He drops his head into his hands. ‘I have been your ruin,’ he says. ‘God forgive me. I will never forgive myself. I love you more than anything in the world and I have been the road to your ruin.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘Don’t speak of ruin. This is wonderful. This is the solution to everything. We will get married.’

‘We will have to get married!’ he exclaims. ‘Or you will be shamed. But if we marry you are disgraced. God, what a trap I have put myself in, and what a trap I have put you in!’

‘This is the way out of the trap,’ I say. ‘For nobody will make us deny our marriage if we have exchanged our vows and have a child on the way. The council, my mother, the king, everyone will have to accept it. And though they won’t like it – they will come to bear it. They say that the king’s own mother married Owen Tudor without permission . . .’

‘And was disgraced! She slept with the keeper of her wardrobe and never came back to court. Her own son changed the law of the land to prevent a royal widow ever doing such a thing again! That law applies to you!’

‘She survived,’ I say steadily. ‘And she has two handsome boys, half-brothers to the king. Richard, I cannot live without you. I cannot marry another man. We were driven by desire to become lovers, and now we are driven on to marry.’

‘I don’t want to be your ruin,’ he says. ‘God forgive me, though I desire you, I won’t desire that. I despised Owen Tudor for conceiving a child on the queen he should have served, a man who ruined a woman he should have laid down his life to protect – and now I have been as selfish as him! I should leave right now. I should go on crusade. I should be hanged for treason.’

I take a long pause and then I raise my eyes and give him a look as limpid as a forest pool. ‘Oh, have I been mistaken in you? Have I been long mistaken? Do you not love me? Don’t you want to marry me? Shall you cast me aside?’

He drops to his knees. ‘Before God, I love you and cherish you more than anything in the world. Of course I want to marry you. I love you heart and soul.’

‘Then I acceptut of say gleefully. ‘I shall be happy to be your wife.’

He shakes his head. ‘I should be honoured to marry you, my love, you are far, far above my deserts – but I so fear for you.’ The thought strikes him. ‘And for our child!’ Gently he puts his hand on my belly. ‘My God, a child. I shall have to keep the two of you safe. I shall have two to care for now.’

‘I shall be Jacquetta Woodville,’ I say dreamily, turning the name over. ‘Jacquetta Woodville. And she will be Elizabeth Woodville.’