Lady of the Roses by Sandra Worth Page B

reckless and wild as I am, and you desire me as much as I desire you.”
    “Pray, my lord, if we must be truthful, let me speak plain. There may be many at court who desire you, but I am not one of them.”
    His soft expression vanished; his eyes narrowed and he gave a laugh, mean, harsh, full of menace. “That will change when you are wed to a man three times your age with rotten teeth who farts as he sticks his prick into you—”
    “You have a foul way with words, my lord.”
    “Perhaps, but you agreed we would speak plain. After you have tasted him, you’ll be only too glad to rush into my arms, I warrant.”
    “I shall refuse my consent to such a match. The queen has given her word that I may do so, and it is my legal right.”
    He laughed. “Ah, my dear little innocent from the priory, take heed. When the price is right, there are ways to acquire a maiden’s consent…rape, for example, and the humiliation of being with child—a bastard, no less.”
    “You wouldn’t—you couldn’t do such a thing—”
    “That, and more, if I pleased. You see, my dear lady Isobel, I don’t need your consent. I can take you now, if I choose to—”
    I backed away.
    “But I won’t, unless I am driven to it.” His eyes fixed on my bosom. “I have no wish to see such a beautiful body as yours wasted by childbearing. Therefore, I shall be patient awhile longer. I would rather have you panting for me.”
    “That day will never come!”
    “Heed my words, Isobel. As to the match, I lie not. There is indeed such a man lusting for you. At the moment, I am all that stands between you and marriage to the old lout. You see, I have advised the queen that his price is too low, but a few choice words from me and she will relent, I assure you. You would have no choice but to accept, my lovely lady Isobel.”
    I stared at him, unable to breathe.
    “Give it thought, Isobel,” he hissed in my ear. “Him or me. Which will it be?”
    “Neither,” I replied, seething. “I’ll tell the queen I have changed my mind and wish to enter a nunnery.”
    He threw me an indulgent smile. “She dreams of riches when she looks at you. Do you think she would agree to rob her own purse?”
    “Even a queen can’t refuse God,” I said with more conviction than I felt.
    He burst into uncontrollable laughter. “You have much to learn about the world, Isobel.” Bowing low, still laughing, he left me. I stood alone in the shadowy hallway, shivering, his laughter echoing in my ears.
     
    CHURCH BELLS TOLLED THE HOURS OF THE NIGHT. I heard every chime, and every breath Ursula took as she lay on the pallet on the floor. Slowly the gray, fitful light of morning broke the heavy darkness. A rooster crowed; birds burst into song; the castle stirred. Ursula opened her eyes. She sat up, startled.
    “Lady dear, what are you doing sitting on your bed in your gown? Did you not sleep? What happened with the queen?”
    “I never saw the queen, Ursula.”
    I related the events of the night. She seized my hand. “You must seek Sir John Neville as soon as he gets here. Go break fast in the hall. I’ll stand watch in the courtyard and get word to you as soon as he arrives. Do you have a token I can give him, if I get the chance?”
    I unclasped my mother’s ruby crucifix from around my neck. “Take this! I wore it when I saw him in Barnet.”
    Halfway through breakfast, Ursula approached my bench and gave me a curtsey, her eyes alight. I excused myself to those at the table and followed her into the garden, my heart hammering. “Where is he?” I whispered. “What did he say? Did you give him my token?”
    “Aye, indeed. He noticed me the minute he rode into the courtyard, and his eyes told me to approach. The groom took his horse, and he went to the fountain and pretended to adjust his boot. I bent to pat his hound and slipped him your cross. He knew it right away. As he took it, he gave me instructions to have you meet him in St. Paul’s at the hour