Prologue
The Louvre, Paris
December 1420
“What if we get caught?” Jamie said, glancing up and down the palace corridor.
Getting caught was precisely the point, but Linnet was not going to tell Jamie that. She looked up at him through her lashes and said, “Don’t you want to?”
The way his eyes went dark made her breath catch.
“You know I do,” he said, brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek.
Her skin tingled from his touch. If she did not take care, Jamie could make her forget her purpose.
She felt a twinge of guilt for not telling him. None of the other young men at court would care what her reasons were if she dragged one of them into an empty bedchamber. But Jamie would refuse her if he knew. That stubborn sense of honor—misplaced though it may be—was one of the things she liked best about him.
“Everyone is attending the celebrations,” she assured him.
The feasting that began with King Henry’s triumphal entry into Paris with his French princess was continuing without pause through Advent.
“But the guest who has this chamber could return at any time,” Jamie said.
He sucked in his breath as she ran a finger down his chest.
“If you are going to be a frightened mouse,” she said, “I can find someone else.”
Jamie’s boyish sweetness was gone. He gripped her arm and jerked open the bedchamber door. Before she knew it, she was inside the bedchamber with her back pressed against the door. Jamie kissed her long and hard.
“Don’t ever say you will go with another man,” he said, taking her chin in his hand. “Don’t ever say it.”
“You are the only one I want.” This was the truth, but she regretted telling him. He would read more into it than he ought.
“ ’Tis the same for me,” he whispered and rested his forehead against hers.
She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent as she leaned against him. He could be such a tender boy.
But she did not know how much time she had. “Now,” she whispered in his ear. “I want to do it now.”
When she rubbed her hand up his cock for good measure, he made a sound between a growl and a moan and lifted her from the ground. Men were so predictable, so easily managed, there was almost no challenge in it. Still, Jamie’s reaction was gratifying.
As he carried her to the bed, Linnet gave herself a moment to savor the thought of how angry Alain, her “father,” was going to be. That man would rue the day.
From the moment Jamie laid her down and started kissing her, she forgot about Alain and her plans for revenge. This part she could not control, did not even try. A fire had raged between them since the day he arrived in Paris with the king. No matter how often they sneaked away to be together, the fire only burned hotter. She gave into it with abandon now, as she did every time.
Afterward, she lay in Jamie’s arms, wishing the contentment of the moment could last. It never did.
“I’ve sent a letter to my parents,” Jamie said, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. “I expect my father will grant me a small estate upon our betrothal.”
Her heart began to race. “Betrothed? You haven’t spoken to me of betrothal before.”
“Did I need to?” She heard the smile in his voice. “After what we’ve being doing, I thought it obvious.”
“But you never told me. You never asked me.”
“I see I have committed a grievous error,” he said, sounding amused. “All right, let me ask it, then. My darling Linnet, love of my heart, will you wed me and be my wife?”
“Nay, I will not.”
