The King's Bride

CHAPTER TWO

‘A WOMAN is never too old to be glamorous,’ the Dame had been fond of declaring to her awe-struck young relative, and she had lived up to her philosophy to the end. Life with the great lady had been fun because she’d never been less than exotic.

But it was Bess who’d mothered the teenage Lizzie. Bess had been Dame Elizabeth’s dresser when she trod the boards, and in old age she’d still been her all-purpose maid and companion. When Lizzie had returned from boarding school it had been Bess who’d made sure she was comfortable, checked what she liked to eat, put flowers in her room. When Lizzie had gone out on a date it had been Elizabeth who’d lectured her about ‘man management’, which had been fun, even though the advice was often out of date. But it was Bess who’d waited up to make sure she was home safely, and Bess in whom she’d confided.

One time the Dame’s advice had been spot-on when she’d tried to warn Lizzie off Toby Wrenworth, a dare-devil motorbike rider.

‘That young man was made to be a lover, not a husband,’ she’d declared in her booming voice. ‘Don’t confuse the two.’

‘Auntie!’ Lizzie had exclaimed, not sure whether to be amused or aghast. ‘You’re not actually advising me to-?’

‘I’m advising you not to confuse the two,’ the Dame had repeated firmly.

But the eighteen-year-old Lizzie had ignored the advice, and in due course she’d wished she’d heeded it. The Dame had glared all through their wedding, but when the inevitable divorce happened, two years later, she’d been a rock. If she hadn’t overflowed with sympathy neither had she uttered reproaches.

‘Stop crying and get yourself off to college,’ she’d commanded. ‘It’s what you should have done before, instead of wasting time on a man who was all teeth and trousers.’

The robust approach had done Lizzie a world of good. For sympathy she’d turned to Bess, and they’d cried together.

Even as a teenager she’d been sensitive enough to feel sad for the maid who lived in her employer’s shadow and had no life of her own, although she’d always seemed contented enough with her lot. Since the great lady’s death Bess had lived in a retirement home. It was a comfortable, even luxurious place, with large gardens filled with flowers, and Bess seemed happy there.

Lizzie visited whenever she could, and made a point of going to see her friend before she left for Voltavia. Bess was old and frail, but her mind was clear, and her first words were eager. ‘Tell me all about your lovers.’

‘Lovers? Plural? You think I’m living a really exotic life, don’t you?’

‘I think you’re a pretty girl, and a pretty girl should have lovers.’

‘Well, I have a boyfriend or two.’

‘Do they break your heart?’

‘Do you want them to?’ Lizzie asked with a chuckle.

‘No, of course not. But I worry that it isn’t possible. You’ve been rather armoured since Toby.’

‘Good thing too.’

‘No, my dear. A woman should stay open to love, no matter how much it hurts.’

‘But I am. You should have seen me at the embassy ball. Flirting. And more.’

‘That’s different, and you know it. Throwing out lures, as we used to say, because you’re hoping to catch a prize.’

‘Yes, and I caught him too. Oh, Bess, he’s eating out of my hand. I’m that close to those archives.’

‘Yes, dear, but you’re hiding-as always. Work is such a convenient excuse, isn’t it?’

Bess’s eyes saw too much, Lizzie thought. Abruptly she changed the subject.

‘What I came to tell you is that I’m off to Voltavia tomorrow.’

Bess’s old eyes sparkled. ‘How lucky you are!’ she exclaimed softly. ‘It’s such a wonderful country.’

‘Of course, you went there with Auntie, didn’t you?’

‘That’s right. If only you could have seen her. She was at the height of her beauty, and she made a kind of triumphal procession around the main cities, and then she performed for the court. She was guest of honour at a ball, and danced with the King.’

‘Did you see him, Bess?’

‘Oh, yes. I was there too, in a little ante-room, so that I could look after her when she needed to take the weight off her feet. What’s King Daniel like? I’ve seen his pictures, but they make him look rather cold.’

‘He does, just at first. But there’s something about him that isn’t cold at all. I’m sure of it.’

Bess nodded, smiling. ‘Ah, yes. Something deep inside, and he won’t let you reach it until he’s ready. Just like his grandfather.’

‘Did the Dame tell you that?’ Lizzie asked with a chuckle.

For answer Bess laid a finger over her lips, with a look of mischief.

‘Have a wonderful trip, Lizzie, dear. And come and see me when you get back.’

Voltavia lay in the very centre of Europe, with borders that touched France, Switzerland and Germany. It had a population of a million, four cities, one important river, three official languages-English, French and German-and one airport.

Lizzie emerged from Arrivals to be greeted by a driver in the palace uniform. He took charge of her bags and escorted her to a waiting limousine. When she was settled in the back he showed her the well-stocked bar, asked what she would like to drink, and poured her an orange juice.

‘It’s thirty miles to the palace,’ he said, taking his place behind the wheel. ‘I hope you enjoy the journey.’

The first part of the trip lay through some of the most magnificent rugged scenery Lizzie had ever seen. She watched, holding her breath, as mountains gave way to pine forests, where wild bears still roamed, and then to lakes, serene and impossibly blue under the summer sky. At last they neared Durmann, the capital, turning off just before the city to sweep down the long approach to the palace.

It was a grand structure, a quarter mile long and built from a honey-coloured stone that looked beautiful in the soft glow of the sunset. Two Z-shaped staircases adorned the front, on one of which a man was waiting to greet her. Lizzie recog

nised Frederick from the ball. Smiling, he explained that he would be her host until the King was free.

They embarked on what seemed like a long journey, down endless corridors, until at last they reached the apartment set aside for her use. It was a charming place, a bedroom, a living room and bathroom, with modern facilities, yet a touch of old-worlde grandeur. When Frederick had gone Lizzie stripped off for a shower and a change of clothes that left her feeling ready to tackle anything, even Daniel.

Especially Daniel. Wryly she made the admission to herself.

She wasn’t only here as a historian seeking facts. She was here as a woman who’d been passionately kissed and wasn’t prepared to let it go at that. She considered the elegant trouser suit she’d just put on, and was dissatisfied with it. The green silk dress would be better. It took a moment to change and brush out her red hair again. Dame Elizabeth would have been proud of her.

And so, perhaps, would Bess. ‘Be open to love,’ she’d said, and the soft pounding of Lizzie’s heart was warning her that suddenly she wasn’t as armoured as usual.

The knock on the door brought a smile to her lips. Daniel at last.

But it wasn’t Daniel.

‘Your supper,’ Frederick said, ushering in a footman with a trolley.

Supper was delicious, a wide selection of dishes, all perfectly prepared, and a bottle of excellent wine. Frederick was charming company, but he wasn’t Daniel.

‘I expect you want to go to bed now,’ he said at last, rising. ‘I’m sorry His Majesty couldn’t see you today, but I’m sure it’ll be early tomorrow.’

They bade each other a civil goodnight and he departed, leaving Lizzie feeling very cross indeed. She reminded herself that Daniel hadn’t specified a time. She couldn’t really complain. It was just…

She sighed. It was just that if he’d been half as eager to see her as she was to see him he would have rushed to her.

She watched satellite television for an hour, but took nothing in. She went to stand on her balcony overlooking the front of the palace, where floodlights picked out the two staircases and highlighted the building’s elegant, symmetrical beauty. From somewhere above her head a clock chimed midnight. She returned indoors and closed the windows.

He wasn’t coming now. She took another shower and put on a soft peach silk nightdress before climbing into the vast antique bed that looked big enough for ten. It had probably been built for an orgy, she thought despondently. It certainly hadn’t been intended for a solitary sleeper.

She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, or how much time passed, but it was very dark when she opened her eyes to the sound of somebody knocking on the outer door of her apartment. She whisked on the peach silk robe that matched her nightdress and hurried out of the bedroom to the main room. The soft tap on her front door came again, and she opened it cautiously.

The corridor outside was dimly lit, and empty except for one man.

‘Good evening,’ Daniel said with a smile. ‘Forgive me for arriving at such an untimely hour, but I thought it best to be discreet.’

‘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 was 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.