The Ring and the Crown (The Ring and the Crown 1)

Her words shook him out of his daze and his eyes focused on her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Today? What is today? Oh, that’s right—my dear Isabelle, of course—you are here to sign the papers.”

“Oh, Leo,” she cried. “I can’t let you go!”

“My little French nightingale, this is not good-bye. Far from it. You will be with me always,” he said. “After today, we will never be separated from each other again.”

“Truly?” she asked with a rapturous look on her face. It was exactly what she wanted to hear.

“Do you doubt me?” he asked.

“Of course not, my darling. I will not sign the papers this afternoon. I will not release you,” she said, feeling brave and determined.

“No, my dear,” he said, the smile fading from his face. “You must sign them. Sign whatever Eleanor demands. Our future depends on it.”

“Our future?” she asked, her eyes bright.

“Yes, our future,” he said. “You must sign the papers so that the treaty is not called into question.”

“But—!” she tried to protest.

“Meet me tonight,” he whispered, his breath on her skin making her shiver in delight. “I am in the south wing, the third room to the right under the portrait of Henry the Second. Take care that you are not seen; use the stairway from the servants’ quarters. My man will let you in with the usual code.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, it must be tonight. But first, you must sign the papers, so that we will never be separated.”

They were going to elope tonight! That’s what he was telling her. He was asking her to pretend that she was here to make peace, as he was. But in reality, he was planning to take her away—from St. James, from Orleans, from Hugh and his disgusting attentions on her. Leo was her savior, the only boy she could trust; the only one who loved her.

“Never,” she said. “We can never be separated.”

“Ma belle. Ma chérie, you will always be at my side,” he said. It was what he had called her in February, when they had first fallen in love—when they’d first met. He began to kiss her, and wrapped his arms around her body, holding her so tightly that she was pressed against him. The heat of his body on hers was wonderfully familiar.

“My dearest love,” she breathed, and she moaned as he pressed his lips against her cheek, finding her lips, her neck, her collarbone.

Leo’s kisses turned harder, more passionate—he was biting her—and she gasped, for it hurt. She had wanted him to respond, but not like this…in public where anyone could see.…

“Leo! Stop! Not here!” she said, as his hands groped her body in a

fever. “Please!”

He was panting. “Tonight, then. Promise me you will meet me tonight.”

“Tonight,” she whispered. “Yes.”

“For our future,” he said, with one last kiss. Then he released her and disappeared down the hall.

Isabelle clutched a hand to her neck, where he had left a red love mark. She looked frantically for something to hide it with, and decided upon her handkerchief, unfolding it from her pocket. She was terrified and elated. Leo was the same as ever, devoted and passionate. She would sign the annulment. She would do as she was told. For him. For them.

Our future, he’d promised.

They were leaving tonight; they were going to be together forever. He’d promised. She wrapped the hankie around her neck, feeling jaunty, triumphant. She had not lost anything. The princess could think she was marrying the prince, but Isabelle was secure in the knowledge that she had won his heart.

“Hold your head up—yes, that’s good, very nice, Princess—a little higher—one step, two step, and slide to the right with me.”

Marie slid as her dance instructor had taught her, but her foot caught in his shoe and she fumbled. “I’m sorry, I just…I can’t.”

The flamboyantly named Pierre La Fontaine was a man of infinite patience and outrageous wardrobe, but by late that afternoon the brightly colored feathers on his amazing velvet jacket were beginning to droop. “Your Highness, it is simply a matter of finding the rhythm and counting in your head.”

“I’m so tired. Can we try again tomorrow?” she asked. They were standing in the middle of the ballroom, with the full orchestra playing the Lovers’ Waltz, the dance that would open the royal ball. The party would be held at the Crystal Palace, but the main ballroom served as an adequate rehearsal space. Members of the court were standing at a respectful distance, watching the proceedings as they always did, and probably making fun of her graceless dancing under their breath.