Chapter Eight: Quenching His Fire
There was no way to cover up the shooting, of course. But the most sensational details of the affair never appeared in the news. According to the tabloids, fashion photographer George Boleyn had become unbalanced after looking at pictures of Queen Jane. But the deranged stalker's attempt to abduct the queen had been foiled by the courage of her sensible young stepdaughter, Mary.
"The press doesn't know that they hooked up in Australia," Jamil Khan said, when he was visiting Princess Mary in her hospital room. "There's nothing in the news about Queen Jane being blackmailed by her stalker, or the nude snapshots he took of her."
"But the king must know," Mary said, a worried frown on her face. "He's the one who shot George Boleyn! Do you think . . . did he catch the two of them together? Were Jane and George kissing?"
"I don't think they were kissing." Jamil Khan felt embarrassed. He wanted more than anything in the world to protect the Tudor princess. Yet she was so brave and stubborn about finding out the truth. Sooner or later she would realize that lovely Jane Seymour wasn't just the sweet, kind stepmother she adored. Jane was a former fashion model who craved excitement and glamor. The queen had some scandalous skeletons rattling in her closet.
"Well, I don't believe any of it." Mary frowned, the stubborn frown that Jamil Khan secretly found absolutely adorable. "If there's one thing a royal never forgets, it's her duty to her family. It doesn't make sense that a woman would let herself get so carried away!"
"Some women aren't strong like you, Mary." Jamil Khan felt so much bittersweet emotion. Princess Mary was a contradiction, innocent but fearless, powerful yet vulnerable. She'd actually gotten pneumonia that night from trekking in the rain to find help. So she didn't really know what her royal father had seen.
Mary wasn't like Jane. She would never give in to feelings, or forget her duty, or risk her crown or her heart. Jamil Kahn knew that falling for her would be a big mistake and yet he couldn't help it. The same way Mary couldn't help loving Jane.
"I wish Jane were here," Mary said, sighing. "I feel so bad about her being in disgrace. Maybe she dated that horrible man once, but that was years ago. It really wasn't her fault!"
"Perhaps in time the king will understand." Jamil Khan excused himself to return to work. He looked so sad that Mary was a little bit puzzled. She put it down to his having such a kind heart. No wonder he was so sad about the innocent queen's disgrace!
Meanwhile, at the royal palace . . .
"But Harry, why can't I just step out to give Mary a quick visit?" The king's orders were clear. The queen was to be confined to her own chamber until further notice. But Jane was dressed to go out and had even put on fresh makeup and perfume.
"Your abduction. The scandal. You need time to recover from your ordeal."
"Oh, but Harry . . ." Jane was about to say that her stepdaughter needed cheering up, that she had been alone for days. But the king stepped right up to her and shoved her back onto the bed.
Harry's plan was to keep Jane out of sight until the rumors died down. Then perhaps he'd arrange a long trip to some remote and barren part of the kingdom, a tour of mines or factories. Jane needed to learn her lesson. She needed to learn how to behave!
"Oh, Harry! Please . . ." Jane meant to beg the king not to keep her locked up like a prisoner any more. She hated the feeling of being isolated, alone in her bedroom with no visitors but the king. She wanted to step out, yet he was already undressing her.
"You're not going anywhere," Harry growled, letting his rough hands unfasten the tiny buttons of her expensive Dior dress. Every time Jane dressed to go out she looked so prim and pure. Only the king knew the real truth about his wife. She was a slut!
"But Harry, I just want . . . I only want . . . oh . . . oh . . . oh!" Jane couldn't help feeling that it was wrong, this type of love making. Harry wouldn't give her a chance to apologize. He wouldn't give her a chance to explain. He just wanted to remind her over and over again how dirty she was, how low she'd sunk. He wanted her to know that he could make her sink that low again, too. He could make her sink so low that she couldn't remember anything else. Or dream of anything else. Or even long for anything else . . .
"Cheap . . . filthy . . . oh, that's good. Jane! Oh God, yes! Jane!" Harry had no idea how he'd gone so quickly over the edge. The outrage, the gritty sense of righteous anger, had somehow faded into warm satisfaction and waves of contentment and bliss. When the last ripple faded, the king sank down into slumber, barely aware of how easily the cunning queen had quenched his fire. He didn't even notice when Jane rose from the bed and dressed.