Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) by Thea Atkinson Page A

to the sight she must look with
her skirts still hiked up, the shock transforming her face must be comical
indeed.
    "Yes." He hurried to her and smoothed her skirt
back over her ankles. I have to say, I want you; like I've never wanted anyone.”
    The way he said it made her think he had wanted many women,
but she pushed the thought away impatiently.
    "You're more exciting to me than any whore could
be."
    So at least there was a bright spot in his statement, no
matter how insulting it sounded. He continued as if he’d said nothing
offensive, "But that's not it; or not all of it. I'm drawn to you. Your
laugh, your spirit. I need it. It fills me."
    He looked at her, half pleading, as if unsure how she would
take the words he’d spoken.
    "And since your betrothal has failed..."
    She wasn't offended at his words, most marriages were based
on much less than desire. And she had to face it, she felt the same way about
him.
    "And love?"
    "Love?" He shrugged with an offhand motion that
surprised her.
    "If love makes me wake shivering in the night with
need—then I love you." His features hardened suddenly, and she thought he
hated conceding the lust he felt, hated that it nagged him. "But, if love
is that thing that conjures your face before my eyes even when my mind is hard
at work—If it’s love that makes my heart feel empty—then love I have for you to
spare."
    "Do you love me?" His question clung to the air.
    She smiled up into his face, taking his smooth hand in hers.
    "Yes, Harry. I do."
    He stood. "Then we shall be wed. And now that's over,
let's celebrate."
    He reached down and scooped her from the bench, lowering her
with ease to the grass. The kisses that he smothered her with, the intensity
with which they came, possessive, certain. In the eyes of the church and the
law, the betrothal made them one. The voices inside her head quieted.

Chapter 15
Somewhere around 1525
    A nne closed the regal draperies of Catherine’s closet to
cut off prying eyes. She clenched the velvet with white knuckles, fought the
urge to scream. How flushed Harry’s face looked. How white and foreboding.
    "I begged them not to separate us." His eyes were
heavy-lidded as if he hadn’t slept the night before, the blue a quiet, dull
gray.
    "But how can they deem our contract null? We have
celebrated it, we’ve decided it." The torches that lit the small alcove
spluttered, emitting trails of black smoke that petered to the same gray as
Harry’s eyes.
    "The Cardinal called my Father. I met with them just
hours ago." He held her close, and she felt his heart hammering madly
against her own.
    "They think you’ve little dowry to offer me, that my
lineage is meant for the betrothal of my childhood." His lips touched the
top of her head; the lingering kiss made her eyes sting.
    "I pleaded that we’d already been pre-contracted, that
you’re of noble parentage yourself, and royal descent." He sighed heavily.
    "I even stomped my foot like a child when reason would
not have its way with them, said I’m a man of age and may make my decisions
where I pleased."
    "And...?" she asked, pulling from his embrace.
    "And nothing." He moved away, sat on a hard chair
beneath a beautifully oiled painting of hounds on the hunt.
    "By the time the Cardinal called for a cup of wine to
toast his success, I’d even told them that I had gone so far before witnesses
that I could not discharge myself with good conscience."
    She went to him, sat on the floor near his leg. He took her
hand in his, stroked the finger with the extra nail. She felt the sting of
tears.
    "It’s over, my sweet Anne. I’m to be wed to my
childhood betrothed. My father wishes it."
    She gave a soft, sarcastic laugh, ignored his querying
expression. So, the ugly head of the judgmental Lord finally reared itself,
punishing her for her sins of passion and lust.
    The Anne who sat in a London garden three years from that
afternoon remembered the meeting, and its sorrow. How she’d wept for months