‘So itwasyou,’ she whispered.
He took a step closer. The glint of the morning sun softened his features, or maybe it just hid the harshness she had glimpsed last night.
‘Did you doubt it?’ he answered. ‘When it was I who had you in my arms again?’
Hot embarrassment swept through her. It had not only been the King’s mission occupying her thoughts throughout the night. Hugh’s arms, his slightly crooked nose and all her embarrassing confessions to him had haunted her dreams and had her wishing for the light of day so that she could pretend he did not exist.
She had almost convinced herself, too. When the King demanded so much of her, she didn’t need her thoughts occupied by her childish vow to marry him. Certainly she never wanted to re-live her begging him for a kiss when she was sixteen.
And now he stood right in front of her, like a mocking reminder of her foolish youth.
A reminder of how he had rejected her.
But that did not mean she had to listen to him or repeat the mistake of conversing with him. He had purposely made it sound as if her running into him had been a clandestine affair. As if she would ever consider such thoughts again!
She looked pointedly around him and lifted her skirts—but he blocked the only exit from the garden. For one flaring moment, she fought the terror of feeling trapped. No doubt he had done that purposely, too.
‘Let me pass,’ she said, proud that her voice didn’t betray her true feelings.
‘After this long time, that is all you have to say to me?’
‘I’d say less if you would let me by,’ she replied.
‘You have changed much, Alice. You used to be more talkative.’
‘Maybe I thought you were someone worth talking to.’
She took a step in his direction. She’d force him to move if she had to.
He didn’t move. ‘I merely guessed that you couldn’t sleep. It was either that or you never made it to your bed. But you have changed your gown. I was always partial to that colour grey on you. It almost matches the colour of your eyes.’
‘You have been too long at Court,’ she said. ‘Save your pretty words for the more feeble-minded.’
‘Just as well you didn’t wear grey yesterday, for it seems the King prefers purple,’ he replied, as if they were carrying on a normal conversation. ‘Did you return to your room last night, or did one of your many servants bring you a change of clothing?’
Why was he talking of her clothing? He was close enough that she should have been able to know what he was thinking, but his eyes were like opaque glass—reflective, revealing nothing.
She didn’t need this confusion.
‘Why are you here?’ she demanded. ‘I know it wasn’t to talk of my dress.’
‘After we had run into each other in the hall, I thought we could meet once again—but then you spent time with the King.’
‘Are you following me?’ she asked.
‘Only enough to see you.’
His eyes held hers and his lips curved almost sensuously, almost as if he wanted her.
She couldn’t take his looking at her like that—not now, not when she was too tired to keep her defences up. Why was he acting as if he cared? She knew that he didn’t, and never had.
Treacherous tears were building. She would embarrass herself if she stayed.
But he wasn’t going to let her pass. He was going to stand there with his beautiful smile and his confusing words. A thought occurred. Something... No.Someonehad brought him here.
‘It is the King, isn’t it?’ she asked, although she knew she was right.
‘The King?’
