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Cecília fingered the gold cross around her neck, irritably rubbing the red stone in the center as her knees protested. It was only her third morning in the chapel, but she was obviously out of practice, her body revolting against the repetitive hour spent in the pews.
Why am I even here?
Morning Mass was quiet, the congregation only a handful of courtiers, and none of them giving so much as a whisper about the service, let alone anything Senhor Carvalho would have found interesting. Of course, he hadn’t sounded interested in what courtiers were saying. He wanted her to eavesdrop on the priests, and she still wasn’t certain she was willing to resort to that.
“Be blessed by the grace of the Holy Spirit,” Father Pinho finished. “Go in peace, and may the Lord be with you and with everyone. Amen.”
Peace... Cecília somehow managed not to snort at that idea, and she crossed herself before quickly turning toward the door. That morning, Father Moreno had offered a small smile from where he had been sitting with the other priests when he’d seen her. The last thing she needed was for him to attempt catching her on the way out, at least before she figured out what she was doing. Luís had been willing to go to his death rather than sacrifice even a snake like Mateus de Vilhena. He had been a willing martyr for his principles, even if it was unlikely that anyone would spare him a passing thought in a generation. She wondered whether she was so self-serving that she was willing to send yet more innocent men to their deaths just to save her own neck. The first minister’s threats shouldn’t have mattered. She should have stared him down and said she was done, whatever the consequences.
And yet every time she tried to think of facing down the Inquisition, all she could remember was the auto-da-fé her father had taken her to when she was six, against her mother’s wishes. Most of the heretics had been repentant and released after lashes or at least died in the faith and were garroted before being put to the flame. But one man had arrived in a gray cassock with the image of a sinner encircled by demons and fire. She watched everything before him with a perverse fascination, but the screams when the man had burned, so similar to Ferreira during the Távora executions... Papai had had to pick her up and leave before she would stop crying. She would have liked to believe that refusing to report wouldn’t catch enough of the first minister’s ire that he would push his brother to have her burned alive, but as merciless as he had been with the Távoras, she truly couldn’t know.
And not just me. She returned to rubbing the gold cross, her anxiety making her fidget. They’d pull Tio Aloisio into it.
Her uncle wasn’t any more innocent than she was, but he certainly didn’t deserve the Inquisition, not if Senhor Carvalho was willing to bring it all back just to be rid of Father Malagrida.
She turned the last corner before her room and stopped short in surprise. Senhor Ventura, dressed impeccably in his breeches and tailored red coat, stood a few steps from her door with his eyes on a silver pocket watch. Cecília frowned, not certain she wanted to deal with whatever was waiting for her, before she forced herself forward. “Senhor Ventura?”
He started, sliding the watch away as he turned to face her before he quickly bowed. “Senhorita Durante.”
She gave a tight smile. “I would have thought you’d be at work already?”
“Yes.” He caught his hands behind his back and shifted his weight awkwardly. “I noticed you hadn’t been by the past few days and wanted to make sure you were well.”
“I’m very well, thank you. Just busy, though I appreciate your concern.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He lowered his head quickly before meeting her eyes again. “As you are, perhaps you would like to accompany me to a party Senhora Gaspar is hosting tonight? Senhor Magro extended an invitation.”
A party. How long has it been since I left court to go to a party? Even if her mind hadn’t been tied up with everything pressing down on her, though, she wasn’t certain she had it in her to be an engaging guest on her own, let alone with someone looking to escort her. She put it off in the easiest way she could think of. “I would have to ask my uncle.”
“I just spoke with him.” Senhor Ventura motioned at the doorway. “I had the good luck to catch him on his way out. He gave his permission, as long as you wished to attend.”
So Tio Aloisio knew what was happening. Wonderful. Apparently, he had already left, so at least she wouldn’t have to talk to him immediately. She kept her smile carefully in place, trying to think of the kindest way to turn the man down. “Senhor Ventura,” she began just before a flash of movement at the corner of the hall caught her attention. She felt all the blood leave her face.
John...? Her mind wouldn’t form a complete thought as she stared at the man, half-convinced she was seeing things.
He froze as well, surprise moving over his face before he apparently recovered and continued in her direction.
Senhor Ventura twisted to follow Cecília’s line of sight, frowning as he spotted the Englishman. Somewhere in Cecília’s mind, she registered that the two men were dressed surprisingly similarly, not in full courtier dress but in finer fabric than she had ever seen John wear. Senhor Ventura turned back to her, his voice lowered. “Do you know that man?”
The words were enough to start her out of her stupor just as John stepped up beside them. “Mr. Bates!” She looked back at Senhor Ventura, trying—and most likely failing—to hide how flustered she was. “Senhor Ventura, this is Mr. Bates, my uncle’s old business partner and friend.” She switched to John, somehow keeping her voice far more level than she would have credited herself for. “Mr. Bates, I didn’t know you were in Portugal.”
“Just arrived.” He gave her something between a nod and a bow before addressing the other man. “Senhor Ventura, was it?”
Senhor Ventura offered a polite bow, though he continued to frown.
“Mr. Bates actually saved my life”—Cecília attempted to ease the tension in the air—“five years ago.”
“Ah. You were here in the quake, then?”
“Indeed, I was.” John nodded.
“Sorry business, all that,” Senhor Ventura said.
John arched an eyebrow. “I believe I’d call it something a little stronger than that, myself.”
“Would you like to wait inside, Mr. Bates? My uncle just went out, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
John switched his quizzical expression to her but didn’t argue. “Certainly.”
“I’ll show you in,” she said before sending a last look at Senhor Ventura. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon, senhor.”
“But about tonight...?” His eyes moved between Cecília and John, more questioningly than she cared for.
“I’ll check my plans and let you know.” She offered a final smile. “You’ll be in the office all day?”
“I will.”
“Wonderful. Have a good morning, Senhor Ventura.”
The man finally took the dismissal, offering another bow before he moved toward the architects’ office down the hall.
Cecília watched until Senhor Ventura was out of sight before she turned back to John. Suddenly, the silence felt much heavier.
“So...” he started when she didn’t speak.
Cecília opened her mouth but then shut it again, glancing at the door over her shoulder. She wasn’t certain what she had to say to the man in front of her, but the hall seemed far too exposed for whatever it was. She opened the door. “Come with me.”
With a nod, he walked into the antechamber, letting her shut the door behind them. She took a deep breath, still struggling to think of what to say. John beat her to it. “Who was that?”
She bristled slightly at the vaguely accusatory tone, the wave of annoyance helping her pull herself together, at least slightly. “Senhor Ventura. He’s one of the architects working on the rebuilding.”
“And?”
She crossed her arms tight over her stomach. “And what?”
“It seemed I was interrupting some plans you were making.”
“He was inviting me to a party tonight.” She gave an easy shrug before the flood of emotion she had felt when she saw him in the hallway came roaring back. “What are you doing here?”
John’s eyebrows rose. “I told you I’d come back, didn’t I?”
“In a few months. Not two years.”
“Not quite that long.”
“Close enough,” she returned, not feeling the need to squabble over months.
He shook his head. “It took a little longer to get things settled than planned.”
“And you didn’t think to write?”
“Nor did you?”
“I did!” Her voice rose dangerously before she caught herself. She continued at a safer volume. “I wrote twice. To you and then to your sister, asking after you.”
The slightly exasperated expression slid into confusion. “I didn’t receive anything.”
“Convenient,” she snapped. “Obviously, I should always have just said I’d written. You wouldn’t have known the difference.”
“I don’t know what to say. I didn’t,” he said. “And my sister doesn’t speak Portuguese. She might not have known what your letter was.”
“I wrote it in French,” she said, her tone a little petulant.
He tilted his head slightly. “Tu parles français maintenant?”
“A little.” She didn’t bother embarrassing herself by attempting to answer him in her own horribly accented French. “I’ve learned enough to manage a letter.”
The corners of his mouth tipped up in that infuriatingly familiar way of his. “And to think, you once told me you didn’t write well enough to correspond at all.”
Huffing, she moved away from him, being so close to feeling dangerous as the initial wave of irritation wore off. “Where have you been, John Bates? For all I knew, you were dead out in the middle of the ocean somewhere.”
“That’s why you found your architect?”
Cecília rolled her eyes, keeping up the pretense, which felt less important as the hurt she’d been nursing for months began to dissipate. “He’s not my anything.”
“It certainly sounded to be something out there.” He glanced at the door.
She considered letting him think that was the case, just for another moment of spite, but she supposed she was hardly the person to judge him for not writing. She had been the one to set the precedent, and he’d already gone beyond what she’d truly expected of him, reappearing at court. She released a breath. “I was going to reject the invitation before you showed up, if you truly care.”
Some thought Cecília couldn’t make out passed over John’s face, but he only said, “Oh?”
“Lately, I’ve found myself agreeing with my uncle. It’s best for me not to get involved with young men.”
“I see.” The unreadable expression turned vaguely amused. “And are you married to that idea? Or could you be convinced differently?”
Part of her hated that he was still as charming as ever, but she didn’t have the energy to fight it. “Part of the point has been not to be married to anything.”
The slight amusement became a full smile. “Good.”
In one quick movement, John closed the distance between them. One arm encircled her waist as his mouth came down on hers, hot and demanding, two years of desire and deprivation flooding into her all at once, shooting fire over every inch of her. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, arching into him as his hand pressed against the small of her back. Her shoulders hit something hard, and she realized they’d backed up against the wall. Some little voice at the back of her mind tried to warn her of... something. She couldn’t fully bring her attention to it as his mouth moved down her neck.
The rattle of the latch let it register. Tio Aloisio.
“John,” she warned, working her hands between them and pushing him back just as the door swung open.
Tio Aloisio stepped inside, turning to hang his hat before his eyes hit Cecília and John. As flushed as she still felt, what he’d interrupted would have been obvious even if she could have met his gaze. After what felt like an eternity but likely wasn’t more than a few seconds, Tio Aloisio’s eyes settled on John. “Bates, what an unexpected pleasure. I hadn’t heard you were in Portugal.”
John swallowed, seeming to need as much of a moment to gather himself as Cecília did before he recovered and stepped toward Tio Aloisio. “Yes, I just arrived this morning. Wonderful to see you, Senhor Durante.”
Tio Aloisio lowered his head in recognition of the pleasantry. “Are you collecting Mr. Hays’s correspondences again?”
“Working for his office, actually. Apparently, there’s a dearth of men who actually speak Portuguese in the British delegation here. Mr. Hays has been trying to find more men who don’t need to rely on French.”
Cecília blinked in surprise. “You’ve joined the diplomatic corps?”
“I have.” He flashed her a small smile.
“Quite the change from sailing,” Tio Aloisio said, something that sounded nearly sarcastic tinting his words.
“After fifteen years, it seemed time to settle somewhere.”
“And that somewhere is Lisbon.”
“It was a very fortuitous appointment, I thought.”
“Quite.”
Cecília looked between John and her uncle, trying to pick out what conversation they were actually having under what they were saying. She was obviously missing something, but whatever it was, it seemed less friendly than she had ever seen the two men.
“Well.” John glanced at Cecília then turned back to Tio Aloisio. “I should get back to my own room. Mr. Hays has given me today to get settled, but I’m sure there is more than enough to do.”
“A pleasure as always, Bates,” Tio Aloisio said.
“All mine,” he answered before offering Cecília a formal bow. “Senhorita Durante.”
“Mr. Bates.” She curtsied, waiting for the door to open and close once again before she fully straightened. Her uncle had turned to his desk, as though there were nothing to discuss.
“What was that?” she asked his back.
“What was what?” He didn't look at her.
“You were practically glaring at Mr. Bates.”
“I certainly was not.”
Cecília scoffed. “You call that a congenial greeting?”
“Not as congenial as the one you were giving him, I imagine. Perhaps that’s skewing your view of things?”
Cecília was suddenly glad her uncle wasn’t looking at her to see how hot her cheeks had gotten. She ignored it as well as she could and pushed on. "You're upset he came to see me?"
“To see you? No.” Tio Aloisio finally faced her. “I imagined he would find his way back to visit at some point. Uprooting his life for you is a different matter.”
“He came to take a new position.”
“And just happened to find one here. Coincidence, I’m sure.”
Blowing out a tense breath, she squared her shoulders. “And what if he wanted to be here for me? Is that horrible?”
Tio Aloisio shook his head, looking more exhausted than upset. “You can’t be with him, Cilinha.”
The familiar name somehow made the statement feel worse. “Why?”
“Beyond the obvious?”
“It didn’t seem you, of all people, would take issue with interacting with Protestants.”
“There’s a difference between my type of interacting and what you’re proposing.” He released a heavy breath. “I take it you wish to marry him, judging from what I walked in on?”
Cecília pressed her lips together tightly, saying it out loud suddenly feeling too heavy. She turned it back onto him. “You have more reasons not to?”
Tio Aloisio seemed to measure his words before continuing. “Bates is a very... resilient man, and I admit that a diplomatic post is impressive even for him, but he has always gotten by through a quick mind, charm, and friends in higher places. That is hardly a stable existence.”
She furrowed her eyebrows. “You’re worried how he’d keep me?”
“You’ve lost a lot in your life. We all have. I don’t believe you need to lose more every time the wheel of fortune turns south for our Mr. Bates.”
The genuine concern in her uncle’s tone made Cecília hesitate, but she still crossed her arms defiantly. “He seems to be doing well now. And I’m not a child. I don’t need you to protect me.”
“You do need someone to support you, unless you intend to use your skills to start reporting on the diplomatic corps.”
She furrowed her eyebrows, a knot slowly forming in her stomach. “What?”
“There’s a reason you began keeping the Hours again, I trust? How do you think it would look to that side of the palace, you being that devout yet taking up with an Englishman? I imagine you wouldn’t hear anything with that around court. You’d have to hope there’s something of interest happening in the diplomatic corps. I imagine you could do exactly as you did with Senhor Terra.”
Cecília felt the words like a physical blow, and her uncle’s face said that he knew he had aimed low. Her jaw didn’t want to move, but she forced the words out. “Don’t you talk about him.”
“Ignoring reality doesn’t change it, Cilinha—”
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped.
“And you can’t do what you’re asked if you involve yourself with Bates,” Tio Aloisio continued unabated. “You’ll have to offer what you get from him instead.”
She felt her hands begin to tremble, but she wasn’t certain if it was fear, sorrow, or anger. Clenching her fists, she clung to the last one. “I shouldn’t have to offer anything. Haven’t I done enough of this awful business for one lifetime?”
“Not as long as you’re at court. And correct me if I’m mistaken, but if Bates is working in the diplomatic corps, I believe he can’t not live at court.”
Cecília opened her mouth but found herself at a lack for a retort. Spinning on her heel, she headed for the hall.
“Where are you going?” Tio Aloisio called after her.
With no idea herself, she didn’t answer.
***
CECÍLIA BUNCHED HER veil in her hands, her nerves making her fidget. Heavens knew how the lace would hold up to the abuse, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Still dressed from Sunday Mass, she should have headed straight back to her room. With Senhor Carvalho no doubt having her watched, she felt far too conspicuous in the deep-red gown, and yet she found herself loitering at the end of the diplomatic corps’ hallway where anyone could see her.
I thought Protestant Masses were supposed to be shorter. She shoved her veil into her pocket to keep herself from entirely ruining it. Wisely, John had kept his distance over the past few days while she’d fought to work something out, some other option that Tio Aloisio had not wanted her to see, but she’d come up empty-handed. She was caught as tightly as ever in a web she would happily have climbed into, John having reappeared or not.
A sudden rise of voices said the Protestant service held in one of the larger rooms on that side of the palace had concluded. Cecília stepped back to press closer to the wall, though that would likely have done as much to conceal her as waving a pair of signal flags would have. A mix of the different non-Catholic diplomats filtered into the hallway. She watched until she saw John appear, laughing with two other men. At least someone in the palace is happy. Veil gone, she bunched the fabric of her skirt in her fist, debating whether she should actually speak with him.
As though he felt himself being watched, John glanced in her direction. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he said something to the men he was with then started toward her. Motioning with her eyes for him to follow, she ducked around the corner. Luckily, one of the sitting rooms not far down the next hall was empty. She slipped inside and waited for John to do the same before she shut the door behind them.
Releasing a breath, she tried to think of how to start as she turned to face him. His mouth on hers stopped her short. As always, the rush of heat through her body tried to chase out everything she had been thinking. This isn’t what you’re here for, Cecília. She placed a hand on his chest. “John—”
“I’m sorry.” He pulled back enough to look at her. “I’ve just been hoping you’d show up. I would have come to you, but I didn’t think your uncle would be pleased to see me.”
The easy way he talked about it made her insides squirm. She dropped her eyes.
“Don't look like that, love.” John caught her chin. “It's nothing I didn’t expect. He’s always made it very clear what he thinks about my interest in you.”
That statement wasn’t important when it came to the grand scheme of things, but she took the excuse to put off the inevitable all the same. “He sent you to see me two years ago.”
“Not quite that long, but he knew I was leaving again. That's always been the important part to him.”
She started to ask him what he meant before it hit her. “He’s the one who convinced you to leave. Five years ago.”
John's eyebrows rose.
“He told me you were considering staying back then. He didn’t tell me why you didn’t.”
“He did,” John admitted, “but he was right. I was in no position to stay then. That's why I found this post. I can stand on my own two feet now. It will just take him a little while to see this isn’t five years ago. That I'm not staying ‘solely for some ill-formed infatuation,’ I believe were the words he used.”
Cecília pressed her lips together, once again not caring for the sensation that her uncle understood everything far better than she’d assumed him to.
“He’s only trying to look after you,” John said, brushing her cheek. “I can’t begrudge him that.”
She swallowed, trying to keep her nerve to say what she’d actually come to say while looking straight into his eyes. “That’s not why I... It’s not that. I...”
His eyebrows pulled together slightly as the words died in her throat. “What is it, love?”
“I...” She started again. “We need to keep our distance right now.”
The concerned expression turned into a full frown. “Did your uncle—”
“No, it’s not him. There are other things happening. It would be dangerous for us to be seen together until it’s all settled.”
“Dangerous for you or for me?”
“Both, possibly.”
“What’s happening?”
She shook her head. “I can’t talk about it.”
“If you tell me, I can try to help.”
And she didn’t doubt he would try. He always had, when she’d needed him. All the more reason he needs to stay far away from this. “I can’t. Just, everything should be settled soon.” One way or another. “We only need to keep our distance until then. It won’t be forever.”
His eyes searched her face. “Are you in trouble?”
Yes. “I’m fine. I just don’t want you to take a needless risk for me.”
“Love, if I weren’t willing to take risks, I’d likely be working the Southampton docks with my father right now. So far, risks have treated me rather well.”
And they have nearly killed you. Flashes of them battered from the earthquake mixed into memories of Luís in Junqueira Prison and the Távora executions inside her head as though she had woken every awful memory she had at once. John was not Luís—dear Heaven was he not Luís—but the thought of history repeating itself and having to see another man in prison or on the scaffolding made it impossible to speak. Especially since if it all did happen again, it would certainly be the first minister punishing her. No politics, just someone else dying to hurt her. She couldn’t hold his gaze. “Please, John. If something happened to you because of me, I’d never be able to live with myself.”
“You believe it that dire?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line.
“Cecília. Look at me.”
She couldn’t bring herself to look away from the spot on the delicately patterned rug on the floor.
“Cecília.” He leaned to put himself in her sight line. “If you’re in trouble, tell me.”
Lord, did she want to. She steeled herself enough to at least meet his eyes. “Please, just stay away until I tell you different? I’ll explain the moment I can. I promise. If you could just wait...”
The concerned, critiquing look didn’t leave his face, but he finally nodded. “It’s been five years. I can handle waiting. I only hope you know you can trust me. No matter what’s happening.”
“I do. This is just safer for everyone.”
He didn’t appear any more pleased, but he nodded again. Cecília took a deep breath, preparing to make her exit before noticing his eyes flick to the low neckline of her gown. He beat her to speaking. “Do I at least get to kiss you again, since you’re already here? It is somewhat cruel to wear that dress to tell me I can’t see you.”
She let the breath out with an exasperated huff. With everything else, it hardly seemed the time. But if he was going to offer to leave things on a lighter note, she wasn’t going to dissuade him. “I came from Mass. You don’t wear your best for Sunday?”
“Your best outdoes mine by a good margin.”
Cecília rocked forward enough to kiss him. She pulled back again before he could deepen it. “I really should go.”
“A few more minutes.” His hand slid to the small of her back to pull her closer to him. “Surely, that can’t ruin anything.”
She’d already put both of them at risk, loitering around that side of the palace. The sooner she left, the better. But then the chances of someone seeing her leaving now were the same as someone seeing her in five minutes. Or thirty. “A few minutes. As long as that’s it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Another light pull brought her flush against him. Then his mouth was on hers, and Cecília did her best to turn her mind off. Just for a few minutes.