by Geneva Lee
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alexander’s side of the bed was empty when I awoke. I stretched, noting the delicious ache of my muscles. He’d taken me to the edge and bound me there, teasing and torturing, and my body remembered. The glow of the fireplace glinted off the silk rope that still hung in place near the foot of the bed. Sliding from under the covers, I padded barefoot to it and ran my fingers down its length. It was smooth and coarse. Binding and liberating. Wrapping it around my wrist, I replayed the scene from last night. The memories came in staccato bursts of pleasure then agony and finally exquisite release.
By the time I discovered Alexander sitting by the hearth of the great room, my body was practically vibrating with desire. I lingered, shyly, on the stairs, drinking in his strong, carved shoulders that gracefully met the sinewy shape of his back. This man—this god–was mine. The reality of that remained elusive, only becoming palpable through contact. I could not comprehend how out of the billions of people in the world, we had found one another. I stayed there for a long time, watching the light of the flames dance across his jet-black hair, until the pull of his presence lured me forward. It was then I realized we were bonded. Magnetically. Irresistibly. In a sea of people, I would always find him. We’d been brought together by an undeniable force that day at the club. Every moment in my life, every decision and mistake I’d made, had been carrying me toward him.
Alexander turned, his face obscured by darkness, and reached for me. I flew to him. Settling in his lap, I drew my legs up as he wrapped his arms around me.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked.
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and kissed me. “I didn’t want to wake you. I apologize for leaving you alone.”
“No apology necessary. I think you screwed me into a coma.” I traced the curve of his jaw.
“I should have checked on you.” He shook his head, a familiar look of self-loathing flitting across his dark features. “Last night was intense. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m fine,” I said with emphasis. I hated when he questioned himself. There never seemed to be a way to convince him that I was as enthralled as he was. “Look at me, X. I’m happy. Truly. You make me happy.”
“I try.” His expression was pained and it tore through me.
“If you don’t stop pouting, I’ll have to spank you,” I warned him
His hand slid to cup my ass and he smiled, albeit grudgingly. “That is my job, poppet.”
“Then maybe you should get to work,” I murmured, but the low growl of my stomach interrupted my attempt at seduction. Stupid bodily needs.
“I think I better feed you first,” he said with a low chuckle.
I willed myself to stand up, and we made our way to the kitchen. Alexander opened the refrigerator and drew out a carton of milk. Within moments he had eggs and toast cooking. But his heavy mood remained, casting an unwanted shadow over the morning.
“You are seriously killing my buzz,” I informed him, pushing myself onto the counter to watch him cook.
“We skipped dinner. That’s unacceptable.”
“I’m not going to break,” I told him in a quiet voice. “I’m healthy, X. One meal isn’t going to be my undoing.”
“Still…” he let the thought trail away as he shoved a spatula through the skillet.
We lapsed into silence until he presented me with a full plate. Despite my best intentions, my hunger won out and I shoveled them down greedily, pleased to see a smile creep onto his lips. He needed to take care of me and I needed to be more open to that. Like most things, it would take time to accept that his concern wasn’t a sign of perceived weakness on my part.
“I could get used to being fed every morning.” I pushed my empty plate away and beamed at him. Small steps.
“I could get used to feeding you every morning,” he said, but the words were heavy with a meaning that sent my heart racing.
“You’ll have to if you’re going to keep me up all night.” But the joke didn’t calm my frantic pulse.
“I’d like to keep you up every night,” he continued. His eyes swept over me and stopped on my left hand, resting on the counter “There are expectations for me, Clara.”
My speeding heart skipped and then plummeted into the pit of my stomach. We’d had this conversation before. It hadn’t ended well.
“It seems that those expectations now include you.” Alexander paused and cleared his throat. “Marriage was never something I wanted. It was merely another expectation.”
“I know.” I jumped in, trying to derail this train of conversation before it wrecked everything. “I don’t expect it either. It’s too soon—for both of us.”
“Then you have no intention of marrying me? I gather you’re just using me for my body.” He grinned, but the smile was brittle.
“We’re both young. I know your family has expectations and I know it’s something we will have to face, but right now, I want to concentrate on me and you.” I ignored the small voice inside me that reminded me there was a deadline on our relationship. Choosing to turn a blind eye to the fact that our separation was inevitable.
“I’m not certain you’re understanding me.” His tone was measured, but the fire of possession blazed in his eyes.
“I understand the world you live in,” I whispered, “and I understand the world I live in. Right now I want to pretend that things can be different.”
Alexander slid a hand under my bottom and lifted me into his arms. “Then understand this. Clara, you are my world.”
Then he carried me to the bedroom and proved it was the truth.
His mood remained manic throughout the day, constantly shifting between passionate sensuality and dark despair. In the moments we made love, whether rough or tender, he was with me fully. But when we separated even for short periods of time he faded away into darkness. I sensed the struggle warring within him, but I didn’t understand it. So I sought him out in the bedroom and on the stairs and across the bearskin rug by the fireplace. Each time I called him back to me, only to have him separated from me once more by the demons he wouldn’t share.
And still I was happy. Whatever battle he was fighting drew us closer together. That much I knew. For now I could only stay by his side and let him wage the war. When at last my own reserves were depleted, I fell into a dreamless sleep, only to be woken by his gentle hands.
“Clara, you need to get dressed.” The urgency of his request didn’t match the careful prod of his touch.
“Why?” I murmured sleepily, rubbing my eyes, surprised to discover it was twilight outside the window.
“We have to leave,” he informed me as he gathered the few personal items we’d left strewn around the room.
I sat up, clutching the sheet to my bare chest, and tried to process what he was saying. Leave? We’d only gotten here yesterday. “I thought we were here until Monday.”
“I’ve been summoned back to London. The car will be here in a few minutes.” He came to me and brushed a kiss over my forehead. “Dress warmly. The temperature has dropped.”
Stumbling from the bed, I searched for my bag, which hadn’t yet been carried away. I pulled a sweater over my head and found a pair of jeans. Panic would get me nowhere but that didn’t stop my mind from producing an endless stream of theories on why we were suddenly being forced to return early. My thoughts flashed from Edward to Belle to the entire country itself and, of course, Daniel. What news would greet me when I stepped out the door? I didn’t want to know.
Alexander reappeared in the room and collected my luggage without a word. I followed him, dread seeping into my bloodstream. But it wasn’t until we were in the car, headed back to the airport that I was able to find my voice. “What’s happened? Is it…Daniel?”
I needed to face the possibility that things had gone horribly wrong with his sentencing. It would be better to know, because then we could begin to deal with it.
“It’s not Daniel.” There was something not al
together honest in his answer, but he continued before I could question him. “There’s been a development regarding the accident.”
“The accident?” I repeated stupidly. Maybe it was the chaotic shift in circumstances, but I couldn’t see where this was headed.
“My accident,” he said in a low voice. “New information that changes things.”
The accident had happened nearly eight years ago, but it still haunted him. What more ghosts could the press dredge up to torture him and his family?
“What information?” I asked.
“Someone is claiming drugs were involved.” His answer was clipped, precise to the point of a knife’s edge.
“I know there was drinking.” I did my best to sound reassuring, hoping my lack of judgment would prevent him from shutting down. “Were there drugs? Were you high?”
“Not me.” His mouth tightened as though he was trying to ignore a painful memory. “My sister.”
I wasn’t expecting that answer. “Sarah?”
“This person claims she was dosed with a date rape drug along with Sarah. She’s telling anyone who will listen that the reason we crashed that night was because Sarah was driving.”
No one knew what had happened that night. Alexander could barely recall the details himself. The media had sold the story that he had been driving, and he’d accepted the responsibility out of unwarranted guilt. But there was one thing we both knew: Sarah had been driving. And there were only two other people who had been present as that tragic night unfolded. I didn’t need him to tell me who this source was, she’d already warned me this was coming. So it was no surprise when he continued.
“Pepper claims I drugged her, and that I’m the reason Sarah is dead,” he said in a flat voice, his gaze never wavering from the rushing scenery outside the car window.
She hadn’t lied to me. She was going to destroy him.
The plane was waiting at the airfield and we returned home to London swiftly. Each of us was lost to our thoughts even though Alexander’s hand stayed tightly knitted through mine for the duration of the flight. This is what his world entailed. Emergency flights and strategy meetings. For the first time I truly saw how he fit into the complicated machinery of British politics. What I couldn’t gauge was what lay in wait for us upon our return.
We exited the plane to discover two cars waiting at the private airfield. Norris stood in front of one, and Alexander dropped my hand, crossing to speak to him alone. Although they were only feet from me, the two kept their voices lowered. Alexander nodded in my direction and I had the sinking suspicion he was giving instructions on my handling. But if Alexander thought I could be induced to leave his side, he had another thing coming. We’d fought too hard to strip the barrier of lies and secrets that had stood between us. I wasn’t about to let it be resurrected.
When Alexander broke from his conversation with Norris, a man I didn’t recognize stepped forward. “Your father has instructed me to take you directly to him.”
Alexander’s eyes met mine and an unspoken question passed between us. He knew my answer. Extending an arm, he called me to his side.
“You father would prefer to speak to you alone,” the man informed him, casting a cold look in my direction.
“There’s no secrets between Clara and me. It’s time he understood that.” Alexander glared back at him.
The man gestured to the car, idling behind him, and we climbed inside. As the car carried us toward his father, I realized too late that I hadn’t told Alexander about Pepper’s visit to me at the office. I could have prevented this, and I hadn’t. I’d been too blinded by my hatred of Pepper.
I was to blame for the coming storm, and worst of all, I’d allowed secrets to separate us once more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’d been to the palace before—as a tourist. Now I followed Alexander as we were led through private rooms that were definitely not a part of the official tour. Another time I might have marveled at the gaudy opulence surrounding me, but now the stately spaces seemed to narrow and constrict, as though the rooms themselves were living, breathing creatures closing in on their prey. Was this what the pressure of expectation felt like for Alexander?
Alexander burst through a set of French doors, and I followed at his heels. The room beyond the doors looked more like the set of a movie than a real office. Elegantly embroidered tapestries lined the papered walls and thick brocade curtains hung over the arched windows. His father, King Albert, stood with his back to us and hand resting on the mantelpiece. A few steps away, his mother sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, looking as if she’d been asked to sit for a new postage stamp. She didn’t bother to look at us. Instead she maintained the careful posture she’d perfected over her years as Queen Mother.
“Grandmother.” Alexander nodded curtly in her direction. “Father.”
Albert didn’t turn to address his son’s greeting. “I asked to speak with you privately.”
“I’m well aware of your wishes, but I have no secrets from Clara.” Alexander stood, arms lowered, head held high in defiance, and in that moment, I fell in love with him all over again.
It was dangerous to do so, knowing that we were teetering toward the unknown. I’d kept important information from him and I had no idea how high a price I’d pay for that mistake.
“But you have secrets, Alexander.” Albert spun to face him, his shrewd blue eyes narrowing as he looked at his eldest son.
“We all have secrets, particularly those of us with royal blood,” Alexander reminded him.
“Not the kind of secrets that sell tabloids!” Albert exploded. “I’ve worked hard to protect this family from this sort of sensationalized drivel. So I will ask you once: is this true?”
A piece of my heart fractured at his question. My own family had their fair share of secrets and practiced lies. I’d watched my mother and father pretend at their marriage for far too long, but there wasn’t a piece of me that doubted we loved each other. Even my family protected its members from pain and suffering, and when we’d finally been forced to face what we’d avoided, that love always won out. My parents had stood by me when I’d gotten sick. My mother and father hadn’t denied the affair even when they shut me out. But for the first time I saw what it was like to be born into a family that prized duty over affection and prioritized obligation over understanding. I longed to shield Alexander from his father—to release him from the shackles of the life he’d been born into.
“You know as much as I do about that night,” Alexander responded evenly. There was a weariness to his voice, born from years of speaking and never being heard.
“Then explain to me why that bitch is claiming she can prove she was given gamma-hydroxybutyric acid that night.” Albert crossed the room in long strides, stopping inches from Alexander. Father and son stared each other down, unblinking.
“Bitch?” Alexander repeated ruefully. “Weren’t you the one who suggested I marry her?”
The room spun and I locked my knees to keep myself from stumbling. Alexander had assured me that he had no interest in Pepper, but he’d also warned me of his father’s expectations. The thought that she’d been deemed a more suitable match for him stung like a slap across the face.
“This isn’t a time for your childish jokes. Will you laugh when the inquest begins?”
“Inquest? Will you really let it come to that?” Alexander circled his father, regaining the upper hand. “It might reveal more of the kind of secrets that sell tabloids.”
“Do not threaten me,” Albert growled, shoving a finger into his son’s chest. “I’m your king and commander.”
“And my father, right?” Alexander challenged. He ran a hand through his messy black hair and glanced away. “Because your concern is for me. Your concern is for your son. But no, let’s not play games. You’ve always been too busy to be my father.”
“You have no appreciation for the complexities of my life. I rue the day you have to take on t
his role, and I weep for this country that you are the best I can give them,” he spat out.
My feet carried me forward before I realized what I was doing, but before I could step between them, Alexander held up a hand to stop me. This was his battle. I only wished he wouldn’t fight it alone.
“Do you think I want to take your place? That I want this? A life of privilege in exchange for my freedom?” Alexander asked.
“And that is why you are my greatest disappointment.” Albert moved to a cart and uncorked a crystal decanter. He poured the amber liquid into a glass and swirled it once before taking a swallow. “The situation is being dealt with. For the time being, Miss Lockwood seems to only be available to members of the press. I’m certain she’ll make an exception for you.”
“And not for you?” his son asked. “Was I part of the arrangement? Would she forgive you for wasting the last two years of her life fucking you if she could have me instead? A crown for her silence?”
My mouth fell open in shock, but behind us, the Queen Mother cried sharply. “Alexander!”
He ignored her, opting to pour his own drink.
“That is a private matter.” But Albert didn’t deny it.
Looking around the room, I realized that I was the only one who hadn’t known how deep Pepper’s ties to the Royal family were. The thought of Albert and her made me physically ill. Suddenly I understood why Alexander treated Pepper with such disdain. But how much power could Albert exert over his son? Was it possible he would force the marriage to make the current nastiness go away?
“Regardless,” Albert continued, apparently unfazed, “arrangements will be made. This story will go away. I’m certain once Pepper is satisfied that we have an understanding, she’ll be more than happy to deny it. But we can’t let this get any further. Right now it’s merely ugly gossip. She hasn’t given an on-camera interview, which gives us time to contain her.”
“You’d have me marry her to shut her up?” Alexander asked, incredulity coating his words. He shook his head. “I’m not interested in your hand-me-downs. Or is that your plan? Have me marry her to keep her close so that she can continue to be your mistress?”