by Emma Chase
Lenora sits back in her chair. “Annulled? Just like that? Is it really that easy for you?”
A servant hands Miriam a glass of Champagne—she sips it, nodding.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Miriam? The chaos you’ve wrought?”
Her sister hugs her again—like an apologetic chimpanzee.
“I am sorry about that.” She straightens and gestures to me and then her sister with her glass. “But look how it’s all turned out! You’ve found your gorgeous prince . . . and you’ve found your queen of hearts, and it’s just like a storybook ending!”
She offers me her hand then. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, by the way, Edward. Lenora and I heard stories all about you when we were girls. She thought you were dreamy!”
I like this Princess.
“Dreamy?” I give my fiancée a self-satisfied smirk. “Really, Lenny?”
Lenora scowls. “No. She’s exaggerating. It’s what she does. And don’t call me that.”
“Lenny!” Miriam throws her head back, cackling and clapping her hands. “Oh, that’s fabulous!”
Lenora glares at me with deadly, dagger eyes. And I grin arrogantly back.
When Miriam notices our expressions, she sobers. “Hmm . . . yes, I see we’re not quite there just yet. But don’t worry. I have faith in you two—you’ll find your happily ever after, I know you will.”
Lenora shakes her head with embarrassment.
“You’ve read too many fairy tales, Miriam.”
Miriam pops a kiss on the top of her head.
“And you, dear sister, haven’t read nearly enough.”
RULE BREAKING RUNS IN the Rourke family—if I didn’t know that already, it becomes abundantly clear the next day when Edward walks right through the Council Room door without knocking.
As if he owns the place.
“Sorry to interrupt.” He stands beside my chair with a sack slung over his shoulder, all tall and broad-shouldered and arrogant—and not the least bit sorry. “I’ll be kidnapping the Queen for the day.”
This is new. I’ve never been kidnapped before. I don’t know whether I should stand my ground and insist that he let us get back to work or grab his hand and run out the door. That happens a lot around Edward. He’s a very confusing man.
“But—” Sheffield begins.
Edward cuts him off.
“Tomorrow.”
Norfolk tries. “Duke Anthorp, we need the Q—”
“She’ll do it tomorrow,” Edward replies in a way that dares them to argue.
Or more to the point, he confuses me. I feel a mixture of frustration and fascination, because he hardly ever does what he should. He’s not my friend like Thomas was . . . but sometimes it feels like he could be, like he wants to be.
Like he wants to be so much more. And in the most locked-away parts of myself, that I’ve never shown to anyone . . . I want that too.
So many thoughts, so many new and swirly, upside-down sorts of feelings.
And I thought being Queen was difficult.
Edward takes the decision out of my hands—he does that a lot too. He grabs my hand and before I know it, we’re walking through the door. On the way out, I hear the Tweedle brothers chattering like two meddling aunties.
“They do make a stunning couple, Bertram.”
“Indeed, Bartholomew. The tea napkins will be lovely.”
Oh for God’s sake.
Edward and I descend the large, curved staircase that Miriam used to tempt death sliding down when she was small and her nanny wasn’t paying attention. And each step feels like I’m walking on one of those giant billowy clouds, like my feet aren’t really even touching the ground.
So this is what “playing hooky” feels like. Thomas said he used to do it often when he was in school—and he was right.
It’s brilliant.
“Where are we going?” I ask Edward.
He opens the sack and shows me what’s inside—a blanket, food and a bottle of wine. “We’re going riding and then on a picnic.” Edward winks. “You love picnics.”
I laugh as I recall my answer to one of the many interview questions.
“Ah, but that’s nice,” Edward says.
“What’s nice?” I glance around to see what he’s talking about. What’s made his eyes go dark and his voice rough.
But he’s only looking at me.
He strokes his thumb across the apple of my cheek.
“That smile. I’ll call it . . . your giddy, girlish smile. Very, very nice.”
And just like that, my knees go squishy, and my stomach contracts, and I feel like I may just pass right out. Swooning is real . . . and it’s rather brilliant too.
It’s noon when we arrive at the royal estate in East Leopold, a large brick mansion with stunning grounds—oak trees and apple orchards and acres and acres of forested land. After I change into riding clothes, we go out to the stables. Edward chooses a mammoth black stallion, while I opt for a camel-colored mare who looks like she has a penchant for speed.
Security rides ahead and behind us, far enough away to give us privacy.
Once we’re both mounted our horses dance around each other, and the sunlight glints off Edward’s hair, giving him a golden glow.
“Do you want to race?” he asks in a taunting tone.
“All right. To the tree line?”
Edward nods. “But fair warning, Lenny. I’m not going to let you win.”
I tsk, shaking my head.
“Fair warning, silly man . . .” I grip the reins and set my feet. “You won’t have to.”
I tap my horse’s flanks with my heels and I’m off. Flying. With the sun on my face and the wind in my hair.
In a gallop of hooves that sound like approaching thunder, Edward gains ground, coming up alongside me. He’s very good. I want to look over at him—to watch the way those large hands grip the reins and the wind tousles his hair—but I don’t take my eyes off what’s right in front of me.
We approach the tree line fast, our horses barreling down, neck-in-neck for several strides. Drops of dirt kick up behind us and then, nearly at the same time, we rumble past the trees.
But . . . I cross it first.
I slow my horse and turn to face Edward, with laughter in my lungs and smiling so wide my cheeks ache. I pat my horse and whisper praise for her.
Edward dips his chin, his gaze shining. “Well done, lass.”
I shrug, lifting my nose. “I told you I was an excellent rider.”
We ride slowly side by side, down a rocky path that leads to a noisy stream. The bright sun peeks between the branches of the trees, making odd shadows on the forest floor.
“What does a Consort to the Queen do exactly?” Edward asks. “Am I just the stud of the kingdom? The cock for the Queen to ride?”
I thought I wasn’t a blusher, but Edward just might be turning me into one. My cheeks blaze like there’s a fire beneath my skin. When I glance up at him, the bastard is smirking.
I defend myself—and my blush.
“I don’t remember you sounding so crass in your letters.”
“Maybe Thomas kept a few from you.”
“Anyway.” I shrug, straightening my spine. “Historically, the wife of the king spends her time on philanthropic work. What the kingdom needs and what’s close to her heart. Social programs, charities, that sort of thing.”
I gauge his reaction, because Edward Rourke is a man’s man—rugged and capable. “Would you think that’s beneath you?”
He snorts. “Only a genuine article of an arse would find altruism beneath him. Many of the places I’ve traveled would’ve been wiped off the earth without charities. Philanthropy makes the world go ’round.”
We emerge from the canopy of the forest at the top of a hill. Without speaking, we stop at the same time, gazing at nature’s beauty—the way the long grass sways with the wind, making waves in a great green sea.
“Thomas was lonely,” Edward says qui
etly. “Before he met you.”
“Yes, I think he was. I think that part of him found a kindred spirit in that part of me . . . and then neither of us was alone anymore.”
Edward squints against the sunlight, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t know. I hate that I didn’t know that.” He clears his throat roughly. “I’ve been thinking—I’d like to do something in his honor. Create something permanent. A boys’ club. An organization that would pair up lads who don’t have anyone. And they won’t have to be alone anymore either. What do you think of that?”
My eyes go warm and wet, even while I smile.
“I think that would be lovely. Thomas would be just chuffed to bits.”
Later, we sit beside each other under a tree on the blanket, eating grapes and cheese and drinking blackberry wine. Edward seems to get a strange enjoyment out of watching me eat—I feel his gaze on me the whole time.
“Did it bother you when I held your hand during the interview?” Edward asks. “I’m not talking about the frowns of the Palace or the should and should nots . . . I’m asking you. Did you not like it?”
I think for a moment, and tell him the truth.
“I didn’t dislike it, no. But . . . I’m not an affectionate person. It’s not how I was raised. I don’t know how it’s done.”
“Can I hold your hand now?”
My eyes snap to him. “Do you want to hold my hand?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t, Lenora.”
His grin is seductive and secret, like there’s an undercurrent of dirty thoughts constantly running through his head.
Or perhaps that’s just me projecting—because he’s the most alluring man I’ve ever met.
I hold out my hand and he cradles it gently in both of his—with reverence—like it’s something precious. Fragile. Then, with the tip of his finger he traces the delicate bones that run along the back, stroking up each finger. He turns my hand over and skims each line of my palm, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing it.
And warm liquid heat spreads up my legs, filling my stomach, trailing up my spine, until my limbs feel languid and my breasts feel heavy, tingling.
“You have very pretty hands.” His voice is deep and melodic. “I bet you’re pretty everywhere.”
Edward aligns our palms, like two hands in prayer, and then he folds them together and rests them on top of his thigh. And for a time we sit, side by side, hand in hand, enjoying the calm and the company.
“Tell me something?” I ask.
“What kind of something do you want me to tell?”
“Something about your life out there. Where is the first place you went when you left?”
He nods as he recalls it.
“The Philippines. There’s a village of fishermen—the Bajau—their children learn to swim and dive before they learn to walk. They’re the best divers in the world, they can hold their breath longer than any other man—they’ve taught themselves, trained their bodies over years and years. The livelihood of their families and their village depends on it.”
I watch him, listening to the steady pull of his voice, like the best kind of bedtime-storyteller.
“I stayed with them for . . . five months.”
“That’s longer than you stayed anywhere.”
“That’s right, it was. They taught me how to dive. Turned out . . . I had a talent for it. And I have this to remember it by.”
Edward reaches into his front shirt pocket and pulls something out. Then he turns my hand over and drops a pearl into my palm. A perfect, pretty, translucent little pearl.
“It’s beautiful.” I hold it up to the sunlight, admiringly. “And you carry this around with you all the time? Aren’t you worried you’ll lose it?”
“I don’t have many belongings that are important to me—this is one of them. I don’t lose things that are precious to me,” he says meaningfully.
And I shiver a bit—because I think it would feel amazing, to be precious to Edward.
AFTER THE FOOD IS DEPLETED and the wine bottle is empty, I stand, brushing off my trousers, and hold out my hand to Lenora.
“Come on, then. Let’s go.”
I glimpsed her today—the girl my brother wrote me about. During our race, Lenora’s eyes sparkled like two shooting stars and her cheeks were flushed and her laughter rang out in the air—so wild and free and beautiful she made my chest ache.
And I’m hell-bent on seeing that girl again.
Lenora stands and mounts her horse, and after I stuff the blanket back in its sack, I walk over and swing up behind her.
“What are you doing?” she asks, surprised.
I reach around, taking the reins from her hands, and turn the horse.
“I want you to do it again,” I say close to her ear.
“Do what again?”
“Close your eyes, stretch out your arms and try to catch the wind. Like that day in the woods. Be that girl again.”
For a moment her eyes are unguarded. Innocent and wanting. Yearning to trust someone . . . to trust me.
“I think I learned my lesson the last time,” she says.
A fierce, savage protectiveness rises up inside me.
“But I’m here now.” I wrap my arm around her waist, tight enough so she’ll feel it. “I won’t let you fall.”
“I’M LEAVING,” he says.
I look up to Edward, standing beautiful and straight in front of my desk, his face serious and somber. And my heart plummets. Because Edward is hardly ever serious or somber.
“Pardon?”
He pushes a hand through his thick hair, tugging a bit.
“I have a prior commitment I have to see to. From before.”
Before he came home. Before Thomas died . . . before me. From the life he loved, when he could go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted, and there were no cameras or interviews or public or press.
“A man I’ve worked with—Ian Kincaid—he’s the best bloke. I thought he could replace me, but he can’t. He can’t do it without me, Lenora. And . . . I gave my word.”
Edward’s word is very important to him. He plays at being a carefree wanderer and in many ways he is—but the core of him, his character, the part of a man that says what he means and does what he says—that runs deep. And is unshakable.
I swallow. “Where . . . are you going?”
“Indonesia.”
“Indonesia?” I repeat like a silly parrot.
“There’s a gold mine . . .”
“A gold mine in Indonesia?”
The corner of his mouth quirks.
“Not all treasure comes in a chest, Lenny.”
I nod. “No, no, of course not.”
I could put my foot down. Demand he not go—command him to honor his commitments to the Crown before any other. But I won’t do that to him. I won’t trap or chain him—he’ll be chained enough after the wedding.
Some part of your husband will always resent you.
I won’t do that to myself either.
I straighten the papers on my desk and the high steel walls go up and up all around me. Closing me in, sealing me off. I feel the mask come down over my features. Indifference and disinterest. The nonreaction. The appearance of feeling nothing at all. It’s my weapon, my costume . . . if only it were true.
“Well . . .” I stand. “Have a nice trip, then.”
Sometimes I think Edward can see behind the mask.
“Come with me, Lenora.”
“Come—what?”
He leans his hands on my desk, his eyes and voice intense and determined. And perfectly serious.
“I’ll show you everything. How to explore the jungle, how to mine gold—it’s dirty work, but I bet you’d have a knack for it. It’ll be an adventure. Our adventure.”
The idea of it calls to me with an almost painful sweetness. To imagine going with Edward, leaving everything behind and exploring the world while holding his hand.
It’s a lovely fanta
sy. An exciting thought.
And completely infeasible.
“Edward . . . that’s not possible for me. At all.”
His jaw tightens, and he looks out toward the window and nods. Because he knows I’m right. And it’s as if a hand is wrapped around my heart, squeezing and squeezing.
“There aren’t phones at the site,” he says. “I won’t be able to call.”
I just nod.
“My secretary has adjusted my schedule. I’ll be gone a few weeks . . . but I’ll be back in plenty of time for the wedding. And for the events that lead up to it.”
My voice is soft, ashen. “That’s good. The people would be very disappointed if you weren’t here for all that.”
He strides around my desk until he’s standing so close, I have to tilt my head to look in his eyes.
“I’m coming back, Lenora.” He says it in a voice that’s strong and clear, like a vow. “You know that, don’t you?”
I take a breath and exhale with a small smile. “Of course I do.”
But I wonder if it will be all of him that returns. Or if some part of his soul will always be searching, gazing out the window and dreaming of all the adventures he missed out on because he married me.
I put my hand over his and give it a quick squeeze, before stepping back away from him.
“I have to go. I have a meeting. Safe travels, Edward.”
And I walk away.
It’s been three weeks since Edward left, and I try very hard not to think of him. Of course, the not thinking of him requires some effort. Which makes me think of him more. Since he’s been away, it’s as if the world has lost its luster. The walls and rooms, the sky and sun seem dimmer, duller, a bit tarnished.
We’re moving forward with legislation to present to Parliament immediately after the wedding and I’m staying very involved. So I’ve been spending long hours and many days working in my office. For the country and Crown.