“I’ve had years of lessons. My instructors often said that the key to a successful dance is to make it seem like you can’t help yourself. You look into your partner’s eyes, as if that gaze binds you while your body moves to the music.”
They both seemed to be holding their breath as they looked into each other’s eyes. He put his hands on her waist, and lifted her in a slow circle. Her arms went around his neck as he lowered her to her feet.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked impulsively. “I’ve never kissed a girl before, and I want it to be you. Will you?” It was terribly inappropriate, what he was asking her, and he knew it. There were rules for people like him. The future could go two ways: he could fight and die in this endeavor to take back his crown, or he could fight and win, and then he’d be the King of England and he’d marry some foreign princess to strengthen the ties between their countries, or one of these days a little black mouse was going to show up at his palace door, and he knew what she’d expect of him, and he knew that he should probably comply. And Gracie would still be a Scottish pickpocket, and he’d have no business kissing her.
But he didn’t care.
“I won’t pretend that I’m a fine lady,” Gracie said, lifting her chin. “It doesn’t matter what dress you put me in. I don’t belong in a palace.”
“I know. Kiss me.”
She gave a little laugh. “You’re a forward one, aren’t you?”
“Grace. I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment I clapped eyes on you. It’s been agony not kissing you all this time.”
“Agony?” She sounded doubtful.
He cupped her face in his hands. “Poison was less painful, believe me. I nearly strangled Gran that day you carved me the wooden fox at Helmsley. Please put me out of my misery.”
She laughed again, nervously. “All right, then. It’s only a kiss.”
Only a kiss, he told himself.
A kiss. Nothing more.
And then he could surrender to being a grown-up and being a king and doing all the things that were expected of him.
She shivered and wet her bottom lip with her teeth, and Edward thought he would burst into flames. He leaned closer to her. Fell into those green, green . . . pools of beautiful eyes. He prayed he wouldn’t mess this up. It felt important, as big as winning his country back. Bigger. His eyes closed.
“Wait,” Gracie said. “Sire.”
“Dammit,” he breathed. “Call me Edward.”
“I can’t,” she said, her voice wavering. “I know you want me to. But I can’t forget who you are. You will always be the king.”
The words were like cold water splashing him. He opened his eyes and drew himself away from her abruptly. “All right. I understand.”
“I like you. I do. But I can’t—”
He rubbed his hand down the front of his face. “I should go.”
She frowned. “Sire . . .”
“Dammit!” The word burst out of him. Light flared. He was a kestrel. He was flying away. He gave a great cry that pierced the still night air, and then he flew higher, and faster, until Gracie was a speck he could leave behind.
“So. You have all you asked for,” Bess said, much later.
“Right,” he said sarcastically. He leaned against the rail of the fine French ship that was carrying them back to England. The sun was rising. The wind ruffled his hair.
“What’s the matter with you?” Bess wanted to know.
“Nothing. Yes. I have my army.” He was watching Jane and Gifford, who were standing close farther up the bow, spending their few minutes together, that precious and brief window of time before Gifford would change into a horse. How easy it was for them. How simple.
“It’s the strangest army to ever walk this earth,” Bess said with that quiet, almost smug smile of hers. “Made up of Frenchmen and Scots and thousands of E∂ians rallying behind you, brother. We’re going to win, Edward. If we play our cards right.”
“And then I’ll be the King of England again,” he said.
“You never stopped being the king, in my opinion. But now you’ll get to truly rule,” she continued. “You’ll be able to right all of the wrongs of this country. It was true, all that you said to Archer. You can see to it that E∂ians and Verities live side by side in peace. You can change the way