“I watched you in the mirror, as much as I could tolerate.”
“What do you mean?” She put a hand to her face. Had she looked foolish?
“I wanted to have you,” he said, intensity betraying his frankness. “I could have, you know. Passion is vulnerability.”
That truth shocked her. “I trusted you.”
“I hope that the honor I proved today will help you to trust me in all things,” he said, slipping her chemise over her head. “While I untangle your stays, why don’t you don your stockings? I don’t think I could stand to be so close to your scented regions right now.”
The ironic twist of his mouth made her giggle. “I am glad I madden you, Edward.”
“I shall never sleep again, for the sheer longing,” he promised, frowning at her stays.
“You cannot continue to sneak around the grounds,” she said. “But I must see you again. How?”
“I will come again on Thursday.” He laced her up, stealing her breath. “Meet me at the same place on the terrace.”
“The queen is always busy at eleven, so I am certain to be free then.”
“Eleven it is. Consider how best to present my letter and brooch to my sister. We will discuss it then and you can gain another audience for me. I will speak with the advice of your counsel ringing in my ears and persuade Victoria to request a transfer into one of her household regiments.”
“She told you to leave London.”
“That was before the letter was revealed.” His gaze caught hers in the mirror as he buttoned up the back of her dress. “I expect the situation to smooth over now. You do not want me to depart, correct? I have so much more to teach you. Surely Victoria will want to obey her own father’s wishes.”
Charlotte hated herself for it, but no, she did not want him gone. How could she reproduce the dangerous raptures he had incited in her body? She could already feel the resurrection of her desire.
Now, with her newfound understanding, she could sense the difference between his tense arousal with her air of relaxed completion.
“We must go,” she said, not ready to continue the conversation. She had a lot of thinking to do and no idea of what avenue her attempt at persuading Victoria would take. She had disobeyed the little queen, and must find a way for Victoria to think it was her own idea.
~
“You must see, my dear, that this is what my brother wanted.” Princess Sophia sat straight-backed in her old-fashioned gown, saying the same thing repeatedly to the clearly bored queen.
Victoria stroked Dash’s fur and made kissing noises at him. Charlotte wondered if she was paying any attention to her aunt.
“I’m sure my husband meant nothing of the sort,” the Duchess of Kent opined. “He would not have put some bastard, who may not even have been his, in any kind of responsible position toward my daughter.”
“The letter makes it clear,” the princess insisted. “I read it myself. Dear Colonel FitzPrince has it now, along with the miniature. I assure you it is indisputable.”
“Come now, Aunt Sophia. You are forgetful at times,” Victoria chided.
“It was a deathbed request,” the elderly woman said stiffly, her chin wobbling. “From him to Lady Margot, and from Lady Margot to me. I have written the prime minister myself.”
“But the Duke of Linsee made other arrangements,” the duchess insisted. “Send him back to Canada. That is where he belongs.”
“We already gave our orders to the colonel,” the queen said coldly, giving Charlotte a look that was just short of a childish fit of rage. “After conferring with the prime minister.”
Charlotte sighed. At least she didn’t have to bring the letter and miniature to the queen’s attention. Princess Sophia was bent on her mission.
“What does it hurt to have the boy in the Household Guard?” the princess asked querulously.
“He’ll take on airs,” the duchess warned. “He’ll damage the monarchy. He’ll start a whisper campaign against you.”
“King William was a blameless-enough monarch,” the queen said. “And we are held in the highest of esteem. But we do agree the colonel has no place here. We cannot imagine what my father thought eighteen years ago. We must assume Linsee acted on my father’s demands and that Lady Margot misunderstood. We will send our lady, again, to request the colonel return to his regiment.”
The duchess smiled. Princess Sophia looked as if she might cry. Charlotte sighed. If only to thwart her mother, the queen might have budged a little. After all, a transfer to London was much less than offering her brother a hearing in the College of Arms, or in front of the Privy Council.
Charlotte understood the problem. As it was, the queen could see no benefit to keeping the colonel around. He was a liability. But not to Charlotte. Edward FitzPrince was the gateway to sensual wonders, and he understood she must not be marred on the marriage mart. She could have her pleasures and not lose her virginity. No, she would not send him away. She could not.
Charlotte sniffed, and Victoria turned to her. “Yes, dear?”
“I wonder if the situation merits investigation. Linsee might have had a man of business we could consult. He’s only been gone half a year. We could understand the issue a bit better, from the family’s perspective. I also believe there is an aunt living, Lady Abigail? She might be able to help us understand the source of the colonel’s beliefs, without our search leaving the family and entering the realm of politics.”
The queen gave her a doubtful look. Charlotte pressed forward. “You will wish to clearly understand your father’s wishes once and for all, ma’am.”
“I can speak for my husband,” the duchess said in her thick accent.
It irritated Charlotte, who flattered herself on a good English accent, except when she was under extreme stress. It seemed the duchess didn’t even try.
“We see the sense of what dear Charlotte is saying,” the queen mused. “We see no harm in sending a letter to Lady Abigail and having her opinion. But in the meantime, he can return to Canada.”
“It’s so far away, ma’am,” Charlotte protested.
“Why ever do you care, dear?” the queen asked.
Charlotte blinked. “There are never enough handsome young men around court.”
Victoria giggled. “We cannot ogle our own brother.”
“Victoria!” the duchess snapped. “Remember yourself.”
The queen fixed her slightly protuberant eyes on her mother. “Fear not, ma’am, we are ever aware of our dignity.”
The duchess harrumphed.
“Dear Charlotte has a point. We wish to have balls and musical evenings and fun, a young court. One must have young men. Of course, this man in particular is unsuitable.”
Not for her. Not right now. Charlotte closed her eyes in frustration. For a moment she’d thought she’d stayed his execution. But then, the queen shrugged. “It is no matter to us, if he stays in London while we confer with Lady Abigail and whatever man of business she can identify. After all, if we can clearly explain to the colonel what our father’s wishes were, he will not be able to protest.”
Princess Sophia smiled.
“I wish the letter had been burnt,” the duchess growled.
~
The next day Charlotte rode through the streets of London with Birdie again, eager to see Edward. The decrepit valet opened the door to his rooms, but his clothing had been upgraded. Edward had put his funds to some use. She approved. Servants reflected upon their masters.
Edward shrugged into his coat as she walked in. As he bowed to her she wished he was removing it, instead of otherwise. Did he not want his servant to know of their alliance?
“More news from Her Majesty?” he asked, a sour tone creeping into his voice.
“As ever,” she agreed. “But it is not so bad.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “Quintin, bring us a tray? Perhaps you could take the young lady with you to the kitchen?”
As the old man shuffled off with Bi
rdie, he gestured toward the settee. Charlotte felt her nipples harden as she walked toward the place where he’d first touched her. She wondered if he would excuse the servants from the building for a little while, so he could acquaint her with some new sensual delight.
She tilted her face up to him as he stepped up to her, but he ignored the invitation for a kiss and sat in his writing desk chair. Obviously, he blamed her for as-yet unshared bad news.
“I take it I won’t be reassigned to the Household Guard,” he said.
She sighed. “Not for now, at least, but you are no longer expected to report back to the 32nd immediately. The queen has decided to confer with Lady Abigail as to why Linsee bought you the commission he did.”
“But it was Lady Abigail who made me aware of the brooch and letter in the first place,” Edward said. “She’s on our side.”
“The queen doesn’t want you at court,” Charlotte said. “It’s quite clear. But you may have a chance to change regiments, at least.”
“That was never more than a temporary measure. If I had the money I could do it myself.” He made a fist and dropped it hard into his open palm. “I don’t need her permission to stay in London longer.”
“It is awkward to stay without it,” Charlotte pointed out. “She does not see you as a safe person. She wants a fun court, a young court, but also a moral one. You, by your existence, bring an immoral tone.”
“As you well know, Princess,” he said. “As you well know, it is the very truth.”
Her cheeks flushed. Would he make a move now? But then Quintin shuffled in with the tea tray. The biscuits looked fresh. The teapot was clean and smelled enticingly of Darjeeling. In just a few days, this household felt more prosperous than before.
“Will you pour, Princess?” Edward asked.
He seemed cheerful now, and she wasn’t sure how to take that. Did he know something she did not?
“I know the queen is unlikely to agree to another audience,” Charlotte said as she poured the tea.
“We are at a stalemate while Aunt Abigail is written to,” he agreed.
“Do you think it is best to stay out of the court’s gaze or in it?”
“You tell me. You are the courtier.”
Why was he so amused? “The queen is going to see the Fair Rosamond opera at Drury Lane tomorrow night,” she said.
“Where is that?”
“Covent Garden. The true name is The Theatre Royal.”
“The queen could see me behaving decorously,” he said, taking a sip of tea. “Biscuit?”
“No, thank you.”
He reached for one and took a large bite. She wondered where his passion for her had gone. Could he replace her with food? The dratted man. After all she had risked yesterday.
“Have you changed your mind about staying?”
He set down his teacup at her question. “Princess, you must be joking. This war has yet to begin.”
She nodded. “Then we shall have to come up with something else.”
He swallowed his last bite of cookie and patted his lap. “Come here for a minute before you go.”
She stood and walked forward slowly. With a rusty chuckle he pulled her into his lap. Her bottom met the hard ridge of his cock. She could hardly think the naughty word in the privacy of her own mind, but then he nuzzled her neck and she smelled his clean scent. Her eyes closed and her head fell back. If he didn’t touch her breasts she was going to die.
When his lips touched hers she opened to him, waiting for his tongue to sweep in with that devastating rhythm that had so overset her yesterday. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her passionately for a moment, but no tongue, no explorations of her décolletage. After a couple of minutes, confused, she separated from him.
“Don’t you want to use your tongue?” she whispered.
“You could use yours. I wouldn’t object.”
“Oh.” She put her mouth to his, and touched her tongue to his lower lip.
He didn’t react as she traced his lip with her tongue. Becoming bolder, she slid it along his teeth, then playfully tickled his tongue with the tip of hers. He made an indistinct curse and pulled her even closer, then began to join with her in earnest. By the time he set her back on her feet, her dress was askew and her ribs were pressing painfully against her stays.
“You are out of breath,” he observed. “You should take more exercise.”
He had a gleam in his eyes which told her what he said was naughty. She supposed bed sport was called “sport” for a reason.
“We stand for hours on duty,” she said. “But we cannot always move around.”
“I won’t be able to help you unless I get what I want. So you had better think hard, Princess. All we have is a stay of execution. Remember, you could have a crown on your head if you play the game well. Cultivate the prime minister if you can. You must see him, he is so often in Victoria’s company.”
She waited for him to approach her, but instead he leaned back in his chair and took up the second biscuit. “I have an appointment to be measured for new boots in a few minutes, but I will see you tomorrow night at the theater.”
Just like that, he had Quintin fetching her carriage, which was waiting down the street. Birdie reappeared.
“You’re pretty with your face so flushed,” Edward observed, just before he opened the door. “Have a good afternoon, Princess.”
Chapter Eight
The next night, Charlotte stood in the back of the queen’s Drury Lane box at the opera performance. A Member of Parliament kept leaning toward her ear to make remarks, but his breath was so foul that she couldn’t bring herself to attempt a flirtation. Also, she knew he was a younger son and didn’t have more than a thousand a year. On either side of the box, tall chandeliers cast light directly upon the patrons seated below. Edward had managed to take a seat on the far side of one of the rows beneath them. She had recognized him when he removed his hat, though there was no way he could see her in the recesses of the box above. Before the performance began, though, he had spotted her standing at the front people-watching. He had bowed to her and Victoria had stiffened and moved back, drawing her alongside him.
“What is he doing here?” she whispered.
“He probably shares your love of opera, ma’am,” Charlotte said. Thankfully the queen did not press the issue further. Charlotte didn’t think she had the necessary acuity to persuade Victoria of her half-brother’s innocent intentions tonight. She hadn’t slept well, tortured by the not-so-innocent desires of her body, desires Edward had declined to fulfill the night before.
She understood his game. He intended to beguile her, and he had proven better at his task than hers of resisting him. She knew a little better now, the dilemma faced by Edward’s mother when seduced by the late prince, in the binding of a questionable marriage. He had been an irresistible man who had sired an equally alluring son. Heavens, what good would it do her to become the lover of such a man? It hadn’t bought Lady Margot anything. Except her sons.
~
Edward attempted to access the royal box at intermission, but was denied. He hadn’t the right kind of ticket, much less entry into Victoria’s presence. He had counted on Charlotte seeing him and sending a note, or a footman, but she had either chosen not to or been thwarted. Possibly not giving her completion the night before had been a mistake. Had he calculated how best to motivate his sensual wife incorrectly?
He wandered around, waiting for the opera to begin again. It wasn’t a bad show so he saw no reason not to stay, though he wished he’d invited a companion. Murdo had sent him a note inviting him to dinner the next night. He might have replied with an invitation for tonight, especially when his cousin had been so agreeable.
Walking along the outer edges of the theater rows, he considered people’s clothing, which only showed how provincial his own was. He should simply wear his uniform around town. When he passed under a chandelier, he saw a woman he recognized duck behind one of the
columns a couple of boxes away from the royal enclosure. It took him a moment to place her, then he remembered. Lady Amy, the Duchess of Kent’s lady-in-waiting.
To his surprise, he saw her head pop out again, and she smiled. Her expression popped wrinkles into relief around her eyes. She must be a good five years older than he was, in her mid-thirties. Who was she smiling at? His eyes narrowed when he saw Sir John Conroy approaching, then they both disappeared behind the column, as if they stood directly behind it. Conspiring? Embracing?
They likely worked closely together, both being in the duchess’s household, but why had Lady Amy smiled so? Was she a woman in love with a married man? Could this be scandal uncovered in the queen’s mother’s household?
He went back to his seat, considering the situation. When he glanced up to the royal box, he finally saw Charlotte again. He tapped his watch chain and made a gesture with two fingers, hoping she understood he attempted to make an appointment for eleven a.m.
She mouthed something back to him. He thought it was “Monday.” And today was Friday. How irritating to have to wait to check on his gossip. He mouthed, “Come to me.”
She looked away, shaking her head. He still didn’t know why she hadn’t managed to get him into Victoria’s box and he’d have days more of wondering before he saw her again. Had he miscalculated with his princess?
~
The next night, Edward stood in a portrait room in Murdo’s Grosvenor Square mansion, considering his McChase ancestors. It had been years since he’d seen family paintings, and that was the collection at Linsee Castle. Some of these were reproductions, but not all. He’d never seen an image of the fiery-haired Lady Marie McChase, who was a sister of his great-grandfather and had lived into Spencer’s infancy. She’d been a legend in the family for her misdeeds, similar to his own mother, whom Marie resembled. He at first thought the portrait of the late Duke was a sketch from which his official painting had been finished, but when he held his candle close to it, he saw that it depicted a man a decade younger. Murdo looked like the fierce Highland chieftain. It would be easy to see Linsee at Culloden. Thankfully, the duke at that time had been away in France on a diplomatic mission, for the Stuarts, ironically, and had escaped the fallout of that battle by judicious double-dealing in the aftermath.
The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance Page 11
