“Quiet, very proper, but with a fierce intellect, she doesn’t let people see very much of. I think of all of us, she’s the most afraid of being judged unfavorably. Myself, I’m used to it. I’ll never be Jamie, so why bother?”
“Do you have a chip on your shoulder about being the younger son?”
“I told you I don’t want to be king. I just never wanted to be Jamie’s little brother either.”
“Is he so bad?”
“Not him personally, but he casts a long shadow for both good and evil. Everyone loves him; you can’t help but love him. He can be a complete bastard as well and being his brother has a weight of expectation that I’ll be both the charmer and the wanker that he is.”
“I’m not sure he’d be flattered by that description.”
“You know him very little. He’d laugh. No one takes themselves less seriously than Jamie, and I’m not sure what that says about him except that God gave us Edward to make up for it.”
“If Edward is the anti-Jamie, what are you?”
“I didn’t come here to talk about my brothers except to say that I want you to meet the lot of them tomorrow night. I know you were a bit put off when Jamie invited you to the dinner, but I was cross that I didn’t think of it first. He stole my thunder a bit just then. Because a man likes to invite a girl to dinner himself, not have his brother, do it for him. This is…appallingly awkward,” he paused, smiled at the older woman who tapped his shoulder and nodded, smiling for a photo with her and shaking her hand.
Another three patrons appeared at his elbow, and as he was greeting them, Evie went to the counter and pressed the brass service bell a few times for attention.
“Oi!” she said, “we’re about to close up early—private party for royalty as you see. So please queue up for your tea and baked goods. I’ll see that his royal highness stands by the door so you can wish him a good evening after you check out at the register,” she said.
Alarmed, the clientele that hung about his chair watched him stand and station himself at the exit dutifully. They trailed after him, clicking blurry photos with their phones and chattering among themselves, anxious to get their chance at meeting him. Instead of lining up in desperation for scones as Evie had hoped, they all went to the door as if drawn there by the wicked allure of the prince himself. In fact, two women got out of line and bade Leo good evening and left. The line formed where he was, not at the cash register. At any rate, his appearance would improve business, even more, the next day, so she could afford to hustle the groupies out the front door and flip the sign to closed. There was no way they could conduct a private conversation in a public tea shop, not as conspicuous as his handsome and instantly recognizable face was.
The last customers were ushered out, and she dismissed the staff as well, pulling down the blinds and locking the door. She poured a cup of tea for Leo and one for herself and sat back down.
“So, you were in the process of trying to convince me to go to dinner at your castle when we were interrupted by the local chapter of the Hot Prince Fan Club.”
“You successfully got rid of all my fans,” he said.
“All but one. I’m still here. I can’t imagine why you want me to meet your family, though. I’m—I comforted you when you had some bad news. I tracked you down after you got hurt and you agreed to see me. You haven’t made any effort to contact me, so I have to assume you’re not interested in pursuing—“
“That’s not true. I messaged you multiple ideas for your business, some of which you seem to have implemented like the online store. I got you Christmas parcels and even delivered them. I have reached out to you. You just didn’t answer.”
“I—you did text me a lot at first, didn’t you,” she said, staring into her teacup, “I thought you were just nice. I thought—I thought there was no way you could want anything more to do with me. I was—“ she bit down on her lip and made herself meet his eyes.
“I didn’t call you after my accident because what would I have said? Hello, I’m that chap who shagged you and pulled a runner. Now I’ve busted my arm, would you like to have a go at me? I’m essentially unemployed and feeling quite sorry for myself and didn’t have a great deal to offer as a relationship prospect.”
“You’re a prince. An actual prince. Do not even pretend you have a self-esteem problem. I know better.”
“You’re the most industrious person I’ve ever met. Just by ingenuity and sheer force of will, you’ve made a success of a tearoom, which has to be the most outdated thing there is besides a blacksmith in this day and age. And here I am, sitting around waiting for my new rotator cuff to mend. I can’t claim to be ambitious or exciting any longer…”
“I can’t imagine the day when you’re not exciting, Leo.”
“I want my parents to meet you. They’ll love you—I reckon they’ll like you a sight better than they like me, come to the point of it. I want you to know right up front what you’re dealing with. My family and the media and all the attention that comes with—with being a proper girlfriend to a member of the ruling family.”
“A what?” Evie felt color creep up her face. He’d said, girlfriend. Not since middle school had that word given her such a thrill. He liked her well enough to introduce her to his parents. He liked her well enough to come all the way out to Bath to ask her to dinner and to be in a real relationship with him. She couldn’t help herself. She tried to cover her mouth with her hands, but it was too late. She was laughing from a near-lethal combination of joy and disbelief.
“I want to be with you, Evie. I want to give us a try. Will you please?” he said, reaching for her hand, “my brother interrupted us earlier, for which I intend never to forgive him when I was trying to take you to bed. I thought it was my best chance at persuading you.”
“And you said Jamie was too proud of his abs. You were prepared to use yours to hypnotize me,” she said, trying hard to keep it light, to sound playful.
All she wanted to do was vault across the table into his arms. Well, his one good arm, which she’d probably risk injuring if it had to absorb the weight of her entire body launching herself at him. She thought better of it and remained seated. She felt light, elated, like bubbles in a champagne glass. She was smiling so hard that it made her cheeks ache.
“I thought I could seduce you first and get you to agree to a relationship afterward.”
“You had an evil plot, then. It makes me feel better about myself, stalker-wise, considering I found your number in the depths of a message board.”
“I most definitely had a plan to win you over. It didn’t exactly work, though. You left. I didn’t get a chance to dazzle you at all.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I mean, you did let me put your sock on.”
“That wasn’t part of the seduction. Although I can see how having to put my socks on for me was a considerable turn-on for you.”
“Indeed,” she said, “but if you’re serious about having me come to the dinner, I’ll have to find something to wear.”
“I can have a stylist send something round to the townhouse. You can pick it up tomorrow when you come.”
“I’d rather not have the royal stylist choose my clothes. It needs to be something I can afford, something I might wear again. Is it black tie?”
“I don’t think so. I can check with the palace and find out. I’m sure they have guidelines they can send you.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I’ve never gone to dinner anyplace that required etiquette research before. I went to public school in Fulton County, Georgia. That means I can use a Bic lighter to intimidate the mean bitches in the girls bathroom, and I know how to keep my head down if there’s a drug deal going on at my table in the cafeteria. I wasn’t exactly trained on which one is the fish fork, Leo.”
“Just use the Bic lighter to intimidate my parents. They’ll never notice which fork you used if you threaten to burn down the palace.”
&
nbsp; “I doubt I could get in with a lighter. Don’t they search visitors?”
“For private family dinners? I think not.”
“So, wait, I can smuggle in like a recording device and put the whole thing on YouTube?”
“No, but you might just get away with the lighter. If not you could always fashion a shank from one of the George III candlesticks, I’m sure. You seem quite resourceful in your hardscrabble upbringing. Rather as proud of it in your way as Jamie is of his abs.”
“And as proud as you are of being the extra son, the one left standing in the shadows. Or rather flying helicopters and climbing mountains. You hardly seem like a Dickens urchin to me,” she said.
“I’m about to transform into Mr. Hyde if I don’t get my pain medication. The wound is healing, or so they tell me, and as it knits together, there’s a horrible sensation of pulling and a knifelike pain.”
“Do you need a glass of water to take your pill?”
“No, I need the pill itself. I took off from Notting Hill in such a rush that I foolishly left my narcotics there. So I’m for London.”
“I think I have some Tylenol in back; it might hold you until you can get to the hard stuff. I had thought you might…stay over, but since your pain meds are back in London, I understand.”
“I wanted to stay, but I made a foolish mistake. One of many, I’m afraid, and I doubt it will be my last. If it were anything but a narcotic, I might ring the local chemist’s and pick up some more tablets. However, our health system is quite strict where those are concerned.”
“Even for royalty?”
“Think about that a moment. Imagine if I called the chemist’s or the surgeon’s and demanded extra narcotics on the strength of being a prince. Then it’s splashed all over the telly that Leopold is a drugs addict and likes to throw his weight about to get more pain medicines than anyone else is allowed to have.”
“That would create a mess,” she said.
“I’ll be on my way then. I’ll send the car for you tomorrow in plenty of time, let’s say just after luncheon, so you can get ready in Notting Hill and I can do my level best to distract you from being nervous.”
“I get to be nervous. It’s my unalienable right to freak out about meeting your parents. Especially when you’ve only just said you’d like to be my boyfriend and even more especially since they just happen to be the ruling family of the United Kingdom.”
“Well, in that case, go right ahead and panic. It seems like you have good reason to do so,” he said.
Leo smiled, shockingly gorgeous and somehow untouchable, his skin tinted nearly golden by the rapidly fading light from the glass door. He cupped her cheek in his hand, looking down into her face with impossible reverence. He kissed her once lightly on the lips and before the sigh could escape her, he was gone. As soon as she saw the car pull away from the curb, she sank into a chair as her knees gave way. It was all too much to fathom—seeing him again after so long, meeting his brother, being invited to a royal birthday dinner, being called his girlfriend.
It was more than a modern girl could cope with. Women were raised to be independent and strong and to know how to change tires and do their income taxes—they were not educated in how to handle a good old-fashioned love affair, the sort with a charming, handsome prince. She was so far out of her depth it was ridiculous.
The next morning she was baking scones and biscuits, and an experimental batch of crumpets well before daylight. The fresh lemon curd was cooling in its crockery, and she was, as her mother used to say, nervous as a cat. Although Gandy and Toby always seemed alarmingly well-adjusted, not nervous at all.
Evie worked the cash register that morning, chatting with the rush of customers eager to hear what “dear Prince Leo” was doing back in Bath so soon after his surgery. Evie had managed mischievous twinkle and said he simply couldn’t get enough Royal-tea scones, and no simple injury would keep him from them. Every time she said it, she sold another half dozen, it seemed. She was glad she’d made double the usual number of Royal-teas that morning. At noon, Evie turned the business over to Heather and loaded her tote bag into the Rolls.
Despite her nerves, she managed to nap most of the way to London. At Notting Hill, Leo was standing on the step, holding the door open for her. As if he’d been watching for her arrival. She felt a surge of love for him, and a rush of joy at seeing him again, of knowing that he was waiting for her.
Evie bounded up the steps and Leo caught her in his one good arm, hauling her against him. His arm around her hips anchored her against him as he dipped his face to hers and kissed her. He pulled her inside and closed the door. Evie giggled nervously and dropped her tote bag, arms going around him and holding on hard. Their kiss seemed like it would never stop, the soft ebb and flow of their lips and tongues. At last, she drew back to look at him.
“Leo, I have to tell you something,” she said, a little breathless.
“Crikey, you’re not married are you?” he said, lifting his face from her neck.
“No, no, I’m not. I’m just—don’t panic now, but it’s only fair that I tell you first.”
“I thought we’d take this discussion upstairs,” he said, his eyes smoldering at her. The sandy hair that fell rakishly across his forehead took on a ginger hue in the afternoon light from the window beyond. The scruff along his jaw, the straight line of his brows, the furrow of his forehead as he looked at her so intensely—all of it destroyed any resolve she had left about making better decisions in life. For a moment, she couldn’t believe her good luck, which a man like him would even look at her.
“I may joke around a lot, but I’m too serious. I don’t go to bed with people just for fun, and I’m probably going to develop all these inconvenient feelings for you as if I don’t have them already. Because I do have them already, way too much,” she said.
“You’re fond of saying I confuse you, but, the fact is, I’m not at all certain what you’ve just informed me of. Are you saying it’s too serious or not serious enough?”
“I’ll have to tell Lily I was wrong,” she said with a smile.
“Who is Lily?”
“My friend Lily, who told me you were probably afraid of commitment, and I made some smart ass comment about how men don’t think like that. That women attribute all these deep thoughts to men, but it’s nothing but projection. That men just react to stimuli like nagging or boobs or whatever at the moment, and there’s not much cognition going on. But you’re overthinking this right now, which proves me wrong and makes me love you even more!” she said merrily.
Leo kissed her then, taking her utterly by surprise, his mouth on hers, his hand in her hair. His big hand cupped her head, cradling her. She stood on tiptoe. He bent to reach her; they seemed to manage the height difference very well. It was desperate kissing; the sort teenagers got up to in coat closets at parties. His tongue in her mouth made her whole body clench, tight with desire. Every time she tried to turn her head to get a breath, he nipped her bottom lip or stroked his tongue against hers, and she just melted and decided breathing wasn’t all that important anyway. He moved his hand to her waist, keeping her close against him and he backed toward the stairs. Stumbling, kissing, they made their way up two flights of uneven wooden stairs and into the bedroom.
She pushed his t-shirt up, her hand on the hot smooth skin of his back, only to realize she couldn’t get his shirt off without removing the sling and probably hurting him by yanking the sleeve down his injured arm. Evie unbuttoned his jeans instead.
The bed was unmade, the room a posh shade of caramel with accents of pale blue. She tumbled onto light blue sheets, soft against her now bare legs. The sun slanted through the blinds, casting strips of light across his skin, making him look otherworldly, golden. He lay beside her on the bed, tucking her hair behind her ear in that familiar gesture that had slain her back in her bakery kitchen and was as loving, as dangerous now as it had been then.
“Are y
ou sure about this, Evie?” he asked gallantly.
“Am I sure that I want to sleep with you? Or am I sure that you’re going to break my heart completely? Because the answer to both is yes.”
Evie had kissed him before she had time to think better of it. She thought of nothing for a very long while, only the touch of his hand and the thud of her own heart and the sharp hiss of his breath when she kissed the spot just above his collarbone. The feverish, breathless heat, the rhythm primal as the pulse thundering in her veins, the thick slide of him, the arch of her body off the bed.
Nothing had prepared her for this, for the wild thrill of admitting she loved him, of making love to a man she could be open with in that way. Instead of holding her feelings inside, instead of worrying that she liked him better than he liked her, Evie felt free, powerful even because she had declared her love for him. When he hooked his arm around her hips and rolled her on top of him, she laughed with abandon. Evie leaned over, her hair falling across his face as she kissed him hard. He slid his hand up her side, his thumb tracing the underside of her breast, rippling a shiver all across her skin. He made a satisfied sound at her response and stroked her breast again, slowly this time until she wriggled happily and rose up on her knees.
Evie reached between their bare bodies, stroking him and guiding him. She lowered herself onto his hard length and bucked her hips forward, biting her lip as she set the rhythm, and his thrusts pushed up to meet her. Leo set his palm low against her stomach, his thumb pressing at the juncture of her thighs, rubbing the wetness around so he could stroke her smoothly, relentlessly. The rock and push of their joining synced in time with the rhythm of his thumb stroking that spot that made her pant, made her vision go dark until she felt the jolt of her climax. Bucking atop him, Evie gasped his name again and again like a talisman.
Later, Leo stretched out facing her, stroking her tumbled hair and smiling.
“Is your career in search and rescue over now? Because of your injury?” she brought herself to ask him.
“I reckon so. In six months’ time, I might be able to go back into training, even fly again, but I couldn’t go out on the hoist, couldn’t operate the winch. I’d be a liability on the crew instead of being the captain,” he said.
The Royal Rake (Royal Romances Book 3) Page 12
