by Erin McRae
When he finished, the audience applauded enthusiastically. As Arthur took his seat next to Amelia again she couldn’t help but lean over and whisper well done in his ear. In return he grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it, his eyes crinkled up in a smile.
“Next time we’re here, you get to make the speech.”
“Ohhh, no no no no no no,” Amelia demurred, although she suspected, in time, she would relish the opportunity.
“They’ll get tired of my charms soon enough. But I quite think they’ll like yours.” Arthur was clearly riding a bit high on the attention and success of the evening.
She gave him a smug smile. “You’re in a room full of people who love you and you’re enjoying every moment of it.”
As if to prove her point, Arthur left the table soon thereafter to grace the other tables with his presence, and, she supposed, to advocate for the Commonwealth. He only returned when the music from the small orchestra began.
“Lady Amelia,” he said, that glint of fun still in his eye. “May I have this dance?”
Amelia expected Arthur to make conversation with her as they danced. Surely he wanted to discuss the progress of the evening or what they’d done during the day. But he didn’t say anything, just looked at her with that intense gaze he had occasionally turned on her but never entirely followed through on.
They’d danced together once before when she’d been at Sandringham learning to be a princess. That was before Henry had died and the world had become so difficult. Since then Amelia had hardly had a moment to relax. But she was relaxed now, happy and easy in Arthur’s arms as he led her around the dancefloor. For the moment, there wasn’t anything to hope for or fear from the future. There was only now and Arthur’s eyes intent on hers.
They were both wearing gloves, thanks to the dictates of a white tie affair; their skin wasn’t even touching. Still, Amelia was acutely aware of every point of contact and was nearly out of her mind for wanting to do away with all of the layers that were between their bodies.
Before she could do anything regrettable, like kiss the King of England at the state dinner held in his honor, she cast about for a conversation topic. Her gaze fell on the young Prime Minister, dancing with the Governor General.
“Do you wish it was you?” she asked, remembering their long-ago conversation about him at Gatcombe. She nodded her chin over Arthur’s shoulder. He turned his head slightly to see who she was talking about.
“I wish a lot of things. But living out life as more than a lightning rod for superstition would be nice.”
“That will calm down eventually.” Amelia said. “Although perhaps only once we both decide where we stand on those very superstitions.”
“Indeed,” Arthur said wryly. After a moment he spoke again. “We should do this more.”
“Attend state dinners in Commonwealth countries?”
“Dance together.”
Amelia was aware that they were attracting eyes beyond what it was reasonable to expect given that the King was dancing with his fiancée.
“Everyone’s staring,” she whispered to him as the song ended. She expected him to drop her hand and for them to go their separate ways. He always did right as they started to connect.
“I hadn’t noticed,” he said and whirled her back onto the floor.
*
As soon as they entered their suite back at the hotel room, Arthur dismissed their staff for the night. Macsen and Edward both hovered for a moment in a kindness that moved Amelia deeply, but this was not the time for their protectiveness. She signaled them to go as well.
Arthur and Amelia stared at each other from opposite ends of the room. Arthur took a step toward her. Amelia’s heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
And then, suddenly, he stopped and turned away.
Amelia’s heart quivered with confusion. What could have possibly gone wrong? She had been so sure that this time all of Arthur’s hot and cold would be replaced only with desire for her and a celebration of the budding success of their partnership. “Arthur?” she asked.
“Just let me deal with all this,” he said softly. He lifted the collar and badge of the Order of Canada over his head and placed them on the desk, wincing as they clattered. When he shrugged off his tailcoat there was a faint rattle and clinking from the honors pinned to it. After that there was the sash. He laid it all aside with an ease that spoke to long practice. Amelia was riveted.
“I didn’t know it was all so jangly,” she said, needing to break the silence.
“Shhh.”
“Are you embarrassed?” Amelia was too astonished at the idea — and Arthur’s odd insistence on something like modesty — to follow Arthur’s directive.
Arthur shook out a sleeve to undo the cufflink. “I don’t want it to come between us.”
His voice was so low Amelia could hardly hear it. They’d been dating, of a sort, for over a year; they’d been engaged for months. They’d weathered all manner of crisis together and had kissed desperately more than once. They had also fought and been strangers to each other. Never had they had a moment that felt as intimate as this. And they weren’t even touching…yet.
Amelia’s mother and Priya, and even Arthur, had been correct. Virginity was a big deal, and yet, it wasn’t. Not at all. She’d once expected to meet this night with resignation, or with unrequited love. But now, certain of what was to come no matter how unexpected, she felt neither of those things. She was happy. She enjoyed Arthur’s company. The situation wasn’t perfect, but it was good. He was kind. They made each other smile, and they made each other burn. And someday, possibly sooner than she had once thought, it would be even better.
She crossed the room to stand in front of the sideboard with the big mirror over it to divest herself as well. She had to take off her rings to get her gloves off, and they caught the light fantastically. Amelia took a moment to admire them — Arthur had chosen well — but she left them on top of her gloves.
The tiara was more complex. She breathed a sigh of relief when she untangled her last strand of hair from it and could finally set it aside. She was just reaching for her necklace when Arthur appeared in the mirror behind her.
“Allow me,” he said softly. The first few studs of his shirt were undone, exposing his throat, and his sleeves were rolled back to the elbow. Amelia met his eyes in the mirror and nodded.
He carefully unhooked the clasp and laid it with her other jewels. Amelia thought he might unfasten her dress, but Arthur touched her hair instead.
With deft fingers he took down what was left of the elaborate knot it had been twisted into. He didn’t pull at all as he tugged out hairpins and untwisted curls, which was more than Amelia could say for her own abilities. When that was done ran his fingers through it until it fell in neat waves down her back, before gathering it over one shoulder to kiss the nape of her neck.
Amelia shivered.
His fingers hovered above the fastenings of her dress. He wasn’t touching her, but she could feel the heat of his skin.
“Go ahead,” she breathed.
“Are you sure?”
“If I wasn’t before, your striptease with the medals certainly convinced me.”
“Amelia,” he said, breathless and gently chiding. “You said, before, that you were nervous.” His fingertips brushed her skin. Goosebumps broke out over Amelia’s skin.
“Since then I’ve faced death threats, angry crowds, witchcraft, and the possible end of our country,” she said. “I can handle you.”
The soft breath of his laugh tingled against her cheek. “Tell me what you like. What you want.” He unfastened the hook and eye at the top of her dress. His fingers brushed over her skin as he toyed with, but did not actually lower, her zipper.
“I want you to take me to bed.”
“That’s not very specific.” Arthur’s dark eyes glinted at her in the mirror.
“You have to present me with options before I can choose,” Amelia cha
llenged.
They stared at each other for a moment in the glass. Then Arthur spun her around and kissed her.
The kiss was sharp and nearly bruising. Amelia gasped into his mouth before she lost her breath entirely. There was only Arthur and his hands as they held her; one grasping her chin to tilt her head back, the other sliding down her back. Any restraint he had previously exhibited was finally, blessedly gone.
When his hand reached the dip in her waist he pulled her against him sharply, Amelia could feel the hard length of him against her hip.
“All right?” Arthur pulled back enough to whisper against her temple.
Amelia responded by shoving her hands into his hair and pulling his mouth back down to hers.
Arthur smiled against her mouth and turned her away from the sideboard. Still kissing her, he walked her backward.
In Arthur’s arms she felt as cared-for and well-led as she had all night as they’d danced together. She pressed a smile into Arthur’s chest when she realized she had not merely succumbed to metaphor; he actually was leading her in a dance, humming under his breath to keep time.
She looked up at him again when the backs of her knees bumped up against the bed in his room. He smiled at her, soft and wondering.
His fingers found her dress’s zipper again. He sank to his knees as he pulled it down, revealing not just her skin but perhaps his nature. He reached up and tugged at the shoulder of her gown. The cloud of violet organza slipped down and puddled at their feet.
Amelia ducked her head with an awkward smile. “I’m sorry.”
Arthur paused with his hands halfway under her petticoat. “What on earth for?”
“There’s more architecture involved in this dress than the Tower bridge. It’s not exactly appealing.”
“And that, is where you’re wrong.” Arthur’s clever fingers traced over her ankles and up to the backs of her knees. “Any man with sense knows a good dress is a work of art and appreciates what a woman has to do to wear it.”
Amelia tried not to laugh as Arthur managed all the hooks and straps of her undergarments far more deftly than she herself had when getting dressed for the evening.
“Do you think women would wear such dresses if it was not a joy to divest them of all their secret layers,” Arthur asked as he undid her garters and rolled down a stocking. Inch by inch, garment by garment, he revealed her.
He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh as the last of her undergarments were discarded. She had barely stepped out of her knickers when he dragged his mouth the rest of the way up her leg. He parted her with his mouth.
Gary had done this, of course, but not often, without complaint or, frankly, well. Arthur was clever with his tongue and possibly smug. He hummed against her clit.
“Arthur,” she tried to say with a sharp tug on his hair. It came out of more of a breathless keen.
Arthur made an inquisitive noise but didn’t stop his ministrations. The vibration shot through her body.
“If you keep — I can’t stand up.”
She wasn’t sure how intelligible that was, either. But one moment she was standing, holding on to Arthur for dear life, and the next she was on her back on the bed, Arthur hovering over her, pressing kisses to her throat and breasts and stomach. The fine fabric of his clothes scratched against her skin, lighting up her nerves with an eager heat.
Amelia whined and tried to push him lower, back to where she really wanted him, but he sat up.
“Wait,” he said, one hand on her hip.
“For what?”
Arthur hung his head sheepishly. Amelia narrowed her eyes. “What?” she repeated.
“I’m afraid I didn’t come prepared for any sort of, well. Tryst.”
“You don’t have condoms,” Amelia interpreted and barely refrained from commenting on tryst.
“Afraid not. Although I could send someone —”
“Arthur….”
“There’s no point in having a staff if I can’t send someone to fetch —”
“No,” Amelia said.
“No, don’t send someone, or no, you don’t want to…?”
“Don’t send someone.” She reached out a hand and hooked her fingers in the open collar of Arthur’s shirt.
“Amelia —”
“No. I mean it.” She was surprised to find that she did.
“There are any number of things we could —”
“Do you not want to?” Amelia asked.
Arthur looked at her helplessly.
“We both want this,” Amelia said. “We’ve survived the political nightmare we created together. And we’re getting married in a matter of months anyway and condoms have nothing to do with why."
The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked up. “That’s true.”
“And now we’ve cleared up the misunderstanding about Helen, I feel confident you’re not going to be taking any risks with my health. At this point in time or any other. Although you are a terrible womanizer for not having condoms on you at all times.”
Arthur laughed.
“What?” Amelia poked him in the side with her bare toes.
“You.” Arthur leaned back over her, his weight braced on one arm. “Only you would rattle off a list of evidence for why I should fuck you like you’re presenting a paper.”
“So are you going to?” Amelia started in on the infuriating studs still holding Arthur’s shirt closed.
“That depends on whether you’re ever going to manage to get my clothes off."
“Help a little, would you?” she hissed.
Arthur sat back on his heels again, Amelia's hands sliding away from his body. She watched as he worked, his hands efficient with practice.
“Will it always be this awkward?” she asked as Arthur stood to divest himself of his trousers.
He paused with his hands at his waistband. “This isn’t awkward, Amelia. It’s companionable.”
She considered the statement as he skimmed out of the rest of his clothes. She knew he was fit, but it was something else to appreciate his body beyond the abstract. His arms were toned and his chest was broad and defined, with a light dusting of hair. She reached out a hand to skim over his well-muscled thigh. Riding and military service together had done wonderful things for his body.
Suddenly everything Amelia had been worried about for months seemed absurd. Not because Arthur’s body was so very worthy of her desire, nor because of the fairytale romance of their very public night out. But because Arthur was right. This was companionable. She’d never had that before. But here they were, naked and chatty. Arthur had even thought she was beautiful in beige undergarments meant to hold everything in and push everything up. When he’d said it a few moments ago, she’d thought it was flattery, but now she realized it was true.
Amelia wondered how long it had been since anyone had touched him like this. If she so chose, no one else could ever touch him like this again. It was a heady thought that threatened to overwhelm her.
She heard the soft rustle of sheets as Arthur stretched out next to her. Amelia rolled to face him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly. He traced circles on her hip with his fingers.
Confessions were on the tip of Amelia’s tongue; there were declarations she had harbored from nearly the beginning of this that were wildly unwise. Would declarations of love cause the moment to crumble? Companionable was a life she could live and enjoy, that was clear. She swallowed her heart back down, like any good princess, and kissed him.
Amelia could feel his smile against her lips. And that was lovely, but he was letting her control the kiss and that wasn’t what she wanted.
“I won’t break,” she muttered into his mouth.
The only indication that he’d heard her was when hauled himself up to sit. He brought Amelia with him, his arms strong around her back, and maneuvered her until she was straddling his waist. Distantly Amelia thought that, with any other man, she would have felt horribly exposed and
vulnerable. Positioned like this, there were no sheets to hide under or pillows to press her face into. There was only Arthur, the muscled lines of his torso pressed along her smaller, softer form. This wasn’t nerve-wracking, even with all the lights on; it was delicious.
Riding horses had strengthened Amelia’s legs, too, but her thighs still trembled when Arthur put a hand under the curve of her arse and helped her raise her hips. Her breath came out in stuttered gasps, from both the effort of holding herself up and from the unfamiliar sensation of Arthur’s cock nudging at her folds.
Arthur kept her balanced; one hand on her waist, the other on his prick, as he guided himself into her. It was a strange feeling, having him inside, and Amelia bit her lip and pressed her face in Arthur’s shoulder, shifting her hips to try to make it more comfortable.
“I know it feels weird —”
“How would you know?” Amelia half-snapped, half-laughed into Arthur’s shoulder.
“Just breathe.” Arthur chuckled softly, causing him to shift inside her.
She gasped. Everything felt strange. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. Amelia was still waiting for the wow. She wanted Arthur to move, to win her body over. She was glad when his fingers slid down her stomach and then pressed against her, right where she ached most.
“Much better,” she murmured, tensing her muscles around him in search of the angle that was going to make everything just right.
“Keep doing that for science and this is going to be over before it’s begun,” Arthur said as he started to thrust shallowly.
“You mean —” she gasped. Arthur’s fingers were good. Adding movement was definitely better.
“It’s been over a year.” Arthur’s voice sounded strangled.
She could barely find her voice herself. “Want to race?” she managed.
He tightened his grip on her waist to thrust harder. “Would prefer you win,” he grit out, flicking his thumb against her clit, sharp and perfect.