Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded. Juliet Landon

discussions. You know what she’s like. So determined. We’d have had her married years ago if she’d been more cooperative about the business. Oh, I know she’d have married Sir Jon when your father first proposed it, but since that fell through, all the matches he’s suggested have been rejected without a single look. It’s taken her recent visit to court and the king’s command to make it happen, whether she likes it or not.’

      ‘And apparently, she doesn’t,’ said Sir George. ‘So who is he?’

      ‘Same man. Yes, Sir Jon Raemon. You might well look astonished.’

      ‘So what’s the problem?’ said Sir George, blinking. ‘He’s widowed now.’

      Lady Agnes’s eyes rolled with a look of despair. ‘She’s seen him again at court and now she doesn’t like him.’

      ‘Doesn’t like him?’ said Maeve, frowning. ‘But she would have accepted him before. So this has to do with her pride, Mother, hasn’t it? We have to talk to her, George.’

      ‘We do, dear,’ he agreed, ‘but can we first get out of these clothes before Henry arrives, or we shall be taken for a travelling merchant and his doxy.’ He dodged smartly to one side to avoid the sharp slap aimed loosely at his ears, laughing at his wife’s lovely face and the sudden flare of grey eyes. But out of his mother-in-law’s hearing, his frivolous tone changed to something more serious. ‘You know what this sounds like, don’t you?’ he said to his wife, closing the door of their chamber. ‘Remember how Henry set his sights on you, too?’

      ‘Too well,’ Maeve replied. ‘If you’d not stepped in when you did, I might have—’

      ‘Shh! Don’t say it, love. Trouble is, I doubt if Ginny will understand what Henry has in mind for her. She’s such an innocent about what goes on at court, even after a month there, and your mother won’t have explained it to her, will she?’

      ‘No, my love. But somebody had better. Shall we warn her?’

      ‘Your father will put pressure on her. Raemon, too, for all I know. They’ll make it impossible for her to refuse, with all the lucrative rewards lined up for them. Your father will see it as his big chance to get ahead and your mother will do everything he tells her to, without question. And before we know it, the D’Arvalls will be the new owners of Sandrock Priory and sitting squarely at the top of the tree. Parents of the king’s new mistress, otherwise known as Mistress Virginia.’

      ‘I don’t want that to happen to her, George. Ginny is destined for better things than that. She’s really not cut out for a life at court.’

      His sideways smile showed that he knew what she meant. ‘Perhaps Raemon himself will explain to her what this is all about,’ he said. ‘Or perhaps he won’t.’

      Chapter Two

      An hour spent in the frost-bound gardens had done little to clear Ginny’s mind of rebellious thoughts, nor had it helped to form any kind of plan to be used against tyrannical parents. Dependent on them for everything she did or was likely to do, the options to please herself did not lie thick on the ground. It had always been so; the nearest she had ever come to being heard on matters relating to husbands had been her refusal to meet any of her father’s choices. Until now, that was, when he had turned the tables on her by engineering a meeting first and involving the king. If she found it possible to defy her father, no one knew better than he how impossible it would be for her to defy His Majesty King Henry VIII.

      By midafternoon the light had begun to fade again as she trod down the crisp grass, shaking the white crystals off the hem of her skirts and reaching the door in the garden wall just as sounds from the other side made her pause with a hand on the latch. A clatter of hooves in the courtyard, men’s voices calling, her mother’s sharp words of reply. Could it be the king’s party? So soon? Opening the door to look, she saw two men dismounting from horses whose sweat steamed white clouds into the air. Short capes swung from broad shoulders, plumes curled around velvet caps, and long boot-clad legs glinted with spurs.

      ‘Half an hour away, m’lady,’ the tallest of the men called. ‘His Grace will need wine. A long day’s ride and a fast pace. Whew!’ As distinctive as the build, the voice was rich and deep, the voice Ginny had last heard in the stable yard at Hampton Court Palace. She could not meet him yet. Not here. Not until she was ready. She was at home now and she, not he, would dictate the pace. And the manners.

      Swiftly pulling back her pink velvet skirt, she closed the door, hoping he would not hear the loud clack of the latch, yet fearing that he had when she heard the heavy tread of his footsteps followed by a softer click. The door opened slowly, wedging her behind it to merge with the pink brickwork of the wall, flattened like a naughty child evading capture, her expression already defiant.

      Sir Jon’s expression was irritatingly amused, though Ginny could tell what else lay behind his lazy scrutiny of her face, her abundant hair splayed over the fur of her cloak, the gentle swell of her bodice beneath one hand. He was experienced. He would know exactly how to assess what lay concealed beneath layers of stiffened fabrics. He closed the garden door and came to stand before her, purposely too close to mask the smell of leather and the sweat of hard riding, handing her the chance to deflate his arrogance with a satisfying shrewishness. His clothes were perfectly tailored and of the finest deep brown velvet with gold edges, his hose clinging to thighs like an athlete’s, which she knew him to be. ‘You should go and wash, Sir Jon, before supper,’ she said. ‘Your fast pace leaves its marks, does it not?’

      His mouth twitched at the corners and he was close enough, too, for her to see the creases in his tanned skin, like soft leather. ‘That’s me told,’ he said quietly.

      ‘Don’t tell me you rode ahead of the king’s party to say that he will need wine,’ she said tartly. ‘When does he not need wine these days?’

      ‘Then I won’t, Mistress Sharp Tongue. I came early for a private word with you, and you have obliged me. As you will continue to do.’

      ‘I shall exert no great effort in that direction, sir, be assured.’

      ‘Then we shall agree to disagree on that point, for the moment.’

      ‘Oh, do say what you must and let’s go in. I have things to do before the king’s arrival,’ Ginny said with an impatient glance beyond him.

      ‘Then your things to do will have to wait, Mistress D’Arvall, until I’ve spelled out a few ground rules that are more immediate,’ he said, suddenly changing tone. ‘The first of which is that any infringement of good manners towards me personally will incur a penalty. Is that clear? For a start?’

      Ginny’s eyes narrowed dangerously, reflecting the deepening sky in their clear greyness. ‘I do not usually have a problem in understanding rules of any sort, Sir Jon, but for the life of me I cannot see where or how you obtained any authority over me or my good manners. They have always been perfectly adequate, otherwise...’

      ‘Yes, otherwise you’d not have stayed at court for a month, would you? I’m talking about your lack of good manners towards me, and you know that I am. You also know why I’ve come here and there’s nothing you can do to change that. Once His Grace has decided, no woman will undecide him, so you may as well accept it and come off your high horse, lady.’

      ‘Or there will be penalties. I see. Well, that must be the most subtle inducement I’ve ever received. Guaranteed to succeed with disobedient hounds, hawks and horses, I suppose, but women? I’m not so sure. Me, I’m quite sure it would fail dismally. So sorry. Try again.’

      Like a firework, their conversation had sparked into the antagonism lying dormant between them for weeks, Ginny’s resentment simmering beneath the surface, Sir Jon’s usual assuredness on hold, waiting for the right time. Forced into a confrontation by the king’s own needs, the right time was still some way off, and Sir Jon’s only option was to tackle the problem head-on. Subtlety was going to be of little use here, he’d decided. Bracing himself against the wall with both hands, he effectively