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the offered silver goblets, and Bea tried to
see if Sir Robert had gotten her little hint. He had vanished into the
crowd.
    Peter reached her side, bowing over her hand in an elaborate,
courtly salute that made her giggle. “May I have the honor of this dance,
fairest lady?”
    “Go, enjoy yourselves,” Meg said. “Just remember we must change
into our costumes soon, Beatrice.”
    “I remember.” Beatrice let Peter lead her into the forming
dance. As she took his hand and waited to begin, she whispered, “Do you happen
to know Sir Robert Erroll, Peter? I thought I saw you with him at
rehearsal.”
    “Never say I have lost you to him already, fairest one!”
    Beatrice laughed. “Of course not! He is so old. He must be all
of twenty-six. But I did see him watching my cousin.”
    “Your cousin? Was he?” Peter’s eyes lit with a spark of
interest. He was always up for a fine lark—that was one of the reasons she liked
him. Perhaps he would even help her with a bit of matchmaking in a good cause.
“As it happens, I do know him a bit. His mother is a kinswoman to mine. But I
have only talked to him a few times since he returned to England.”
    “He is very handsome,” Beatrice said. “But he seems quite
lonely.”
    “Lonely? Nay, he is always surrounded by people in his
lodgings.”
    Beatrice remembered the way Robert Erroll had looked at Meg,
with such passion and longing. She shook her head. “What your kinsman needs,
Peter, is a good, strong-hearted wife....”
    * * *
    Meg carefully slid through the crowded hall to find a
spot near one of the tapestry-hung walls. All around her was music, the patter
of dancing, leaping feet, the rustle of rich silks and satins, the scent of wine
and expensive perfumes. All the desperate energy made her head spin.
    She took a goblet of spiced wine from a footman and sipped at
it as she scanned the dancers for a glimpse of Beatrice’s golden hair. Her
cousin was skipping and twirling with Peter Ellingham, the two of them
whispering and laughing together. Bea seemed very well-occupied at the
moment.
    And Robert Erroll was nowhere in sight. At least for the time
being, she could take a deep breath. She had been able to avoid him ever since
their kiss in the abandoned hunting lodge. She had almost—almost—been able to
forget it herself.
    Meg closed her eyes as she took a deep gulp of the wine. Why,
why did he have to return now, when she had nearly forgotten how foolish she
once was? And why did he have to be even more handsome than before? She didn’t
need the terrible distraction of him in her life.
    “Will you dance with me?” she suddenly heard someone say behind
her, his voice low and intimate.
    Startled, Meg whirled around to face him. Some of the wine
sloshed from the goblet onto her silk sleeve.
    “God’s teeth,” she whispered. “How could you startle me so?
This is my best gown.”
    “Forgive me, my lady.” He reached for her hand, his long,
sun-roughened fingers closing around her wrist as his other hand took away her
goblet and handed it to a passing servant. He took out his own handkerchief and
gently blotted at the small stain. “I must speak with you, Meg.”
    “Really?” Meg murmured, trying to look anywhere but at him.
Trying not to feel anything at all when he touched her. She wasn’t succeeding.
“Surely we said all we needed to three years ago. It was the merest flirtation,
quickly over.”
    His hand tightened over hers. Startled by the suddenness of the
movement, her gaze flew to his face.
    His blue eyes were dark as he stared down at her intently. “It
was not meant to be. Surely you knew that?”
    Meg was confused. Her memories seemed so clear from those few
precious days they’d had together. He had kissed her and then left for France;
surely that made it a mere flirtation, the likes of which she saw every day at
court. But her feelings from then were so much more mixed-up, like the swirl of
spices in her wine. “I know no such thing.