“No. I won’t. I can’t.”

He did not press me but abandoned me alone to ponder the joy of the two crows flirting above me. I was left trying to deny the effect of his mouth against mine, to deny what I wished for rather than what I was in duty bound to do.

Windsor’s proposal made an uncomfortable bedfellow, and I did not sleep that night.

Marriage. A business agreement was one thing—but marriage? To a man whom I found inordinately attractive. It had an appeal, until integrity demanded that I consider my loyalty to the King. Did he not deserve my fealty, my steadfastness?

Edward smiled serenely, uncomprehendingly, as I wished him good night, kissing his cheek. I might have been the servant who brought him wine at the end of the day to help him to sleep. I had not shared Edward’s bed for physical gratification since he returned from the desperate attempt to invade France. His failure had rendered him impotent, his physical desires vanished entirely, his passionate need for my body transfigured into mild affection when he recognized me. Just as we all knew that Edward would never again lead an army into France, I knew that he would get no more children on me. He might need me to share his bed, but for comfort only: He made no more demands on my body. The years had their cruel sway.

But marriage to Windsor?

When the tenure of my royal position ended, I would have the wealth I needed to bolster the rest of my life and ensure security for my daughters. What more did I need?

You need a man to stand protector.

Did I? No. I had married once and found no joy in it. I would not do so again. I did not even know if I liked William de Windsor. His touch might set fires ablaze in my blood, but that was mere lust. No, he was not for me. If I wed, it would be to some mild, biddable soul who could be managed by a strong-willed woman. I would be no one’s chattel. No, I stated again, firmly in my mind as I considered that undesirable state, marriage was not for me. And it would be a brave woman who agreed to take on William de Windsor.

Are you not a brave woman?

I buried my face in my pillow. He said he loved me but I did not believe him. His proposal had smacked of a transaction to buy property. I should know, should I not?

Not one soft word had he spoken.

I abandoned sleep, taking up a quill to record my most recently purchased manor of Gunnersby, a property on the Thames that would prove far more trustworthy than William de Windsor.

“Good morning, Sir William.” I stood in the little group of shivering courtiers with Edward, who had expressed a wish to fly the falcons. We were on foot, ambling along the riverbank at a speed that would suit the King, who seemed not to feel the cold. “I did not expect to see you so early in the day. Or are you hoping to win royal favor?”

He ignored the bait. “Have you thought about it?”

“I have.”

“Second thoughts, Mistress Perrers?”

I inclined my head in a parody of regal dignity that I knew he would appreciate. “No, Sir William.”

“Let me know when you do.”

“I will not.”

He grinned. “I think you will.”

On our return, as the falconer retrieved his birds and carried them off to the royal mews, there he was again at my shoulder.

“Think of the advantages.”

“There are none.”

“I say there are.” His gaze, forthright, lingering, drove a shaft of heat through my body. I felt it color my cheeks and quickly turned away.

“You are presumptuous, Sir William.”

“I am indeed. Would you cast my offer into the flames without giving it due consideration? You would do as much for an offer on the feudal rights of a manor.”

So I would, damn him!

“A woman would enjoy some words of courtship, Sir William.” I was atrociously demure, studying the gold embroidery-work on my new gloves.

“I am not a man of soft words, Mistress Perrers.” It was a statement of fact, not an excuse, and I could not resist abandoning the stitchery to search his face. There was no subterfuge in the man. He said what he meant, both fine wine and bitter lees of sediment in the cup. If I drank, I would have to accept both.…

“You might try.” Still I hoped for something that might have a leaning toward courtship. “If you truly want my hand in marriage.”

“I have no poetry in my soul.”

Neither had I—but I would have liked to hear some from him. I think he saw my disappointment, for, stretching out his hand, he drew the tip of his finger along the curve of my cheek.

My heart turned over, a little leap of pure delight.

I thought about it again. I thought about Janyn Perrers. I thought about Edward. I worried the subject to death in the early hours. What would it be like to be tied to a man who did not need my care? A man whom I was free to choose or reject. I had no experience of such freedom. What would it be like to love a man of my own free will? I had no idea.

It would be far better for you if you loved no one!

As for that…

Discreetly I watched Windsor fit seamlessly into the daily pattern of the Court. His agility with horse or sword in mock combat, his merciless single-mindedness in hand-to-hand conflict, the tip of his sword resting against his opponent’s throat—until he put it aside to grasp the man’s hand in mutual congratulation. The arrogant lift of his head. The proud knightly stance. Stop it, Alice!

He was not a handsome man, but he took my eye.

I felt again that unexpected caress of his fingertip that made my face burn.

And I watched Edward slip further and further away from me, until the morning he demanded in a querulous manner as I curtsied before him, “Philippa? Where have you been? Have you persuaded Isabella not to wed de Coucy? Tell her I’ll not have it.…”

It tipped me over the edge.

He saw me coming, and immediately stepped away from where he was loitering by a huddle of equally dissolute idlers who were casting dice to pass the time. Inactivity did not suit him. I kept my expression stern.

“Change of heart, dear Alice?”

“Yes.”

His brows climbed infinitesimally, but at least he did not allow victory to descend into smugness. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good—I like a woman who does not mince her words.”

I left the arrangements to Windsor, for he had the freedom from the public eye that I did not. Still it was a simple matter for me to make the excuse of visiting my little girls at Pallenswick. I was free to travel, had been so since the birth of John, and after a brief halt at Pallenswick I would make my way to Gaines near Upminster, a manor we had bought in partnership, and in Windsor’s name. Edward stared vaguely at the wall beyond my shoulder and gave no recognition when I touched his hand in farewell.

I did not try to explain. John Beverley would care for him. My absence would not be a long one.

Windsor traveled separately. I was seated alone in my barge, rowed swiftly by the oarsmen who made easy weather of it with the pull of the tide. With every mile my nerves leaped like crickets in the summer heat. There in Upminster we were wed in a simple service in the village church with no fuss and no guests, no bridal ring for me or gifts exchanged between us at the altar. There was nothing to mark the occasion but for a solemn taking of vows; Windsor’s steward and William Greseley were stolid witnesses. Greseley, perhaps recalling a previous marriage, managed what might have passed for a smile.

“I always knew you would have an adventurous life, mistress.”

“And I have you to thank for much of it.” I knew what I owed him.

“I have a manor in mind to purchase, not too far from here.…”

I stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Tomorrow, Greseley. That will keep for tomorrow. For today—I am busy.”

It had been many years since acquisition of property had not been my prime concern. But not today. Today was for my marriage. Today was for the man who stood at my side and was now my husband.

I stood in the porch of a house I did not know, feeling nothing but shock, blind to the assets of the little wood-and-plaster manor of which I was now joint owner. I had done it. I had married him. And there he was, throwing back the door, gesturing for me to walk into the entrance hall, smiling at me.

Words would not come. In all that I had done in my life, I had no experience of such a relationship, stepped into at my own behest. It was like hopping from familiar territory into a strange land, all subtle shadows and traps for the unwary. As I entered, my heels echoing disconcertingly on the wide oak floorboards patterned with their whorls and knots, I was afraid.

“Well, Lady de Windsor?”

I shivered a little. Then laughed at how easily it had all been achieved. Yet perhaps it was not easy at all. How much did I really know about the man who stood regarding me? It was not easy to untangle my feelings for him.

“I suppose I am lady of the manor.”

“You are indeed.” He took my hand to lead me through the nearest doorway, rubbing my fingers between his. “You’re cold. Come in—there should be a fire lit in here. Can’t have my wife being cold.” Then on a thought: “Did I actually say that?”

“I think so.” I hardly registered the small paneled parlor, the pleasurable warmth, the polished furniture. Every sense was fixed on this man who had swept me off my feet. And had I not allowed him to do so? I removed my hood and mantle and placed them on a gleaming settle. “I suppose you intend to consummate this business arrangement in the proper manner?”

“Of course.”

“A cup of wine and a signature on a document?”

He was already pouring the wine with solemn concentration, the flagon and cups having been made ready for us. His preparations had been meticulous. I took the one presented to me, raising it to my lips.