“He has your admiration, does he not?”
I stop walking and drop his arm. “What has this to do with my brother or his message?”
“You fail to answer my question,” he replies. “Interesting. Yet I do not need an answer. I saw how you smiled at him when we were all gathered here to hear the Duc d’Anjou’s plans. And I saw more as well.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“I had an upset stomach the night of your arrival and came out to the garden to find some mint to chew on.”
I remember the shadowy figure that evening, my gasp, and the long moment he peered toward where the Duc and I sat. Knowing that the figure was Guast makes my mouth dry. I decide that any protest will only make him more certain, so I say nothing.
“Again silence.” He shakes his head as if this means something. “Would it please you to know my spies say the Duc is mad for you? That no amount of flirting or flattering words from other ladies can divert his attention?”
It does please me, but I have no intention in confiding in this man. None of this is in the smallest part his business. “Nonsense, Seigneur. All at Court know that His Grace woos the Princesse de Porcien.”
Guast actually has the temerity to laugh!
“Sir,” I say sharply, “I had some difficulty in arranging to meet you and I must return to the chateau with all possible haste. You are wasting time.”
“I am, indeed.” He steps forward until his breast touches my own. He runs an index finger along the side of my cheek. “Is this how he touches you?” The smell of his breath, its warmth on my face, makes bile rise in my mouth. I realize with a sudden, horrifying certitude that there is no message.
I step back but my retreat is stopped by the hedge, and Guast follows. I am trapped between his body, so close that I can feel its heat, and the branches behind me, which press my back through the silk of my gown.
Leaning in further so I can feel his beard against my face, he says, “You accept the caresses of Guise, do you not? Mine may not be the hands of a Duc, but they know how to give pleasure.” Without warning, his right arm goes around my waist, pulling me to him, and his left hand fondles my breast.
“Seigneur! You forget yourself,” I gasp.
“No, indeed, Your Highness, I know who I am—the proud son of an ancient family and a close friend of your brother, Anjou. I would be your close friend as well.” His mouth closes over mine. The thrust of his tongue between my lips feels like a violation. I clench my teeth against its further intrusion and shove with all my might against his chest, twisting and turning in an effort to escape him.
My mouth breaks free of his. “I will tell my brother you importune me.”
I expect Guast to release me. Everyone knows Anjou adores me. But instead Guast says, “Better not. I can make trouble for you, Lady—whisper in your brother’s ear what I know of your dalliance with Guise. He has no love for the Duc. Yes, I can hurt you, but I would rather please you.” He pulls me more firmly against him and I can feel his arousal. I am gripped by fear such as I have never known. We are at the very corner of the garden, cut off from view. If I break free of him, can I outrun him? Can I even escape the hedges? If I scream, will anyone hear?
“Please, you must let me go.”
“Must I?” His mouth closes over mine again. As I struggle, the branches behind me scrape at me like the claws of angry dogs.
“My mother,” I gasp as he breaks off his violent kiss. “I will tell the Queen of these forced attentions.” Surely, if he does not fear Anjou, he fears Her Majesty. Everyone does.
“And I will tell Her Majesty that you made me willing proffer of your charms. Tell her that you slipped from the chateau, away from your gouvernante, intent on seducing. If it were not so, why come alone to this deserted spot?”
“You told me you had a message from my brother!”
“Did I?”
“You are evil.”
“You drive me to threats.” That hand that was on my breast goes to my hip. It begins to gather my skirts. I can feel my hem rising. “I am a captive of your beauty, just like Guise.”
“Not like His Grace,” I say, frantically trying to arrest the work of his hand with one of my own. “The Duc would never impose himself upon me. He is an honorable man, and I am chaste.”
Guast inhales sharply. “Chaste?”
I realize I have made a terrible mistake. Far from inspiring pity or honorable behavior, my confession appears to have excited Guast further. “Here is an unanticipated pleasure.”