The climax subsiding, Idela rolled onto her back and took a deep, shuddering breath. Her breasts trembled. “Oh, sweet and merciful God. I have been without a man so long—since my poor husband died!”

Pasevalles thought the pink flush on her throat and cheeks was very moving, and did not doubt that she had deeply enjoyed their lovemaking of recent days, but he was a bit more cynical about the idea that he was the first she’d had since Prince John Josua’s death. Too many rumors had come to him over the years, and he knew that Sir Zakiel of Garwynswold, the guard captain, had been frequently in Idela’s company in years past—so much so that some courtiers had taken to calling him “the Widow’s bed warmer”.

But whatever he might think of Idela’s application to chastity, Pasevalles was beginning to admire her more than he had thought he would. She had not mentioned their agreement once since she had first brought it up. In his experience, those who expected favors were prone to remind him of it far more often than necessary, but the princess had left the entire subject cloaked in dignified silence. Not that he needed to be reminded; in this respect, at least, he and Idela were of like mind. He too wanted Morgan to learn responsibility, or at least some semblance of it, so the young prince would make a fitting ruler one day.

He reached out and touched her right breast, tracing his finger up from the base to the still pouting tip. She shuddered and pushed his hand away. “Don’t! You make me want to start all over again.”

He smiled. “I am in no hurry.”

She sat up, pulling the coverlet up to her neck, then thought better of it and let it fall. Idela was a handsome, vital young woman, something else Pasevalles could not help but admire; someone who did not sit back and wait for things to come her way but reached out for them—quite the opposite of his own mother, who had largely given up on life after Pasevalles’s father had died at the battle for the Hayholt. When the fever caught her, she had not resisted—even his infant sister had fought harder, although she too had ultimately succumbed. But his mother had been like the defenders of a castle who had decided to open the gates to a superior force: The fever had barely touched her before she surrendered.

Not Idela, though. The prince’s widow still had ambitions and not just for her son, Pasevalles knew: she wanted a meaningful role in things. Pasevalles might bring nothing in the way of patrimony, but he had worked hard and made himself an indispensable man here in the Hayholt. There would be no shame in John Josua’s widow marrying a lord chancellor, especially one who was in line to become the next Hand of the Throne. Pasevalles was pragmatic about himself, too: he did not flatter himself that his charm or looks alone had led them to this bed on this hot afternoon. Idela knew the limits women faced, even royal women, and she wanted a partner. Pasevalles was seriously considering the partnership, although neither had spoken of the possibility out loud, or even hinted at it beyond his promise to push the king and queen for more responsibility for Prince Morgan. It was not as easy a decision as it seemed. Pasevalles had ambitions of his own, ideals he had harbored since boyhood, and Idela was a strong-willed woman who would want her own way in any marriage.

He smiled at the thought that he was even contemplating taking a princess for a wife.

“You look pleased with yourself,” she said, catching his expression and smiling back. “Now that you have made a fallen woman of me.”

“Angels do not fall,” he said. “They fly down on their shining wings, so that we mortals may see something of perfection.”

She pinched his arm. “I wish I could believe that you really thought that.”

“You do not know my depths, lady, if you think me incapable of such strong feelings.”

Idela laughed, but there was a hitch in it, as if for a moment real emotion had interfered with pillow talk. “You read me like a book! That is just what I thought of you for so long. So proper, so courteous! Always dressed just right, always the correct thing to say. I am glad to learn that you are not as prim as you once appeared. The things you do to me—!” She shook her head. “I could never have guessed you were such a wicked man!”

He put his mouth close to her ear. “If the angel can remain earthbound just a while longer, there are other mortal tricks I could show you.” He kissed the side of her neck.

She turned and took his face between her hands and stared into his eyes, long and searchingly. “Sometimes I do not know what to think of you, Pasevalles. Truly I don’t. You are such a gift.” She let him go. “But I cannot stay. The queen expects me to join her this afternoon, and I had to tell a terrible lie just to steal this time.” She sat up and looked around the chamber. “How strange to be so close to everyone yet so far from them, too!”

“Must you really leave?”

“Yes, I really must.” She swung her legs out and set her feet on the floor. “How can it be so hot outside but these stone flags are cold as ice?”

“This room has thick walls,” he said. “Because it was once part of an old fireplace flue, when this part of the residence had only one, although it was sealed off and filled in long ago. That is one reason why it is so private—even if there were people in the next room, they would hear nothing.”

“Private, silent, and all but unused. How clever of you to find it.”

He shrugged. “When I first came to the castle I enjoyed roaming through it, discovering bits of its history. I have long kept this room as my secret—I have the only key. There are so many chambers here in the residence that even when we are full up with guests, nobody bothers with it. Even the maids do not come in.” He sat up so he could better watch her dressing. “I needed a place where I can steal some time for myself, especially when I have to exercise Count Eolair’s duties as well as my own.”

“And that is all you ever do here?” she said, then lifted her foot to pull on her hose, showing him the smooth length of her leg. “Truly, Lord Pasevalles?” Her flirtatious manner had a hint of something deeper, something Pasevalles could almost scent—a touch of desperation, perhaps.

“I promise you, Idela, you are the first lover I have ever brought here.”

“I choose to believe you.” She turned and crawled across the bed to kiss him, wearing only hose and her half-donned shift. Her curling hair draped either side of his face like the curtains on the bed canopy. She dragged her breasts slowly across his chest as their lips met.

“My mother-in-law will be furious,” she said. “But I could be a little late.”

“You should not,” he said, pushing gently on her shoulders. “Remember, one of their chief complaints with Morgan is that he is always late—when he shows up at all. Let us not remind them of his faults in his absence.”

She pouted very prettily. “I expect the man I bed to be quite mad with lust for me, not to speak with practical good sense.”

“Then you should pick younger men, my beautiful one. Remember, I am quite old and that means, I fear, a certain practicality.”

“Mmmmm.” She leaned close again to kiss him one last time, so he could feel her skin upon his, her breasts upon his chest. “You are not so old as all that, Lord Chancellor. Oh! You have made me tingle all over, all over again, dear, dear Pasevalles.”

“And you have brought something into my life that has been long missing,” he said. “But now we must both get up and attend to our duties, so that we may have this in the future. Discretion, Princess, discretion! This household is a thousand mouths and two thousand ears just waiting for interesting tittle-tattle.”

She sighed, but sat up and returned to hunting for her clothes, cast here and there in the heat of their first moments. “When will we be together again?”