Royal Love

by Cristiane Serruya

  Oh my god! I slept with a virtual—make that, a real—stranger! This was crazy. She wasn’t the type of person that took these kinds of risks, at all.

  Angus was talking on the bedside phone in that strange language at a great pace. He sounded like someone accustomed to rapping out instructions.

  But what do I know about him? Amazingly good-looking? Check. Chivalrous towards waitresses? Check. Fantastic in bed? Oh, hell, yeah! A widower?

  At least the last fact did tell her something about his character. He had been prepared to commit to a future with someone and had gotten married at a reasonably early age, which was unusual.

  “You can go on and use the bathroom,” he told her lazily, when he finished the call and noticed she was fidgeting with the rim of the bedsheet. “I have another call to make.”

  Siobhan added a plus for tact to his list of attributes. “Ah…the toothbrush?”

  He could see her shyness in her transparent eyes. With a soft smile, he pulled on a robe and moved to the door that led to his office, saying, “On the first drawer to the right.”

  She waited until he had his back to her before she scrambled out of bed, gathering up the clothes she had been wearing the night before, clutching them. As she raced into the En-suite bathroom she was conscious her body ached even more than it had after the charity mini-marathon she had done with Jaxon the previous year, but in a much better way.

  After a quick visit to the toilet, she rifled through at least three first left drawers of the long double sink for the toothbrush, finding it very enlightening the orderly way he kept his toiletries—expensive ones, at that, some she had only heard about on TV or read in those fancy magazines—with at least a spare of each item, until she found a toothbrush—or rather three new toothbrushes.

  After brushing her teeth, she entered the huge shower stall to find it was digitally operated. Since she couldn’t understand the instructions written in that godforsaken language of his, she couldn’t work out how to use it, and made do with washing at the sink as best she could.

  A stranger stared back at her, wide-eyed despite the lack of sleep, her lips plump and pink from his attention, and her usually restrained hair coiled and wild with abandon. She looked wanton, thoroughly ravished, and a million miles away from the woman who left the party yesterday feeling humiliated.

  Tentatively, almost experimentally, she put the fingers of one hand to her lips, felt their still tender flesh, traced the now blurred line where they melded into the rest of her face.

  She dragged in a breath, the fresh memories of his amazing lovemaking still sparking off thrills in her body like tiny aftershocks.

  While she brushed her hair, she was certain of one thing: if given the chance to go back to the previous night and decide again, she would still choose to stay with him and experience what had followed.

  Only when she no longer had any excuse to linger did she emerge from the bedroom, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of two maids in dark blue uniforms with frilly aprons and frilly hair caps, carrying women’s clothes on hangers.

  One of the women smiled and in heavily-accented English said, “Clean clothes.”

  She had never been more conscious of herself than when she was standing there still garbed in her wrinkled work clothes while it was clear he had the habit of receiving women in his house for one-night stands. She could feel shame and anger battling their way to her face. She raised her chin a notch. “Mine are fine.”

  “But, miss, His Roy—”

  “Thank you, but no,” she interrupted the maid in a firm tone but with a smile since they weren’t responsible for their employer’s promiscuity. “Mr. ah…” Crap. What is his surname? “Where is Angus?”

  The maids exchanged a look but with a shrug the younger one directed her through the house—which was even more opulent than she had imagined—to what Siobhan supposed was the dining room.

  A waiter was there, presiding over a sideboard stacked with a wide selection of food, and Siobhan was astonished by the concept of anyone having two maids, a waiter, a driver and who knows what else, only to himself.

  The long mahogany table was set for two but the breakfast service suggested he was waiting for an army to arrive.

  Her wide eyes swiveled across the room to find Angus poised by the window, talking on his cell phone.

  Her tummy gave an uneasy lurch as if she were under threat. She didn’t know how to behave or what to say to him.

  With a wave of his hand, Angus dismissed the waiter.

  It was obvious to her that ordering people around came very naturally to Angus, and it made her feel more like a fish out of water than ever. Her face flushed as she carefully avoided a direct meeting with his thickly lashed golden eyes. Siobhan wiped her palms down the sides of her fitted black skirt.

  He looked sinfully beautiful, but cool and remote still talking on the phone, with another authoritative wave of his hand, he motioned for her to sit and start breakfast.

  Proof, if she’d really needed it, that she was nothing more to him than a distraction from his billionaire life.

  Angus watched as Siobhan casually plucked a strawberry from a platter of fruit, and put it to her mouth—and then…nothing. She didn’t bite it. She didn’t put it down. She just held it there, partially in her mouth. He found it ridiculously erotic and hard to look away. She was utterly distracting and he needed to address the situation being relayed to him on the phone.

  “My opinion? In a nutshell? Sack the whole team. They’ve had their chance and blown it. I won’t accept excuses for poor performance,” Angus advised without hesitation. “Yes, I will be there as soon as possible.”

  He brought the meeting to a close with the cool, economic efficiency that had made him a feared and admired ruler and a living legend in financial circles and risked a glance at Siobhan before making another call. She was finally eating the strawberry. Thank God. He informed his aide-de-camp that he had a change in schedule and had to go back to Lektenstaten immediately. And that was when he was advised that his mother was inside his home—there in London, where Siobhan was eating a strawberry with her hands—planning small receptions for him to meet a bride.

  “You can share my schedule with her and she can plan all she wants. But I’m under no obligations,” he told his aide-de-camp and ended the call on his cell phone. With a sigh, he muttered, “This day is quickly going to hell. Can just one thing go right today?”

  “Angus?”

  He spun toward the sound of his name and there was his answer. One thing that could’ve gone very right today, given the chance. But that was shot to hell by the bloody soccer team he’d been talked into investing in.

  “Siobhan. Lovely, delectable Siobhan,” he said, quickly approaching her and placing his hands on her cheeks and kissing her scrunched up mouth, tasting the strawberry and the unique essence that was pure Siobhan.

  Oh, so I’m not completely forgotten.

  He was so tempted to let her distract him from business. And from his mother and her meddling plans to marry him off. But he couldn’t. Not now.

  Releasing her face, he said, “As you may have heard, I have pressing business to attend to. And it won’t do to have my mother find you here. I’ll explain later. My driver will take you home.”

  “There’s no need—”

  His arrogantly raised palm interrupted whatever she was going to say. He entered his private number on her cell phone and tucked it back in her bag.

  “I don’t finish until six tonight. How about I call you once I’m home?”

  When he looked at her, she glimpsed something in his eyes, something warm and maybe a little sad. Then he blinked and whatever she’d seen was gone.

  “Impossible.” He shook his head and looked down at his cell phone, texting an answer to another incoming message. “I can’t see you tonight.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed, trying desperately not to show on her face how disappointed she felt. Not forgotten, but not im
portant either. “I’ve got a late shift tomorrow, but how about Wednesday, then?”

  He just gave a toss of his head and opened the door, saying, “No. Not then. As soon as I am back in London, I will call you. I’m sorry but I really have to go now.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  But he had already left.

  Definitely not important.

  6

  Lenox Palace

  Monday, February 22, 2016

  12:01 p.m.

  “The Dowager Princess’s guests have arrived, Your Majesty,” Ewan Courtland, his aide-de-camp announced, appearing from nowhere with his usual brisk efficiency.

  “So I’ve gathered,” Angus answered dryly, without putting down the financial newspaper he was reading, or making any other move to respond. “I think I’ll take that second cup of coffee now, Ewan.”

  He noticed the telltale tic of disapproval in the older man’s cheek even as he complied by pouring a stream of rich black liquid from the silver coffee jug into his cup.

  If his mother was so concerned with finding a suitable princess for Lektenstaten to bring guests to his home—all of them, in London or in Lektenstaten—she could very well perform the meet-and-greets herself.

  After something like half a dozen potential brides in ten days, Angus was over it. Besides, he had more important issues on his mind, like approving a contract which was waiting on his desk for his signature, or appointing the new Prime Minister, since after the general election, no political party won the majority of the seats. And to say he was not very inclined to appoint the leader of the party with the most seats was an understatement.

  And then there was Siobhan. He had yet to have a chance to take her on a proper date and get to know her. She remained an erotic mystery. The night he’d spent with her might as well have been with a succubus. In all those hours together, they’d barely talked. But physically, they were totally in sync and spoke the same language.

  Ewan hovered impatiently while Angus took a sip of the fragrant coffee.

  “And your guests, Sir? Your mother is waiting.”

  Angus took his time replacing the cup on its saucer before leaning back in his chair. “Isn’t it time we gave up this wife-hunting charade, Ewan? I don’t think I can bear to meet another pretty young thing and her ambitious stage mother.”

  Angus had never been with a woman who didn’t want to profit from being with him in some way. Even as a teenager he had been the target of elaborate female stratagems designed to attract his interest and entrap him. He had learned at a young age that sex was invariably offered in the expectation that the act of sharing his bed would be rewarded with frequent bouts of financial generosity.

  And then there were the women who didn’t primarily want his money, but who had their social ambitions squarely set on marrying him and using his ancient name and royal lineage to gain entry to the most exclusive and privileged stratum of Lektenstaten society.

  But during each of his mother’s introductions to the presumable best Lektenstaten had to offer, all he could think of was Siobhan.

  No way was he letting her walk away from him now. In the most basic terms and on a level that appealed to his every atavistic masculine fiber, she was his discovery and creation.

  He ruffled through the invitations Ewan had put on his table that morning and found the one he was looking for—a small dinner to promote Lektenstaten tourism—handing it to his aide-de-camp.

  “Tell the Dowager Princess I already left to London about one hour ago on business.”

  “But, Sir! She knows what time your flight is.”

  He shrugged. Being a sovereign has its perks. “Order the jet ready. I am leaving as soon as François packs my luggage.”

  And he planned to surprise Siobhan by stopping by her place when the party ended. A night with her would be the perfect remedy for his tedious reality.

  London

  Lektenstaten Embassy

  7:00 p.m.

  Siobhan was aware Lektenstaten was a tiny principality encroached somewhere in the mountains between Austria and Switzerland. But she never knew it was so lovely.

  As she refilled crystal glasses with water, she surreptitiously watched a tourism video where a woman talked about the wonders of the place, against a shifting backdrop where what looked like a fairy-tale palace lit up against the night sky.

  When the lights went on after the video ended, her attention was drawn straight to the tall, long-haired man at the main table. Angus!

  He commanded the scene, sheathed in a superbly tailored black pinstripe suit, the very epitome of manly and powerful elegance—with a touch of rebellion from his overly long hair flowing around him.

  And he had a beautiful blonde draped all over him.

  In mute distress, Siobhan approached his table and poured water in his glass.

  “Thank you,” Angus said, not even dignifying to look at whomever was serving him water.

  She’d been walking around for days on clouds of happiness. Those clouds had poofed beneath her feet in that instant.

  Shame at her own stupidity heated her face and she retreated from the room, too shocked to do otherwise.

  Allen had said nothing about the main guest having a companion—he knew that discretion was the better part of business success—but with the way the woman was acting, it was clear that she was Angus’s new bed-warmer. And that’s all I was.

  He had been nothing but cool to her since their one night together; she should have taken the hint. Had she been thinking rationally, she might have seen it sooner. But his essence in her mind left no room for rationality. He had crawled into her blood, driving her mad with his memory, with his absence.

  She’d known she would never be more than a short-term distraction for him and she could live with that, but, dammit, she wasn’t prepared to let it end just yet, not when such a short time ago he hadn’t so much as asked her, but told her he would see her again.

  Why would he want to be with a waitress like me, who lives in a forsaken place, when he clearly has his pick of society’s brightest and prettiest? Her stomach churned, the taste of bile bitter in her mouth as she put the tray on the kitchen counter. No wonder he changed his mind.

  The sooner she was away from the house and the sooner there was no risk of her running into the man who’d so unceremoniously thrown her out of his life, then the sooner this damned queasiness would settle down.

  What was I thinking? Siobhan yanked herself back from that thought with a mental slap to the head. What am I doing here?

  Lektenstaten embassy was the last place on earth she wanted to be. Knowing she’d just served Angus and his latest love interest made it doubly so.

  Without a second thought, she grabbed her bag and left.

  Since the moment Angus had walked into the dinner party, Caroline Marine—or whatever was the name of the beautiful, annoying, and sticky blonde seated by his side—had thrown herself at him with an enthusiasm that any sex-starved male would have reveled in. A matrimonial torpedo, fired at him by his mother, no doubt.

  Unhappily, Angus discovered his seething libido was stubbornly impervious to the woman’s attributes. His hull was impenetrable.

  He still wanted Siobhan and it seemed no other woman would do.

  He had no sympathy for these women, these carefully selected marriage prospects, who seemed so keen for the opportunity to parade in front of him like some choice cut of meat. All so they might secure marriage to a near perfect stranger and, through it, the title of princess.

  So, his attention was focused one hundred percent on what the Lektenstaten Secretary of Tourism was saying, totally ignoring the blonde by his side.

  He was so irritated with his mother, he decided that instead of visiting Siobhan as he had previously intended, he was going back to Lekten tonight, and stopping by his mother’s private rooms he was going to have a small chat with her. A chat where he did all of the talking, and she, the listening.

  Lekten
r />   10:00 p.m.

  Catriona gave an exasperated sigh, her attention on a recently arrived invitation card. “We’ve been through this. Lektenstaten needs an heir. That is indisputable. How are you to achieve this without a wife? We are simply trying to expedite the process.”

  “By turning my home into some kind of ghastly reality game show? My life into some kind of experiment?” He raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can bear to meet another pretty young thing.”

  “Lady Caroline Marine Bourbon D’Alburquerque,” she began, sounding suitably put out on the young woman’s behalf, “can hardly be written off as some pretty young thing. She has an impeccable background and her family have been nobles for centuries. She is eminently qualified for the role as Lektenstaten’s princess.”

  “And what good is it for her to be eminently qualified if I don’t want her?”

  “How do you know you don’t want her if you don’t give yourselves a chance to get better acquainted?”

  Because I want Siobhan.

  “Madam,” he said icily, raising a haughty brow. “Do you presume to know me better than I know myself?”

  His tone caught her attention. She ripped her attention away from the invitation to narrow her eyes at him with a cold fury to match his own.

  “Do you presume to be more complicated than other men?”

  “How simple do you assume other men to be?”

  She stood, pulling herself up to her full regal height, managing to stare down her nose at him in spite of her shorter stature.

  “A warm body in the bed, a warm meal on the table, and a bit of work to distract the mind. What more do you need?”

  I need that quick wit, those blazingly intelligent green eyes, and that mysterious aura of innocence… Angus shook his head, chasing Siobhan’s image from it. She had become an intense, grinding distraction, constantly hovering in the back of his mind. He needed to see her, and soon. First, though, to deal with the problem at hand.