Free No Will But His by Sarah A. Hoyt Page A

like such a big man when he stood next to her or in front of her, but when he embraced her like this, she was conscious of how small she was and how much bigger he was, how easy it would be for him to overpower her—to take her wholly in his arms and capture her, and have her at his mercy.
    For some reason, this feeling small and helpless made her pulse quicken and created a warmth within her that she was quite at a loss to explain. Overcome by it, she rushed through the movement and got it wrong.
    "No, this way," he said, correcting her.
    She attempted it again, this time managing it successfully, the notes rising, then turning for a smooth descent. Relieved and pleased, she leaned back into him.
    He exhaled then drew a deep, deep breath, like someone who is wounded or who thinks he might drown and draws breath in big gulps, as though it might be his last chance at life. And then his lips touched her neck, right behind her ear.
    She couldn't move. She was shocked by the sensation, by the sudden daring, by his warm lips tracing the soft, sensitive space behind her ear to her neck, and all the way down her neck to her neckline. "Kathryn," he said, more exhaling than speaking. "Kathryn. How I long . . ." He kissed along her neckline. Seizing hold of her with his strong arms, he turned her around and kissed her hard, once, upon her lips, mashing their lips together as though he wished to hurt her.
    Kathryn felt quite bewildered, both by his violence and by what he was doing. She was not so naive about the doings between men and women that she did not know that men and women kissed. She had been in the kitchen and seen the servants do it. And she'd lived at enough cheap rooming houses to have seen people kiss. It was that he was kissing her, and like this, too, as though something hurt him and he wished he could hurt her in return.
    He kissed her again, this time more softly, his tongue pushing between her lips. She pulled back. "Master Manox," she said. "The door is open."
    Like that he straightened himself up and away from her. He took a step toward the window, his hands flying up to his head and clasping it on both sides, as though he were horrified, and then falling again. He stared out the window. He turned toward her, his arms now limp by his side. "Master Manox, Master Manox," he said, mimicking her tones. "Is that all you can say?"
    "What else do you wish me to say?" she asked, confused.
    Like that he flung himself on the ground at her feet, landing on his knees with an audible crack against the floor. He didn't even wince, but his hands sought for hers, grabbed them in his. His hands felt hot, as if he were feverish, and Kathryn recoiled a little, wondering if perhaps he had contracted some terrible sweating sickness that he would give her, and then they would both die of it.
    But she couldn't pull her hands away, because he only grabbed them more firmly and bent his head over them and kissed the back of her hands madly, first one, then the other, and then turned them over and kissed the palms, as though he wished he could devour her.
    She felt as if he were hungry and she were his meat, and she couldn't quite understand how he could be so desperate, save that she was sure he was not pretending nor playacting, but truly, maddeningly desperate for her touch, her taste, for everything that came from her.
    "The door is—"
    "Aye," he said, rising from his knees. "And well I know, the door is open. Cursed be the door. Cursed be all the doors in the world, Kathryn Howard. For a year now, I've sat here with you and I've taught you, the best I know, how to play the virginals and watched your hands caress that keyboard and listened to your heavenly voice and longed, longed for something . . . some token, some show of your affection."
    "What token can I give you?" she asked, feeling chilled and small.
    Kathryn did not like to see anyone or anything suffer. Once, when they were in London, Alice and Mary had convinced her to