He’s right. So easy. “Yes.”
“Why do you think that is?” he drawls, his accent enhanced.
“I have no bloody idea,” I admit, and he smiles, white and blinding, clearly relishing my confusion.
A chime of a mobile phone sounds, and Josh looks around my suite. “That’s my cell.”
“Then you had better answer it.”
“There you go again, trying to get rid of me.” He bites my nose and jumps off the bed, answering. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” Josh looks at me and pulls a face to suggest he’s cringing. “Just getting a tour of the royal”—he stalls and skates his gaze down my half-exposed naked body—“palace.” He finishes on a grin. “Awesome.” He hangs up and slips his feet into his shoes. “My driver’s waiting.” Making his way over as he feeds his belt through the loops of his jeans, he dips and kisses me more sweetly than I would have liked him to. Although, apparently, my body is absolutely fine with his affection, my arms twitching with the force it’s taking me to keep them by my side and not cradle his wide shoulders. He needs to leave so I can have a little meltdown and reflect on his claim. Reflect on the fact that I bowed to him without question or hesitance. Without hardly thinking. That is not me. I shouldn’t let it be with Josh. “It’s been a pleasure, ma’am.” He nibbles on my bottom lip. “I’ll call you.”
“How?”
He takes his phone and hands it to me. “Because you’re going to give me your number.”
Like a programmed robot, I punch my number into his phone and hand it back to him.
His smile is victorious as he lands a hard kiss on my cheek. “Sweet dreams, Princess.” He strides out while I wonder what the hell I was thinking giving him my number. Am I mad? I laugh. Yes, quite possibly. Then I ridicule myself for my stupidity, forcing myself not to take any pleasure from the vision of Josh’s solid, defined back as he leaves. I don’t admire him. I don’t analyze every detail, every feeling, every height of pleasure I just experienced.
I shouldn’t think of Josh Jameson ever again, because despite him doing everything he could to make me feel less precious, he actually made me feel more precious. Treasured. And that is dangerous territory to venture into, for no other reason than I know I cannot sustain a long relationship with Josh Jameson. He’ll be taken away from me faster than he caught my attention in the first place.
OF COURSE, MY SLEEP IS restless, and I wake too many times with a startle, echoes of our cries of pleasure and visions of our tangled bodies invading my slumber. By dawn, I am utterly exhausted, aching, and as I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror in the dressing area of my suite, I’m horrified by what I see. Bruises, welts, and red, tender skin. I’m disturbed I let him do this to me. And, worse, I loved every minute, almost goaded him, pushed him on. What on earth? Shame engulfs me. It is a misplaced emotion, and I really have no idea what I should do with it.
“Your Highness?” Kim’s voice drifts into my suite, and I urgently scan the room for something to cover my naked, marked body. Oh my goodness, I cannot let anyone see me like this.
I spot my robe lying across the back of my velvet couch and quickly snatch it up, throwing it over my shoulders. “In here.”
“As ordered, not too early.” She stops at the door and runs eyes up and down my body, settling on my wrists. “What the hell happened to you?” she screeches incredulously, pointing at my arms.
I look down and cringe when I see the angry marks, not even remotely concealed by the sleeves of my robe. Because my robe has three-quarter length sleeves. Bugger. I take my arms behind my back and scan the floor at my bare feet. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Kim marches over to me and seizes my arms from their hiding place, gasping when she gets the full visual force of the welts. “Oh my God.”
I reclaim my sore limbs and head for the bathroom, pulling my hair into a ponytail as I go. “I’ll be going to the stables.” I tell her, my curt tone making sure she dares not interrogate me further. “Please ask Damon to have the car ready in an hour.” I shut the door behind me, just catching sight of Kim’s dropped jaw.
Letting my back fall against the wood, I sigh, inspecting my wounds. Christ, I look like I’ve been brutally beaten. Not that I need to remind myself of the state of my arse, I lift my robe and turn toward the mirror over the vanity unit, staring at the lash marks across my bottom and upper thighs. They seem to be getting fiercer. Maybe riding isn’t such a good idea.
“Adeline?” Kim calls through the door. “Your phone is ringing.”
“Take a message,” I reply, flipping the shower on and letting my robe fall to my feet. I make sure the setting is cool, flinching at the mere thought of hot water on my sore skin. I hear Kim greet my caller as I walk into the shower stall, but a knock on the door stops me from reaching the spray. “Yes?”
“I believe you’ll want to take this,” Kim says, almost dryly.
“Who is it?”
“Josh Jameson.”
My eyes bug at the closed door. I gave him my number! I fumble for my robe and sling it on, yanking the door open to find Kim with high, interested eyebrows. Her red hair—as usual, pulled back—ensures every disapproving line on her face is visible. “The actor?” she hisses, thrusting my mobile at me.
I snatch it and push it into my chest to muffle what he will hear. “Yes, the actor,” I answer indignantly. “What of it?”
“Did he do that to you?” She motions a limp hand up and down my body.
“Of course not,” I snap, looking down at my phone, wondering why on earth I gave him my number. I certainly don’t want to talk to him. So in a moment of impulse, I disconnect the call.
“Who gave Mr. Jameson your number and why would he be calling you?”
I cringe on the inside. “I don’t know, probably Eddie. Mr. Jameson attended the garden party at the palace by invitation of the King. His father is an American senator. Knows my father.” My phone rings again, and my jaw clenches as I reject the call.
“So, again, why is he calling you?”
“I don’t know.” My shortness doesn’t affect Kim in the slightest.
“Do I need to call a meeting with Felix?” she asks, going into fixing mode without even knowing what needs to be fixed. Goodness, she would disintegrate with panic. I’m halfway there myself.
“No, you do not.” It’s my body that needs fixing, and Felix can’t help with that. And maybe my willpower, too. “Now, can I please take a shower in peace?”
“Sure. Jenny’s on her way up to do your hair.”
“Send her home. I’m only going to the stables, and I have no arrangements for this evening.”
“As you wish.” Kim nods in feigned obedience, her eyes constantly falling to my wrists. “I’ll see you downstairs, Princess Adeline.” She’s being sarcastic, placing emphasis on my title as if it is a joke that I am royalty. I guess it is.
“Very well.” I shut the door and look at the screen of my phone where a voicemail is waiting for me. Perhaps it’s stupid of me, but I click and raise my phone to my ear. His deep voice sinks into me like I could be a sponge, reviving every wonderful feeling I felt with him.
“Your Highness, I hope you slept well and woke feeling as satisfied as I am.” I scoff, tempted to delete his message before listening to any more. But I don’t. Of course I don’t. Damn me. Satisfied? More like really dissatisfied. I listen on. “I’m ready for round two of our game. Call me.”
He may well be ready for round two, but my body definitely isn’t. Call him? “I will do no such thing,” I say to my phone, deleting his message and holding it to my chest, thoughtful. I’m far from dissatisfied, and I’m a fool for trying to convince myself otherwise. “The brash, American idiot,” I mutter.
AFTER I’VE SHOWERED AND AM ready, I stand on the threshold of the dining room, gazing at the mess. Olive is on her hands and knees scrubbing at the antique rug, and various other household staff members are collecting up endless empty liquor bo
ttles.
“Have fun?” Felix appears across the other side of the vast room, his journal resting on his forearm, his phone on top of it. The shine of his polished Italian loafers would probably blind me if my vision wasn’t so foggy from lack of sleep.
“I sense disapproval,” I breathe, going to my bag to reject the fifth call since I got out of the shower.
“Your senses serve you well, ma’am.” He sweeps an arm around the room, as if I could have missed the condition of the stately room. “And we have bodies, too.”
I look under the table where he’s pointing, seeing three men, all in army uniforms, sprawled out on the rug, unconscious. “Oh dear,” I muse, noting one of the stray bodies is the Prince himself. I scowl at his comatose form, making a mental note of his condition to hold it against him in future if he chooses to berate me on my inappropriate behavior.
“I have some calls to make,” Felix says, strutting toward the corridor of offices. “I trust I have no clearing up to do.” He looks over his shoulder at me, eyebrows high. “No calls from editors to prep for?”
“We were on our best behavior.”
“Looks like it.” Felix sniffs, taking one more despairing glance around the dining room before he disappears toward his office.
I wander over and poke Eddie’s thigh with the toe of my riding boot. “Wake up, sleepy head.”
He groans and blinks his eyes open, frowning when he catches sight of the underside of the table floating over his face. “What happened?” he croaks, struggling to pull himself up to his elbows.
“I would take an educated guess and say that you passed out, brother dearest.”
“Wow, that was wild,” he mumbles as he sits up, smacking his head on the table on a load thwack. “Shit.”
I laugh as Eddie rubs at his head and falls back to the rug. “I’m spending the day at the stables so I’ll see you later.”
“Oh, Spearmint. I forgot about your new man.”
I smile, proud as punch. “I’m certain it’s father’s way of bribing me. Why would he finally relent to my desire to dip a toe in the racing world when it has always been strictly for the males?”
“We both know the answer to that question.” Eddie gets onto his hands and knees and crawls from beneath the table, and I’m attacked by an onslaught of flashbacks. Me. Crawling to Josh. His wicked smile. His wicked touch. “Adeline?”
I jump, immediately looking to my wrists where they’re safely concealed under the sleeves of my black roll-neck sweater. “Sorry, I was daydreaming.” I turn and make a hasty getaway before my brother can quiz me about last night.
“Wait right there, Addy,” he orders, and I stop, scowling at my escape route. I hear his army boots treading the rug. “Where did you disappear to last night?”
I paint on a smile and turn to him. “I was rather sleepy, so I retired to my suite.”
One of his hazel eyes narrows, his lips twisting in contemplation. “It’s rather uncanny that a certain American disappeared around the same time as you, isn’t it?”
“I have no idea what you are insinuating, but I am offended.”
Eddie, quite rightly, scoffs. “You are not talking to Father now, little princess.”
“I’m not talking to anyone.” I march out, relieved to see Damon waiting for me by the car. “Thank you.” I slide into the back and let him shut the door, and though I know Eddie can’t see me through the blacked-out windows, I can see him, and he looks miffed. It is all his damn fault, anyway. Had he not invited Josh Jameson to my party, I would not currently be shifting in my seat trying to get comfortable on my sore bottom, and I also would not be at war in my mind, which is running riot trying to surmise exactly what that flutter in my tummy is every time I think of Josh. I mean, really? What has gotten into me? I should be repulsed by his treatment of me. Not fantasizing about enduring his kink all over again.
“Nice evening, ma’am?” Damon asks as he pulls out of the gates of the palace.
I glance up to the rearview mirror, finding my driver’s eyes on the road, where they should be, I suppose. It doesn’t stop the blush creeping into my cheeks, though. “Wonderful, thank you, Damon.”
His eyes flick to me, a definite knowing twinkle in them. “Glad to hear it, ma’am.” He’s saying something without really saying anything.
“You love his movies?” I mimic Damon’s words to Josh last night, cocking my head in mockery. “Really, Damon?”
His big shoulders shrug under his suit jacket. “The man has talent.”
Especially in his hands. “You have no idea,” I breathe.
“Pardon, ma’am?”
“Nothing.” I settle in my seat and focus on planning my day ahead in a vain attempt to stop my mind from wandering elsewhere.
AS DAMON ROLLS TO A stop on the cobbles of the stable courtyard, I spot my mother riding in from the fields with Aunt Victoria. My father’s sister is a massive fifth in line to the throne, much to her displeasure. The woman is aloof and frosty, and speaks with three plums in her mouth as opposed to the customary one.
Damon opens the car door for me. “I assume you’ll be here for a while?”
“Yes, at least a few hours.”
“I’m to collect Prince Edward and drive him to the barracks. Shouldn’t be longer than an hour.”
“No problem. See you soon, Damon.”
“Adeline, darling,” Mother croons as Aunt Victoria nods her acknowledgment of me.
“Mother.” I smile as their stallions trot toward me.
Aunt Victoria is the first to dismount, sliding off her horse with the grace expected of the Duchess of Sussex. “Good morning, Adeline,” she says with no warmth. “Did you enjoy your birthday celebrations?”
I smile to myself, reflecting on last night when the real party began, the dancing and the disgraceful rate at which we poured alcohol into our mouths. I would love nothing more than to bring Aunt Victoria’s snootiness down a notch or ten by telling her that her precious Matilda had a fabulous time, but I would never do that to my cousin. “The garden party was wonderful,” I exclaim, with a pathetic amount of enthusiasm. My faux excitement doesn’t escape my mother’s notice, her lips straightening in displeasure. Lord Almighty, I can only imagine the family’s disgust if they saw the shenanigans of Kellington Palace last night. But I definitely cannot imagine their abhorrence if they were privy to what I got up to in the privacy of my suite with a certain tall, handsome, American actor. It is off the disgrace scales, like nothing heard of before from a royal. I grin on the inside, and then kick myself for it. Because I, too, should be repulsed. “Must dash,” I blurt, kicking my feet into action before I can let any flashbacks take hold.
“But, darling,” Mother calls. “Are you not joining us for afternoon tea?”
I cringe, running through all the things I would rather do. “I was not aware that there was an afternoon tea in the schedule,” I say, pivoting to find my mother shaking her head in dismay as she slips off her horse.
“My secretary called Kim. We’re celebrating your brother’s wonderful news with the ladies. Did she not mention it?”
It’s utterly ridiculous for my mother’s private secretary to call my private secretary. Why can’t my mother simply call me? “She didn’t.” I can think of nothing worse than enduring my sister-in-law for the afternoon, especially now she’s carrying the second in line to the throne. I would not be surprised if an army of close protection officers tail her every waking moment. And every sleeping moment, for that matter. And on top of enduring Princess Helen for an afternoon tea, every other female member of the Royal Family, too? All in one room, sipping tea and picking delicately at cute cakes and sandwiches? I would rather be whipped with a riding crop. I flinch at my stray, inappropriate thought, my eyes falling to the riding crop in my mother’s hand. And my body heats. And my heart speeds up. And a throb starts a cruel beat between my thighs. “I have made plans to spend the day here getting to know Spearmint. Sabina has kindly set some t
ime aside for me, and I really don’t want to cancel. I know she is busy, and her time is precious.”
Aunt Victoria rolls her eyes slowly and dramatically, fully intending for me to catch it. “Priorities askew as normal,” she mutters, walking her horse on to the south stable block.
I barely restrain my scowl at her back, and Mother doesn’t breathe a word in my defense. I’m not sure why I continually let it bother me that she never fights in my corner. She knows as well as I do that the women in my family, all but Matilda, see me as rebellious and insolent, just because I have not allowed myself to be marched down the aisle and handed over to a man of the King’s choosing. Because, of course, they’re all living in wedded bliss. It hacks me off. They are a bunch of frauds. The whole bloody family is an institution of frauds. “I will be sure to send my love and a gift to John and Helen,” I assure my mother, making a mental note to ask Kim to order some elaborate baby gift for my brother and his wife.
Mother sighs, and I make tracks to the north stables before I can be forced into showing my face at their afternoon tea. I send a quick text to Kim as I walk, asking her to source a gift, and then drop Matilda a quick message wishing her luck this afternoon. Her response is immediate.
You’re not coming? How do you always wriggle your way out of these things? And where did you disappear to last night?
I stall for a beat, breathing in.
I was tired. Enjoy the afternoon tea!
As I round the corner, I slip my phone into my suede tote and look up, spotting Sabina hunched against the giant trailer that stores the manure collected from the fields. I’m about to call for her, but someone appears from behind the wagon. The King. I skid to an abrupt halt and hide myself from view. Avoiding my father is at the top of my priority list, especially after our little meeting on my birthday.