The Princess Royal (Royal Romances Book 2)

by Molly Jameson

  “Show me, then.” She said.

  She reached out to touch his face, the square jaw, the rasp of scruff against her palm.

  “I can’t believe this. Until the dirty thirty I didn’t even realize there was the possibility of you.” She said, watching in some dismay as he put his jumper back on.

  “Lizzy, there’s always been the possibility of us.”

  Her pulse beating rapidly, she tugged at his hand, practically dragging him down the hill so they could reach the lodge as quickly as possible. It wasn’t winter yet but it was still too bloody cold to shag on the ground. He lifted her onto Perla in one smooth motion, his hands at her waist. She caught his hand and kissed it.

  “If you mean to happen to me, then happen to me now. As soon as we can reach the lodge.”

  “If not before.” He said.

  His voice was seductive with the promise of his hands on her body, his weight above her. Even the anticipation stirred her. They rode back toward the stables. She scrambled off the horse without much dignity and was in his arms. She was cold, wind bitten, and knew her nose was red. Lizzy caught at his jumper and pulled him close and kissed him.

  “Not here. I’ll have you against the stable door if you don’t stop.” He said raggedly.

  His hands roamed her arms, her back, as if he could not stop touching her.

  “Upstairs.” She said. “I’ll race you.”

  “You told me at the benefit a few weeks ago that this time you wouldn’t race me if we were together.”

  “I can’t even breathe with wanting you so much, Phillip. Now come upstairs with me and lock the door before I give myself a heart attack.”

  Within moments they were shutting the door to her room and she turned the deadbolt decisively and then took the hem of his wool jumper and stripped it off him. They were kissing, peeling off clothes in the cool morning shadows.

  “I kissed you one Boxing Day at Father’s, under the mistletoe. Why not then?” She panted.

  “Perhaps because you were sixteen.” He said.

  “Fair enough. I don’t recall that kiss being like this.”

  “It wasn’t. I could certainly make that up to you now if it weren’t so bloody cold now.”

  “Cold? Commoner! Pemmy was right. Blue blood is thicker. I can have a maid come lay a fire.”

  “Commoners do have the odd skill here and there. I can lay a fire myself.”

  “I wish you would.” She said.

  Lizzy’s gaze was full of Phillip, of the breadth of his shoulders, the way his dark curls lay against his neck. She tilted her head to look at him and gave a short laugh when she realized she wanted him by candlelight. His was not a body to be explored by the harsh electric lights. His was a body built for firelight or a blaze of candles, casting a ruddy glow and play of shadows along his skin. Phillip bent and took logs from the holder and ranged them on the andirons. The wash of cloudy daylight from the windows illuminated the ripple of muscle in his arms and back as he lifted and stacked. He struck a long match and touched the flame to the logs. It caught with a hiss and an orange blaze kindled. Phillip pinched the tip of the match to extinguish the flame and she caught her breath.

  Phillip was broad and strong, and when she set her hands on his shoulders, she felt anchored, as if he were the thing tethering her to earth. He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist, her palm, then her fingertips. He caught her chin in his hand and kissed her. Lizzy couldn’t imagine how kissing an old friend might feel this way, this flash of need and surrender. She laid her palm over his heart, over the tree of life he’d inked there for her, at her suggestion. Her thumb traced the faint wedge of his scar.

  “What is this from?” She said.

  “Your brother shot me. At archery practice the year he was tossed out of Eton the first time.”

  “I thought he was expelled for gross insubordination.”

  “He was. Shooting me was only peripheral to the occasion. It was a total accident. Gave my mum a turn though. She swore the Prince of Wales was jealous of me and tried to skewer me through the heart.”

  “I’m awfully pleased that he failed.” She said, her lips curving into a smile.

  Lizzy kissed him again, her hands learning the planes of his face. He kept still as she touched his face, memorizing every line, and she wondered at his patience—she would never have had the confidence or the calm to let him examine her so closely. She pressed her hand to his chest, not to push him away, but to steady herself.

  “There’s nothing to be shy of. I love you, Lizzy.”

  “That’s what frightens me.”

  “You’re safe as houses with me.” He said, folding her in his arms.

  “That’s where you’re mistaken. You’re by far the most dangerous man to me. I’ve only ever been with boys who wanted to go to bed with a princess. You’re the first one who wants just me.”

  “Are you shaking?”

  He gathered her hands in his and kissed them.

  “I thought blue blood was thicker? How could you be cold with a fire on?”

  Still holding her hands in his, Phillip took her mouth again with his. Lizzy pulled her hands free and gripped his back. There was nothing tentative about him. He was definite and masterful. He rucked up her tunic and held her by the hips. Gradually, he stroked her sides as he pushed the shirt upward. Lizzy stepped into his arms, her stomach pressed to his, her bare arms wrapped around his shoulders. The heat of his smooth skin against her, the solidity of him seemed to bewitch her. She ran her hands along his back, her lips grazing his shoulder, his neck. He set his mouth on her collarbone. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and he snaked one arm around her hips, moving her to the bed.

  Phillip lay her down on the bed and stretched out on his side, facing her. He stroked her face, her throat, sending chills through her. His kisses were at the same time languorous and demanding, drawing a response from her with his lips and tongue, his hands in her hair. She hooked her leg over his, anchored her hands in his hair and pushed her tongue into his mouth. She pressed against him, her nipples hardening at his touch through the lace of her bra. Every stroke and tug of his fingers set her writhing, wanting more.

  She got him out of his trousers swiftly, tried to coax him on top of her. He shook his head, peeling down the lace of her bra and fastening his mouth to her nipple. She gave a cry, her head fell back, eyes shut, just riding the sensation of his mouth and fingers on her. He hooked his thumbs in the sides of her panties and slid them down. Lizzy kicked them away impatiently as his fingers pressed and stroked between her legs. The coiling need mounted, making her arch against the pressure of his fingers, trembling. His mouth covered her lips again, his tongue answering her cries. The stroke of his fingers kept rhythm with his kiss and she was swept away.

  Phillip held her then, tightly against his chest until her heart slowed down, until her fingers in his hair eased their grip. She nestled against his chest, stroked his face in wonder that Phillip of all people could render her so replete. Lizzy was caught by that intense dark gaze. She kissed his shoulder, that scar where her brother had shot him, the ink of the tree of life above his heart where there persisted a bare patch from the tattooist’s razor. Everywhere else, dark hair furred his chest and she was drawn to it in some primal way that Magnus’ waxed chest had never excited in her. She wanted to rub her bare chest against his, wanted to bite his shoulder to mark him out as hers. It was strange possessive thrill that ran through her as she rolled him onto his back.

  Lizzy straddled his stomach. Phillip’s fingers traced the pattern of vines on her side.

  “You’re quite beautiful, Lizzy. I hadn’t imagined. I mean, I had imagined, but nothing my brain could invent was as grand as you are.”

  “I never imagined you like this at all—and before you say I’m horrid for your ego, know that I realize now I should have been imagining you all along. Instead of that chap from Outlander or George Clooney. Because I had no idea—I wa
s so stupid, Phillip.”

  “Never say that about the woman I love.” He said.

  He flipped her on to her back so quickly it made her laugh as she caught his face and kissed him. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee and she arched toward him. Phillip trailed his mouth down her neck, his fingers rubbing the slickness between her legs.

  “Now.” She said.

  “You’re not my sovereign just now, love. Haven’t you learned about anticipation? About savoring pleasure instead of rushing to the finish?” He said, kissing her.

  He moved away from her long enough to reach his trousers and retrieve a condom. Then, with one thrust, he was within her. Tenderly, he reached for her face and kissed her. He was perfectly still within her, the strain evident in the corded muscles of his arms and neck as he levered himself above her, worry in his gaze.

  “All right?” He said.

  Lizzy nodded mutely, her hands that were fisted in the sheets moving to hold on to his shoulders. She moved her hips against his, urging him on. Phillip pulled away from her, withdrew. Desperate, she reached for him and he settled her in his lap, face to face. He held her, cradling her head in his hands, and entered her slowly, listening for every hitch in her breathing, watching for the slightest change in her expression. When she leaned her forehead against his, her arms around his shoulders, he rocked into her, building a rhythm that she caught. She was gasping at every thrust, her hands in his hair, her mouth at his neck. When he reached between them and touched her, she cried out and bucked against him as she reached her completion. Shuddering atop him, Lizzy kissed his upper lip, nipped at it, and gave herself up to it, as he moved within her, building his own climax. Her fingers dug into his shoulder when he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her shoulder.

  “Ah, Lizzy.”

  They tumbled back onto the bed and Lizzy rolled over, curling up and pulling the sheet up to cover herself.

  “No.” He said. “Not at such a time.”

  Phillip spooned up behind her and held her. The warmth of his chest was solid against her back and she settled into him.

  “Do you understand or shall I show you again?”

  She didn’t reply, couldn’t fathom anything she’d be able to say to him just then. It was too much intensity, too many feelings at once. She wanted to be by herself, far away from Pembroke to sort it out or forget about it.

  “You can’t begin to tell me that was rubbish. Not to boast, but this wasn’t my first shag, Lizzy.”

  “Ah, it wasn’t rubbish. I think you’ve destroyed me, Phillip. That was distressingly good.”

  “Distressingly good? That seems a bit like damning with faint praise, Lizzy. I intend to write to your boarding school immediately and suggest they add a course in friendly pillow talk as yours is somewhat lacking.”

  “Don’t joke, Phillip. You were right. It is the end of the fucking world.”

  “Is it too much to hope you mean that favorably?”

  “I’ve no idea what to do with myself. I’m quite uncomfortable at the moment.”

  “Bloody hell, did I hurt you, Lizzy?” He said, turning her to face him.

  “No, nothing like that. I can’t explain it myself, only to say that I feel as if I’m not myself any longer, that you changed me just now.”

  “I hope I’ve not put you off men utterly.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid you have.” She said. “Oh, I wish you could see your face! I was only teasing. You’ve possibly put me off other men for good.”

  “That’s tremendous. Precisely my aim.”

  “You know what I mean. Normally, I’d be looking round for my phone to check the time, wondering which excuse I might use to get rid of the lad. I find myself wanting you to stay.”

  “You’re lagging a bit behind me then. I already knew I wanted you and you alone. You held my hand when I had a needle going at my chest. You did things to help me feel more myself when everyone seemed to prefer ignoring my heartbreak. You got me thinking I wanted to be in love, instead of being alone. You are mad and magical. Nothing in my life before has ever compared to the way it felt when you said you wanted to give this a try.”

  “I think it’s possible you had me when you told me about the barrel at your parents’ house. Or when you read me Harry Potter. God, Phillip, how did I get you? How did someone like me ever catch your eye?”

  “It isn’t only my eye you’ve caught, Lizzy.”

  “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never had a man who loves me. I’ve had several who said they did, but it isn’t precisely the same thing.”

  “So I’m the first man who’s loved you. That makes me feel uncommonly clever, but it makes me a bit gloomy about the intelligence of our male population in Britain overall. Have you ever brought a man to Pembroke?”

  “Never. You’re the first Pembroke boy. When I was about sixteen there was a boy over in Chipping Campden, but we had our rendezvous in a pasture.”

  “Appalling story. Never tell it again.” He said.

  “Did you need to think me a virgin?”

  “No, I only pity those sheep. They might’ve been traumatized.”

  “They probably were. We were young and neither of us terribly good at it. Although I’m sure he tells the story often enough.”

  “I’m glad to be your first at Pembroke Lodge. Gives me a bit of distinction.”

  “As if you need any distinction, cheeky boy. I’ve only told you that was the best I’ve ever had.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “A little, why?”

  “I think this bears commemoration and as I don’t mint coins like the palace, I have to be creative. Put your kit back on. We’ll walk into town.”

  “Into town?”

  “Yes. I think sincerely that we should have a tattoo.”

  “You already have one!”

  “And you have three. It’s an odd number…that can’t be strictly lucky. You need another. Right here.” He said, tapping her shoulder just below the collarbone.

  “Seriously? You want to go have tattoos in the middle of the day? What happened to polite, clever Phillip who stood in the royal salon sipping sherry and making chitchat with my mother?”

  “He was a prat and he never had you. We’re going to town to make a bit of mischief on this skin that supposedly belongs to the UK.”

  “It’s as if you’ve broken free from decades of socialization to be a nice boy. Having tattoos, shagging your best mate’s sister—wait, tell me this was not about my brother nearly fucking Amanda—“ She said.

  Panic rode in her stomach and she dug her nails into her palm just to keep herself still in the two seconds it took for him to answer.

  “Christ no, Lizzy! As if I would use you and hurt you to—what? Make Jamie a bit angry? That’s total bollocks. Come here.”

  Phillip crushed her against his chest and kissed the top of her rumpled hair.

  “If I’d wanted to hurt Jamie…which I’m not sure how he’s any part of this…I might’ve shagged you the night of the charity ball or after Magnus’ article, as you’ve generously pointed out. Why would I have gone to the trouble of following you to Pembroke?”

  “You didn’t follow me Pembroke.”

  “Didn’t I? You tweeted about the Cotswolds. I saw it and I started on my way here.”

  “I’d no idea you followed my Twitter. You’re a stalker!”

  “I came out here to have a go at you. I hadn’t much hope until you turned up in the silver dress and danced with me that night at the ball and I made you laugh. I thought right then, that’s something I’d be quite pleased to do for the rest of my natural life.”

  “So you don’t jump right in impulsively, too much do you?”

  “Are you accusing me of being reckless?” He said. “We’re going for a tattoo and then lunch.”

  “Which tattoo are you having?”

  “I’ve not decided that yet. I shall have to choose at the shop.”

>   Chapter Eight

  Lizzy stood in the solitary tattooist’s in Chipping Campden, picking at a cone of pink candy floss she had insisted upon. In fact, she’d threatened to start listing the principal breeds of sheep and their distinctive traits if she wasn’t promptly fed upon reaching town. The shop was little and dim. She listened to a voicemail from Smithpeters instructing her to be sure and take daily exercise in the form of a brisk walk while in residence at Pembroke and to be careful with the clotted cream. She wondered idly if she ought to be jogging in place whilst Phillip pored over the posters of tattoo designs. He announced that he’d found the perfect one for her.

  “Is it going to be a sheep?”

  “This.”

  Phillip tapped his phone, brought up a picture of Lizzy in the pink diamond Argyle tiara.

  “I can wear the tiara anytime, once I’m back in the good graces of their majesties.” She said.

  “You’re caught up in trying to be a princess or trying to avoid being a princess when you haven’t realized it’s nothing more than part of who you are already.”

  “You are so deep, Phillip. It’s as if you’ve had nine Pembroke teas.”

  “I’m perfectly serious. You’d be perhaps the first princess ever to have a crown tattoo. Something no one can take away based on your choices. Because no one but yourself has authority over you.”

  “Do you think J11 over there?” She pointed to the poster with its simple black outline of a tiara.

  “Yes. What about placement?”

  “Just here, I think.” She reached beneath the strap of her shift to a spot just below her collarbone on the left, the spot he’d indicated when they were in bed. “What about yours?”

  “I had thought of it on the way here and I want to know what you think. An acorn.”

  “You ought rightly to have a ukulele. Why would you have an acorn?”

  “It’s the symbol on the Pembroke gates. I’m your first and last boy at Pembroke, if you recall. I’m being romantic, this would be an ideal time for you to swoon.”

  “I’m hardly the swooning type.” She said. “Want me to read you Harry Potter?”