“Trust you, Lord Hastings? I think not,” Richard snapped back. “You must truly believe I am a fool. I also do not trust your whore. You have lied to me about her, have you not?”

“I would trust Jane Shore with my life!” Will cried, bristling at the ugly moniker. “She is a good woman. Why do you bring her into this, my lord. Jane is an innocent.”

Richard gave a derisive snort. “An innocent? Your idea of innocence is obviously quite different from mine, my lord. I give you a goodnight.” He gave Will a long, unwavering look before pushing his chair back, rising, and ending the encounter. He would let Hastings sleep on the matter, he had decided. It was the best he could do for the well-respected chamberlain. Perhaps Hastings would make a clean breast, avert a plot, and Richard could bring the man back onto his side.

Puzzled, Hastings bowed and returned the salutation. Turning, he asked the Howard men: “Shall I see you at meeting in the Tower on the morrow, gentlemen? Splendid. Then may God give you all a good night.” Buckingham held the door for him and soon after, Jack and Thomas bowed their way out, leaving Richard still nettled.

“Good evening, my lord bishop.” Richard heard the muffled greeting through the open door, and he frowned. Who would come here just before curfew? He hoped it wasn’t Morton; he could not abide the man. He sighed, wanting nothing more than to shut out the world and his daily cares and hide himself in Anne’s comforting arms in their soft tester bed. But it was not to be.

“His lordship the bishop of Bath and Wells, my lord,” William Catesby announced, as the elderly prelate shuffled in. After bowing to Richard and Buckingham, Stillington moved to the fire to warm his bony fingers.

Richard raised an eyebrow. “My lord, what may I do for you?” The cleric hesitated, his gaze shifting from Buckingham to the unfamiliar face of William Catesby. “You may speak freely,” Richard assured him. “I have no secrets from my advisors. What brings you here at this hour? Speak, I pray you.”

What the priest did say was to drain the blood from Richard’s face.

“A pre-contract? My brother was previously spoken for before Elizabeth?” he demanded in as loud a whisper as he dared. “By all that is holy, it must be a lie!” He pulled his book of hours from under a pile of signed letters and held it out to the bishop. “Swear you are telling the truth.”