Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her by Susan Kay

rather than courtesy. She began to enjoy the attention she excited
    among young men, and the Admiral, watching her enjoy it, struggled
    with his own angry emotions. So the little chit thought she was a woman
    of the world, did she, just because she had a wicked wit that sent her
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    companions into convulsions of laughter. He’d seen her mother do just
    that, hold a little court at any gathering and the memory, for no account-
    able reason, angered him beyond endurance. He’d pull her down a step
    or two, by God he would—he’d treat her exactly as he used to do when
    she was four years old—and that would teach her to flaunt her charms at
    vacant boys and indulgent old men!
    Part of this policy was to appear unannounced in her bedroom and
    start the sort of boisterous horseplay that a man might acceptably show to
    any four-year-old girl, bounding on the bed in his nightshirt, pulling off
    the sheets, slapping and tickling and kissing her until she was hysterical
    with laughter.
    Only she was not four now, but nearly fourteen and at the bottom of
    his heart he knew he had not come to tease a child.
    “My lady! My lord, for shame!” The governess, now a respectably
    married lady herself—Mrs. Katherine Ashley—made a futile attempt to
    maintain order.
    “My lord, I must insist you leave Her Grace’s room at once. People
    are beginning to talk.”
    “I can’t go without Her Grace’s express permission—she’s a very
    touchy young lady or haven’t you noticed?”
    Elizabeth, seeing his back turned, dealt him a resounding thwack with
    her bolster which sent him sprawling, barelegged in his night robe at Mrs.
    Ashley’s feet. She dived off the bed and began to beat him about the head
    until the pillow burst its seams and sent a snowstorm of swansdown into
    the air.
    “Mrs. Ashley, have you no shame for rearing this wretched Amazon?”
    he inquired sarcastically from the floor. “You might at least have taught
    her not to hit a man when he’s down.”
    “Is there a better time to hit him?” inquired Elizabeth, aiming a kick.
    He caught her bare foot and pulled her down on top of him. When at
    last he had managed to sit on her and kiss her hand with exaggerated
    humility, he made a mocking bow to Mrs. Ashley and clowned out of
    the room.
    Katherine was still in bed when he returned, listening with easy good
    humour to the sound of turmoil in the room above. He flung himself on
    his back beside her and she leaned over to pick the clinging swansdown
    out of his golden beard and hair.
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    “What a fearful racket!” she said indulgently as she kissed him. “You
    must have roused the whole household.”
    “Do ’em good!” he retorted. “Early to bed, early to rise.” He returned
    her kiss playfully. “And speaking of rising— ”
    “Oh, Tom!” She pushed him gently away. “You know we can’t—not
    now—it wouldn’t be safe.”
    He sighed, but lay back good-naturedly enough; she was right of
    course. To have conceived a first child after so many barren marriages
    was a miracle he would not put lightly at risk. He wanted a son—and yet
    August was such a long way off, a long time to be patient.
    Katherine sat up and pulled off her cap, allowing her hair to tumble
    freely round her shoulders.
    “I think you’re turning that girl into a positive hoyden,” she said
    lightly.
    He shrugged. “I’m only releasing her true self from its layers of gentle
    nurture. Oh, don’t deceive yourself, Kate—the girl’s a natural guttersnipe
    at heart, just like Boleyn. She may play the modest maid in your company,
    but behind your back those pretty prim lips spout words that even I
    would blush to use in mixed company. You might make a queen out
    of Bess, my love, but you’ll never make a lady.” He paused reflectively.
    “What she needs, of course, is a damned good beating!”
    “You’d never take a whip to her!”
    “Oh, wouldn’t I—who’s to stop me?” he teased. “I’m