Dance of Flesh

Bobby stood at the leaded window of his townhouse near the Strand, watching the rain transform London's streets into rivers of mud. Almost a week had passed since his last meeting with Elizabeth at Woodstock, where they had discussed strategies for navigating the increasingly treacherous waters of Tudor succession politics.

In the last week, he had methodically completed the tasks Elizabeth had requested—establishing secure courier routes between her temporary residence and key allies, placing trustworthy observers near Northumberland's London properties, and preparing emergency provisions at each safe location should rapid evacuation become necessary.

The labor itself was trivial for a being of his capabilities. He could have accomplished everything in a single afternoon through direct application of his abilities, but that would have defeated the purpose of maintaining his merchant cover. Instead, he worked through human intermediaries, carefully constructing a network that appeared entirely conventional to outside observers while remaining far more efficient than any sixteenth-century intelligence system had right to be.

What occupied his thoughts more deeply was Elizabeth herself—specifically, the unusual tension he'd detected during their last meeting. His enhanced senses had registered subtle physiological changes whenever he mentioned his connections among court ladies—elevated pulse, dilated pupils, microscopic perspiration changes, and that distinctive flush that crept up her neck despite her remarkable self-control.

A knock at his chamber door interrupted these reflections. His steward Harrington—a former ship's purser Bobby had recruited specifically for his combination of discreet competence and useful maritime connections—entered with a slight bow.

"Master Kestrel, a messenger has arrived from Woodstock. The Princess requests your presence at your earliest convenience."

Bobby turned from the window, accepting the sealed letter Harrington extended. "Did the messenger mention any particular urgency?"

"No, sir. Though he appeared fatigued, having ridden through the night despite the weather."

Bobby broke the unmarked seal—Elizabeth was too cautious to use Tudor emblems on private correspondence—and scanned the brief message. The content was unremarkable, requesting his counsel regarding recent communications from court, but the handwriting revealed subtle irregularities he hadn't observed in her previous messages. The normally perfect Tudor penmanship showed minute hesitations at certain points, particularly when addressing him directly.

Interesting.

"Have the messenger fed and quartered for the night," Bobby instructed. "I'll depart for Woodstock tomorrow morning."

"Very good, sir. Also, Mistress Jennet Hawkins has confirmed she will join you for supper this evening, as arranged."

Bobby nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "Excellent. Ensure the kitchen prepares those Venetian delicacies she enjoyed last time, and open a bottle of the Rhenish wine from the latest shipment."

"Already attended to, sir." Harrington paused, then added with practiced neutrality, "Will you require anything else before her arrival?"

"No, that will be all for now." Bobby returned to the window as Harrington departed with another slight bow.

Jennet Hawkins. Daughter of Simon Hawkins, master shipwright at Deptford Yard, and a woman of refreshingly straightforward appetites. Their association had begun three months earlier when Bobby had "coincidentally" encountered her while negotiating timber imports near her father's workshops. Her practical intelligence and lack of court affectation had provided a welcome contrast to the endless political calculations required for his broader mission.

More importantly, her father's position offered valuable access to naval information—intelligence that would prove crucial in the years ahead as England's maritime power developed under Elizabeth's eventual reign. The relationship served multiple purposes beyond mere physical gratification, though Bobby certainly appreciated that aspect as well.

He glanced at the ornate clock on his mantelpiece—a Swiss mechanism far more accurate than most timepieces in England. Nearly six hours remained before Jennet's expected arrival. Sufficient time to review his merchant accounts (maintained meticulously despite their irrelevance to his actual objectives), confirm preparations for tomorrow's journey to Woodstock, and perhaps most importantly, consider how to address the subtle shift he'd detected in Elizabeth's manner.

Something had changed since their last meeting. The jealousy he'd noted then had been expected—a natural response to Cecil's revelations about his female associations. But Elizabeth's letter suggested something beyond simple territorial possessiveness. The microscopic tremors in her handwriting indicated deeper emotional disturbance.

Bobby's lips curved in a small, private smile. After billions of years observing human behavior, certain patterns became unmistakable. Elizabeth Tudor had experienced something that had disrupted her carefully maintained equilibrium—something significant enough to penetrate the formidable psychological defenses she'd constructed throughout her precarious childhood.

He wouldn't pry into her thoughts directly; that would violate the implicit boundaries of their arrangement. But he didn't need telepathic intrusion to recognize the signs of a young woman grappling with uncomfortable new awareness.

His curiosity would have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight belonged to simpler, more straightforward pleasures—an evening with a woman unburdened by royal responsibilities or political machinations. Jennet's refreshingly direct nature provided exactly the diversion he needed before returning to the complex dance of Tudor succession politics.

---

The rain had subsided to a gentle mist by early evening, leaving London's streets slick but passable. Bobby had spent the afternoon reviewing reports from his various commercial agents—activities that served both as effective cover and as genuine intelligence-gathering. The shipping manifests from Bristol revealed increased Spanish naval activity along trade routes, confirming rumors of Philip's growing maritime ambitions.

He had just finished dictating correspondence to his secretary when Harrington appeared at the study door.

"Mistress Hawkins has arrived, sir."

"Show her to the solar," Bobby instructed, rising from his desk. "I'll join her shortly."

After his secretary had gathered the completed letters and departed, Bobby moved to a small mirror mounted on the wall, briefly assessing his appearance. The dark blue doublet of Italian cut complemented his powerful frame without ostentation, while the single ruby pin at his collar provided just enough wealth signaling without appearing gauche.

For Jennet, he carefully calibrated his presentation—prosperous enough to maintain interest, yet not so overwhelmingly aristocratic as to create uncomfortable distance. Unlike court ladies who expected elaborate displays of wealth and status, Jennet appreciated quality without requiring excessive ceremony.

Bobby made his way to the solar—the smaller, more intimate receiving room he used for personal guests rather than business associates. As he entered, Jennet rose from her seat by the fire, her smile warm and direct.

"Master Kestrel," she greeted him, dropping into a curtsy that managed to be both proper and subtly mocking of courtly formality.

"Mistress Hawkins," he returned with a slight bow. "You're a welcome sight after a day of tedious accounts and correspondence."

Jennet Hawkins presented a striking contrast to the ladies of court Bobby encountered in his political maneuverings. Twenty-five years old and unmarried (considered practically ancient for a woman of her era), she possessed neither aristocratic delicacy nor affected mannerisms. Her sturdy figure reflected practical activity rather than cultivated idleness, while her face—open, expressive, with intelligent brown eyes—carried the healthy color of someone who spent significant time outdoors.

She wore a gown of deep green wool, well-made but practical, with minimal ornamentation. Her brown hair was arranged in a simple coronet of braids rather than the elaborate constructions favored at court, and she wore no cosmetics beyond a hint of beeswax on her lips.

"I expected you might need rescuing from merchant drudgery," she replied with characteristic directness. "Father says you've been absent from the yards these past weeks. Bristol business keeping you occupied?"

"Among other ventures," Bobby confirmed, gesturing toward the comfortable chairs arranged before the fire. "Your father's new keel design shows promise. I've recommended it to several ship owners in my correspondence today."

Jennet settled into the offered chair with none of the affected delicacy court ladies would have displayed. "He'll be pleased to hear it. Though I suspect you didn't invite me to discuss shipbuilding techniques."

Bobby laughed—a genuine sound of appreciation for her refreshing candor. "Not exclusively, no. Though I find your insights on maritime matters far more valuable than most naval officers I encounter."

"Growing up in a shipwright's household has certain educational advantages," she acknowledged, accepting the goblet of wine he offered. "Though I doubt most men appreciate a woman who can discuss hull displacement and timber seasoning at supper."

"Most men are fools," Bobby replied simply, taking the seat opposite her. "Intelligence is far more appealing than affected ignorance, regardless of its subject matter."

Jennet sipped her wine, studying him over the goblet's rim. "You remain a curious contradiction, Robert Kestrel. You speak like a university scholar, trade like a Venetian merchant prince, yet show none of the typical prejudices of either class."

Bobby smiled, enjoying her perceptiveness. Most humans he encountered accepted his carefully constructed personas without question, but Jennet consistently noticed the inconsistencies that others overlooked.

"Perhaps I'm simply a man who values competence over convention," he suggested. "A trait we appear to share."

"Indeed," she agreed. "Though such attitude has left me firmly on the shelf as far as marriage prospects are concerned. Most men prefer women who at least pretend to know less than they do."

"Their loss," Bobby said, raising his glass in a small toast. "And my considerable gain."

A servant entered with the first course—small pastries filled with spiced meat that Bobby had specifically requested for tonight's meal. Jennet's eyes brightened at the sight.

"Your famous Venetian delicacies," she observed with pleasure. "You remembered."

"Of course," Bobby replied, dismissing the servant with a nod. "Your enjoyment of them last month was quite memorable."

As they dined, their conversation flowed easily between topics—news from the shipyards, rumors of French naval developments, Jennet's observations about timber qualities from different Baltic regions. Unlike his carefully choreographed conversations with court ladies, this exchange required no political calculation or strategic positioning.

"You're different tonight," Jennet observed as they finished the main course of roasted fowl with exotic spices. "More relaxed than I've seen you before."

Bobby tilted his head slightly, acknowledging her perception. "Perhaps I'm simply enjoying the company of someone who doesn't measure every word against political advantage."

"Ah," Jennet nodded with understanding. "You've been navigating court circles again. Father mentioned you were seen leaving Durham House yesterday—Northumberland's residence, if I'm not mistaken."

"Your intelligence network is impressive," Bobby observed with genuine appreciation.

Jennet shrugged. "The river carries more than just ships. Words travel along the Thames as readily as goods." She studied him with unexpected intensity. "You play a dangerous game, Robert. Northumberland's faction, the Princess's supporters, the Catholic interests—each believes you sympathetic to their cause."

"Commerce requires maintaining diverse relationships," Bobby replied with deliberate ambiguity.

"Commerce doesn't typically involve the succession to England's throne," Jennet countered dryly. "I may be just a shipwright's daughter, but even I understand the stakes of the game currently unfolding."

Bobby smiled, raising his goblet in acknowledgment of her perspicacity. "And does this dangerous game concern you, Jennet Hawkins?"

She considered this question seriously before answering. "It would, perhaps, if I were foolish enough to develop deeper attachment to you. Fortunately, I understand the limited nature of our association."

Her candor was refreshing. Most women in her position would either pretend greater emotional investment than they felt or affect complete disinterest to protect their pride.

"Limited but valuable," Bobby corrected gently. "I've never pretended to offer permanent connection, but that doesn't diminish my genuine appreciation for your company."

"Diplomatically stated," Jennet replied with a small smile. "Though I wonder if such appreciation extends beyond my obvious utility as a source of maritime intelligence."

Bobby set down his goblet, meeting her direct gaze with equal frankness. "Would you prefer I pretend our association has no practical dimensions? We both benefit from this arrangement, Jennet. You gain access to commercial opportunities for your father's yard through my connections; I gain valuable insights into naval developments that might otherwise remain inaccessible to a foreign merchant."

"And we both enjoy the more... personal aspects of our meetings," Jennet added without embarrassment. "No, I don't require romantic pretense. I simply appreciate occasional confirmation that I'm not merely a convenient source of information with additional physical benefits."

Bobby leaned forward, studying her with genuine interest. "You are far more than that, Jennet Hawkins. Your intelligence, practical wisdom, and refreshing directness provide respite from the exhausting calculations required elsewhere in my life." He smiled slightly. "The physical benefits, while considerable, are but one dimension of what I value in your company."

Jennet's expression softened at this unexpected sincerity. "Well. That's more sentiment than I expected from you tonight."

"I'm occasionally capable of honesty," Bobby replied with mock offense. "Particularly when not navigating treacherous political waters."

The servant returned to clear their plates and present the final course—delicate pastries drizzled with honey and exotic spices from Bobby's eastern connections. As they enjoyed this final indulgence, their conversation shifted to lighter topics—recent plays performed at London's inn-yards, a particularly dramatic shipwreck near Tilbury, and the scandalous behavior of a mutual acquaintance at the recent Candlemas celebrations.

Throughout their meal, Bobby maintained careful calibration—speaking with sufficient sophistication to engage her considerable intelligence while avoiding the esoteric references that might emphasize the vast gulf between his actual knowledge and sixteenth-century understanding. Unlike Elizabeth, who required constant political calculation, or court ladies who expected elaborate courtly manners, Jennet appreciated straightforward exchange balanced with just enough worldly sophistication to be intriguing without becoming alienating.

When they had finished their meal and the servants had cleared away the remains, Bobby moved to a sideboard where he retrieved an ornate wooden box.

"I've recently acquired something that might interest you," he said, returning to his seat beside her. He opened the box to reveal a beautifully crafted brass navigational instrument unlike any currently available in England.

Jennet leaned forward with genuine excitement, the technical object capturing her attention more effectively than any jewel or costly trinket could have done. "What is it? I've never seen its like before."

"A new type of backstaff," Bobby explained, lifting the instrument carefully. "From Portuguese navigators. It allows sailors to measure the sun's height without staring directly at it—more accurate and considerably safer than current methods."

Jennet's eyes widened as she grasped the implications immediately. "That would revolutionize navigation in difficult conditions." She hesitated, then asked directly, "May I hold it?"

Bobby placed the instrument in her hands, watching with quiet pleasure as she examined it with expert precision, turning it carefully to study each component.

"This is extraordinary craftsmanship," she murmured, tracing one finger along the graduated scale. "The precision of these markings... Father would sacrifice his best oak supply just to examine this for an afternoon."

"It's yours," Bobby said simply.

Jennet's head snapped up, surprise evident in her expression. "What? No, Robert, this must be worth—"

"A considerable sum," he agreed. "And worth every coin to place it in the hands of someone who truly appreciates its significance rather than its monetary value."

She stared at him, momentarily speechless—a rare condition for Jennet Hawkins. "I... This is too valuable a gift for someone of my station."

"I'll decide what gifts are appropriate for whom," Bobby replied with gentle firmness. "Your father's insights might help English shipwrights incorporate similar innovations in their own vessels. Consider it an investment in England's maritime future if the personal gift makes you uncomfortable."

Jennet carefully returned the instrument to its case, her expression shifting from shock to thoughtful consideration. "You're a strange man, Robert Kestrel. Most merchants guard their advantages jealously, yet you seem almost eager to share innovations that could benefit potential competitors."

Bobby smiled enigmatically. "I take a longer view of advantage than most."

"So it seems." Jennet rose from her chair, moving to place the wooden case on a nearby table before turning back to face him. The firelight caught the gold flecks in her brown eyes as she studied him with newfound intensity. "I find myself curious about what other... unconventional perspectives you might hold."

The deliberate shift in her tone made her intention clear. Bobby rose as well, closing the distance between them with unhurried confidence.

"Perhaps I should demonstrate rather than explain," he suggested, his voice dropping to a lower register as he reached to trace one finger along her jawline.

Jennet's breath caught slightly at his touch, but she maintained her characteristic directness. "Demonstration has always been more effective than theory."

Bobby smiled—the particular expression he reserved for moments when humans surprised him with their perceptiveness or courage. Without further preamble, he leaned down to capture her lips with his own, one hand moving to the small of her back to draw her closer.

Jennet responded immediately, pressing against him with none of the affected hesitation court ladies might have displayed. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she parted her lips willingly, inviting deeper exploration. Bobby accepted the invitation, deepening the kiss while his hands began methodically locating the fastenings of her gown.

Unlike the elaborate constructions of aristocratic women's clothing, Jennet's practical attire surrendered to his experienced touch with minimal resistance. Within moments, he had loosened the bodice enough to slip one hand inside, cupping her breast through the thin linen of her chemise.

Jennet broke the kiss with a soft gasp as his thumb circled her nipple through the fabric, the sensitive flesh pebbling instantly beneath his touch. "You've grown more efficient since last time," she observed breathlessly. "I believe it took you nearly two minutes to reach this stage previously."

Bobby laughed, genuinely amused by her practical assessment. "Practice improves performance in all endeavors," he replied, continuing his methodical attention to her breast while his free hand completed the unlacing of her bodice.

"Indeed it does," Jennet agreed, her hands moving to assist with her disrobing. Between their combined efforts, her outer garments soon lay discarded on the solar floor, leaving her in just the simple linen chemise that covered her from shoulders to knees.

Bobby stepped back slightly, appreciating the sight of her in this more **** state. Unlike court ladies with their painfully corseted figures, Jennet's body reflected practical strength and natural proportion—fuller breasts and hips than fashion dictated as ideal, with the defined muscle of a woman who engaged in physical activity rather than cultivated languid delicacy.

"You're staring," she observed, though her tone held more amusement than self-consciousness.

"Admiring," Bobby corrected, reaching out to trace the curve of her hip through the linen. "Court fashion celebrates artificial constraint. I prefer natural form and function."

Jennet raised an eyebrow, her practical nature asserting itself even in this intimate moment. "You sound almost like a natural philosopher discussing specimen classification."

Bobby smiled at her perception. "Perhaps there's something of the scientist in my appreciation," he acknowledged. "Though my current interests extend beyond mere observation."

To demonstrate this point, he slipped both hands beneath her chemise, lifting the garment slowly upward as his palms slid along the warm skin of her thighs and hips. Jennet raised her arms obligingly, allowing him to pull the linen shift over her head and discard it atop her other clothing.

Naked now except for simple woolen stockings tied above her knees, Jennet stood before him without artificial modesty or posed seduction. Her body revealed the natural asymmetries and marks of lived experience—small scars on her hands from practical work, the slight unevenness of breasts that had never been artificially shaped by constraining garments, the soft curve of belly below defined muscles from regular physical activity.

"Now who's at a disadvantage?" she challenged, gesturing to his fully clothed state with practical directness.

"A situation easily remedied," Bobby agreed, unfastening his doublet with efficient movements.

Jennet didn't wait passively for him to disrobe. Instead, she stepped forward to assist, her capable hands making quick work of the remaining fastenings that her less privileged position had left unfamiliar. Between them, they removed his outer garments with pragmatic efficiency, until Bobby stood before her in just his linen shirt and hose.

Unlike most men of the era who retained their shirts even during intimate encounters, Bobby pulled the garment off without hesitation, revealing his torso to her appreciative gaze. Jennet reached out to trace the defined musculature of his chest and abdomen—a physique unlike the typical merchants or aristocrats she encountered, who tended toward either plump prosperity or cultivated indolence.

"I remain curious about what activities maintain such a form," she remarked, circling him with evaluating eyes. "You claim to be a merchant, yet you have the body of a master swordsman or professional soldier."

"I maintain diverse interests beyond commerce," Bobby replied with deliberate ambiguity. "Including various physical disciplines uncommon in England."

Jennet completed her circle, returning to face him with characteristic directness. "More mysteries. You collect them like other men collect silver plate or hunting dogs."

"Mystery maintains interest," Bobby observed, reaching to draw her against his bare chest. "Would you prefer complete transparency?"

"From you? I'd settle for knowing your actual country of origin," she countered with a smile that softened the implied criticism. "But such revelations can wait for another evening. I have more immediate interests at present."

As if to demonstrate these interests, her hand moved deliberately downward, finding the substantial bulge straining against his hose. Bobby's breath hitched slightly as she traced its impressive length through the fabric, her expression shifting from playful challenge to focused appreciation.

"This, at least, requires no mysterious explanation," she murmured, applying gentle pressure that drew a low sound of approval from deep in his chest. "Its purpose and function seem quite straightforward."

Bobby laughed again—a genuine response to her practical assessment that few women would have dared express so directly. "Form following function," he agreed, reaching down to unfasten his hose. "Though effectiveness depends greatly on application technique."

Jennet stepped back to allow him to remove the final garment, her eyes widening slightly as his cock sprang free, fully erect and significantly larger than most men could claim even in their boastful tavern tales. Unlike court ladies who might have affected shock or delicate hesitation, she studied him with open appreciation.

"Application technique indeed," she murmured, reaching out to wrap her hand around his considerable girth. "I suspect you've had substantial practice perfecting yours."

"Some," Bobby acknowledged, his voice dropping to a lower register as her fingers explored his length with deliberate strokes. "Though each partner requires unique calibration."

"How scientific of you," Jennet replied, her amused tone contrasting with the increasingly focused attention she paid to his cock. "And what calibration have you determined most effective for me, based on previous experimentation?"

Instead of answering verbally, Bobby moved suddenly, lifting her with effortless strength that momentarily startled her. She gasped, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her the short distance to a cushioned bench near the hearth. He settled her onto it, kneeling between her spread thighs with deliberate intent.

"Ah," Jennet breathed as she realized his purpose. "That particular calibration."

"Your responses suggested particular sensitivity to this approach," Bobby confirmed, his hands sliding beneath her to position her hips at the bench's edge. "Though I welcome feedback for continuous improvement."

Jennet's laugh transformed into a sharp intake of breath as Bobby lowered his head, using his thumbs to spread her outer lips and reveal the glistening pink flesh within. Unlike many men of the era who considered such activities beneath their dignity, Bobby applied himself to her pleasure with focused expertise, using his tongue to trace deliberate patterns against her most sensitive areas.

"Oh—" Jennet's head fell back as he found precisely the right spot, her practical directness momentarily abandoned in the face of pure sensation. Her hands moved to tangle in his dark hair, not guiding but simply anchoring herself as he worked methodically between her thighs.

Bobby varied his approach with deliberate precision, alternating broad strokes with focused attention to her swelling clitoris, occasionally dipping his tongue inside her to gather her increasing wetness before returning to the concentrated sensory bundle that drove her steadily toward climax. Throughout, he monitored her responses with heightened awareness, noting each catch of breath, each subtle shift of hips, each increase in tension, adjusting his technique accordingly without requiring verbal guidance.

Jennet, never one for affected performance, responded with authentic crescendo as his efforts pushed her steadily toward release. Her practical nature extended to pleasure as well—she didn't suppress her responses to appear delicate, nor exaggerate them to flatter his ego. Each gasped breath, each moan, each tightening of fingers in his hair reflected genuine physical reaction rather than calculated effect.

"There—right there—don't stop—" she managed, her usually composed voice fracturing as he concentrated his attention on exactly the spot and rhythm that drove her most effectively toward completion. Bobby complied precisely, maintaining the perfect pressure and tempo as her thighs began to tremble against his shoulders.

When her climax hit, Jennet cried out without restraint, her body arching sharply as pleasure coursed through her system. Bobby continued his attentions through her peak, gradually reducing intensity as the initial waves subsided, until finally lifting his head to observe her flushed face and rapidly rising chest with satisfied appreciation.

"Effective calibration confirmed," he noted with deliberate lightness, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

Jennet laughed breathlessly, her usual pragmatism reasserting itself as the intense sensations receded. "Quite... thoroughly... confirmed," she agreed between deep breaths. "Though I believe further experimentation remains necessary."

"I concur," Bobby replied, rising from his kneeling position to stand before her, his substantial erection leaving no doubt about his continued interest. "What methodology would you suggest for this phase of investigation?"

Jennet considered him thoughtfully, her gaze moving deliberately from his face to his impressive cock and back again. Without verbally responding, she shifted position on the bench, turning to brace herself against its cushioned surface on hands and knees, presenting him with a view of her backside and the glistening evidence of her arousal still visible between her thighs.

"Direct and efficient," Bobby approved, positioning himself behind her. "A characteristic I greatly appreciate."

He took himself in hand, guiding the substantial head of his cock to her entrance, where he rubbed it teasingly through her abundant wetness. Jennet pushed back impatiently, her practical nature having little tolerance for unnecessary delay.

"If you're attempting to build anticipation," she informed him over her shoulder, "I should mention I generally prefer action to prolonged preamble."

Bobby laughed again—a genuine sound of appreciation for her straightforward approach. "Duly noted," he replied, and with a single powerful thrust, buried himself to the hilt inside her.

The sudden fullness drew a startled cry from Jennet, her body momentarily tensing around his considerable invasion. Bobby remained perfectly still, allowing her to adjust to his size despite his own body's demand for movement. After a moment, she relaxed around him, releasing a long, slow breath.

"Acceptable?" he inquired, his controlled tone belying the intense pleasure her tight heat provided.

"More than," Jennet confirmed, shifting her hips experimentally against him. "Though I appreciate the courtesy of confirmation."

Bobby smiled at her characteristic response, then began to move with deliberate control, establishing a rhythm that balanced power with precision. His hands gripped her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh to maintain the perfect angle for mutual pleasure.

Jennet met each thrust with equal enthusiasm, her earlier climax having reduced but not eliminated her desire. She braced herself firmly against the bench, using her position to push back against him, taking his full length with each stroke as their bodies established perfect synchronization.

"You feel—" she gasped as a particularly deep thrust hit exactly the right internal spot, "—even larger than before."

"Angle and depth perception," Bobby explained without breaking rhythm, though his own breath had grown heavier as pleasure built steadily within him. One hand slid from her hip around to her front, finding her still-sensitive clitoris with unerring accuracy and beginning to circle it in time with his thrusts.

This additional stimulation proved immediately effective. Jennet's internal muscles clenched around him as new waves of pleasure built rapidly upon the foundation of her previous orgasm. Her practical verbosity abandoned her now, replaced by increasingly urgent moans and gasps as her second climax approached with surprising speed.

Bobby felt her body's escalating response and adjusted accordingly, angling his hips to ensure each thrust stimulated precisely the right internal spot while his fingers maintained perfect pressure against her external bundle of nerves. The combination proved devastatingly effective. Within minutes, Jennet was trembling beneath him, her arms threatening to give way as pleasure overwhelmed her usual physical competence.

"I can't—" she gasped, her voice breaking as sensation built beyond her capacity to articulate.

Understanding her meaning without requiring complete sentences, Bobby wrapped his free arm around her waist, supporting her weight as he continued his perfect rhythm. This additional point of contact, the feeling of being completely supported while simultaneously invaded and stimulated, pushed Jennet over the edge into her second orgasm—more powerful than the first, causing her entire body to convulse around him as she cried out with abandoned pleasure.

Bobby maintained his movement through her climax, prolonging the waves of sensation until her trembling began to subside. Only then did he gently withdraw, giving her a moment to recover while he considered his next approach.

Jennet collapsed onto the bench, rolling to her back to look up at him with dazed appreciation. Her usual composed directness had temporarily abandoned her, replaced by the open vulnerability of someone thoroughly satisfied yet still aroused by the sight of his unsated desire.

"You haven't—" she began, her gaze fixed on his still-rigid cock, glistening with evidence of her pleasure.

"Not yet," Bobby confirmed. "I find mutual satisfaction more compelling than sequential completion."

"Sequential has its merits," Jennet observed, recovering enough of her practical nature to sit up slowly. "But I'm not opposed to mutual approaches." She shifted position on the bench, making room beside her in clear invitation.

Bobby joined her on the cushioned surface, but rather than assuming the traditional position, he surprised her by lifting her effortlessly onto his lap, facing him. Jennet's eyes widened slightly at this unexpected arrangement, which would place her in the dominant position while maintaining intimate face-to-face connection.

"This is... unusual," she observed, though her tone held curiosity rather than objection.

"Effective, though," Bobby replied, positioning her knees on either side of his hips. "It provides both control and connection while allowing perfect depth calibration."

"You make love like a navigator charting unfamiliar waters," Jennet observed with a breathless laugh. "Everything precisely measured and calculated for optimal results."

"Is that a complaint?" Bobby asked, his hands settling on her hips as he guided her slowly downward toward his waiting erection.

"Merely an observation," she replied, gasping slightly as the head of his cock pressed against her entrance again. "Though I'm developing increasing appreciation for navigational precision."

As she spoke, Bobby tightened his grip on her hips, pulling her downward while simultaneously thrusting upward, sheathing himself fully inside her once more. The new position allowed even deeper penetration, drawing a shocked cry of pleasure from Jennet as he filled her completely.

"Oh—God's wounds—" she gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders for stability as her body stretched to accommodate him from this new angle. "You're so deep I can feel you in my throat."

Bobby smiled at her colorful assessment, allowing her a moment to adjust before establishing a new rhythm—slower but more intense than their previous coupling. Each upward thrust lifted her slightly from the bench before gravity and his guiding hands brought her down again, creating a perfect cyclical motion that stimulated both her internal depths and the sensitive external bundle of nerves with each cycle.

This position also allowed him to capture one of her breasts in his mouth, adding another layer of sensation to her already overwhelmed system. Jennet moaned as his tongue circled her nipple in counterpoint to their joined rhythms below, creating complex patterns of pleasure that rapidly rebuilt her arousal despite her two previous climaxes.

"How do you—" she gasped, her usual articulate nature fracturing again under the **** of multiple simultaneous pleasures. "I've never felt—"

Bobby released her nipple long enough to murmur against her skin. "Stop analyzing and simply experience."

For once, Jennet abandoned her practical assessment completely, surrendering to the pure physical sensation of their joined bodies. Her head fell back, exposing the column of her throat as she rode him with increasing abandon, her earlier orgasms having removed any hesitation or restraint from her movements.

Bobby supported her effortlessly, his hands guiding but not controlling her motions, allowing her to find the perfect angle and rhythm for her own pleasure while ensuring his cock continued stimulating exactly the right internal spots. His superior strength meant he could maintain this position indefinitely without tiring—a fact Jennet clearly appreciated as minutes stretched into a much longer coupling than most men of the era could sustain.

"I can't—again—so soon—" she gasped, genuine surprise coloring her tone as a third climax began building improbably within her overtaxed system.

"You can," Bobby assured her, one hand sliding between their joined bodies to add direct stimulation to her clitoris. "Your body is capable of far more than conventional wisdom suggests."

This additional touch proved the tipping point. Jennet's eyes widened in genuine shock as pleasure crashed through her again, her internal muscles clamping around his substantial girth with surprising strength as her third orgasm overwhelmed her completely. She buried her face against his shoulder, muffling her cries against his skin as her body convulsed around him.

Bobby held her through the extended climax, supporting her trembling form with gentle strength until the most intense waves subsided. Only then did he carefully lift her from his lap, still maintaining his own iron control despite the evident arousal that kept his cock rigid and unsatisfied.

"I can't—possibly—" Jennet began, her usual composure completely shattered by the unprecedented intensity of her experience.

"Rest," Bobby suggested, laying her gently on the bench. "Just for a moment."

He moved to the sideboard, pouring fresh wine into a goblet which he brought back to her. Jennet accepted it gratefully, drinking deeply to replenish fluids lost through her exertions. The brief respite allowed her to collect herself somewhat, though her limbs still trembled occasionally with aftershocks of pleasure.

"You haven't finished," she observed after a moment, noting his continued erection with a mixture of apology and amazement. "Most men would have long since—"

"I'm not most men," Bobby replied simply, taking the empty goblet from her hands and setting it aside.

"Evidently not," Jennet agreed with breathless emphasis. "Though I'm not certain I can—"

"You needn't do anything," Bobby assured her, moving to sit beside her on the bench again. "Simply relax."

Gently, he arranged her still-pliant body across his lap again, this time with her back against his chest, her legs draped outside his thighs in a semi-reclining position that left her completely open and accessible to his touch. In this arrangement, she was essentially immobilized—not restrained by **** but positioned so that his body supported her entirely, removing any need for her to maintain her own balance or stability.

"This is...different," she managed, though there was no complaint in her tone, only curious anticipation.

"Another navigational experiment," Bobby replied, his breath warm against her ear as one hand began tracing lazy patterns across her collarbone, gradually working downward toward her breasts.

Jennet relaxed against him, surrendering to his guidance with uncharacteristic passivity. The multiple orgasms had temporarily depleted her usual initiative, leaving her receptive in a way their previous encounters had never revealed.

Bobby took full advantage of this rare surrender, his hands exploring her body with deliberate thoroughness, rediscovering sensitive spots that drew soft gasps and shivers despite her proclaimed exhaustion. His cock remained trapped between them, pressing against the small of her back but making no demands for immediate attention.

When his fingers finally returned to the juncture of her thighs, Jennet made a small sound of protest. "I couldn't possibly—not again—"

"Perhaps not immediately," Bobby agreed, though his fingers continued their gentle exploration of her oversensitive flesh. "But the human body is remarkably resilient when properly attended."

True to his assessment, her initial oversensitivity gradually transformed under his skilled touch, discomfort giving way to renewed pleasure as he carefully rebuilt her arousal from smouldering embers to cautious flame. Jennet marveled at the process, her practical nature reasserting itself enough to analyze her own unexpected response.

"This shouldn't be possible," she murmured as desire rekindled within her supposedly depleted system. "Three times exceeds all reasonable expectation already."

"Conventional wisdom often underestimates actual capacity," Bobby observed, his fingers continuing their patient work between her thighs. "Particularly regarding female pleasure."

Jennet would have pursued this intriguing philosophical tangent had his thumb not chosen that exact moment to circle her clitoris with exquisite precision, short-circuiting her analytical faculties once more. Instead of theoretical discussion, she released a low moan, her hips lifting involuntarily into his touch despite her earlier protestations.

Bobby continued this careful rebuilding until Jennet was once again fully aroused—gasping and shifting restlessly against him, her body having recovered enough to crave more substantial satisfaction than fingers alone could provide.

With careful movements that maintained their intimate connection, Bobby repositioned them once more. Still supporting her against his chest, he arranged her legs so that she straddled him facing away, then lifted her slightly with his powerful arms, positioning her directly above his waiting erection.

"Oh—" Jennet breathed as she realized his intention with this unorthodox arrangement. "Will that even work?"

"Quite effectively," Bobby assured her, lowering her slowly until the head of his cock pressed against her entrance from this new angle. "Though the sensation differs considerably from conventional positions."

This proved immediately apparent as he guided her downward, penetrating her from behind while maintaining their seated position. The angle created entirely new patterns of stimulation, his considerable length pressing against internal areas that previous positions hadn't fully engaged.

"Good Lord—" Jennet gasped as he filled her completely, her head falling back against his shoulder as unprecedented sensations overwhelmed her system. In this position, she remained almost completely passive—Bobby's strong arms supporting her entire weight, controlling both depth and rhythm with precise movements that required no participation from her beyond surrender to the experience.

The arrangement offered perfect leverage for deep, controlled thrusting while maintaining full body contact—her back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist, her head resting on his shoulder where he could murmur directly into her ear.

"Relax completely," he instructed, his voice deepening to a register that seemed to resonate through her entire body. "Let me take full control."

For a woman accustomed to practical self-sufficiency in all aspects of life, this complete surrender of autonomy should have been unsettling. Instead, Jennet found it unexpectedly liberating—the freedom to simply experience without responsibility for action or outcome releasing her into a pleasure more intense than any she had previously known.

Bobby established a rhythm unlike their earlier encounters—deeper, slower, more deliberate—each thrust calculated for maximum internal stimulation rather than building toward rapid completion. His superior strength allowed him to maintain this pace indefinitely, supporting her body effortlessly while controlling every aspect of their joined movement.

"I never imagined—" Jennet managed between gasps, her usual verbal precision completely abandoned as new waves of pleasure built within her supposedly exhausted system. "This feels—"

"Don't analyze," Bobby reminded her, punctuating the instruction with a particularly deep thrust that drew a strangled cry from her throat. "Simply feel."

For once in her practical life, Jennet Hawkins followed instructions without question or assessment. She surrendered completely to the experience, allowing Bobby to support her weight, control their movement, and guide her toward a fourth climax that by all conventional understanding should have been impossible after her previous exertions.

Bobby maintained perfect control throughout, his own considerable arousal subordinated to the goal of her complete satisfaction. Only when he felt her internal muscles beginning to flutter around him, signaling the approach of another orgasm, did he finally allow his own release to build concurrently.

"Robert—" Jennet gasped, using his given name for the first time that evening as pleasure built beyond her capacity to articulate. "I'm going to—"

"Together," he murmured against her ear, his own voice finally revealing the strain of prolonged control. "Let go completely."

With perfect synchronization born of careful observation and precise timing, Bobby adjusted their rhythm to ensure simultaneous completion. Jennet's fourth climax crashed through her with unexpected intensity, drawing a genuine scream of pleasure that would have embarrassed her had she retained any capacity for self-consciousness. At the exact moment her internal muscles clamped down on him in rhythmic pulses, Bobby finally allowed his own release, driving deep inside her one final time as his cock pulsed with long-delayed satisfaction.

For several minutes afterward, they remained joined in that position, both breathing heavily as their respective climaxes gradually subsided. Bobby supported her limp form against his chest, his arms still wrapped protectively around her waist, his softening cock still buried within her as aftershocks occasionally rippled through her overwrought system.

"That was..." Jennet began when she finally recovered enough breath to speak, then stopped, apparently unable to find adequate words for the experience.

Bobby smiled against her shoulder, amused by the rare speechlessness of this normally articulate woman. "Indeed it was," he agreed, carefully lifting her from his lap and arranging her more comfortably beside him on the bench.

Jennet looked at him with genuine wonder as her faculties gradually returned. "I've had lovers before, but never..." She shook her head slightly. "You have unusual skills, Robert Kestrel."

"Practice yields improvement," he replied with deliberate lightness, though his eyes registered genuine appreciation for her direct acknowledgment.

"More than practice," Jennet observed, studying him with renewed analytical assessment now that her body had recovered enough for her mind to function properly again. "Knowledge beyond what most men possess regarding female anatomy and response."

"Perhaps I simply pay closer attention than most," Bobby suggested, rising to retrieve a soft cloth and basin of water that had been discreetly placed behind a screen earlier. He returned to her side, offering the dampened cloth with considerate practicality.

Jennet accepted it gratefully, cleaning herself without affected modesty while continuing her thoughtful observation of him. "You're unlike anyone I've encountered, Robert. Not just in bed, though certainly there as well." She handed the cloth back to him, meeting his gaze directly. "Sometimes I wonder if you're entirely human."

Bobby smiled enigmatically at this uncomfortably perceptive observation. "What an unusual suggestion."

"Is it?" Jennet challenged, her practical nature reasserting itself fully now. "You appear from nowhere with impossible knowledge of trade routes no European merchant has accessed. You speak languages supposedly unknown in England. You demonstrate physical capabilities beyond normal human endurance." She gestured to his body, which showed no signs of fatigue despite their prolonged and energetic activities. "And you never actually answer direct questions about your origins or background."

"Perhaps I merely enjoy maintaining an air of mystery," Bobby suggested, moving to retrieve her scattered clothing from the floor where it had been discarded hours earlier.

Jennet accepted her chemise from his hands, pulling it over her head before responding. "Perhaps. Or perhaps there's truth beneath the court gossip about foreign witchcraft and supernatural beings walking among us."

Bobby laughed, though the sound held more appreciation than dismissal of her theory. "And if there were? Would that concern you?"

Jennet considered this question with characteristic seriousness as she continued dressing. "It would depend on the nature of the being, I suppose. Not all supernatural entities in folklore are malevolent." She looked up at him with sudden directness. "Are you?"

"Malevolent?" Bobby raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused by the forthright question. "If I were a supernatural entity bent on causing harm, would admitting it be strategically wise?"

"Probably not," Jennet conceded with a small smile. "Though I suspect an ordinary merchant wouldn't even entertain such hypothetical discussion."

"True enough," Bobby acknowledged, retrieving his own clothing and beginning to dress with unhurried movements. "Though I've never claimed to be an ordinary merchant."

"No, you haven't," Jennet agreed, watching him with renewed curiosity. "Another evasion noted." She finished arranging her gown, then moved to the small mirror mounted on the wall, restoring her practical braided coronet to reasonable order with efficient motions. "Whatever your true nature, Robert Kestrel, I find myself grateful for your... attentions."

"The gratitude is mutual," Bobby replied with genuine warmth. "Your company provides refreshing contrast to the more complicated associations required by my other activities."

Jennet turned from the mirror, fully composed once more—the practical shipwright's daughter rather than the passionate woman of moments earlier. "Political machinations, you mean. Your mysterious connections to Northumberland's faction and the Princess's supporters."

"Among others," Bobby confirmed, adjusting his doublet with precise movements. "Each serving specific purposes toward longer objectives."

"Objectives you decline to specify," Jennet observed without rancor. "Though I suspect they extend far beyond mere commercial advantage."

Bobby smiled at her continued perceptiveness. "You see more clearly than most, Jennet Hawkins."

"A mixed blessing, that clarity," she replied with surprising philosophical depth. "It reveals both wonders and dangers most prefer to ignore." She collected the wooden case containing his navigational gift from the table where she had placed it earlier. "Thank you for this. Father will be fascinated, though I'll need to construct a plausible explanation for how I acquired it."

"Tell him it comes with no expectations beyond his professional assessment," Bobby suggested, correctly interpreting her concern about implications. "I value his expertise, not merely his daughter's company, impressive though both have proven."

Jennet's expression softened slightly at this understanding. "You're far more considerate than your mysterious persona suggests, Robert Kestrel." She moved toward the door, then paused to look back at him. "Will you be in London long?"

"I depart for Woodstock tomorrow," Bobby replied. "The Princess has requested my counsel on certain matters."

"Ah." Jennet nodded, absorbing this information without visible reaction. "Then safe travels. Should you return within the fortnight, Father is testing a new rudder design you might find interesting."

Bobby recognized this practical invitation for what it was—an expression of continued interest without emotional demands or expectations of exclusivity. "I'll make a point of examining it upon my return," he promised. "Your father's innovations consistently impress."

Jennet smiled, recognizing his acceptance of their continued arrangement without need for elaborate confirmation. "Until then, Master Kestrel."

"Until then, Mistress Hawkins."

After she had departed, escorted to her waiting attendant by Harrington with appropriate discretion, Bobby returned to his private study rather than retiring immediately. Despite the lateness of the hour, his unique physiology required minimal rest, and his mind remained actively engaged with multiple concurrent considerations.

The evening with Jennet had provided exactly the diversion he had needed—straightforward pleasure without political calculation or emotional complication. Her practical nature and direct approach offered refreshing contrast to the constant strategic positioning required in his other activities.

Yet even as he appreciated this simplicity, Bobby's thoughts returned inevitably to more complex matters—particularly Elizabeth Tudor and the subtle shifts he had detected in her correspondence. Tomorrow's journey to Woodstock would likely reveal whether his suspicions about her changed demeanor proved accurate.

At his desk, Bobby unfolded a detailed map of southern England, studying potential routes between Woodstock and the secure properties he had established for Elizabeth's protection should Northumberland move against her directly. Each location had been selected and prepared with careful attention to defensive considerations, escape routes, and proximity to potential allies.

After completing this review, he turned his attention to correspondence from his continental agents. Reports from Spain confirmed increasing naval preparations under Philip's direction, while intelligence from Rome suggested the aging Pope was considering more aggressive approaches to addressing England's Protestant drift under Edward.

Bobby absorbed this information methodically, filing each detail within his extraordinary memory while considering implications for various potential timelines. Most trajectories led to similar broad outcomes—Edward's ****, Jane Grey's brief reign, Mary's bloody restoration of Catholicism, and eventually Elizabeth's ascension—but the specific paths between these fixed points varied considerably depending on individual choices and interventions.

As midnight approached, Bobby set aside these political considerations, allowing his mind to drift toward more personal reflections. In quiet moments like these, memories of Atlantea occasionally surfaced despite his disciplined compartmentalization—Galea's silver-streaked hair catching sunlight as she worked in their crystal gardens, Eden's unexpected laughter as she discovered some new aspect of her developing abilities.

He had promised to find his way back to them somehow, despite the quantum displacement that had torn him from their reality. The promise had been sincere in the moment, though his billions of years of existence had taught him the practical impossibility of navigating specific quantum trajectories once displacement occurred.

Other memories intruded as well—Art's enigmatic smile as they discussed the philosophical implications of manipulating timelines, countless other companions gained and lost across timeframes beyond human comprehension. Bobby had learned to hold these memories lightly, acknowledging their emotional resonance without allowing them to disrupt his current objectives.

The quiet chiming of his clock marking the midnight hour drew him back to present concerns. He should review preparations for tomorrow's journey to Woodstock, confirm arrangements with the stable master for appropriate horses and attend to—

A soft knock interrupted these practical considerations. Harrington entered at Bobby's acknowledgment, his usual impassive expression suggesting unexpected developments.

"Forgive the intrusion at this hour, sir. A messenger has arrived requesting immediate audience."

Bobby raised an eyebrow at this unusual timing. "From Woodstock?"

"No, sir. She claims to be..."

"Mary Tudor," Harrington announced with practiced formality that betrayed no emotion, though the unexpected arrival of Edward's heir at this hour surely surprised even his unflappable steward.

Bobby sighed internally. Not because of the identity of his unexpected visitor—he maintained connections across all significant political factions as a matter of strategic necessity—but rather because Mary Tudor's midnight arrival represented complications he'd hoped to avoid until after his planned meeting with Elizabeth tomorrow.

"Show her to the receiving room," Bobby instructed, rising from his desk. "Ensure privacy, but remain within calling distance."

"Of course, sir." Harrington hesitated briefly, a nearly imperceptible pause that nonetheless communicated volumes to Bobby's heightened perception. "The Lady Mary arrived with minimal escort—two attendants who await in the entrance hall. She expressed desire for... discretion regarding her presence."

"Understood." Bobby recognized the implications immediately. This wasn't an official visit from King Edward's heir, but rather a clandestine meeting she wished kept from court gossips. "Offer refreshments to her attendants, but ensure they remain in the entrance hall. I'll attend to Lady Mary personally."

As Harrington departed to fulfill these instructions, Bobby took a moment to adjust his appearance—straightening his doublet and running fingers through his thick dark hair. His nanite-maintained physiology required no genuine grooming, but the appearance of normal human behavior remained important to his cover identity.

Mary Tudor's appearance at his residence in the middle of February night represented both opportunity and complication. Unlike her younger half-sister Elizabeth, whose political calculations always prioritized long-term advantage over immediate gratification, Mary's approach combined genuine religious conviction with surprisingly pragmatic methods for securing support.

Bobby had first encountered Mary three months earlier when delivering "exotic medicines" to court physicians treating Edward's worsening condition. Their initial conversation had been purely political—Mary seeking information about Northumberland's intentions while offering cautious overtures toward potential alliance. Subsequent meetings had evolved beyond mere political discussion, as Mary deployed every tool at her disposal to secure his apparent loyalty.

At thirty-five, Mary Tudor had developed skills that her seventeen-year-old half-sister had yet to acquire. Where Elizabeth maintained careful distance from potential allies, preserving both physical and emotional boundaries, Mary recognized that physical intimacy often secured loyalties that money and promises could not. Her approach wasn't driven by personal desire so much as pragmatic assessment of available leverage.

Bobby neither judged nor rejected this strategy. In his billions of years of existence, he had observed countless variations of human sexual politics across civilizations. Mary's approach was neither unusual nor particularly manipulative by historical standards—simply practical utilization of available assets to secure necessary support.

That her methods proved personally enjoyable was merely coincidental. Bobby welcomed all forms of pleasure during his temporary residence in this timeline, particularly given the inevitable displacement that awaited him when quantum energy reached critical mass within his system. Until then, diversions of all varieties remained welcome respites from the weight of eternal existence.

He made his way through the townhouse's dimly lit corridors, considering how best to manage this unexpected development. Last week, he had arranged for carefully selected intelligence about Northumberland's movements to reach Mary through intermediaries. That she had responded by personally visiting his residence suggested either urgent new developments or specific requests requiring direct negotiation.

The receiving room doorway revealed Mary Tudor standing before the hearth, her back to the entrance as she warmed her hands. Unlike her usual court appearances where elaborate Spanish-influenced attire proclaimed her Catholic loyalties, tonight she wore relatively simple traveling clothes—a dark woolen gown with minimal ornamentation, covered by a plain cloak still damp from London's February rain.

"Lady Mary," Bobby announced his presence with the appropriate deference her royal status demanded. "This is an unexpected honor."

Mary turned, her expression transitioning smoothly from contemplative to warmly welcoming. Despite being past the age considered optimal for female beauty in Tudor England, she maintained striking presence—her mother Catherine's Spanish heritage evident in her olive complexion and dark eyes, though her father's Tudor features dominated her facial structure.

"Master Kestrel," she greeted him, extending her hand with regal confidence. "Forgive my unannounced arrival at this unseemly hour. Circumstances required discretion."

Bobby bowed over her offered hand, pressing his lips briefly against her fingers in the courtly gesture expected of a merchant receiving royal attention. "My house and services remain at your disposal, regardless of hour."

Mary smiled, the expression warming features often described as severe in court gossip. Contemporary chronicles rarely captured the complexity of her persona—the mixture of genuine warmth toward perceived allies and implacable hostility toward threats to her religious convictions.

"Your generous hospitality justifies the reports of your character," she said, withdrawing her hand as Bobby straightened. "Though I suspect such late visitation exceeds normal expectations of merchant service."

"I've never aspired to normality, Lady Mary," Bobby replied with a slight smile. "Please, be seated. May I offer refreshment after your journey? Wine perhaps?"

Mary allowed him to guide her to a cushioned chair near the fire, arranging her damp cloak carefully as she sat. "Wine would be welcome. The night air carries February's full chill."

Bobby poured two goblets of Spanish wine—a deliberate choice acknowledging her well-known preference for her mother's cultural heritage. As he offered one to Mary, their fingers brushed briefly—a contact that might appear accidental to observers but which Bobby recognized as deliberate from the slight pressure she applied before accepting the goblet.

"Your message regarding Northumberland's activities proved most timely," Mary said after sampling the wine with appreciative attention. "His agents attempted access to Framlingham two days later, precisely as you warned."

"I'm pleased the information served its purpose," Bobby replied, taking the seat opposite her. "I presume your countermeasures proved effective?"

"Entirely." Mary's satisfaction showed briefly in her expression. "The Duke's men found themselves facing unexpectedly reinforced guards and were **** to retreat without accomplishing their purpose of assessing our defenses."

Bobby nodded, noting her use of "our" rather than "my"—a subtle rhetorical inclusion that positioned him as aligned with her interests. Mary's political instincts were sharper than most contemporaries acknowledged, though not as refined as Elizabeth's would eventually become.

"Northumberland grows increasingly **** as Edward's health deteriorates," Bobby observed. "His timetable accelerates beyond his preparatory capacity."

"Which brings me to the purpose of tonight's visit," Mary said, setting her wine aside and leaning forward slightly. "My sources suggest the Duke has taken more aggressive steps toward securing Jane Grey's succession. Documents have been prepared for Edward's signature that would bypass both myself and Elizabeth in favor of Suffolk's Protestant daughter."

"Your sources are well-informed," Bobby confirmed. "Though such documents require Privy Council endorsement to carry legal weight, and several councilors remain hesitant to overturn Henry's established succession."

Mary's expression hardened momentarily at mention of her father—the king whose religious vacillations and marital complications had caused her mother such suffering. "Even the most hesitant councilors can be persuaded when threatened with treason charges. Northumberland controls access to my brother completely. With appropriate pressure, even **** signatures can be obtained."

"A legitimate concern," Bobby acknowledged. "Though implementation remains challenging while popular sentiment favors your claim as Henry's eldest."

Mary studied him carefully, her dark eyes revealing political calculation beneath courtly manner. "Popular sentiment provides no protection against Tower walls or executioner's blade. I require more substantive safeguards against Northumberland's ambitions."

"Such as?" Bobby prompted, though he had already deduced her likely objectives.

"Information, resources, and connections," Mary replied directly. "Your network provides all three in quantities that could prove decisive in the coming succession crisis."

Bobby maintained neutral expression despite internal amusement at her directness. Where Elizabeth would have approached such requests through layers of implication and strategic positioning, Mary stated her requirements with straightforward clarity.

"And in exchange?" he asked, maintaining the mercantile persona she expected while acknowledging the transactional nature of their discussion.

Mary smiled—a completely different expression from the one she had offered upon his entrance. This smile contained frank acknowledgment of mutual understanding about the negotiation's true nature.

"I believe we've established effective patterns of exchange during our previous... consultations," she replied, her voice dropping to a more intimate register as she set her goblet aside. "Unless those arrangements no longer satisfy your requirements?"

Bobby allowed a small smile to acknowledge her meaning without appearing overly eager. "Previous arrangements have proven mutually beneficial. I simply seek confirmation that tonight's discussion follows similar patterns."

"With appropriate adjustments for the increased value of what I request," Mary confirmed, rising from her chair with deliberate grace. She moved toward the hearth again, positioning herself so that firelight silhouetted her figure through the relatively simple traveling gown. The effect was calculated—revealing enough to stimulate interest while maintaining plausible deniability about intentional seduction.

Bobby appreciated the skillful presentation. Unlike Elizabeth, whose inexperience created genuine tension between political necessity and personal hesitation, Mary had long since reconciled her religious convictions with practical necessities of securing male support. She utilized her body as strategically as any other political asset, without apparent conflict between her Catholic piety and pragmatic sexuality.

"I require funding beyond what my limited personal resources provide," Mary stated directly, turning to face him as he approached. "Securing loyal nobles and maintaining adequate defenses at Framlingham exceeds my current capacity."

"Substantial funding," Bobby observed, stopping close enough that the difference in their heights became pronounced. Mary, like many Tudor women, stood significantly shorter than his imposing frame, requiring her to look up to maintain eye contact. The position created natural power dynamics that she deliberately countered by placing one hand against his chest—establishing physical connection that shifted the interaction's nature.

"Yes," she agreed simply. "Along with continued intelligence regarding Northumberland's movements and access to your trading network for communication purposes. Letters between my supporters face increasing interception as Edward's condition worsens."

Bobby covered her hand with his own, acknowledging the transition from political discussion to more intimate negotiation. "These requests exceed our previous arrangements considerably."

"As will my compensation," Mary replied, her hand sliding upward from his chest to the back of his neck in deliberate invitation. "I believe our previous encounters have demonstrated my understanding of what you value beyond mere commercial advantage."

Without waiting for verbal response, she drew his head down toward hers, initiating a kiss that balanced aristocratic refinement with deliberate sensuality. Mary Tudor kissed like she negotiated—directly and without pretense, yet with sophisticated technique that reflected years of practical experience.

Bobby responded appropriately, one hand moving to her waist while the other cupped the back of her head, deepening the kiss with controlled passion that acknowledged her initiative while asserting his own dominance. The exchange established clear parameters—this was transaction wrapped in mutually enjoyable physical expression, without romantic pretense or emotional complication.

When they separated, Mary's breathing had quickened slightly, though her expression remained composed. "I trust my initial offering meets with approval? The full arrangement would naturally include more comprehensive... services."

"A promising beginning," Bobby acknowledged, his hand remaining at her waist in proprietary fashion. "Though specific terms require more detailed discussion."

Mary's smile held satisfaction at his response. Unlike many men who became flustered or overeager at royal attention, Bobby maintained composed negotiation even as physical interest developed between them. This balanced approach increased her respect—she valued strength and control in political allies.

"Then let us ensure privacy for our negotiations," she suggested, stepping back slightly while maintaining physical connection through her hand on his arm. "Your steward seemed most discreet, but additional safeguards against interruption would be prudent."

Bobby moved to the door, securing it with the heavy iron bolt before returning to where Mary waited. Though the gesture was largely theatrical—his psionic abilities could ensure absolute privacy without physical barriers—maintaining conventional appearances remained important to his cover identity.

"Now," Mary said as he returned to her side, "regarding the specific funding requirements for securing nobleman loyalty during the coming succession crisis..."

What followed established the pattern of their previous encounters—political negotiation interwoven with progressively intimate physical contact. As Mary outlined her financial needs with precise figures and specific purposes, Bobby's hands worked methodically at the fastenings of her gown, each small concession from him matched by additional garments loosened or removed.

By the time they had established the basic framework of financial support—Bobby agreeing to provide substantial credit through his banking connections in Antwerp—Mary stood before him in just her thin linen shift, her outer garments having been methodically removed and carefully placed across a nearby chair.

"Your terms seem reasonable thus far," Bobby observed, his hands moving to cup her breasts through the linen as they discussed intelligence requirements. "Though dedicated courier routes through Plymouth would significantly increase expenses beyond initial estimates."

Mary gasped softly as his thumbs circled her nipples through the fabric, but maintained admirable focus on their negotiation. "The Plymouth route provides essential connection to my Spanish supporters. I can offer additional compensation for that specific accommodation."

"In what form?" Bobby asked, deliberately intensifying his attention to her increasingly sensitive breasts while maintaining outwardly businesslike tone.

With practiced efficiency that belied her royal status, Mary reached down to unfasten his breeches, her hand slipping inside to wrap around his already substantial erection. "I believe this form of collateral has proven acceptable in previous negotiations?"

Bobby allowed an appreciative sound as her experienced fingers applied precisely the right pressure to his cock. At thirty-five, Mary had developed sexual skills that few English noblewomen could match—practical knowledge likely acquired during her years at court when various factions had sought her favor through male representatives.

"Acceptable but incomplete," Bobby replied, maintaining negotiating posture despite her skillful manipulation. "The Plymouth arrangements require significant resource allocation that exceeds standard parameters."

Mary's smile held genuine amusement at his continued business terminology despite their increasingly explicit physical exchange. "Then perhaps we should proceed to more comprehensive demonstrations of good faith," she suggested, sinking gracefully to her knees before him while continuing to stroke his considerable length. "I believe this particular form of assurance has proven effective in securing your cooperation previously?"

Without waiting for response, she freed his cock completely from his breeches and leaned forward to take him into her mouth with practiced expertise. The contrast between her outward presentation as the pious Catholic princess and her current actions—kneeling before a merchant with his cock between her royal lips—embodied the fascinating contradictions of Mary Tudor's character.

Bobby allowed his hand to rest on the back of her head, not guiding but acknowledging her efforts as she applied herself to his pleasure with surprising skill. Where Elizabeth remained virgin territory—her sexual development suspended by political necessity and personal caution—Mary had clearly embraced practical carnality as another tool in her limited political arsenal.

"Your dedication to alliance building remains impressive, Lady Mary," Bobby observed, deliberately using her formal title while she performed this most informal service. The contrast drew a muffled sound of amusement from her without interrupting her rhythmic attention to his cock.

Mary worked with methodical thoroughness, alternating between taking him deeply into her throat and applying focused attention to the sensitive head with her tongue. Her technique reflected practical experience rather than passionate abandon—she approached this act as she did all political tasks, with determined efficiency directed toward specific objectives.

After several minutes of this focused attention, Bobby decided to recalibrate their power dynamic. With a smooth movement that displayed his unusual strength, he lifted her from her kneeling position, ignoring her sound of surprise as he carried her to the large table that dominated one side of the receiving room.

He set her down on its polished surface, pushing her shift upward to expose her lower body completely while stepping between her spread thighs. Mary's expression registered momentary surprise at this assertion of control, followed by approval—she respected strength, having learned from her father that power ultimately determined political outcomes regardless of legal niceties.

"The Plymouth courier route requires additional discussion," Bobby stated conversationally, as though they remained in normal negotiation rather than their current compromising position. His fingers traced deliberate patterns along her inner thighs, gradually moving toward the center where evidence of her arousal had become apparent despite her businesslike manner.

"What—ah—what specific concerns require address?" Mary managed, working to maintain composed negotiation even as his fingers found her most sensitive areas. The juxtaposition of political discussion and intimate touch had featured in their previous encounters, a combination she found particularly effective at securing favorable terms.

"Frequency of communication, security protocols, contingency planning for interception," Bobby enumerated calmly, his fingers continuing their methodical exploration of her increasingly wet center. "Each represents significant investment beyond basic funding provisions."

Mary gasped as he found a particularly responsive spot, her political composure momentarily fracturing before she reasserted control. "Such details—might be more effectively discussed—after demonstration of mutual good faith," she suggested, reaching down to guide his hand more firmly against her core.

Bobby smiled at her transparent attempt to delay detailed negotiation until after physical satisfaction. "Strategic planning benefits from clear thinking rather than post-coital accommodation," he countered, deliberately slipping two fingers inside her while maintaining pressure against her clitoris with his thumb. "Unless you find concurrent discussion too challenging?"

The implied challenge triggered exactly the response he anticipated. Mary Tudor had spent her entire life proving herself capable despite male underestimation. "I assure you, Master Kestrel, my capacity for multitasking remains undiminished," she replied, deliberately contracting her internal muscles around his invading fingers while maintaining direct eye contact. "Plymouth communications should operate biweekly at minimum, with alternate routes established through Bristol as contingency against Northumberland's coastal surveillance."

"Weekly would better serve your interests given accelerating developments," Bobby countered, beginning rhythmic movement with his fingers that drew small gasps from her despite her determined focus. "Though that frequency doubles operational expenses and risk profiles."

"Weekly exceeds—ah—necessary parameters," Mary argued, though her voice had begun to betray the effect of his continued intimate attention. "Ten-day intervals represent optimal balance of timeliness and security."

"An interesting compromise proposal," Bobby acknowledged, increasing both pace and pressure as their negotiation continued. "Though implementation requires additional consideration regarding cipher protocols and authentication mechanisms."

Mary's thighs had begun trembling slightly despite her remarkable self-control. "Authentication through—God's wounds—through Spanish commercial references with rotating Biblical verses as secondary confirmation," she managed, her voice increasingly strained as pleasure built within her system. "Are you attempting to distract me from effective negotiation, Master Kestrel?"

"Not at all," Bobby replied with deliberate innocence, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm inside her. "I merely seek conclusion of essential business details before proceeding to more comprehensive alliance confirmation. Unless you find yourself unable to concentrate?"

The challenge again achieved its purpose, Mary's expression hardening with determination even as her body responded to his skillful touch. "I've negotiated treaties under far more trying circumstances," she declared, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the breathless quality of her voice. "Spanish verification requires reciprocal acknowledgment through merchant shipping manifests with appropriate numerical sequences."

"A workable system," Bobby conceded, deliberately altering the angle of his penetrating fingers to stimulate the most sensitive internal spot while continuing steady pressure against her clitoris. "Though key distribution presents logistical challenges under current court surveillance conditions."

Mary's composure finally cracked as his adjusted technique pushed her rapidly toward climax. "Enough—discussion," she gasped, reaching for his wrist not to stop his movements but rather to guide them more precisely. "Fucking finish this negotiation properly."

Bobby smiled at her uncharacteristic vulgarity—a linguistic descent that occurred only during their most intimate moments, when royal dignity temporarily surrendered to physical imperatives. "As the lady commands," he acquiesced, withdrawing his fingers and positioning his considerable cock at her entrance instead.

Mary made an impatient sound, reaching to pull him forward with surprising strength for her small frame. Bobby allowed himself to be guided, sliding into her with a single smooth thrust that drew matching sounds of satisfaction from both of them. After the extended foreplay of their negotiation, her body welcomed his substantial size without resistance, internal muscles immediately contracting around him with practiced control.

"Now," Mary said, her voice steadying somewhat despite their intimate connection, "regarding acceleration of support payment schedules..."

Bobby laughed—a genuine sound of appreciation for her determined return to negotiation even with his cock fully sheathed inside her. "Your focus remains admirable," he acknowledged, beginning to move with controlled depth that allowed continued conversation despite mounting pleasure.

This peculiar combination of political negotiation and sexual congress had characterized their previous encounters as well. Where most women in Mary's position would have abandoned business discussion entirely during intimacy, she utilized these moments of physical vulnerability to secure optimal terms—recognizing that male negotiators often proved more amenable during sexual engagement than in formal settings.

"Initial payment of two thousand crowns through Antwerp provides sufficient—" Mary paused as a particularly deep thrust momentarily disrupted her concentration. "—sufficient resources for immediate security enhancements at Framlingham."

"Fifteen hundred with additional disbursement contingent on verifiable loyalty from Norfolk's representatives," Bobby countered, maintaining steady rhythm that balanced pleasure delivery with continued cognitive function. "Recent intelligence suggests his commitment may prove situational rather than absolute."

Mary's legs wrapped around his waist, using the leverage to pull him deeper with each thrust while she considered his counterproposal. The position shifted power dynamics in her favor—while he physically dominated their connection, she controlled rhythm and depth through this strategic adjustment.

"Seventeen hundred initially," she countered breathlessly, "with remaining three hundred held in escrow pending Norfolk's formal declaration of support. His Catholic sympathies ultimately outweigh his survival instincts."

Bobby increased his pace slightly, sensing her approaching climax despite her remarkable concentration on their negotiation. "Acceptable terms," he conceded, his hands moving to grip her hips more firmly as their coupling intensified. "Though explicit documentation of fund utilization becomes necessary for transactions of this magnitude."

Mary's eyes flashed momentary indignation even as her body responded to his accelerated thrusting. "You question my financial management?"

"I question no aspect of your considerable capabilities," Bobby clarified smoothly, punctuating the diplomatic correction with a particularly well-angled thrust that drew an involuntary gasp from her. "I merely observe that accountability supports operational security when multiple agents access distributed resources."

The logical framework defused her momentary offense, allowing negotiation to continue despite their increasingly vigorous physical congress. "Quarterly accounting through Dominican channels," she proposed, her breath coming faster as pleasure built toward inevitable conclusion. "With coded verification through your Antwerp representatives."

"Monthly," Bobby countered, deliberately changing angle to stimulate her most responsive internal areas while maintaining the pace that had proven most effective during previous encounters. "With immediate notification of significant expenditures exceeding one hundred crowns."

Mary's ability to maintain political focus finally began fracturing as physical sensation overwhelmed cognitive function. "Bimonthly," she gasped, her final counteroffer before coherent negotiation became impossible. "With threshold at... one-fifty..."

Her voice trailed off as Bobby accelerated both pace and ****, driving into her with controlled power that pushed her rapidly past the threshold of rational discussion. Mary's head fell back, her body arching against the table's surface as pleasure overwhelmed political calculation.

"Accepted," Bobby stated simply, though he doubted she registered the concession as orgasm claimed her attention completely.

Mary Tudor climaxed with the same combination of discipline and abandon that characterized all aspects of her complex personality—her body convulsing around him while she maintained just enough awareness to avoid outcries that might alert her waiting attendants. Instead, she bit her lower lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, her internal muscles contracting around his invading cock with remarkable strength as waves of pleasure coursed through her system.

Bobby maintained his rhythm through her climax, prolonging the sensation while watching her expression with genuine fascination. In these unguarded moments of physical release, Mary Tudor revealed vulnerability beneath royal composure—glimpses of the woman whose life had been shaped by political necessity rather than personal desire.

As her breathing gradually steadied, awareness returned to Mary's expression. "You haven't finished," she observed, noting his continued hardness within her. Unlike many men of her acquaintance who sought immediate completion regardless of female satisfaction, Bobby typically maintained control until mutual fulfillment had been achieved.

"Our business remains incomplete," he replied with deliberate ambiguity, slowly withdrawing from her despite her small sound of protest. "And I believe our negotiation mentioned comprehensive services for the arrangements discussed."

Understanding immediately colored Mary's expression. With practiced efficiency that belied her royal status, she repositioned herself on the table, turning to present her backside to him while bracing herself on her elbows. The position represented complete submission in physical terms, though they both understood it as tactical accommodation rather than genuine surrender.

"The Plymouth route deserves appropriate compensation," she acknowledged, looking back over her shoulder with frank assessment. "Though I expect comprehensive intelligence regarding Northumberland's succession planning in return."

Bobby positioned himself behind her, his cock sliding easily through her abundant wetness before pressing against her entrance again. "Information flow remains proportional to demonstrated commitment," he replied, pushing forward with deliberate slowness that drew a sharp intake of breath from her despite her considerable experience.

From this angle, his substantial size created more significant stretch, requiring careful adjustment even with her body's prepared state. Mary breathed deeply, consciously relaxing muscles that initially tensed against the invasion. Unlike most men of her era who would have simply **** their way forward regardless of female comfort, Bobby maintained controlled patience, allowing her body to accommodate him gradually.

"Specific intelligence regarding—" Mary paused as he sank deeper, adjusting to the fullness before continuing, "—regarding Edward's physicians and their treatment protocols represents particular value."

Bobby established careful rhythm, each thrust penetrating slightly deeper than the previous until he had fully sheathed himself in her willing body. "Medical information carries highest sensitivity given court surveillance," he observed, his hands gripping her hips to control their movement precisely. "Though certain aspects might be obtainable through appropriate channels."

This position allowed significantly deeper penetration, stimulating internal areas that previous arrangements had left untouched. Mary gasped as he bottomed out completely, the sensation hovering between pleasure and discomfort until her body adjusted fully to his considerable size.

"I require—" she began, then lost her train of thought as he established more forceful rhythm that rendered political negotiation temporarily impossible. For several minutes, their coupling continued without verbal exchange, the receiving room filled only with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh and their increasingly labored breathing.

Bobby watched Mary's composure gradually dissolve as physical sensation overwhelmed political calculation. Her carefully constructed persona—the dignified Catholic princess fighting for her rightful inheritance—gave way to more primal reality as her body responded to his methodical attention. Within minutes, she had abandoned pretense of negotiation entirely, pushing back against each thrust with increasing urgency.

"Harder," she demanded, royal authority momentarily reasserting itself even in this compromised position. "I won't break, Kestrel."

Bobby complied, increasing both **** and tempo while maintaining precise angle to maximize stimulation of her most responsive areas. Mary dropped fully to her forearms, presenting herself at the perfect height for deeper penetration as their coupling intensified beyond pretense of political discussion.

"Is this how you fuck my sister too?" Mary asked suddenly, the unexpected question emerging between gasps as he drove into her with increasing power.

Bobby maintained his rhythm without hesitation, though the query represented interesting development in their dynamic. "Would that matter to you?" he countered, deliberately avoiding direct response.

"It might," Mary acknowledged breathlessly, her body continuing to meet each thrust despite the potentially contentious conversation. "Given her youth and rumored fear of men's touch, I imagine I offer more comprehensive experience."

The comparison was interesting—less from jealous motivation than practical assessment of competitive advantage. Unlike most women who might question a lover's other connections from emotional insecurity, Mary approached the matter as strategic consideration—evaluating her assets against potential rivals for valuable alliance.

Rather than verbally engaging this complex dynamic, Bobby responded physically instead—gripping her hips harder and increasing the **** of his thrusts until the table itself began shifting slightly across the floor with each impact. The assertive response drew approving sounds from Mary, who appreciated definitive action more than diplomatic evasion.

"I thought so," she gasped, apparently interpreting his vigorous response as confirmation of her superior capabilities. "The virgin princess probably wouldn't know what to do with a cock like yours anyway."

Bobby found this competitive assessment darkly amusing given his awareness of Elizabeth's prophetic dreams—visions that had apparently included explicit sexual scenarios based on her reaction during their recent meeting. The contrast between the sisters extended to every aspect of their personalities—Mary's practical experience versus Elizabeth's visionary potential, immediate tactical thinking versus long-term strategic calculation.

"Different arrangements serve different purposes," he replied cryptically, refusing to confirm or deny Elizabeth's involvement despite Mary's obvious fishing for information.

His non-committal response clearly frustrated her, but further questioning became impossible as he increased pace beyond her capacity for coherent conversation. Mary abandoned the topic, focusing instead on the rapidly building pleasure that his relentless rhythm produced within her responsive body.

Their coupling continued with increasing intensity, political calculation completely replaced by physical imperative as Bobby drove them both toward completion. Mary's second climax approached more rapidly than her first, her body primed by previous satisfaction and the deeper stimulation their current position provided.

"I'm going to—" she gasped, unable to complete the sentence as orgasm overtook her with unexpected ****. Her internal muscles clamped down around him with remarkable strength, her entire body trembling as pleasure crashed through her system with tsunami intensity.

Bobby maintained his rhythm through her climax, prolonging the sensation while finally allowing his own release to build after extended control. As her trembling began to subside, he increased pace to maximum intensity for several final thrusts before driving deep and remaining there as his own orgasm erupted, filling her with hot pulses that drew renewed gasping from her still-sensitive body.

For several moments they remained joined in that position, both breathing heavily from their exertions. Then Bobby withdrew carefully, watching with primal satisfaction as his seed began leaking from her still-pulsing center—visual confirmation of their transaction's completion.

Mary pushed herself upright with slightly shaking arms, turning to face him with remarkable composure given their recent activities. She made no move to cover herself immediately, instead regarding him with frank assessment as fluid continued running down her inner thigh—physical evidence of their arrangement that she neither acknowledged nor seemed troubled by.

"I presume our terms are settled then?" she inquired, her voice steadier than might be expected after such intense physical experience. "Initial payment of seventeen hundred crowns through Antwerp, with continued intelligence regarding Northumberland's succession planning and weekly communication through the Plymouth route?"

Bobby smiled at her immediate return to business matters, adjusting his clothing with practiced efficiency while she remained momentarily exposed before him. "With bimonthly accounting and notification of expenditures exceeding one hundred fifty crowns," he confirmed, completing their negotiated terms. "Plus additional medicines for Edward's comfort, though I make no promises regarding efficacy given his advancing condition."

Mary nodded, finally reaching for her discarded shift. "The medicines represent particular value. Despite our differences, I would not wish my brother unnecessary suffering in his final months."

This sentiment—genuine concern for Edward despite their religious conflict and his role in potentially disinheriting her—represented the complex humanity beneath Mary's often one-dimensional historical portrayal. Her capacity to compartmentalize political necessity from personal feeling mirrored Bobby's own evolved perspective after billions of years observing human complexity.

As Mary methodically restored her appearance, garment by garment, their discussion turned to practical implementation of their agreed terms. Bobby outlined specific banking arrangements through his Antwerp connections while she detailed her current defensive preparations at Framlingham. Throughout this exchange, no mention was made of their intimate activities just minutes earlier—the physical dimension of their arrangement acknowledged through completion rather than verbal reference.

When she stood fully dressed once more, Mary appeared exactly as she had upon arrival—the composed royal princess rather than the passionate woman who had demanded harder fucking just moments earlier. Only slightly flushed cheeks and unusually bright eyes hinted at activities beyond political negotiation.

"The hour grows late," she observed, glancing toward the window where midnight had long since passed. "I must return before my absence raises uncomfortable questions among my remaining court attendants."

"Indeed," Bobby agreed, moving to remove the bolt securing the chamber door. "Though given the weather, perhaps you might consider remaining until morning? Your attendants could be comfortably quartered, and further discussion might prove valuable regarding Norfolk's wavering loyalties."

The invitation represented practical consideration rather than romantic extension—continued proximity would allow additional intelligence exchange without requiring another potentially dangerous nighttime journey through London's streets. Yet Mary's slight smile suggested she recognized additional motivations beneath the practical proposal.

"A tempting offer," she acknowledged, adjusting her cloak with practiced dignity. "Though unfortunately impossible given current surveillance of my movements. Northumberland's spies report regularly on visitors to my authorized residences. Extended absence would generate questions I would prefer to avoid."

Bobby nodded, accepting this practical assessment without pressing further. "Then safe return journey, Lady Mary. My steward will escort you and your attendants to your carriage with appropriate discretion."

Mary extended her hand in the formal gesture of royal departure, allowing him to bow over it with proper deference that acknowledged their public personas rather than private arrangement. Yet as Bobby straightened, she stepped closer, speaking in tones too low for anyone beyond the room to hear.

"Your assistance may determine England's future governance," she said, her dark eyes holding his with genuine intensity. "When I secure my rightful throne, such loyalty will be remembered with appropriate rewards beyond our current arrangements."

"I look forward to that potential future," Bobby replied with diplomatic ambiguity that committed him to nothing while maintaining apparent alignment with her interests. "Though much remains undetermined in the succession landscape."

Mary's expression hardened slightly at this qualified response. "My father established the succession clearly through parliamentary statute. Only treasonous manipulation could prevent my rightful inheritance once Edward passes."

Rather than challenging this somewhat simplified assessment of Tudor succession politics, Bobby merely bowed again with appropriate deference. "May events unfold according to proper legal framework," he offered—another carefully constructed statement that could support multiple interpretations depending on one's definition of "proper legal framework."

Mary accepted this diplomatic response with a slight nod, recognizing the strategic ambiguity without challenging it directly. As Harrington arrived to escort her back to her waiting attendants, she departed with perfect royal dignity that gave no indication of their recent intimate activities.

After ensuring Mary's departure proceeded with appropriate discretion, Bobby returned to his private study rather than seeking rest. Despite the lateness of the hour, his unique physiology required minimal sleep, and the evening's developments demanded immediate strategic recalibration.

Mary Tudor's direct approach to securing his support created interesting counterbalance to Elizabeth's more cautious strategy. The elder sister offered immediate rewards—both financial opportunity through Spanish connections and explicit physical gratification—while the younger dangled future potential through prophetic glimpses of their entwined destinies.

Bobby found historical irony in their contrasting approaches. Mary, whose reign would be briefer and ultimately less successful, focused on immediate tactical advantage rather than long-term positioning. Elizabeth, whose forty-five year rule would transform England into global power, demonstrated strategic patience even at seventeen.

Yet both sisters underestimated the complexity of his actual objectives. For a being who had witnessed countless civilizations rise and fall across billions of years, Tudor succession politics represented fascinating microcosm rather than ultimate purpose. His partnership with Elizabeth served larger patterns involving humanity's scientific development, not merely immediate political outcomes.

Bobby moved to his desk, unfolding detailed maps of southern England while considering how best to manage these parallel relationships without creating unnecessary complications. Elizabeth would eventually discover his connections to Mary—William Cecil's intelligence network grew more sophisticated daily, and Bobby's own staff might reveal information given appropriate incentive.

When that discovery occurred, Elizabeth's reaction would prove revealing about her developing emotional state. The jealousy he had detected during their last meeting suggested personal attachment beyond political alliance—feelings that might influence her strategic decisions in potentially problematic ways.

Already he had sensed her growing resentment toward Mary despite public protestations about respecting legitimate succession. If Elizabeth discovered his intimate connection with her half-sister, that resentment might crystallize into something more dangerous—potentially increasing receptiveness to suggestions about bypassing Mary's reign entirely through direct intervention.

Bobby contemplated this possibility without moral judgment. In his billions of years observing human civilization, he had witnessed countless succession conflicts involving far greater **** than Tudor England could imagine. Elizabeth's potential willingness to eliminate Mary represented neither unusual depravity nor particular virtue—merely pragmatic assessment of political realities.

From purely practical perspective, accelerating Elizabeth's ascension by eliminating Mary's five-year bloody reign would arguably benefit England significantly. Catholic persecution would be avoided, Spanish influence prevented, and economic stability maintained rather than undermined. Thousands of lives would be spared, technological development accelerated, and national unity preserved rather than fractured along religious lines.

Yet such intervention would fundamentally alter Elizabeth's development as ruler. The guilt of supplanting her sister would shape her reign differently than historically established pattern where she had inherited legitimately after Mary's natural ****. That psychological foundation—ascending legally rather than through usurpation—had proven crucial to Elizabeth's historical effectiveness as monarch.

As interesting as these counterfactual scenarios might be, immediate practical considerations required attention. Bobby would depart for Woodstock tomorrow morning to meet with Elizabeth as planned. Her letter suggested increased urgency regarding Edward's declining health, and Cecil would undoubtedly have new intelligence about Northumberland's activities.

Balancing these parallel relationships required careful information management—providing each Tudor sister appropriate intelligence without compromising either's strategic position prematurely. For now, maintaining both connections served optimal outcomes across multiple potential timelines, regardless of which succession trajectory ultimately manifested.

Bobby studied the map before him, tracing potential routes between key locations while considering defensive contingencies for various scenarios. Regardless of philosophical complexities, practical preparations remained essential—safe houses established, emergency resources positioned, communication networks secured against increasing surveillance as Edward's **** approached.

The chess pieces were moving faster now as February deepened toward inevitable March crisis. Northumberland's desperation would grow proportionally with Edward's declining health, increasing danger for both Tudor sisters despite their different positions and approaches.

Bobby found himself genuinely curious about which sister would prove more adaptable to rapidly changing circumstances—Mary with her direct tactical approach or Elizabeth with her strategic long-term vision. History provided clear answer regarding their ultimate effectiveness as rulers, but immediate crisis management sometimes favored different qualities than sustained governance.

Either way, his role remained consistent—providing resources, intelligence, and support that optimized potential outcomes across multiple timelines while maintaining sufficient distance to avoid compromising his broader objectives. The physical relationships each sister sought represented merely one dimension of these complex interactions—pleasurable diversion rather than primary purpose.

As London's night deepened toward dawn, Bobby continued his methodical preparations, setting in motion arrangements Mary had requested while simultaneously finalizing details for his journey to Elizabeth at Woodstock. The Tudor succession crisis accelerated toward its historical inflection point, with forces now concentrating that would shape England's future for centuries to come.