“Oh, you can count on it. Tonight.” The hardness of his chest bites into my arm. An illicit shiver snakes up my back. When he withdraws, the brightness in his eyes darkens to black.
Our trans-Atlantic sexcapade flashes through my memory—me on my knees, his thighs between mine, the delicious friction as he thrust deep inside me. No matter how much I enjoyed the sex, I can’t give him the satisfaction of admitting my excitement at the prospect. I shake away the lust and slide into the chair. “It’ll be a cold day in hell.”
“I wasn’t asking.” Henry faces forward, showcasing his sharp profile, dismissing me as if my anger is inconsequential, because it is. I don’t matter. Not to him. I’m a means to an end. A pawn in his twisted game. His tone is playful but edged with authority. “Everyone, I’d like to present my wife, Princess Everly.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” My attention slides to the slender brunette at Princess Marie’s righthand side. The golden light of the chandelier glimmers on her glossy dark hair. Her eyes follow my movements, bright with interest.
Henry introduces each guest in order of their rank and relationship to the throne. Their names blur until he reaches the brunette. “And this is Lady Catherine Clayton.”
“Good evening.” I smooth my hands over my wrinkled dress, wishing I’d had the time to pack more than a few things. Homesickness rolls through me at the thought of all the beautiful dresses hanging in my Manhattan closet. In contrast, her classic sheath dress accentuates a slim figure. In a million years, I could never wear something like that. I’m too tall and too top-heavy. One more thing to add to my list of shortcomings.
“Good evening, Your Highness. I’m thrilled to meet you.” Sincerity enriches her voice. I search her long-lashed stare for signs of animosity. Instead, I’m distracted by the aristocratic sculpting of her features. “I can’t wait to sit down and chat. We’re going to be great friends, I hope.”
The men reclaim their seats. Conversation buzzes around the room. The ache in my stomach grows, buoyed by the aroma of roasted meat and herbs. Once I’ve gotten food in my belly, I’ll dissect Lady Clayton’s motives, but right now, I need to eat.
“How do you like our country, Your Highness?” someone asks.
“I haven’t seen much of it.” Using ornate tongs, a footman places a slice of duck on my plate. Drool pools in my mouth. “But I’m eager to explore.”
“You’ll get a full tour after the funeral,” Henry says. Although his voice is low and soft, his words carry a quiet impact. Everyone in the room has one eye on His Majesty. The aura of power swirling around him buzzes through my head, leaving me dizzy and a tiny bit drunk. If only his blue eyes would stop burning through me like he can see into my soul.
He drops a hand to my thigh and leaves it there throughout the meal. An occasional light squeeze reminds me to behave. I enjoy the delicious food but only manage a few bites between conversation. Too soon, our plates are removed.
“Let’s retire to the drawing room, shall we?” Princess Marie commands the room. “Henry, collect your wife and come with me.”
The last thing I need is another inquisition by Her Highness. However, the sooner I face up to my new situation, the better. Nothing sparks my rebellion like a good, healthy dose of anger. Right now, I’m pissed at Henry for treating me like a criminal.
Henry offers his elbow. Since this morning, he’s changed into an immaculate black suit with a white shirt and an ice blue tie that highlights the color of his eyes. My fingers curl into the crook of his arm, cognizant of the power coiled in his bicep. Even though he’s infuriating, chemical attraction buzzes between us, heightened by the discord in our relationship.
I fall into step beside him. Princess Marie draws her eyebrows together in a sneer. “Now that Henry is king, you must walk behind him.”
“My apologies. I wasn’t aware…” My voice trails off as the heat of embarrassment burns my cheeks.
“It’s fine.” Henry rests a hand on my arm. Because I’m still miffed at him, I flinch away from his touch. He smiles and tightens his hold, directing me toward the adjoining room. Princess Marie follows us. The rest of the guests bring up the rear in order of their claim to the throne. Lady Clayton stands next to a wall of books and watches as Henry leaves me alone by the hearth.
“Henry, sit.” Princess Marie reclines in an ornate Louis XIV armchair, her regal nose tilted into the air, and pats the chair on her right. He moves to her side, preferring to stand. His refusal to obey brings a smile to my face. Maybe we aren’t complete opposites after all.
Servants swarm around her. There are at least six employees in the room, fawning and hovering to fulfill her every whim. A man in a gray tux eases onto the bench of a white grand piano and begins to play. The tinkling notes of Gershwin hang in the quiet. A woman sits beside him to turn the pages of sheet music. I feel as if I’ve been transported into an episode of Downton Abbey.
Beneath the beauty, tension strains the atmosphere. No wonder Henry preferred to live abroad. Even though my father is a traitor and my mother his accomplice, our home life had been pleasant. Or maybe I was oblivious to the undercurrents of betrayal and secrets beneath my own roof.
Because I’m not sure what to do with myself, I stare at the portrait above the dancing flames of the fire. It’s the same woman residing above the fireplace in my bedroom. This life-size painting shows her in an elaborate white gown and a bejeweled crown. A teardrop ruby the size of a walnut dangles between her breasts.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Lady Clayton hovers at my elbow. The subtle scent of roses clings to her. We stare up at the oval-shaped face and winged eyebrows of the fragile brunette.
“Very lovely. Who is she?”
“That’s Queen Tatiana. She was a close friend of Marie Antoinette.”
“She looks sad.”
“You’d be sad, too, if you had to marry a man twice your age. She killed herself a few days after this portrait was finished.” Lady Clayton turns to face me, eager for my reaction. I press a hand to my mouth to silence a horrified gasp. She nods. “I know. Tragic, right? She couldn’t stand the thought of a lifetime with the king, so she threw herself from the parapets of the high tower.”
Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks at the revelation of a life ended too soon. “She looks so young.”
“Seventeen, I think. She was forced into the union by her father.”
Lady Clayton continues talking, but I don’t hear her words. I’m too caught up in the tragic story. This poor young lady had wealth, status, and power—everything a woman could want—but it wasn’t enough. I can relate to her situation more than I care to admit. My husband isn’t ugly or old, but he’s certainly a mystery. And right now, I hate him to the depths of my core. The minute I spot him on the opposite side of the room, our gazes connect, and heat climbs up my neck.
Lady Clayton takes my hand in hers and draws me toward a far corner. “I want to hear more about how you came to marry my Henry.” Her possessive tone raises the hairs on the back of my neck. He might be a dick, but he’s my dick. I’ve suffered through too much to let another woman lay claim to him. “He’s already given me the short version. I’d love to hear the details from you. It sounds like quite the adventure.”
“There isn’t much to say, really.” I have no idea what Henry’s told her. We should have coordinated our backstories before arriving.
“When he was a boy, Henry loved to pick up strays. I just never thought he’d marry one.”
“If you’re going to insult me, I have better things to do with my time.”
She touches my arm to stop me from leaving. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
I glare down at her fingers on my bare skin. “I think it came out exactly the way you meant it.”
“Please. Don’t leave. I’m just trying to understand.” Her thick eyelashes lower, shielding her thoughts. “We were promised to each other since we were babies. Surely, you can empathize with my surprise when
I heard he married an American.” The corners of her mouth turn down like she’s tasting something bitter. “Someone unknown to the aristocracy.”
“That’s between you and him.” Better to establish boundaries from the start. A lifetime around catty debutantes has taught me to guard my dignity from women like her. “Leave me out of it.”
Shock flickers across her face. She hides it quickly. “Really? Are you sure? Don’t you want to learn about the kind of man you’ve married?”
“Not from you.” The set of her mouth tightens into a straight line. I’ve never been mean-spirited, but I’ve never been a doormat either. Despite our innate rivalry, I can’t help but feel compassion for her situation. “I suppose the news of our marriage was a shock to a lot of people.” Me included.
“I have to admit, I’m insanely curious to know what he sees in you.”
“Again—you’ll have to ask him.” For the life of me, I have no idea either. However, I’m tired of defending myself to complete strangers.
She takes a step closer, cornering me between the bookcase and the wall. Her voice lowers to an angry growl. “I endured Henry’s philandering for the better part of a decade, biding my time, knowing that he’d return to me when his coronation approached. To hear that he’s married you—with your disgraceful father, your uncivilized American manners, and your divorce—it’s beyond insulting.”
I glance in my husband’s direction. He stands at his mother’s side, watching over her shoulder as she picks at the stitches inside an embroidery hoop. Our eyes meet again. This time it sends an electric charge into my center. His smirk flits from Lady Clayton back to me. One of his eyebrows arches. I blink and look away. Let him fret. “Whether you like it or not, he chose me. And there’s nothing any of us can do about it now.”
A tiny smile plays on her lips. “There are always options.”
“I don’t have the patience for this.” I try to leave, but she clings to my arm. I shake away her grasp. “Touch me again, and I’ll disgrace both of us.” She backs away. Good thing, because I’m about to go full-blown New Yorker on her.
“I can see that you appreciate directness, so here’s the deal. Give up your claim to Henry. Go home to Manhattan where you belong.”
Even if I could leave, I wouldn’t—just for the opportunity to annoy this self-serving bitch. “I’m not going anywhere.” I start to wave away the champagne offered by the butler then change my mind and accept the crystal flute. Alcohol on a half-empty stomach is never a good idea, but I need something to take the edge off my nerves. “The sooner you accept the fact, the smoother this transition will be for everyone.”
“I don’t have to accept anything. I’m not the one being held prisoner by her husband.”
The remark cuts deep. My temper, which had receded to a low simmer, begins to boil again. I’ve never been good at controlling it, but past experience has proven words spoken in haste can never be retracted. I won’t let her get the better of me. So, I draw in a deep breath and summon calmer thoughts. After all, in her eyes, I’ve already won the prize. “I understand why you feel slighted. At the very least, Henry owes you an explanation. I’ll speak with him about it.” Like I have any influence over his actions.
Her laughter rings across the quiet room, drawing a sharp glare from Princess Marie. “Oh, my goodness. You have so much to learn. Henry doesn’t give explanations. He never apologizes. And he never admits he’s wrong.” The smile slips from her face, revealing a sliver of hurt beneath her amusement. A glimpse of her vulnerability slips through the crack in her façade. My anger retreats. The ripple effects of my father’s treachery reach far beyond myself.
“Whatever Lady Clayton is saying, you can’t believe half of it,” Henry remarks. I’ve been so preoccupied with reading her body language that I don’t notice his approach until he’s standing in front of me.
“You flatter me,” she replies. Her smile returns, but it’s a little less bright.
“Only you would consider an insult to be a compliment.” The muscles in his jaw flex. His attractiveness leaps up a few points after this remark.
“We’ve been discussing my numerous shortcomings as your wife.” The fake politeness combined with the champagne has worn through the last shreds of my self-control. I just want this evening to be over so I can crawl back into my bed and pretend my life isn’t a mess. “Is there anything you’d like to add to the consensus?”
“Nonsense.” Henry extends his hand. Instinctively, I place my palm on his. He slides his fingers through mine. His hand is large and strong and swallows my smaller one. The sleeve of his suit stretches over his bicep as he pulls me toward him. “The moment I saw Everly, I had to have her. Look at her. She’s gorgeous, smart, and this hair—mmmm.” With his free hand, he digs his fingers into the loose bun at my nape. The gesture is possessive and masculine and causes my panties to dampen. He angles my head, forcing me to look into his eyes. “She’s absolutely stunning.”
Oh god. I wasn’t expecting that, the way his gaze holds me or the strength of my need for him. Thick black lashes surround his stunning aqua irises. Danger and heat swim in their crystal-clear depths. His praise heats my face. For the space of two heartbeats, I’m lost—lost in him, lost in this moment, lost in the endless possibilities awaiting our future. Then I remember the locked door and try to wriggle out of his grasp. He tightens his hold, keeping me in place. I gather my anger and direct all of it toward him. One corner of his mouth twitches. I’m glad he finds my irritation so funny.
“Don’t be vulgar, Henry.” The princess’s annoying voice breaks his Pied Piper trance over me.
“We’re still learning about each other,” Henry says, his hand still buried in my hair. Behind the lacy cups of my bra, my nipples tighten. “You can hardly blame me.”
“Please.” My face blazes with embarrassment. There’s no mistaking the lust in his expression. A surge of power races through my veins. He wants me. Maybe I can use his desire as leverage against him. The idea is more thrilling than anything I’ve ever felt before. Tormenting this man becomes my newest goal in life.
“I want to hear you say that again—on your knees.” His words are a growl meant for my ears only, and there’s no mistaking his meaning. The stubble of his jaw grazes my cheek. As much as I hate the mess I’m in, I can’t wait to be in his strong arms, to be swept away, to be beneath him, and to forget all the craziness of the past few days. I want him. The realization steals my breath.
“Everly, come. We need to chat.” The princess nods to the chair across from her.
She called me like a dog. It takes all of my self-control to resist rolling my eyes. This woman’s overbearing demeanor is more than I can take. Then again, she’s dealing with the loss of her husband, her son’s unauthorized elopement, his jilted girlfriend, and me—tough circumstances for any woman. She deserves compassion and respect. I can’t control her behavior, but I can control mine and be the better woman.
“Certainly.” I ease back from Henry. His grip in my hair relaxes, but his body crackles with sexual desire. The undercurrents of anger and attraction thicken the air between us.
“The rest of you—please leave. I need time alone with my son and his wife.” The princess’s mouth turns down on the last word. Within seconds, the room empties, and I’m left alone with my husband and mother-in-law. The doors thud closed behind the last person before she speaks. “After a lengthy discussion with Henry, the court has decided to accept your marriage.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” The words stick on my tongue. “That’s very gracious of you.”
“Don’t thank her. She has no say in it.” Henry’s voice teems with suppressed amusement.
“There are conditions.” Her glower darkens. An angry breeze rattles the old windowpanes, a subtle reminder of the uneasiness within the castle walls.
“I’m listening.” My insides quake. I clasp my hands together to hide the way they tremble.
“Henry has never be
en impulsive. Selfish? Yes. But not stupid. I’m displeased with his actions, but he has persuaded me to see the benefits of such a union. You’re young, pretty, and well-connected—even if your family’s behavior has been abhorrent.” She studies my face. I meet her scrutiny with an uplifted chin. “Tomorrow, Bobby will advise you on Androvian royal protocol. Madame Chantelle needs to approve your wardrobe, and you’ll need introductions to the staff.”
“The arrangements have already been made.” Henry’s deep voice vibrates through me. Even though I can’t see him, I can feel him. His hand curves around my shoulder. The gentle squeeze of his fingers is both comforting and commanding, an intoxicating combination.
“We have rules, Everly, and they must be followed. No exceptions,” the princess continues to lecture. “I will not allow you to turn this court into a circus, the way you’ve done with your own house. Do you understand?” Her tone scratches over my nerves with the same effect as nails down a chalkboard. My fantasies of taking the high road come to a screeching halt.
“Yes, Your Highness.” A bubble of rebellion swells inside my chest. I’m sick of following rules, tired of being the nice girl, and getting walked over. Tonight, however, isn’t the time to test her patience. “I understand, and I’ll take your concerns under advisement.” Henry’s laughter booms through the empty room. Princess Marie frowns. “Is there anything else?”
“Not at the moment.” The silk of her dress rustles as she stands. “I need rest. This has been a very trying day. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
It’s barely nine o’clock. Because I’m still on New York time and had a long nap, I’m fully awake. It’s going to be a long night.
“Good night, Mother.” Henry nods to her. We wait for the door to close behind her, leaving us alone for the first time since we arrived.
When the latch clicks, I push him away. “Get your hands off me, you bastard.”
“Careful.” His face holds an interest I don’t understand.
The Rebel Queen Page 6