The King's Bride. Lucy Gordon

she pointed out. ‘Unless she’s well protected.’

      ‘You, I think, are protected by your effrontery.’

      ‘Oh, dear! I have offended Your Majesty.’

      His eyes gleamed. ‘Do not fish for compliments, Miss Boothe.’

      ‘Is that what I was doing?’ she murmured.

      ‘Yes. And it was quite unnecessary.’

      There were a dozen ways to take that but, raising a questioning eyebrow to him, she sensed exactly what he was telling her and a swift excitement scurried through her veins.

      She hadn’t meant this to happen. So far and no further. That had been the idea. Flirt with him, intrigue him until he was putty in her hands. It had worked before.

      ‘Use your charms to bring them to heel,’ Dame Elizabeth had always advised. ‘What else are charms for?’

      But it had never been part of the plan for him to charm her. Now matters were getting out of hand. Beneath his stiff exterior this man had a devil in his eyes. Lizzie had an uneasy feeling that he’d sized her up and decided he could deal with her.

      But how? That was the question that made her blood race. Whatever the answer she decided she was going to enjoy it, and if she could gain her professional goals as well, so much the better.

      ‘The music is ending,’ Daniel observed. ‘But our talk is just beginning. I’ve ordered champagne served on the terrace.’

      Two hundred pairs of eyes watched him lead her from the floor and through the French windows that led onto the broad terrace. A footman was just laying down a tray bearing two fluted glasses and a bottle. Daniel waved him away, indicated for Lizzie to sit at the small table, and himself did the pouring.

      ‘So you’re writing a book about my grandfather?’ he said, putting the glass into her hand and seating himself opposite. Through the tall windows Lizzie could see couples swirling by as the dance resumed, and hear the soft swell of music. But she was intensely conscious of the King, watching her closely, as though she was the only person in the world. ‘Why do you wish to do this?’

      ‘Because he’s fascinated me all my life,’ she replied. ‘Aunt Lizzie told me so much about him, and about Voltavia. She made it sound like a wonderful country.’

      ‘It is a wonderful country. And I know she had many admirers there. Among whom, of course, was the King.’

      ‘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.’