Three (History Plays, Book 2)

6: fervent desire that sits against my heart

Catherine

The doorbell rings. I don't typically answer it but there's no one here. And I already fear who it is.
"Good Morning," Edward stands there, smiling, braced as he always is as though expecting a blow, leather jacket tight and fitted to his taught frame, bastard grin upon his merciless, bastard face. Big eyes, shining, like fresh pennies glinting with pleasure. "May I come in?"
"Um—yes, of course," what can I do? Say no? He's got knives on his thigh, and others on his chest. I can see the bulge of at least one gun underneath that jacket.
"Lovely," he says, walking in past me and showing himself to a drawing room. It's just off the main hall. I nod for the servants to go and get tea or something while I follow him.
"What um—what brings you here?" I ask, twisting my hands.
"I promised William that I'd make sure you were all right. I assure you I always keep my promises, lady," he says, smiling still, that snake grin that refuses to leave his nothing like pleasant face. He's cleaner than when I last saw him, clean shaven.
"It's eight am on a Sunday morning," I say, my voice nearly catching. We both know this isn't a social call.
"It is, yeah, you don't take the little ones to church?" He asks, nodding in thanks as the servants bring in a set of tea things.
"No, no I don't," I don't leave this house if I can help it. "We are well if that's why you came?" We both know that isn't why he came, don't we?
"You know when William was going to marry you, I asked him why. He said you were the prettiest girl he thought he'd ever seen. I told him that was why he shouldn't, because girls you think are pretty are nothing but fire and metal. I should know I married one," he says, lightly, so easily speaking of his wife yet standing here. Does he mean to kill me or just rape me?
"And what did William say?" I ask, my hands on the back of the chair.
"He said he knew what he wanted. What I never imagined was, why a girl like you would want an old bastard like him?" He laughs, as though it's the most amusing thing ever, finishing circling a chair and sitting in it, crossing his legs elegantly. William is a few years his senior, as I understand, not that I understand or care to understand anything about a man like Edward Windsor.
"William is kind to me," we have an arrangement. I keep his house, have his children, be his pretty wife, and ninety percent of the time he leaves me alone and this is a fine arrangement for us two. "I love him."
"Good for you," he says, still smiling so much does it hurt his face or does he not feel pain? "Did he tell you he'd love you forever, and that kind of thing?"
"Yes, that kind of thing," I say, tightening my grip on the back of the chair.
"Come, sit, talk with me a while. You're married to my best friend, yet we hardly know each other, you and I," he says, nodding with a jerk of his head to beckon me to sit.
"I'm not much to know," I say, sitting down as carefully as I can when I'm watching his every move. To do what? Fight back? William's limbs are strung steel, I have felt them. And I've seen this small, tiger of a man throw my William the length of a room, in play fighting as these men seem to do. He has any number of weapons he has his men outside there is nothing I could do if he makes any move towards me he'll have what he wants in an instant. But I'll be damned if I give him what he wants.
"Oh, I doubt that. I'm sure you're very much, most women are I find," he says.
"Not men?" I ask.
"No, we men are simple. We like sharp objects, and bloodshed, and running about with weapons and pretty girls with black hair and smooth skin, oh we are an easy lot to please," he says, smiling, "Tell me, what does it take to please a lady?"
"Why?" I ask, choking on the word.
"Perhaps I wish to entertain my wife," he says, taking out a knife and flipping it in one hand, idly. He can toss the shining thing up in the air then catch it again, without even looking. I've seen him do it with both hands but now he only has one, fiddling with it like a man would a cigarette.
"I wouldn't begin to know what a woman like your wife would like," I say, slowly. I'm younger than him and his wife by several years. And Pippa Windsor is probably the cleverest person this side of the world. She runs his empire, it's well known she's brains of the operation he very cruel enforcer. She's from a very rich family, and nobody imagines why she'd take up with the likes of Windsor criminal empire or no. Nobody can even fathom why she'd give him the nine children they have and seem to like him. He's not a thing you let in from the cold, let alone come crawling back to your bed when you're still weaning his last hell-spawn pup. Yet Pippa Windsor does, time and again, and it makes her all the more intimidating that she's happily bedding this dark lord on a frequent basis and liking it.
"Oh, she's just a girl with black hair and smooth skin, like you. Her skin's brown, though, gold even in the sun, yours is white, do you ever step outside? I couldn't make out your fingers if you were holding a glass of milk," he laughs, idly, like we're at a picnic or this is a normal conversation to be having and not unbelievably terrifying.
"I burn in the sun," I say.
"Oh, two of my children do, don't know where they get off having red hair and pale skin but we've got to slather them in lotion if they so much as look at out of doors," he chuckles, amused at the mention of some of his many children.
"All of mine take after William, they all go brown in summer," good job mention your husband and kids keep him talking about his kids would he rape you while chatting about his wife and kids?
"Excellent, he's ridiculous as well his hair is lighter than his skin if I leave him in the sun too long. When we were boys, well, my Ned's age I suppose so teenagers, we'd spend half the summer outdoors, he was nearly as brown as Pippa," he says, flipping the knife again, "But you've not told me what sort of things make a pretty girl like you be charmed, or pleased with anything. I did tell you what makes us men go."
"I don't think you told me about all men," I say.
"No, assure you, we're all the same, darling. We're all, quite the same. We like pretty girls and we like fast cars and shiny toys, and sharp objects, and things that explode, most of us are fond of money, and all of us like getting our own way," he says, tossing the knife to his other hand and catching it. "Now tell me about you?"
"Why do you want to know?" I ask, taking a breath, "You're married."
"I'm doing a survey, I've got several daughters now," he says, cocking his head.
"We like to be strong. And we like to have choices. And most all when we're with a man we want to feel safe," I say, staring directly at him. Oh, he meets my gaze. He knows damn well he's fucking with me. He's doing it on purpose. Motherfucker.
"All good advice," he purrs, flicking the knife up now he's catching it with the other hand. Hell, which handed is he? Does it matter? It doesn't they're equally strong. "When you were having your children did you know if they were boy or girl?"
"What?" I ask.
"Settle a bet for me. My wife swears she can tell—oh didn't you know? We're expecting a baby, before the end of the year," he says, like this is his first or second not like tenth child.
"Ah, congratulations."
"You can say 'how many is it'," he says, laughing.
"Don't you have nine?"
"Ten, we had ten, a son died. Now we'll have ten again, god willing," he says, nodding upward.
"Even number," I say. I forgot about that, I think William did tell me though. I felt awful for his poor wife, apparently the baby was quite ill.
"I need at least two more, three if Jon continues to refuse to participate in organized sports. I am attempting to assemble two small hockey teams it's going to greatly simplify exercising them over the holiday season," he says like this is a completely sane plan any rational person would have.
"Congratulations," I say, because I'm still working on having a normal conversation here.
"I asked William if you were stopping at three. The coward said to ask you so I am. Stopping at three?"
Oh, okay, fuck you, William. "We'll see what happens," yes yes we are but you don't fucking need to know that and I'm not about to present that as a challenge.
"Yes, never know the turns life takes," while turning his knife in his fingers, flipping it between them with the practiced ease of a man whose spent a life around dangerous things, "I'll be staying for lunch, are the children about?"
Not about you they are fucking not. "They'll be with their nanny, for lunchtime. I usually work."
"Lovely," to be clear it's eight am.
I nod. Again. It's eight am. He just said he's staying for lunch is he really going to stay here tormenting me for four hours?
"Will your wife and children be at church?" I ask, daring him to think of them as he's preparing to rape me.
"In a manner of speaking. They'll be communicating with God a lot."