Lord Milforth was treating her well. It would be so easy to become used to such luxury. As she dozed, her mind went to Philip as it often did, betraying her. Oh God, she’d kissed him again, let him seduce her better sense away. She remembered being in his bed, amidst sheets that smelled like him, sharing the heat of his body. Sadly, her anger had faded, and it was only the intimacy that snared her, the memory of heated flesh touching in ways she hadn’t imagined. Sometimes she wondered if her fevered imagination would leave her alone if she’d actually gone through with the act, made love with Philip as her body had demanded. Her knights were waiting for her below, and it was difficult to be at mass with him, when her mind would not leave its sinful meandering. She avoided Philip’s gaze, telling herself that she didn’t want Sir Walter to suspect anything. But really, she felt like a coward. After breaking her fast with Lord Milforth, Anne gladly left him to business with his tenants, politely dissuaded the maidservants who wanted to show her the weaving room, and went out to walk the inner ward.
