“I’ve a bargain to offer if you wish to hear it,” Tierney offered at last.
Maxim was a king. He didn’t need to make bargains with bastards. But he was also running out of time to accomplish everything that needed to be done in London.
Grimly, he nodded. “Go on then, Englishman. Say it.”
“You want Theodoric St. George, do you not?” Tierney asked. “I believe I can deliver him.”
Tansy wokewith a strangled cry in her throat on the cot in Princess Anastasia’s bedroom, shaking and covered in sweat. The dream had been terrible. She had been dreaming ofhim, on the battlefield. Covered in blood, an enemy army bearing down on him. And yet, he had been standing alone and fearless, prepared to fight to the death. The anguish in her heart remained, as if it had been real, a deep and vicious ache she couldn’t seem to escape.
Maxim.
No, she did not dare think of him thus.
Her eyes fluttered closed, anguish rushing over her.
She must think of him as King Maximilian. As the sovereign of the kingdom of Varros. As the man who would marry Princess Anastasia.
Not as the man who had kissed her with exquisite tenderness. Who had held her in his arms and brought her to life. Who had taken her innocence.
Breathing harshly, she fell back against the bedclothes, clapping a hand over her eyes, as if doing so might ward off the memories rushing over her from two nights ago. But nothing could. Even now, her body tingled with awareness. She was still sore in places she hadn’t known it was possible to be sore. Delicate places. Places that reminded her just how wondrous it had felt to have him inside her.
But the most frightening discovery of all that she had made during the lonely daylight hours yesterday? She loved him.
She had fallen in love with King Maximilian, a man who could never be hers. And she had committed the ultimate betrayal of Princess Anastasia, the woman to whom she owed everything. Her friend, the sister she’d never had. The one steadfast part of a life that had been ravaged by loss and abandonment and upheaval. Her only family.
How could she have done it?
Try as she might to tell herself that she had been overwhelmed by concern, that she hadn’t been thinking properly, she knew that she had been motivated by more than fear. She had wanted the king. Had wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything. Even knowing he could never be hers, that she was making a great mistake in allowing him to make love to her, she had done so because she had been selfish.
She would have to confess to Princess Anastasia when she returned.
Tansy sat up, pressing a fist to her mouth to stifle her worried sob.
Ifshe would return.
There hadn’t been further word. It had been too dangerous.
The morning was rife with gloom, rain spattering on the windows, the room lit by the meager strains of light seeping from behind the curtains. After spending the previous day in a state of constant fear of discovery from the guards, and then staying awake most of the night hoping the princess would return, she must have finally fallen asleep.
A knock sounded at the door, startling her.
“Lady Tansy.”
She recognized the low, deep growl instantly.
“Just a moment, please,” she called.
What was he doing here at this early hour? She shot from the cot, clad in nothing more than her chemise. With trembling hands, she rushed to don a petticoat and gown.
The door opened suddenly, the king shouldering his way inside, his massive form instantly seeming to take up all the space in the room. He was so large and powerful. This morning, there was a new air of intensity about him, his expression drawn and tight. Gone was the passionate lover of two nights before.
How to greet him? Perhaps he had taken her at her word and decided he no longer wished to pursue her as his mistress. The knife’s edge of disappointment came with a corresponding arrow of guilt. That was what she wanted, she reminded herself firmly, his acceptance.
“Your Majesty.” She dipped into a curtsy, clinging to formality.
The door had snapped smartly closed at his back, and he was striding across the chamber with great determination, his gleaming boots eating up the distance separating them. He caught her arm in a firm but gentle enough grasp, tugging her to the window.
“Come.”
