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Henry Jermyn scrambled out of bed, grabbed up his breeches in one hand and his. periwig in the other and made for the door. Barbara lay down again and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She could hear the spaniels as they came in at a run and, just in the next room, the King’s murmurous laugh and his voice as he paused to speak to Mrs. Wilson. (There was gossip that he had recently begun an affair with her pretty serving-woman, though Barbara had not yet been able to make either of them admit it.) Opening one eye she saw, to her horror, that Jermyn had left behind a shoe and quickly snatching it up she flung it into the bed. Then she jerked the curtains to and lay down, composing her face to pretend that she was sleeping.

She heard the door of the bedroom open and in an instant a couple of the dogs had leaped between the curtains and were prancing on her pillows, licking at her face. Barbara muttered a curse and flung out one hand to ward them off just as Charles pulled back the curtains and stood smiling down at her, not at all fooled by the questioning sleepy look she gave him. He swooped the two dogs off onto the floor.

“Good morning, madame.”

“Why—good morning, Sire.” She sat up, one hand in her hair, the other modestly holding the sheets to her naked breasts. “What’s o’clock? Is it late?”

“Almost noon.”

Now he reached down and took hold of the long blue ribbon on Mr. Jermyn’s shoe and very slowly he drew it out and held it up, looking at it quizzically, as though not quite certain what it was. Barbara watched him with a kind of sullen apprehension. He twirled it slowly about by the string, observing it carefully on all sides.

“Well,” he said finally, “so this as the latest divertisement for ladies of quality—substituting the shoe for the gentleman. I’ve heard some say it improves mightily upon nature. What’s your opinion, madame?”

“My opinion is that someone’s been spying on me and sent you here to catch me! Well—I’m quite alone, as you may see. Look behind the screens and drapes, pray, to satisfy yourself.”

Charles smiled and tossed the shoe to the spaniels who seized upon it eagerly. Then he sat down on the bed, facing her. “Let me give you some advice, Barbara. As one old friend to another, I think that Jacob Hall would give you more satisfaction for your time and money than Mr. Jermyn is likely to do.” Jacob Hall was a handsome muscular acrobat who performed at the fairs and, sometimes, at Court.

Barbara retorted quickly. “I don’t doubt that Jacob Hall is as fine a gentleman as Moll Davis is a lady!” Moll Davis was his Majesty’s newest mistress, an actress in the Duke of York’s Theatre.

“I don’t doubt it, either,” he agreed. For a long moment they looked at each other. “Madame,” he said at last, “I believe that the time has come for you and me to have a talk.”

Something inside her took a plunging drop. Then it hadn’t been just gossip, after all. Instantly her manner became respectful and polite, and almost flirtatious. “Why, certainly, Your Majesty. What about?” Her violet eyes were wide and innocent.

“I think we need pretend no longer. When a man and woman who are married have ceased to love each other there is nothing for them but to find entertainment elsewhere. Fortunately, it’s otherwise with us.”

That was the boldest statement of his feelings he had ever made to her. Sometimes, in anger, he had spoken sharply, but she had always assured herself that he had meant it no more than she meant what she said when angry. And she refused to believe even now that he could actually be serious.

“Do you mean, Sire,” she asked him softly, “that you don’t love me any more?”

He gave her a faint smile. “Why is it a woman will always ask that, no matter how well she knows the answer?”

She stared at him, sick in the pit of her stomach. The very posture of his body showed boredom and weariness, his face had the finality of a man who understands his feelings perfectly. Was it possible? Was he really and truly tired of her? She had had warning enough for the past four years, both from him and from others, but she had ignored it, refusing to believe that he could fall out of love with her as he had fallen out of love with other women.

“What do you intend to do?” Her voice was now just a whisper.

“That’s what I’ve come to discuss with you. Since we don’t love each other any longer—”

“Oh, but Sire!” she protested swiftly. “I love you! It’s just that you—”

He gave her a look of frank disgust. “Barbara, for the love of God spare me that. I suppose you think I’ve pretended to myself that you were in love with me. Well—I haven’t. I was beyond the age of such illusions when I met you. And if I loved you once, which I suppose I did, I don’t any longer. I think it’s time we make a new arrangement.”

“A new—You intend to turn me out?”