The Dark Lady's Mask by Mary Sharratt Page B

Bassano, what happened to your face?”
    She cut him short, her voice savage. “I dare you to race me to the bridge.”
    Then she was off, not daring to look back to see if he followed. Lord Hunsdon, a bastard as she was, who called her father a good man.
    Through her tears, she saw him galloping shoulder to shoulder with her. She kicked Bathsheba forward, letting him chase her to the bridge where, winded and spent, she slipped off her blowing mare. She thought she might collapse in the summer weeds, but instead she made herself turn to him as he leapt off his stallion.
What do you play at?
    Lord Hunsdon’s face was stern. “Tell me what happened.”
    â€œLady Mary said I must be gone by morning.”
    â€œDid she beat you?” He seemed horrified. “Because I gave you a book?”
    Aemilia flinched when he touched her bloodied lip. Then her eyes locked with his. Slowly, deliberately, she tugged off his glove and kissed his hand. The strange fever held her in its thrall and now she called it by its name. Desire.
    â€œYou are a wild creature,” he murmured.
    He pulled off her cap and freed her hair from its bindings, letting it fall loose in his hands. Aemilia remembered when she had found Susan and Master Wingfield in the shadow of the yew hedge, Susan’s face tilted to her lover’s. Now Lord Hunsdon bent his face to hers. Avoiding her injured lip, he kissed her brow then her throat, his mouth like a brand. He clasped her body against his, her breasts against his chest, his groin to her belly. A shock ran through her as she felt the proof of his desire for her. Sensations she had no words for pulsed inside her. A bewildered softening.
    Lord Hunsdon held her at arm’s length, his eyes moving over her face. “If you’re seeking deliverance from Lady Mary, you don’t have to throw yourself at me, you know. But if this is truly what you want, we’ll do it the proper way.”
    Aemilia stared, uncomprehending. It had never occurred to her that there was a correct way to do what she had just done.
    He took her hand and led her to her mare. “We’ll return to Grimsthorpe so that you can pack your things and ride out as a lady. I shall tell Lady Mary I’m escorting you back to your family home.”

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    EMILIA THOUGHT THEY WOULD travel to London with all speed, but Lord Hunsdon seemed content to take his time. “Your poor mare has galloped quite enough. Let our pace be leisurely out of kindness to the horses if nothing else.”
    While she and Lord Hunsdon rode side by side with his retinue following at a distance, he practiced his Italian with her. He questioned her about her history until she told him of her family’s tragedy, Master Holland’s treachery, her father’s death, her sister’s ruin and demise, and of her education at Grimsthorpe. After they supped together at the first inn, he asked her to read Dante to him before they retired to their separate rooms. Aemilia lay rigid in the unfamiliar bed as she awaited his knock on her chamber door. But there was only the silence of the deepening night.
    So their strange journey continued. Lord Hunsdon made no advances, but his eyes were on her always, intent and examining, while they rode and while they shared their meals.
    Only when they reached Saffron Walden did his finger brush Aemilia’s mouth when he helped her down from the saddle. “Your lip has healed.”
    She shivered at his touch.
    At the Maypole Inn Lord Hunsdon took two rooms, as always, but these chambers were adjoining and the door between them did not possess a lock.
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    A LONE IN HER ROOM , Aemilia’s stomach knotted. She spent an age washing her face and combing out her hair, but she could no longer put off undressing for bed. She had stepped out of her skirts and unlaced and removed her bodice when the door opened.
    Lord Hunsdon entered to find her in her shift and stays. Instinctively,