‘I will be bold and shameless. It is because for a long time I have seen no one at this court but yourself.’
Antoine gripped her hand. ‘You are very fair, Louise. I was thinking that of all the beautiful women gathered here in this court, there is not one to compare with you.’
‘Such words delight me … coming from you, Sire.’
‘It would be an easy matter,’ said Antoine, ‘for me to fall in love with you.’
She lifted his hand and kissed it shyly.
‘Ah, if that were so, how happy I should be! There is nothing I would not do for you, my dearest lord.’
‘Then …’ he said; and she leaned forward breathlessly. He frowned, and seizing his goblet drank off his wine. ‘Louise,’ he went on, ‘how enchanted I should be if I might become your lover!’
‘My lord, I would give twenty years of my life to be yours.’
She saw the lust in his eyes, the pulse at his temple. She marvelled at the power of Jeanne of Navarre, who had kept such a man faithful to her for so long. She felt a determination to defeat that woman’s power over him. She wished not only to do what was necessary and obey the wishes of her exacting mistress, the Queen Mother, but to follow her own desire.
‘My lord,’ she said breathlessly, ‘when?’
Antoine was disturbed. Such adventures as this had been numerous before his marriage, but even as the temptation was here before him, he remembered his wife. He loved Jeanne. She was not, it was true, beautiful as this woman was beautiful. Love between himself and Jeanne had been a serious dedication, the obligation to produce children, and make sure that they could provide heirs to the throne of Navarre. Acts of love performed for such a set purpose held less of pleasure, less of passion than the old erotic excitements which he had known so well. The woman tempting him was very beautiful; but he must think of Jeanne, of the domestic atmosphere of that Huguenot household which she had made for him; he thought of her strength, her rectitude, her decided views. There was no one on Earth like Jeanne, so good, so worthy, so capable of making him really happy in a peaceful home.
He turned his eyes from the woman at his side.
‘Mademoiselle,’ he said, ‘you are very beautiful; you are very desirable. I will not deny that you tempt me. But, I am not a free man. I am happily married to the best of wives, and it is my wish to remain completely faithful to her.’
Louise said with shame in her voice: ‘My lord King, I beg of you, forgive me. I have been shameless and I have allowed my feelings to override my respect for Your Majesty. I beg of you to tell me you forgive me.’
‘It is I who should ask forgiveness,’ said Antoine. ‘You have honoured me. Mademoiselle Louise, believe me, it would be the simplest thing in the world for me to love you. Indeed I do already.’
She drew nearer. ‘My lord …’
‘You must know,’ he said gently, ‘that I am a faithful husband.’
‘I would be grateful for one kiss, for one embrace.’
He sighed. ‘You are young. You must not talk thus to a man who is married and so much older than yourself.’
‘I could talk to only one man thus,’ she said with quiet dignity.
He stood up and they danced together; and after a while they left the dancers and went out into the grounds. It was a warm night, and the exotic shrubs which King Francis had, at great expense, brought to adorn the palace gardens filled the air with their scent.
Antoine put his arms about Louise and kissed her. He let his hand rest on her warm bare breast.
‘Enchanting!’ he whispered. ‘Intoxicating! But, my dear, it must not be. I am a faithful man. A man who owes much to his wife. Why, but for her, I should not be a King.’
‘It is she, I am sure, who owes much to you,’ answered Louise. ‘What is rank? What is position? What is anything compared with love? She has your love, and I would die to possess it.’
He kissed her again, and permitted himself a little freedom with her person. Not very much, he was saying to himself. I must be faithful to Jeanne. What an extraordinary thing that I should be faithful for so long! What an extraordinary man I am! Jeanne is faithful to me, but she is never tempted. Jeanne is cold and I am warm. But she loses her temper with me. She has said some cruel things. She has criticised my actions. Even now, the letters she writes are often full of reproaches. She thinks that I am being imposed upon; she sees me as the tool of the Queen Mother and the Guises. She thinks I have no sense. Whereas this woman – this delightful and passionate woman, this seductive Louise – thinks that every thing I say and do is wonderful. That is how a wife should feel towards a husband; that is the right attitude towards a King.
‘Let us walk,’ he said; and he put his arm about her as they walked.
‘Louise,’ he said, ‘you are delightful, and my senses long for you. Ah, duty! What a hard taskmaster, my dear! And a man in my position is never free from duty. Always he must think of it. Always he must eschew his pleasure, subdue his desires.’
She turned and pressed herself against him. ‘I would rather die than interfere with your duty, Sire.’
He kissed her fervently. Why not? he was thinking. Just once. Just for one night.
But he could not dismiss the memory of Jeanne. If she heard of any lapse from virtue, she would never forgive him, and it would be the end of their happy life. He must remember that he and his brother, with Jeanne, were putting themselves at the head of the Huguenots. An intrigue with a court beauty would, by their followers, be looked upon with extreme disfavour. Still, who need know? Nonsense! Everybody would know. He was watched wherever he went. No doubt he was being watched now. Their kisses would have been seen. Well, he might as well carry this affair to its natural conclusion, for even if he did not there would be many to say that he had done so.
But he could not bear the thought of Jeanne’s steadfast eyes looking at him in horror. Jeanne, for all her wisdom, was a very simple woman. She thought fidelity between husband and wife was natural, not, as it assuredly was, the most unnatural thing on Earth!
And I am a natural man, thought Antoine angrily, kissing Louise again.
Then he told her about his home life and why he could not enter into a love affair. ‘My wife is a very wise woman, a great leader and a great Queen …’
‘Yet she does not understand your needs,’ said Louise.
‘No. In a way … you are right.’
Then he was telling her, not of his happiness with Jeanne, but of their quarrels, their misunderstandings.
‘I do not understand how she can bear to be away from you,’ said Louise.
‘She is a Queen, with Navarre to rule. I must be here to work with the Queen Mother. For people of our rank there is little domestic life.’
‘Were I your Queen I would let nothing stand in the way of being with you.’
There were more embraces. Why not? thought Antoine, hesitating; first saying Yes; then saying No.
But when he retired that night, Jeanne’s was the victory.
‘My darling,’ were his parting words to Louise, ‘it would be better if we did not see each other. The temptation would be too great, and I must be a faithful man.’
‘I would do anything in the world to please you,’ said Louise.
And that night, when the palace was quiet, she slipped along to the apartments of the King of Navarre.
His gentleman raised his eyebrows at the sight of her, but she smiled and gave him a nod of understanding.
‘I carry no dagger,’ she said, ‘to kill the King. You may search me.
She was naked beneath her robe.
‘I come,’ she continued, ‘at the invitation of the King of Navarre. Do not attempt to stop me or you will have to answer to him.’