Anne Boleyn: A Novel by Evelyn Anthony Read Free Book Online Page A

God you would,” she responded.
    “Why?” he said eagerly.
    “What woman in England would want to be recognized by anyone else?” she said.
    As usual, it was a flattering answer, but not the one he wanted. She smiled up at him, her eyes bright through the slits in the mask; everyone was watching them. She could see her uncle, Norfolk, staring from the other side of the room where he paid unwilling attendance on the Queen; the squint became exaggerated as he tried to focus. And there was Tom Wyatt, pulling at his beard. She knew that gesture well. He was as much in love with her as ever, and reckless enough to wear the locket she’d given him outside his doublet. She looked at the big bearded King standing over her, his face alight with expectation, and drove the thought of Tom out of her mind. George was right when he warned her that night at Hever; there was no room now for anyone but the King. Sooner or later she would have to give in; her excuses were wearing thin, and the situation was slipping out of her control.
    “Come with me, Anne, I’m weary of this,” Henry urged suddenly. “Come, walk in the gallery with me.”
    She followed him, knowing, by the way he looked and his haste, what must happen as soon as they were alone. She had held him off before, teasing and serious by turns; he had kissed her once and she’d nearly succumbed to his rough insistence. It would have been so easy and it was what he wanted; she was afraid every time she refused, and then exhilarated when he came back to her, more eager than before.
    Outside the hall she stopped; they were alone in the long cold passage, and only the wintry moonlight streamed thinly through the windows overlooking the river.
    “We should go back, Sire,” she said. “Think of the scandal...”
    “The devil take the scandal,” he retorted. “Can’t the King ever be alone? Give me your hand, Anne.”
    Still she hesitated. “The Queen will be angry with me.”
    He laughed unpleasantly. “The Queen knows better than to show it if she is. Take off your mask; it’s the penalty for being recognized.”
    She was helpless then; he was poised on the line between passion and rage, and his rage was something no woman had ever aroused with impunity.
    She put her hand out to him. “Let us walk down to the end of the gallery; I’m hot from dancing, Sire. Then I’ll unmask.”
    He stopped her by the far window, turning her so that the soft light fell on her face, and obediently she took off her headdress.
    “I saw you in the window at Hever,” he muttered, “standing just so, with your hair all round you. Oh, Anne, Anne...”
    He was tremendously strong, and she gave way at once; he had lifted her off her feet without noticing and was kissing her face, her mouth and eyes, and down, reaching for her throat. With a great effort she pulled away from him, gasping. Another moment and he would have pulled her into the window seat.
    “I beg you, don’t dishonor me.”
    “Dishonor...the King’s love, is that dishonor?”
    He set her down, but he still held her shoulders.
    “I owe the Queen allegiance,” she said desperately. “How can I betray her, even to please you? Or myself,” she added quickly. He seized on her last words.
    “Would it please you? Would it? Say so. Nan, say it would...” She was caught in the trap of her own flattery, but she was quick enough to turn the slip to her advantage.
    “More than anything in the world.” She moved farther from him till she stood nearly at arm’s length. “But a light woman isn’t worthy of your love, Sire. And I’m not light in love.
    “I serve the Queen,” she continued, her voice a whisper, “and the Queen is your wife...”
    “By the living God, I’m not so sure of that!” he burst out. “I’m so little sure, I’ve had no peace of mind for nearly sixteen years!” The lie escaped him easily, and within seconds it seemed as if it had always been the truth. Catherine again; Catherine, his