“I’ll wake you soon.”
Theodosia yawned again. Then knew no more.
♦ ♦ ♦
Palmer brought his lips to Theodosia’s bare shoulder and brushed it once, twice. She slept already, curled against him in his hold. Her ribs rose and fell in a steady, peaceful rhythm as he stroked the curve of her hip with one hand. He’d imagined this, thought about it, hoped for it. And more. Yet he’d passed up the chance at more, like a witless fool. Not a fool. He was used to women of the world, not a nun with vows of virginity. And not one beside herself with anger, with grief. And drink. Taking her while she was in that state would’ve made him low. He sighed to himself. He probably shouldn’t have done any of it, should’ve packed her back to her own bed. But when she’d sat there, gray eyes raised to his, the pale skin of her naked arms, shoulders. Then the pull of her shift open, with the swell of her smooth white breasts, inviting him, asking him…
He shifted his position to ease the strain in his breeches. He had to stop thinking of her like this. Specially with her the daughter of the King. Did that make her a princess? And if so, was he now first in line for beheading?
He rolled his eyes to himself at his knave’s prating. All that mattered was he held the woman he loved. Loved more than any other he’d met. Ever. His Theodosia. With need still hammering in him, he stroked her soft blonde hair away from her smooth cheek. She could never, ever be Laeticia to him, no matter how much she railed at him about it. She would always be Theodosia, his gift from God. But he couldn’t allow her to sleep here much longer. She needed to be in her room before her mother woke up. A long journey lay before them tomorrow, when they would set off for France for an audience with King Henry. Her father.
Henry would be bound to send his real wife and daughter away, hide them again from the world. What claim would he, Benedict Palmer, ever have over her?
He knew the answer as well as his own name. None. He was a jobbing knight, a lowborn cur with no power, no influence. Unlike the woman he held in his arms. Fate mocked him, as always. Why couldn’t she have been the daughter of a swineherd or a farmer? Then he might have had a chance. But had she been out in the world, a woman as beautiful as she would have been taken years before.
She stirred and muttered in her sleep.
No matter how much he wanted to hold her here, stay here forever, he had to wake her. He kissed the back of her neck, caressed her hip harder, and brought her slowly to wakefulness.
“Mmm.” She stirred in his arms. “Let me go, Benedict. I can hardly breathe.”
He loosed his hold, though his heart felt it would break. “Time to go back to your room.” Let her go? He’d have to. Of course he would. It was his duty. For king and country.
CHAPTER 25
“You have more color in your cheeks this morning, Sister Theodosia.” Brother Edward entered their room and gave an approving nod to Amélie. “Sleep has refreshed her.”
“Indeed, Brother,” said Amélie from her seat by the window.
Theodosia carried on with tidying her bed. The bed she’d crept back into a few short hours ago. Fearful that Edward might read her embarrassment at her wanton behavior, she was grateful that the distraction helped her to hide her face.
“I too feel the better of it,” said Amélie. “I think my soul could finally rest knowing you were safe from those men, my blessed.”
Task finished, Theodosia stood up.
Her mother smiled at her with satisfaction.
She smiled in return, but guilt gnawed at her conscience. She doubted if her mother would view her behavior last night as safe. At all.
Edward joined her mother to stand at the window. “God be praised for this morn. We may have no sunlight, but such high, dense clouds calm the seas. We are blessed for our passage to France tonight. It should be easy and swift. The Lord smiles on us, does he not, Sister Theodosia?”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Methinks Sir Palmer intends to sleep the day out.” Edward’s words, pleasant in their delivery, were accompanied by a shrewd glance at Theodosia.
Oh, dear God, he knew. He always knew when she’d sinned, even in her thoughts.
Footsteps sounded from the corridor, and Benedict came in fully dressed, his dark hair silvery-damp with droplets of water. “Morning, all.”
His glance didn’t linger upon her, for which she was profoundly grateful. If it had, she’d have reddened worse than if she’d spent a day in the fierce summer sun.
“I’ve wronged you, Palmer,” said Edward. “I’ve just accused you of being a slugabed, yet your appearance tells you’ve been out and about.”