'Your portrait, my lord?' I stopped to have a look. "It is an admirable likeness.'

' 'Twas done by Lely,' he told me, giving his image an assessing glance, 'soon after I returned from France. A minor vanity, on my part.'

'And this?' I moved on to the next portrait, and frowned a little into the face of a smug, self-satisfied boy with curling blond hair and idle eyes.

Richard looked. 'My nephew, Arthur,' he identified the boy. 'He has the look of my brother, but not, I fear, the character.'

I would have lingered in the gallery, but he pressed me onward, through yet another doorway into a great soaring room with glittering glass windows and a ceiling that seemed as high as the arches of a cathedral.

'Oh,' I breathed, my eyes drifting upward. Here was a room, I marveled, fit for the use of princes. The walls were hung with cut velvet and tapestries woven in scarlet and blue, showing dark-eyed satyrs and pale-white nymphs, Vulcan and Venus and a host of ancient heroes. All round the room hung silver sconces set with candles, ready to illuminate the great hall with a hundred points of light and banish darkness forever. There would be light from the fireplace as well, I thought, that huge stone fireplace that could shelter burning logs the length and breadth of a man....

'It is a handsome room,' Richard said, beside me. 'I regret the furnishings are so poor, but much of the furniture was sold off during my father's imprisonment.'

There was, in truth, but a handful of chairs and small tables, clustered near the cold fireplace, but it scarcely seemed to matter. I took a step forward, stretching my neck to look up at the heraldic carvings above the mantel.

'The arms of my family,' he supplied. 'The hawks wear hoods to remind us not to trust our eyes in battle, but to follow our sovereign blindly. We lead with our hearts,' he explained, 'and not our heads. And much it has cost us.'

'But you cannot be destroyed,' I pointed out. 'So says your motto. At least that lends some comfort.'

'You read Latin?' His tone was incredulous, and I lowered my eyes, embarrassed. 'My father taught me,' I said, in a small, defensive voice. 'He said that if a queen could read Latin, then so should I.'

'He must have been a remarkable man, your father. Did he die recently?'

I shook my head. 'Nine years ago. He fell into a fever, and did not recover. I was eleven years old.'

'Did you keep none of his books for yourself?'

'They were burned,' I said flatly. 'Everything in our house was burned, upon my mother's death, for fear of the plague.'

He stared down at me. 'Your mother died of the plague?'

I nodded, unable to speak, and he shook his head sympathetically. 'It is a dreadful thing,' he said. 'I have heard that some five hundred people have died of it in London this past week alone, and it is far from over.'

'The Lord's vengeance on a wicked people,' I mused slowly, then glanced up in apology. 'That is what my uncle calls it.'

His face hardened. 'Your uncle is a fool. The vengeance is in his own mind, and nowhere else. His side has lost the battle, and he would see the victors suffer.'

I stared at him, uncomprehending, and he smiled suddenly, the blackness lifting from his features. 'But our talk has grown dreary,' he complained. 'I apologize. Come, let me show you round the house before we dine.'

'I cannot dine with you, my lord,' I protested, shaking my head.

'I insist. I am not often graced by visitors.'

I held my ground. 'I cannot,' I repeated. 'Rachel would worry if I were late in returning home.'

He smiled slyly. 'I could send Evan round to Greywethers, to inform her of your delay,' he said. 'She would not be so eager for your return, then.'

I flashed him a quick look of alarm. 'You would not send Evan to her, surely!'

'He may be there already, for all I know.' 'But Rachel is betrothed,' I told him, 'to Elias Webb.'

'What of it?" He shrugged. ' 'Tis plain to see that she does not love that corrupt old man. And I'll wager Evan will not cheerfully step aside for our black-hearted bailiff.'

'She cannot go against my uncle,' I said quietly.

'Then she is not worthy of the love of my friend. Christ's blood, I despise a weak and mincing woman!' He was challenging me, and I knew it. He took a step closer, crowding me against the fireplace. 'Will you dine with me, or no?'

I shook my head again, not trusting my voice.

'A dance, then,' he suggested unexpectedly, with a laughing gleam in his eyes. 'I must have some recompense for my hospitality.'

'I do not dance.'

'I'll keep the step simple,' he promised, and I shook my head helplessly. It was unheard-of, I thought, to dance in private with a man, and that man not your husband. It would be improper, wanton, and yet the thought of it set my blood racing with unladylike excitement.

'There is no music,' I remarked, retreating another step.

Richard de Mornay smiled. 'Would you like me to call for my stableboy? He is unequaled on the lute, and I'm sure he would favor us with a danceable tune.'

'No,' I said hastily. I had no desire for a witness to my folly.

"Then you must make do without. Or I could sing, if you wish it' He held out his hand. 'Come, you are no coward. One dance, a simple step, and the debt is paid.'

Trapped, I took his hand.