At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) by Kate Emerson Page B

when the little girl stopped short in the doorway. “I left my sampler behind,” Lady Mary said, and started to return.
    Madge glanced over her shoulder at the duke. He looked so alone, standing there amid the scattered cushions and stools. As she watched, he sank into the only chair, the one his wife had just vacated. He stared out the window at the bleak and snow-covered garden, shouldersslumped. He was making the little humming sound that meant he was mulling something over in his mind.
    “I will fetch it,” Madge told the child. “You go along after your mother. She’ll be expecting you.”
    Cautiously, she approached the Duke of Buckingham, but her wariness lessened as she drew close. He was just a man, and a sad and rather lonely one, at that. Instead of reaching for the sampler, abandoned among the cushions on the floor, she touched his velvet-clad arm.
    He looked up, his gaze so intense that for a moment Madge forgot how to breathe. In one swift movement, he freed himself from her grasp and seized her about the waist, tugging her onto his lap. His mouth clamped down hard over hers.
    The kiss went on and on, frightening at first and then, abruptly, turning into something wonderful. Madge responded, kissing him back. He laughed softly as he tumbled them both to the floor among the cushions. Before Madge could gather her wits, he shoved her skirts aside and himself into her body.
    She gave one squeak of protest when her maidenhead was breached, but the pain faded quickly, replaced by myriad pleasurable sensations. Afterward, her only regret was that it was over too soon.
    The duke straightened his own clothing first, then restored hers to order and helped her to her feet. Then he gave her a playful swat on the bottom on his way out of the gallery, telling her to hurry back to her duties, lest she be missed.
    Madge stared after him in disappointment. He might have lingered for just a little while. Or bestowed some word of praise upon her. She sighed deeply. What had she expected?
    It troubled her that she’d just lain with her mistress’s husband, but not overmuch, not when the duchess had given up conjugal relations for Lent. Men were carnal creatures. Everyone knew that. They needed women, especially if they had serious matters weighing upon them. The duke would soon realize that he needed
her,
Madge told herself as she gathered up Lady Mary’s sampler. Given time, surely she’d win his affection, too.

14
Greenwich Palace, May 1, 1510
    L ady Anne rolled over in bed to blink sleepily at her husband. His manservant had dressed him all in white satin. In one hand he carried a gilded bow. He’d slung a quiver of white-and-gold-fletched arrows over his shoulder.
    “Do you mean to shoot the flowers?” she asked.
    George chuckled. “I would not put it past His Grace to try. He does enjoy showing off his marksmanship.”
    “It is May Day. You mean to go into the woods to gather green boughs and May blossoms. I see no need for weapons.”
    Anne yawned as George checked his accoutrements one last time to make sure he had everything. Then he returned to the bed to kiss her in farewell.
    “Will you be waiting in the gardens to watch for our return?” he asked.
    “Everyone will be,” she assured him.
    She tugged the coverlet up over her head as soon as he was gone. Lethargy crept over her. There was no reason for her to rise at dawn just because George had. She was not one of the queen’s attendants today.
    Catherine of Aragon was no doubt already at Mass. Although it had only been a few months since she’d lost her first child, she was already breeding again. Anne fervently hoped that, this time, His Grace wouldhave sense enough to leave his wife out of his more energetic revels. Anne took it as a good sign that the king had not insisted that the ladies join this morning’s expedition into the woods. Hoping that no one would be struck by a stray arrow, Anne ignored a slight queasiness brought on by that