“You can’t,” he says with sudden impatience. He reaches for me and snatches my hands, crumbling the pastry. He kneels on the bed and kisses my fingertips, as he did when he first told me that he loved me, that he would be my lover, that he would be my husband, that no one should ever part us, that I was the only woman he had ever desired—ever!—in a long life of lovers and whores and servant girls and so many wenches that he cannot even remember. “Kateryn, I swear that you can’t. I can’t bear it. I won’t allow it.”

“I don’t see how to refuse.”

“What have you said?”

“That I need time. That I have to pray and think.”

He puts my hand on his flat belly. I can feel the warm damp sweat, and the soft curls of his dark hair, the wall of hard muscle beneath the firm skin. “Is this what you’ve been doing, tonight? Praying?”

“I’ve been worshipping,” I whisper.

He bends and kisses the top of my head. “Heretic. What if you told him you’re already promised? That you were already secretly married?”

“To you?” I say bluntly.

He takes the challenge because he is a daredevil; any risk, any danger, and Thomas runs towards it as if it were a May game, as if he is only truly alive at a sword’s length from death.

“Yes, to me,” he says boldly. “Of course, to me. Of course we must marry. We can say that we are already married!”

I wanted to hear him say it, but I don’t dare. “I can’t defy him.” I lose my voice at the thought of leaving Thomas. I feel hot tears on my cheek. I lift the sheet and mop my face. “Oh, God help me, I won’t be able to even see you.”

He looks aghast. He sits back on his heels, the ropes of the bed creaking under his weight. “This can’t be happening. You’re only just free—we’ve been together no more than half a dozen times—I was going to ask his permission to marry you! I only waited out of respect to your widowhood!”

“I should have read the signs. He sent me those beautiful sleeves, he insisted I break my mourning and come to court. He’s always coming to find me in Lady Mary’s rooms, and he’s always watching me.”

“I thought he was just flirting. You’re not the only one. There’s you, and Catherine Brandon, and Mary Howard... I never thought he was serious.”

“He has favored my brother far beyond his deserts. God knows William wasn’t appointed Warden of the Marches on his ability.”

“He’s old enough to be your father!”