Royal Affair

by Marquita Valentine

  “I know you do, sweetheart, but my ego has taken a hit.”

  “But Peter didn’t best you.”

  “Not that portion of my ego.”

  “Oh, you mean the one that thought I was being attacked and attempted to protect me.”

  “Bingo.” He stalks to my bathroom and begins to wash his face while I move to the doorway. I stand there, watching him. “A better question to me would be: How did that information come into your possession?”

  “You don’t want to wait until your ego is better until we do this?”

  “Nope.”

  Fine. “Right, then. How did you get your info?”

  “Two days after you left New York City, your old prime minister showed up at my apartment with two goons. He gave me the envelope and threatened my company.”

  My eyes widen and anger churns inside of me. “Davies is responsible?”

  “Yeah, and if you’d bothered to stick around instead of leaving me, I would have told you that.” He tosses the washcloth into the hamper. “I’ve always been truthful with you. You knew I wanted your secrets.”

  He’s right, yet he could have told me about Davies’s visit, about the envelope…about making me feel like he’d taken advantage of my trust. “You have not. A truthful man would have told me about the envelope in the first place.”

  He picks bits of dirt out of his light, thick hair, then pivots, leaning against the vanity. He crosses his muscular arms over his chest and my pulse quickens. “He was a potential source, Charlotte. I don’t reveal those, not even to you. And not to change the subject, but you didn’t exactly come clean about the pregnancy. In fact, you did the opposite.”

  I bristle at his accusation. “I did not send that text.”

  His lips smash together. “Fine, let’s say I believe you, but the truth remains that you were keeping it a secret from me. I had no idea when I got here, and to learn about it, in front of your entire family…fuck, Princess, I felt like an asshole who deserted you. Your brothers thought that about me, too. It’s one thing for people to hate me for telling the truth, but for them to think the worst of me over a lie…that’s low, Charlotte.”

  Guilt begins to burst through my anger. “I will get them sorted today.”

  He smirks. “I’ve already sorted Theo.”

  “That’s good?”

  “Only if you think calling for a family meeting over dinner is a good outcome,” he says.

  “Oh dear.”

  “Thought you’d think that.” He shakes his head, uncrossing his arms and checking his mouth again. “Son of a bitch,” he whispers.

  “It won’t stop?”

  “Not your concern.”

  With a huff, I move to him and make him turn around. “Let me see.” I frown, lifting my gaze to his. “It’s not bleeding. Are you in pain elsewhere?” I lightly touch his face, then his shoulders and chest, careful to mind the bruises. What a bloody stupid question to ask him.

  “I’m in pain, all right.” He captures my wrist in his hand. “I never read the contents of the envelope, not until you put it out there for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I had an attack of conscience.”

  “Over me?” He nods, his blue eyes vulnerable for once. “Because you really do care about me?”

  “I more than care, Charlotte.”

  “Because I’m pregnant.”

  “I had no idea that you were when I made the decision to fly out here,” he reminds me. “My only thought was to get to you, help you. Save you from this life.”

  “By marrying me,” I say flatly. Not because he loves me. He can’t admit it, even after saving me.

  “Take my last name, Princess. We can leave and you can have your freedom.”

  My heart falls to my toes. “You don’t understand me at all.”

  “I understand that you’re the most stubborn woman I know. You have to marry me now.” His gaze drops to my stomach and then bounces back to my face. “I can’t have a kid who doesn’t know me, doesn’t know my parents…and I sure as hell don’t want him or her locked up in a castle for the rest of its life, either, like its mother.”

  The urge to slap him makes my palm itch. “The answer is no.”

  He smiles grimly. “We’ll see about that.”

  I toss my head. “I very much doubt that. You command me in the bedroom, but outside of that, I outrank you and nearly everyone else here.”

  “I don’t bow to royalty, Charlotte. Or haven’t you noticed that I’m an American?”

  “Oooh, you…” I stop touching him and step back, tipping up my chin. “When it’s time for bed tonight, you are not allowed to touch me.”

  “Don’t worry, Princess. I won’t point out that you’re not only letting me sleep with you but that you didn’t issue a decree that prevents you from touching me…unless you want to amend that?” He raises a brow when I don’t answer right away. “That’s right, I command you in the bedroom, not the other way around.”

  “You are infuriating,” I all but growl at him. “I don’t know what I saw in you.”

  That cocky smile of his appears as his hand shoots out and drags me back to him, enveloping me in his arms. “What you saw, you wanted, and I gave it to you. Over and over again.”

  Closing my eyes, I attempt to ignore the feel of him, the way he smells so mouth-wateringly good, and how idiotically turned on I am.

  “That was very kind of you,” I say.

  “C’mon, Princess, we don’t have to resort to insults.” He nibbles on my ear. “Don’t have to resort to anything except taking you to bed. Since it’s not bedtime, I’ll do all the work, make you come. All you have to do is lie there and take what I give you, like the sweet girl you are.”

  I shiver in his arms, tempted as anything to allow it. “No. I have things to do.”

  “I’m first on the list.” He propels me out of the bathroom and comes around me, lifting me easily in his arms. “Always wanted to do this.”

  “Don’t tell me I’m your first.”

  “In so many things, Princess, you are most definitely my first.” He places me in the bed and braces his hands on either side of me, then lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me tenderly. “Go to sleep, Princess. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  “I’m not”—I yawn suddenly—“tired.”

  “You look exhausted.” He kisses my cheek, nibbling his way to my jaw and then my neck. I tip back my head to give him better access. “I’ll help you sleep, baby.”

  Rolling to the side, he slips his hand under my loose pants and finds my clit with unerring ease. “No panties?”

  I blush a little. “I thought…I’d hoped that you would find me today.”

  “You did?” he asks, his fingers parting me, gliding through my arousal and making my hips jump. “Such a wet little pussy. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

  Reality tries to rear its ugly head and I grab his wrist, my eyes flying to him. “We can’t. I have to…” My lips quiver because I hate feeling so helpless at the moment. I hate wanting him. Hate that I need him. Hate that I love him. Except I don’t hate any of those things at all.

  “Let me love you, Charlotte,” he murmurs. “You can pretend nothing happened, go back to thinking the worst of me, when I’m done.”

  “I don’t think the worst of you—that’s always been my problem, always my weakness.”

  “No, that’s always been your biggest strength. You think the best of everyone.” Then he kisses me deeply, stroking my clit and making me forget everything but how he can make me feel. How hard he can make me come…how utterly blissful it is to be worshipped by his body.

  It doesn’t take me very long at all to shatter around him, to pull him closer, urge him to come inside me, because I have to have him. Have to enjoy every second of our time together before it ends.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  I nod and he helps me undress, then practically tears off his own clothes before ente
ring me with one swift thrust that makes my toes curl. Unlike last night, where we were like storms colliding with the shore, he takes me slowly.

  Sinking inside me with thrusts so deep that I claw at his back and chant his name.

  “I love you,” he whispers against my skin, so softly that I barely catch it in time before he groans low in his throat, coming inside me in hot spurts that trigger my own orgasm.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, brushing away the hair at my temple.

  Too overwhelmed to speak, I nod.

  He kisses my nose and moves off me, dressing in no time and then returning with a warm cloth to clean me up. “Go to sleep.”

  “What about you?”

  “Have to go back and grab my laptop,” he says, one hand on the door. “I dropped it when I thought you were being attacked. Pretty sure I cracked something.”

  I rise up on my elbows. He’s never said it, but I know how important his computer is to him because he takes it nearly everywhere he goes. “I hope it’s okay.”

  “Even if the contents of what’s in the envelope are on it?” he asks, then laughs without mirth. “Forget I asked that. I already know the answer. I’ll see you this evening at dinner. I’ll be the one with the target painted on my chest.”

  He opens the door, walks through, and closes it behind him.

  Chapter 22

  Brooks

  “The family dinner’s canceled for the evening,” Charlotte’s twin says as she pushes away from the wall. “Instead, you will dine with me.”

  “I don’t think so.” I walk away from Imogen, intent on getting my laptop and meeting with Theo again to see if he has any updates.

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  What is it with these Sinclairs? Turning, I march up to her, not at all surprised to find her security guard only a couple of feet away. “You’re not my queen.”

  “But I am Charlotte’s and I have every right to kick your arse out of my palace.”

  In some ways it’s weird looking at a woman who is almost identical to the one I love and not feeling a fucking thing except frustration and contempt. There’s no spark of attraction, no surge of desire that makes me want to take her to bed. Where Charlotte’s mouth is usually soft and smiling, her twin’s is hard and puckered, like she’s always tasting lemons.

  I can’t blame her. She has an uphill battle becoming the true queen of a country that isn’t quite sure of what to make of the Sinclair siblings. Will they be their parents, or will they actually make their country better?

  “You know, I could help your image. Publish a few pieces on the charity work you’ve done, how Sinclair Enterprises brought the home office into the twenty-first century and put fifteen hundred people to work. Readers love a good comeback story.”

  “I have no need for your charity.”

  “He who controls the media controls the narrative,” I remind her.

  “He who prints shit stories about the queen or her family gets sued.”

  She doesn’t flinch and neither do I…suddenly, I realize why she doesn’t appeal to me. Imogen and I are almost exactly alike. We’ll do anything short of murder to claw our way to the top and stay there.

  Although I’m not so sure she wouldn’t be open to killing someone. Hell, I’ve had a mind to track down the guy who hurt Charlotte.

  “I’ll have dinner with you—on one condition. Consider it a royal favor,” I say with a wink.

  She rolls her eyes. “You may ask, but I reserve the right to tell you to bugger off.”

  “Did Charlotte send that text to me?”

  Imogen smashes her lips together, then closes her eyes briefly. “It was me. I wanted to see if you’d bother to come after her, without a baby to tie her to you.”

  “Where and what time?” I ask.

  “Right now in my private apartments,” she replies. “I’ve not eaten yet.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I say.

  She turns away. “Not my concern.”

  I eye her security guard. “And I thought I had my hands full with her sister.”

  With a grim smile, he says, “You have no idea.”

  “Loans don’t talk, Devereaux.”

  We keep talking anyway. “Loans?”

  “The queen of England sent me to guard the Princess.” His gaze travels down Imogen’s back and lands on her ass, where it stays far longer than it should.

  “Not my princess.”

  Imogen tosses an annoyed look at us over her shoulder. “Will the two of you be this chummy while I eat?”

  “Need to have something to do.”

  “How about them Cubs?”

  “Greatest day in sports history.” I extend my hand and he shakes it. “Brooks Walker, by the way.”

  “Luca Devereaux, huge fan of baseball.”

  “Knew you weren’t a true Brit.” Imogen stops in front of a set of tall, intricately carved wooden doors. “Lord help me.” She pushes them open with a flourish. “Have a seat, Brooks. Luca, go stand in the corner like a good boy.”

  I take that back. We’re not that much alike because I don’t treat my employees like shit.

  Luca leans in close to Imogen, whispering in her ear. She turns a dull red. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, then fixes her gaze on me. “Do forgive me for my obnoxious behavior. I’m rather stressed at the moment.”

  Luca goes to her chair, pulling it out for her. “The princess is under pressure to take a husband faster than she would like so that she can be crowned queen.”

  “What about Charlotte?”

  Imogen smiles tightly. “She is under no pressure to take any husband, at any time.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  She tilts her head to one side. “Consider it a hope that she will find a man worthy of her.”

  Luca takes a dome-covered plate from the serving cart and places it before her. They reach for the dome at the same time, their fingers touching. Imogen pulls back and it almost falls to the table, but Luca grabs it.

  I eye them closely, my journalistic Spidey sense spiking. I always knew there was a reason why Peter Parker chose to be a reporter. He had great intuition, but it wasn’t until after he’d gotten bit by a radioactive spider. However, I don’t need superpowers to see that something’s going on between Charlotte’s sister and her bodyguard…or if it hasn’t happened yet, it’s about to go up in flames.

  “Will you publish our true birth order?” Imogen asks.

  “Depends if it will benefit Charlotte or not.” I sit back in my chair, waiting to hear what she’ll accuse me of.

  “You want her to give up the chance to ever become queen should something happen to me?”

  Wow. I truly thought she would accuse me of wanting money or a title…or some kind of connection with the royal family. Emphasis on royal. “You’re her twin—you tell me if she ever wants to be queen.”

  Her gaze dips to the plate in front of her. “No. Charlotte doesn’t want to be queen. She suffers from anxiety when it comes to public events, from the scrutiny of the press, and Parliament…” The figurative mask that Imogen wears slips, allowing me to get a glimpse of a woman who actually is a lot like her sister, more than she’s probably allowed to be. “I have to share some things with you. Things that can never leave this room.”

  “I won’t keep it from Charlotte.”

  “That’s good.” She takes a deep breath. “When we were little, our nanny favored me over Charlotte. And…well, she would do things to Char. Things to terrify her, things to make it seem like she couldn’t stand to be around our parents. Like when it was dinner and we were presented to them, Nanny would pinch Char quite hard and she would start to cry. My sister would be sent back to the nursery while I got to stay.

  “Not only that, Charlotte is deathly afraid of the dark, so Nanny punished her by making her have time-out in the closet. There are no windows in the nursery closets. Or she’d lock her outside in the garden at night.” Her voice shakes and she swipes at her te
ars. “I tried to stop it, but Charlotte was only punished more harshly. I don’t know how….She’s so very sweet, Brooks, so very trusting, and sees the good in people when no one else dares.”

  I clench my jaw so hard that my back teeth start to grind together.

  “You see, each time I demand that Char come to me, it’s my way of getting her out of her…tower. She willingly locks herself in there, you know. Writing her little stories, posting on social media…living life through a periscope when she should be on the open waters. When you crashed our ball, I thought it was to get to me, but when you went to her, I was so bloody thrilled. You noticed the wallflower and I knew, I just knew, that you wouldn’t be able to resist her. You’d fall under her spell and be the man she thought you to be.”

  “What happened to your nanny?”

  She smiles. “Naturally you want to know that. You’ll be very happy to know that after refusing to come with us to America, she slipped on the stairs and fell to her death. I heard she suffered for hours before she finally succumbed to her injuries.”

  “Thank fuck.”

  Imogen pushes her chair back and walks to me, sinking to her knees. “As her sister and not her queen, I am begging you to protect her, even if it means taking her away from her family in order to live a normal life. Even if it means that I banish her from my court, make another my heir…whatever it takes for her to be happy.”

  Luca steps forward, his gaze hard. “Princess, don’t.”

  “You don’t understand, Luca. You weren’t there. No one was,” she cries.

  I can’t stand it any longer. Taking Imogen’s hand, I pull her to her feet and then let go. “You have my promise, but I can’t do it without your help.”

  “I can petition—”

  “Not that. First things first. We have to make sure Davies leaves your family alone. Permanently.”

  Luca smiles. “If I may?”

  “You can’t murder him.”

  “Nothing that merciful. The prime minister violated the royal family’s trust. There has to be a law against that and a punishment,” he says to Imogen. “Think about it. Every bit of the information he gathered was private, not public record. The confession by Beaumont, did he have the legal right to transcribe it? I can only assume he recorded your meeting without your knowledge.”