Read The Boleyn Deceit for Free Online Page A

something of the same opinion in council earlier. What had he said?
I am disturbed by his consistent denials.
Well, so was Dominic, but he would not have expected the naturally wary Rochford to agree with him. Or Robert, for that matter.
    He watched as Robert caught up with Elizabeth and bent his dark head to her red-gold one. Even from behind and at a distance, it was clear how he felt about her, and Dominic experienced a surge of jealousy.
    How has it come to this, Dominic thought, that I envy a married man in love with another woman? But he knew his envy wasn’t about Robert’s love—it was because Robert didn’t bother to pretend about it.
    Minuette’s Christmas day was a blur of sound and colour, punctuated by clear flashes: the piercing familiarity of Dominic’s dark-green eyes in chapel, the tremor of alleluias in her bones, the headiness and triumph of pageantry. The masque was a fabulous success, everyone said so, even Elizabeth had gasped in delight at the marauding Saracens draped wrist to ankle in blackwith red velvet headdresses who threatened the court until the gallant Christian knights bearing the enormous papier-mâché dragon of St. George came to rescue the ladies from their clutches. There was smoke and thunder and music and hilarity and dancing and fighting—everything a Christmas masque should be. William kissed her hand before all the court in thanks, and both men and women flattered her with praise. It was very satisfying.
    But none so much as when Dominic came to stand beside her and, surveying the crowds, said, “Playing politics, Minuette? That is unlike you.”
    Even as she replied, “Whatever do you mean?” in pretended innocence, her heart soared that Dominic alone seemed to have caught the small detail at the end.
    “The single knight who took his enemy’s hand rather than put him to the sword. They walked off together, with a woman between them.” He turned his head and lowered it nearer hers so no one would overhear. “Do you mean to be that woman, to bring peace between Catholic and Protestant?”
    “Of course not—it wasn’t a real woman, she was the symbol of Peace itself. And anyway, the masque was about the Turks.”
    When Dominic smiled at her, it nearly broke her heart. She so rarely saw him smile. “You could be that symbol, Minuette. You would have that power, if you were …”
    He didn’t say the word, didn’t even mouth it, but she heard it nonetheless.
If you were queen.
    Her eyes went to William, laughing at some clumsy wit from his aunt, Lady Suffolk. “I won’t be,” she said. “Not ever.”
    His smile had faded when she turned back to him, but he leaned in farther and whispered in her ear. “Happy Christmas, Minuette. I left your gift with Carrie. I hope you like it.”
    He was gone so suddenly that Minuette wanted to cry out in frustration. Why couldn’t he do as William had and hand her thegift himself? The king had seized ten minutes alone with her when he’d come to see Elizabeth after service this morning: one minute to watch with satisfaction as Minuette stumbled thanks for the far too noticeably costly ruby necklace, and nine minutes to thank her for the very simple embroidered missal cover she’d made him. His had been a mostly wordless thanks.
    Didn’t Dominic want to thank her the same way? She’d given him a missal cover as well, trying to be discreet, as they all must be. Except it seemed that she alone was discreetly in the middle. On one end was William, recklessly sure of himself and not afraid enough of being caught. And on the other end was Dominic, so absolutely devoted to control that in public he barely even seemed to tolerate her company these days.
    Men.
    She was still feeling somewhere between excited and wounded when she escaped to her room far earlier than she normally would have. She had a headache—something she had never been prone to until these last weeks—and yes, despite her frustration, she was curious what