Page 103 of The King's Man
He stirred and drew her tighter into the circle of his arms, kissing her hair, his hand gently stroking her cheek. She wriggled away from him, propping herself up on one elbow, studying the strong curve of his mouth and the line of his unshaven jaw
‘What do you see?’ he enquired.
‘You are beautiful,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘No one has ever called me that before.’
She traced the lines of his scars with her finger; the puckered flesh on his left shoulder, the long silvered slash on his upper right arm, and an ugly scar that marred his right thigh, the legacy of Worcester that had almost succeeded in killing him.
‘Will you tell me about these?’
He shook his head. ‘Not now, Thamsine. Today is for us, not who we were and where we come from.’ His eyes widened as her hand slid down the long length of his torso. ‘And, my dear wife, if you keep doing that to me, we will probably forget ourselves completely.’
Chapter 32
Kit’s fingers drummed the windowsill of John Thurloe’s room in the Palace of Whitehall. Below him, soldiers drilled in the courtyard and dark-suited men came and went with purposeful steps, but his mind was elsewhere.
He had left Thamsine still sleeping, her hair tousled and her lips slightly parted. He had not quite come to grasp the extraordinary power of their relationship. No liaison he had known with a woman had ever had this effect on him. Thamsine was – Kit struggled for superlatives – wonderful, beyond comparison. He longed with all his being to be back with her, in the private world of their own making.
In the past few days, curled up on the big, old bed, they had talked of their childhoods, hopes, dreams. He’d told her of his father’s death on the steps of Eveleigh Priory, but he still couldn’t bring himself to talk about Worcester … or Daniel.
And he still had to see to Thurloe’s business. There had been meetings in smoky taverns for which he had no heart. He haddone what needed to be done and hurried home to be with Thamsine, intent on not wasting a single moment of their time together.
‘Lovell?’ Thurloe’s voice snapped. ‘Pay attention!’
He turned back to look at Thurloe. ‘Sorry. You were saying?’
‘I was saying that I intend to do nothing.’
Kit’s hand tightened. ‘Thurloe. This Frenchman is dangerous.’
Thurloe pressed his fingertips together. ‘If the Protector does not go to Hampton Court as is his custom, the finger of suspicion will point straight at you. However, if he were merely to change his mode of transport, it may look less suspicious. He will travel to Hampton Court by water, not road.’
Kit nodded. ‘That is a sensible precaution.’
Thurloe leaned forward. ‘I presume there is an alternative plan?’
It had been thrashed out at a long, fraught meeting the previous night.
‘Sunday – when he is leaving chapel.’
‘Audacious!’ Thurloe’s eyebrows rose.
‘I agree. It stands a reasonable chance of success, particularly if Ireton is with him. They intend to take him too.’
Thurloe steepled his fingers, as he did when in thought.
‘If I were thinking as your fellow conspirators, as a plan it probably stands a better chance of success than the original concept. It’s a public place; His Highness would be quite unprotected.’ Thurloe frowned. ‘I’ll let word get around that the Lord Protector travels to Hampton Court by water. In the meantime we must try and find the Frenchman. Do you know where he is?’
Kit shook his head. ‘No. I’ve tried following him, but he keeps himself well hidden and changes his lodgings every few days. I doubt even De Baas knows where he is. If I were to start asking too many questions I might arouse suspicions.’
Thurloe nodded. ‘So what is your role in all of this?’
‘I have to organise the final meeting.’
‘They’ll all be there?’
Kit nodded.
