Page 84 of The Rest is History
Unfortunately, Christopher Wren swept Anne’s suite away a hundred and fifty years later when building the modern extension. Sometimes I stand at the foot of the incredible baroque King’s Staircase and close my eyes, knowing that at one point, Anne’s apartments floated above me. Even though she didn’t survive long enough to use them. Even though it was Jane Seymour who got to take advantage of them all too briefly before she, too, perished.
It’s the oddest feeling.
But today, I’m content to enjoy a full-circle moment where I’m standing at the beating heart of this magical palace, next to the man who’s captured my heart as we imitate a king and queen who were fleetingly one of the greatest love matches in this country’s royal history. And from the look in his eyes when our gazes meet, and the way he fawns over me in front of the delighted tourists, trigger-happy thumbs on their iPhone cameras, I’d say he’s feeling it too.
Word of our relationship has spread through the galleries and passageways of the palace as quickly as the juiciest court scandal must have spread five hundred years ago. Clearly, my fellow queens operate at the centre of an impressive grapevine. Everyone from the stewards to the gardeners dribbles over to usto congratulate us or take photos or just gape at the fact that Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn are a living, breathing couple half a millennium on.
Giles, one of the tour guides, swings past with a large group and proceeds to tell them all that Henry and his queen are actually an item in real life, and I swear it’s like he’s just announced the birth of a royal baby. There are literalshrieksand we’re pressed into hugs for selfie after selfie. I think Charlie may be tempted to drown Giles in the Great Fountain for that.
When we’ve given them the slip, Charlie leans in.
‘You wouldn’t really want to quit teaching, would you?’
I sigh. ‘Not really. I’d love to work somewhere like this—what an honour, to be part of preserving such an important part of history—but I love my pupils too much. Seeing them grow is the best part of the job.’
He makes a dubious face, and I continue, ‘It’s the best part of the job for those of us who aren’t total sociopaths, at least. You, on the other hand, I could see here.’
‘Fair. I get a kick out of teaching, obviously. But for me it’s more the drive to impart information and see the kids through their exams in fine shape than it is about the actual connection with them. I like kids on an individual basis; I just don’t love classes full of them.’
‘D’you think it’s fair to say you’re more passionate about the subject matter itself than the act of enriching young minds with it?’ I tease.
‘I think that’s a decent summary. Sometimes I wish everyone would just bugger off and leave me alone with a huge academic work.’
‘You don’t give off that vibeat all,’ I assure him, a smile dancing on my face.
He slides his hands around my waist. ‘There’s something I’m more passionate about than anything, and that’s my sarcastic,pain-in-the-ass queen.’ His blue eyes flicker over my face, and he tugs on his lower lip with his teeth. ‘I’d like to be alone with you even more than a textbook right now.’
‘Oh my gosh.’ I put my hand on my heart and bat my eyelids. ‘That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.’
He winks roguishly. ‘Stick with me after we’re done here, sweetheart, and I’ll show you romance.’
CHAPTER 32
Elodie
‘Iwouldn’t describe this as romantic, exactly.’ I press my palms against the locked door of the room around whose walls the cries of my orgasm echoed a couple of weeks ago. ‘More… opportunistic?’
He moves as close as my skirts will allow, his hands on either side of my face, framing me in. ‘Some things are better than romance.’
‘Do I even have a choice here?’ I ask, pretending like I remotely want a choice.
He kisses me softly on the mouth. ‘I’ll give you a fighting chance. Let’s play for it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A fact-off. We alternate questions. Facts must be Tudor-related. Ideally palace-related. If you get a question wrong, an item of clothing comes off. If you get it right, the asker needs to take something off.’
I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Is this, like, a nerdy historian’s version of strip poker?’
‘If you like. You game, Peach? Think you can keep up with me intellectually?’
That does it. ‘Bring it on, Charlie Boy,’ I hiss.
He laughs and pushes off the door, strolling around the room. He makes a fine sight in his faux-ermine-trimmed coat and doublet and his jaunty feathered cap.
‘I’ll go easy on you,’ he says. ‘You start.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Fine. Let me think. Hmm.’ I latch onto something one of the tour guides told me when I first arrived. ‘Name the famous painter who visited the palace in Queen Victoria’s reign.’
