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‘Did I kill him for nothing?’ she asked.

‘No, of course not. He was a nasty piece of work. If you hadn’t shot him, Lev or Hannah would have finished him off seeing as I was out of action. You saw his notebook with all the names of innocent people his informants were spying on.’

‘True,’ Lizzie said.

‘I haven’t told you how incredible you were taking charge like that, Seagrove. I pity your opponents.’

‘Something came over me when he shot at you.’

‘The way he was shooting, it would have been easy to miss his target in the dark, even if he only meant to wound me. The chances are you saved my life.’

‘I like that version of events,’ Lizzie said. ‘Makes a change me saving you instead of you saving me.’

‘When they debrief me, that’s what I’ll tell them, then. Off the record, though, don’t disobey my orders like that again!’

They both laughed, knowing that was another order she was unlikely to follow.

Jack reached over to tuck a stray lock of Lizzie’s hair behind her ear. ‘That was an abrupt end to our mission. I thought we’d have more time together.’

Lizzie glanced at the two gold wedding bands that lay on Jack’s bedside table. They needed returning to the SOE prop room.

Her voice was soft. ‘It was weird going back to being Lizzie Beaumont with no warning. I loved being your wife. We must do it again soon.’

Jack held her hand, and his eyes shone. ‘Oh, we will, darling. Have no doubt about that. As soon as this damned war is over, you will be Mrs Elizabeth King. And if I have my way, I’ll never let you out of my sight again.’

THE END

For more Lizzie and Jack, download the exclusive reader-bonus Seagrove there’ll be something I can’t resist.’

She walked up the spiral staircase and then scanned the shiny shelves looking for something special to jump out at her.

There was typically at least one book in the history section she was compelled to buy, and she fancied a new historical novel too.

Cara took care not to confuse fact with fiction in her work because the lines could so easily blur.

There was always an intriguing thread to follow; a detail or an idea she’d not come across before.

Widely recognised as a pre-eminent authority on the Tudor period, Cara loved her job.

A quiet contentment washed over her, and she exhaled slowly, enjoying the moment. If there was such a thing as a happy place, this bookshop was hers. She had poignant childhood memories of trailing from bookcase to bookcase, after her father.

It was unusual to meet anyone in the history section at this time of day. She spotted a dark-haired man in the far corner who was engrossed in a book. She didn’t give him any further thought; he appeared lost in his own world.

Cara studied the shelves. A glossy gold and rich burgundy tome on the top shelf caught her eye.

She stretched on tiptoe to try to extract it.

It was no good. Her height wasn’t sufficient to hook the edge of the book with her fingertips.

She scanned the area and noticed a thick wooden stepladder, which she dragged across the carpet.

Cara climbed the steps, and her fingers touched the book as the toe of her shoe snagged the hem of her skirt.

Losing her balance, she cried out. Unable to regain her footing, she tumbled off the steps.

She landed in a heap on the thick red pile carpet and banged her head on the bottom of the stepladder.

Cara lay still, temporarily oblivious to her fate.

A moment passed before she opened her eyes to see the dark-haired man hovering over her.

‘What happened?’ she said, as she searched his handsome face.

She pulled herself up on to her elbows and winced at the sharp pain that pumped through her skull.

‘I don’t know. One minute you were on the ladder, and the next, boom—I heard you cry out and saw you lose your footing, but I couldn’t make it over in time to catch you. Are you okay? You hit the ground with such a thump. You gave me quite a fright,’ he said.

Lines of concern creased the delicate skin around his liquid brown eyes, and for no apparent reason, Cara’s heart lurched. Why was his face familiar?

Although fuzzy headed, she experienced a flash of recognition, as if she knew him. She’d known something similar before, but only with places, not people. Perhaps she was concussed.

Then came a whooshing sound; at first soft, but gradually building into a piercing crescendo. It was an eerie high-pitched noise which haunted her ears. The man’s face grew hazy and then disappeared. The floor tilted, she had a sensation of falling and reached out to try and grab something.

Was it an earthquake? She dismissed the notion. She tried to steady herself and clutched at a pillar as the bookshelves whizzed around her.

What the. . .

She stared into a misty vortex as chilled air strangled her throat. She coughed and gasped for breath.

And then she was gone.

Newgate Prison, London, 1536

Cara saw two candles glowing on a wooden chest in the corner of the dingy room. She was surprised to find herself sitting on a hard, cold floor. Her last memory was of bookshelves and a handsome face. She stared about her in dismay.

A grubby, short man with unkempt grey hair, called out in a rasping voice, ‘Now, now ladies and gents, keep the noise down, please. We’ve had quite enough rabbiting for one day.

We’ll see what His Majesty’s service has planned for you tomorrow shall we, on your day in court?

You’d better get yourselves a good night’s sleep because it might be your last before your necks meet the noose. ’

His sinister laugh echoed around the freezing cell as the door slammed and his keys jangled in the lock. Cara shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her chilled skin.

Her eyes adjusted to the meagre light and she was surprised to find the man from the bookshop sitting alongside her on the floor.

Her hand lay casually across his thigh. It was an intimate gesture, and he seemed at ease as if it was the most normal arrangement.

The disconcerting thing was that it felt normal to her too.

‘Don’t worry my darling wife. We’ll figure this out. It’s simply an unfortunate misunderstanding. At least the children will be fine at Willow Manor with my parents, and they won’t know any different.’

Wife, children, Willow Manor…

He turned and pulled her slim body against his and stroked her tangled hair. Her eyelids grew heavy, and a wave of exhaustion hit her as she slumped on his shoulder and took solace in his embrace.

George savoured the comforting tickle of his wife’s breath on his neck as she dozed.

He didn’t want to move for fear of disturbing her.

They’d been apart for too long; he’d yearned to have her close and had been terrified he would never see her again after the recent tumultuous days at King Henry’s court.

Unlike most marriages between nobles, theirs was a love match.

Cara had been Anne Boleyn’s favourite lady-in-waiting right up until the end.

How could they have known the threat of the executioner would be the outcome of Cara’s royal appointment to the queen?

And even if they had known when Cara received the summons to join George at court, they had no choice but to obey the royal edict.

George grew weary and lost track of time; it could have been five or forty minutes later.

He removed his jacket, taking care not to wake Cara.

She stirred as he folded the material into a makeshift pillow and eased her head down on to it so she could sleep undisturbed.

He had work to do, and he wanted her to gather her strength.

She had endured a terrible few days, not knowing what had become of him after he was arrested.

He must find a way to get them out of here before the trial tomorrow.

They were accused of treason and Cara faced an additional charge of witchcraft.

If they went before Henry VIII’s court, the odds would be stacked against them, and they would have little chance of escaping the hangman.

George wouldn’t permit anything to happen to Cara. What would become of their boy, Thomas, and their daughter, May, if they were both executed? Besides, he’d rather die than lose her. Life would be unbearable without Cara in his world.