Elizabeth fled through Whitehaven's gardens, her heart hammering against her ribs as the enormity of what she'd done crashed over her. The evening shadows lengthened across the manicured paths, but she hardly noticed, her mind replaying that moment of madness when she'd pressed her lips against Bobby Kestrel's.
I kissed him. Like some common tavern wench with no self-control. I, Elizabeth Tudor, daughter of Henry VIII, kissed a man I barely know in full view of half his estate.
Her cheeks burned with mortification as she quickened her pace, desperate to reach the sanctuary of her chambers before anyone of importance witnessed her distress. The carefully constructed Tudor mask she'd maintained through years of political danger was crumbling with each step.
A servant carrying linens appeared at a junction in the path, and Elizabeth instinctively straightened her spine, forcing her features into royal impassivity as she passed. The woman curtseyed deeply, her eyes appropriately downcast, giving no indication she'd noticed anything amiss in the princess's demeanor.
Once inside the manor, Elizabeth navigated the corridors with practiced efficiency, avoiding the main hallways where Cecil or other members of her small retinue might intercept her. She couldn't face questions now, not with her emotions in such treacherous disarray.
When at last she reached her chambers, she dismissed her ladies with a curt gesture, claiming fatigue from the day's activities. Alone, she paced the room like a caged animal, her fingers brushing unconsciously across her lips where the sensation of Bobby's kiss still lingered.
"Foolish, foolish girl," she whispered harshly to herself. "All your father's carefully laid plans, all your mother's sacrifices, and you risk everything for a moment's weakness."
Yet even as she castigated herself, Elizabeth couldn't deny the electric thrill that had coursed through her at the contact. In that brief moment when his lips had met hers, something fundamental had shifted—as though some essential truth had been revealed that she couldn't quite grasp but couldn't entirely dismiss.
She moved to the window, watching darkness settle over Whitehaven's impressive expanse. Distant lanterns winked into existence as workers completed their evening tasks. Even at this hour, the estate hummed with purposeful activity—a testament to the extraordinary order Bobby had created in this small corner of England.
Bobby. His name echoed in her mind, sending another unwelcome flush of heat through her body. She recalled the gentleness of his touch as he'd wiped away her unexpected tears, the warmth in his eyes as he'd acknowledged her birthday when no one else in her life had ever bothered to celebrate her existence.
"He planned it all," she realized aloud. "The children's celebration, the Tudor colors—it wasn't coincidence. He arranged everything knowing exactly what it would mean to me."
This recognition only deepened her confusion. What manner of man was he, to understand her so completely when she'd spent her life ensuring no one could penetrate the careful barriers she'd constructed around her true self?
Elizabeth's mind raced through fractured recollections of the afternoon. After the kiss, she remembered pulling away abruptly, murmuring some incoherent excuse before fleeing across the garden. Had anyone besides the children witnessed her momentary madness? Would reports of her indiscretion already be making their way to court, undermining her carefully cultivated image of Tudor dignity and control?
The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her. She couldn't remember clearly what had followed her impulsive flight—only the pounding of her heart and the sense that everything had suddenly become dangerously complicated.
She must have returned to the manor, though the specific route remained hazy in her memory. Had she spoken to anyone? Encountered Cecil or her ladies? The gaps in her recollection were troubling, suggesting a level of emotional disarray she hadn't experienced since early childhood—before she'd learned to master her feelings lest they be used against her in Tudor court politics.
Sleep evaded her as the night stretched endlessly. Elizabeth alternated between pacing and sitting rigidly at her desk, attempting to distract herself with scholarly texts that suddenly seemed meaningless compared to the turmoil within her heart. When exhaustion finally claimed her in the early morning hours, her dreams were mercifully free of Bobby's presence—a small mercy in her current state of confusion.
-----------
Morning sunlight streamed through Elizabeth's window, rousing her from restless sleep. For a blissful moment, she existed in the liminal space between dreaming and waking, free from memory or consequence. Then reality crashed over her with merciless clarity.
I kissed him.
Elizabeth bolted upright, a fresh wave of mortification washing over her. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, willing her racing thoughts to slow. She was Elizabeth Tudor—schooled in languages, politics, and the intricacies of royal dissimulation. She had survived her father's volatile temper, her brother's religious zealotry, and numerous plots against her person. Surely she could master this inappropriate infatuation with a man who existed outside the carefully ordered frameworks of her life.
A soft knock at the door announced Agnes's arrival with a breakfast tray. Elizabeth forced her features into composed neutrality as the maid entered.
"Good morning, Your Highness. I've brought fresh bread and preserves—the quince Your Highness particularly enjoyed yesterday."
Elizabeth nodded acknowledgment, grateful for Agnes's professional demeanor that betrayed no awareness of her mistress's inner turmoil. "Thank you, Agnes. Has Master Cecil requested my presence this morning?"
"Not specifically, Your Highness, though he mentioned hoping to resume discussions regarding the documents when you feel sufficiently rested."
The documents. Cecil's discovery of systemic forgeries that potentially undermined England's entire constitutional foundation. Yesterday's monumental revelation had been all but forgotten in the wake of her emotional indiscretion.
"Please inform Master Cecil I will join him in the library after I've refreshed myself," Elizabeth instructed, relieved to have legitimate business to occupy her thoughts.
Agnes assisted with Elizabeth's morning preparations, selecting a gown of deep green velvet that projected scholarly seriousness while maintaining appropriate royal dignity. As the maid arranged her hair, Elizabeth rehearsed the calm, measured responses she would offer when eventually confronting Bobby Kestrel again. She would acknowledge the kiss as a momentary aberration—an emotional response to his unexpected kindness that should not be misconstrued as anything beyond momentary weakness.
I am a Tudor. I am England's future queen. I cannot be ruled by fleeting desires or emotional impulses.
Her resolve strengthened, Elizabeth dismissed Agnes and moved to the balcony for a moment's contemplation before facing the day's challenges. The September morning was unusually warm, the gardens below already bustling with activity as Whitehaven began another day of improbable productivity.
A familiar figure caught her eye—Bobby stood near the workshop area, surrounded by a small cluster of men gesturing toward building plans spread across a temporary table. Even from this distance, his commanding presence was unmistakable. Unlike the nobility who relied on ornate clothing and affected mannerisms to project authority, Bobby's power seemed intrinsic—radiating from him regardless of circumstance or attire.
As though sensing her gaze, he suddenly looked up toward her balcony. Elizabeth instinctively ducked behind the stone balustrade, her heart racing wildly at the near encounter.
"Good God," she whispered to herself, mortified by her childish reaction. "What is wrong with me? I am not some frightened maiden hiding from her first suitor. I am Elizabeth Tudor."
Yet despite this self-admonishment, she remained crouched behind the balustrade, waiting several minutes before cautiously rising to confirm Bobby had returned his attention to the building plans. The princess who had faced down thirteen armed assassins now cowered at the mere possibility of meeting a man's gaze across a garden.
A knock at her chamber door startled her from these troubling reflections.
"Your Highness?" Agnes called. "Is everything well? I heard movement and wondered if you required assistance."
Elizabeth straightened, forcing royal dignity back into her posture. "I am perfectly well, Agnes. I was merely... observing the estate operations below."
"Of course, Your Highness. Shall I accompany you to the library, or would you prefer more time for reflection?"
"I find I'm not quite prepared to join Master Cecil," Elizabeth decided suddenly. "Please inform him I'll receive him here in my chambers later this afternoon. And I'll take my midday meal privately today as well."
"As Your Highness wishes," Agnes replied with practiced neutrality that betrayed no curiosity about this change in routine.
Once alone again, Elizabeth berated herself for this cowardice. She had faced execution threats and political machinations that would have broken lesser spirits. Yet here she was, hiding in her chambers to avoid a man because she'd impulsively kissed him. It was absurd, unworthy of her Tudor heritage and the crown she was destined to wear.
Nonetheless, she sent word declining Cecil's second attempt to meet midafternoon, claiming scholarly work requiring privacy. By evening, Elizabeth had constructed elaborate justifications for remaining sequestered—convincing herself that solitude would restore her emotional equilibrium more effectively than confronting the source of her discomfort.
As twilight descended over Whitehaven, Elizabeth dismissed Agnes with instructions not to disturb her until morning. Alone, she moved to the window, watching darkness claim the extraordinary domain Bobby had created from worthless marshland. Lanterns illuminated pathways between workshops and living quarters, workers returning to homes after another productive day in this improbable community.
"You're hiding from me."
Elizabeth whirled around, her hand flying to her throat as she stifled a scream. Bobby Kestrel stood in the center of her chamber, though the door remained firmly closed and bolted from the inside. His sudden appearance seemed impossible—as though he had materialized from thin air rather than entered through any conventional access.
"How did you—" she began, heart pounding violently as she pressed herself against the window embrasure for support. "The door is locked. I secured it myself."
Bobby's expression remained maddeningly calm as he moved several steps closer, his movements fluid and deliberate like a predator confident in its capture. "Are you well, Elizabeth? You've avoided all company today—Cecil tells me you even declined his urgent consultations regarding the documents."
Elizabeth forced herself to straighten, summoning every ounce of Tudor composure despite the impossible nature of his presence in her locked chambers. "I required solitude for scholarly reflection," she replied with credible dignity despite the tremor she couldn't entirely banish from her voice. "There were... matters requiring my private consideration."
"Matters such as why the Princess Elizabeth Tudor kissed a mere baron in full view of a children's celebration?" Bobby asked, his directness cutting through her careful evasion with surgical precision.
Heat flooded Elizabeth's face as the moment she'd been avoiding confronting all day was suddenly laid bare between them. "That was... an error in judgment," she managed, lifting her chin slightly to project royal dignity despite her internal mortification. "A momentary lapse in proper decorum that should be forgotten rather than discussed further."
Bobby tilted his head slightly, studying her with penetrating intensity that made Elizabeth feel entirely transparent despite her carefully constructed defenses. "What precisely was the error?" he asked with deceptive casualness. "The specific action you now regret?"
Elizabeth turned away, unable to maintain his gaze while discussing her mortifying indiscretion. "You know perfectly well what occurred," she replied, striving for icy composure despite the heat still burning her cheeks. "I behaved inappropriately. The matter requires no further elaboration."
"Humor me," Bobby insisted, moving closer until she could feel his presence just behind her though he didn't touch her. "What specific action constituted this grievous error in judgment that has sent the indomitable Elizabeth Tudor hiding in her chambers like a frightened child?"
His deliberate provocation stung her pride, forcing her to turn and face him despite her discomfort. "I kissed you," she stated with clipped precision, determined to maintain at least verbal dignity despite the admission's humiliating nature. "I, a Tudor princess with legitimate claim to England's throne, kissed a foreign merchant recently elevated to minor nobility, publicly demonstrating improper familiarity that could undermine my royal standing and moral authority should word reach court."
Bobby's expression remained frustratingly neutral despite her succinct articulation of the problem. "And this constituted error because...?" he prompted, as though genuinely requiring further clarification despite the obvious impropriety.
Elizabeth stared at him incredulously. "Because it was entirely inappropriate! Because I am of royal blood and you are..." She hesitated, suddenly uncertain how to categorize him despite his nominal baronial status.
"I am what, precisely?" Bobby asked, something dangerous glinting momentarily in his eyes despite his outwardly calm demeanor. "A man who arranged celebration of your birth when no one else in your eighteen years ever bothered acknowledging your existence beyond political utility? A man who recognized your inherent value beyond Tudor bloodline or succession position? A man who saw the human being beneath the royal mask you've worn since childhood?"
Elizabeth took an involuntary step backward, his words striking uncomfortably close to thoughts she had carefully avoided examining throughout the day. "Your kindness doesn't alter proper protocol or justify improper familiarity," she insisted, though her voice lacked the conviction she had hoped to project. "My momentary emotional response was inappropriate regardless of its catalyst."
"Normal human emotion isn't error or weakness, Elizabeth," Bobby replied, deliberately using her given name without title despite her explicit reference to her royal position. "It represents fundamental reality beneath artificial social constructs despite conventional insistence regarding proper hierarchical distance."
"I am not merely a woman," Elizabeth countered, retreating another step as Bobby advanced slowly toward her. "I represent Tudor legacy and potential English sovereignty regardless of momentary emotional impulses or personal desires that conflict with dynastic responsibility."
Bobby continued his measured approach, forcing Elizabeth to retreat further until she felt the edge of her bed against the backs of her thighs. "I see Elizabeth Tudor rather than merely Tudor princess," he stated with quiet intensity that somehow affected her more profoundly than shouted declaration might have done. "The brilliant mind, the passionate spirit, the extraordinary woman whose existence would matter regardless of dynastic position or succession potential."
His hand reached toward her face with deliberate slowness that somehow prevented her instinctive withdrawal despite her awareness that she should maintain proper distance. His fingers brushed her cheek with impossible gentleness, the contact sending electric sensation through her body despite its apparent innocence.
"You must stop," she whispered, though she made no physical movement to enforce this verbal boundary. "This... whatever this is... it cannot happen again."
"Your verbal protest lacks convincing physical reinforcement," Bobby observed, his fingers tracing the delicate line of her jaw with exquisite care that made her breath catch despite her determined resistance. "Your body speaks different truth than your words, Elizabeth."
"Please," she whispered, uncertain whether she pleaded for cessation or continuation despite the word's apparent clarity. "I cannot... I must not..." Her protest dissolved into incoherence as his thumb brushed across her lower lip with deliberate sensuality that sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs despite her conscious resistance.
"What precisely must you not?" Bobby asked, his face now mere inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin. "Experience genuine human connection beyond political alliance? Feel desire without calculating dynastic consequences? Exist as woman rather than merely royal symbol?"
"I fear I won't be able to stop," Elizabeth confessed, the admission torn from somewhere deep inside her despite conscious intention to maintain proper distance. "If this continues, I won't..."
Bobby moved closer still, his lips almost but not quite touching hers, creating anticipation more tantalizing than immediate contact might have generated. "Do you truly want me to stop?" he asked, his voice lowered to intimate murmur that reverberated through her entire body despite its barely audible delivery.
"I want..." Elizabeth began before faltering, truth and duty warring within her as his proximity overwhelmed her carefully constructed defenses. "I should want you to stop," she amended breathlessly, acknowledging the distinction between moral obligation and actual desire despite her lifetime developing discipline precisely to prevent such distinction from materializing.
Their lips brushed slightly—not quite kiss yet more than casual contact—sending sparks cascading through Elizabeth's nervous system despite the contact's technical innocence.
"You're breaking and entering," she whispered against his mouth, the accusation lacking proper outrage despite its literal accuracy regarding his mysterious appearance in her locked chambers.
"Precisely what I intend," Bobby replied, his smile evident in his voice despite their near-contact preventing visual confirmation. "Breaking through barriers imprisoning Elizabeth Tudor within princess's mask, entering genuine connection beyond political alliance or dynastic calculation—accessing the woman herself rather than merely royal symbol."
"Please," Elizabeth whispered again, her resistance weakening with each passing moment despite her conscious awareness regarding potential consequences. "My life isn't mine to dispose according to personal desire. My body represents state property rather than private domain, my chastity potential diplomatic currency rather than personal choice."
Bobby's hands cupped her face with extraordinary tenderness despite the intensity burning in his eyes. "I have no intention of claiming your technical virtue, Elizabeth," he assured her with surprising gentleness. "Only experiencing genuine connection beyond artificial boundaries despite conventional insistence regarding proper distance between princess and baron."
His lips brushed hers again, still not quite kiss yet increasingly deliberate despite maintaining technical deniability. "This isn't about succession implications or diplomatic complications," he murmured against her mouth. "Simply human connection between two individuals regardless of titles or positions."
"It's forbidden," Elizabeth protested weakly, even as her body betrayed her by leaning slightly into his touch rather than maintaining proper distance. "Tudor princesses don't... we shouldn't..."
"Many things are forbidden that nonetheless represent fundamental human truth," Bobby replied, his lips moving to the sensitive spot just below her ear that sent unexpected shivers cascading down her spine. "Including acknowledging the brilliant, passionate woman beneath royal title despite conventional insistence regarding proper deference."
Elizabeth's hands rose instinctively to push against his chest, though they failed to generate actual pressure despite their positioning. Her fingers instead curled slightly into the fabric of his doublet, technically positioned for rejection yet functionally drawing him closer despite her verbal protests.
"We can't..." she whispered, her head tilting unconsciously to grant better access despite her continued verbal resistance. "The consequences..."
Bobby's mouth traced delicate path down the column of her throat, each gentle contact generating sensation that threatened Elizabeth's remaining composure despite the touch's apparent innocence. "Let consequences remain future concern," he murmured against her skin. "Present reality deserves acknowledgment despite potential complications beyond immediate moment."
Elizabeth's resistance continued its gradual dissolution as Bobby's hands moved with deliberate slowness from her face down her arms, eventually settling at her waist with careful respect despite the increasingly intimate nature of their interaction. His touch remained deliberately gentle, offering continuous opportunity for withdrawal despite his clear desire for continued connection.
"This is madness," Elizabeth whispered, though her body continued betraying her verbal protests by responding with increasingly explicit physical indicators despite her conscious awareness regarding potential complications. "I am Tudor princess with succession claim, not merely woman free to follow personal desire regardless of dynastic implications."
"You are both," Bobby countered, his lips returning to hers with increased pressure that nonetheless maintained remarkable restraint given the obvious tension vibrating through his powerful frame. "Royal princess AND brilliant woman deserving genuine human connection despite conventional limitation."
The kiss deepened gradually, Bobby's careful control allowing Elizabeth continuous opportunity for withdrawal despite the clearly building passion between them. His hands remained respectfully at her waist, neither wandering toward more intimate areas nor applying pressure to force closer physical proximity despite their increasingly explicit oral connection.
Elizabeth felt unexpected tears pricking behind her closed eyelids as something within her responded to this extraordinary tenderness with profound emotional resonance beyond merely physical desire. Throughout her life, physical contact had represented either ceremonial formality or potential threat—men seeing her body as potential access to power rather than recognizing her inherent humanity beyond political utility.
Bobby's restrained passion offered unprecedented experience—desire directed toward Elizabeth herself rather than merely Tudor princess or potential route toward power. His careful respect created safe space allowing genuine response despite her lifetime developing protective barriers against precisely such vulnerability.
When they finally separated slightly, Elizabeth found herself panting lightly despite the relatively innocent nature of their interaction compared to activities she knew occurred between men and women in private chambers throughout court. Something about Bobby's restraint paradoxically intensified her response beyond what more explicitly sexual contact might have generated without similar emotional foundation.
"I've never..." she began before trailing off, uncertain how to articulate her unprecedented emotional response despite her usually precise linguistic capabilities.
"I know," Bobby replied with surprising gentleness, his hands remaining respectfully at her waist despite the obvious desire evident in his eyes. "Your life has provided limited opportunity for genuine connection beyond political calculation or diplomatic necessity despite your extraordinary capacity for human feeling beneath carefully maintained royal composure."
His understanding created fresh wave of emotion threatening Elizabeth's remaining composure despite her lifetime developing impenetrable public mask. Something about being truly seen beyond her title created vulnerability more profound than merely physical exposure might have generated despite conventional assumptions regarding feminine modesty.
"There's something about you..." Elizabeth whispered, her hands having somehow migrated from their initial defensive position against his chest to resting lightly around his neck without conscious decision despite their improper familiarity. "Something I can't explain that feels..."
"Destined? Inevitable? Beyond conventional understanding despite rational analysis?" Bobby suggested with surprising directness that confirmed her own confused impressions despite their apparent implausibility.
Elizabeth nodded slightly, relieved at finding articulation for sensations that had defied her own considerable linguistic capabilities despite her scholarly education. "As though you've always been part of me somehow," she confessed with unprecedented vulnerability. "Even before I dreamed of you or knew you existed, something within me recognized you despite the apparent impossibility."
Bobby's fingers traced the delicate line of her jaw, the gentlest touch she had ever experienced. His eyes held a warmth that made something deep within Elizabeth ache with longing.
"Some connections exist beyond reason," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Beyond logic or analysis. The mind desperately tries to categorize what the soul already knows with certainty."
His thumb brushed lightly across her lower lip, sending a cascade of sensation through her body. "Your dreams merely confirmed what your heart recognized from the beginning," he continued. "Sometimes the wisest course is simply to surrender to what we know to be true, regardless of what logic dictates."
"I can't," Elizabeth whispered, even as her body betrayed her words by leaning imperceptibly closer to him. "The crown—"
"Is not on your head tonight," Bobby finished for her, his mouth now hovering mere inches from hers. "Tonight, you are simply Elizabeth."
His lips met hers again, and this time there was nothing tentative in the contact. His mouth moved against hers with confident precision, somehow both commanding and gentle. Elizabeth felt her resistance melting away like frost before the morning sun, her hands sliding from his shoulders to the nape of his neck of their own volition.
When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, she gasped in surprise, unintentionally granting him entry. The sensation of his tongue meeting hers sent a jolt of heat straight through her body, pooling low in her belly with an intensity that made her knees weak.
"We must stop," she whispered against his mouth, even as her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him closer rather than pushing him away. "This cannot happen."
"Yet it is happening," Bobby murmured, his mouth moving to trace the sensitive line of her jaw. "Your body speaks truth your mind refuses to accept."
His lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear, and Elizabeth couldn't suppress the small sound that escaped her throat—half gasp, half moan. No one had ever touched her like this, with such exquisite care yet unmistakable passion. The few improper advances she'd experienced in her life had been clumsy gropings from men seeking political advantage through her body. This was something entirely different—something she had no defenses against.
"This is madness," she whispered, her head tilting instinctively to grant him better access despite her verbal protest.
"Then let us be mad together," Bobby replied, his breath warm against her skin as his mouth traced a path down the column of her throat.
When his hands finally moved from her waist, sliding slowly upward along her ribcage, Elizabeth felt as though her skin burned beneath her gown where he touched her. His thumbs traced the undersides of her breasts with exquisite care, and she gasped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure this simple contact created.
"We shouldn't," she protested weakly, even as her body arched slightly into his touch.
"Tell me to stop and I will," Bobby murmured against the sensitive hollow of her throat. "Not with words of duty or convention, but with the truth of what Elizabeth truly wants."
The challenge hung between them, unanswered, as Elizabeth found herself incapable of forming the words that would end this moment. Instead, a small sound of pleasure escaped her lips as his thumbs brushed lightly across her nipples through the fabric of her gown.
The backs of her knees pressed against the edge of the bed, and she realized belatedly that they had been moving slowly across the chamber during their embrace. When his mouth returned to hers with renewed intensity, Elizabeth felt herself sinking backward, her balance compromised by the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body.
Bobby followed her down onto the bed with fluid grace, supporting his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing her beneath him. The solid weight of his body against hers sent a thrill of both fear and desire through Elizabeth's core.
"Stop," she whispered against his mouth, though her arms tightened around his neck rather than pushing him away. "We must not..."
His lips traced a path from her mouth to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Your lips say stop while your body begs for continuation," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Which speaks your truth, Elizabeth?"
His hand slid along her calf, tracing the delicate contour of her ankle before moving upward with deliberate slowness. Even through the layers of her skirts and stockings, his touch burned like fire against her skin.
"This is forbidden," she gasped, even as her legs parted slightly of their own accord.
"Many worthy things exist beyond arbitrary boundaries," Bobby replied, his mouth returning to hers in a kiss of such exquisite tenderness that tears pricked behind Elizabeth's closed eyelids.
His hand continued its slow ascent, gathering the fabric of her skirts as it moved along her leg. When his fingers finally made contact with the bare skin above her garter, Elizabeth gasped against his mouth, her body arching involuntarily into his touch.
"Please," she whispered, though whether she begged him to stop or continue, she no longer knew.
"Tell me what you want, Elizabeth," Bobby murmured against her throat, his fingers tracing delicate patterns against her inner thigh. "Not what duty demands, not what convention dictates—what you truly desire in this moment."
Elizabeth found herself incapable of articulating either permission or refusal, caught between the lifetime of discipline that had shaped her royal persona and the overwhelming need awakening within her body. Instead, she made a small, desperate sound as his fingers inched higher along her thigh, approaching but not quite reaching the aching core of her.
His mouth captured hers again as his hand finally, exquisitely reached the juncture of her thighs, his palm cupping her sex through the thin linen of her undergarments. Elizabeth gasped against his lips, her hips rising instinctively against his touch despite her lifetime of careful restraint.
"You're so wet," Bobby murmured against her ear, his voice thick with desire. "Your body speaks its truth plainly, Elizabeth, regardless of what propriety demands."
Elizabeth felt her face flush with embarrassment at his explicit words, yet she couldn't deny the evidence of her own arousal. When his fingers began tracing gentle patterns against the damp fabric covering her most intimate place, she buried her face against his shoulder, mortified by her body's shameless response yet unable to stop the small sounds of pleasure escaping her throat.
"No one should touch a princess this way," she whispered brokenly, even as her hips moved subtly against his hand, seeking more pressure.
"I am not touching a princess," Bobby replied, his fingers continuing their exquisite torment through the thin barrier of her undergarments. "I am touching Elizabeth—the extraordinary woman who exists beyond her title."
His mouth returned to hers, swallowing her gasp as his fingers finally slipped beneath the edge of her undergarments to touch her bare flesh. The sensation of his fingertips against her most intimate place sent a shock of pleasure so intense through her body that Elizabeth tore her mouth from his, her back arching off the bed.
"Oh God," she whispered, horrified by her wanton response yet unable to stop her hips from pressing against his hand.
"Let go," Bobby murmured against her ear, his fingers moving with exquisite skill against her slick flesh. "Just be Elizabeth tonight. No princess, no duty—just a woman experiencing pleasure she deserves."
One long finger slipped inside her with careful gentleness, and Elizabeth bit her lip to stifle the cry that threatened to escape. She had never experienced anything like this—the overwhelming sensation of being touched so intimately by another person, by this extraordinary man who seemed to understand her body better than she did herself.
"Stop," she whispered, even as her thighs fell further apart, granting him better access. "We shouldn't—oh!"
Her protest dissolved into a gasping cry as his thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core, circling it with perfect pressure as his finger continued its gentle exploration inside her. Pleasure unlike anything Elizabeth had ever experienced built within her with alarming speed, coiling tighter with each precise movement of his skilled fingers.
"Look at me," Bobby commanded softly, his free hand gently turning her face toward his. "Stay with me, Elizabeth."
She forced her eyes open, meeting his intense gaze as the pleasure built to unbearable levels. Something about the connection of their eyes as his fingers worked their magic against her most intimate flesh intensified every sensation, making it impossible to hide behind royal composure or mental distance.
"I can't," she gasped, though whether she meant she couldn't maintain control or couldn't bear the intensity of the pleasure, she no longer knew.
"You can," he murmured, his gaze holding hers captive as his fingers increased their pace. "Let go, Elizabeth. Let yourself feel this."
The pressure built to an unbearable crescendo, and suddenly Elizabeth was falling, crying out as waves of pleasure unlike anything she had ever experienced crashed through her body. Bobby's mouth captured hers, swallowing her cries as she shuddered against his hand, her body convulsing with pleasure beyond her comprehension.
"That's it," he murmured against her lips as the waves slowly began to recede, his fingers gentling but not withdrawing completely. "So beautiful."
Elizabeth lay trembling beneath him, her body still pulsing with aftershocks of pleasure as reality slowly began to reassert itself. Mortification crept through her as she realized what had just transpired—how completely she had lost control, how wantonly she had responded to his touch.
"Oh God," she whispered, turning her face away as embarrassment flooded through her. "What have I done?"
"Experienced pleasure you deserve," Bobby replied simply, his fingers finally withdrawing from her most intimate place. The loss of contact created an unexpected sense of emptiness that confused her further. "Nothing more complicated than that."
"How can you say that?" Elizabeth demanded, finding a spark of her royal indignation despite her compromised position. "I am a princess of England! I cannot simply—"
Her words died as Bobby's mouth captured hers again, his kiss somehow both gentle and demanding. Against her will, Elizabeth felt herself responding, her body still sensitized from the intense pleasure she had just experienced.
"You are more than your title," Bobby murmured against her lips. "More than your bloodline or your claim to the throne. You are a brilliant, passionate woman who deserves to experience every pleasure life offers."
His hand slid beneath her gown again, this time moving directly to the apex of her thighs with confident familiarity. Elizabeth gasped against his mouth as his fingers found her still-sensitive flesh, pleasure building again with shocking speed despite her recent release.
"No," she protested weakly, even as her hips rose to meet his touch. "We must stop this madness."
"Your body disagrees," Bobby observed, his fingers moving with expert precision against her most intimate place. "It speaks truth your mind refuses to acknowledge."
Elizabeth wanted to deny his words, to reassert the iron control that had defined her existence since earliest childhood. Yet when his mouth moved to her breast, his lips closing around her nipple through the fabric of her gown, all thoughts of resistance fled her mind. The dual sensation of his mouth at her breast and his fingers between her thighs created a pleasure so intense she could barely breathe.
"Oh God," she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as her body arched into his touch. "Bobby, please..."
"Please what?" he murmured against her breast, his fingers never ceasing their exquisite torment. "Tell me what you want, Elizabeth."
"I don't—I can't—" Words failed her as the pleasure built to unbearable levels once again, her body trembling on the edge of release.
"Yes, you can," he encouraged, his voice low and hypnotic against her skin. "Let go, Elizabeth. Let yourself feel everything."
The second climax crashed over her with even greater intensity than the first, tearing a cry from her throat that Bobby captured with his mouth. Her body convulsed beneath him, wave after wave of pleasure washing through her with such force that tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
As the intensity slowly receded, leaving her trembling and boneless beneath him, Elizabeth became aware of the hard length of his arousal pressed against her thigh. Despite her inexperience, she understood what it signified—and what would normally follow in such an encounter.
"We cannot—" she began, panic edging into her voice as she realized how far things had progressed. "I cannot lose my virtue. The crown—"
"Your virtue remains intact," Bobby assured her, his voice gentle despite the obvious tension in his body. "I promised I would not claim that which might compromise your future, and I keep my promises."
His restraint touched something deep within Elizabeth, creating an emotional response even more overwhelming than the physical pleasure she had experienced. That he would put her wellbeing and future above his own immediate desires spoke of a respect she had rarely encountered in her life.
"But you..." she whispered, uncertain how to articulate her awareness of his unfulfilled desire.
"Will survive," he finished with a small smile that failed to completely mask the tension in his face. "Your pleasure was gift enough."
Elizabeth felt confused tears welling in her eyes at this unexpected tenderness. All her life, men had sought to use her body for their own advancement or pleasure. That Bobby would prioritize her needs above his own was so foreign to her experience that she scarcely knew how to respond.
"I don't understand you," she whispered, reaching up to touch his face with trembling fingers.
"Perhaps understanding is overrated," he replied, turning his head to press a kiss against her palm. "Some things are meant to be experienced rather than analyzed."
His mouth met hers again in a kiss of such exquisite gentleness that fresh tears sprang to Elizabeth's eyes. Something had fundamentally shifted between them—some barrier breached that could never be restored. Whether this represented disaster or deliverance, she could not yet determine.
As the kiss deepened, Elizabeth felt desire building within her once more, an addictive heat spreading through her body despite her recent release. Bobby's hand slid beneath her skirts again, and this time she made no pretense of resistance, her thighs parting willingly to grant him access.
"Again?" he murmured against her mouth, amusement coloring his tone despite the tension evident in his body.
"I shouldn't want this," Elizabeth whispered, even as her hips rose to meet his touch. "It's improper... forbidden..."
"Yet you do want it," Bobby observed, his fingers finding her most intimate place with unerring accuracy. "Your body speaks truth your mind refuses to acknowledge."
The third climax built more slowly than the previous two, a gradual ascent toward pleasure so intense Elizabeth feared she might not survive it. Bobby's mouth moved from her lips to her throat, then lower to her breast, his tongue teasing her nipple through the fabric of her gown as his fingers worked their magic between her thighs.
"I can't," she gasped as the pleasure built to unbearable levels. "Not again..."
"You can," Bobby murmured against her breast. "Let go, Elizabeth. I have you."
The release, when it finally crashed over her, was so intense that Elizabeth's vision blurred, her body arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure washed through her. A strangled cry escaped her throat, quickly captured by Bobby's mouth returning to hers.
As the pleasure gradually receded, leaving her trembling and utterly spent, Elizabeth felt herself drifting toward unconsciousness, her body completely drained by the unprecedented sensations she had experienced. The last thing she was aware of was Bobby's arms around her, his voice murmuring something she couldn't quite grasp as exhaustion claimed her.
------------
Pale light filtered through the windows when Elizabeth finally stirred, her body feeling strangely languid and heavy as awareness gradually returned. For several moments she lay motionless, confused by the unfamiliar sensations in her body and the strange lassitude in her limbs.
Then memory flooded back—Bobby mysteriously appearing in her locked chambers, his mouth on hers, his fingers working magic between her thighs... Her eyes flew open as mortification washed over her. Dear God, what had she done?
Elizabeth bolted upright, her gaze darting frantically toward the door, expecting to find Bobby gone. Finding no one, she turned toward the balcony, wondering if he had departed that way despite the impossibility of such an exit without being seen.
"Looking for someone?" Bobby's voice came from directly behind her, causing Elizabeth to gasp and clutch the bedcovers to her chest as she spun around.
He sat in a chair beside her bed, looking entirely at ease despite the impropriety of his presence in her bedchamber. His appearance was as immaculate as ever, showing no evidence of their activities the previous night.
Elizabeth became acutely aware of her own dishevelment—her gown wrinkled beyond redemption, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, and most mortifying of all, the unmistakable dampness between her thighs that provided physical evidence of her wanton behavior.
"You're still here," she managed, her voice emerging as a hoarse whisper.
"You asked me to stay," Bobby replied simply, as though his presence in a princess's bedchamber at dawn were the most natural thing in the world. "You were quite insistent, actually."
Elizabeth felt heat flood her face as fragments of memory returned—her fingers clutching his sleeve as exhaustion claimed her, her voice murmuring "Don't leave me" as consciousness faded.
"I was not... myself," she managed, gathering the tattered remnants of her royal dignity around her like armor. "Last night should never have happened."
"Yet it did happen," Bobby observed calmly. "And judging by your response, it was something you needed rather desperately."
"How dare you?" Elizabeth snapped, royal indignation momentarily overriding her embarrassment. "My... my response was merely physical. A momentary weakness that will not be repeated."
Bobby's lips curved in a knowing smile that sent a fresh wave of heat through her body despite her determination to maintain composure.
"A momentary weakness that occurred three separate times?" he inquired mildly. "Your body's honesty is refreshing compared to the diplomatic falsehoods you're currently attempting."
Elizabeth felt her face flame with mortification at this explicit reference to her multiple climaxes. "You should not speak of such things," she hissed. "It's improper."
"More improper than what transpired between us last night?" Bobby challenged, his expression maddeningly composed despite the intimate nature of their conversation. "Your royal training has taught you to value appearance over truth, but between us, at least, can we not acknowledge reality?"
Before Elizabeth could formulate a suitably scathing response, a knock sounded at the chamber door. Her eyes widened in panic as she realized the impossibility of explaining Bobby's presence in her private chambers at this hour.
"Your Highness?" Agnes called through the door. "Are you awake? Master Cecil has requested your presence once you've broken your fast."
"You must hide," Elizabeth whispered urgently to Bobby, frantically scanning the chamber for a suitable concealment location. "If you're discovered here—"
"I've no intention of compromising your reputation," Bobby assured her, rising from the chair with fluid grace. "Though I must depart soon if you wish to avoid explaining my presence to your household."
"Then go!" Elizabeth hissed, clutching the bedcovers to her chest despite her disheveled state. "Before she enters!"
"One moment, Your Highness," she called toward the door, her voice miraculously steady despite her panic.
When she turned back to where Bobby had been standing, she found only empty air. He had vanished completely, as though he had never been there at all. Elizabeth blinked in confusion, wondering if she had imagined his presence entirely.
The door opened before she could recover her composure, Agnes entering with her customary efficiency, carrying a breakfast tray.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, Your Highness," the maid said, setting the tray on a small table before turning toward the bed. She paused, clearly noticing Elizabeth's disheveled appearance with barely concealed surprise. "You appear to have had a restless night. Shall I prepare a bath before you meet with Master Cecil?"
"Yes," Elizabeth managed, gathering her royal composure around her like armor. "A bath would be most welcome."
As Agnes moved to the wardrobe to select appropriate attire for the day, Elizabeth found her gaze returning to the empty chair where Bobby had sat moments before. His impossible appearance and equally impossible disappearance added to the dreamlike quality of the entire encounter.
Yet the pleasant ache between her thighs and the lingering sensitivity of her breasts where his mouth had touched them through her gown provided undeniable evidence that last night had been no dream.
Elizabeth Tudor, princess of England and future queen, had surrendered to desires she had never before acknowledged. The realization was both terrifying and strangely liberating—as though some fundamental truth about herself had finally been revealed, regardless of how improper or inconvenient that truth might be.
As Agnes prepared her bath, Elizabeth found her thoughts returning to Bobby's words: "You are more than your title. More than your bloodline or your claim to the throne."