He turned Mary so he could whisper, “I am. What are you?”
She smiled conspiratorially, her dark head close to his, her breath on his cheek. “I’m a mouse. That’s how I get away if people chase me—I turn into a little black mouse that nobody ever notices. I’m very good at hiding. And listening. I hear such things, you wouldn’t believe them if I told you.” She leaned even closer. “I have a secret army, you know, back in Scotland. All of them E?ians. Isn’t that marvelous?”
“Marvelous,” Edward agreed.
She bit her lip. “I will send my army to help you. But I think someday I might turn into a mouse, and run away from France and never return. Will you help me then?”
His breath caught. “Of course,” he said. “You’ll always be welcome in England, Your Majesty.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. Her fingers were soft, her nails perfectly cut and rounded. “Call me Mary.”
“Mary,” he said, and he became aware of an ache in his chest. He pushed past it. “And you should call me Edward.”
“Edward.” She smiled. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
Yes, he thought, and the ache bloomed into something larger. He understood her. Maybe a little too well.
Mary looked pleased. “And here’s your lady,” she said, glancing past him. “Hello, again.”
“My lady?” Edward turned to see Gracie approaching them in the gray velvet gown. His chest swelled at the sight of her.
“I’m not his lady,” Gracie corrected. “I’m just his friend.”
Queen Catherine was calling for Mary to dance with the dauphin. “He always steps on my feet,” the little queen said with a scowl, becoming once again the furious girl from her portrait. She swept away to join her betrothed. Edward felt a weight lift at her departure. He offered his hand to Gracie.
“Shall we?”
She shook her head so hard a curl came loose from its pin and tumbled into her face. “I don’t know how to dance.”
“There’s something you don’t know how to do?” he said incredulously. “How can that be?”
She laughed and considered the couples whirling around them. “It is a different world that you live in, Sire. So full of color and music. So very grand. I can see why you’d miss it.”
He didn’t miss it, he thought. Not really.
“Let’s walk along the river,” he suggested. “It’s stuffy in here.”
“If that’s what you command.” She took his arm and he led her outside, where the stars were bright and the palace seemed to stretch on and on against the Seine.
“Let me teach you to dance,” he said when they’d found a quiet place.
“I’m not sure that would be wise,” she answered wryly. “I’d hate for you to die now, after all this trouble I’ve gone to keep you alive.”
“It’s largely a matter of bowing and curtseying.” He dropped into a bow. “Now you.”
Grace stood still for a moment, considering, then slowly and awkwardly curtsied.
“See, that wasn’t so bad. Take my hand,” he directed.
She did.
“Now I’ll draw you toward me, and we’ll bow, and then we’ll step away, and bow.”
They practiced for a while, moving in time to the music that was still spilling from inside the palace.
“You’re quite good at this,” she admitted as he guided her through the steps.
“I’ve had years of lessons. My instructors often said that the key to a successful dance is to make it seem like you can’t help yourself. You look into your partner’s eyes, as if that gaze binds you while your body moves to the music.”
They both seemed to be holding their breath as they looked into each other’s eyes. He put his hands on her waist, and lifted her in a slow circle. Her arms went around his neck as he lowered her to her feet.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked impulsively. “I’ve never kissed a girl before, and I want it to be you. Will you?” It was terribly inappropriate, what he was asking her, and he knew it. There were rules for people like him. The future could go two ways: he could fight and die in this endeavor to take back his crown, or he could fight and win, and then he’d be the King of England and he’d marry some foreign princess to strengthen the ties between their countries, or one of these days a little black mouse was going to show up at his palace door, and he knew what she’d expect of him, and he knew that he should probably comply. And Gracie would still be a Scottish pickpocket, and he’d have no business kissing her.
But he didn’t care.
“I won’t pretend that I’m a fine lady,” Gracie said, lifting her chin. “It doesn’t matter what dress you put me in. I don’t belong in a palace.”
“I know. Kiss me.”
She gave a little laugh. “You’re a forward one, aren’t you?”
“Grace. I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment I clapped eyes on you. It’s been agony not kissing you all this time.”