“Of course, Your Majesty,” Dr. Singh rushed to assure him. “Everything you say is protected by the secrecy of a medic-patient relationship.”
By the time Angus hung up, a slow smile had crept its way across his face.
Jaxon Talbot’s house
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
9:00 a.m.
Siobhan woke from her restless sleep and felt hunger gnawing at her when she smelled the breakfast Jaxon was cooking.
She’d skipped dinner the night before, her appetite stolen by worrying about her uncertain future. She decided to eat first and shower after. Wrapped in her terry cloth robe, she crossed the back garden and went straight to the kitchen and fixed a plate.
“Good morning,” Jaxon greeted.
Siobhan flashed him a quick smile, taking a seat at the table, quickly stuffing an entire bacon slice into her mouth. She slowed down a little as she attacked the egg and tomato, and her mind kicked into gear, reminding her where her thoughts had left off when she fell asleep the previous night.
She liked her life. Sure, it was a struggle, for now, but she was young and had barely gotten started. And she loved living with her foster brother and best friend. She didn’t like the idea of Jaxon becoming someone she could only hang out with on rare occasions, and then only after clearing it with her husband and making sure their calendar was clear of obligations to the country and its VIPs.
In addition, she wasn’t entirely sure that she fancied the role of filling a position previously held by a predecessor. Although she had never given thought to the idea of marriage, she felt that if she had, she would’ve preferred that her husband be in his first marriage as she would be in hers. If she married Angus, would she live under the shadow of his first wife? Would she be as good, or as bad? He had said comparisons were tasteless, but did that simply mean she could not compare on any level to his first wife? Or am I being paranoid?
Siobhan sighed. “What am I going to do, Jax?”
“The first thing is, don’t make any impulsive decisions. He appears…ruthless.”
“I’m not afraid. I can hold my own with him.”
A laugh escaped Jaxon as he imagined his small sister boxing with the big Angus. His blue eyes danced merrily. “Okay, you just convinced me he won’t rip you to shreds and have you for dinner.”
“Damn right he won’t,” Siobhan muttered. “If he even tries, he won’t ever father another child.” But it would be a pity to damage such a manly instrument of delight.
“Well, that will be one less thing to worry about then. Won’t it?”
Siobhan shot him an irritated look.
“Unless you want a bunch of little ruthless royals running around under your feet,” he teased with a smirk.
Siobhan barely registered his comment as her breakfast betrayed her.
“Ugh…I’m going to be sick,” she groaned, clutching her stomach and moving away from the table.
“Aw, come on, I was just teasing. You’ll figure this out before you’re relegated to royal broodmare.”
“No, I mean, I’m really going to…”
She never finished her sentence, stumbling out of the kitchen, directly to the bathroom.
And Jaxon, after witnessing her distress, never finished his breakfast.
12:30 p.m.
Angus knocked on Siobhan’s door determined to remain calm and agreeable.
She answered the expected knock at the door prepared for battle.
“I know I’m here early…” No fights. And formality might help keep emotions in their own places. He stopped and cleared his throat. “Miss Faulkner, thank you for seeing me. I apologize for yesterday. My behavior was unbecoming. I hope you’ll forgive me and allow us to start fresh.”
She opened her mouth to answer, but when Angus bowed his head at her, as if she was a national dignitary or member of royalty, a stunned laugh came out instead.
He laughed too, hoping she—they—were laughing at the situation, and not her at him.
“Angus,” she said, shaking her head, a mirthic smile on her face. “Are you really going to be that formal? I forgive you. There. Now, come in.”
Angus stepped through the door as though walking on eggshells, and stood uncomfortably in the center of the tiny room. The previous day seemed to play out before him, distracting him with arousal and an irritating array of emotion. He needed his mind sharp and uncluttered with yesterday’s residue if he were to convince her.
“Allow me to take you to lunch.”
“What, like a date?” Her eyebrows arched in surprise.
“Precisely,” he was relieved at the opening she gave him. “Our first real date. It’s past time we had one.”
She considered for a brief moment, then glanced down at her comfortable, casual attire. “Where to?”
“Dress up,” he answered with a small smile.
“Wait outside, then,” she shooed him out. “Or we’ll never get out of here.”
A wise woman. Angus stepped outside. He knew if he had been inside when she disrobed, the entire day would have been derailed. His imagination played the scenario out for him, keeping him properly entertained until she appeared at the door.
His heart performed that strange somersault again. She wasn’t pretty in the classic style and her clothes, clutch, and the cap draped over her arm were not designer made, but she was as bright and vivid as a sunrise.
The thick mane of lustrous raven hair was caught up in a loose knot that made his fingers itch to undo it. And she had chosen a dim-orange column-like wool dress, with a fitted bodice and long sleeves, paired with brown pumps. The dress clung to her tantalizing curves, softly caressing her skin, highlighting her full breasts and the way her narrow waist flared to shapely hips.
“Shall we go?” she pulled the door closed behind her.
He didn’t say a word, just kept staring at her.
How in God’s name can a mere look from him make me feel as if he’s peeling my clothes off slowly and deliciously? She ran a hand over her stomach, smoothing an inexistent crease. “What do you think?”
I almost come just from looking at you. I need to lick every inch of your flesh. I want to pin you down and suck on you—for hours. Laying his palms against the door beside her head, trapping her, he finally bit out, “You’re exquisite.”
Her gaze darted to him.
He leaned his head down to her neck, drawing deep of her scent, letting her feel him exhale. Gods, she smells so inconceivably right. He couldn’t stop himself from nuzzling her neck. It made her shiver, so he did it again. Then he ran his lips beside her ear, rasping, “Impossibly exquisite.”
His voice, already a baritone rumble, had grown even deeper, raspier.
“Angus…the restaurant?”
He straightened. “Right…the restaurant.”
He offered her his arm and they walked in silence to where his black Jaguar and driver awaited, both aware of the sexual undercurrent thrumming between them.
He gave his driver the name of the restaurant as Siobhan entered the car. He slid in next to her and ached to touch her, but forced himself to focus.
“This restaurant is famous for their steaks,” Angus said, to fill the silence.
Siobhan paled slightly.
“You aren’t a vegetarian, are you?” he realized he didn’t know.
“No, not at all,” Siobhan quickly reassured him. “I just…It’s just certain foods have been making me feel queasy lately.”
“Are you ill?” Angus glanced to her belly.
Siobhan smiled wryly. “No more than any other expectant mother.”
Angus frowned, still concerned. She changed the subject, as they passed the high school which she had attended.
Ah geez. Four years ago, she was in high school civics class, while I was running a bank and a kingdom.
12
Heliot Steak House
It was both one of the most illustrious restaurants in London, and one of Angus’s favorites. He
checked her reaction, hoping she’d like it, when they entered and was pleased when her eyes widened slightly at the luxurious, intimate atmosphere.
“No wine for the lady. She’ll have plain water,” Angus told the waiter after they’d been seated.
Annoyed by his patronizing authoritarianism, Siobhan informed the waiter that she would have a sparkling water with a slice of lime.
“You and Jaxon…are you…more than friends?”
Alerted by the tough edge to his tone, Siobhan lifted her head from the menu she was studying. “Why do you think that?”
His golden eyes were hard as granite. “You’re obviously on very familiar terms with him. How does he fit into your life?”
“He’s my best friend,” Siobhan replied. “He owns the house and he’s also…my foster brother.”
Angus had never had much faith in platonic male and female friendships and his conviction that Jaxon had a more personal interest in Siobhan was not dispelled by that explanation. “He behaved more like a man guarding his turf and warning off the competition—like a boyfriend.”
Uneasy color warmed her cheeks. It bothered her Angus had only to meet Jaxon once to immediately question the caliber of their friendship. Is he the paranoid jealous type?
“Jaxon is very fond of me,” she said defensively, ‘but there’s never been anything else between us. We’ve known each other since his family took me in.”
“I thought you were adopted,” Angus countered.
“Not for very long. I was too old—there weren’t many takers. An older couple who already had a son took me because they wanted a daughter. The man died of a heart attack six months after I moved in,” Siobhan explained ruefully. “The woman got very depressed and decided she had enough to handle without taking on an extra child. I was back in foster care by the end of the year.”
Angus could only think of his own privileged childhood. Long, lonely stretches at one of the most privileged boarding schools in London had contrasted with an excess of luxury and attention during the holidays, when he was the most important little person in the household—at least to the staff.
“That must have been hard on you,” he remarked.
Siobhan lifted and dropped a thin shoulder. “I survived. I’m quite strong, Angus. I don’t think you see that in me.”
Her cloaked appraisal, however, set his even white teeth on edge and made him commence their meal with a leading question.
“Don’t I?” he traded drily. “I find you very argumentative.”
She opened her mouth to retort, then sat back with a twist of her lips.
“Clever,” she said. “Winning by default. I can’t very well argue the point now, can I?”
He smirked at her in a way that made her quiver. She cleared her throat and took a sip, forcing her mind to come away from the tantalizing imagery awakening in her mind.
“What about your parents? You mentioned leaving home for London at a tender age. What was that about?”
He downed a large drink of wine, then glanced toward her. “The usual. Strict discipline. My mother had to accompany my father to social meetings and after he died, she thought it would be best if I were in a boarding school.”
“That,” she said, “was not an answer.”
“Yes, it was. You asked a question. I replied. With words and everything.”
She gave him a disbelieving look.
“I gave you details. Ages, events…feelings.”
“Feelings? Whose feelings? Your mother thought…your father did…what about you? How did little baby Angus feel about being shipped off like some juvenile delinquent?” She struggled to control her frustration with his utterly proper, icy-cold public demeanor, but every emotion seemed to be amplified.
“It’s a boring story, truly.”
Siobhan scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I doubt that,” she retorted hotly. “In fact, I would bet your parents’ betrayal was the only exciting part of your entire stuffed-shirt, stifled, sheltered little life.”
At that inopportune moment the waiter appeared to refill Angus’s glass. His eyes glinted dangerously at her as the waiter poured. Tension crackled between them, and even the waiter could feel it. He disappeared quickly.
When they were alone again, Angus gritted his teeth and leaned across the table, speaking in a sharp undertone. “You seem to be under the false impression your common hardships make you some kind of authority on pain.”
With a scornful shift of her head, she snapped, the last hints of their forced politeness evaporating, “Common hardships! Please, oh all-knowing one, tell me just which of my hardships were common. Actually, don’t bother. I know what I went through, and I know what I survived. More than you could, I’d wager! In my experience, men walk the other way when things get difficult.”
“Not me.” His strong jaw line hardened while his eyes lit on her like burning flames. “Your problem is that you’re prejudiced against the wealthy.”
“That is absolutely not true!” Siobhan protested, staring back at him in as frozen a manner as she could contrive while desperate to get the dialogue back on track.
“Isn’t it? Why else would you refuse to marry me? You have every reason to do it, and no reason not to. Unless you hate the rich, and therefore don’t wish to become one of them,” Angus drawled, smooth as silk, thick lashes low over his acute gaze.
How could he say that? She was taken aback by the sizzling strength of her annoyance. Vibrating with excessive and unnervingly raw emotion, Siobhan pushed away from the table and stood, searching for the fastest escape route. She didn’t need this, not from Angus, not from anyone.
She took one step before he snatched her wrist in his powerful grip.
“Sit,” Angus bit out, with a freezing glance that chilled her fury with the efficiency of a bucket of ice. “I don’t stage rows in public places.”
“I really could throw something at you at this moment,” Siobhan hissed in a shaken undertone.
“Don’t try that either,” Angus warned her.
The first course was served to the silent, seething pair. Angus chewed his food with deliberate control as he studied her petulantly picking at her fruit. At first, he decided he would let her pout, but her silence was really getting on his nerves.
Angus studied her slender figure. There wasn’t much of her to study and concern assailed him; she didn’t seem strong enough to survive many missed meals. “Is the food not to your liking?”
“Sorry, I’m really not hungry,” she muttered, pushing her untouched plate away, trying to get away from the delicious smell that would surely make her sick.
Christ! She’s a rough diamond in the manners department. He sighed and pushed her plate back to the place it was before. “You don’t push your plate away to signal that you’re finished. It suffices to cross your silverware.”
Her nausea passed like lightning. “You can cross your silverware when you’re finished. I push my plate away.”
“See?” he said, smugly.
“See what?” she demanded.
“You’re acting like a poor snob.”
“That’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing. You’re so bossy and patronizing, it’s intolerable. I don’t know whether I’m back at school or in prison because you never stop telling me what to do and how things will be,” she complained.
“You should speak up,” he said.
“Declared the man who has already called me argumentative.”
“I have a naturally authoritative streak.”
Her chin rose a notch. “I’m naturally defiant.”
Angus waved for the waiter to take their plates away and instructed him to bring the next one.
Then he dealt Siobhan a measuring look. “Then we will clash.”
They remained in silence until the next course arrived. The second her nose caught the scrumptious aroma, Siobhan paled.
“Excuse me,” she barely managed to say before she fled to the bathroom.
Ang
us took the hint and asked the stunned waiter for the bill.
The minutes ticked past. Eventually he asked one of the female serving staff to check if Siobhan was all right.
Soon afterwards she reappeared, looking pale as a wraith with shadows lying like faint purple bruises below her eyes.
Angus suggested that they leave. She protested that he hadn’t eaten. He said he wasn’t hungry either.
And it was true.
His appetite had vanished. He felt like the condemned man at his last supper and even that final meal had been denied him.
With a supportive arm banded to her slight figure, he escorted her out of the restaurant.
“I’m taking you to see a doctor,” Angus announced, as soon as his driver closed the door after him.
“It’s just morning sickness—”
“It’s half past two in the afternoon,” he objected.
“Well, apparently it works like that with some people. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong. I just have to put up with it,” she replied. “My next appointment is in a month.”
“You will see a doctor before then,” he said firmly and crossed his arms over his chest, signaling the end of the conversation.
Siobhan wanted to ask him what he meant, but a lurch in her belly warned her not to open her mouth. How can he be so concerned about my well-being, yet so emotionless at the same time?
They rode in silence as his eyes smoldered pensively, taking in her every breath and expression. It wasn’t long before her head began to fall in slumber and he pulled her into his arms, where she gladly went.
He let his mind roll forward through the years, through the inglorious, notorious events of his life. Through all the loneliness.
Even his characteristic formality and quietness was driven by a sense of incompleteness—a void that had become part of his being.