The Princess Royal (Royal Romances Book 2)

by Molly Jameson

  “Well, why wouldn’t you? That is where you met me! Let me know when you want to move in. I’ll notify the housekeeper you’re coming.”

  Once they were out in the countryside, Lizzy started identifying sheep.

  “Those there are Valais black-nose. Probably brought in from Scotland. Cutest sheep on earth, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve never thought about sheep particularly.”

  “You’ll see plenty at Pembroke. They’re not all cute. Our Leicesters look positively evil.”

  “I’ll mind my step and avoid wicked sheep, then.”

  Chapter Five

  Phillip found the turn to the house and what looked like a rather extravagant children’s fun fair set up in the gardens. There were colorful tents all along the lawn and in the back garden, loud music playing and even a mini-bazaar where presumably embarrassed individuals in turbans stood at stalls beside stacks of rugs and piles of brass bangles. This Nene person was evidently off her rocker, as far as Phillip could tell. This sort of money could have gone a ways to bringing wind turbines to bridges to generate clean energy, instead of fighting off the boredom of the rich for one weekend.

  “Let’s have our room assignments and go get changed. The fancy dress bit is tonight. Then tomorrow there’s to be lawn games and swimming.”

  “It’s rather like a wilderness guide camp.”

  “Yes, but with drink and girls. And no paparazzi. We shall have to take a selfie and Instagram it so the world knows we’re together.” She said.

  The butler met them at the door and Lizzy showed an old skeleton key with a purple silky tassel tied round it that seemed to be evidence of an invitation. She was handed a small key on a ring and a peacock feather. She leaned in and whispered to the butler who shook his head. She shrugged and led the way up a narrow creaky stair.

  “You’re bunking in with me until you have a better offer. They’re all full up on rooms so you’re my plus-one. We’ll find you a shag for tonight, no worries.”

  Their quarters had the run-down gentrification of most country houses, fading wallpaper figured with vines, the room incredibly small for two people on a platonic weekend holiday.

  “I’ll change in the loo. You may use the bedroom.” She said.

  She tossed a garment bag on the bed for him and took her bag into the cramped bathroom. Phillip gawped at his assortment of swashbuckling pirate garments. He donned them reluctantly. Lizzy walked out of the loo looking exotic and strange, her dark eyes rimmed all the way round in black. She wore a snug short top in purple with long see-through sleeves. A purple skirt rode low on her hips, bound with a shiny gold band that had chimes of some sort on it. He could see her legs through the skirt. Not merely a suggestion of where her legs were, but the actual curve of her bare legs. Little brass coins clinked together at her cuffs as she walked toward him, stopping far too close. His mouth went dry. She was close enough he could smell the oils she’d used, frankincense mixed with something spicy—he was almost certain he could taste them.

  “Do I look like I belong in a harem? It’s dramatic irony. Instead of the servant becoming a princess as it happens in fairy stories, I’m a princess turned serving girl.” She said.

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Thanks. That’s the idea. D’you like the tattoo with this?”

  She pivoted so he had a clear view of the dark vines of ink climbing up the creamy skin of her rib cage and disappearing into her top. He swallowed hard to keep from putting his mouth on her pale skin, and took a deliberate step back.

  “What am I meant to be exactly?” He said, indicating his loose white shirt, tight black pants and a belt with a scabbard.

  “An explorer.” She said.

  “I look like a pirate from a theatrical. I have a sash.”

  “You’re an explorer.”

  “This is a blouse.”

  “It’s a shirt. Blouses have fluffier sleeves.”

  “These are more than necessarily fluffy.”

  “Unlace it a bit so a peek of your tattoo shows. Girls like a little edge.”

  Obediently, Phillip kept still while she untied his shirt and opened the front, wondering idly if she could feel his heart pounding. He could see the crinkle of her forehead as she concentrated on adjusting his laces just so. His hands itched to take her by the hips, haul her against him and kiss her in a most unbrotherly fashion. She tipped her face up and smiled at him. Then she turned to the mirror and set a sparkly necklace across her forehead, securing it with grips.

  “There. We’re all ready. We look fabulous and it really demands to be shared. We must fuel the rumor mill, you know, my not-so-secret lover.”

  She hooked her arm through his and held her phone at arm’s length, snapping a photo of the two of them and posting it with the hashtags #OldFriends #ArabianNights. Across the garden, they entered the biggest tent where most of the guests were assembled. They found seats on a thick Turkish carpet and sipped silver cups of cool sherbet. Some people she knew joined them and they all cooed over how divine the party was. Lizzy took a photo of her silken-slippered foot and tweeted it to her followers. Wishing a tremendous #dirtythirty to @NeneMossDavies #ArabianNights #WhatFabulousLooksLike

  Then he watched as she fiddled with her phone, took another picture, posted the group selfie on Instagram and tagged everyone seated at the carpet. He drained his cup and tried to catch Lizzy’s eye; she was exclaiming over someone’s holiday photos from the Maldives. When he got up to pursue another cocktail, Lizzy caught his wrist.

  “Don’t leave.” She said. “Two girls have asked me if we’re exclusive. Do you like blonds or gingers? I think you’ll have your pick of shags tonight!”

  “It’s the blouse. Women can’t resist it.”

  “Stay. We’re to do spin the bottle now. Cerise likes you. I’d stay clear of Adriana though, the dark haired one is my little brother Leo’s ex and just got out of the mental infirmary.”

  A waiter in a turban distributed a bottle to each carpet and sounded a gong for them to begin.

  “So I can stay here and possibly snog a mental patient?”

  “If you spin her just take off your shirt. Rules are, you kiss whomever your spin points to, male or female, and if you don’t use tongue you have to remove an article of clothing.”

  Phillip surveyed the six others at their carpet, Cerise, Adriana, two more women and two men.

  “I am far too old to play sixth formers’ party games and kiss strangers.”

  “Nonsense. People our age are picking up strangers in clubs every night of the week. This is a better class of strangers. Come on, Phillip! Surely you can join in just for a few rounds. Ooh—I get to go first.”

  He watched as Lizzy spun the bottle of Dom, which pointed to Cerise, the ginger woman with the vacation photos. They each crawled forward in their harem garb and their lips met, shyly. Cerise tried to deepen the kiss but Lizzy drew back. Everyone crowed for her to take off an article of clothing. She peeled off her silk slippers and tossed them onto the rug merrily. There were Lizzy’s bare feet, toes painted bright blue, a gold toe ring glinting in the light. His mouth went dry and he reached for her cocktail and drained it. He spun the bottle as hard as he could, squinting his eyes shut tight and hoping for luck. Sure enough, the neck of the champagne bottle pointed at Lizzy herself.

  He reached for her without hesitation and her hand was at his collar.

  “Now I’m allowed to touch your neck all I want.” She said.

  Phillip felt everything blur around them, the music and lights and laughter and faces nothing but a swirl of color on the periphery as she parted her lips for him. He gathered her into his arms like a dream he’d like to keep having. She was warm and pliant, her tongue questing for his. He slid his hand across the bare flesh of her rib cage and she smiled against his mouth.

  “More.” She whispered.

  The kiss went on and on, he couldn’t stop. Breathless, with her hands in his hair, P
hillip nipped at her bottom lip, grazing it with his teeth. She rose up on her knees, her hands framing his face, and he pulled her into his lap, her thighs parting as she settled over him, never breaking the kiss. She fitted against him, and his arm went around her hips so easily, so naturally. Around them the other players hooted and catcalled until they broke apart. He was sure he had heard the shutter of a camera phone snap. At the sound of the shutter, Lizzy pulled away from him abruptly. She climbed off his lap with a nervous laugh and he drained someone else’s cocktail, trying to calm his senses and get hold of himself.

  He stole a glimpse at Lizzy who was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. The next player, one of the lads, spun and kissed Adriana, and then another two girls kissed. It seemed endless to Phillip. At long last, a massive tiered cake was lit with sparklers and everyone sang For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow as Nene, in full Princess Jasmine regalia, blew out the sparklers. Her shirtless date had stripes painted on his face and chest and she was leading him around by a collar and leash like a pet tiger.

  “This is demented.” Phillip said.

  “It’s only fancy dress.” Lizzy said.

  Nene drew a sword and slashed at the cake and the revelers applauded as frosting spattered at them. Snake charmer music played as servants stepped forward to do the actual cutting of the cake. A space cleared out around Nene and another servant passed her a thick snake that she coiled over her shoulders and began undulating in a choreographed belly dance that looked to be cribbed from an old Britney Spears video.

  Cake was handed round. Guests in various forms of what appeared to be cast-off costumes from a West End production of Aladdin writhed on the dance floor alongside Nene, her snake and her leashed tiger man. The cocktails were potent and the air in the tent too hot from the crush of people and the braziers burning in the corners. Lizzy tugged at Phillip’s puffed sleeve, drew him onto the dance floor. She draped her arms around his shoulders, the coins jangling from her wrists, the clatter of the beads at her hips as they danced. This wasn’t like the stately waltzes they’d had, with a set pattern and a right way to behave. This movement between them had ebb and flow, an energy all its own. He could have sworn he felt the flesh of her stomach against his skin even though the infernal blouse he wore made that impossible. He tasted the sweat on her skin, the neon blue cocktail she had drunk. She was still barefoot. He could not comprehend the fact that she was barefoot, half-clad in some foolish costume, arms looped around him like this was their natural state.

  The throb of that music, the heat of her skin where his hand splayed on her bare back, holding her tight against him. He blamed the brightness of her eyes on too much drink and no supper, on the strange dark kohl rimming her eyes and the torchlight in the tent. Surely, surely it was nothing to do with him. Before he could put his mouth to her throat, try his luck for real, he let her go. It was a game to her, every bit of it, and he couldn’t afford to lose sight of that. He stepped out the tent flap into the fresh air under the bright stars.

  She was close behind him now. She caught his sleeve.

  “You know, I might be willing to set you up with someone for the night if you'll be discreet. You've played your role as my new lover perfectly. Seen anyone yet who you’d like to shag?”

  “Not the loony with the snake.” He said.

  “Nene is an original, I admit. Still, you’re too particular. You’ve got to take the step to put Amanda out of your mind and live in the moment.”

  “You may be right. It seems possible, for what is I expect the first time since she left me.”

  “I’ll take credit for that, thank you. I provided the man-blouse destined to get you a shag. You’re looking positively dishy in the most troubling way.”

  “That’s encouraging.”

  He had blamed it on recent loneliness, on bad sangria and worse music, but Phillip wanted Lizzy. He had felt drawn to her when they were in Clerkenwell being inked, but he’d dismissed it as gratitude that she’d taken his mind off his misery. It wasn’t distraction or misery that stood before him dressed like a sultan’s dirtiest dream with dark lines of her vine tattoo snaking up her side and disappearing into that top that he wanted to peel away. Phillip had spent all evening wanting to touch her face, slide his hand across her bare back, pull her in for a kiss that bent her backward with its intensity.

  “Do you ever want to run away?” She said abruptly. “Sometimes, I do. God, Phillip, my life was supposed to be some grand adventure! I wanted to travel round the world rescuing animals from captivity and bringing comfort to the sick and injured. Instead, look at me.” She indicated her fancy dress costume.

  “You look well enough.” He said.

  “Not at all. I’m living the dream life of the average sixth former. I dress up and have my picture made and go to parties and kiss boys.” She said with disgust.

  Phillip was struck with the terrible thought that she might burst out crying. He hoped fervently that her training would prevent it. Otherwise he might do something incontrovertibly stupid, like shag her in the shrubberies.

  “If you need to cry you may use my man blouse for a handkerchief.” He said and she gave a small laugh that felt like a major triumph to him.

  “How was your date with Annis?”

  “Nothing near to the level of excitement here. I didn’t see a single exotic animal and no one even attempted to use a sword as a serving utensil. Terribly predictable business.”

  “Truly, though, did you like her?”

  “She’s an accomplished girl. Very organized.”

  “How sexy.”

  “She wasn’t my sort. So do you want to return to the fray?”

  “I’d rather not. I’m tired of this costume. I’m standing on the gravel barefooted.” She said.

  “Want to ride piggyback?” He offered, half joking.

  “Oh, yes please! I haven’t had a proper piggyback ride since I was small.”

  With that, she clambered onto his back, his hands hooked under her chiffon clad knees and her arms round his neck. Laughing, she held fast as he jogged back to the house along the gravel path lit by blazing torches. Phillip found himself oddly cheered by the silliness. She scrambled down from his back before they reached the door of the manor. He watched, transfixed, as she fished the key out of her ample cleavage and followed her up the stairs to their shared room.

  She locked the door behind them. God she was stunning. The sight of her locking a door made his throat go dry.

  “I can’t thank you enough for coming along with me this weekend.” She said. “You’ve done wonders for me and I haven’t been fair to you at all. I have to tell you something.”

  “You’re staying elsewhere tonight?”

  “Not at all. I’d like you to sit down. It’s rather serious in fact.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s my dad. I told you the other night he’d had a health scare, that’s why I was crying. I wasn’t truthful with you, Phillip. It’s more than a scare and it’s still happening. I could lose him. He has the best of care, but it’s—“

  “Cancer. I know. Jamie told me a while back.”

  She was uncharacteristically still for a moment, looking at him thoughtfully. Phillip wondered if he’d made a mistake in not letting her tell him. At once her face broke into a smile.

  “Oh, thank God. Phillip—you can’t imagine what a relief it is to be with you, to have someone who understands everything already, about my family and about the monarchy and why it’s so vital that word doesn’t get out about this and—I don’t have to pretend with you. God, you’re such a relief!”

  Lizzy, rather predictably, flung herself at his neck and hugged him impetuously and he had to be a gentleman and not trace the vines of her tattoo with his questing fingers and pull aside her—goddammit, she was not a relief, was not easy and relaxing to spend time with at all.

  Phillip let himself ride the momentum of music and alcohol and spin the bottle and the piggyback ride and the secre
t she’d told him. He gripped her wrists and pried her arms from round his neck. Still holding her wrists, he hauled her against him and kissed her, deep and slow. She gasped, startled, and he parted her lips with his, coaxing, his tongue stroking hers.

  He expected her to turn away, to protest about how he was like a brother to her, but she didn’t. Lizzy gripped his hair, anchoring his face to hers. His hands on her sides, he pushed her back to the bed and they fell together. Her arms went round his back and she fitted against him nicely, stretched out on the bed, her legs tangled up with his. She was warm and soft and responsive, licking and kissing him back with a passion he hadn’t dared to expect. He stroked her face, her bare throat. Lizzy’s hair came loose beneath his hands and tumbled across their faces. He tried to push it back and she shrieked, tried to sit bolt upright on the bed and failed, her hair snarled in his watchband.

  “Ow! My hair!”

  He set about disentangling her hair from his watchband but her desperate efforts to tug her hair free got in his way. Frantically she yanked until the hair came loose, a few strands left in his watchband. She vaulted up off the bed and went into the loo, slamming the door.

  That went well, he thought wryly. He poured himself a glass of water and looked out the window at the bacchanalia down in the garden. He took out his mobile and flipped through the notices and saw it. His headline round-up for the day was led by the words, “Vanilla Sex Says Ex: ‘Wild’ Princess Liz Big Disappointment”. He clicked on it and felt his fists clench, his jaw set before he read more than a sentence. Fucking Magnus had decided to tell all about Lizzy to the press, as the boyfriend scorned. Phillip scrolled to his Twitter feed and saw multiple retweets of the article, tagging her and asking for a response. There was no way to protect her from it.

  Lizzy came out looking so young. She was barefaced, all her makeup gone, and wearing a pair of cotton pajamas, blue with white piping, the sleeves so long they covered her palms. She sat cross-legged on the bed.

  “Forgive me for kissing you, Phillip. I should not have done it. It’s how I am—I never think first.”