He interrupted: “You twist my words, Anne. You clever little minx, you do!” And, forcing her against the hedge, he put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her lips; then those hands sought to pull apart her dress.
She wriggled free.
He said sternly: “I would have you regard me now as your King. I would have you be my obedient, loving little subject.”
She was breathless with fear. She said, greatly daring: “You could never win my love that way! I beg of you, release me.”
He did so, and she stood apart from him, her eyes flashing, her heart beating madly; for she greatly feared that he would force on her that which till now she had so cleverly avoided. But suddenly she saw her advantage, for there he stood before her, not an angry King but a humble man who, besides desiring her, loved her; and thus she knew that it was not for him to say what should be, but for herself to decide. Such knowledge was sweet; it calmed her sorely troubled mind, and calm she was indeed mistress of the situation. Here he was, this great bull of a man, for the first time in his life in love, and therefore inexperienced in this great emotion which swept over him, governing his actions, forcing him to take orders instead of giving them; forcing him to supplicate instead of demanding.
“Sweetheart...” he began hoarsely; but she lifted a hand.
“Your rough treatment has grieved me.”
“But my love for you...”
She looked at the red marks his hands had made on her shoulder, where he had torn the neck of her gown.
“It frightens me,” she said, looking not the least frightened, but mistress of herself and of him. “It makes me uncertain....”
“Have no uncertainty of me, darling! When I first met you I went back and said to Wolsey: ‘I have been discoursing with one who is worthy to wear a crown!’”
“And what said my lord Cardinal? He laughed in your face I dare swear!”
“Dost think he would dare!”
“There are many things my lord Cardinal might dare that others would not. He is an arrogant, ill-bred creature!”
“You wrong him, sweetheart...nor do we wish to speak of him. I beg of you, consider this matter in all seriousness, for I swear there is none that can make me happy but yourself.”
“But Your Majesty could not make me your Queen! I have said your mistress I would never be.”
Now he was eager, for his mind, which had weighed this point since she began to torment him, was now firmly made up.
“I swear,” he said, “I would never take another queen but that she was Anne Boleyn. Give me the ring, sweetheart, and take you this so that I may have peace in my mind.”
These were sweet words to her, but still she wavered. Love first; power second. Ah, she thought, could I but love this man!
“Your Grace must understand my need to think this matter over well.”
“Think it over, Anne? I ask you to be my Queen!”
“We do not discuss kings and queens,” she reproved him, and the reproof enchanted him. “This is a matter between a man and a woman. Would you then wish me to be your Queen and not to be wholly sure that I loved you more than a subject loves a king?”
This was disarming. Where was there a woman who could hesitate over such a matter! Where was one like her! In wit, in beauty, he had known she had no equal; but in virtue too she stood alone. She was priceless, for nothing he could give would buy her. He must win her love.
He was enchanted. This was delightful—for how could he doubt that she would love him! There was none who excelled as he did at the jousts; always he won—or almost always. His songs were admired more than Wyatt’s or Surrey’s even; and had he not earned the title of Defender of the Faith by his book against Luther! Could More have written such a book? No! He was a king among men in all senses of the words. Take away the throne tomorrow and he would still be king. In love...ah! He had but to look at a woman and she was ripe for him. So it had always been...except with Anne Boleyn. But she stood apart from others; she was different; that was why she should be his Queen.
“I would have time to think on this matter,” she said, and her words rang with sincerity, for this man’s kisses had aroused in her a desire for those of another man, and she was torn between love and ambition. If Wyatt had not had a wife, if it was a dignified love he could have given her, she would not have hesitated; but it was the King who offered dignity, and he offered power and state; nor was Wyatt such a humble lover as this man, for all his power, could be; and, lacking humility herself, she liked it in others.
“I stay here till I have your answer,” said the King. “I swear I will not leave Hever till I wear your ring on my finger and you mine on yours.”
“Give me till tomorrow morning,” she said.
“Thus shall it be, sweetheart. Deal kindly with me in your thoughts.”
“How could I do aught else, when from you I and mine have had naught but kindness!”
He was pleased at that. What had he not done for these Boleyns! Aye, and would do more still. He would make old Thomas’s daughter a queen. Then he wondered, did she mean to refer to Mary? Quick of speech was his love; sharp of wits; was she perhaps a little jealous of her sister Mary?
He said soberly: “There shall be none in competition with you, sweetheart.”
And she answered disconcertingly: “There would need to be none, for I could not believe in the love of a man who amused himself with mistresses.” Then she was all smiles and sweetness. “Sire, forgive my forwardness. Since
