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“Your mistress will hear about it someday and assume that I—that we—” With a groan he let her go and stalked away from her, running his hand through his dark hair. “And now the rest of the household will someday think that their lord took his wife’s maid to bed.”

She lifted her chin. “I will tell them the truth. They’ll believe me.”

“They barely speak to you. Why should I assume they’d believe you? And what were you doing in here?”

She bit her lip and said nothing.

He looked around the chamber and saw his open satchel.

“Now she has you searching my things?” he said in a low voice.

“She needs to know for certain that you are who you say you are.”

“The ring,” he said, advancing on her.

“Aye, the ring.” Her back hit the wall.

“My word is not enough.”

“Plenty of men give their word,” she replied with heat, looking up at him. “And sometimes it means nothing.”

He reached beneath the neckline of his shirt and lifted up a chain, from which dangled a massive ring, set with a carved emerald. She stared at it, transfixed, as it glimmered in the last rays of sunset through the window.

With sarcasm, he said, “Do you need to feel the ring to make certain ’tis real?”

She would have declined, but he took her hand and fisted it around the ring, holding it in place. The ring was warm from his body; his hand around hers was full of a strength she couldn’t match. His arm brushed her breast. She should have been angry or uneasy, with her back to the wall, alone in his bedchamber.

But a terrible arousal swept over her, tingling her skin from her toes to her nape. Her eyelids felt heavy, her mouth dry, and she found herself staring at his lips, remembering the magic he had wrought within her with just his kiss.

He was staring at her with intensity, and he leaned closer, as if he would complete the kiss. She didn’t care about the deception between them, the mistrust. Her body only wanted him to make her feel complete, to finish what his pretend seduction had started.

In that frozen moment, a thousand thoughts raced through John’s mind. Lady Elizabeth didn’t trust him, probably preferred almost any husband to him. But Anne…Anne desired him as much as he desired her, though both knew how wrong it was. If King Henry broke the betrothal contract, John could have Anne, and then⁠—

He inhaled suddenly and backed away, letting her hand go. The ring on its chain swung away from her, and he tucked it back beneath his tunic.

What was he thinking? How could he dishonor himself and his family in such a way? All because of his lust for a maid. He was the only one left to resurrect his family pride, to prove to his parents that he could fulfill their wishes.

Harshly, he said, “Go back to your mistress and tell her she has her proof.”

She licked her lips, and although John noticed her trembling, she spoke with a cool detachment he reluctantly admired.

“And how will she know you haven’t stolen it?”

He needed no more proof for how little he was trusted, after all he’d risked helping Lady Elizabeth. Before he could answer, there was a soft knock on the door.

Anne’s eyes widened, and he saw her worry.

“It is too late,” he said. “They already know you’re here.”

But he went to answer the door, picking up his crutch and tucking it beneath his arm. In the corridor, Adalia stared up at him.

“I—I heard the maidservant Anne is…with ye?” she said tentatively. “I need to speak with her.”

He opened the door wide and gestured her in. Without hesitation, she moved past him. Her stiff shoulders seemed to ease when she saw the undisturbed bed, and Anne fully dressed.

Instead of freely speaking, Adalia walked right up to Anne and whispered something in her ear. John watched with curiosity, and though Anne obviously tried to compose her face, her eyes widened in dismay.

“Thank you, Adalia,” she said. She looked to John, not quite meeting his eyes. “I must leave. A good evening to you, Sir John.”