And I realised he was allowing me a choice, even at this late hour. Seeing my hands shaking, he took the cup from me and placed both on the coffer, so that his back was to me, inviting me to slide a hand over the fine material of the tunic he had worn for supper, to take cognisance of the firm shoulder beneath. But I couldn’t touch him. I wouldn’t touch him.
And as if aware of my difficulty, Owen took the decision out of my hands, for he approached, enclosed my hands in his and drew me towards him.
‘Do I have permission to kiss the once Queen of England?’
‘If you wish it.’
He filled my vision as he bent his head and placed his lips on mine. Gently. A promise rather than possession. And fleetingly. Barely had I registered the warmth of it than he had lifted his head and was looking down at me.
‘I’ll not ask permission again, Katherine. Is this what you want?’
I could not reply, unable to find the words to express the army of uncertainties that battered my mind, but I did not need to. Framing my face with his hands, his lips again claimed mine, and it was my undoing. How different this embrace! His mouth hot and hungry, body powerful, hands holding me so that he could take and take again, I was swept away with heat and the longing that built within me. He lifted his head again, hands still cradling me, his thumbs caressing my temples—until with a brusque movement he pushed back my hood so that it fell to the floor.
My hair free and released, it now tumbled over my shoulders to lie on my breast, and his, allowing him to curl his hand within it so that it wound round his wrist like a living shackle. My breath shuddered out between my lips in a sound of pure wordless pleasure.
‘Call me by my name. Call me Owen.’ There was the urgency.
‘Owen.’ A breath of delight.
‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The most desirable. And I should know better than to have you here—but what man can stand aloof from a woman who fires his blood? I have wanted you for years. I can no longer resist you.’
His arms anchored me against him, and his fervent avowals slid through my blood like wine as he kissed me and I clung, my senses cast adrift, robbed of all will, all thought, only knowledge that here was a man who said he desired me and always had. An explosion of heady feeling swept through me. Owen Tudor wanted me, and I wanted him beyond all reason. I would let him take me. His hands moved to the lacing of my gown—
No!
Suddenly the desire was shot through with pure panic.
‘No,’ I said.
I pushed against his chest, and when he released me I buried my burning face in my hands. What was I doing? Horror bubbled through my blood, and a capering terror that tripped and hopped to its own rhythm. I looked at the man I would have taken as my lover, distraught, suddenly seeing Edmund’s laughing face before me. Edmund had seduced me with laughter and song and carefree youth, making me think that I was a girl again without responsibilities, before abandoning me when he could not use me to climb his particular ladder of power.
This was no light-hearted seduction, but an explosion of passion that swept me along, dragging me down into a whirlpool of longing. I wanted it—but could not allow it, for it would bring nothing but humiliation for me, ignominy and dismissal for Owen. If Gloucester discovered…if the Council knew. A liaison with a servant? But I wanted him. I wanted him to touch me again. I wanted his mouth on mine.
Ah, no. It must not be!
And in that moment I was swamped by past hurts. Owen Tudor could never want me. Did I not have proof? No one else, neither Henry nor Edmund, had wanted me, except for what the Valois name or my position of Queen Dowager could bring them. Owen Tudor could not love me. Perhaps it was pity in his heart. Yes, that was it. All my confidence was undermined by terrible uncertainty…
I became aware that Owen was frowning as if trying, and failing, to read the morass of thoughts chasing through my mind. His hands fell away from my shoulders, yet he smoothed the backs of his fingers down my cheek, and my fears were almost overthrown.
‘Are you afraid of me?’ he asked.
‘No.’ I must not give in. I must not. ‘It’s not that. I should not be here.’
And I saw justifiable exasperation glitter in his eye as he sighed. ‘It’s a bit late for that.’
‘It’s all my fault.’
And I slid from his hands to flee. The door was unlocked. Two more steps and I would be there and out of this room that contained all I desired but all I could not have. I could be back in my chamber where I could wipe out my memory of what I had almost done. I could forget how I had almost fallen at his feet in longing—but before I had managed one step, Owen captured my wrist.
‘Don’t go like this.’
As his fingers closed, fear built irrationally. I pushed hard against him but to no avail.
‘Katherine. Don’t struggle. I’ll do nothing that you don’t wish.’
