“What did you think of the film?” he said after a moment.
“Are you asking the woman or the amateur critic?”
“Whichever one wants to answer?”
“The critic thought it was well done. The cinematography was stunning. The acting . . .” She waffled her hand in the air. “Martina as Magdalena and Laura as Gillian were excellent, but Clive as King Stephen . . . He was just too much like his super spy Scott Hunter character. Jason Bourne meets James Bond in 1552, you know? I felt like it was a Bond-Hunter-Bourne flick only with a serf army wielding bow and arrows instead of CIA spooks trained to take out their opposing asset with the back of a cell phone and wad of chewing gum.”
Stephen chuckled. “Well said.”
“However as a woman and premier reporter, I loved every minute of it. King Stephen was so noble and heroic. I thought Magdalena was beyond courageous.”
She glanced up when Mr. Franklin—an heir much like Stephen, only to the bakery world, the son of sons of sons of the founder—who regularly worked the night shift, appeared with their puffs and tea. And Stephen’s money.
“On the house tonight, Your Highness.”
“Are you sure?” Stephen hesitated, then reached for the pound notes. “Thank you.”
“In honor of the premier.”
“For the premier.” Stephen stood, shaking the man’s hand.
Corina pulled one of the light pastries from the box and dipped it in her tea, just like he’d taught her the first time they shared puffs.
“It’s the only way to eat a puff. Dipped in hot sweet tea.”
“What about you?” she said. “Did you enjoy it? What was it like watching your ancestor come to life on a movie screen?”
“Eerie, inspiring. I thought the film was well done.” He reached for his napkin, dusting the cinnamon from his fingers. “There were moments when I found it hard to believe that the blood of a brave chap like King Stephen I, even though Clive was a bit too Scott Hunter, runs in my veins.”
“Why is that hard to believe? You fought for your country same as he did. Perhaps you’re more like him than you realize.”
“Or less.” King Stephen I had loved Magdalena without reserve or fail. Even in the difficulties when his council stood against him. Stephen peered over his cup of tea. How could he love Corina faithfully when he bore her brother’s blood?
She could never forgive him. Rightly so.
“I’d like to think I’d pick up my fallen brother’s sword, if I could.”
Stephen dipped his puff in his tea. This conversation edged on danger.Just let it go.
Dusting cinnamon from her fingers, Corina reached up to work the tiara from her hair. “I shouldn’t have worn this out with you. I only dug in my heels because you demanded I take it off. I’ve probably further offended your family.” But the crown would not budge. “That Adelaide . . .” Corina growled low. “Did she glue it on? She’s going to have to cut this out of my hair or I may have to wear it all week.”
Stephen stretched across the table, touching her hand. “Leave it be. It’s becoming.”
She settled back, swirling her finger through puff crumbs. “Do you realize this was our first public outing? At least officially.”
“I suppose, yes. I never considered it.”
She drew a long breath and dusted the cinnamon from her fingers. “No one ever knew.”
“We hid our relationship well.”
“And it was fun but . . .” She peered at him. “But when a girl gets married, she wants the whole world to know.”
Stephen shifted in his seat and heard his heart kerplunk. From his proposal to the secret marriage, he’d robbed this woman of everything romantic. Everything a woman desires.
Maybe impulse was his nemesis, not his superpower.
Yet she did it all willingly. Gladly. Because she loved him.
