The Princess Royal (Royal Romances Book 2)

by Molly Jameson

  “Go dance with Lady Burgess.” She whispered as they filed into the ballroom.

  “I’d rather dance with you.”

  “You know what I mean. Go!” She hissed.

  “If I’m not mistaken you’ll have to partner the new ambassador for the second or third dance, so I can save that one for Lady Burgess.”

  “Show her the attention now. It will be marked. Trust me.” She said.

  Phillip seemed torn, but nodded resolutely, kissed her hand and went to retrieve Lord Burgess’ wife for the first dance. Lord Burgess partnered Lizzy and she kept him amused with an anecdote about creating a dreadful mess trying to mix flour and water to make play clay when she visited a preschool that morning. When Phillip rejoined her, he patted his pocket.

  “Never have I been happier to get a mobile number at a party.”

  “Planning a shag with milady Burgess, are you?”

  “Beastly thought, that. Her fingernails are pointed, kept digging into my shoulder even through the coat and shirt.” He feigned a shudder. “In fact I’ve got the private mobile number for Peter Larson, the most coveted political strategist in the realm. His office has been putting me off for weeks.”

  “That’s wonderful, Phillip. It’s been a successful evening for you then.”

  “Yes, there’s no need of a feigned tryst at the Stafford now. You can spend an untroubled night in your tower at the palace.”

  “I don’t have a whole tower. It’s just a room with an en suite. You’ve got the ear of the Lords, but you still need your constituency to vote you into the Commons. I may not be a famous strategist but I know your quickest path to the public eye is to shag a royal. It’s how you get famous now, shag someone more famous or go on reality telly and I wouldn’t recommend that.”

  “I’m too old for X Factor and shagging you would be less boring than that bollocks Big Brother.”

  “That’s not a huge compliment, Phillip.”

  “I suppose not. I reckon I’m not pleased with this plan now we come to the point. It’s tacky and it’s as if I’m treating you no better than Magnus did.”

  “Rubbish. You’ve not called me a bitch in a crown once yet. You haven’t embarrassed me with your illicit drug use. You’re nothing like him.”

  “If I exploit you, if I pretend I’ve had the pleasure—I don’t feel good about it, Lizzy.”

  “Is it the pretending?”

  “It’s the dragging your name through the muck.”

  “My name’s more than a bit dirty already. You mustn’t let it bother you. I have done far worse for much lesser cause.”

  “I don’t hold you so cheaply, Lizzy.”

  “Now listen to me properly. I’ve loved you practically my whole life. I would do anything for you.”

  “You have?”

  Phillip’s hands closed over her arms, his face disbelieving, somehow beautiful. He looked open, younger, and she let herself trail her fingers gently along his cheek.

  “Course I have. You’re part of the family. I’d help you the same as I would Leo or Jamie. This is my small chance to help you when you’ve been so wonderful to me. I’m never much use, Phillip. Let me be useful to you.” Lizzy said, smiling at him loyally.

  He shut his eyes for a second, his face hardening. She laid her hand on his chest.

  “All right?” She said.

  “Yes, yes, certainly. You needn’t worry about me.” He said. “We’re for the Stafford then.”

  Lizzy thought how lovely it was that he wanted to safeguard her from censure as he shepherded her out to her car. She settled her wrap round her shoulders, shivered prettily and kissed his cheek for the cameras. Well, it wasn’t really for the cameras. She had a swell of fondness for him. She reminded herself to keep her head about her and not get swept away in the charade, as he called it. In the smart hotel and the champagne and the warmth of Phillip's skin beneath her lips. Best not to think of that at all. They left in their separate cars and Lizzy gave herself a stern lecture to stop acting such a schoolgirl over Phillip just because he'd been kind to her. She mustn't mess him about just because she was, herself, on the way down.

  They met up at the Stafford, Lizzy checking in with large sunglasses on and her hair in a messy bun, a voluminous scarf round her neck to signify her desire to blend in. She settled into the room, draping her scarf over a chair and pacing the length of the room, scrolling through her Facebook and Twitter feeds. When she answered Phillip’s knock, she was already well and truly bored. His tie was undone, two or three buttons open on his shirt, already charmingly disheveled. Lizzy hardly knew what to make of him, standing in the doorway rumpled and sexy and holding a bottle of wine.

  “Do you believe in karma?” He said.

  He poured Moet into flutes and passed her one and she shut the door behind him.

  “If you’re asking if I believe I deserve to have one of the best men I know come to my door with champagne, then no. If you’re asking about my belief in a karmic universal order, then yes.” She said. “Because if there weren’t karma, Edward would have spent his life as the bachelor uncle, sacrificing his own happiness to cover for the ungrateful lot of us. Instead, he found Carrie and I can’t think of anyone who deserves such a miracle the way he does. She’s clever and real and not bothered about whether he’s a royal. So she’s his reward for all those years of being responsible and unselfish. If it weren’t for Carrie and Edward I’d say the lot of us were headed for hell in a handcart.”

  “I’m glad my failed wedding restored your faith in love. It’s a nice idea, that everyone gets what they deserve, except when you’re the sad bastard who didn’t earn a miracle.”

  “It doesn’t work in our timetable, Phillip, you mustn’t be impatient. As a rule I’m in no terrible rush for my karma to catch up to me. I can see why you’d prefer yours to hurry, as you’re such a good boy. The rest of us, we’re bundled in the handcart awaiting our fate.”

  “I asked about karma because I wondered if maybe this was mine.”

  “To think your reward was a night at the Stafford baiting paparazzi? I suppose, if you mean the boon it will be to your campaign, I might agree to being a force for good in this instance, but otherwise, it’s a rather pathetic prize.”

  “It wouldn’t have to be.” He said.

  “Let’s finish the first Harry Potter! Do you still have it on your phone? That would pass the hours.”

  Phillip groaned, looking more than a bit frustrated.

  “First you have to give me a bit of advice.”

  “You’re the first person to ask me for advice in my entire life. I’m not sure it’s wise of you.”

  “If you were in my place, promising political career, lonesome as fuck, and your best mate’s sister rather improbably takes you on as a project, what would you do?”

  “I’d say thank you quite graciously and pour her another glass of champagne.”

  “Would you attempt a desperate hazard?”

  “Would I? Always. If the question is, would you? Then, no, assuredly not. Fine, steady Phillip would never risk it all.”

  “I think perhaps that’s been my problem all along.” He said. “I don’t want to lose sight of the shore.”

  “Don’t set me up as your role model. The last thing you ought to do is to throw off your hard-won respectability. You can trade off my reputation; have a secret rendezvous to put you on the celebrity map. But you’re never to think one tattoo makes you a bridge burner like me.”

  Lizzy touched his hair then, lightly, as she’d been longing to. Lizzy, who couldn’t even save herself, wanted to save him very badly.

  “You have a very noble sense of purpose and I want to support that. You told me in Clerkenwell that you derailed over the American. Don’t, whatever you do, don’t derail over me.”

  “That’s unfortunate. I asked for your advice and now I’m bound to take it.”

  “Nobody ever marks what I say, Phillip. You ne
edn’t bother.”

  “I have to bother, as it were. Because I mean for you to see I’m not like the rest of them.”

  Phillip took her hand from his hair, raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  “You’re quite a girl. Now hop up here and we’ll finish the Philosopher’s Stone.” He said.

  “Sometimes I can’t believe how kind you are to me. I don’t deserve it, you know.”

  “Then maybe there’s nothing to karma after all.”

  She barely hesitated before climbing under the covers. God, but she was tired. Her eyes burned, livid with waiting, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep. It would be lovely, she thought, to have Phillip bearing her company. She knew he’d fall asleep and she’d be alone again, but he would be there beside her and she could listen to his breathing. She'd know he was there, and it seemed like that would help.

  If Lizzy didn’t keep exactly to her own pillow, if she curled up against him, it was nothing but loneliness and the sisterly affection she had for him. If his voice comforted her, if the cinnamon smell of his skin made her nestle closer until her head was on his chest, if she drifted off to sleep with a soft noise, it was merely familiarity. It meant nothing more than that.

  Lizzy woke up lying half across him with his arm around her. He stirred as she tried to sit up and he swiped away the riot of her long hair in his face.

  “You’ve got rather a tight hold of me.” She said and he let go so she could sit up. “It’s show time, Phillip. My alarm’s rung and we have to take the walk of shame.”

  He stretched and tried to comb his hands through his curly hair.

  “You’re rather devastating in the mornings, Mr. Rhys-Cooper. I can’t imagine what in hell that American was thinking.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not to boast but I’ve seen rather more than a few men first thing of a morning and never one as louche and naughty looking as you at five a.m.”

  Phillip smiled at her, not friendly but distressingly predatory. He leaned across the bed and tucked her hair behind her ear, his gaze dark, his touch sending chills down her neck.

  “Fancy letting the reporters hang? We have the room until noon.”

  “Ah, cheeky boy, we have a mission to accomplish.” She said and shied away from his touch, “Lord, I can’t remember when I’ve slept so well.”

  “I did tempt you with the promise to bore you to sleep. I suppose I succeeded.”

  “I’ve been insomniac for years. It goes in phases but this one’s been horrid.”

  “Maybe we’ve broken your streak of bad luck, then.” He said. “Ready?”

  Lizzy nodded and wrapped the scarf over her hair and round her neck, slipping on her sunnies. Phillip put his arm about her shoulders and hurried her down the elevator and out the back entrance. They stopped just outside the door and clung together as they’d planned. The hiss and snap of cameras fired all around them. Phillip swept back her scarf to touch her hair and her face, letting photographers have a clear shot of them together. He leant his forehead against hers and she was breathing hard, whether from the rush from the elevator and the scrutiny of reporters or from his proximity, from his breath on her lips, she didn’t know.

  “Ready to run for it?” He said.

  Lizzy gripped the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and looked up into his eyes.

  “Make sure they see your face. I want all of Britain to know your name by nightfall, so look at the cameras.” She said.

  Seizing his hand, she took off running, trying not to laugh at the fun of it as they led the press on a merry chase.

  “Give us a quote, Liz! Is it serious? Has he met mum and dad?” One of them bellowed.

  “Who’s your friend, Liz? Is this why you and Magnus broke up? Carrying on with another bloke? Naughty, naughty!” Another shouted.

  Once they were in Phillip’s car and he drove away from the knot of paparazzi, she broke out laughing.

  “I was so tempted to turn round and introduce you properly but I was afraid they’d ask me nosy questions about your size and performance!” She teased.

  “The answers are obviously ‘shockingly huge’ and ‘so incredible that I blacked out a few times’.”

  “I forgot to memorize those, sorry, I couldn’t make a comment.”

  “Shall we grab a coffee before I leave you at the palace?”

  “I think I’d better go into hiding and appear ashamed. Phone me later and tell me how you think we succeeded.”

  ***

  That afternoon, Lizzy phoned Phillip to inform him she’d struck a compromise on his costume for the fancy dress party at the weekend but she got his voicemail.

  “Phillip. This is your sovereign and if you don’t call me back I’m getting you a man-blouse and a concertina to play at the party.” She said to the recording.

  Later on as she was texting and picking up a curry takeaway, her mobile rang.

  “Is this my sovereign? I’ve phoned to offer my deepest regrets that I will be unable to accompany her to the dirty party this weekend.” Phillip began.

  “The hell you say!” She bellowed into the phone, causing patrons in the curry shop to gape at her as she left, sack in hand. “You’re going to Nene’s party. You’re not sitting in your flat feeling sorry for yourself that you’re such a sad bastard.”

  “You’re wonders for the ego, I think I’ve mentioned before, Lizzy.” He said. “I’ve no plans to eat beans on toast. Alas, I have a date, a proper one with a girl from a fine British family.”

  “I am from a fine British family! Probably the best one!” Lizzy was indignant.

  “Of course you are. However, this young woman promises to be interested in me, or at least in my money.”

  “Ah, but I was going to take you out to Nene’s and find you a shag! I planned to secure a bright young thing in a slinky crop top for you.”

  “As appealing as it sounds, having you to pimp for me at a fancy dress party, I think I’ll stay with the date I already have.”

  “Oh, I was only taking the piss. Of course I'm not going to link you up with some socialite. It would be awfully tacky after our fake shag the other night for you to cheat on me so soon. Phillip, all jokes aside, I’m really disappointed. I so looked forward to bringing you along and cheering you up.” She said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Unload your date.”

  “You want me to give up a romantic evening with Annis Elspeth?”

  “That’s a horrid name. Sounds a bit like a sneeze.”

  “She’s a press agent for my dad’s company. Better bet than old Hortense that my mum keeps putting forth.”

  “If that’s the best thing you have going, I believe you’re better off with me.”

  “When do we need to leave?”

  “Does that mean you’ll skip Annis and go with me? Hurrah!”

  “It means that I’ll try to see Annis tonight and see you tomorrow.”

  “Have you had loads of interview offers today?”

  “Scads of them. My secretary said that there were thirty at last count. Not only gossip mags either, proper newspapers and even telly.”

  “Which will you do?”

  “I plan to speak to all of them about how your bottom is the perfect size.”

  “Oh, do. Smithpeters will have a stroke! Martin’s already sacked part of my security detail for letting me sneak to the Stafford without informing the palace so they could have me airlifted off the roof or something lest the public think that I have had sex.”

  “The irony is you didn’t. Not a bit of it.”

  “It’s a rare case that I’m innocent. I’ll enjoy the novelty of it.”

  “Will your new guards be stricter?”

  “No doubt they shall. They’ll follow us to Nene’s. Because we’re still going.” She said.

  When the time came, she bundled the garment bag of their costumes into the boot of his car and began to direct him tow
ard Nene’s father’s country home.

  “You might wait till we’re out of the city to begin giving instructions. I’ve GPS anyhow. Program the address.”

  “I can’t even program the video to nab Game of Thrones, Phillip.” She said. “You’ll have to program it in.”

  “We’ll be killed! I have to pay attention in this traffic.”

  “You’re awfully melodramatic for a boy.”

  “That’s sexist and I resent it.”

  “If you’re this way all the trip I’ll resent it as well.” She said. “How’s the tattoo healing? Let’s see it.”

  “I’m driving, Lizzy, do you know what that entails? I cannot show you my tattoo or any other identifying marks while operating an automobile.”

  “You’re such a granny.” She said.

  “It’s my parents’ fault really. Phillip is such a buttoned up, stodgy name. Hardly a hero’s name.”

  “Ah, would you rather have had Claudio? Or, I know, Duke Orsino from Twelfth Night?”

  “Ugh. If my mum had thought to call me duke or lord or sir as a first name you can bet she would have.”

  “Phillip’s a fine name.”

  “Orsino might have done better as an author, though. Maybe I’ll use it for a pen name.”

  “A pen name? Are you writing racy novels?”

  “Hardly. I’m beginning a book on environmental policy and climate change. I’m thinking of taking a country house for a few weeks to work on it in a bit of peace before the wind up to the election, get nearer to nature, that sort of thing.”

  “Have Pembroke!”

  “What?”

  “It’s mine. Pemmy left it to me in her will. We keep a skeleton staff there year round so it won’t be all cobwebs and eight months old cartons of milk. You’re very welcome to use it, Phillip.”

  “I’ve good memories of the place.”