The Controversial Princess, Page 32

  “Oh, not at all.” I wave her observation off, and my phone starts ringing from my bag. When Matilda’s name glows at me, I smile to myself, holding up my mobile so Mother can see. “It’s Matilda. Please, excuse me.” I’m up and out of there quickly, answering as soon as I am far enough away not to be heard. “Perfect timing,” I say in greeting, crossing the huge landing.

  “It’s you, isn’t it? In those pictures spattered in every newspaper.”

  “It’s me,” I confirm quietly.

  “Christ, Adeline. Do you have a death wish? Where are you?”

  “At Claringdon.”

  “Whatever for? Oh my, does the King know?”

  “Not just yet. But enough about me for now.” I make it to the window at the far end of the landing and gaze out onto the grounds, seeing a dozen gardeners preening the perfect flowerbeds. “Tell me what happened with the Argentine.”

  Her soft giggle fills me with all kinds of hope. “We’re going to have dinner.”

  “Oh gosh.” My grin is epic. “And your parents, they approve?”

  “Why, of course. He descends from Spanish royalty, don’t you know?”

  “Oh, I know.” The intermingling of royal families throughout Europe upsets me greatly. “So do I need to buy a hat?”

  Matilda laughs, loud and high, though I sense nerves, too. “Hold your horses, dear cousin.”

  “I’m very excited for you.”

  “Me too,” she practically squeals. “But I am terrified I’m going to make a complete hash of our date. I get so nervous around him.”

  “Just be cool. Almost aloof. Make him work hard for your affection.” I’m a hypocrite of the worst kind. I dropped to my knees for Josh Jameson in a heartbeat. Not too cool at all. Although I wasn’t wanting his affection then. Just his palm on my flesh. My, how things have changed. I smile to myself, warming up inside. “I have to go,” I say, glancing around the landing, my eyes homing in on the huge double doors that mark the entrance to the King’s office. “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay.” Matilda hangs up, and I chew the corner of my mobile, weighing up the chances of being reprimanded for visiting my father’s office without an escort or invitation. Is Josh in there? Are they smoking cigars while discussing the plan for their hunting trip? Or is Josh dead already? That thought alone kicks my feet into action, and I head toward my father’s private office. I’ll think of an excuse for being here. Something believable. Something that won’t have the King suspicious. I still don’t know what that excuse is as I lift my hand to rap the door, and I don’t get a chance to debate it further. His loud voice is easily heard through the door, stalling my balled fist midway through the air.

  “I don’t care how you do it, just get rid of those letters.” The King sounds furious, and I immediately feel terribly sorry for the person in the line of fire. Davenport, no doubt. I’m also wondering with annoying curiosity what letters he is speaking of, my frown deep. “This is unacceptable,” my father goes on. “There will be grave consequences should they make it into the cold light of day, I assure you. The Queen Consort will not be thankful. It’s been over thirty years. It’s history. And while we’re discussing problems, get rid of that blasted banker before I do it myself.”

  My breath hitches, my steps reversing. Oh, darn. I realize his tirade isn’t solely surrounding me, but that last demand has me rethinking my bright idea of a surprise visit. It also confirms that Josh isn’t puffing on cigars with him.

  “Eavesdropping again, Your Highness?”

  I swing around and come chest to chest with Davenport, though he doesn’t move away, his stern face glaring at me. “I was doing no such thing,” I argue, all in a fluster.

  His eyes are tired as he reaches past me, gently knocking the door before entering. My father slams down the phone and Davenport frowns, taking in the angry vibes bouncing around the grand office. “Your Majesty?” he questions tentatively.

  My father shoots Davenport down with a scowl of epic proportions, and for the first time in my life, I see the King’s private secretary’s tall frame shrink somewhat. “Fine,” Father barks, sounding less than fine. I look out the corner of my eye to Davenport, who, in turn, is peeking at me. I can see it in his stony eyes. He’s wondering what I heard. He’s wondering who my father was talking to and what was said on the phone. He can wonder.

  “Must dash,” I squeak, leaving behind the unbearable awkwardness, glancing over my shoulder as I go.

  “The hunting party awaits, sir,” Davenport says to the King. His many years of service forbids him from entering without the required invitation.

  “I will be down soon.”

  “Sir.” Davenport closes the door, and I return my attention forward, picking up my pace before the major can stop me and wring me for information.

  As I’m taking the stairs, I see David Sampson being escorted up them, his body clad in attire suitable only for a hunting trip. My steps falter, surprised to see him. “David, you’re back.” I kick myself as soon as I have voiced my thoughts.

  “Your Highness.” He comes to a stop beside me on the stairs, his smile wide. “A few days’ getaway was just what I needed.”

  “That’s what I told Haydon,” I say on a smile. “It must have been a terrible shock, losing your father.”

  His hands slip into the pockets of his brown trousers, his eyes definitely glazed. “A terrible shock.”

  “How is Sabina?”

  “Okay. The funeral is expected to be held late next week.”

  “Of course, I’ll be there to pay my respects.”

  “Very kind of you, ma’am. I know Haydon will appreciate the support.”

  I hide my flinch and nod my head mildly, looking past him when Davenport appears at the top of the stairs. This flinch, I cannot hide.

  “Ah, Davenport, how wonderful to see you, old chap,” David gushes, starting back up the stairs. “Will you be joining us this morning?”

  Davenport’s expression doesn’t change from the usual straight-faced one. “I will be accompanying the King, yes.”

  “Very good.” David gives him a firm slap on the shoulder, jolting the major’s usually steady frame. Although his expression doesn’t crack. “The King is in his office?”

  “He doesn’t wish to be disturbed,” Davenport says flatly, his eyes casting over to me questioning.

  I quickly glance away, avoiding his curious stare like the plague. But in avoiding Davenport, I find Sir Don. Oh God, they’re all out in force today.

  “Ah, Sir Don,” David says. “Alfred doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “Your Highness,” Sir Don grunts as he passes, being polite and rude all at once.

  “I suggest we wait for His Majesty at the paddocks,” Davenport calls to his back. “The Land Rovers are ready along with the other members of the party.”

  “The King wishes to see me.” Sir Don doesn’t look back, and I cast a look to Davenport, who looks equally surprised. If the King summons someone, it is Davenport who delivers the summons. But not now. Was it Sir Don on the end of my father’s tirade? “Sampson, you as well,” Sir Don barks, getting David’s feet moving quickly.

  David’s smile is wide, almost over exaggerated. He looks way too happy for a man who recently lost his father. And why isn’t Davenport going? What’s going on?

  I don’t ponder my questions for too long. “Enjoy your day,” I say, departing quickly. I don’t want to think about why they’ve been summoned.

  The paddocks. Everyone is waiting at the paddocks. I hurry my steps, hoping to make it there before Davenport, even if only to say a quick hello to Josh. And maybe to tell him how sorry I am that he has to spend all day with my father and his army. And not just my father, but my angry father.

  I take a shortcut and scurry down the pathway at the rear of the estate, passing gardener after gardener, all armed with tiny clippers, primping the perfect box plants that do not need primping.

  When I make it to the paddocks, I
hear roars of laughter. I spot Senator Jameson, but not Josh. I text him to ask where he is. Perhaps he’s jumped ship, deciding that no woman is worth enduring this hardship for. Then I get his response and cast that thought aside.

  Putting on my bulletproof vest.

  I roll my eyes, but seriously wonder if that is a sensible idea.

  I’m at the paddocks and you are not here.

  I’m taking a leak.

  I laugh to myself, my fingers working fast across the screen of my phone.

  Nice. Which loo are you in?

  His reply is quick.

  Loo? What the fuck is a loo?

  I snort unattractively at my phone.

  A toilet!

  Oh. Just inside the blue door off the small courtyard. I’m alone ;-)

  He’s taking a leak. He’s winking at me via text message. “So uncouth,” I say around a huge grin, heading for that blue door. I don’t get a chance to knock on the wood. The door opens, Josh seizes my wrist, and I am yanked into the bathroom on a startled yelp.

  “What took you so long?” he asks before attacking my mouth, not giving me a chance to answer him. And I’m in heaven again. Pure, blissful, beautiful heaven. His tongue is firm but slow, his hands gentle but possessive, as they grip my hair. His body hard, but melding perfectly into mine. He growls, noises that can’t be mistaken for anything less than animalistic. We are lost in each other, in the passion, in the chemistry that sizzles so wildly between us. “I’m locked and loaded in more ways than one now.” His mumbled words are delivered around his kiss, his hips rolling into my tummy. A wonderful beat drops to between my legs, my veins hot in an instant.

  “Aren’t you just?” I reach down to his groin and feel his condition, hard and ready. “We should make use of this.”

  “Like it was ever up for debate.” I’m pushed against the door, his hand creeping around the back of my knee and pulling my thigh up to his hip. My dress is around my waist in the blink of an eye, my knickers to the side soon after. My breathing becomes pants, and though I know this is so very risky, there is nothing I can do to stop it. Neither do I want to.

  “Hurry,” I demand, helping him with the fly of his trousers. My order is fueled only by my desperation for him. Always desperate. My hand gets a dash of contact with his arousal, the tip with pre-cum skimming my skin easily.

  “Fuckin’ clothes,” Josh moans, leveling up and sinking into me on one long, smooth thrust.

  My breath is gone. My mind is gone. My damn heart is gone. I swallow, my head limp, my body soft against him as my walls mold around the perfection of him. “Can it get any better?” I whisper, held tightly to his body while he breathes into my increasingly sweaty neck, holding still and firm. The feelings Josh evokes in me are mind-twisting. How alive I feel when I’m with him is beyond comprehension. It’s crazy how completely and utterly infatuated by him I am. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like I belong, most certainly not in the family. But in Josh’s arms, feeling his heartbeats merge with mine, I’m home.

  “I wouldn’t think so.” He kisses my neck, biting between each peck. “But then I do this”—he swivels his hips and grinds deeply—“and it just gets better.” Stars jump into my vision, my hands grappling at his back for support.

  A groan rumbles up from the deepest part of me, and I’m forced to push my face into his neck to muffle it. Good Lord, where’s that pink hanky of his? Meticulous strokes are backed up with expert grinds. His caressing hands are supported by sporadic firm squeezes of my flesh. He works into me at a leisurely, yet constant pace, in no rush to get me to my tipping point, which comes faster than I’d like.

  “You’re there?” he whispers, and I nod. “Me, too. Kiss me, Your Highness.”

  Those words, said by Josh, in that gravelly tone and accent, toss me over the edge, and I free-fall through my climax, moaning into his mouth, barely able to maintain our kiss.

  I just register the quickening of his tempo, going from easy, smooth strokes, to rapid, ferocious hits, before his body solidifies around me, and a broken, strained sigh pours into my mouth. Then the warmth of his seed fills me, his flesh rolling against my internal walls, as he lets the pleasure take over. The combination of our shaking forces me to grip him harder, our lips touching but not kissing. “Once again, Princess Adeline, you have bewitched the shit out of me.” Biting my bottom lip gently, he pulls back a fraction to find my face. “How do I look?”

  “Sweaty.” I smile, taking in the glorious mess of his hair. “And like you just screwed someone against a door.”

  My nose is nipped playfully. “Is it wrong that I don’t care?”

  “Probably.”

  “Well, I don’t. But I will pretend to care, if only to save my reputation with the King.”

  I scoff. “I wouldn’t waste your time.”

  “Are you kidding? When I’m done with him, he’ll be booking Westminster for our wedding and arranging my bachelor party. No one is immune to my charm.” His smirk is conceited and cocky. And gorgeous.

  “Who said anything about marriage?”

  “I’m speaking hypothetically.”

  “Your American brain is deluded.”

  “You wait and see. Ready?” He holds me by the tops of my arms as he slips out of me, both of us wincing a little. Like a gentleman, he grabs some toilet tissue and wipes me up, all the while smiling, before I work to straighten myself out as Josh fastens his zipper.

  “Anyway, deluded or not, you should know the King is not in a very good mood this morning.” Brushing my hair off my face, I continue when Josh gives me a questioning expression. “I heard him shouting on the phone. To Sir Don, I think.”

  “What about?”

  There’s only one part of the rant I heard that I am prepared to share. Josh definitely does not need to know about the banker. “Some letters he wants rid of. I don’t know, to be honest. All I know is he wasn’t very happy about it and Sir Don and David were summoned.”

  “Are you saying I have my work cut out for me?”

  I laugh, thoroughly amused. Has he not been hearing what I’ve been saying to him? “Baby, your work isn’t cut out for you. It’s impossible. Why won’t you listen to me?”

  “Because you’re a pessimist. What is it with you British? Always so reserved and negative.”

  “Excuse me?” I’m about to have my say on that little matter, by maybe pointing out that his American arse is bolshie and cocky, but a knock on the wood brings my rant to a stop before I’ve drawn breath. My eyes go like saucers—panicked, worried saucers.

  “Someone in there?” David calls, knocking the door again.

  “Yeah.” Josh looks at me, a little alarmed. “I might be a while.” He physically cringes, as do I.

  “Ah, the American. Come on, old chap. We’re ready to tally-ho.” David’s voice, all jovial, makes me frown. Why is he so bloody happy? “I’ll use the other lavatory.”

  “Tally-ho?” Josh whispers, his eye-roll spectacular. “What a jerk.”

  I snigger, covering my mouth to stifle it.

  “Did you say something, old boy?” David asks, seeming to be directly behind the wood that I’m leaning against, mere millimeters away.

  “No, no.” Josh reaches back and flushes the chain. “Just coming, old chap.” His attempt at a British accent is all the more condescending because it is utterly rubbish.

  “Righto. See you in a jiffy.”

  “Yar, yar.” Josh slaps his palm onto his forehead, exasperated, as the sounds of David’s steps fade into the distance. He gives me tired eyes. “I will win you, if only to save you from that ass-clown and his spawn.”

  “Have fun today,” I chirp, smiling sweetly. I’m eyed with sullenness. It makes me chuckle. “You’re regretting this, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all. I got to fuck you against that door. Death by gunshot is the only thing that’d make me regret today.”

  “Don’t put it past him,” I mutter, reaching forward and straightening his collar
before popping a light kiss on his parted lips. “I’ll wait until the coast is clear.”

  Josh backs out, smiling all the way, until the door comes between us and I’m alone. Nothing could wipe the smile from my face.

  AT JUST PAST FOUR, AFTER spending nearly two hours listening to the charity’s CEO tell me all about their fundraising efforts for the remainder of the year and how I can help, I leave the headquarters of Trax. Honestly, I’m exhausted when I drop into the back seat of my car. The effort it has taken to focus on the words being spoken to me instead of how Josh has got on today has been a draining challenge. Damon still hasn’t spoken to me beyond anything formal, and while I was bothered earlier, I am far too tired to care now.

  As he pulls away from the building, I rest my head on the window, thinking about having a long, hot bath and a relaxing evening. “Back to the palace, ma’am,” Damon says, though it isn’t a question. And something tells me that he’s not referring to Kellington.

  I leave my head where it is, but move my eyes to look in the rearview mirror. “Kellington Palace? Yes.”

  “No,” he replies, flat and final, prompting me to find the will to lift my head from the glass.

  “Damon?”

  “You have been summoned, ma’am.” He doesn’t even look at me, as if he’s avoiding the worry he knows I’ll feel.

  “What for? I was only there this morning.” No sooner has my question passed my lips, I start answering it myself. Oh no. Has Josh said something silly? Has he told the King? Is he alive? The stream of questions refuse to stop, and in a flat-out panic, I retrieve my phone and dial Josh. There’s no answer.

  “Who called you?” I ask Damon, moving forward so I’m wedged between the driver’s and passenger seat.

  “Davenport, ma’am.”

  That doesn’t really tell me anything. “How did he sound?”

  “Grouchy, ma’am.” His attention remains on the road, his answers consistently clipped and to the point.

  I sigh. “Damon, I realize I was stupid and I put your job in jeopardy, but—”

  “My job is of no consequence to me. Your wellbeing, however, is. You are not beyond a dressing down. I don’t care who you are. Do not do it again. Understand?”