The King's Bride

by Lucy Gordon

‘Of course,’ she agreed, backing away to let him in.

  Daniel quietly closed the door behind him. Lizzie went

  to the main light switch, but he halted her with his hand on her wrist.

  ‘I think not,’ he said, switching on a very small table lamp. ‘This will be sufficient.’

  The tiny lamp gave a reasonable illumination, while still leaving the room half hidden in shadow. But she could discern enough of Daniel to feast her eyes. He was in day clothes, but without a jacket, his shirt open at the throat, looking more informal than she’d seen him before.

  Lizzie felt at a slight disadvantage. She was sufficiently worldly wise to have realised that this moment would probably come. Even to hope for it. But had she hoped for it quite so soon?

  Then she put her chin up. She was alone with the most dangerously attractive man she’d ever met, his dark eyes were regarding her with appreciation, and if she couldn’t cope with that then it was time she retired from the fray and took up something easier, like taming lions.

  ‘I’m sure you understand why I’ve come here so late, and so discretely,’ he said, still with his eyes on her. ‘In fact, I’ve been sure that we shared a perfect understanding from the first moment. Neither of us is exactly inexperienced in the ways of-shall we say-intrigue?’

  She smiled, beginning to feel at ease. ‘Does it matter what we call it?’

  ‘Some people believe that to define things exactly is essential. Others feel that if the essence is right, the rest is froth. You clearly belong in the second group, which I must admit surprises me a little.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘As a historian I should have thought you valued precise definition. And you are here as a historian, are you not?’

  ‘In the presence of a king I am always a historian,’ she riposted. ‘Among other things.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, let us not forget that I’m a king, because if I weren’t you wouldn’t be here.’

  Not strictly true, she thought, looking at his throat and the few inches of chest she could see beneath it, rising and falling with some emotion that excited her. There was more excitement when he touched her face and wreathed his fingers in the hair that fell over her shoulders, drawing her swiftly close to cradle her head against his shoulder.

  He covered her mouth swiftly and suddenly, kissing her with lips that demanded more than caressed. There was no tenderness, just an assertion of power, but while one part of her rebelled at this, another part, infuriatingly, was thrilled at the complete, unquestioning confidence of this man. His power came less from his rank than from his ability to drive a woman into a turmoil of dizzying sensation by his kiss alone. When he released her she was gasping, and shocked at how easily he could make her want to yield.

  His face bore a look of resolution, as though he’d just come to a decision. Lizzie waited with pounding heart for what he would say next. But when the words came, they were the last she had expected.

  ‘I think the time has come to drop all pretence between us,’ he said in a voice that was curiously hard for a man in the throes of passion.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand you.’

  ‘I believe you do. When we spoke in London I had-shall we say certain suspicions? Which you obligingly confirmed. You’ve come here to sell, and I am prepared to buy.’

  ‘Prepared-to buy?’ Lizzie echoed slowly, trying to silence the monstrous thought that had reared up in her brain.

  ‘At a sensible price, yes. You obviously know the value of what you bring to market-’

  ‘And what exactly is it that you think I bring to market?’ Lizzie asked, her eyes narrowing.

  He looked surprised for a moment, but then shrugged. ‘You’re quite right to put negotiations on a businesslike footing. I’m prepared to be reasonable about money, even generous, but don’t try to overcharge me-’

  He got no further. What he might have said next was cut off by a stinging slap from a very angry woman. Then they were staring at each other, each trying to believe that it had happened.

  Lizzie had never slapped a man’s face before. She considered it undignified and violent. Now, in a turmoil of hurt pride, hurt feelings and sheer outrage, she was discovering how satisfying it could be.

  ‘Have you any idea,’ he said slowly, ‘of the penalty for attacking the King?’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh!’ she stormed, in the worst temper of her life. ‘All right, go on. Summon the guards and tell them that you tried to buy your way into my bed and got your face slapped. I don’t think so. No man has ever had me for money, and no man ever will. King or no king! And if you thought I was for sale when you invited me here, boy, did you make a mistake!’

  He was paler than she’d ever seen any man. Doubtless from the shock of being treated so disrespectfully, she thought with grim satisfaction.

  ‘And I,’ he said at last, ‘have never needed to buy my way into a woman’s bed. Nor am I interested in your charms.’

  ‘That’s a lie,’ she said, casting caution to the winds.

  He shrugged. ‘Possibly. But I have never allowed my personal desires to interfere with politics, and you would do well to remember that in our dealings.’

  ‘We’re not going to have any more dealings,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘That is for me to say. When we’ve discussed business I will inform you of our future dealings.’

  ‘Why, you arrogant-’

  ‘Of course I am. I’m a king; what did you expect?’ His eyes gleamed at her. ‘We’re not just characters in books. There’s still a reality behind the title, and the reality is power, especially here and now. I’ve wasted enough time. I want the letters.’

  ‘Letters? What letters?’

  ‘Oh, please! You know what you’re here for.’

  ‘I know what I’m not here for, and if you come any closer-’

  His eyes flicked over her without interest. ‘You flatter yourself-at least for the moment,’ he said coldly. ‘All that concerns me is the bundle of letters in your possession.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  He sighed. ‘Very well, we must play the game out-although I had credited you with more intelligence. When we were in London, you yourself told me of the relationship between your great-aunt and my grandfather.’

  ‘Well yes, except that nobody really knew for certain-’

  ‘I know for certain. They were lovers. Their correspondence leaves no doubt of the fact.’

  The historian stirred in her. ‘Correspondence?’

  ‘When I assumed the throne I went through all my grand

  father’s possessions. Among them was a locked chest that turned out to contain a pile of letters. They were from an English woman who signed herself “your own Liz, for ever”.’

  ‘You mean they were love letters?’

  ‘Yes, they were love letters, and they totally undermine my grandfather’s reputation.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He was known and respected as a rigid disciplinarian, a stern patriarch and an aloof monarch. Royalty, he believed, should “keep a proper distance”. Because he lived up to his beliefs he was deeply respected, all over the world.’

  ‘But he didn’t “keep a proper distance” from this lady?’

  ‘It would appear not. The letters are emotional and indiscreet, and they strongly suggest that his replies must have been the same.’ Daniel’s eyes narrowed. ‘But I imagine you could tell me about that?’

  ‘Me? Why should you think I know anything?’

  ‘Because the replies are in your possession. You are Dame Elizabeth’s heir, the one she trusted to preserve her legend. Who else?’

  ‘But she never mentioned anything like this. And who’s to say it was her? Did this woman ever sign her full name?’

  ‘No, it was always “Liz”, but she’s the only possibility. The dates are very revealing. In August 1955 she wrote saying how much she had enjoyed seeing him again, and how sad she w
as to have left him. Dame Elizabeth was touring Voltavia in July 1955, and returned to England in the first week in August.’

  ‘That certainly looks likely. But why did she never tell me?’

  ‘If that’s meant to be a negotiating ploy, let me warn you that it isn’t a good one.’

  ‘Look, I knew nothing about this.’

  ‘Nonsense! You as good as admitted that you had them when we spoke in London.’

  ‘I-?’

  ‘All that talk about the value of personal letters. You stressed that your great-aunt knew King Alphonse as nobody else did, and that such knowledge was priceless. That was your exact word.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t mean-’

  ‘And I, you may remember, said that sooner or later a price could always be agreed. You have my grandfather’s letters and you’ve kept them to publish. It would be treasure-trove to a historian. But I don’t mean to see my family secrets bandied about for the world to laugh at. You will hand them over to me. I’ll pay a reasonable price, but I won’t be trifled with.’

  The truth was dawning on Lizzie. ‘Is that the reason you brought me here-the only reason?’ she demanded, aghast.

  ‘What other reason could there be?’

  She thought of his kiss, how giddy it had made her. And she’d rushed here, dreaming of more sweet delight. She could have screamed with vexation.

  Instead she spoke with careful restraint. ‘We seem to have misunderstood each other. I don’t have your grandfather’s letters. I don’t even know that they exist. The Dame may have destroyed them. Have you thought of that?’

  ‘Please!’ he said dismissively. ‘A woman? Destroy love letters? Is any woman discreet enough for that?’

  ‘Is any man? Alphonse didn’t destroy his, did he? I don’t think you should get on your high horse about indiscretion.’

  That annoyed him, she was glad to see. He flushed angrily

  and snapped, ‘This argument gets us nowhere. I know you have these letters-’

  ‘Rubbish! You know nothing of the kind!’

  ‘Do not interrupt me. I know you have these letters because you virtually offered them to me in London.’

  ‘I did not. I mentioned personal correspondence because that’s what a historian always wants to see. I didn’t know what you were reading into it.’

  ‘You went out of your way to assure me that Dame Elizabeth kept everything.’

  ‘But I didn’t mean this. How could I when I knew nothing about it? If they were in the house I’d have found them.’

  ‘A bank deposit box?’

  ‘She’d have told me.’

  They glared at each other in frustration.

  ‘What are they like, these letters you found?’ Lizzie asked, trying to sound casual.

  ‘That doesn’t concern you.’

  ‘The hell it doesn’t! You drag me out here under false pretences and it doesn’t concern me? You’ll find out whether it does or not.’

  ‘If that’s a threat, Miss Boothe, let me warn you, don’t! People don’t cross swords with me.’

  ‘Time someone did! Frankly I wish I did have the letters you want, then I could enjoy telling you to whistle for them. As it is, I don’t have them, don’t know where they are, have never heard of them. Which rather takes the gilt off the gingerbread.’

  His eyes were cold and narrow with displeasure, and if Lizzie had been easily afraid she would have started to quake now. But she was naturally impulsive, lost her temper, said

  too much, regretted it too late, and only realised the danger when it was long past. Daniel would have had to lock her in a dungeon before it dawned on Lizzie that just maybe she’d gone a little bit too far.

  Possibly this occurred to him, because he relaxed and allowed his anger to fade into exasperation. ‘There’s nothing more to be gained tonight,’ he growled. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Unless I decide to leave before then,’ she said with spirit.

  ‘Well, if I find you gone I’ll know what to think,’ he said smoothly. ‘Goodnight, Miss Boothe.’

  She was facing a closed door.

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ she breathed. ‘Or tomorrow evening. Or the day after, if it suits you. Oh, no! I don’t think so.’

  Moving fast, she dressed, hurled some clothes into a bag and headed for the outer door. Opening it slowly, quietly, she prepared to step outside.

  But, instead of the empty corridor she’d seen earlier, she now discovered two beefy guards standing across the doorway, firmly blocking her exit.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WAS hard for Lizzie to maintain her indignation when the sun rose on a scene of glorious summer. The beautifully manicured gardens were spread before her, trees, shrubs, flowers, winding paths, and in the distance a gleam of water. She had seldom known such a beautiful day, or such enchanting surroundings.

  But she was annoyed. She must remember that.

  She showered and changed into a cream linen trouser suit with a sleeveless green sweater. She finished off with a chain about her neck plus matching earrings. She was pleased with the effect. The chain was gold, but the bulky earrings had been bought cheaply from a market stall.

  It occurred to her that she was all dressed up with nowhere to go, effectively a prisoner in this apartment until Daniel chose to let her out. But before her temper had a chance to get started there was a knock on the outer door.

  ‘Come in,’ she called.

  Frederick appeared, leading a footman pushing a trolley on which food was piled.

  ‘No,’ Lizzie said firmly. ‘I want to see the King, right now.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be-’ He got no further. Lizzie was out of the door and darting down the corridor.

  She ran, expecting every moment to be stopped, but nobody tried. She had a reasonable idea which direction she wanted because Frederick had led her past Daniel’s apartments the day before. After taking a couple of wrong turnings she found herself on the right corridor. At the far end was a large pair of oak doors with two guards standing outside. They moved together when they saw her, making it impossible for her to get between them, but she managed to knock loudly.

  The door was answered by a man dressed in a neat grey suit. Everything else about him was grey also, including his demeanour.

  ‘I would like to see the King,’ Lizzie said as firmly as she could manage.

  ‘Your name, please?’

  ‘Elizabeth Boothe.’

  The man looked puzzled. ‘But His Majesty is on his way to see you. He left only a moment ago.’

  ‘But Frederick said-never mind.’

  She began to race back the way she’d come.

  In her apartment Frederick closed the door of the cupboard he’d been exploring and said anxiously, ‘I’m afraid I have found nothing.’

  Daniel also closed a cupboard door. ‘Nor I,’ he said. ‘But there hasn’t been time to look everywhere. Still, I hardly expected an easy success. I doubt she’s brought the letters with her; she’s far too shrewd. Still, it was worth a try. Now more drastic methods will be needed.’

  Frederick, a slightly puritanical young man, swallowed. ‘I understand that it will be necessary for Your Majesty to make-amorous overtures to this young woman.’

  An unreadable expression crossed Daniel’s face, and he couldn’t meet Frederick’s eye. ‘It would seem so,’ he agreed. ‘But for the sake of our country there are no lengths to which I will not go. Ah, Miss Boothe! How delightful to see you. But why did you hurry away so fast? Not reluctant to meet me, I hope?’

  ‘On the contrary, I was determined to meet you,’ Lizzie said, slightly breathless from running down the long corridor.

  ‘But breakfast is for two,’ Daniel said smoothly, indicating the table that had now been set up. ‘Surely you realised I would be here? Frederick, you should have made the matter plain.’

  Frederick murmured apologies and bowed himself out. Lizzie confronted Daniel, breathing fire.

&
nbsp; ‘You actually dared to keep me prisoner!’ she said. ‘I don’t care if you are a king, it was an outrageous thing to do.’

  ‘You’ll have to allow for the effects of my upbringing,’ he said with a smile. ‘It makes me tyrannical in small details.’

  ’Small-?’

  ‘Let me pour you some orange juice. Strictly speaking, of course, you should be pouring for me, but as I don’t want the jug hurled at my head I’ll waive protocol this once.’

  Lizzie was about to launch into her tirade again, but she found a glass pressed into her hand. She drank its contents and found them delicious.

  ‘It was also a wasteful use of my men,’ Daniel continued, seating himself and indicating for her to do the same.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Even without guards, you would never have left.’

  ‘Oh, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Of course not. Because while you may hold Alphonse’s letters, I hold Liz’s side of the correspondence. And you’re too much of a historian to leave without trying to get a look at them.’

  The truth of this struck her, making her fall briefly silent, although it was maddening to have to cede him a point.

  ‘But I don’t have Alphonse’s letters,’ she said at last. ‘I told you that last night.’

  ‘Ah, yes. A pity. We might have struck a deal.’

  Lizzie’s lips twitched. ‘You mean, “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,”’ she said.

  ‘Something like that. But since you say you don’t have them-’

  ‘I don’t. And the more I think of it the more I’m convinced that it can’t be Auntie. She’d have told me.’

  ‘Lizzie-’

  ‘I think Miss Boothe is more proper, don’t you?’

  ‘Very well, Miss Boothe, the letters were written by your great-aunt. They contain details that leave no doubt.’

  ‘But have you interpreted them correctly? If I could see what you have I might be able to point you in the right direction.’

  His eyes gleamed. ‘Very clever, Miss Boothe. You’re a worthy opponent. Some coffee?’

  ‘I’d rather have some letters.’

  ‘So would I.’

  ‘Then we seem to be at stalemate.’