Sansa, Jeyne and Margaery were heading back into the city from the palace to replenish their clothing, before the Court moved to St James's Palace, and then onto to Hampton Court. Many of the other ladies-in- waiting had the same idea and there was a fair group of them gathered at the palace's landing stage all waiting for barges to speed them back into town.

Such a large entourage needed to be on the move fairly regularly, otherwise the surrounding areas would swiftly become depleted, and the staff would not have time to tidy up after all the guests and hangers-on that congregated round the Royal places hoping for patronage and preferment. It was rather like living in a travelling circus sometimes. Sansa wondered how her mother managed during her years at the old king's court when it had moved to Oxford.

"So when d'ye think the next barge will be along? 'Tis rather warm out here?" Margaery said from under the great cartwheel of her straw hat, which was gaily festooned with ribbons. She looked so fresh and pretty in her cool sprigged cotton dress, her curls piled up underneath her hat. "I do hope one comes along soon. We're going to be hard-pressed to get everything ready. I don't know about you, but my wardrobe is in definite need of a refresh!"

Mine too!, thought Sansa. She hadn't quite realised just how much effort went into keeping up a fashionable appearance at court. Margaery made it look so effortless, but she and Jeyne had quite a steep learning curve to master in their first days at Whitehall.

"I have no idea, I was hoping to get one back with Robb, but he was busy at the palace with Uncle Jon. This valise is heavy!" she said

"How's Arya doing with Lady Myrcella?" Margaery asked.

After the awkward confrontation between her younger sister and the royal mistresses, Sansa had worried that Arya would not get a position at all, but Anne Hyde had come through for her sister and managed to get her into Myrcella's entourage. She seemed to be settling in well, although now they were posted with different grand ladies they often missed each other.

"Not bad. Lady Myrcella is good to her, and she seems to be making friends." Jeyne hastened to say.

"Did I not tell you she would land on her feet?" Margaery told her. "She's a resourceful lass and quick-witted with it. Arya will be fine, though I understand why you fret. Terrible luck to fall out with those two, but it turned out for the best did it not?"

At least she doesn't have to contend with the likes of Anna-Maria Brudenell and Arabella Dalgleish, who constantly wait for me to make a mistake so they can mock me. Sansa thought.

A magnificent barge pulled up and moored, while the girls were waiting. Sansa, Jeyne and Margaery looked at each other unsurely, wondering who the occupant could be, when a dark head poked out of the dark purple and scarlet drapes with a winning smile.

"Oh my, It's his Majesty! Sansa, look!" Jeyne said in awe.

Sansa sunk into a curtsy and as soon as she saw their new guest. Margaery and Jeyne did likewise. All round the landing stage, people paid their respects to the king as they recognised him.

Sansa marvelled that the king was so free and easy with his person, so surprisingly down to earth. He loved to walk round the palace and St James's Park talking to all and sundry, surrounded by his pack of spaniels, and a bevy of courtiers in his train, striving and struggling to keep up with his long energetic stride. He would stop and talk to anyone who had the fortune to cross his path.

"A health unto his Majesty!" went up the cries from the courtiers. "God bless King Charles!"

Charles graciously acknowledged their greetings and tributes, pressing hands and smiling as he went. It must have been very gratifying for a man who a few short years ago had been forced to flee his own realm with a price on his head, and little hope of regaining the throne his father had lost. Now people fell over themselves to do homage to him.

Sansa nudged her friend. "He's coming towards us! Look, Margaery!"

Jeyne was trembling with excitement, at the thought of actually interacting with the king.

"Your Majesty!" they echoed respectfully as he approached and doffed his hat.

"Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa, what a pleasure! Are ye waiting for a barge into town?" he asked, eager to put the girls at their ease. The rowers pulled up and secured the barge, taking a break in the heat.

"Aye, my lord. We must get ready for the move to St James's." Oh God help her, she was acting like a giddy fool around him, and there was no excuse for it! His attention, the warm flirty gleam in his eye was like a jolt to the nerves. He was definitely flirting, there was no mistaking it!

"Where are you headed?"

"I need to get some new clothes from home, and then I promised to go to supper with Lady Arryn and her son." Sansa told him. "They have a house near the palace at Kew. Lady Margaery and I are waiting for a barge to take us down the river, Sire."

"We've plenty of room in here. 'Tis no trouble at all!" he gestured for them to join him on the barge.

The girls looked at each other, aware of the very great honour of a ride on the royal barge. "But Sire, we could not possibly-" Sansa started to say.

"Nonsense, 'tis no trouble at all! I won't take no for an answer, ladies. Please, some feminine company would be just the thing!"

The other ladies-in-waiting would be besides themselves with jealousy. Sansa almost wanted to bask in the envious looks on Bella Dalgleish and Betty Felton's faces. Betty was shamelessly craning her neck and bouncing on the soles of her cork-soled pattens to get a better view so she could report every last syllable to the rest of the girls.

This is probably going to be the talk of St James's Palace by nightfall, knowing her!

Sansa didn't know quite know how she felt about that. She was very aware of the newness of her position and to be singled by the great and good made her a bit nervous.

"Come Rupe, give us a hand with these valises of theirs, I doubt the ladies will manage by themselves!" he called to the other occupant of the barge.

A tall man with the dark hair of the Stuarts and rather severe handsome features like a marble classical statue, climbed out of the barge, unfolding his long powerful limbs. He bowed slightly brusquely to the ladies, and then lifted the cases into the back of the barge as if they weighed nothing.

Sansa couldn't help but be impressed and awed by the stranger. He was as tall as a giant, taller than the king! No wonder the barge was so big and required half a dozen men to ply the oars; it needed to be, to carry three men of such lofty stature with ease. She spotted James Duke of York inside the drapes, wine glass in hand, and taking his ease.

"I'll help you into the barge, it can be a mite tricky from this stage, and it would be terrible if you were to slip. Hold onto me."

The king helped her into the barge, his large capable hands round her waist. Sansa clung to him, afraid she was going to slip and fall into the water in front of all these people. How mortifying that would be!

"It's fine, my lady Sansa, I've got you-" he murmured close to her ear, reassuring her. She was distracted by the warmth and nearness of his body against hers. That frisson, that thrill she had felt the first day they had met, it was still there. She didn't know quite what to think about it.

"This is magnificent!" breathed Jeyne, looking round her in awe. "The Royal Barge!"

"More of my family for you to meet, my lady Sansa. This is my brother James, I believe you work for his wife." The duke raised his glass in greeting, eyeing the girls appreciatively. He was as tall as his brother, less dark and with more regular, more classically handsome looks. He did not however have the charisma and good humour which drew you to the king. Sansa bobbed him a curtsy, keeping a polite distance as she remembered his tendency for wandering hands which she'd been warned about.

"This is Cousin Rupert, I got him to play hooky from the Admiralty Office today." He gave her a bit of a wink before becoming more serious. "Rupert, this is someone I'm sure you'll be glad to meet. This is Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, newly come to court."

"Ned's lass?" he looked at her intently, his great dark eyes searching her face.

"My father spoke of you, your Highness." Sansa said hesitantly, awed by being in the presence of one of her father's comrades and a great hero of the war. Robb and Theon practically idolised this man, even Arya avidly followed his brilliant military career with admiration. "He said you were a great man and a fine warrior; that it was an honour to fight at your side."

"As it was an honour to fight with Ned. All the Starks were brave and loyal to me when I most needed it, Brandon, Ned and Benjen and Lyanna-"

"Did you know my aunt?" Sansa asked with a shy glance upward at this great man. "It's just that my father never really mentioned her at home. My mother said it was too painful for him to go back and relive those times."

The prince sighed deep, the lines of his face sad and brooding. "In some ways, I blame myself for what happened. I was the commanding officer, I should have stepped in and stopped the conflict between Robert and Rhaegar, before it turned disastrous. By the time I realised the severity of the situation, it was too late."

"You sound as if you were fond of her." Sansa said with a tentative smile of compassion.

"I admit I didn't approve of her following the regiment at first. Women are mostly a distraction on the field and war's a nasty business, but the lass was a plucky one and she pulled her weight remarkably. She was a tremendous rider, a fabulous shot, one of the best in the regiment if I'm honest and she ne'er complained about conditions. I grew to like her and her brothers a great deal." He fell silent for a moment, evidently thinking about those troubled long-gone time. "Her end was not a good one, Lady Sansa. I don't know if I can ever truly forgive Rhaegar for what he did to her. A sad business, indeed."

"I'm sorry to have reminded of such a sad time, your Highness."

Actually, it was your sister that reminded me of it, strangely enough." he mused.

Sansa was very surprised by that. "My sister? You met Arya?"

The Prince broke in a fond smile. "Aye, I am somewhat of an uncle to Lady Myrcella, and Lady Arya has recently joined her entourage, has she not? It was like looking at a ghost, but I rather enjoyed meeting her. A very interesting girl, indeed. She has so much potential, as long as it is not stifled trying to make her something she is not. You understand?"


When Margaery was introduced to Prince Rupert, there was a definite frisson between them. She stared up at his impressive figure with admiration, as he bent over her hand in a courtly fashion.

"My lady, 'tis a pleasure."

Margaery sank into another curtsy, whipping off her cartwheel of a hat and swiftly fussing with her curls. "Your Highness, 'tis an honour to meet you." She murmured respectfully, eyeing him with unabashed interest from under her lashes. She raised one fair white hand for him to take.

His dark eyes looked right into hers as he clasped her hand. She met his gaze, thinking that though his face was saturnine and stern, the lines on his face making him look older than he was, the prince had the most beautiful brown eyes. "Are you the girl who used to be a duchess? Lady Baratheon-" he asked, frowning a little as if trying to work out where he knew her from.

The smile froze on her face. She whipped her hand away from his, her curls bristling with offence. Her cheeks flared, ignoring the warmth and tingle from the press of his hand.

"'Tis Lady Tyrell now, your Grace." she said in her iciest tone of voice. How could he remind her of her disgrace? When she was so raw about it? Why did she even care what the hell he thought anyway? Why did she want to prove to him that she was not some silly little girl to be mocked? "If you will excuse me, your Grace?"

Rupert blinked a little, surprised by her sudden hauteur. "My lady, you seem vexed. What did I say?"

James looked amused by his unwitting blunder. "You've really gone and done it now, Rupe!" he murmured to his cousin.

Charles noticed the drop in temperature, the tension in the air and hastened to smooth things over. "Drop of wine, anyone?"

James was amused by the discomfiture, of both parties. "Think Rupert put his foot in it with the Lady Margaery. Don't think he realised what a sore spot it has become for her, you know, with er..."

The king saw the issue at once. "Her missing husband? Never fear, Jamie, I shall pour oil on these troubled waters. Wait-" He approached Margaery who sat at the front of the barge, her hands tucked dutifully in her lap. Her shoulders looked rigid with tension.

"Dearest Lady Margaery, there seems to be a problem, can I help? Confide in me, please?" he gave her such a charming smile that despite herself she started to smile back.

"There, that better. A lovely lady like you shouldn't frown. Come, let us speak in private, m'dear." he said drawing her away from the rest of the group and talking with her.

Sansa and Jeyne were engaged in conversation with the Duke of York, but she kept trying to find out what was going on with Margaery and the king. They seemed to to be talking for a long time, and only short snippets of their conversation floated over to her. Was he managing to smooth the situation over?

"Hmm, well I see now there has been somewhat of a misunderstanding here." Sansa heard the king's deep smooth voice say. "Rupert can be a bit brusque, but he wouldn't have meant it at all maliciously. He doesn't really follow gossip."

As Sansa glanced over, Margaery bent her head, looking more than a little mortified. "I feel like such a fool. I realised that I over-reacted as soon as I spoke, but-" she sighed. "- and then I was so rude. He'll never forgive me for that!"

"You are sensitive about the subject. I understand that. I imagine people at court have been giving you a hard time?" Sansa noticed the sympathy in Charles's voice.

"Well, I had a run-in with Lord Buckingham at Chatelin's, that didn't help." Margaery told him. "He was rather unpleasant about it."

"I can imagine that it didn't. George is a troublemaker, you must not let him get to you, otherwise he wins." he said, turning to summon Rupert with a gesture. "Fret not, m'dear, I will make everything right."

The prince came over with a look of caution on his face, as if he was expecting Margaery to start arguing with him.

"Lady Margaery, I want you to know that I am sorry for causing you offence. I never meant-" he said, sinking to one knee and taking her hand ardently. "Please forgive my tactlessness."

"There is nothing to forgive, your Highness." she looked at him, giving him her most charming smile and extending her hand to him. "Please my lord, sit with me."

His smile of pleasure made him look years younger. Sansa saw how dashingly handsome he must have been in his youth. Why, he must have been near enough irresistible! Margaery certainly looked as if she were falling under his spell. They sat together at the front of the barge talking urgently in low voices, heads close together. As time passed, she nestled into his side as if she belonged there. Sansa noticed his arm casually round her shoulder, keeping her close as if they were alone and had completely forgotten about the other people on the barge.

Charles looked at his cousin and Margaery with satisfaction. "I believe my work here is done. More wine, anyone?" Charles said as he joined the Duke of York and his party, topping up Jeyne and Sansa's glasses, and helping himself to some roast fowl.

"Are you matchmaking again, Charlie?" asked the Duke of York with an amused grin. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely at everyone's expense.

Charles tried to give his brother a look that aimed for innocent as a choirboy and missed by some way. "Matchmaking? Me? Would I ever do such a thing?" The effect he was aiming for was somewhat spoiled by the fact that he caught Sansa's eye and winked at her, trying not to laugh.

Sansa wanted to ask him exactly what the king meant, but she glanced through the drapes and noticed they were getting close to Kew and their stop. Their pleasant idyllic interlude had to come to an end now.

"Your Majesty, we're just coming up to Kew, and our landing stage. Thank you very much for the lift and the refreshments. 'Twas most kind of you." Sansa said politely. "I hope you all have a lovely afternoon."

"Thank you m'dear. I hope I may take you and your delightful friends out again?" he said looking eagerly at her.

Sansa blushed prettily. How heady it was to be flirted with by a king! "That would be an honour, Sire. Thank you!"

Let me help you off the barge again, Lady Stark." he said. "Hold tight."


Sansa watched her friend who was smiling softly to herself as the barge pulled away again, leaving them on the landing stage. Jeyne had already arranged for a messenger boy to run to the Arryn's to collect their bags and pick them up. She was still in a tizzy about her reaction to the king as he helped her out of the barge once more. His whisper in her ear as he held her close, soft as as caress: 'Do you feel it? When we touch?'. The unmistakable reaction of his body to hers. She trembled a little to think of how foolish she might easily become if she didn't take care, how she might forget every lesson she had learnt from Septa Mordane.

This man is dangerous, I know this. And yet...and yet...

"I thought you didn't like the prince?" Sansa remarked, curious about her friend's change of heart.

Margaery turned to her in surprise, still smiling dreamily. Sansa wondered what the prince had said to her to make her change her mind so sharply. She had not been mistaken by the look of offence on her friend's face, how vexed she got at people referring to her scandalous divorce from Renly. Had she forgiven the Prince for his blunt statement so readily? If she was not mistaken, her friend seemed to be rather attracted to him, despite her earlier disagreement.

"Whatever made you think that, sweet-pea?" Margaery said lightly, before changing the subject. "Oh look, the coach is here!"


Sansa was star-struck by the presence of the king and just how friendly he had been to her and Margaery that day when he and Prince Rupert had given them a lift to the Arryn's on the barge.

Willas had mentioned just how down to earth he was to his public and he certainly was to her, going out of his way to make her feel at ease. The feel of his large capable hands round her waist as he lifted her into the barge, the moment she had been held against his body, just a fleeting illicitly stolen moment sent a thrill through her she didn't really understand.

How is it possible to be attracted to one man, and yet within a day or two of meeting him, find another man so thrilling, so tempting he is leading me to think thoughts I have never thought before? What is happening to me?


Hampton Court Palace

She really was the most impossible woman in the world! Charles wondered why he let her lead him so firmly by the nose in all things.

"I thought that you loved me." Barbara pouted, pushing her full lush lower lip out. "But how can you if you do not even trust me? How can you think I would dally with your son?"

She would have been slightly more convincing had she been slightly less histrionic about her innocence. That, and the six inch thick file presented to him by Lord Varys and his spies about her exploits with the Duke of Monmouth. For Christ's sake! He was scarcely more than a boy. Did nothing trouble her about the entire situation? Strike her as distasteful to be tupping the father and son at the same time?

"I have never required fidelity from you Madame, and it would be unfair to start now. But I do require a modicum of truth. The question is: are you capable of it?"

"What are you trying to say?" Barbara wept prettily into her lace trimmed handkerchief, sneaking little glances at him when she thought she was unobserved. He nearly laughed, but managed to control himself. She was so absolutely without shame and to be honest that was part of her appeal. At heart, she was just as much a rogue as he was. No wonder he had kept her as his mistress for so long, despite her sins against him.

"Did you sleep with my son?" he said with more than a hint of impatience.

Her striking eyes opened wide in an effort to convince him of the truth as she saw it. "No, of course not! These are just slanders to denigrate you and I just because we are together, don't you see?"

Short of coming out and calling her a liar, there was nothing he could do about it for now. Still, he decided to keep an eye on the situation. Just in case.


"Come in." she called at the quiet knock on the door. It was late at night and since Charles was off dallying with yet another of his wife's willing ladies-in-waiting, Barbara felt no compunction about making her own arrangements.

He stood before her, eager as ever almost quivering in anticipation.

"Why Jamie, my sweet 'tis rather late for a visit, isn't it?" she teased, leaning forward so the poor lad could get a good look at her assets. And sure enough he was practically drooling at the mere sight of her breasts. "Why have you come so late? A young man like you must have so many places you would rather be of a fine evening like this?"

"You know I long for you." He whispered in a broken voice, not trying to hide the torment there. "Please, my Lady Castlemaine, cease to be so cruel. I need... I need-"

He stumbled over his words, struggling with the effort of articulating his desires.

"What do you need?" she asked in a honeyed poisonous tone, in the mood to be cruel to him all of a sudden.

He met her challenging gaze,"You. I need you, Barbara."

"You shouldn't come here anymore." She said carelessly, playing with her scented chestnut curls. "Your father suspects something is going on between us. It's too dangerous. I have to think of my position."

"He doesn't care, I promise you. He's too much of a cynic to be bothered what we do while we're alone." He said with unconcealed impatience, shrugging off his fine green velvet coat beautifully trimmed with gold braid, tailored and fitted to show off his figure, the breadth of his shoulders, his athletic build. It must have cost a pretty penny, but he discarded the garment onto her floor as if it was nothing more than an afterthought.

She knew for a fact that this was not the case by Charles's interrogation earlier that day, but she could never resist being desired by any man, to have the boy quivering with lust and desperation. So damn eager for her to bestow her favours upon him he was willing to beg. Ah, it had been a long time since Charles had wanted her so much. Had he ever wanted her that much at all?

She reached a pale lily soft hand toward the straining front of his breeches, a wicked smile on her face. "Now what's this you have for me, Jamie?" she purred, tightening her grip on him and delving into his breeches.

By the pained intake of breath, she knew that she had triumphed and she had him.

"Ah, you would torment a saint! Please? " he groaned as she took hold of his length and stroked it once, twice almost experimentally. "Don't stop-"

Ah well, there was no use wasting a magnificent cockstand like that. Not when she hadn't had a good swive since the morning.

"I think you're ready enough for me now, aren't you, my ardent little lover?" she purred expertly pulling off her robe and letting it slither down to the ground, exposing her glorious nakedness. She knew she still had it, looked good by the strangled little gasp he gave, and the impulsive little jump his cock gave in her firm grip.

"Don't let me down, my little lover." she breathed, pulling him down on top of her.

James didn't need telling twice. He climbed on top and was impatiently rutting against her milky-pale thigh almost before she had finished speaking.

"Why so impatient, my love?" she teased. "Come, nice and steady. Remember what I taught you-"

She dug her sharp nails into his back to spur him onto new heights. Oh Jemmy, at least if nothing else you are good at this, she told herself, taking every one of his thrusts. Her greedy ripe mouth fused with his, urging him on.

"Ah, that's it! Good lad. Yes-" she gasped, between heated kisses.

She would never have told the boy, labouring away on top of her as if his life depended on it, but her mind wandered once more to Charles and what he would think if he ever found out about her fling with his son. He was such a cynic he probably wouldn't turn a hair, she told herself. She let herself imagine the scene, giving the spur to her libido and bringing that much closer to climax.

The door opening to her chambers…Charles watching them both with a look part cynical and part aroused by the lascivious picture she and Jemmy made tangled up in the bed.

"Sire?" she would breathe, opening her eyes and looking him straight in the eye, a challenge and incitement in hers.

"Move over lad, I'll show you to make this vixen squeal."

The thought of their hands and mouths on her- Charles and Jemmy sheathed within her willing voluptuous body together- was enough to spur her to the most intense little 'petit mort' yet. The sheer delicious wrongness of the thought. Now there's a thought I must never tell either of them, she thought with a smug little smile. A thought just for me.


"Does it not bother you?" Jemmy said in a wondering, dreamy tone, after he'd rolled off her, and lay panting besides her.

She was distracted as she explored his firm lithely muscled flesh, her fine white hand curled round his yard, which was waking up again and starting to take a keen interest in proceedings once more. How she enjoyed sleeping with a young vigorous man in the prime of his life!

Don't get her wrong, she thought with a smug satisfaction. Charles was still in remarkable shape for his age. His tall strong physique was honed by regular bouts of riding, tennis, sculling his boat along the Thames and early morning swimming, but sometimes just for a bit of variety she craved something a little different, and Jemmy fit the bill most marvellously.

"Doesn't what bother me, Jemmy?" she asked, looking up at him with a deceptive innocence.

The young man's face wore a delicious little frown. He withdrew from her clinging embrace a little, as if he were belatedly trying to detach himself from his sin. "You're sleeping with me and father. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Should it, my lord?" she stared at him, leaning up on one elbow to display her fine pale bosom to its best advantage. Those fabulously mesmerising violet eyes fixed on him in challenge. She felt no shame at all about swiving him whatsoever, and she'd be damned if he was going to turn all moral on her now, after having had the enjoyment!

"I can't help but think-"

She frowned, pouting delightfully. "You really shouldn't, Jemmy, 'tis not your strong point!"

"I know I wanted you, but 'tis sin! I cannot believe Father would wink at it if he knew?" he struggled to say, struck by some small grain of his conscience too late. Even as he spoke, he arched into her grip, a soft groan escaping his throat as she lingered just under the head of his cock.

Inwardly Barbara smirked at his weakness and hypocrisy, knowing full well that he mouthed platitudes of virtue he in no way believed. What use is it sinning if you haven't the stones to commit yourself fully? Foolish beautiful boy, did you think I would let you go that easy? I haven't nearly finished with you yet!

"You want me again?" she asked him in a low hypnotic voice.

He looked at her helplessly, powerless to resist the sheer force and dominance of her personality. Her insistent hand on his cods and stroking his prick made it difficult to stop, even to think.

"Jemmy darling?" she squeezed him, making him commit to his actions, even as he was starting to ponder his folly.

He sighed, a sound of defeat and desire that was sweet in her ears as music. "Aye, I want ye, my lady. Fool that I am…"


Barbara reclined on her daybed, eyeing Lord Rochester as he was admitted to her presence. She inclined her head towards him, as indolent and grand as the Sultana of Turkey herself.

"Cousin Johnny-" she purred, greeting him with all her feminine wiles. She dropped the shoulder of her rich Indian silk robe, negligently showing one pale alluring white shoulder and the curve of one round breast. "What a pleasant surprise!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, unmoved by her seductions. "What do you want?"

She blinked at his abrupt tone. "Is that any way to greet me?"

"You never wish to see me unless you want something. Am I not right? So what do you want?"

Barbara gazed at her cousin, obviously reassessing her tactics in the face of his intransigent stance. He did not like the scheming flash in her eyes one little bit.

"I was wondering whether you'd like to do a small favour, John dear. For the family, of course." She started in a wheedling tone, subtly shifting her tactics.

Rochester didn't like the sound of this very much. Barbara was up to her scheming and trying her damndedest to involve him again. It stunk like a midden, and she had a gleam in her eye that did not bode well for her target. God help the poor girl who'd got on the wrong side of her!

"Recently I've been feeling that my position is under threat from a new rival, Johnny-"

Perhaps you should try being a bit more faithful to her royal lover then, thought Rochester sourly.

Barbara's amorous appetites were insatiable and it was an open secret that she bestowed her favours very liberally amongst the young bucks at court, not being constrained by such bourgeois sentiments as fidelity. There were rumours of her romps with Harry Jermyn of course, Charles Hart, John Churchill, Harry Killigrew, and even Jacob Hall the rope dancer. She was shameless and bold, she pleased herself and didn't care who knew it.

Charles must have had a good idea of what she was up to, but as yet he hadn't rebuked her, merely accepting any children produced as his and spending a fortune indulging her extravagant tastes. Why the hell did he put up with her?

Perhaps it was because she was one of the few women who could keep up with Charles's enormous sexual appetite and earthy sensuality. She enjoyed the act of love-making, the carnality just as much as he did. No sexual exploit or adventure, no lustful posture of Aretino was too much or too shocking for her. If she had been a member of his merry wits, her debaucheries would have put them to shame in a month.

"A new rival?"

Her eyes narrowed ruthlessly. "Sansa Stark of Winterfell. You must have seen how the king is so partial to her and her arrogant little brat of a sister."

He noted the venom with which she spoke of the Stark girls. They must have really got under Barbara's skin. All that freshness and beauty, the unmistakable favour Charles lavished on both of them, their impeccable high-born background and impressive hereditary wealth.

"Are you really going to exert yourself to destroy a mere girl?" he kept his voice idle and light hoping that she would think that he couldn't care less about her. "Don't you think it's well…a little bit beneath you?"

"Beneath me?" she repeated, sounding more than a mite offended at her cousin and his unwillingness to get sucked into her intrigues.

"I'm not sure that I want to get involved." He said coolly, as if clarifying his position.

She turned an outraged stare on him. "Whyever not?"

"What makes you think Sansa Stark even wants the king's affections? Perhaps she has a sweetheart of her own, one nearer her age." He suggested.

Barbara laughed aloud at the mere notion that Sansa was not chasing the same goal as every other lady-in-waiting at court. "Johnny, Johnny you are so droll! Don't make me laugh, will ye? Charles is irresistible to women. Even when he was as poor as a church mouse and had a price on his head, women threw themselves at him. They can't help it of course, all that sexual magnetism and virility, combined with the fact that he adores women. Sansa Stark doesn't stand a chance if he really wants her. It's not a matter of if, but when."

He made a noise of scornful disgust, his eyes narrowed.

"Don't you see? I don't have a choice? I have to crush her, and better it be me than Cersei Baratheon, don't you think?" she pleaded with him for a moment she sounded so convincing he nearly believed her.

"Well, I'm afraid I won't get involved. Sorry. And I have better things to do than torment a pretty young child. A girl who probably doesn't even want his Majesty-"

She scowled, her sulky generous mouth pulled into a petulant line. "You disappoint me, Johnny!

He sketched her a satirical bow. "Glad to be of assistance, my lady!"

Her mouth pulled into a sulky line. "Perhaps George will help me where you will not."

He noticed the threat in her petulant tone. If George got involved, the girl was doomed. He was as conniving as Barbara and twice as vicious, his florid good looks hiding a heart as black as tar. Vicious, cruel and obsessive he would use Sansa Stark and spit her out once he drained and ruined her. He remembered the lengths George had gone to over his last obsession, Lady Evelyn Ravensbourne, how he'd gone out of his way to ruin her and turn her husband against her, simply because she had refused to give in to him.

"I have no doubt he would." He said tersely, rising to leave. "-for he has no morals and less sense. Leave the girl be, Barbara."

She glared at him as he took his leave, infuriated that he had eluded her ploys and refused to aid her.

After all she'd done for him! It was too much! At least, if nothing else she could rely upon George. Dear wicked George, my partner in crime and evil genius.

Aye, she told herself with new determination, I'll see him this very day.


"Ugh, I am so disappointed with Lord Rochester!" She said to her cousin George with a deliciously petulant frown. She dangled one lavishly beaded slipper from her foot, revealing the curve of her naked pale arch.

"Why?" He said idly, playing with a lock of her chestnut waves. Barbara required this unadulterated attention like a tyrannical spoilt kitten, she was quite unmanageable without it. Villiers couldn't help but wonder why she was so keen so see him and even more importantly why she was adamant that his sister Mary, Duchess of Richmond should have nothing to do with this intimate little chat.

"I asked him to do me a favour, one little thing to consolidate my position and he turned me down, made some excuse about not wanting to become involved. I really hope he isn't starting to become moral. 'Twould be such a bore!"

"You're up to some mischief again aren't you Barbara?" He observed with an amused chuckle. Really she was incorrigible. Always scheming and plotting against someone!

She gave a sly look from underneath her lashes. "All I asked him to do was to seduce Sansa Stark, take her down a peg or two and he refused to countenance it."

"Sansa Stark?-" he repeated, his interest piqued by the thought. Damn me, is she offering what I think she is? He thought. "-you want someone to seduce her? I wonder if he's got her earmarked for one of his cronies like Buckhurst, or maybe he wants her himself?"

Her eyes lit up as she sensed a way to reel her cousin in. "Why are you interested in the job, Georgie?" she kept her voice deceptively light, although her eyes bored into his with an avaricious gleam.

The mere thought of it aroused him greatly, though he would never admit just how much he wanted the chit and put himself so much in Barbara's power.

That bewitching combination of maddening purity and beauty she possessed in abundance; the graceful sensuality of her movements as she passed at court. That gorgeous fiery hair and perfect pearly pale skin, her slender lovely figure. How had Barbara worked out his secret obsession with the northern heiress? His cousin had to be a witch, he swore it. Her instinct for this kind of thing was unfailing!

"I'll say. She is damned exquisite. The man who eventually tumbles her for the first time is going to be the luckiest man in Creation." He said eventually.

Barbara scowled at his extravagant praise of her younger rival. "She's not that pretty!" she snapped, piqued to annoyance by his frankly lustful tone.

"So what were you planning?"

Barbara's smile became positively wicked. "I was thinking a little ménage a trois action with you and say… Jemmy Monmouth. Do you think you could handle that?"

"He would go for that?" George said in surprise. He would never had the lad down as a libertine- or yet so stupid to poach on his father's property! Perhaps Barbara is right; Monmouth won't take much to persuade him to fall in. Clever girl!

She smirked, the corner of her mouth lengthening wickedly. "I'm confident that I have a certain hold over him, George. Don't worry, he'll fall in once I exert a bit of pressure."

So she was sleeping with James, Duke of Monmouth as well as his father! He didn't know whether to deplore or admire her shamelessness in all frankness. No wonder she and Charles were always so well suited!

"That should put paid to her virginal reputation once and for all, and of course you'll get to have her before Charles does. It 'll be enough to make him spit!"

"He'd never forgive me." Buckingham had always relentlessly coveted everything that Charles had, ever since they were children in the royal nursery. His greed and envy were aroused by the thought of stealing something his lord and master wanted so passionately, from right under his nose. "He'd probably banish me like Renly, or throw me in the Tower-"

Her smile was ruthless now. "But Lady Sansa is the most beautiful girl at court and an heiress of great means, wouldn't it be worth it?"

"So we keep working on the girl?"

"Of course!" Barbara said confidently. "It won't work if Sansa doesn't believe we are her new clever, exciting, dazzling best friends, will it? I can trust you to do what is necessary?"

He pressed a kiss to her fair white hand, a mockery of gallantry and chivalry. Their eyes met, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. "Of course, coz."

She smiled with satisfaction as she got up. "I knew I could rely on you, George, a man after my own heart. Just one thing…"

"What, my lady?" her raised his eyebrows,

Her gaze turned sly. "Let's not mention this to Mall, shall we? I think the less people involved in our scheme, the better. Let's just keep it between ourselves for the nonce."

"As you command, my lady."


George watched her go, a slash of a smile stretching across his face at the sterling opportunity Barbara had just tipped into his lap.

She expects me to help her vanquish her rival for the king's love. He had to love his cousin for her sheer entitlement and arrogance.

It's never once occurred to her that I might have other plans for the girl and as soon as I have got Sansa Stark into the king's amorous orbit, Lady Castlemaine is finished. Couldn't have happened to a nicer woman!