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must think instead of what was to be done. As if reading his thoughts and sensing her own irresistible seductiveness she said quietly, ‘He was very charming, sweetheart . . .’
    â€˜You were weak, then,’ he said quietly, at which she nodded.
    â€˜As you were when you left your wife having set eyes upon me.’
    â€˜Is that what happened?’ he asked, half to himself.
    â€˜So you told me.’
    â€˜I have forgotten.’
    â€˜We all forget things we should remember.’
    â€˜Aye, but my forgetfulness has time to justify it; yours has only passion.’
    â€˜
Only
passion; which do you think the stronger?’
    â€˜Oh, passion, to be sure, but whatever the cause, betrayal is betrayal.’
    â€˜And you are betrayed?’
    â€˜You have to ask me that?’
    â€˜To be sure, just as you had to ask me whether I had lain with the Prince . . . which I have not. You could,’ she said tentatively, repeating herself, ‘you could . . . forgive me.’
    â€˜What? For you to succumb to the Prince’s charm again. And if you can so relent when I am here, in The Hague, what might you not do – what might you not have been doing – when I am at sea proving myself His Highness’ most loyal servant at risk and peril of my life? Huh?’ He dashed his hand on his knee, upset the chair and stood straight, shaking his head. ‘I realize now he has been laughing at me for months. Those jests that I took for intimacies, for manifestations of trust and confidence, those little asides about Kit and Kat . . . God he has made a fool of me many times over. No wonder you think fishermen fools; sea officers, it would seem, are little better. Men to be gulled! Why, he might have tweaked my nose and I would have gone off to die for him. No wonder the English have come to their senses.’
    Katherine was suddenly on her feet. His rant had gone too far and she stood triumphant. ‘Treason!
That
is treason!’
    â€˜So you would run to your paramour and tell him he is mistaken in Kit Faulkner’s loyalty, would you? You damnable bitch!’ The blood roared in his ears as he reached out for her and she dodged away, putting the table between them. ‘God’s blood, Katherine Villiers, but if you think I have exposed myself, so too have you. I would not have you back in my bed were you to crawl naked on your knees with the crown of England in your pox-rotten mouth!’ He thrust the table with such violence that she was jerked off her feet and fell forward over it. He had her by the hair and twisted her face up towards his.
    â€˜I loved you to distraction.’
    She spat in his face, whereupon he banged her head down on to the table then thrust her from him. He wiped away her spittle with a gesture of disgust. Gathering up his satchel, his hat, cloak, baldric and sword he made for the door. Standing in the open doorway he looked round. She had picked herself up and was rubbing her bruised cheek, her face aflame with fury.
    â€˜Be so kind as to inform Sir Henry that I shall be aboard the
Phoenix
by tomorrow,’ he said coldly. ‘And you may say the same to His Highness and tell him that Kit Faulkner shall serve him as he deserves and as he judges of my loyalty. As for you, you had best set your cap at the crown, though whether you will ever wear it in London is a matter for others to arrange. Goodbye, Katherine.’
    She stared at the door as she heard his steps fade on the stairs. She could sense the presence of Mainwaring, holding his breath beyond the closed door across the landing. Gradually her thundering heart subsided. She knew, had known for months, that this moment would come in due time. She could not resist the Prince; indeed, was powerless to do so, though she knew this was incomprehensible to Faulkner to whom she was, paradoxically, devoted. The peculiarity of their circumstances, his as much as hers, made such strange and illogical