The Princess Royal (Royal Romances Book 2)

by Molly Jameson

  “Now, Lizzy, you must hear me out. I swore I’d wait till you contacted me and I did, but just barely. I gave up on writing the book as all I researched was things about you--I read a number of articles online about loving someone with ADHD and learned all about hippo-therapy. I almost called you a million times. When I got your message, that you missed me—“

  “I’m so sorry, Phillip!” She burst out.

  Lizzy flung herself at his neck, choking back a sob.

  “I love you so terribly. I knew it as soon as you showed me that stupid tattoo. I didn’t want to ruin your life and I didn’t want to risk having my heart broken, but it already is. You’d already happened to me and it was too late to stop it. Forgive me. It was so blatant and I didn’t—“

  Phillip’s arms tightened around her, his hand brushing the bare skin of her back below her crop top. Lizzy curled her fingers round the back of his neck and looked right in his eyes. It was all there, every single thing she’d wanted him to know. He looked so awed, so pleased. She nudged his lips apart with hers and kissed him, then hugged him hard. He stood holding her for a minute, just stroking her hair and fitting her against him, her head settling into that perfect niche between his shoulder and his neck.

  “God, I’ve missed you.” She said into his collar.

  “Never leave me like that. I thought I meant fuck all to you. I thought you were with some race driver.”

  “I wasn’t. And you don’t. You mean everything. Look—“

  She drew back from him and reached in the pocket of skirt and pulled out the acorn he’d sent her.

  “Was that your lucky charm?” He said.

  “It is now. It’s brought you back to me.”

  “I was afraid you’d think it was stupid.”

  “An acorn from my Pembroke boy? Never. It’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. Except for this one boy.”

  “Argh, not the chap with the sheep in Chipping Campden when you were sixteen.”

  “No, not him. Just a scrupulous boy who had a go at me. He got the silliest little tattoo of a crown on his neck and made me fall terribly in love with him.”

  “Did he win you over with his absurd efforts to woo you?”

  “No, he won me over when he used ‘woo’ as a verb which I’m fairly certain has fallen into disuse since the days of Thomas Hardy.”

  “If it’s not used often enough, I shall have to rectify that. You may not realize what it means. Since you don’t seem to know what to do with a proper, old-fashioned declaration, I’ll have to show you.”

  Phillip brushed his thumb across her lips, leaned in and kissed her. He caught her bottom lip in his teeth and she made a soft sound in her throat.

  “Tell me you’ve a place we can go.” She said.

  “All the way out in Belgravia.”

  “Then you’re about to see the private quarters at Kensington. It’s not on the ha’penny tour.”

  Lizzy took his hand and led him in the palace and up stairs and along corridors, shushing him and laughing. She ushered him into her room and locked the door decisively.

  “Should I feel threatened?” Phillip said.

  “Terribly so. I mean to have my way with you. I’m not to be a coward this time. I’ll see that tattoo again if you don’t mind.” She said.

  Phillip unbuttoned his wrinkled shirt and dropped it to the floor. The sight of him moved her, the easy way he had, the confidence that was neither brash nor presuming, but a quiet strength. He was so handsome, so self-possessed standing shirtless before her while she asked to see his tattoo.

  “Which one?”

  Lizzy stepped behind him, ran her hands across his shoulders. She parted the hair at his neck to reveal the crown tattoo. With the slightest catch in her breathing, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to it. Her arms went around his shoulders and she leaned her cheek against his back.

  “I love you, Phillip.”

  “You remember that rot about anticipation and refusing to hurry?” He said, turning round, his mouth at her throat.

  “Yes, you were right. I’ve wanted—“

  “It was bollocks. I’ve done with waiting, Lizzy.”

  His dark gaze smoldered in the lamplight. It thrilled her that he wanted her so much; that she could make him feel the urgency that had been tearing at her since the moment she saw his car parked crookedly in back of her house. Lizzy reached behind her and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She stepped out of her shoes. She turned away and set the acorn on a side table, not wanting it to be lost in the tumult to come. She draped her arms around his neck.

  “Let’s put this to bed, Phillip.” She said.

  He swept her into his arms. Swept was the only word for it, as his strong arms enveloped her and laid her on the duvet. With a yowl, Bennie leapt off the bed and retreated to her closet in protest. She wanted to laugh at her indignant cat, but everything telescoped, seeming far away except for the power of Phillip’s eyes on her, his hands, his mouth. The only sound was the ragged breath of the man above her as he settled her on the bed. She stretched her arms over her head so he could strip away her top. It was a hardship to stop kissing him that long. The heat of his bare skin against hers was overwhelming. She was reaching for him, drawing him closer, and drawing him in. Little had she realized how she wished to own that hiss of breath when he moved inside of her, the exact light way he stroked her face, the clutch of his fingers tangled in her hair.

  Afterward, Phillip didn’t hold her loosely, with one arm round her shoulders as they caught their breath. He engulfed her, facing her, their legs and hands and arms tangled up, a lock of her hair caught in the corner of his mouth. She reached up to free it and he laughed.

  “I want it there. I want all of you, Lizzy. Your wicked humor, your gowns that are big beyond all sense, your fish fork veterinary attempts, your encyclopedic knowledge of sheep, your passion and your loyalty and the stardust on your skin. And even the crown.”

  “God, that’s the best thing anyone’s ever said to me. You might have begun by setting the bar lower, by saying I had sort of nice teeth or something. Now you’ll forever be struggling to improve on that speech. Is that the one you practiced?”

  “No, but I remember that one if you’d like to hear it. I worked on it for days.”

  “Should I expect it to form the dedication of your environmental book?”

  “Most of my notes have your name in them. I’d be in the midst of some critical observation about the polar ice caps and suddenly find that I’d written ‘Lizzy’ three or four times mid-sentence.”

  “What a schoolboy you are! And speaking of school, I’m starting a physio course. You’re going to have to get your wellies from your parents’. I’ve started work on the horse project. I’m doing a therapy installation at Pembroke.”

  “I’m happy for you.”

  “Will you help me? Make certain all the materials are sourced sustainably and then aid in bullying a lot of toffs into giving me their retired racers for free?”

  “Wouldn’t it be best if they gave you the horses and a donation as well?”

  “I expect I’d be lucky to have the horses given to me, much less funding.”

  “I think we can get help with funding. I know this princess who has quite the Twitter following and gets loads of press attention. Surely if I speak to her about having an exclusive garden party for investors and a plea for donations over social media, she can manage something.”

  “That’s brilliant, Phillip. I’d love to start work on it directly but I have to go to a hospital do, wearing a gown that covers all my ink. It’s even bigger and puffier than the one I wore to the ball.”

  “The silver one? I quite liked that one. If we’re dressing in fluffiness, shall I wear my man-blouse?”

  “So long as you’ll join me, you can wear anything you like. Including the man-blouse. And that sash.”

  He kissed her forehead.

  “You’re not leaving!” She
said.

  “No, why?”

  “I had a terrible notion you’d take it in your head to go home. I want you to stay.”

  “Will there be talk about my staying over? Will this get you in more trouble with the throne?”

  “There’s staff whose main purpose is to report my activities to my parents. Yes, they’ll know. They can sod off this time. If I didn’t let them prevent me coming back to London and applying for uni, do you reckon I’d give you up for them or anyone?”

  “I hope not, Lizzy.”

  “Never.”

  Her cheek pressed to his heartbeat, she fell asleep in his full-body embrace, warm and still and impossibly happy.

  Chapter Ten

  Phillip awoke in the private chamber of the princess royal, the softness of her hair across his face. There was Lizzy, right up beside him, sleeping with total abandon and a soft snore. He couldn’t half believe his luck last night. She’d come home before two in the morning and on her own, not staggering in at dawn with some drunken bloke’s hand down her top. She had walked up to him straightaway instead of ignoring his car and sweeping into the palace. She had put her arms around him and cried her tears onto his shirtfront and told him she was sorry. Then she’d said that she loved him terribly. It was a wretched choice of words, characteristic of Lizzy to whom everything was either splendid or an utter disaster, but it was the most wondrous thing he’d ever heard. He still heard her say it, still felt dizzy from the sheer force of her, body and soul, captivating him.

  It was half twelve when a maid tapped at the door decorously to remind her that the hairdresser was coming. Phillip kissed her and she stirred, her lips parting beneath his, a delicious smile curving her mouth as she clung to him. It was another hour before the maid came back to attempt it again. Lizzy tried to explain all the preparations necessary for a public appearance but Phillip kept kissing her until she slipped out from under the covers and dashed to the loo. So he got up and dressed, with a few jobs to see about before the charity dinner.

  For the first time, he cared a bit that his family wasn’t nearly as old and prestigious as his mother liked to claim. If he had been able to, he would’ve begged the secret combination to an ancestral safe and retrieved his great grandmother’s pearls for an engagement gift, or an heirloom ruby so legendary it had been lent out to museums. As it was, there was only his mother’s gold and diamond engagement ring, which had come from a local shop in Manchester in the late seventies and she was still using it anyhow. Nothing he could buy in any jeweler’s would hold the sort of meaning he wanted it to convey. Not to mention how Lizzy had access to entire vaults of jewels, a grand collection that had inspired glossy coffee table books. It was unlikely anything he bought could impress her like the Argyle tiara.

  Twenty-four scant hours prior, he had been plotting to get Lizzy back. Now he stood in front of Cartier, ready to shop for a ring. Phillip turned and walked the other way, a better idea in mind. At a stall in one of the ubiquitous markets, he found what he wanted and paid a bit under thirty quid for it.

  When he arrived at Kensington in the designer tux he’d bought for his wedding, which had seen its only airing at the charitable ball, he brought flowers. It had seemed the right sort of thing to do, to come to Lizzy’s door with a bouquet of true English Jude the Obscure roses, with their cupped blooms in shades of apricot. She came down the stairs to meet him in the foyer. The very sight of her took his breath away. He dropped the flowers on what was probably a very valuable antique chair to reach for her and kiss her hand.

  “Are you ready for a boring award party?” She said.

  “Only if we can fit that dress in my car. You were perfectly in earnest when you said it was the largest gown ever. Also, I can pick out the outline of a crown on your shoulder beneath that sheer fabric.”

  “Keep that bit of information to yourself for the moment, please.”

  “I’ve brought you flowers but I dropped them.”

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  “I’d rather take you to Belgravia just now and rid you of that obscenely fluffy gown.”

  “I’d rather as well, but I’m reformed and have a speech to deliver.”

  Phillip helped Lizzy stuff the voluminous skirt of her gown into the car. It looked, from outside the passenger window, as if a can of whipping cream had been decanted all round her.

  “There’s hardly room for you to move. I’m sorry.” Phillip said.

  “I’m not permitted to move in this dress anyhow. The corsetry would impale me.” She said.

  Phillip’s hand closed over hers.

  “I expected the Argyle tiara tonight.”

  “As did I, but my family takes great pleasure in denying me small things to put me in my place.”

  “Then allow me.” Phillip said, turning to her.

  He reached in his pocket and withdrew a tiny white box.

  “Never say it’s the world’s smallest tiara.”

  “It’s a bit little for that, I’m afraid. Before you open it, know that I stood outside Cartier for a half hour contemplating diamonds before I chose this instead.”

  “Phillip—“

  “I mean to marry you. I mean to continue happening to you all of my life.” He said.

  “I wish you would.” She said.

  She gave a small cry, reached for him and kissed him.

  “If you’ll marry me, I’ll get you a better ring if you like.”

  “I’ll love whatever you chose for me. Even if it’s a sheep.”

  “No, it’s a fish fork.” He said.

  “Cheeky boy.” She said.

  Lizzy lifted the lid off the box. There on a bed of cotton wool lay a gold ring; an open circlet fashioned to look like an arrow, the point and fletching nearly touching.

  “Jamie’s arrow missed my heart entirely. Yours hit the mark.” He said.

  Phillip watched her face, illumined by the green dashboard lights. Lizzy’s lovely face, her dark eyes wide and bright, her smile at first disbelieving and then broadening to amusement. She looked up into Phillip’s face incredulously and laughed, covering her mouth but failing to stop a snort.

  “The way you said it, it sounds as if you were in love with my brother, or he was pursuing you and it just…it sounds so wrong!” She said.

  “I reckon you’re correct in that I set the bar too high at first. May I just say that your teeth are looking rather nice this evening..” He said.

  “I love this ring and I’m never taking it off. Also, I shall take every opportunity to remind you of how ridiculous that bit about the arrow sounded.”

  “I have a scar. Right above where my heart is. From the arrow.”

  “Yes. I love you for this. Any other man would’ve bought some standard issue solitaire and tried to impress me with carats. Only you would’ve done this, tried to give me a poetic story to go with a ring.”

  Lizzy fought against the encroaching fluff of her skirt as she wrapped her arms around him. She kissed him emphatically before subsiding into the passenger seat and admiring her arrow.

  “Regrettably we’ve an event to attend. Do you have your speech?” He said.

  “Yes. Smithpeters emailed it to me. I’m honored to represent the royal family and I hold the greatest admiration for the hospital’s commitment to innovation and compassion.”

  “How sincere of you.”

  “I’m in favor of advances in pediatrics. Particularly in the field of juvenile diabetes, which is, if I recall, the focus of the family's patronage.”

  “So you’ve reversed your egregious suggestion that you were entitled to better cancers because Jamie had all the most prominent disease charities?”

  “Do not remind me of that. If you hadn’t noticed I tend to bluster a bit when things strike too near the bone.”

  “I had noticed that, love. I’m beside you now. You’ve no need of bluster. If things strike too near the bone, you can hold my cufflinks while I attend to ma
tters.”

  “I love you.”

  “Yes, keep saying it. I won’t tire of it.”

  Lizzy sat at the front table beside Phillip, holding his hand beneath the tablecloth, her ankle hooked over his.

  "I reckon it's churlish to complain, when a princess has agreed to marry one, that one's dinner is horrible, but truly, Lizzy, what the bloody hell is amok with the mash?" Phillip whispered.

  "It's cauliflower, not potatoes."

  "Why? There's simply no excuse for that sort of trickery."

  "This is the diabetes research advocacy award, Phillip, the food's low glycemic. You'll never find a simple carbohydrate in your dinner here. Come to think of it, that may be why Father sent me here...I'm not to gain weight and there's no danger of encountering anything the least unhealthy."

  "That would explain the dinner roll." Philip said, regarding what appeared to be a baked lump of spelt and gravel. "Surely there's better low glycemic food than this."

  "Of course there is. It's only a hospital banquet, they're not noted for their superior cuisine. I'll take you for a pizza after." She promised.

  "Well it's the least you owe me after I bought you that ruinously expensive ring today." He teased.

  After two speeches from the surviving relatives of benefactors, she was introduced. She wriggled expertly to coax her layers of fluff into an artful confection that lay just so. She clutched her notecard and timed her steps for a graceful ascent to the podium as digital cameras fired and phones clicked as they captured her image.

  Lizzy lifted her chin, gave her most beguiling smile and launched into her memorized speech. Phillip leaned forward, rapt. As she scanned the crowd, his eyes met hers. She rubbed her thumb over her engagement ring, the arrow that had pierced his heart.

  “I’m honored to represent the royal family here tonight, and I have the very greatest admiration for the work being done at this hospital in the field of pediatrics. It's terrible to see someone you love suffering. You want to find what's the matter and get her the medication she needs or find him the very best care possible--it becomes, truly, the only thing that matters in the world to you." She paused, swallowed hard, surprised by the rush of emotion she felt, thinking of her father, thinking of how it must be for him to watch her going on and off her medicine at a whim, and how he must hate for his children to have to watch him go through painful treatments.