The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “Wasn’t it just?” he muses, his body turning as I pass him. A quick glimpse back has our eyes meeting again, his face almost cocky.

  Bugger it. I curse myself all the way over to my mother.

  “Are you flustered, Adeline?” Matilda asks, giving me another nudge in my side as she flanks me.

  I sniff and straighten my posture. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  My pathetic question has her chuckling discreetly. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “You haven’t.” I smile brightly when Mother opens her arms to me.

  “Adeline, darling, how are you enjoying your celebrations?” Her Spanish accent is nearly lost completely now, masked by the plums that have been forced into her mouth since she agreed to marry my father. Something that hasn’t been completely masked is her love of my flair and vitality. She should love it, since I inherited it from her, but naturally, she can’t openly approve. Although I can see from her small smile that she secretly likes my choice of dress for today’s event.

  “Wonderful, Mother.” I tap each of my cheeks with hers and glance over my shoulder. Josh Jameson catches my eye again and winks. He bloody winks at me. The nerve. Who winks at a member of the Royal Family? I raise my nose and turn away from him, outraged again by his behavior. And hot. So very hot. “A new baby. So wonderful.” I collar John and Helen from a nearby group, apologizing for stealing them. “Congratulations.” I hug them both like I really mean it, because I do. They’re not my favorite people in the world, all holier-than-thou and respectfully proper, but more attention on them in the future means less on me. Hopefully.

  Helen, with her perfect lipsticked lips, smiles a fake smile, ever cold and disapproving. “Sorry for stealing the limelight on your birthday.”

  “No, you are not.” I laugh, waving off her apology. Neither John nor Helen pretend to be offended, and instead allow themselves to be pulled away by more guests, without so much as a happy birthday to me.

  “This is torture in its best form,” I say to Matilda, resting my weight on one hip and sipping my champagne with a lack of anything else to do, while Prince John and Princess Helen lap up the fervent attention and congratulations. Not that I’m slighted by the lack of well-wishes coming my way, more irritated that, as traditional in this godforsaken family, the future of the Monarchy takes precedence over everything.

  I sigh and look down at my empty crystal flute, but the glass in my light hold is removed and replaced with a full one before I can see to it myself. I lift my gaze and find Josh Jameson standing before me.

  “Miss me?” I ask cheekily, raising my glass to him, playing it cool.

  “Maybe, Your Highness.”

  “Please, not so formal.”

  “It doesn’t seem right to address you so personally, since you’re third in line to the British throne.”

  I laugh softly, and something in his blue eyes changes. There’s a hint of amber washing over the aqua, making them appear greener. I watch as Matilda wanders away to join her parents, a definite subtle shake of her head as she goes. It is a shake to suggest she is aware that I’m in a rebellious mood, and she wants no part of it. I’m always in a rebellious mood. Now that mood is being fueled by this dishy American man and the constant rush of pleasure he encourages. Josh Jameson is not a suitable man for me to date, to see, to screw, to even kiss. Which makes me want to do all those things all the more. Temptation to defy the rules is almost too much to resist.

  He’s staring at me, his striking face perfect. Here before me stands a man who has made my blood hot just by looking at me. I have to glance away for a moment and blink. “Don’t let my position in the line of succession intimidate you,” I say, braving returning my eyes to his. I bring my flute of champagne to my mouth as I maintain our stares over the rim. I sip. I swallow. Slowly.

  “Intimidate me?” he questions, interested.

  “Yes.”

  “Why would I feel intimidated?”

  “Well.” I laugh, as if he needs to ask. “My eldest brother is the Heir Apparent. My other brother, Eddie, is a backup heir to the Heir Apparent. I am a backup for the backup, but neither Eddie nor I will be required. The heir’s wife is pregnant, therefore with every baby born to my siblings, I fall further down the line of succession.” Or fall further from grace, I add to myself. Both apply. “I am really not as important as they would have everyone believe.”

  “I’m not intimidated,” Mr. Jameson says quite frankly. “Not at all.”

  His words surprise me, though I maintain my composure. Just. Never has a man had the audacity to say such things to me. Most men tiptoe around my royal status, eager to please. And never has a man had my blood pulse with excitement. I’ve had lovers, many in fact. But this man? He’s igniting something in me far too easily. I’m almost tempted to move away from the challenge. But where’s the fun in that? “I am a challenge for you,” I say, just as frankly. If he can be upfront, I don’t see why I cannot be, also.

  He smiles, accepting a glass of champagne for himself when one of the footmen offers the tray. Mr. Jameson waits for us to be alone before he levels me with a serious expression. “Don’t pretend I would represent anything more than a challenge to you, Your Highness.”

  Those words flick thrillingly up my spine again, forcing me to readjust my stance. “I don’t believe I did, Mr. Jameson.”

  His head cocks. “Interesting.”

  Mine mirrors his. “Indeed.”

  And together we smile, now both of us knowingly. This is all rather disgraceful, but this is the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.

  “So like I said,” he goes on, “we’re uncannily alike. But you’re way out of my league, Your Highness.”

  I wish he would stop addressing me so formally. It’s distracting me from keeping my stone front in place. “Says who?”

  “Everyone, I expect.” He flashes me a challenging expression. He definitely shouldn’t look at me like that. He’s goading me, and I rarely need much provoking, least of all from such a divine, handsome creature such as him. “But I’ve never been one to play by the rules,” he adds quietly.

  “Me either.”

  He grins down at me. “Off with my head.”

  “Which head?” I ask around my own smile, thoroughly enjoying our light banter.

  His grin transforms into a genuine smile, and it is out of this world. Although I’m certain he’s hiding a little shock at my brashness. Shocked is good. “So it’s true what they say?” he asks, his expression taking on an edge of intrigue.

  “What do they say?” I gaze around the grounds casually, spotting my father looking over, his tall, embellished body making him look like the sovereign he truly is. I smile and raise my glass to him, and he does the same, though considerably less smiley, and his observant gaze is passing between Josh Jameson and me. My father is looking at Mr. Jameson like he looks at all men who may be showing interest in the princess. With disapproval, and like he is mentally plotting their disappearance from my life.

  “Rumor has it that Adeline Lockhart is the unruliest royal that’s ever lived,” Josh says, winning back my attention. “And after spending just a few minutes with you, I know the rumors are true.”

  “You have absolutely no idea.” My tongue slips into my cheek of its own accord while he mulls over my suggestion. “I have two vices, Mr. Jameson.”

  “And what are they?” he asks. “No, wait. I think I know one of them.” Staring deeply into my eyes, he studies me, his lips puckering in a cute pout. “One must be hot American men.”

  “Quite,” I reply honestly and quickly, pulling a satisfied smirk from him. “So how is Hollywood?”

  “Oh, so you do know who I am?” he asks, his smile turning cocky. “My, my, Your Highness. If you’re going to feign ignorance, you need to at least keep up the act.”

  I could kick myself, but instead I roll my eyes. “Well?”

  “Tiring,” he answers candidly. My imagination spins into overdr
ive. Tiring. I bet. I’ve seen the endless women draped off his finely tuned body.

  “Because of all the women throwing themselves at your feet?”

  “Jealous?”

  I sigh. “No, more sympathetic.”

  “Why would that be?”

  “Well, you are clearly unviable for most women, with your fame, inflated ego, and good looks.”

  “Am I unviable for you?”

  I just manage to withhold my surprise at his continued straightforwardness. “I’m quite sure the King would not approve.”

  “But since I’m not one for following rules, and you, Your Highness, seem less than compliant, perhaps I could tempt you to join me for dinner while I’m in London.”

  Dinner? I want something, and it isn’t dinner. “You want to have dinner with me? Why?”

  “I think you and I will get along.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.”

  I stall for far too long, increasingly mesmerized by the conceited rogue. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m afraid I must decline.” I dig my feet in. I’m being stubborn, playing the game. Making him chase.

  “Why?”

  “Well, you see, Mr. Jameson, my private secretary keeps my diary. That diary is presented to the King on a weekly basis so he is kept abreast of my royal engagements and everything else I may or may not be doing. If I somehow manage to hide the entry in my diary that will enlighten him of my dinner plans with a renowned Hollywood actor, the journalists who shadow me will ensure he knows. And the rest of the world, for that matter.”

  His eyebrow cocks, interested. “Would it be such a bad thing if we were seen together?”

  “It would be a frightfully terrible thing, Mr. Jameson. The Princess of England cannot be seen to be cavorting with a Hollywood sex symbol.”

  “Who said anything about cavorting?”

  “I notice you have not challenged my portrayal of you.”

  “Why would I? You are one hundred percent right, and even if you weren’t, I’m not likely to tell a member of the Royal Family they’re wrong.”

  “Why me?” I ask, cutting off all the other games and getting to the point.

  “Maybe I want to violate a princess.”

  I laugh, probably a little too loudly. “I assure you, Mr. Jameson, I need no violating.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt.” His hand meets the curve of my arse over my dress, and I go tense, scanning our surroundings for watchful eyes. “But you’ve never been violated by me. So, what do you say, Your Highness?”

  His confidence does things to me that have never been done before. By any man. “Are you trying to get me into trouble, Mr. Jameson?” I need no help there. Just ask my private secretary and the head of communications at Kellington Palace. Actually, don’t ask. It’s best not to know.

  Pulling his touch from my backside, he takes my hand and kisses the back through a smile. “Most definitely.”

  I don’t know why I pout, like I could be pondering whether or not to dance to his tune. I’m going to let this man violate me, and I’m going to love every second of it. A glimpse of a picture of Josh Jameson could make my thighs tighten. Being in his presence, hearing his smooth accent, feeling him caress my bottom like it’s something to be worshipped, has me burning where I stand. I’m a princess, I mentally tell myself. Why I now feel the need to remind myself of that little matter, I haven’t the faintest idea. It is never usually an issue. But while Josh Jameson is Hollywood royalty and most women on earth would jump him at the first flash of his disarming smile, I am actual royalty. I am a royal princess and jumping a man in public would be highly frowned upon, and will definitely land me in hot water with the King. But what I do in private, away from these self-important idiots, is my own business. “I have a terrible habit of getting myself into trouble,” I tell him candidly.

  “Want to get into trouble with me?” He steps back and lightly rests his hands in his pockets, waiting for my answer, smiling an adorable, irresistible smile as he does.

  “That’s an offer one could never refuse.” I smile, too. I can only hope that it’s as enticing as his. Well, happy birthday to me. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I have a gift for you.”

  “You? Naked? With a bow covering . . .” I drop my eyes to his groin, chewing the inside of my lip. “Actually, no bow.”

  He laughs, rich and deep. “You are like nothing I’ve ever encountered before, Your Highness.”

  “Neither are you,” I admit, tingles licking up my spine.

  “Is there anywhere private around the palace?” he asks, gazing around the grounds. “So I can give you my gift.”

  “There is a maze of conifer trees at the most southern point of the grounds.” I look away, smiling at the many people smiling at me. “Meet me there in half an hour.”

  His grin is wicked, and I just know his body and talents will be, too. Having a quick scan around us, he moves in toward me and slaps my arse. I jolt, despite it being a light rap. “Just warming up my palm,” he whispers in my ear. He’s lucky no security personnel are directly behind him. Said palm would be cuffed quite quickly. My body rolls deliciously, my insides furling. But I’m struggling to identify whether it’s with anticipation or nerves. It’s anticipation. It has to be. I don’t get nervous around men.

  “Look forward to it,” I reply, strong and even.

  “Me, too.” Jameson looks past me when someone catches his attention. “I’m wanted.”

  “Don’t waste too much energy on talking now, will you?”

  He laughs a little, landing me with eyes full of intentions that stimulate me. Half an hour might be too long to wait. “My energy levels won’t be an issue, Your Highness. But your tolerance levels may well be.” A cheeky wink is flipped, and my mouth drops open, astounded, but I’m mostly bubbling with exhilaration. My teeth nibble the edge of my glass as he saunters off across the lawn.

  “You are a frightful flirt, Adeline Lockhart,” Matilda says, joining me, her eyes stuck on the exact same thing mine are: Josh Jameson’s delightful backside.

  I tilt my head, thoughtful. I plan on digging my fingernails into that arse very soon. “I’m having fun at my birthday party.” I turn toward her and raise my glass. “Happy birthday to me.” I sip, very ladylike, but my mind is currently bloody filthy, and my lacy knickers are drenched with desire.

  “The King will skin you alive.”

  “If he finds out. Which he will not.” I cast my eyes across the lawn, nearly yawning when I spot someone heading toward us. “Oh, bugger, here comes Haydon.”

  “I don’t know why you refuse to date him, Adeline,” Matilda says, painting on a smile to match mine. “He’s handsome, with very good prospects, and most importantly, your father approves.”

  “My father’s approval in men is not something I seek, Matilda. Haydon Sampson is not for me.”

  “No man is for you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” I catch Mr. Jameson’s eye and raise my glass on a reserved smile.

  “Adeline,” Matilda gasps, and my smile widens. “He most certainly is not for you. The backlash would be catastrophic.”

  Catastrophic? I was thinking orgasmic. “Oh, stop being such a bore.” She’s supposed to be in my corner. “Haydon,” I chime, seeming thrilled to see him. If only Matilda really understood my plight, she would not see the man in front of me as a suitable match.

  He takes my hand and gives it a customary kiss, bowing as he does, before moving in for a kiss on my cheek. “You look absolutely sublime, Adeline.”

  I force my sigh back. I wasn’t going for sublime. I was going for sultry. And one man here certainly saw that. Haydon is sweet, terribly sweet, but he does not make my heart flutter. We have known each other for so long, since children, and I was there for him when his mother sadly passed a few years ago. But as a friend. Just a friend. “You’re too kind.”

  “Happy birthday, my darling.” His term of endearment grat
es on me somewhat. I hate the way he talks to me like we’ve been married for years, like I belong to him. The King may say so, as well as Haydon’s father.

  I, however, do not.

  “Thank you.” I act as graciously as I can muster, which is so very hard. This poor man refuses to give up hope, the backing and encouragement of our fathers keeping him annoyingly optimistic.

  “Here, let me hold your purse.” Haydon takes it from my grasp before I can protest. “Can I get you anything? A drink? Something to eat?”

  “I’m fine, Haydon.” I strain another smile, once again catching the eye of Josh Jameson, who is looking over with interest as Haydon fusses over me. Josh extends his arm and looks down at the watch decorating his wrist, and then back up at me as he taps the face.

  I breathe in, being attacked by tingles of the most wonderful kind, cocking my head in silent acknowledgment. He then starts clenching and unclenching his fist, smiling a devilish smile. Good Lord, the man is sex on legs. I clear my throat and return my attention to Haydon, ready to thank him for coming, but I’m stopped in my tracks by a small, leather box held out to me in the center of his palm. Unconsciously, I step back, wary. The box is small. Like engagement ring size small, and though it might sound preposterous, given that I haven’t even kissed him or agreed to go on a date with him, I would not put a proposal past Haydon. I bet my father put him up to this. After all, I’m thirty today. My eligibility lessens with every year that passes and each year I refuse to play royal ball.

  “I hope you love it,” Haydon says, hopeful and smiley. I feel so sorry for him. He has been hanging on forever for me to finally see supposed sense. To me, the King and Haydon’s father are plain cruel, making him endure rejection for all these years. He is a wonderful man, he really is, and there are queues of women out there who would eagerly seize a ring from him and prance down the aisle to declare their undying love before God. But I am not one of them. I wasn’t when I was sixteen, and I’m even less so now. And deep down, I know Haydon knows that. I’ve told him in the nicest possible way on a few occasions over the years, have even tried to encourage him to date the women who have shown an interest. He’s too blindsided.