Page 114 of The Favourite

“What does acknowledgement of such a thing constitute in those parts of the world where it is?” Jane asked curiously.

“Well,” he considered, “I believe, much like genuine siblings, they would be expected to retain some measure of attachment to one another and prohibited from ever marrying.”

They both turned to consider the two babies lying side by side on the bed. Bertrand, so bonny and bouncing, and Celestia, so delicate and small. “Well, that should not prove any great hardship, surely?” Jane ventured.

Alisander felt that ripple of unease that some folk attributed to someone walking over your future grave. “One would hope not,” he said dryly, and resisted the impulse to make a superstitious gesture associated with averting disaster. A swift change of subject seemed in order. “How went it with the Queen?” he asked.

A spasm of displeasure took her features. “You put me in the most awkward position!” she grumbled. “How could you?”

He laughed. “No, did I really? How so?”

“What did you expect me to her tell her?” she demanded. Then, catching Anne’s reproachful look, mouthed a silent “Sorry” and tiptoed from the room. He followed swiftly behind her, closing the door behind him.

“I merely expected you to advise he to the best of your ability, that is all.” Jane swung around and regarded him indignantly. “Keep walking forward,” he urged her, ushering her past the door to the main chamber.

“Wha—?”

He turned the latch to open the door to their bedchamber, giving her a little push through it. “By the way, you were right about these quarters.”

“How was I right?” Jane asked, wheeling around to face him.

He seized her left arm and started immediately unlacing her sleeve. “There aren’t any larger ones to be had. We shall simply have to remain as we are.”

Jane narrowed her eyes at him, though she obligingly presented her right arm without prompting. “Did you even make enquiry?” she asked shrewdly.

“No,” he admitted. “I have developed a touching faith in your infallibility, it seems.”

Jane gasped at his effrontery, and he grinned back at her. He couldn’t help it. “And why, pray, am I undressing?” she enquired.

“Why do you think?” He spun her around and started on the laces at her back, angling his head to whisper in her ear, “I am about to be revenged on you, Lady Bardulf.”

“Revenged on me?” she gasped. “What for, pray?”

“For making me jealous earlier,” he answered promptly. “And also distracting me from my duties. I have been thinking of you far too much these past few days.” It had been far longer than that, but he was not about to admit as much. “People are starting to whisper that I follow in your wake like a devoted lapdog.”

“No one says that,” Jane scoffed. “And I think you will find, I am the one owed retribution, my lord! You properly pitched me into difficult waters with the Queen. Moreover, I do not think she was at all satisfied with my advice.” She nibbled at her bottom lip.

“Well, that is her look-out,” he said callously. “You can scarcely have guided her worse than her own impulses have these past ten years.”

“I don’t know what you mean! It is the King who has been entirely at fault, not the Queen!” Jane rallied.

Alisander snorted. “Armenal did not make the smallest push to appease or flatter him as a sensible princess would have directly on stepping off the ship that sailed her here. It is not as though Wymer is in any way difficult. On the contrary, he is almost distressingly predictable.”

He eased the dress down from her shoulders. “In any case,” he whispered, kissing her neck as the dress pooled at the floor. “I grow tired of this subject. Step out of your gown.”

Jane did so, and he scooped it up, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Then he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her back against his front, and let out a happy sigh.

“I am not sure I was terribly diplomatic,” Jane admitted in a small voice, ignoring the fact he was hard against her buttocks. “You see, the Queen rather irritated me at one point and—”

He burst out with surprised laughter. “She irritated you?” He couldn’t keep the delight from his voice. “Jane,” he said, turning her in his arms and cupping her face between his hands. “Just how is it that you grow more fascinating to me by the day? Can you answer me that?” He frowned, considering. “It is not that way with others.”

“It isn’t?”

He shook his head. “Not in my experience.”

“Oh.” She still looked vaguely troubled, so he decided to kiss the frown from her face, first walking her backward until she halted, coming up against their bed. Then he grabbed her about her waist and lifted her onto the mattress. “Shift on or off?” he asked.

She lifted her arms obligingly, and he whipped it up and over her head so she sat naked and blushing before him. “My gods, Jane,” he groaned. “Is it any wonder that I cannot think straight these days. Not when I have you in my bed.”