Catherine looked up, slightly bemused. “Yes, take this gentleman away and dance with him.”
Verniers looked reluctant. “But, My Lady…”
“Now, Signore, you have just proved to me that you dance so well. You cannot deprive me of that sight again. We can finish our conversation another time.”
“As you wish, My Lady,” he said with disappointment. He then turned and offered his hand to Ellen. At the same moment, the slender figure with the golden eyes appeared beside him, deftly slipping his fingers through Thomasin’s.
A gasp escaped her, and she felt obliged to follow it with a frown.
His face split into a smile and those eyes glowed. “Shall we?”
She allowed him to lead her into position, with Gertrude at her side. The two women eyed their exotic companions with suspicion as the men bowed low before them.
The first chord took them close, almost face to face, chest to chest. Thomasin averted her gaze, but she could not avoid his sweet, spicy scent. They retreated momentarily, opening up the space between them, but then the dance called for them to close in again. Thomasin could not put her finger on what made her uneasy, but something did. Something unsettled her, in his manner or movements; there was an air about this man that reminded her of Rafe Danvers.
It seemed a long time since she had thought of Rafe. The truth was, he might not have been uppermost in her mind, but he was often present just below the surface. She had only known him briefly, as a ward to Anne Boleyn’s father, but the impression he had made upon her was profound. He had seized her innocent heart, consuming her with a fire that she had felt unable to control, and which she feared. Those dark looks: the blue-black hair, the eyes like deep pools, had caught her attention at once, when she’d first seen him in the rose garden at court.
She did not doubt there had been a genuine attraction between them, his ardent kisses told her as much, but in painful steps, she had understood that there was more to their connection. He was an instrument of the Boleyns, sent to do their bidding, to win her over to Anne’s cause. She had not seen him since the day she’d ridden out of the city, no doubt for the best, as those haunting eyes still returned to her dreams once in a while, so that she woke unsettled and filled with longing.
Now, this golden-eyed Venetian made her feel on edge, just as Rafe had. He moved with grace, with finely shaped limbs, and an effortless sense of style. It was something raw, even animal, and it called to a hidden chamber of her heart she had not known existed. Rafe had been the one to first kindle it to life, and she better understood her own vulnerability because of it. But this man, with his seductive ways and golden eyes, was merely passing through. He and his fellows would be gone tomorrow. There was no danger that he could pose which she might not resist in that short time.
“You seem cross,” he said in his soft lilt as he passed her by.
The comment took her by surprise. “Cross?”
“Such a pretty face to spoil with a frown.”
She ignored him, turning away with a swish of her skirts. He passed her, returned and stood, facing her again. A new chord struck and they were forced together.
“Will you not tell me your name?”
He offered his hand and she placed hers in it, just as Ellen was doing with Vernier.
“What can you possibly want with my name?”
He smiled, pulling her close towards him. “To roll it round my tongue.”
His audacity surprised her, but she recovered quickly. “A dangerous place to be.”
He laughed, short and high. Briefly, she swapped places with her cousin and came face to face with Vernier.
“Madam,” he smiled, leading her through the moves. “So many beautiful women in the queen’s household.”
Thomasin’s eyes were drawn to More and his circle again, as she passed close by their corner. This time Margaret Roper was watching the dance, and waved to her friend as she passed by. The final steps seemed drawn out. She was returned to her original partner, with his laughing golden eyes, but every time it seemed that the song was drawing to a close, fresh chords struck. Eventually, they were bowing low, although he still held her by the fingertips.
“May I see you later, this evening?” he urged suddenly. “Outside the queen’s chamber?”
“The queen will have need of me,” Thomasin replied pertly, extracting her hand and heading across the floor.
“Thomasin!” smiled Margaret, rising. “I thought it was you.”
“Mistress Marwood,” More smiled, extending his hand to her, “what a welcome sight you are.”
FOUR
In pleasant company, the time flew by quickly. Soon Thomasin was bidding goodnight to her friends, wrapped in their fur-lined cloaks as the carriages waited in the outer courtyard. Fortunately, the clouds that day meant that the night was milder than of late. It smelled cold and clean, as spring nights sometimes did in Suffolk.
“You will not stay?” Thomasin asked again. “The queen was happy to offer you a chamber, and we have truckle beds enough for all.”
