He wasn’t a brat, but old habits die hard when reintroduced into a family dynamic as old as the man himself.
“She’s confused, George. Overwhelmed.”
His cousin blinked. “About what?”
Xavier’s lips curved into a half smile. “I’ve always known, you know?”
“Known what?”
He rolled his eyes. “That you and Edward share, of course.”
George clenched his teeth. “She told you.”
“No. She didn’t,” he replied, calm where George was enraged. “I knew when you were twenty that you’d been sharing with him for years.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t that big a problem, and I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d have told me.”
Frowning, George shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“What? That someone as close to you as I was couldn’t figure that out?” He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, George. You can keep shit like that from most of the family and the staff but not me.”
George just stared at him. In consternation or confusion, Xavier wasn’t sure.
“If you know so much, you’ll know we haven’t shared in years.”
“Since Edward married the harpy.”
George’s eyes widened, but he banked the smile that started to twitch into life.
“He was trying to be respectable I imagine.” Xavier shrugged, leaned over to add a notation to the margin of his work book—a thought occurring to him about a tweak to his pesticide. Calmly, he murmured, “We all have those moments where we think we need to grow up.” He smirked, a far less studious thought occurring to him. “Plus, can you imagine Arabella’s reaction to the idea of being spit roasted?”
He caught George’s eye and the two of them grinned at another.
George cleared his throat. “I think I’d have paid to witness that conversation.”
“You and me both,” Xavier retorted with a chuckle. “Does he want her?”
It was hard to keep his tone of voice calm when he wasn’t feeling calm.
Perry was…
Different. Different enough that she’d broken his long spell of celibacy.
He hadn’t taken a vow or anything. He was as red-blooded as the next man—who just happened to be his cousin. But ever since he’d become Duke, a certain type of woman had been hunting him.
It was easier to take oneself out of the hunt sometimes rather than deal with the aftermath. He had no intention of being snared in a trap by a money-hungry gold-digger.
“Edward is on the fence.”
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
Edward was one of the most decisive men Xavier knew.
“She’ll change his mind.”
“How?”
“By being Perry.” George stepped closer to Xavier’s work-bench. “What are you working on?”
“A new pesticide,” he said absentmindedly. Then cutting a glance at George, asked, “What if she doesn’t want him?”
“Then she doesn’t want him.”
“And what if she wants you and me and not Edward?”
George reared back at that. “What?”
Xavier just shot him a look. “I want her, George. And as trite as that sounds, like she’s some goddamn piece of chattel, I don’t want to say goodbye to her.”
Where the words came from, Xavier wasn’t altogether certain.
This entire situation was more convoluted than any relationship he’d ever been in, never mind simply contemplated.
“But…”
“But what?” he asked softly, turning and leaning his ass on the workstation. “She wasn’t a one-night stand. I had no intention of sleeping with her then cutting and running in the morning.”
George looked floored a second, then he let out a shaky breath. “No. She’s Perry. You couldn’t do that to her.”
Xavier’s lips twitched at his cousin’s stalwart impression that Perry was female perfection personified. He guessed if he’d been panting over her for as long as George had, he’d be as goggle-brained as him too.
“You want to share,” Xavier prompted. “Why not with me?”
“Because we’ve never done that before.”
Xavier shrugged. “You never asked.”
George’s mouth worked. “Are you being serious?”
He laughed. “Yes. Deadly. When have you known me to be anything other than serious?”
“True.” He conceded that with a scratch at his temple. “Why would you want to though?”
“Because you’ve got your claws hooked in Perry, and that means once she gets over how sudden this all is, she’ll let go of me and fall back into your arms.”
A dopey grin curved his cousin’s mouth. “You really think that?
He rolled his eyes. “Yes. And that might make you feel better, but it doesn’t make me feel great.”
“Sorry, man,” George said ruefully. “I just… she’s got me so fucked in the head. I swear, any other woman, I wouldn’t stand for it. But she’s…”
“Perry,” Xavier supplied helpfully, a grin appearing when George just nodded as he used her name as more of an adjective than a noun.
He’d ask what the hell he saw that had those stars in his eyes, but Xavier knew.
There was just—as trite as it sounded—something about her.
Perry was like taking a breath of fresh air after wading through cow shit.
And though it wasn’t nice to refer to the ladies of the court as cow shit, they spilled enough BS to make the stench cling. Plus, they were relentless. As dogged as any wildcat with their teeth burrowed into the hind of a gazelle on their hunt for a husband.
Perry, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice he was a Duke.
Maybe because she was used to being around George, but he wasn’t sure if even George’s position was all that grandiose in her mind.
“Do you know what she did when she met mother and father?”
Because of the amusement in his cousin’s voice, Xavier turned to him with a grin. “No. What?”
“Took her shoes off.”
For a second, Xavier gaped at George, then with their eyes entangled, the pair of them burst out laughing. “I’d pay to have seen the look on your mother’s face.”
He shook his head, unable to release the image from his imagination.
“It was as hilarious as you can imagine,” George confirmed with a snicker. “I made her wear heels.”
He remembered that she’d worn flats to the ball. “They were too high?”
“Anything above half an inch is too high for Perry,” George grumbled with a half-hearted eye roll. “She did have to walk a fair distance in them, but she said she’d either fall over or start sobbing in the middle of the reception room. Mother didn’t know where to look.”
“I’ll bet.” His grin sobered a little as a thought occurred to him. “If Edward does…”
“Yeah. I know.” George ran a hand through his dark hair. “She’s not exactly queen material, is she?”
Xavier winced. “Maybe not. Well, not in comparison to someone like Aunt Marianne. But a modern queen?” He pondered that a second. “Who’s to say that this generation wouldn’t be more at ease with a queen who knows how this planet works… I love your mother, but Marianne is—”
“As much use as a chocolate teapot?”
He snickered. “Yeah. That. She’s not exactly made for anywhere outside a palace. Arabella was of the same stock, and we all know how the public responded to her.”
George pulled a face. “I was out of the country for the most part, but even I know she wasn’t popular.”
Xavier hooted. “Popular? The tabloids are never kind, but they were worse than usual with her. The only thing they could agree on was the fact she had great taste in clothes, but society needs more than a clotheshorse.”
George blinked. “You say that like you think it’s a possibility.”
Xavier shrugged again. “Edward will… If he hangs out with her more, outsi
de of chaperones like your parents, he’ll see her worth. Not for the throne—like that’s worth a damn, anyway. But for himself.” Xavier cut his cousin a look. “You were away a long time, George. You probably don’t even realize how much he’s changed.”
“No. I do. He’s a lot quieter, far more somber.”
Xavier nodded. “It goes deeper than that. He’s stopped playing soccer, barely does anything for leisure save ride.”
“I noticed he went out the other day.”
Xavier murmured, “If it’s not for the state or the family and a ride every now and then, his life is…dull. And for a Crown Prince, dull takes on totally different meanings. The rest of the world might think it’s all VIP sections at clubs and fancy suits, but Edward grew out of that shit a long time ago. If Arabella had been a better match, I genuinely think he’d have been able to settle down with her and be content.”
George glowered down at the workings out Xavier had spread across several sheets on his desk. “Content? Where does it say we can’t be happy?”
Smiling at his cousin’s naiveté, he started, “George—”
“No! Don’t ‘George’ me. You’re both the same where this is concerned. It’s like Veronia owns your happiness or something.”
“Not mine. But your brother is a whole different kettle of fish. Veronia is his responsibility, his duty, once Philippe passes.”
George growled under his breath. “So? Where does it say that duty means no happiness? Edward needs to share. It’s what we do.”
Xavier snorted. “It’s not like being gay, George.”
“Yes. It is, dammit! Or as near as can be. Just because it’s kinky as fuck doesn’t mean it doesn’t work.”
The younger man’s earnestness had Xavier shoving his hands in his pockets. “Want a drink?”
“Yeah.”
Xavier jerked his chin up and strode toward the small glass door that was the single point of entry in the glasshouse. There were smaller escapes for fire purposes, but they were openings in the glass rather than full apertures.
He’d worked to code but had made sure that the code hadn’t disturbed his intentions of creating a constant temperature within these walls.
The glasshouse was attached to the main building of his family’s noble seat via a brick verandah. He toed out of his boots when the floor switched from gravel to tile, and George followed suit. The verandah housed a small seating area that was one of his favorite lounges. The family seat had over forty bedrooms and countless sitting rooms…yet, he usually used this one for ease, as it was close to the greenhouse, but also comfort.
This was designed to his specifications and not a great, great, great, great uncle who’d once ruled in Xavier’s position.
He brushed off his seat to make sure he had no soil clinging to his ass or thighs, and then headed for the leather sofa which looked onto a large screen TV. Beside it, there was a small console table housing a drink’s tray.
“What’s your poison?”
George murmured, “Whiskey.”
Xavier’s eyes widened. “You’ve changed. You used to be all alcopops and IPA.”
He chuckled. “Meeting Perry changed that.”
“I’m sure she’d love knowing she upgraded you from soft to hard liquor.”
George’s grin was rueful. “It wasn’t intentional. I just…I was fighting myself. All the damn time. It grows tiring.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by the squelch of the leather as George took a seat on the sofa and the splash of the alcohol in a clear tumbler.
Pouring himself a brandy, he grabbed the glasses and offering it to George, he sank back into the sofa with a sigh.
For a second, silence fell between them, but it was a nice silence. Not brooding or loaded with anger, just a nice, relative calm that came between two men who’d known each other a lifetime.
“What are we going to do, Xav?” George eventually murmured on a deep sigh.
Xavier didn’t need to be told they were talking about Perry, and no longer about Edward. He twirled his glass in his hand, watching as the amber liquid spiraled around the crystal in golden waves.
“Nothing we can do.”
George grunted. “I refuse to believe that. I refuse to let this lie in the hands of Fate, not when I’ve been doing that all these goddamn years.”
Xavier pulled a face. “What made you wait so long? It’s not like you to prevaricate.”
“Perry’s different.”
He scoffed. “You keep saying that; and I know she is, but it’s not very… well, it doesn’t make a whole heap of sense. She’s totally inappropriate for a Prince’s wife. Never mind the Crown Prince.”
George snorted. “But she’s great as a Duchess?”
The grin Xavier shot his cousin had George rolling his eyes. “Now that you mention it…”
George grunted, but didn’t deny it. “I don’t care about her as a Crown Princess. I care about Perry. As the woman that can make things right between Edward and me again.”
Xavier frowned. “What do you mean?”
George fell silent, but from the way he gritted his teeth, Xavier knew he wasn’t telling him something.
“He’s punishing me,” the younger man said softly, doing as Xavier just had—swirling his brandy around the glass, watching as it caught on the divots in the crystal.
“Why would he do that?” Xavier scoffed.
“He blames me for wanting what he does,” George murmured softly.
“What? For wanting to share?” he clarified, totally failing to comprehend what the fuck his cousin was talking about.
George’s nod was solemn. “He thinks he’s a pervert. And that I’m part of the problem.”
Chapter Twelve
Perry hummed under her breath as she spooned out a too large mouthful of ice cream.
So, the palace was great. She could order pretty much whatever she wanted, and she’d get it. Whether that was a freakin’ muffin or smoked salmon on freshly baked rye bread—it was like they had one of those replicators in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Program it in once, there forever. Because how they always had whatever kind of bread she wanted freshly baked, was beyond her.
The waste had to be astronomical.
Truth was, having such a kitchen at her disposal was nifty. But, though their ice cream was made on the premises, it didn’t beat Haagen Daaz.
She pressed the tub between her tits and held it to her chest like she was holding a baby.
The door to her office opened after a sharp knock, and she spun around, spoon in mouth to face the intruder. Her gaze clashed with Edward’s, and she flushed. Immediate mortification hitting her as she pulled the spoon from between her lips and shoved the tub behind her back.
Edward froze, then his head tilted to the side. In his hand, he held a thick file loaded with papers, which he wafted at her. “Don’t stop on my account.”
She gaped at him. “No, it’s okay. Is something wrong?”
It was the first time he’d visited her in her temporary office since their date at the butterfly conservatory.
And, to be honest, she hadn’t been all that perturbed.
What he and George wanted was both so alien and yet, so intriguing that it blurred in her head.
She was scared, she’d admit.
Scared because George, in his usual elephant-clomping way, had opened up a whole new world to her.
It was like being a dedicated football fan, not realizing any other sport existed, and then being told baseball and basketball were options too.
Could a diehard football fan also become a diehard fan of another sport?
Just the thought had anxiety stirring in her belly. She knew the answer was yes, even liked the answer, but it was wrong.
So, so wrong.
Wasn’t it?
She did as his wafting hand had suggested—raised her tub of ice cream and, cuddling it to her chest, murmured, “What’s wrong?”
; “Why should anything be wrong?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, making those beautiful turquoise orbs glint. “I wanted to talk about the report you gave on the Isdena Dam.”
“What about it?”
“You’re recommending building another one in the Ashe Valley. You do realize how much that’s going to cost, don’t you?”
She huffed, and then shoved her spoon into the mound of creamy goodness. “Considering I put costs in the report, I think you’ll find I know how much it’s going to cost. Plus, you said money was no object if I recall.” She shoved the spoon in her mouth and began chomping.
“You have to know we don’t have the funds to construct a whole new dam from scratch in the allotted time you’re suggesting.”
“Bull,” she retorted, her words a little dulled thanks to her numb tongue. “You can’t afford not to build it. If you do as I suggest and construct three major dams in the next thirty years, you’ll stave off forty per cent of your droughts.
“You have serious infrastructure issues; the Isdena Dam has the worst. So much so, I don’t understand how you haven’t had serious accidents there. It’s under-maintained.”
Edward frowned. “I don’t understand why. It’s not like any of them are all that old.”
She shrugged. “Nearly a hundred years old, with a century old technology. Major changes now prevent major calamities down the line.” A thought occurred to her, one that had her pursing her lips. Feeling the top one flatten into a disapproving line, she quickly covered her mouth with her spoon and ate some more ice cream.
“What?” he demanded, eyes narrowed at her once more. “You were going to say something.”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Now who’s spouting bull?”
Dipping a shoulder, she murmured, “Do you realize, with this one palace alone, how much waste you’re propagating?”
He frowned. “We run a very streamlined household.”
A snort escaped her, one that had her wincing. Rubbing her temple, she grumbled, “Brain freeze,” at his concerned glance. Wafting him away with a spoon, she backed up to her desk and leaned against it. Crossing her feet at the ankles, she told him, “Veronia is an arid country. You run on the dry side. But you wouldn’t know it from the palace gardens. I know for a fact your grandfather introduced the damn concept of lawns to the country.”
Perry and Her Princes Page 14
