by Brenna Lyons
* * * *
“I don’t know,” Amber hedged.
Edward fastened the final button, leaving an enticing vee of skin, without baring her cleavage. Still, she was unbelievably sexy in the suede skirt, his wool jacket, her low shoes...and nothing else.
“You’re beautiful,” he assured her.
“I’m half-naked.” But it wasn’t a complaint. Her breathing was quick, her color high, and her eyes glittering in excitement.
“Your nipples are hard,” he guessed. “You’re wet and ready. Aren’t you?”
She went a pretty shade of crimson.
“And no one but the two of us will know it. Everyone will think your outfit demure. We’ll sit at dinner, eating and talking, a delightful secret between us. Then we’ll take our leave and sate the arousal—”
“Forget what I said in the bath. You’re not the Goddess’s own son. You are the wickedest—”
“You love it,” he countered.
She smiled, no doubt reliving his stroking hands. They’d brought each other over in the bath. Amber had watched his cum spray on her belly and breasts, her eyes wide in discovery. Edward’s attempts to wash away the leavings had turned to a much more intimate end.
“Do you?” he prompted.
“You know I do.”
He sobered. Was it right to do this? Amber had been mortified by the sexual games at the Bride Ball. Was he pushing for something she was uncomfortable with?
“What is it?” she asked, her smile evaporating that quickly.
“If you wish to wear underclothes, I’ll send for them,” he assured her. “I only wish for you to be comfortable and happy.”
Confusion creased her brow.
“If anything I ask is... If any of it makes you frightened or upset or uncomfortable, I expect you to tell me that it does. You are not my mistress, Amber. You will be my wife. Do we understand each other?”
She nodded, but her smile didn’t return. “Are you likely to do so?”
“I hope not,” he answered honestly. “I was afraid I had, though. Do you wish underclothes? Panties and a shift...even the bustier?”
“I believe...” She hesitated, seemingly weighing something of importance.
“Yes?” he inquired, prepared to fetch what would make her comfortable personally.
“I would like to go as I am. Perhaps, I could wear the bustier for you another night?” Amber stared at him, seemingly waiting for his response.
“I would enjoy that.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
* * * *
Amber took a calming breath and wound her hand through it, more than aware of how his jacket billowed out from her chest, leaving a pocket of air around her breasts, accentuating her nudity. Her heart stuttered in response.
“Amber?” Christopher questioned. “If you’ve changed your mind, I would be glad to—”
“No. It’s...odd. Not a bad sensation,” she hastened to add. Judging by the reaction of her body, it wasn’t bad, in the least. “New. Exciting, in some ways.”
His smile brought her nipples up painfully. “Good.”
He led her to the door and out into the corridor. There was nothing to take with them. Even the bustier had been handed to Hein Darren, when Christopher had collected her skirt from his cousin.
The house was still, so much so that it unnerved Amber. The main room was empty, save a few of the soldiers—royal guards, she reminded herself—having tea with Nana. The former vaulted to their feet at the first sighting of Christopher, shooting apologetic looks at Nana.
“Ah, there you are,” Darren stated, ambling from the kitchen, a short glass of whiskey in his hand. “I sent the other ladies off with Lady Amber’s books.”
They are safe enough then. Amber bit back a wince at the catty thought.
Holding in the grimace of disgust at her next thought was harder. How long would she be in the Montberrys’ company? For how much of their journey?
Christopher placed his free hand over hers, squeezing lightly. “Would two guards be enough?” he inquired.
She stared at him, confused. What guards? What was he offering...and why?
“To assist Lady Reanne, until I engage a housemaid and lady’s maid for her,” he qualified.
The concept struck her dumb for a moment. “Y-yes,” she managed. “That is most kind. Thank you, Christopher.”
He smiled, stroking his fingertips along her cheek. “Captain,” he ordered, without taking his gaze from Amber’s. “Yourself and the corporal who’s been so helpful.”
“Yes, Highness,” they answered in unison.
Amber pried her gaze away from Christopher and met Nana’s glee-crinkled eyes. “Will you be all right?” she asked.
“Right as can be,” Nana replied. “Why, with two young men about the house—”
Amber laughed heartily. “Nana, you are positively scandalous.” And she loved her for it.
She waved Amber away, as if shooing an insect. “Off now. I expect a dedication invitation soon.”
“Perhaps we should marry first,” Amber suggested.
“Oh, if you must.”
That reduced Amber to laughter again.
* * * *
Edward guided Amber into the back seat of the vehicle, smiling at her continuing giggles. He vowed to arrange a holiday for Lady Reanne at the palace, once they were settled in.
Darren took the front seat next to the driver, leaving them in semi-privacy. The remaining guard closed them in, then took his place as driver.
Amber’s giggles tapered off, and she met Edward’s eyes, her color high. His heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
He stared at her lips, then her eyes, mesmerized by the lines of her face. Their breath mingled between them, enticing him, spawning visions of Amber panting beneath him, throwing her head back and forth while he thrust inside her.
Darren cleared his throat. “The gates are coming up, Christopher,” he taunted.
Already? How many kilometers had they spent on the verge of kissing? Edward dipped his head, indulging at last. Amber sank to the seat back, seemingly swooning, and he followed her in. In moments, they were lost in a deep, hard promise of more.
The vehicle slowed to a stop, and their lips parted. Darren exited without a backward glance, and a moment later, the guard opened the door for them.
Brand met them halfway up the front steps, his gaze passing briefly over Amber’s outfit before he bowed his head to Edward. “Your parents and the Lord and Lady Elmstead await you in the dining room,” he informed Edward, matching their stroll toward the house.
“Not Marquita and Kambry?” Amber asked, seemingly shocked by it...and perhaps pleased. “Not Mora?”
Brand’s mouth quirked up. “Her Majesty suggested a light meal and an early night for them. They could hardly refuse, mi’lady.”
Edward chuckled. “What did Lady Marquita do to put herself in ill favor so quickly?” He didn’t question that it was she, based on her insufferably rude attitude earlier in the day.
What Darren saw in her— Oh, there was no question what Darren saw in her. She was apparently to his cousin’s tastes sexually.
“I rather imagine Lady Mora was the problem. Rumor has it that the lady was a competitor for your father’s attentions, in their youth.”
“Ah... Now, that does sound like Mother.”
They slipped inside the open doorway, and a butler closed it behind them. Brand put out a hand to Amber. She stared at it, without comprehension.
Realization came to Edward, in a flash. “Lady Amber will be keeping my jacket. Thank you, Brand.”
He bowed and took his leave. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
Her cheeks darkened to crimson, and Edward pulled her further under his arm, guiding her down the corridor.
All conversation stopped, as they breached the doors to the dining room. Four pairs of curious eyes turned their way, and Amber’s body went still, nearly rigid in tension.
“Brea
the,” Edward reminded her.
Benjamin sighed. “You found her, I see,” he commented. He took a sip of his drink and panned his gaze over Amber. “You led us a merry chase, young lady.”
Amber nodded, her expression pained.
Elmstead motioned for her attention. “You must settle a wager I have with James.”
“Lord Birchstand,” Edward translated for her.
“If I can,” Amber replied.
“How did you attend the Bride Ball without checking in with Brand or being announced?”
A smile pulled up at her lips. “I snuck in through the gardens. The sold— The guards assumed I’d gone out and come back in.”
Elmstead’s jaw dropped.
His wife patted his chin, urging his gaping mouth closed. “I dare say you lost five leaf on that wager,” she half-laughed.
“Why?” the lord managed.
Amber’s smile dimmed. “I felt Mor—I mean, Lady Mora would cause some sort of scene, if she knew I was at the ball against her wishes.”
Alana sighed. “Don’t stand on ceremony here, girl. Mora has never been a lady. I have half a mind to send her on, this very night.
“And oh! Has she let herself go. She’s downright pudgy. Don’t you think she’s pudgy these days, Oriel?”
Lady Elmstead bobbed her head in a nod of commiseration.
Amber sucked in her lower lip as if restraining her laughter. Her throat jerked in what appeared to be a swallowed giggle. “If I may suggest an alternative, Your Majesty?” she offered sweetly.
His mother’s attention fixed on Amber. “Yes? You have a better idea?” There was no challenge in that. Alana was seemingly ready to pounce on a new form of torture for Mora, hoping that it wasn’t something she’d already tried.
“When Mora is being...difficult, I sometimes make her single spoon of sugar in her tea rather...rounded.”
Alana and Oriel stared at her, waiting for more.
Amber raised an eyebrow, continuing in a conspiratorial tone. “Two or more spoonfuls usually accomplish the job well enough.”
“She doesn’t notice?” Lady Elmstead inquired.
Amber smiled widely. “She notices, but around Nana, she must be somewhat restrained.”
No one spoke.
“I imagine she has to be even more restrained around Your Majesty?” Amber finished.
Alana and Oriel stared at each other for a moment, plotting silently.
“Two it is,” Oriel decreed.
Alana smirked. “Three it is, I think, and she doesn’t dare refuse to drink it.” She hesitated. “I believe I’m going to like you, Amber Oakmarch.”
* * * *
Amber took a dainty bite of the pasta, already stuffed. She’d gone heavy on the soup course, mistaking it for a meal in itself. Now, all she could manage was a polite bite or two of each remove.
“So...” King Benjamin intoned in a voice that left no doubt that his next words would be of paramount importance. “I imagine you’ll want to marry immediately.”
It wasn’t a question, and Amber’s heart stuttered at the finality of his words.
Christopher cleared his throat. “When did you say you wanted the ceremony, Amber?” he asked, as if they’d discussed it at length.
She placed her fork on the plate and avoided the king’s eyes. “Well, I said... I’ve always dreamed of a winter holiday ceremony,” she admitted. She peeked up at Christopher.
He nodded. “I promised what you wished. Winter holiday, it will be.”
His father scowled. “You were ordered to marry within a year, Edward. Winter holiday, if memory serves, is well over a season too late.”
Amber’s heart sank. Her visions of a summer or fall ceremony weren’t nearly as enticing, but if that’s what—
“I’ve chosen my bride,” Christopher replied calmly. “Our agreement was that I choose a bride or you choose one for me.” He offered Amber a look that promised she’d have her winter ceremony.
“There will be a written contract, then,” King Benjamin insisted. “Within the week.”
“Of course. If Brand would assist, we could do so tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” his father scoffed. “A contract of this sort will take days to smooth over.”
Christopher stared at her, his eyes the same dreamy version he’d had in the vehicle. “Unlikely. I believe we both know what we want.”
Her stomach squirmed in a most disconcerting manner. For no apparent reason, Amber was certain they were in accord. “Yes. I believe we do.”
“And...perhaps Lady Elmstead would be so kind as to send her clothier to us tomorrow,” he suggested.
“Of course,” Oriel replied.
Amber found herself giggling. “Perhaps someone could see fit to lend me something to wear tomorrow,” she teased him.
Christopher scowled. “That is a concern, I believe.”
Oriel shot a look of confusion at Queen Alana. “You didn’t allow Amber to bring clothing with her? Surely, your jacket isn’t the only clothing the poor girl has to wear?”
That and the skirt...and a bustier. Amber cleared her throat, well aware that she was headed for scarlet. “In all fairness, I had nothing worth bringing.”
There was a moment of silence, and Alana shared another silent stare with her long-time friend.
Christopher’s mother nodded, her jaw tight in fury. “Four spoons, and the woman had best leave my sight within a few days, or it will surely be five.”
* * * *
“Best build the dress spacious,” Alana suggested. “With two and a half seasons until the ceremony, she’s sure to carry.”
Edward smiled at Amber’s darkening cheeks. He knew she wasn’t adverse to the idea of children, but everyone’s fascination with the subject embarrassed her. He knew—as did she—that there were already polls going on how long it would be until she carried and whether she’d gift Edward a son on the first catch.
“As you wish, Majesty,” the clothier replied, reworking her numbers.
“Her daily wear should show more cleavage,” Oriel mused.
Amber glanced down at the low-cut bodice in horror, and Edward spoke up.
“I think not.”
The clothier stopped writing and turned to him. “It is the fashion, Highness.”
“Perhaps Amber will start a new fashion.” Whether she did or not, he’d promised to make her comfortable, and he would.
“Edward,” his mother began, no doubt about to insist that, as a man, he couldn’t possibly appreciate the social needs of a young lady.
“A woman should dress to please her husband or lover,” he cut her off.
“Well... Yes. Of course, she should. At all times.” Alana motioned up and down Amber’s body, currently clothed in an oversized gown that the clothier would cut down for her in time to wear tomorrow. “Your bride has a lovely body, Edward.”
“She does,” he agreed. It was a body that had him salivating to explore again.
“Then you’ll want to see more of it,” she concluded.
“I do...in the privacy of our bed. In company, I prefer to be the only man in the room to know what lies beneath Amber’s dress and to anticipate rediscovering it, when we are alone.”
Amber’s smile was stunning.
The clothier looked from Alana and Oriel to Edward, waiting for a decision.
“No necklines lower than what she now wears,” he ordered. “And a bit higher for daily wear...like the portrait of my great-grandmother that hangs in the palace.”
Alana’s jaw dropped in shock. “You would really torture the poor girl with the flounces and underskirts and—”
“No.” He waved away her concern. “I like the illusion of inaccessibility, not the reality of it.”
The clothier seemed to consider it. “Yes. I believe I know just the thing.”
Chapter Nine
Edward took the brush from Amber’s hand, grooming her hair with slow strokes. She fiddled with the combs that would
hold it back.
“You’re not worried, are you?” he asked.
Her smile was strained, and she didn’t meet his eyes in the mirror. “Of course not. Marquita was on a drug that made her fertile, and Kambry...”
He brought the brush down again, though it was obvious her hair had long-ago been tamed smooth; she was stalling...in more ways than one. “Kambry?” he prodded gently.
“Always as regular as the spring thaw,” she offered. “A woman like that is an easy catch, I’ve always heard.”
“Are you late for your courses?” he asked. If so, was she afraid she was pregnant or afraid that she wasn’t?
Amber stared at the combs, and Edward took a moment to examine her reflection. She was light on color, not pale precisely but peaked.
“Are you?” he asked again, forcing himself to continue brushing.
“No. I was always of a range. Anytime in the next week is within reason for me.”
“But you ordered the servants to restock supplies almost a week ago,” he noted, wondering at her nervousness.
“A woman never wants to be caught without. If I was early in the range... Better safe, I suppose.”
“If you’re certain.” He hinted for an answer to that. If she wasn’t certain... No, he couldn’t rush a doctor in. If he did and she wasn’t pregnant, it would make her feel worse.
She didn’t reply to it directly. “Besides that, I have the full sensation that often comes just before the courses. No doubt, it will be later today or tomorrow.”
Edward ran his fingers through her hair, reveling in the weight of it, the fall of unbound hair inviting him.
“When the Goddess wishes, it will happen,” he assured her. He could wait for it.
She placed the combs in her hair, meeting his eyes at last. “When She wishes it. We should go to breakfast now. The servants will be waiting.”
He knew it did no good to remind Amber that everything was at her whim now. He tossed the brush to the dressing table and helped her up.
Amber smoothed her dress, then pressed a hand to her abdomen.
“Hungry?” he inquired.
