The day zooms past. I meet with an accountant to discuss my new financial situation then sit through a crash course on Androvian history. My attention keeps wandering to Henry. Maybe life as his wife won’t be unbearable. Every time I think of his recent tenderness, a goofy grin plasters itself on my face. I don’t want to get my hopes up. Too many men have disappointed me. This time, though—this time might be different.
At dinner, there are more new faces around the table than the night before, more names to remember, and more frivolous conversation to be held. The hovering aristocracy reminds me of hawks circling a tasty bunny, jockeying for positions in the new king’s court. Henry’s chair remains empty, leaving me to fend for myself. Lady Clayton is also absent, bringing the guests to speculate on her whereabouts. I don’t care where she is as long as she’s nowhere near me or my husband.
After the meal, we retire to the drawing room for pointless conversation about meaningless things like money, power, and possessions. Although the topics are boring, I pay close attention to each person. Henry says the palace holds threats to our safety. Maybe I can ferret out the enemy. To make the time pass more quickly, I dig for clues behind the disguise of a pleasant smile and pretty face, hoping to uncover any harmful motives. As soon as I’m excused, I race upstairs to wait for Henry and the evening’s lesson.
When his key clicks in the lock of the apartment door, my heart almost leaps out of my chest. I slip my hands into the fur-lined restraints. Anticipation heightens my awareness. The silk sheets are soft against my skin. They smell of his cologne and shower gel. I draw in his scent and try not to squirm. With each passing second, my mouth grows drier and the ache between my legs intensifies. I can hardly wait to see what he has in store for me tonight.
His light footsteps approach, sending my pulse rate higher. He doesn’t speak. He shrugs out of his jacket, loosens his tie, and sits in the elegant chair at the end of the bed. My skin prickles under the weight of his scrutiny. I’ve never been self-conscious about my body, but insecurity races through me. He’s the king. How many women has he had in his bed? If they’re anything like Lady Clayton, they’ve been the most beautiful women in the world. I tug on the restraints, wishing I could crawl beneath the sheets.
He drags a finger over his upper lip. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“What?” Mortification sends heat rushing into my face. Changed his mind? About me? About us? A knot clenches in my belly.
“I’ve always taken the lead in our lessons, but tonight, I’m giving you control.”
I slide my hands out of the restraints and sit up, clutching a pillow to cover my nudity, feeling vulnerable. “I don’t understand.”
“Take the reins, Everly.” He enunciates each word in his haughty British accent. “Show me how persuasive you can be. Make me want you.”
This abrupt shift in direction catches me by surprise. Aside from my fling with Nicky, the majority of my past relationships have been standard fare—chaste kisses, some heavy petting, and plain vanilla intercourse. There was no planning, no playfulness. I roll my lips together, considering my options. He’s given me a challenge, and I have every intention of making the most of this opportunity.
17
Henry
From the height of Everly’s raised eyebrows, my directive has taken her by surprise. The tip of her tongue slides over those luscious lips of hers, making my dick stand at attention. It’s late and I’ve had one hell of a day, but it’s about to get better. I pause to take in the sight of her on my bed. This is going to be epic. How do I know? Because nothing else matters when I’m inside her.
“Are you up for this?” I don’t want to undo our previous lessons, but I think she’s ready for the next step, and I’m too exhausted to think straight. Since Rupert’s visit, I’ve been on the phone for hours, searching for a way to end Don McElroy’s reign of terror.
“Of course.” The soft lamp light reflects off her thick auburn hair. It’s loose, hanging down her back, almost to her waist. Now that she’s recovered from the shock of my mood change, she slides her long legs over the side of the bed and glides toward me. All of her glowing, milky white skin is bared for my pleasure, except for a garter belt, stockings, and ridiculously high heels. Although she hasn’t complied with my request for completely nudity, I’m willing to make a concession because she looks damn fine in the sheer white silk and lace combination.
“Do you like being in charge, Everly?”
“Sometimes. And sometimes I like being dominated.” She perches on the bench at the foot of the bed, crossing her legs at the knees, and trails a fingertip from her collarbone, down her sternum to her stomach, like she’s contemplating what to do next. The movement is unconsciously sexy. I swallow to ease the dryness in my throat.
“I’m surprised you’re willing to let me run the show tonight. It seems unlike you, Henry.” I love it when she says my name. Her voice is soft and smooth with just a hint of uncertainty, the most potent aphrodisiac I’ve ever known.
“I’m willing to share the power with someone who knows what she’s doing.” I’m hoping Everly is that woman. From everything I’ve seen, she’s more than capable.
“Interesting.” She rises gracefully and circles my chair, trailing her fingertips over my chest and across my shoulders. The subtle scent of her perfume lingers in her wake. When she stops in front of me and straddles my thighs, my balls tighten. She bends at the waist to whisper in my ear. “Are you hard yet, Henry?”
“Why don’t you find out?” I reach for my belt, but she stops me with a light slap to my face. My skin tingles. I groan at the rush of blood into my cock. Yes. This is what I’ve dreamed for us from the very beginning. A woman who knows how to handle my arrogance.
“Oh no. No touching. Put your hands on the arm rests. I’ll let you know when you can move.” When she cocks her head, the light catches her blue eyes. I suck in a hissing breath, mesmerized by their clarity. Just like that, I’m lost to her, a captive to her beauty. “Can you do that, Henry?”
“Your wish is my command.”
A smile bows her lips. She undresses me, one layer at a time, baring my chest, trailing her hands over my abdomen to my belt buckle. The sensations are merciless in their intensity; the brush of her smooth skin against mine, the tickle of her hair on my chest, the rush of blood in my ears. No woman has ever excited me the way she does. Then she bends to brush her lips against mine. On instinct, I turn my head. Every muscle in my body tenses. Mortification flashes through her eyes.
Fuck.
A moment of confusion passes between us. She tries to back away, snags a heel in the rug, and almost falls. I catch her by the arms, but she shakes away my hands. “Jesus. I’m sorry, Everly.”
“Don’t apologize.” The tiny smile she musters doesn’t fool me. I’ve wounded her.
This stunning, smart, wet dream in naughty lingerie wants me and I want her, so why can’t I do this one small thing? We’re married. As a husband, I have every right to her lips. I kissed her at the wedding. Pain slices through my chest. I rub my sternum with two fingers to ease the ache of guilt. Kissing implies intimacy and trust, luxuries a king can’t afford. But I don’t care about protecting my heart any longer. It’s too late. She’s perfect for me. “I owe you an explanation.”
“No, it’s okay. I get it.” She continues backing away until she’s on the opposite side of the bed.
“It’s not okay.” I rake a hand through my hair while I gather my thoughts. “Look, we agreed this is a partnership, not a relationship. Kissing was never…” My voice trails off when I realize how asinine I sound. “I thought I could…”
“Don’t explain. It doesn’t matter.” With her back to me, she slides her arms into the sleeves of a sheer robe and cinches the sash around her narrow waist. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day. I think I’ll head to bed.”
“Wait.” She’s already at the door adjoining our bedrooms when I wrap my fingers around her bicep. “Do
n’t be angry.”
“I’m not. You’ve just reminded me of my place in your world.” With her head held high, she faces me. Pride sparkles in her expressive eyes. She’s more attractive now than ever. Finally, I’ve met a woman who’s my equal. “So, let me remind you of your place. I’m your wife, Henry. Not some star-struck groupie you picked up at a pub or an adoring intern from the palace staff.” My jaw slackens. Few people have dared to speak to me this way. “Yes, I know about your past indiscretions. And I don’t care. I’m here because I need your protection. You offered me a future when I had nothing, and for that, I’m grateful. Nothing more. I’m not in love with you. I don’t even like you. And as much as I’ve enjoyed our nights together, I won’t let you treat me like a whore.”
“That was never my intention.”
“Really?” One of her slender eyebrows lifts to mock me. “Because that’s all you’ve done. And it’s my fault for letting you do it. Well, I’m done being deceived and manipulated. You wanted a queen for your country, and that’s what you’re going to get. Nothing more. Good night.” With these final words, she passes into her bedroom and closes the door behind her. The latch clicks quietly. I wince, wishing she’d slammed the door or shouted or done something—anything else. Her anger would have justified my boorish behavior. Instead, I’m left alone to ponder my many shortcomings as a husband. I frown in stunned silence at the wall separating us. I’ve just been schooled, and damn, if it’s not the sexiest turn-on ever.
My phone buzzes from the dresser. When I see the name on the caller ID, I answer. “What is it, Benson?”
His voice is fraught with concern. “Your Majesty, we’ve apprehended an armed intruder in the east garden. He says he has a message from Don McElroy.”
18
Everly
Despite our recent estrangement, my belongings are relocated to Henry’s room. Not that it matters. He doesn’t sleep there. In fact, I don’t see him at all for the rest of the week. He works through meals, leaving me to deal with the stilted formality of the royal court. Lady Clayton keeps her distance. However, I catch her watching me when she thinks I’m not looking. I can’t take the judgment any longer. The solitude of our apartment is preferable to the pretentiousness of Henry’s family.
There’s no computer, television, or radio in our apartment for entertainment. I resort to reading the books from the palace library to break the tedium. Between novels, my attention strays to my husband. Is his absence meant to punish me for speaking my mind? The idea hurts more than I expected. I know the reason why. I’m falling for him—hard. Once the door to my insecurities has opened, I can’t stop a train of negative thoughts from rushing in. He rejected my kiss. Maybe he’s tired of me. Maybe I’m a terrible kisser. Maybe he’s found someone else. I lie awake in bed until the early hours of the morning trying to unravel the complexities of his behavior.
I don’t have time for introspection. Every waking moment of my day is scheduled. I try not to dwell on the failure of my marriage. Instead, I focus on the beauty of my surroundings. Outside the windows, bright sunshine bathes manicured gardens, bringing out the jewel tones of the flowers and foliage. Horses graze in emerald green pastures. I’m lucky to have such a beautiful home.
The shift in mental attitude does wonders for my anxiety until I catch sight of Henry in the formal garden. He’s walking along the crushed gravel paths between topiaries and hedges. Sunlight glints off his blond head. Even from a distance, his regal bearing is obvious beneath the tailored lines of his navy suit. He pauses near the pink blossoms of a hydrangea bush, and that’s when I see her—Lady Clayton. She’s all smiles and flirty touches as they stroll along the pathway, pathways I’ve never set foot on. Jealousy and anger roil in my gut. I clench my hands into fists. The edges of my fingernails cut into the flesh of my palms.
That evening, I fake a headache at dinnertime and hole up in my bedroom. The bed seems small and lonely compared to Henry’s giant poster bed. Deep down, I know it’s not the bed that I miss. It’s Henry. His soft snores. The way he wraps an arm around my waist to spoon. The weight of his legs tangled with mine. I miss him.
“Everly? Are you awake?” Henry’s voice precedes a knock on the door. I don’t answer, because—screw him. He knocks a second time. “I know you’re awake.”
“Go away.” He’s the last person I want to see. In the darkness, I sit up and hug my knees to my chest.
A key rattles in the lock. Of course, he has access to my room. There’s nowhere I can go that he can’t find me. His silhouette darkens the doorway. Moonlight sharpens his features. “Someone said you have a headache. Do you need anything?”
“Yes.” I’m beyond mincing my words. “I need you to leave me alone.”
“You don’t look ill.” He stalks closer until he’s beside the bed. My hair hangs loose, spilling over my shoulders. With thumb and forefinger, he caresses one of the unruly locks. My traitorous stomach twitters with excitement. “Shall I call the doctor?”
“No. I’m fine.”
A flicker of confusion crosses his expression. “Come back to my room. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“You should go back to Lady Clayton. I’m sure she’s missing you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I saw you in the garden with her. It’s interesting that I haven’t seen you all week, but you have time for a walk with her. Have you been spending your nights in her bed, as well?” Beneath the anger, I’m hurt. I try to keep my tone apathetic, but I’m too invested to pretend
“Is that what this is about? Are you jealous?” The corners of his mouth curl upward.
“No.” But I am. The vision of her arm linked through his burns in my memory. I resent her for stealing his attention. “You said you wanted to make this marriage work. And I’m trying, Henry, but I can’t do it all by myself. If you’re absent all the time—if you’re unfaithful, we don’t have a chance.”
“You have nothing to worry about. I’ve never been unfaithful to you, and I never will be.” He chucks me under the chin, like I’m a petulant child. “I’ve been working late and didn’t want to disturb you, so I’ve been sleeping downstairs. It’s no reflection on my commitment toward our marriage. Androvia needs my attention right now. This situation won’t last forever. Turning around a country is like turning around a cruise ship. It doesn’t happen all at once.”
“I’ve never seen the gardens,” I mutter, feeling out of sorts and unable to stop myself. “I haven’t even seen the entire palace yet.”
“I’ll arrange for someone to take you tomorrow.” He stands, adjusting his suit. The shift in his position allows the moonlight to fully illuminate his face. Lines of weariness bracket his mouth, and shadows smudge beneath his eyes.
“Why can’t you take me?”
“I have work to do, Everly.”
“You can’t spare fifteen minutes for your wife, but you have time to frolic with Lady Clayton?” Anger prickles beneath my skin, itchy and hot. I rise to my knees, kneeling in front of him. “I thought you hated her.”
“Now, now.” He cups my chin, tilting my face up to his. Amusement flickers in his eyes. “This is a marriage of convenience, and we aren’t in love. Remember?”
I yank my chin from his grasp. “It’s hard to forget. Anyway, I couldn’t care less what you do or whom you do it with.” My soft words echo through the quiet. “But you need to try, Henry. I don’t care if you wake me up, just don’t ignore me.” Tears burn the backs of my eyelids. I squeeze my eyes shut to shutter my emotions from him. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, in bed and out. If I’d known it was going to be like this, I would never…” My voice fades into a choked sob. I draw in a deep breath, open my eyes, and try again. “You’re not holding up your end of the bargain.”
He’s quiet for a long time—so long, I think maybe I’ve angered him. After a minute, he brushes the backs of his knuckles along my cheek. “You’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you?
”
“Yes. And so have you.” Even though I’m furious with him, my body thrums beneath his touch, and I hate myself for it.
“Get some sleep. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
But we don’t talk in the morning or the next. Exhaustion erodes my patience. My days are filled with lessons—dinner etiquette, public speaking, safety, and foreign policy. I never enjoyed school. I abhor being told what to wear, how to talk, and when to speak. Especially when my husband has abandoned me. With each passing day, my temper climbs a notch. The constant harping on my wardrobe by palace advisors breaks my self-control.
“These rules are ridiculous,” I fume to Madame Chantelle. She’s brought endless racks of clothing for my choosing. Nothing suits my tastes. I toss aside one of the dresses, a drab khaki shell, hating the petulant tone of my voice. “Dresses below the knee. Nothing sleeveless. Necklines above the collarbone. Hats that look like wedding cakes. I refuse to wear these things.”
“Your Highness, please. We’ve been over this.” She’s a tall woman, slender and graceful, with kind gray eyes. They peer at me with sympathy. “I know you’re accustomed to more flexibility in your attire. However, all apparel must fall within the guidelines of the royal court.”
“Screw the royal court.” A collective hiss of dismay swirls through the staff. The hangers clatter on the metal rack as I rustle through the clothes, searching for something—anything—remotely attractive. “I’m too young to wear this crap.” If Christian were here, he’d have a fit.
The Rebel Queen Page 13
