The King's Bride

‘She always kept the medals and decorations he gave her. She was a compulsive hoarder. I don’t think she ever threw anything away. When she died she left everything to me, and I still have them all—the medals, the scrapbooks, even some of her costumes.’

‘You must have meant a great deal to her.’

‘She was my grandfather’s sister and almost the only family I had. When I was ten my parents died and she took me in. She was thought very scandalous when she was young, but when I knew her she’d become Dame Elizabeth Boothe, and very respectable.’

‘And I suppose you were completely in her confidence?’

Lizzie considered. ‘Not completely. I don’t think she told everything to anyone. She lived in the public eye but she kept many secrets.’

‘But some secrets are harder to keep than others.’

‘If you mean the fact that King Alphonse admired her, no, that was hardly a secret, especially with all the jewellery he gave her.’

‘He gave her jewels? I must admit I didn’t know that.’

Lizzie touched the diamond necklace and matching earrings that blazed against her fair skin. ‘These came from him.’

Daniel looked hard at the flashing gems. ‘Magnificent,’ he murmured. ‘Clearly he valued her a great deal. But how did she value him?’

‘She kept his photograph on her wall to the end of her life.’ Daniel shrugged, and she said quickly, ‘No, it wasn’t just a formal picture. It was inscribed in his own handwriting.’

He was suddenly alert. ‘What did he write?’

‘“In friendship and gratitude, Alphonse,”’ Lizzie replied.

‘“Friendship and gratitude,”’ Daniel repeated slowly. ‘Yes, my grandfather was a restrained man. I can imagine him using such words when what he really meant was something else—something a great deal more intense and emotional.’

There was a new note in his voice as he said the last words that made the silence hang heavy between them. For a mad moment Lizzie wondered if she’d strayed into something that was too much for her. This man held every card in the pack, yet she was trying to gamble with him on equal terms. It was heady wine, and his sudden urgent tone made it headier still.

The music of the waltz was floating out onto the terrace.

‘Dance with me,’ he commanded, taking her into his arms without waiting for her answer.

In the ballroom he had danced correctly, preserving the proper distance of a few inches between them, and touching her back so lightly that she’d barely felt it. Now he held her close enough for her to feel his breath on her bare shoulder, and his hand was firm in the small of her back. She had said that he was only a king, not a man. And she’d been so wrong.

‘What do they call you?’ he murmured. ‘Liz? Elizabeth?’

‘Lizzie.’

‘Lizzie, I’m glad we’ve had this talk. It makes many things clearer.’

‘Do you mean that you’ll help me?’ she asked eagerly.

‘Ah, yes, you want an interview.’

‘And much, much more.’

There was a sudden keen look in his eyes. ‘How much more?’ he asked.

‘Access to the royal archives,’ she said, breathless with hope. ‘Official memos, private correspondence…’

‘Private—?’ With a swift movement his hand tightened on her waist, drawing her hard against him.

‘I want to show him in the round, and for that I must see everything,’ she said, speaking breathlessly for he was holding her very tightly. ‘We all know the face he presented to the world, but it’s the things the world didn’t know that have real value.’

‘Ah, yes. Value. We mustn’t forget that. And of course their value is higher precisely because the world doesn’t know.’

‘Exactly. There’s no substitute for private letters.’

‘I’m sure that’s true,’ he murmured, sending warm breath skittering across her cheek. She saw how very close his mouth was to her own, and tried to control her riotous thoughts. But they wouldn’t be controlled. They raced ahead, speculating about the shape of his mouth, the firmness of his lips, how they would feel against hers…

She looked up and what she saw gave her a shock. Despite the apparent ardour in his behaviour there was only cool calculation in his eyes.

She tried to clear her head, to know what this meant, but that was hard when the world was spinning around her. As they slowed she realised that he had danced her right around the corner of the building. He was smiling at her, and she could believe, if she wanted to, that the chill look of a moment ago had been all her imagination.

‘You’re not the only historian who wants to write about my grandfather, Miss Boothe.’

‘No, but I’m ahead of the pack,’ she said simply.

‘Are you?’

‘Yes. Because of Aunt Lizzie, who knew him as nobody else did.’

‘I wasn’t forgetting that, nor that such knowledge is valuable.’ He stressed the word in a way that fell oddly on her ear.

‘Priceless,’ she agreed.

‘I’d hardly say priceless. Sooner or later most things have a price. The problem is agreeing on it.’

‘I’m not sure that I understand Your Majesty.’

He smiled. ‘I think you do. I think we understand each other very well, and have done from the beginning.’

The reserve had gone from his eyes, replaced by something that made her heart beat faster. Almost unconsciously she raised her face towards him as he lowered his mouth onto hers.

She was no green girl experiencing her first kiss, but it might almost have been the first from its effect on her. There’d been a time when a king had held his throne by being better, stronger, more skilled at everything than his subjects, and perhaps it was still partly true, for this king kissed like an expert, ardent, subtle, knowing how to seek out a woman’s weakness. Lizzie had never been kissed like this before, not even by the eager young husband with whom she’d shared a few months of wild passion before parting in bitterness.

His mouth caressed hers with urgency. In repose his lips were firm almost to the point of hardness, but now their movements were teasing, driving her as though he was being harried by his own desire. She tried to master her own rising excitement, determined to stay in control, but he was equally determined to strip control away from her. And he was winning.

He kissed the soft skin beneath one ear and she gave a small gasp. She was so sensitive there that normally she tried never to let a man approach it, but he’d known her weakness by instinct and gone for it without mercy. He continued the subtle assault down her long neck while she trembled and clung to him.

When he raised his head she longed to pull it down to her again and tell him to continue what he’d begun. Instead she became hypnotised by his eyes, which were brooding over her as though he too was trying to comprehend her, and failing.

‘You came here tonight for a purpose,’ he murmured. ‘Was this it?’

‘I—don’t know,’ she said wildly. ‘Perhaps—’

‘Ah, yes, the letters. Words on paper between people who are dead and gone. But we are alive. No woman ever felt so alive in my arms as you.’