Nick helped me climb off Stella, sweat slipping down his brow. He offered me a leather pouch of water before pouring some for the horses. I finally had him all to myself in this secluded space. I was so giddy with happiness that I could’ve turned cartwheels.
“This is perfect—thank you,” I said. “But no picnic blanket, velvet cushions, and golden flasks this time?” I added cheekily.
Nick’s lips curled into his dimples. “I thought that surely there would be less mockery if we did this the Emmie Grace way—without the fanfare. Of course, however, mockery is the Emmie Grace way.”
I bit through my smile as he untied a leather satchel from his horse, whipping out leftovers from our fancy-pants lunch that were wrapped in linen. He unrolled the strips of cloth and laid the portions of bread, chicken, lamb, and beef out on the grass, swatting away a hovering bee. It was like watching the president of the United States make his own coffee.
I forced away an aching desire to have things with Nick this simple all of the time.
But here, alone with him, seeing him behaving so informally, I couldn’t restrain myself. A moment later, I was reaching, drawing him into me with both hands.
He sighed as our lips connected like magnets. We kissed hotly, the king tumbling backward as I practically tackled him. For several glorious minutes, I let myself fall into the gooey sweetness of Nick Tudor again, tasting sweet wine, mint, and berries. The perfect Nick-flavored cocktail.
Then the lovestruck eyes of Lucinda Parker flashed in my mind. I fell off him, panting as I hit the wiry grass.
“Are you well?” Nick said, sitting up. His lips were red and swollen.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to the feeling of loving someone so much that the thought of them being with anyone else was like gutting out your own heart with a hook knife. I thought this time would be different. That I wouldn’t have to compete with anyone for his attention, even in my mind. But it seemed I’d moved on from paranoia about Princess Henriette’s sixteenth-century poise and accomplishments to worrying about Lucinda’s instead.
“Should we have a chat about Lucinda Parker?” My words came out strained. “I know that you didn’t invite her to court…it was the Duke of Norfolk because he hates my guts for marrying you.”
I expected shock and fury, but Nick just laughed lightly. “Norfolk is plainly dramatic. You will come to know his impetuous nature.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Nick continued speaking in that maddeningly authoritative tone. “Your suspicions that Norfolk invited Mistress Parker to court are likely true—she is a cousin of his of some sort, and I can think of no other councilor who would undertake such a deed without my permission. That said, I do understand why you are not roused by Mistress Parker’s presence; however, I made a vow to you that I would keep no mistress, and you must trust me.”
“I know,” I said, feeling uncomfortable. “I don’t want this to be a thing; I really don’t. For a start, that’d make Norfolk far too smug for my liking. But while the thought of Lucinda being here freaks me out a bit, I also think that her having a position at court is good for her baby daughter, right? These aren’t exactly the golden years of single motherhood. So I think she should stay. I’m officially okay with it.”
He kissed the back of my hand like he was proud of me. I was also proud of myself. Nick had all the power in the world, and if he wanted to hook up with Lucinda Parker, there’d be jack squat I could do about it. But there was no way I was letting Norfolk win. He’d brought Lucinda here to torment me, so I was determined to be okay with it.
Nick tugged me toward him, his lips close enough to kiss. “If only you could see inside my heart,” he said softly. “You would know how mine eyes desire you above all things. You would know this to be true, and it would release you from the burden of your fears.”
“Well, either that, or I’d see a bunch of blood, muscle, and some of those ventricle things if I could see inside your heart,” I said through a straight face.
Rolling his eyes at another wisecrack that we both knew he wouldn’t understand, Nick climbed to his feet, indicating for me to stay put. “I have something for you, you troublesome little thing. Well, two somethings.” He untied another satchel from his horse and retrieved flashes of purple and cream, hiding the mystery articles behind his back. After dropping to his knees and shuffling toward me, he smirked and nodded at his arms, a mute invitation for me to choose a hand.
I grinned and pointed at his left arm. He produced a petite velvet pouch that drooped with something heavy. I fished out a heart-shaped locket dangling from a delicate silver chain. Clicking the pendant open revealed a miniature painting of Nick that was unlike his usual portraits. There was no crown, no pretend beard, no added weight, scepter, or flat cap. It was simply Nick Tudor wearing a white linen shirt and a chocolate-brown leather jerkin, with his hair unkempt and a slight smirk on his face. Every part of the portrait was the man I loved.
“Will you wear it close to your heart?” he asked a little shyly.
I threw my arms around him. He toppled backward, crying out.
“What’s wrong?” I said, scrambling off him as he smoothed out a crushed scroll. “Oh, yikes—sorry.”
Nick unrolled the now creased page he held in his right hand. “This is a royal decree proclaiming that you are to be granted lands and the title of the Marquess of Pembroke.”
I covered my mouth with one hand, the humid smell of dirt reaching my nose from where my fingers had hit the earth.
When Nick grinned with flushed pride, I hugged him again, thanking him repeatedly. An alarming thought pierced my swelling excitement: Norfolk and the nobles already thought I wasn’t worthy of Nick’s attention, and with good reason. What would they think of my free pass into the English peerage? I reminded myself for the millionth time that I was here for Nick and that’s all that mattered.
We stretched out on the grass and lay there for as many blissful minutes as I could steal, kissing, and chatting—mostly kissing.
It had to have been early afternoon when Nick finally declared that he had to return to court to deal with a new trade bill. He was straightening his saddle when I spotted his bare finger and remembered that the blue-diamond ring was still in the coffer in my room.
I slid between him and the saddle, the closeness of our hips making his brows rise.
“Hello,” he said, looking right into my eyes as he kept tying the leather.
“I forgot to thank you for leaving the ring with me when you went to Calais.” The seriousness of the subject tightened my voice. “I didn’t use it behind your back, just so you know. I’d never do that.”
He swallowed hard. “I am relieved to hear it.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, and it’s good that we’re alone. This won’t take long.” My fingers drew circles on his muscular forearm. “One of my ladies, Bridget Nightingale, has a cousin who’s a soothsayer. She lives in Buckinghamshire.”
Nick’s hands paused on the leather. “Agnes Nightingale.”
“You know her?”
“Certainly not. She is a known heretic and ought to be burned. You must stay away from her.”