Page 86 of The Rest is History
I slap his hand away. ‘You haven’t earned that right yet.’
‘What are you waiting for, then?’
I raise my chin defiantly. I’ll show him.
‘Rochford, obviously.’ Accused of adultery with his own sister. So ridiculous.
Charlie nods.
‘Mark Smeaton.’ The young boy. The only one who ever admitted guilt.
‘Yup.’
‘Henry Norris.’ Henry’s Groom of the Stool, and the closest thing he had to a best friend at court. ‘Francis Weston.’ A shrewd choice on Cromwell’s part. Weston’s affiliation was with those hostile to the Boleyn faction, so his charge made the whole farce look less political.
Charlie smiles. ‘Looks like you might earn my codpiece after all, sweetheart. Or at least my coat.’
‘And—’ I stop abruptly. Shit. Who the hell was number five? Smeaton, Norris, Rochford, Weston, and?—
I’ve drawn a complete and utter blank.
Fuck.
This is ridiculous. I know this trial inside out. I covered it just a few weeks ago, with Charlie’s class, for God’s sake.
He cocks his head, a wolfish smile on his face. ‘Too overcome with desire to think straight?’
‘No. I just—give me a minute.’
‘Or maybe she’s just faking it,’ he muses aloud. ‘So desperate to get my hands on her, she’s willing to humiliate herself.’
‘You are infuriating.’ I fold my hands over my chest. ‘Why do I find you so attractive when you’re being smug and arrogant? Ugh. I hate my life.’
‘I promise you’—his fingers toy with both my shoulder straps—‘you’re going to fucking love your life in a couple of minutes.’
His face is so close to mine. I want his perfect mouth on me. Anywhere will do.
‘So,’ he continues. ‘Do you give up?’
Smeaton, Norris, Rochford, Weston.
Smeaton, Norris, Rochford, Weston.
Shit.
I huff as loudly and childishly as I can.
‘Fine,’ I say through gritted teeth.
His mouth grazes my ear, and goosebumps spread over my body at his proximity. He hooks his thumbs through my shoulder straps and slides them down.
‘William Brereton,’ he whispers, and I groan.
‘Nooo.’ Brereton. The random older dude. Fuck. I can’t believe I forgot him.
‘You know what the consequence of losing are, Elodie,’ he whispers, pulling back.
‘You’re such a smug, self-righteous prick,’ I mutter, but I’m sure my face is telling him just how far my anticipation is rocketing right now.
