He closed the door and shot the bolt firmly. “There are many things I never told you of my suffering for you, sweetheart. But that is all behind us now and, pray God, things will always be better for us in the future together.”
He smiled a deep, lazy smile and pulled her gently over to the fire. The room smelled of fresh herbs and clean rushes rustled on the wooden floor. Deftly he unlaced her dress and it fell in a pink pool at her feet. His arms encircled her and they stood in the warmth of the fire and their love.
“Wine, sweet?” his voice came quietly in her hair.
“I think I have had quite enough wine, my Staff.”
He lifted her in one fluid motion before she even sensed he would do so. “I think you have had quite enough of everything except me and the loving I intend to give you, Mary Bullen, Lady Stafford.”
He laid her gently on the bed and stood to undress. His voice came muffled from under his shirt and doublet as he pulled them off as one garment. “I promise you, sweet, if you do lie on this bed awake half the night, it will not be with longing that I would touch you as last time we were here.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “But you were long sleeping. How did you know of that?”
He laughed deep in his throat as he bent to strip off his breeks. “I told you, golden Mary, there are some things in my longing for you that you do not know. You had best make a careful study of me over the years, and perhaps you will learn what I mean.”
“I intend to my lord. If only we could live together openly!”
“We will, sweetheart. We will, somehow and as soon as we can manage it. If Anne should bear him a son, I will ask him outright, but enough of that other world. This one is ours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
March 17, 1534
Hampton Court
It was the earliest spring Mary could remember and the mazelike gardens were newly alive with tiny nubs of purple and yellow crocus, and the thin branches of forsythia stirred with new life in their golden buds. She gently stroked her flat belly against the mauve velvet of her gown. It gave no sign yet, but soon enough she would begin to swell with the growth of Staff’s first child. They had waited a year for this and now she would tell him. He would be somewhat alarmed, for he knew that the babe would eventually necessitate their telling the king and queen and asking to be dismissed or allowed to live together at court. But they were so happy, whether they had to meet in secret or not, that they could weather even that.
She inhaled a deep breath laden with the aromas of moist spring earth and sat on the marble bench in the deserted rose garden near their hidden bower where they often met during the afternoons when they could slip away. Married more than a year, she mused, the smile on her lips again. If only the Boleyn fortunes had not been so shaky lately and Anne so hysterical and distraught, they would have told them long ago.
Mary glanced up at the wing of the nursery which directly overlooked these gardens. The six-month-old Princess Elizabeth no doubt slept or played beyond those windows—the child who was to have been the prince Anne and the king’s astrologers had promised him. It was a white-faced, red-haired child whose christening at Greenwich the king refused to attend. The Boleyns had huddled behind Archbishop Cranmer as he blessed their best hope to hold the crown. And worst of all, Anne had newly miscarried of a pregnancy. Now the Boleyns were in fear and disarray and even father showed desperation in his darting eyes. This was no time for them to be told of a new marriage or pregnancy of their black sheep daughter Mary. But if only the king would cease to look elsewhere as he had lately with various mistresses and would bed with the queen, Anne could conceive again. Then they would surely tell them, and then...
There were quick footsteps on the gravel path, and she ducked back into their little bower. The interior was not so hidden with its leaves and flowers yet to come, but the vines and briars were fairly thick. Staff was here, his head and shoulders blocking out the garden beyond.
“Stephen tells me his Nancy says you wanted to see me, sweetheart. Is anything amiss?” He took a step toward her and his hands went to her waist.
“Not amiss, love, but I wanted to tell you something. Did you have difficulty getting away?”
“No. His Grace is with a messenger from his sister in Suffolk, and Cromwell is closeted with your father. Cromwell has taken to giving me one raised eyebrow lately and wishing me a good night’s sleep, so I assume he knows or suspects how much I see you.”
“But he could not know we are wed!”
“Sometimes I do not know what the man knows or thinks. But I do sense that he is amazingly protective of you, for His Grace obviously knows nothing of us. It seems to have dropped from the king’s realm of interest what I do, although he always wants me about on the sporting field. At least he has given up on that foolish Dorsey match for me.” He smiled rakishly and took a step deeper into the bower. “I do not fancy two wives to please.”