually prove it. Among those, she had rarely discovered one who knew how to control his grip such as Synclair seemed able to do. His embrace had been solid, yet painless. She felt her resolve weakening even further because to have a man that was considerate of his strength for a lover must be pure delight.
It was something she must not allow herself to taste, but she saw in his eyes the intention to make his touch intimate. Synclair didn’t hide it from her, and let her view the desire darkening his eyes. A chill went down her back, spreading out over her skin until it reached her breasts. Behind her corset, her nipples drew into hard beads, startling her with the quickness of the response.
“You should not.” She didn’t finish her warning because it was too difficult to form into words what she wanted him to refrain from doing, and she feared that her voice betrayed her growing desire. It was more than his touch, it was the way his blue eyes probed hers and the way her belly tightened just because she knew he was closing the distance between them.
“And you should not protest when you enjoyed my kiss so well.”
Her hand gripped his, where it still sat at her waist, prying at his fingers to remove them, but he captured only her hand, pulling his fingers along her bare palm before relinquishing his hold on her.
“It is a pity we were interrupted, Justina. I promise to remedy that.”
Her eyes widened once again and she scoffed at herself. Such lack of control was unlike her and destined to land her in a great deal of misery.
“Do not. There is nothing for us to talk about.”
Synclair moved to his horse and gained the saddle in another fluid motion that left no doubt about how much strength the man had in his body. The stallion turned in a circle, demonstrating that it was a fit mount for the knight who rode him. The animal snorted, shaking its head while pawing at the ground with eager anticipation.
“I disagree, Justina.”
Only three words, but they sounded like a sentence being issued by a magistrate. She felt them as much as she heard them, her body quivering with trepidation. Synclair shot a hard look at her before giving his stallion its freedom. The animal surged forward and her mare followed instantly. She tried to pull the reins up to slow the mare, but heard Synclair chuckle in response to her efforts.
“The mare has more wisdom than you, Justina.” He turned to look at her. “She does not fight against what she craves.”
The mare was increasing her speed to catch the stallion, and the stallion tossed its head again to encourage the mare. Justina felt her face turn red with her temper.
She was not a mare.
Lust would not control her, not now, not ever. She refused to crumple in the face of her emotions. Even if she did enjoy his kiss, there was nothing to be gained from yielding to such pleasure. The only thing that would happen would be more despair when the viscount decided to whom she would be sent. She would be tormented by the lack of enjoyment she found in that bed, because she would now know what it felt like to enjoy being kissed.
Better to never know. It would be far wiser for her to bury the need clamoring inside her so deeply that it might never rise up to tempt her.
Better ... wiser ... and more lonely than she had ever felt.
Yet that was the way life was.
Biddeford was waiting in her chambers again. Whitehall Palace had several secret passageways, and she had been placed in her current chambers to ensure that the man might come and go without being witnessed. Still trying to regain her composure, Justina was far from pleased to see him. She needed sanctuary, a place to collect her thoughts and seal them behind her poise once more.
It seemed she was going to be denied that as well. She frowned and turned her back on the viscount under the guise of placing her riding gloves on the table, but she could not remain there for long.
“You did well this morning.”
Justina didn’t enjoy the compliment. Any form of praise coming from Biddeford always had an ulterior motive. She could see the way the man’s eyes shifted while he plotted. In a way, she pitied him, because he never seemed satisfied. He wore the finest clothing and supped on the best food. He didn’t reek from hours spent breaking his back in the fields, and still the man struggled to gain more.
“I was quite surprised to see you riding with the Earl of Hertford, but that pleased me greatly. What was he talking about?”
“Hunting.”
The viscount frowned at her, his eyes narrowing. A trickle of fear made its way through her.
“He wasn’t talking to me but to Sir Synclair, who is newly returned from the north.”
“I noticed such.” Biddeford paused for a moment while he considered that fact. “Synclair desires your sweet body.”
“He does not.” The words left her mouth too quickly and too sharply. Justina turned her face away and sat her hat on top of a table to conceal her expression while she struggled to regain her composure.
The viscount clicked his tongue in reprimand. She heard his steps behind her and she stiffened as revulsion went through her. He was going to touch her and she hated his fingers upon her flesh. Today, she had to fight the urge to cringe because her emotions were so unruly.
He turned her to face him and tapped her chin with one finger.
“Yes,