‘I will tell you what inordinate love is:

Insanity and frenzy of mind,

Inextinguishable burning, devoid of happiness,

Great hunger that can never be satisfied.

A dulcet sickness, sweetness evil and blind,

A most wonderful sugared sweet error,

Without respite…’

Abruptly he stopped singing as if the mood of the song touched him, head bent to watch his soft fingering on the strings. When he made no comment, I was moved to ask, but keeping my tone light: ‘Inordinate love? Is that what it is, John? Is that what afflicts us?’

Slowly, frowning slightly, he put aside the lute, choosing his words with care. ‘I know not. All I know is that I lack the will to step away from you. If it is insanity,’ he picked up the sentiments of the song, ‘it binds me to you.’

But do you love me? Do you not love me as I love you?

I almost asked it, breaking the vow I had made on that first day at The Savoy. But did not, because I feared the answer. Instead, keeping lightly the Duke’s theme: ‘And if it is a frenzy of mind, then I am frenzied. But I am not blind to the pain it can cause others.’

‘Nor am I blind.’ His eyes rested on my face and I returned the regard. The regret I read there touched me with sorrow, for it might be a regret that he could not truly love me as I loved him. Always careful with my choice of words, I never burdened him with the depth of my feelings for him. Would not placing such an obligation at his feet undermine the foundations of what we had together? The Duke needed me, and that must be enough. I would play the role allotted to me with grace.

‘It is a great hunger,’ I offered, returning to the song, and was instantly soothed by the answering smile.

‘Agreed. And a sugared sweetness.’

‘And there is much inextinguishable burning—that is also true,’ I urged, allowing him with a shiver of anticipation to alight kisses on my wrists.

‘I am on fire,’ the Duke said, and lunged.

Only after the kisses had worked their way to my elbow, to my shoulder and then my throat, was I abandoned, and the Duke, with a glitter of pure male gallantry, took up the lute again and with a troubadour swagger coupled with a provocative leer broke into a quite different refrain, obliterating any memory of regret:

‘Your mouth provokes me,

“Kiss me, kiss sweet!”

Each time I see you so it seems to me.

Give me a sweet kiss or two or three!’

‘John!’ I remonstrated, as he snatched the requisite kisses between each line of the song.

‘Katherine!’ the Duke responded with a crow of laughter before he tossed the lute aside and seized my hands in his. ‘Whatever the emotion that touches us, it is not devoid of happiness. You are all my happiness.’ He lifted my hands in quick succession to his lips. ‘Ah, Katherine. Don’t repine, dear heart. They’re only words after all, troubadour’s fripperies. Let us celebrate your return. Come and show me with your kisses that this is no sweet error.’

Only empty words? They were not empty for me, but I placed my hands in his and returned his salute.

‘There is no error,’ I assured.

‘Then come and show me, for I have sorely missed you.’

Our reunion of the flesh, and of spirit, was sweet indeed. Passionate, possessive, demanding, deliciously seductive, the Duke was all of these and I would refuse none of it.




Chapter Nine

There was only one rule to be followed to the exclusion of all else. Reticence must command with an iron hand. Discretion must guide my every action.

I became used to seeing the Duke: at a distance, at close quarters in the midst of his family, but in public always with that careful separation between us. There must be no suspicion, no careless moment of intimacy to cause an in-drawing of breath from a casual observer. No indiscreet comment that presumed knowledge that should not exist. How it kept me on my toes, to dance to this complicated tune. And I learned to tolerate that void between us, knowing that it would be bridged when he could. His awareness of me was a tangible thing, but handled with delicacy.