“But I need improvement?”
“I think you have the potential to become a great ruler. As long as you follow your heart as well as your head.” She punctuates the statement with a kiss on my chin.
The mattress dips as she shifts to lie on top of me. My senses whirl. The scent of her shampoo. The lingering odor of bonfire smoke. The silky glide of her hair over my hair chest. It’s almost too much, yet I crave more. She sits up and tugs her dress over her head, tosses it aside. Her kisses continue, raining over my face and neck. I’m too drunk to protest. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. It feels too damn good. I grab her bottom with both hands.
“What am I going to do with you, Everly Von Stratton?” The touch of her mouth is pure heaven. When her lips find mine, I accept the kiss with the eagerness of a starving man at a buffet. The texture of her tongue slides against mine. She tastes like ale and salt, and it’s the best thing to ever happen to me.
I feel her hands slide between us to tug aside the cotton panel of her panties. My cock slides through her folds. Her kiss teases me. I thrust both hands into her hair, pulling her closer, desperate for more. She rocks her hips against my pelvis. My dick slips inside her tight opening. Our moans echo through the quiet, interrupted only by an occasional pop or crack from the fireplace.
I forget the rules of our relationship. I forget about the ban on kisses, our lessons, my desire to keep her at an emotional distance, and—most of all, I forget to protect my heart.
23
Everly
In the morning, a heavy weight presses my body into the mattress. Henry’s arm holds my waist, spooning me. One of his muscular thighs clamps down over my legs, pinning me in place. Sweat trickles between my breasts from the heat emanating off his body. A sliver of sunlight escapes between the slats of the closed shutters to stab me in the eyes. I blink and groan, conscious of the throbbing between my temples. I need something to drink. Right away. Before I evaporate into a speck of dust.
I ease Henry’s arm from my waist and wriggle from the vice of his legs. He groans and reaches for me.
“Not so fast.” He drags me back against his chest. The beat of his heart thumps between my shoulder blades.
“Aren’t you thirsty? I need water.”
“Just lie here for a minute.”
The request catches me off guard. Usually, he’s up before me or sprints from the bed at the first rays of dawn. I force myself to relax and enjoy the steady rise and fall of his rib cage and the brush of his chest against my back.
After a few minutes, he throws aside the sheet and pads barefoot to a panel in the wall. With a press of his hand, a secret door swings open to reveal a minibar and fridge. He withdraws two bottles of spring water and brings them back to the bed along with pain reliever. We’re silent as we wash the caplets down. It’s a comfortable silence. Under different circumstances, if we were different people, this might seem like an everyday scene between an average married couple. However, I know better than to read emotions into his actions. He sits on the edge of the bed, wiggling his toes on the sheepskin rug before speaking. “What would you like to do today?”
This has to be a trick. No one has asked me what I want since I arrived. When I don’t answer, he shrugs. “Very well. Get up. Get dressed. I had Olga pack an outfit for you.”
“Where are we going?” I press a hand to my throbbing forehead. It’s difficult to think with a mouthful of sawdust and spiderwebs in my brain.
“I’m getting in the shower. I expect to see you outside in thirty minutes. Breakfast is in the kitchen.” Without a backward glance, he saunters naked to the bathroom, his mouthwatering ass on glorious display.
Clothing has been laid out in the second bathroom. Underwear, a pair of brown riding breeches, tall boots, and a white blouse. Either Olga has lost her wits, or Henry has something up his sleeve. The past few weeks have taught me never to underestimate him. Today is no exception.
After a brief shower and a blueberry muffin, I pull myself together. Outside, large, fluffy clouds float in a pale blue sky. I expect to find a car waiting in the driveway. Instead, there’s a golf cart. Henry sits in the driver’s seat. A pair of dark aviators hide his eyes. Stubble covers his unshaven face. He waves a hand to me. “You’re late.”
“Deal with it,” I reply, loving the way one corner of his mouth curls in amusement.
The moment my butt hits the seat, he slams the accelerator to the floor, launching us forward and forcing me to grab the nearest handle. His boyish laughter makes me smile despite a lingering headache.
We zoom down the curving driveway, wind whipping my hair across my face. The aspirin kicks in, and I forget the pain behind my eyes. Birds twitter in song. Flowers bloom everywhere, spilling their petals onto jewel green grass. Henry drives too fast. There’s something heart-stopping and real about his smile as we crest a hill and catch air. I shriek then laugh, feeling lighter and freer than I have since my arrival. This is good, I keep telling myself. Enjoy.
After fifteen minutes of breathless travel, we arrive at the royal stables. The tires of the golf cart crunch over the gravel surface of the courtyard. Some of the stable doors are open at the top, exposing the sleek heads of the occupants. A tingle of excitement surges through me. I haven’t ridden in years. As a teenager, it was something I loved to do. As an adult, there was never enough time or money. Henry hops out of the cart and rushes to my side, offering his hand to help me out. He doesn’t let go as we cross the courtyard.
A host of smells takes me back to the days of my youth when I spent every day with my horse. Fresh hay, clean sawdust, polished leather. I draw in a lungful, savoring the familiarity in my new world. We move from horse to horse. The animals whicker and snort, eager for Henry’s attention. He knows the history and breeding of each one. At last, we halt at the door to an elegant chestnut Thoroughbred. Henry offers him a peppermint from his pocket on a flattened palm. The gelding picks up the candy with delicate, velvety lips.
“This is Excalibur.” Henry ruffles the horse’s forelock. “He was born and bred here. He’s quite special. His father was a world class show jumper. His mother won a handful of dressage titles during her career. He was destined for the show ring, but he never really cared for it. I can’t bear to part with him, so he’s retired at the ripe old age of seven.” The affection in Henry’s touch stirs feelings of respect inside me.
“What a gorgeous boy,” I say, running a hand over Excalibur’s glossy coat.
“He’s yours,” Henry says. “If you want him. Or you can choose another, if he’s not to your satisfaction.”
The teenage girl inside me awakens and rejoices. Although I had beautiful horses when I was a kid, I assumed my days of equine pleasures were over. “Really? Are you sure?” The gesture stirs gratitude for his generosity. He doesn’t owe me anything, yet he continues to shower me with lavish gifts. If he intends to boot me from the palace once my father is captured, he isn’t acting like it. Under different circumstances, I’d be flattered instead of confused.
“Absolutely.” He smiles down at me. I can sense his sincerity.
“Thank you.” Excalibur bobs his head as I lift on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Henry’s lips. Now that we’ve broken the kissing barrier, I intend to take advantage of every opportunity to plant my lips on his. Color deepens the tan on his cheeks. His embarrassment endears him to me more than ever. I wait for him to yell or lecture me on keeping our relationship impersonal. Instead, he places a hand on each of my hips, tugs my body against his, and presses his mouth to mine. My heart races. Our tongues tangle. After a long and thorough kiss, he draws back.
“You’re making me break all my rules,” he says, staring down at me. The hue of his irises intensifies from aquamarine to blazing blue.
“Rules are made to be broken.”
“Not my rules.” His hands leave my hips. He slaps the left cheek of my butt, making me jump. His smile is menacing and delicious. “Don’t think you’ll go unpunished for this.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” I’ve never meant anything more in my life.
The groom saddles up our horses, and we head off toward the distant mountains. Excaliber is an excellent ride. He responds to each shift of my weight with calm efficiency. Henry rides a spirited gray stallion. Snug white breeches showcase his muscular thighs and the bite-worthy ass I’ve come to cherish. We ride in silence. He pauses occasionally to point out places of interest—the rock where he skinned his knee as a boy, the stream where he swam naked, and various historical markers like the ruins of an eleventh century chapel.
“This is nice.” I say to him as we let the horses drink from the river. “Thank you for bringing me out here.”
“I thought you might enjoy it.” He threads his gloved fingers through mine and leads me toward the nearby grove of trees. “I’ve neglected you, and I mean to make up for it.” The shadows of the ruined chapel offer cool refuge from the hot sun. Someone has arrived before us to prepare a picnic. A blanket is spread over the grass and a cooler is filled with sandwiches for us.
“You planned this?” His kindness adds to my confusion. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was romancing me. “When did you have time?”
He shrugs. “Last night. Nicky suggested I up my game, or he’ll take you back.”
I choke on a bite of my sandwich. “Like that would ever happen.” I snort at the audacity of such a comment. “What is Nicky up to now?”
“He’ll be here in a few days. Roman has found your father. I was going to wait to discuss the situation with you.” He bites into his lower lip as if halting the flow of words before he says too much. “I don’t want to ruin our day.”
I raise a hand. “Hang on. You know where Dad is?” Blood rushes into my ears. Does that mean the threats are over? Am I free? I had no idea how much Father’s threats had bothered me until now.
“Nicky has connections in surprising places. He’s willing to brush elbows with unsavory characters to end Don’s reign of terror. He’s been working to find him, and he has. Now we just need to decide what to do with him.”
I drop the sandwich, my appetite waning, and contemplate the implications of his statement. “You’re going to turn him over to the authorities, right?”
“You’ll learn, Everly, that I’m a man of my word. I vowed to protect you, and I will.” He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts my face up to his. “I may be many terrible things, but a liar is not one of them.” The pad of his thumb sweeps over the fullness of my bottom lip, sending a pulse of arousal between my legs. My mouth goes dry from the chemistry that erupts whenever we’re together. “If we turn your father over to the police, he might be acquitted of his crimes. We have no idea how many politicians and judges he has in his pocket. The only way to stop him is to—stop him.”
“No. You can’t.” I grab his hand and squeeze until he grunts. “If you kill him, you’re no better than he is. There has to be a way around this.” I might hate my father, but I could never be responsible for the loss of his life.
“Are you sure about that?” His eyes lock onto my mouth. “You have something here.” He bends forward and kisses the corner of my mouth. A shiver of excitement races through my body. He rolls his lips together, like he’s tasting me. The gesture heats my blood.
“Do what you must to protect the country.” Although the thought makes my stomach turn, I understand Henry’s predicament. He has to shield his nation from harm. “I trust you.”
“Really?” He lets go of my chin and leans back, shaking his head. I nod. A heavy sigh gusts from his lips. He swipes a hand across his face. “I find myself in an unusual predicament. And I have no idea how to handle it.”
The spark of desire in his eyes makes my heart beat faster. “And what is that?”
“Part of me wants to take you to my bed and fuck the living daylights out of you. The rest of me is screaming to run. When we’re in bed together, I have no words.” He rests his elbows on his uplifted knees and clasps his hands together between them. “You’re so much more than I bargained for, Everly. I thought I could get married, have a wife, and remain emotionally distant. I’m not so sure anymore. Nothing matters more to me than you. Not this country. Not the people. It’s you I want. All of you.”
His words give me hope. The moisture evaporates from my mouth. How would it feel to be the love of Henry Von Stratton’s life? What if he looked at me the way Roman Menshikov looks at Rourke? The idea appeals to me more than I want to admit. “You make it sound like having a relationship with your wife is the worst thing that could happen to a marriage.”
“You have to understand, Everly. In my world, it is.”
24
Henry
The wind rustles through the leaves and carries with it the scent of wild roses. I chose this location purposely because of pleasant memories from my childhood. Everly leans back on her hands, her hair lifting and fluttering in the breeze. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without a frown since our marriage. Knowing she’s been unhappy hurts my pride. I never intended to make her miserable. I’m not that kind of guy. I want nothing but happiness for her.
The top two buttons of her blouse are undone, exposing a triangle of smooth, fair skin. My fingers twitch with the desire to stroke it. “I have several million people to care for. My first loyalty should be to my country. I can’t be distracted from that.”
She drags her fingers through the ends of her hair. “That’s ridiculous. No one will think less of you for caring about your wife. You can be a great ruler and a caring husband. The two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Her words stir a curious feeling in my gut. The possibility of a real relationship sends my hopes soaring. “Do you think you could ever care for me, Everly?” My heart races. I’ve never put myself out there for a woman before. “Theoretically speaking?”
“It’s too late.” She traces the pattern of the blanket with a fingertip. Every passing second is torture to my ego. I brace myself for rejection. Her blue eyes lift to mine. “I’m already in love with you, Henry.”
* * *
EVERLY
* * *
Life eases into a comforting routine. Each morning, I look forward to breakfast conversation with Henry. Over eggs and toast, we discuss national healthcare and the current political climate. At night, I lie awake in bed, wondering if he loves me back. I know it wasn’t part of our bargain, but I want those words from him. His lack of response cements my suspicions. This is a business partnership and nothing more to him. My heart is in danger of another devastating wound—one I’ll never recover from.
He works long hours, rising before me and coming back to our apartment long after the rest of the palace has retired for the night. Lines of strain ghost his eyes and mouth. Ruling a kingdom must be more stressful than either of us imagined. I can’t help worrying about him.
At the end of the first week following the coronation, he doesn’t show up for dinner. I find Shasta’s number in my contact list and send her a direct text. Have you seen my husband? Her reply pops up immediately. I excuse myself from the table. It’s only Princess Marie and a handful of her vapid friends. My absence won’t be noticed. In the kitchen, I have the chef prepare a plate for Henry.
I knock on the door of Napoleon’s Drawing Room. According to my studies of palace history, the Frenchman had been a frequent guest prior to his infamous exploits. This room had been his favorite. Once the doors open, I understand why. The mullioned windows offer a panoramic view of the mountains and the garden terrace. Tiny wisps of fog hover above the grass. Henry sits at a secretary desk, the tip of an ink pen between his lips, staring pensively at the evening sky. His suit coat is draped over the back of a chair, his necktie hanging loosely around his neck.
“May I come in?” I hover at the threshold, feeling shy. Is it my imagination or did I see a flicker of pleasure in his eyes at my appearance?
“Yes. Of course.” He closes the lid of his laptop
and drops the pen onto the desk. An aura of tension clings to his broad shoulders. “What can I do for you?”
“You missed dinner again.”
“Did I? I’ve been too busy to notice.”
“I had the chef prepare a plate for you.” I motion for the footman to wheel in the cart topped with silver chafing dishes.
“I don’t have time, Everly.” Weary impatience flickers across his face.
For a split second, I reconsider my visit. Then I see the way his fingers rub his temple, like he’s got a headache. He has no one to protect him for overwork and stress. The realization shores up my courage. I ignore his denial with a sunny smile. “We can discuss it while you eat. You need to take better care of yourself.” His eyebrows lift. I ignore him and go about the business of caring for my king.
25
Henry
Everly’s hands shake as she sets aside my laptop, places a plate on the desk, and arranges the silverware. Her willful refusal to bow to my whims amuses me, despite my bad temper. She’s still nervous around me, a fact I despise. I was sincere about my desire to improve our relationship, but royal duties, and the chase for her father consume all my time. He’s holed up in an Italian villa, enjoying the Amalfi coast, while we brace for his next attack.
Steam rolls from beneath the lid as she lifts the cover of a chafing dish. “Tonight, we have trout almandine—a favorite of His Majesty, I’m told—along with capers, grilled asparagus, and roasted new potatoes with a delightful sauce whose name I can’t remember.”
The aromas waft through the room. My stomach growls. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of my laptop. I’ve been on video chats with Roman since midday. Nicky is in Positano with a team of Roman’s best men, ready to put an end to this madness the second Don McElroy pokes his head out of his hiding place.
The Rebel Queen Page 17
