He looked at her for a long, long moment. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”
“You’re you, Benedict Palmer.”
“And you’re my Theodosia, my gift from God.” He lowered his mouth to hers.
♦ ♦ ♦
Theodosia lay sleepless as Benedict again dozed beside her. Her body ached, stiffened, but in a way she’d never known existed. The pleasure Benedict had pulled from her body, over and over. His lips, his hands, his tongue. His hard flesh inside her. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, utterly spent but utterly at peace. No wonder Grim had hated women who dared to love, to lust, as he’d damned it. It made a woman rejoice in her body, as Benedict had with her.
A faint shout came from abovedecks. “Land ho!”
Theodosia turned to Benedict as he stirred. “In my heart. Forever.”
“Mine too,” he murmured. “Mine too.” He kissed her softly. “But now we have to face the King. Your father.” He kissed her harder, deeper, as if he would devour her.
Then she knew it was the last time.
CHAPTER 32
“His Grace asks for a few minutes while he washes from his journey.” The abbot of Abbaye Saint-Pierre cast a final glance over Theodosia, her mother, and Benedict as they waited outside the abbot’s parlor.
They’d arrived at this holy house almost three full days ago, directed by Captain Donne. Her mother had assumed complete control the minute they crossed the threshold, speaking in private with the abbot, sending Benedict to separate quarters. Ordering, fixing. Bringing her daughter back into the fold, with no mention of what had happened on the ship.
Theodosia pulled the sleeves of her new, thankfully barbless, habit straight. She cast a sideways glance at Benedict, whom she’d not seen since they’d arrived.
Dressed in fine dark green wool breeches, a long leather belted tunic, and tailored linen shirt, with his dark hair combed, he could easily pass for gentry. Longing tugged deep inside her, but she pushed it aside. They were here to honor Thomas’s memory, to lay the truth before the King. Her father, summoned here in secret by the monastic post.
“Come!” A muffled voice from within.
The abbot opened the door and held it as they filed in.
Theodosia steadied her rapid breathing as she entered the room with her mother. Benedict followed after, silent and respectful.
The abbot closed the door behind them, leaving them in private.
A man stood before the lit fireplace, facing them, arms folded. With his luxuriously clothed stout build, fiery countenance, and keen gray eyes, it could only be the King himself.
“Your Grace.” Amélie dropped into a deep curtsey, and Theodosia followed.
Next to Theodosia, Benedict bowed low, though he still soared head and shoulders over the shorter Henry.
“Rise.” Henry’s voice had a tremulous quality unexpected in such a robust man. Then he looked at Amélie and held out his hands. “My dear one.”
Amélie hastened to him and dropped before him in another curtsey. “Not as dear as you are to me, sire.”
Henry took her hands in his. “You’re not harmed?”
She shook her head. “Frightened only, your Grace.”
“Praise God. Now rise. You have no need of such ceremony with me.” The King helped Amélie to stand. A smile of great tenderness played on his lips as he loosed his hold on her.
“Thank you.” Amélie flushed like a girl as she met his gaze.
Motioning for Amélie to stand next to him, Henry sought out Theodosia. “Our baby, Laeticia?” he said to Amélie, eyebrows raised. “Surely not.”
Amélie nodded. “It seems impossible, but yes.”
“Impossible until I look in a mirror and see an old man gaping back at me.” Henry gave a laugh, which only Amélie joined him in.
Theodosia ventured a smile. A glance at Benedict confirmed him paralyzed with deference.
The King did not seem to notice as he spoke to Amélie. “Inside we might feel as the day we met. The outside world would judge us otherwise.”
“Yet I cherish those memories far more than I mourn the loss of my youth,” came Amélie’s reply.
“Of good spirit, as ever.” Henry brushed a hand against her cheek before turning his full attention to Theodosia once again. “Come forward, Laeticia.”
Theodosia did as instructed, eyes cast down demurely.
“You’re a beautiful young woman,” he said. “Yet you chose the cloth?”
“Thank you, your Grace, but the cloth chose me.”
Henry’s eyebrows arched as he transferred his gaze to Benedict. “And you are?”