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When his tongue boldly threaded between her lips, she was so startled she granted it entrance without a thought, and the deepening of pleasure was a surprise she welcomed. He turned her head so their mouths could widen and mate. With only the slightest hesitation, she met his tongue with her own, and a battle of supremacy was joined. He groaned into her mouth, pulling her closer. Her hand on his body gave way, and her chest fell against his. It was a pleasure-pain that made her breasts ache. Somewhere inside she thought only he could give her what she needed.

And with that, her doubts began a slow bubble back to the surface.

When his fingers slid from her neck and up against her wimple, she pulled back, breaking the kiss. His head was still beneath her, his mouth wet, his breathing as labored as hers.

“I have never seen the beauty of your hair,” he whispered.

She pushed away from him and sat back on her heels. Contemplating uncovering her hair reminded her of all the secrets that she also kept covered. “Nay, what was I thinking to allow such familiarity?”

He took a deep breath, eyes closed, his face pained. “You will not kiss me again?”

“The day grows long,” she said firmly, pointing to the west. “I did not wish to stop for a meal, let alone—” She broke off, embarrassed. “Do not ask me for such intimacy again.”

John stared at Anne, stunned by the vehemence of her reaction. Hastily, she began to pack away the remains of their meal. He had never met a maid who did not want his kiss, although he admitted that many were motivated by the promise of payment. Sex had always been a part of it—whenever a virgin had caught his eye, the lure of adventure and the road had drawn him away before he could become entangled.

Anne’s anger puzzled him. She had even said her parents wanted to see her married soon—would not a bailiff be more prestigious than a common farmer? He had thought she would respond to his seduction happily, which of course would hurt her more in the end.

But this anger seemed…wrong, and it made him think about the other unusual things about her. For a maidservant who had grown up in Castle Alderley, she seemed surprisingly remote from its people, as if everyone went out of their way to avoid her.

Anne herself seemed a good-hearted woman; he could only conclude that her treatment by others was due to her mistress. More and more it made him wary of the woman he was supposed to marry—the woman he was betraying by kissing her maid.

Nay, he was rescuing Lady Elizabeth. Only Anne had access to the tower. Anne, with the luscious mouth, with the heavy breasts that had pressed against him so fleetingly. He felt a kinship with her, perhaps because she was as common as he’d been before his elevation to the title.

Mayhap it was time to tell her the truth, he thought, knowing that only then would he be able to cease his flirtation with her. She was heroic, after all, the only person between her mistress and Bannaster. She’d braved Milburn’s wrath to try to send a missive to the king.

But she was so angry with him right now. After washing her face and hands in the stream, she patted water on the back of her neck as if she were overheated. Was she angry with him—or with herself, for forgetting her mistress in a moment of pleasure?

And how could he know if he could trust her with his secrets, when her own people shied away from her?

He could not think of an answer now; he would talk to Philip for a rational opinion, because John feared he himself was no longer objective where Anne was concerned.

He came up on his good knee, his splinted leg out to the side. The leg itself barely ached anymore, but he could not remove the splint without looking suspicious. He braced the crutch under his arm and maneuvered himself to his feet. When he’d moved off the cloth, she knelt down to fold it up and stuff it in the satchel. Though he knew he shouldn’t, he remained near her, watching her below him, wishing he could push her down into the grass and⁠—

He had to get this desire under control, before its wildness turned back upon him and ruined everything.

* * *

Elizabeth resisted all of Sir John’s efforts to engage her in conversation on the way home. She was angry with him, but mostly angry with herself and the way she’d just let him seduce her senses, seduce her lips. She had to force her mind not to think of his heart thudding beneath her hand. And the taste of his mouth⁠—

Oh, she was furious with herself. He could not remain bailiff here, whoever she married. How could she look at him every day, knowing what they’d done together?

When the cart rolled into the inner ward, she didn’t even wait to see if Sir John needed help getting down. She simply grabbed the satchel and ran inside. Supper was over, and already the soldiers were beginning their nightly indulgence in ale. One or two of them grabbed for her as she hurried by, but she ducked away and headed for the kitchens. Adalia wasn’t there, only several scullion boys cleaning spits and firedogs. Adalia was probably with her son, and Elizabeth didn’t want to disturb her. The cook was a widow, and only had so much time to spare for her child.

Elizabeth desperately needed to talk to another woman. She was fixated on her first kiss. She kept trying to imagine what it would have been like with William, such a gentle, sensitive poet. William would never have thrust his tongue into her mouth. It was wrong—indecent!

Then why had it felt so good?

With a groan, she fled the kitchens and found herself heading for the tower. Surely they would allow her entrance even if she didn’t bring food with her.

Elizabeth curtsied to both soldiers. Young Lionel, Alderley’s representative, flushed as if she shouldn’t have to debase herself for him.

“Lionel, might I see Lady Elizabeth this evening?”

Bannaster’s soldier leaned his staff across the door, barring her way.

Lionel winced. “M—Anne, Master Milburn gave explicit orders that you were not to be allowed up today.”

“But Lady Elizabeth won’t know that!” Anne cried. “She will be so frightened. I only want to tell her⁠—”