“Oh?” said the King, with an air of mild and amused interest. “And has Buckingham been trying to persuade you over to his interpretation?”
Frances blushed and tapped her fan on her knee. “Oh, that wasn’t what I meant!”
“Wasn’t it? I think it was. But don’t trouble yourself about it, my dear. It’s an old habit of the Duke’s—falling in love along with me.”
Frances looked offended. “Falling in love along with you! Heavens, Sire! You sound as if you’ve been in love mighty often!”
“If I tried to pretend I’d never noticed a woman until you came along—well, Frances, after all—”
“Just the same you needn’t speak as though it’s a common everyday occurrence!” She tilted her chin and turned a haughty profile to him.
Charles laughed. “I almost think you’re prettiest when you’re just a little—just ever so little—angry with me. You have the loveliest nose in the world—”
“Oh, have I, Sire?” She turned eagerly and smiled at him, unable to resist the compliment.
But suddenly the King glanced across the room and muttered in annoyance, “Good Lord! Here comes Courtin to lecture me about the war again! Quick! Let’s go in here!”
He took her arm and though she started to protest he swiftly ushered her through the door and closed it. The room was dark but for the moonlight reflecting off the water, but he led her across it and into another beyond.
“There!” he said, closing the second door. “He’ll never dare follow us in here!”
“But he’s such a nice little man. Why don’t you want to talk to him?”
“What’s the use? I’ve told him a thousand times. England and Holland are at war and that’s all there is to it. The fleet’s at sea—I can’t very well call it back for all the nice little men in France. Come here—”
Frances glanced at him dubiously, for each time they were alone the same thing happened. But after a moment of hesitation she walked to the window and stood beside him. White swans were floating there close to shore in the early spring dusk, and the reeds grew so tall the tips of them touched the glass. The water looked dark and cold and a brisk wind had whipped up the waves. He slipped one arm about her waist and for a minute or more they stood silently, looking out. And then slowly he turned, drew her close against him, and kissed her mouth.
Frances submitted, but she was unresponsive. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, her body held taut and her lips were cool and passive. His arms tightened and his mouth forced her lips apart; the blood seemed to vibrate through his veins with the intensity of his passion. He felt sure that this time he could bring her to life, make her desire him as violently as he did her.
“Frances, Frances,” he murmured, a kind of pleading rage in his voice. “Kiss me. Stop thinking—stop telling yourself that this is wicked. Forget yourself—forget everything and let me show you what happiness can be—”
“Sire!”
She was beginning to push at him now, a little frightened, arching her back and trying to bend away from him, but his body curved over hers, his hands and his mouth seeking. “Oh, Frances, you can’t put me off any longer—I’ve waited two years —I can’t wait forever—I love you, Frances, I swear I do! I won’t hurt you, darling, please—please—”
It was true that he was in love with her. He was in love with her beauty and her femininity, the promise of complete fulfillment which she seemed to offer. But he did not really love her any more than he had ever loved any other woman; and he believed furthermore that her show of virtue was a stubborn pretense, designed to get something she wanted. In his relations with women as in all other phases of his life, his selfishness took refuge in cynicism.
“Sire!” she cried again, really alarmed now, for she had never realized before how powerful was his strength, how easy it would be for him to force her.
But he did not hear. His hands had pushed the low-cut gown far off her shoulders, and he held her hard against him, as though determined to absorb her body into his own. She had never seen him so blindly excited and it terrified her, for her emotions did not answer his but fled to the opposite extreme—she was scared and disgusted. And all at once she hated him.
Now she put her crossed arms against his shoulders and pushed, and at the same time she gave a sobbing desperate cry. “Your Majesty, let me go!” She burst into tears.
Instantly he paused, his body stiffening, and then he released her, so swiftly that she almost lost her balance. While he stood there in the darkness beside her, so quiet she would have thought she was alone but for the sound of his breathing, she turned away and continued to cry—not softly but with whimpering sobs so that he would hear her and regret what he had done. And also so that he would realize she was even more offended than he could possibly be. For she was afraid now that he might be angry.
It seemed a long time, but at last he spoke. “I’m sorry, Frances. I didn’t realize that I was repulsive to you.”
