Mary either had to fall backward or loose the door, for Francois leaned the weight of his bent arm hard into it. He wore a black velvet robe intricately etched in silver filigree. He strode close past her into the room, but she staunchly held her place at the door.
He surveyed the room and then turned back to face her. “See, my sweet, we match again, oui?”
“What, Sire?”
“Just like the evening we first met when the genius da Vinci dressed you to match your king. At the Bastille. Do you not remember?”
“Yes, I remember, but that was not the first time we had met.”
“Really? I could not have forgotten another.” He smiled and she did not.
He raised a graceful arm to her chamber. “Then do you not recall a little room like this one where we used to meet on chill winter afternoons? Close the door, si vous plait, ma Marie. You are letting in a terrible chill and, if you are so tired, you had best take to your bed.”
Still she did not move. He approached slowly and swung the door closed himself. It thudded hollowly. “You are shy after so many years, oui? It has been long. I have missed you.”
Mary smiled then, for the lie was so bold she could not resist. Suddenly, her fear left her. This man could do her harm, no doubt, but not in the way he once had.
“I was sorry to hear of Queen Claude’s death, Your Grace. I hope you are happy with your new queen. My sister was disappointed she could not come to meet us.”
“Oui, of course. But it is a tiny problem that she is Henri’s ex-queen’s niece.” He hesitated. “What is it they call Catherine now?”
“The Princess of Wales, Sire.”
“Ah, oui.”
“So that means you are on the former Queen Catherine’s side of family necessity,” Mary continued.
“Well, my sweet, family necessity can be bent where one’s own heart is involved.”
“Exactly, Your Grace. And tonight I must explain to you that the family necessity which has me here in this room with you must be bent. I am sorry if there have been misunderstandings, Your Grace.”
He came closer and stared warmly down at her. “You are talking in riddles, my golden one. Still so beautiful after a husband and a child.”
“Two children, Your Majesty.”
“I thought there was only the lad your king spoke of.”
Mary felt her pulse quicken.
“And let us face the truth, Mary, you held the Tudor for five years, though now he is the heritage you leave your sister.”
“My relationship with Henry Tudor, Your Grace, was truly none of my doing, except for the fact that I used to be a frightened little pawn of my father—and my kings.”
“Ah, this is another Marie indeed, but one so beautiful still, so tempting, just as your goddess rising from the foam of the sea tonight, my Venus. I pictured you then without your garments and recalled the lovely days we spent together.”
She moved to step aside, but he was too quick for her. His long hands darted to her silken waist. He bent to kiss her, but she turned her head. “Please, Sire, I cannot know what Anne or the king or even my father has said to you. The memories are one thing, but I wish for no others. Please, let me free and leave this chamber.”
His arched brows descended over his deep-set eyes. “Why would you deny me?”
“I loved you once, Your Grace, or thought I did, but no more. The years have changed me. I ask of you, Francois du Roi, to...” As he suddenly parted her robe, her hands darted to tug at his wrists. “No, Your Grace, I will not—”
“Love, my Venus, has nothing to do with what joy we can give each other in the privacy of this room tonight. I have chosen you from all the women here. Whomever you fear, they need not know.”
He massaged the curve of her hip as he covered her mouth with his. She bit his lip and tried to twist away, but he slammed her back into the wood-paneled wall, then pressed her there with his big body.
“Damn, vixen!” He touched his fingers to his lower lip and brought away his own blood.
“I cannot help what they have told you or promised, Sire,” she repeated. “I will scream, and everyone will come. Everyone will know the Great Whore’s sister, who was the English king’s mistress before her sister, does not wish to lie with Francois du Roi!”
He stood stock-still against her. She felt smothered by his weight; he had such a stomach and great chest on him that she could hardly draw a breath where he pressed her bosoms flat. He stepped back, and she feared he would strike her. She raised her chin, for anything would be better than his caresses.
Instead, he yanked her several steps after him into the room where the firelight fell on them. She stood straight facing him, afraid to dart back toward the bed.
“It is obvious to me, Marie,” he voice came coldly, “that your sister is succeeding where you did not. You used to ask for nothing, but she wins a kingdom, eh? You see, she is a clever whore and you are—as ever—a foolish one.”