“You know, it hasn’t worked, this protection business,” I said, turning on my side to face my husband. I’d retired before him, but was not yet asleep when he slipped into our bed. “Not even in the beginning. Henry VI was murdered—”
“My dear, that is hardly the point,” Colin replied. “All any of us can do is our best to protect the sovereign. No one can absolutely guarantee the safety of any man, no matter what his position.”
“We’ve just lived through four murders that remind us of the deaths of kings,” I said. “Surely you can’t be required to—”
“It is done, Emily,” he said. “If you had hoped that Bertie’s, er, King Edward’s disdain for me would enable me to wriggle out of a role that no honorable man could refuse—”
“Oh, do stop.” I sighed. “I had only hoped that perhaps we could have a little break from adventure. Retire to Anglemore and watch the boys grow, far from any royal demands.”
“You would be bored silly in three days flat,” he said, and kissed me. “And think—Bertie has always had a high opinion of you. It may be that he will prove more open than his mother was to your, shall we say, interference in matters that require more than a modicum of discretion. Perhaps you, not I, will soon be the favorite agent of the Crown.” I confess, the idea perked me up, but before I could reply, my husband silenced me with another kiss. “First, though, you shall have to persuade me that I should step aside and let you vie for his favor. Can you make it worth my while?”