“They are. They can use their newfound free time to go back into training.”
My mobile rings from my purse, and Eddie’s name fills my screen. I feel rotten for rejecting his call, but I need to debrief with Damon and find out what he has said before I speak to anyone.
“I don’t think we need to worry about the maid,” Bates assures us, going back to our original problem. Damon looks less than assured, and I don’t feel it. “She was more worried about losing her job. She won’t talk.”
“I don’t know about you guys,”—Damon waves his phone in their direction—“but we don’t operate on don’t thinks. Get her back here once we’ve gone and get her signature on an NDA.” He starts dialing, and I shoot up, placing my hand on his phone to stop him from calling Felix.
“Let us not be too hasty,” I say, glancing at Josh. “Maybe involving Felix would be a little presumptuous?” I’m trying to think sensibly amid my worry. The more people in the royal household that know, the more likely the King will find out. Felix ultimately answers to my father. Not me.
“We’ll talk in the car. Where’s your coat?”
“Here.” Josh collects my mac from the chair and helps me into it. “Call me, yeah?”
I nod. “Have fun at the premiere.”
“I’ll try.” A sweet, delicate kiss is pressed against my cheek, and I catch Damon’s eye as Josh pulls back. His expression tells me he knows beyond doubt that I am in deep. He’s worried for me, and that just makes the reality of this more unsettling.
I’m led to the car flanked by both Josh’s and my men, and I only breathe again once I’m safely in the back. Now I can register the pale complexions and tired eyes of Damon and his men, I feel rather awful about it. “I’m sorry for keeping you up all night.”
“We slept in shifts. It’s not a problem.” He brushes my concern aside as easy as that.
“I’m grateful. I want you to know that.”
He looks at me in the mirror. “I know that.”
“Good. I’m glad.” I smile and cherish the one he gives me in return. “Now, what am I to say to the King?” I bite my lip, aware that I sound desperate, maybe because I am.
“I told Davenport you had an early start at the stables. It’s all I could think of. So long as we can get you to your suite undetected, you should be fine, ma’am.”
“You are a genius, Damon. Thank you.”
“All in a day’s work.” His eyes flick up to the mirror. “Apparently.”
I inwardly laugh and settle back in my seat, looking out the window. “I think I would like to have a bumming day today,” I declare. “So you can take the day off, if you’d like. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“As you wish, ma’am.”
“I do wish.” I wish for so much more too, and now I know Josh likes me a real lot, I cannot help but wish harder. And dread more. Considerations need to be made for what happens next. I would like to think I can go to my father and tell him that I’ve met a really wonderful man, one I know he’d love for me to date. But my father isn’t only my father. He’s the King of England, too. Our family’s first marriage is to the throne, not our spouse, and rarely our heart. Happiness is only an illusion.
MY EYES ARE ROOTED ON the entrance of Kellington as we pull up to the gates, watchful for the people I hope to avoid. My father being the first and foremost. “Do we know if the King is still here?” I ask Damon, but no sooner have I uttered my question, I see his Bentley. “Drat.” I look at my seated form on a sigh. What are the chances of me getting to my suite without being spotted by him or one of his minions? Not likely. “I hardly look like I have been to the stables.”
“Nothing a bit of forward thinking can’t solve.” Damon gets out, and I spot Olive rushing down the steps of Kellington, her arms full of my riding clothes, her eyes constantly looking back to see if she’s been spotted.
“Oh, Damon, you are too good to me.” The back door opens and Olive passes over the goods on a small, nervous smile. “Olive, thank you. Thank you very much.”
“Ma’am.” She nods and scuttles off. The door is closed again and Damon stands with his back to it while I fight and wrestle around on the back seat to change, constantly peeking up to check the coast is clear. Not that I need to. I’m just pulling my riding boots on when there’s a warning tap at the window.
I look up and see Davenport coming down the steps toward the car. My heartbeat accelerates. I stuff my Herve Ledger dress under the driver’s seat, along with my shoes, and quickly pull my hair into a ponytail. Then I paint on my smile and tap the window for Damon to open. “Major,” I say as he approaches, aware of the suspicious look being cast up and down my form.
“Your Highness,” he says tightly, quickly changing his direction to join me as I walk into Kellington Palace.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I ask, pulling off the gloves that I’ve just urgently tugged on. I hand them to Olive on a small smile.
“Rather early at the stables this morning, ma’am,” he replies, avoiding my question. I turn a happy face onto him, quietly smug that he thought he’d catch me out.
“Seemed a shame to waste such a beautiful morning.” I turn toward the dining room, knowing that’s where I’ll find my father. Damn it. It was such a wonderful night, and now I’m back to my wretched reality.
As I enter the dining room, I find not only my father, but Eddie and John, too. My eldest brother looks at me in his usual high-browed way, and my youngest brother looks at me in his usual wary way. He’ll want an explanation for my whereabouts last night. Lying to him isn’t an option, what with him also residing at Kellington. I nod graciously to my father when he looks up from his coffee, but he doesn’t acknowledge my greeting, turning his attention to Major Davenport. “Have you reached David Sampson?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Let me know the moment you do. Wherever could he be, for crying out loud?”
“I will be sure to advise you the moment he is located.” Davenport backs out of the room, and father points his attention to me.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, remembering the last time I saw David and the circumstances.
“The wanderer returns,” Father quips, ignoring my question. Of course he ignores it. I have no place in business talk.
“I’ve been to the stables.” I take a seat while a coffee is poured for me. “Spearmint is coming on in leaps and bounds, Father. You will be delighted with his progress.” John laughs under his breath, prompting me to look across the table at him. “How is Helen?” I ask sweetly.
“The first trimester is taking its toll. She’s being monitored carefully.”
I inwardly roll my eyes. “I expect so. A pregnant woman in her late thirties is classed as a high-risk pregnancy.” I lift my cup and saucer and sip some coffee, catching Eddie’s eye. He’s shaking his head at me in dismay, but I can’t help my snide quips where John is concerned. I would say he is above his station, but being the Heir Apparent, the only higher station is our father. The King. That being said, if he didn’t treat me with such contempt all the time, then maybe I wouldn’t retaliate. Not for the first time, I dread the prospect of John being King and Helen Queen Consort. Both will thrive on the power and throw their weight around with the family, probably more than my father does. It will be a lower form of hell than I am already in.
“That’s enough, Adeline,” Father says, getting up from the table. Oh good. He’s leaving. “It would have been lovely to dine with all three of my children this morning, but alas, one wasn’t in residence when I arrived.”
“Ever the disappointment,” I say on a sigh. “If I had known you were gracing me with your presence this morning, I would have known to be here.” I’m not bloody psychic, and this is all very out of the norm, anyway. Father never joins us at Kellington for breakfast. If he wants to eat with his children, we are summoned to Claringdon with at least twenty-four hours’ notice. And what on earth is John doing here, too? He’s not stepp
ed foot in my residence for . . . I can’t even remember.
“In future, we’ll be sure to work around your hectic schedule,” John says flatly, taking his napkin from his lap and laying it on the table as he rises. The acid lacing his words grate on every nerve I have, the ulterior meaning crystal clear.
“Yes, it’s awfully demanding sitting around looking pretty,” I snipe, unable to hold it back. I give him a sweet smile and flick my hair over my shoulder.
John rests his palms on the table and leans forward, his lip curling. “Get married and make yourself useful.”
“John,” Eddie snaps, shooting up from the table. “Don’t speak to her like that.”
I’m eternally grateful for Eddie’s intervention, but it will have entirely no effect. “Well,” John huffs, “we all work hard while she flounces around without a care in the world, doing as she damn well pleases and leaving a mess in her wake for everyone else to clear up.”
“I’ve never asked for my messes to be cleared up.” I stand too, matching John’s threatening pose. “I wouldn’t care if my messes were left messy. Who cares who knows if I had a date with a banker? Who cares if I shared company with a lawyer from Shoosmiths? Let the world know.”
“A date?” John laughs. “Shared company? Is that what you call opening your legs for any man who crosses your path?”
“For Christ’s sake,” Eddie breathes, anger clear in his expression.
I feel my blood begin to boil, and it doesn’t cool when I look at my father and find his eyes on me, interested in my potential comeback to John’s accusation. “I do not open my legs for any man who crosses my path,” I seethe. “And I would love to date like a normal person and not sneak around, but I am not permitted to do that, because I am a member of this God-forsaken family.”
“Enough,” Father roars, all his anger directed at me and me alone. As I would have expected, of course. “I will not hear you speak with such disregard for the Monarchy.”
I turn toward the King, feeling my nostrils flare with rage, and I once again comprehend how impossible my life is. He listened to my brother talk to me like I’m a whore. He shouldn’t tolerate that. I want to scream at him, tell him where I really was last night, and who I was with. But that would be cutting off my nose to spite my face. So I do the only thing there is to do. I curtsey to the King and leave the room, my eyes brimming with tears as I go. My vision may be foggy, but I see the bleakness of Damon’s expression as I pass him in the foyer. He heard it all. Everyone in Kellington heard. I rush up the stairs, keeping my head low to avoid the eyes of any staff, and fall into my suite, slamming the door behind me. And I do something that I haven’t done for years.
I cry.
I hide my face in my palms and sob like a baby, feeling so hopeless and distraught. I could easily run away. Disappear to somewhere they’ll never find me. Be anonymous and free. It’s a wonderful notion, if completely unrealistic. No matter where I go in this world, I will always be recognized.
And they will always find me.
“THAT’S HARDLY A NUTRITIOUS MEAL,” Dolly says to me where I’m slumped over the center island, nursing a glass of Merlot and picking at green olives. “Why don’t you let me cook you supper before I head home?”
I sigh, looking at the olive held between my fingers. “I’m not hungry.” Popping it in my mouth, I chew and wash it down with another slug of red as Olive wanders into the kitchen with a tray and sets it next to the sink. “Thank you for what you did earlier, Olive.” The poor girl was obviously uncomfortable hustling my clothes out of Kellington just to keep me out of trouble.
“Welcome, ma’am.”
“What’s this?” Dolly asks, pulling off her apron.
“Oh, nothing.” I flap a dismissive hand and reach for the bottle to top up my glass. Dolly will nag poor Olive something rotten if she knows she was an accomplice in my misdemeanors. Tipping the bottle, I frown when nothing comes out.
“Another?” Olive asks, pulling my attention to her. She already has a bottle in her hand before I can confirm my need for more.
“Thank you.” I push forward the empty and let her top me up so I can continue to drown my sorrows. “Here, have an olive, Olive.” I chuckle to myself like an idiot, and Dolly sighs in despair. Olive is far too polite to berate me. Regardless, I can tell she has heard that pathetic joke more than once. “Sorry.” I shrug and dive back into my wine.
“That’s me done for the evening,” Dolly declares, dusting off her hands. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”
“Goodbye, Dolly.” I watch her leave and notice the only things left littering the spick and span kitchen is my wine and the dish of olives. Oh, and me.
“I should be going now, too.” Olive follows Dolly, and I smile as much as I can muster. She stops at the door, holding it open. “Forgive me, ma’am. I realize it isn’t my place to ask, but are you okay?”
My smile now is genuine. She is the sweetest thing. “Never apologize for being concerned for someone, Olive,” I gently scold her. “I’m fine.” My reassurance isn’t fooling anyone. “Just silly family politics.”
She nods, thoughtful for a few moments before she speaks again. “I would like you to know I admire you greatly. I think you’re very brave for standing up for what you believe in.”
If it would be appropriate, I would cuddle her, even if she is wrong. I am not brave at all. I’m a coward. If I were brave, I’d say to hell with it, step out with Josh, and let the world see. Let my father see; let the whole wretched family see. But I’m terrified of the consequences. Of losing Josh. No more floating on air. No more losing myself in him. My father and his army of advisors will make sure of it. They’ll also ruin him. I can’t let that happen. I offer her a small smile, hoping to reassure her. I don’t know if I succeed. “I believe in letting your heart guide you. But my heart is caged, and will only be released under conditions.”
“Then I hope he breaks it free for you.” She quietly goes, and I stare at the empty doorway for a long while after she’s gone. Sweet Olive is smarter than she lets on.
I turn back to my wine, losing myself in my thoughts. Tears pinch the back of my eyes. Maddeningly, I feel like I’m letting myself down by sitting here being all melancholy. But frankly, each time I tackle this institution with an argument, I feel wiped out. Despondent. Maybe I even question the whole bloody point. I will never win. Maybe a battle, but never the war.
I startle a little when my phone starts vibrating, and my heart jumps when I see it is Josh. And then I’m frowning, because isn’t he supposed to be at his premiere this evening? “Hello?”
“Hey, my girl.”
My bouncing heart mellows at the sound of his voice, everything in my world balanced and perfect again. “Hey, my American boy.” I rest my elbow on the marble of the island and prop my chin on my hand, all dreamy and content. “Correct me if I am wrong, but aren’t you supposed to be somewhere special this evening?”
“Yes, I am. Are you near a TV?”
“No, I’m in the kitchen. Why do you ask?”
“Find one and turn it on. Be quick. I look like a jerk standing here on my cell.”
Utterly intrigued, I swipe up my wine and rush to the nearest lounge. I find the remote control and quickly turn on the television.
“You found a TV in that palace of yours yet?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Put E! News on.”
I fumble with the button and eventually source the channel. “Oh, it’s you,” I sing when Josh comes on the screen, not directly as such, but there in the background on the red carpet outside the Odeon on Leicester Square, surrounded by his people. He’s talking on his mobile. To me. “Is it live?” I ask, lowering to the table between the sofa and the television.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” He gives the camera the peace sign, and I laugh.
“Two.”
“Affirmative.” He smiles brightly as the presenter, a glamourous woman in a k
iller red dress, talks and constantly looks back to Josh, maybe to see if he’s finished on his call so she can collar him for a few questions.
“You look very handsome,” I say, drinking in the pure exquisiteness of him in his tux, his hair a stark contrast to the sexed-up mess I left this morning.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he says as someone appears by his side and whispers in his ear. I don’t hear her down the line, because his hand is covering the phone. He nods to her, holding up one finger.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“My publicist. I’m wanted by the networks lining the carpet.”
“I think that woman in the red dress is waiting to snare you, too,” I say, seeing her look back again, telling the viewers she will be talking with Josh Jameson any moment. I envy her.
“I know. Better go. Wish you were here.”
“That may be so, but I would bet the crown jewels on the fact that every woman in the world is glad I am not.”
He laughs, and I get the full pleasure of the sound down the line and the sight on my huge television screen. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Hanging up, I watch as the presenter moves in and Josh accommodates her, his publicist keeping a few meters distance.
“And we have the man of the hour, Josh Jameson, people,” the presenter gushes, smiling a toothy, red-lipped smile. “You look radiant.”
Radiant? I roll my eyes. Women look radiant. Not men. “Thanks.” Josh finds that statement rather odd too, judging by his half-smile half-frown.
“Anything to do with the lady on the end of the line?” She purses her lips and shoves the mic under Josh’s nose.
“Sorry about that.” He thumbs over his shoulder. “One of the frat boys from college put an emergency call in. He wants me to get your number for him.”
The presenter flames red but quickly gathers herself, and I applaud Josh for his clever diversion from her probing. I can only imagine the amount of media training he has had to deal with inappropriate questions. “Come on,” she coos. “Don’t play games with me. I heard her talk. It was a woman, wasn’t it?”
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