Read Online Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) by Thea Atkinson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Thea Atkinson
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maintain her attention, and a look of interest as he leered at Mary.
Disgusting, how he nearly ate her with his eyes. She pasted a smile on her face
as Mary spoke back, her teasing tone chiding him playfully.
"Now, Your Grace, I would be foolish to say no."
Without bothering to take her leave, Anne turned and walked
away. George would be much better company anyway, and she found him teasing a
group of ladies who clung to his sleeve and giggled like children. Anne sighed;
courtly flirtation didn’t have to mean mindless chatter or outright idiocy.
Couldn’t they at least show some sign of intelligence and discretion? She
pushed her way in.
"George, I see you’ve lost your wife." She grasped
his arm, pulling him away from the clutches of a pale blonde. He kissed the
hand of the one whose clutch Anne had loosened.
"Excuse me, ladies," he said sweetly, "I see
my sister is attending to my welfare." He winked and bowed, then grinned
at Anne, a dimple playing in one cheek.
"I’ve not lost my wife, sister." He led her away
to a quiet corner. "Merely escaped her for a bit."
A lock of chestnut hair, loosed from his blue ribbon, fell
into his eyes. He pushed it back.
She tugged at his sleeve. "Then dance with me, I’m
afraid my fiancé may come for me." A playful slap on his arm regained his
attention when he blew a kiss to the corner of ladies.
"I’ve nothing better to do than rescue you, Nan."
He winked at her and grinned. She felt safe, the young boy had grown to a man,
and his certainty made her feel secure.
George had watched Anne with interest while he entertained
the swarm of ladies who refused to leave him alone. Their chatter bored him but
he pretended to listen raptly, tried to look enthralled by their stories.
Occasionally, he’d muster a glance of the room. The varied textures and colors
were like a hundred autumn leaves courting the wind. Once or twice he caught
sight of Anne, as did most men, he noticed. George grinned as he thought of how
Anne brought out passions in people, always had, whether they found her
attractive or not. She had an indefinable quality that made people either hate
her or love her—there was no middle point. The strange thing was that Anne was
either unmindful of how the men licked their lips absently as she passed, or
didn’t care. The fact that she was oblivious to it made all the difference.
He watched, intrigued, as she danced with Henry Percy. It
was obvious that the aristocrat grew ever more enchanted. His gaze never left
her face, and his fingers curled about her waist a little too intimately. His
entire body shouted that he wanted to bed her. George could hear the yell from
way over here. It was a certainty that Anne wanted him as well, though what
intrigued her, he had no idea. Harry Percy was a dandy. His rather fragile
awkwardness was compensated only by his position. Men would want him, rather
than women, and then only to wed their daughters. He’d have wealth on his
father’s passing, and his sensitivities would make any man feel safe for their
daughters. Ah well, perhaps Anne sensed this and was drawn by it.
After Henry came Thomas. George had glimpsed him moments
ago, standing by the wall, waiting for a chance to take Anne into his arms. His
lust was sealed to his face like a wax imprint to paper. George had to grin.
Thomas had wanted Anne since he was a child, or rather a young adult, and Anne
a child. He’d even purposefully lost every game they played so he’d gain Anne’s
sympathy. Crafty, Wyatt was, and intuitive too. He’d known early on that Anne
was a reckoning force. Once she'd even bruised his eye because he’d dared kiss
her.
After that, he’d brooded and sulked ’til finally she’d said,
"Thomas, if your lip sticks out any further, you’ll risk a raven setting
on it and shitting down your shirt."
Thomas had done a good job of holding Anne’s attention this
evening. She laughed and dared him with a look or two. He’d changed in the
years,
maintain her attention, and a look of interest as he leered at Mary.
Disgusting, how he nearly ate her with his eyes. She pasted a smile on her face
as Mary spoke back, her teasing tone chiding him playfully.
"Now, Your Grace, I would be foolish to say no."
Without bothering to take her leave, Anne turned and walked
away. George would be much better company anyway, and she found him teasing a
group of ladies who clung to his sleeve and giggled like children. Anne sighed;
courtly flirtation didn’t have to mean mindless chatter or outright idiocy.
Couldn’t they at least show some sign of intelligence and discretion? She
pushed her way in.
"George, I see you’ve lost your wife." She grasped
his arm, pulling him away from the clutches of a pale blonde. He kissed the
hand of the one whose clutch Anne had loosened.
"Excuse me, ladies," he said sweetly, "I see
my sister is attending to my welfare." He winked and bowed, then grinned
at Anne, a dimple playing in one cheek.
"I’ve not lost my wife, sister." He led her away
to a quiet corner. "Merely escaped her for a bit."
A lock of chestnut hair, loosed from his blue ribbon, fell
into his eyes. He pushed it back.
She tugged at his sleeve. "Then dance with me, I’m
afraid my fiancé may come for me." A playful slap on his arm regained his
attention when he blew a kiss to the corner of ladies.
"I’ve nothing better to do than rescue you, Nan."
He winked at her and grinned. She felt safe, the young boy had grown to a man,
and his certainty made her feel secure.
George had watched Anne with interest while he entertained
the swarm of ladies who refused to leave him alone. Their chatter bored him but
he pretended to listen raptly, tried to look enthralled by their stories.
Occasionally, he’d muster a glance of the room. The varied textures and colors
were like a hundred autumn leaves courting the wind. Once or twice he caught
sight of Anne, as did most men, he noticed. George grinned as he thought of how
Anne brought out passions in people, always had, whether they found her
attractive or not. She had an indefinable quality that made people either hate
her or love her—there was no middle point. The strange thing was that Anne was
either unmindful of how the men licked their lips absently as she passed, or
didn’t care. The fact that she was oblivious to it made all the difference.
He watched, intrigued, as she danced with Henry Percy. It
was obvious that the aristocrat grew ever more enchanted. His gaze never left
her face, and his fingers curled about her waist a little too intimately. His
entire body shouted that he wanted to bed her. George could hear the yell from
way over here. It was a certainty that Anne wanted him as well, though what
intrigued her, he had no idea. Harry Percy was a dandy. His rather fragile
awkwardness was compensated only by his position. Men would want him, rather
than women, and then only to wed their daughters. He’d have wealth on his
father’s passing, and his sensitivities would make any man feel safe for their
daughters. Ah well, perhaps Anne sensed this and was drawn by it.
After Henry came Thomas. George had glimpsed him moments
ago, standing by the wall, waiting for a chance to take Anne into his arms. His
lust was sealed to his face like a wax imprint to paper. George had to grin.
Thomas had wanted Anne since he was a child, or rather a young adult, and Anne
a child. He’d even purposefully lost every game they played so he’d gain Anne’s
sympathy. Crafty, Wyatt was, and intuitive too. He’d known early on that Anne
was a reckoning force. Once she'd even bruised his eye because he’d dared kiss
her.
After that, he’d brooded and sulked ’til finally she’d said,
"Thomas, if your lip sticks out any further, you’ll risk a raven setting
on it and shitting down your shirt."
Thomas had done a good job of holding Anne’s attention this
evening. She laughed and dared him with a look or two. He’d changed in the
years,
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