by Avery Wilde
Rogers arched an eyebrow again, as if he somehow knew what was going on in my head, and I placed the photo down, my eyes still glued to it as a wolfish grin spread across my face.
This was going to be a lot of fun.
Chapter 3
Keira
“This way, Miss. You and the other the new staff members will have your duties assigned momentarily.”
An older well-dressed man gave me a polite smile and gestured towards an open door on the first floor of Richmond Palace, and I smiled and followed him, taking a deep breath as I did so. As I stepped into the spacious room, I saw that most of the other new staff members were already there and standing in a line, being inspected by another older gentleman who the first man addressed as ‘Rogers’. I took my place in the line, followed by two other girls who’d arrived just after me, and as I waited, I stared out the window at the beautiful gardens just beyond the walls.
I’d been in England a couple of weeks now, and so far, I was absolutely loving it. Most pointedly I was loving the public museum system. The large museums in London (the Natural History Museum, Science Museum, and the National Gallery) were owned by the British public, paid for by taxes, and free to enter. That ‘free-ness’ was of course their main appeal for me, but there was also something to be said for the fact that theoretically, paintings such as Holbein’s The Ambassadors were the property of the British public. Any British subject was theoretically able to go into a state museum and ask to see any item not currently on display, and they would be shown it. Of course I wasn’t a British subject and would’ve probably been too embarrassed to ask even if I had been, but it was still a nice thing to think about.
The public art museums had occupied my first weeks amiably enough, but I was aware that I was running through money with housing, travel and food expenses, and I really needed to get some steady income sorted out, so it was a great relief to finally find out that my application to work at Richmond palace had been successful. On my first day, I was given a tour of the labyrinthine house, or at least those parts of it that a maid might need to know, and today I would be assigned my specific duties. I’d seen the Queen from a distance, but I hadn’t run into Prince Andrew at all, and I was keeping my fingers crossed that I never would.
Having said that, there were no words I knew that could adequately describe the shock I experienced when I saw Andrew himself enter the room and stroll down the line of new staff, looking unbelievably handsome and also unbelievably smug. He briefly stopped at me and flashed me a mischievous smile and wink before moving on.
What on earth? What was that about, and what was he doing here amongst the staff?
I would’ve bet good money that a royal prince didn’t handle the day-to-day duties of the servants, and since the royal family had several houses, I’d thought my chances of bumping into him were satisfyingly low. But here he was, and that was that. But why? Had he somehow come across the pile of job applications and seen my name?
I thought back to the night we met, trying to remember if I’d even told him my last name. If so, was he the one who’d hired me? Did he think we could pick up where we’d left off that night in New York, as if I were some sort of unfinished business to him? Somewhere deep within me, a heated pocket of my libido hoped the answer to all those questions was yes, but I immediately quashed it. I wanted nothing to do with the man—I was here to clean the palace, and definitely not here to clean off his abs with my tongue…
Jeez, snap out of it, I told myself, standing up straighter.
A Google search for ‘Prince Andrew Arlington’, which I’d made the other day despite myself, had confirmed all my worst suspicions about the man. I’d been absolutely right to run away from him that night and never look back. He’d had a string of high profile girlfriends that could’ve stretched from London to Edinburgh, and a string of scandalous one night stands that could’ve twice looped the equator. The man clearly used women for sex; that was all he was interested in. I’d had a lucky escape, although that annoying little voice inside my head pointed out that a man with that much practice presumably knew what he was doing.
Circumstances being what they were, my pre-assignment interview was a somewhat tense affair. It was predominantly conducted by Rogers, the head of the Queen’s household, who appeared to have been built at the same time as the palace itself. I’d only met him briefly during yesterday’s tour and found him imposing and unapproachable, but I’d still rather speak to him than Andrew, who was leaning against the wall behind Rogers, observing me with an appreciative and roguish eye. He said nothing as Rogers asked questions, and I tried my best to remember the embellished information I’d written on my résumé. At first, I felt he was mentally undressing me, and by the end of the interview I felt that he was mentally lighting a cigarette and calling me a cab.
After a few more hours of orientation, during which I struggled to commit to memory the convoluted layout of the house, the new staff were finally assigned specific duties. I was last, and Rogers took me to one side.
“You are to be Prince Andrew’s personal maid.”
What?
Rogers arched an eyebrow when I didn’t immediately respond out of pure shock, and I swallowed uncomfortably and choked out a response. “I see.”
“You are unhappy with this,” he said. It wasn’t so much a question as a direct statement, and I tried to wipe the horrified expression off my face and adopt a neutral one.
“No, sir, it’s just…I didn’t realize I’d be working so closely with the royal family. You surprised me, that’s all.”
“Valencia,” Rogers continued. He had a curious habit of addressing people by surname alone. “The family are our first responsibility, and keeping them happy is our primary concern and duty. Prince Andrew personally requested you after the interviews today. That’s why you’ll be working so closely with him.”
I nodded. “I understand,” I said, more than a little despondent. I’d hoped to avoid Prince Andrew, but this assignment was literally the opposite of that.
Dammit, why hadn’t I just taken another job, well away from the royal family? Sure, they didn’t pay anywhere near as well, but I’d accept a twenty-percent pay cut if it meant being at least twenty miles away from Andrew at all times.
“That said,” Rogers continued pointedly, “there are limits to those duties.”
“I see,” I said, feeling a ray of hope shine through.
“Fetching, carrying and, of course, cleaning.”
“Indeed.”
“What I am trying to say,” explained Rogers in his clipped, British tones, “is that if you feel the need to kick the randy little bastard right in his regalia, then by all means do so. You will not be fired. In fact, I might be tempted to give you a raise.”
My eyes widened in surprise at that, and then I grinned. Rogers returned the smile. He didn’t have a face which seemed suited to smiling, and yet when he did smile, I saw a whole other man peeping through the façade.
“Keep your chin up, girl,” he finished before nonchalantly going back to his duties.
As unlikely as it might be, it seemed I’d made my first tentative friend in the palace. Maybe working here wouldn’t be so bad after all…
***
It was only that afternoon that I was first called to my new boss’s chambers to be acquainted with my new set of duties. The Prince was waiting for me, smiling and looking as handsome as ever, as much as I hated to admit it.
“Come in, Keira. Take a seat.”
I looked at the chair warily. “Is there something you needed, your Majesty?”
“Nothing specific. Would you like a drink? You’re still standing.”
“I prefer to stand, your Majesty.”
“Call me Andrew. Drew if you prefer, seeing as that’s how we were introduced. Drink?”
“No thank you, your Majesty,” I said, making a point to ignore his request to call him by his real name.
Andrew paused and eyeballed me,
clearly displeased with how this was going. “Highness, actually,” he finally said. “Only the Queen is Majestic.”
“Sorry, your Highness.”
“Like I said, call me Andrew. You’re sure you won’t have a drink?”
“Quite sure. Would you like me to pour you one, your Highness?”
“I can do it myself.” A snap of irritation had entered his voice, and I couldn’t help being quietly pleased by it. You can’t have everything you want, you spoiled man-whore. Especially not from me.
Andrew poured himself a drink, took a deep breath and seemed to calm himself. “I wanted to apologize for the other night.”
I suppressed the sudden urge to roll my eyes. “Indeed, your Highness.”
“I would have told you who I was.”
Sure.
“Indeed, your Highness,” I repeated like a robot.
“But if I say it upfront then…well, people make a whole bunch of assumptions about me. Many of which I don’t like. And while it’s quite possible that I don’t like them because they’re true, I prefer to be judged for how I am over who I am. Be honest, if you’d known who I was, you’d have treated me differently, wouldn’t you?”
It was a reasonable point, though I waged an internal war with myself against allowing it. “Perhaps, your Highness.”
“Of course you would!” Andrew leapt at the slight capitulation as if it was a lifeline. “But instead, you got to know me for myself and I got to know you without any of that baggage. And it seemed, for a while there, that maybe you actually liked ‘Drew Ellis’. I certainly liked you.”
I said nothing. I’d been waiting for something like this, some way he would try to get past my defenses and get me into bed like so many other women before me. It did look like a very comfortable bed, but that wasn’t anywhere close to the point.
“You can admit it, Keira. I won’t judge you,” he said when I still hadn’t responded yet.
“Admit what, your Highness?” I asked.
“You applied for this job for a chance to see me again. Whether it was more of a subconscious decision, I don’t know, but part of you wanted to see me again, because you did like me.”
This time I almost snorted. Out of all the ridiculously arrogant things he could’ve possibly said, this really took the cake. He really thought I’d applied for this job, packed up and moved to England for a year just to see him again? Anyone who actually did that sort of thing probably needed a stint in a mental health facility.
In fact, maybe he needed some time in a mental health facility, because he was clearly suffering from grand delusions.
“Sorry, but you’re mistaken, your Highness. I’ve been planning this gap year in England for quite some time,” I said. “And I applied for the job here weeks ago.”
He smirked, eyes sparkling with humor. “If you say so.”
“I was under the impression that you needed me for something?” I continued, trying to get off the subject before I was tempted to wipe that smirk off his face with the back of my hand. “Perhaps to explain my duties as your personal maid?”
“I was hoping to get to know you better,” Andrew said. “I liked what I learned about you that night, but I’m sure there’s more, and it doesn’t have to be about…you know. I mean, I know that’s what it was about that night—for both of us, you were just as guilty as me. But now I find I want to know more about you. Tell me about yourself.”
I wondered just how many other women he’d used that exact speech on in the past, and the thought steeled my resolve to never let him get to me.
“I’m your personal maid,” I said. “There’s nothing else you’d need to know about me.”
The glimmer faded from his eyes. “I see. Well, I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“I don’t understand, your Highness.”
“No?” Prince Andrew looked away, then back at me, then away again. “Well, I think I do understand. I was wrong, and I apologize for making you feel awkward. That’ll be all, thank you.”
Well, at least he was polite about being rejected. Some men went bat-shit insane when women made their disinterest clear.
I left the room, proud of myself for having kept my temper and not succumbed to the silver-tongued words of the experienced womanizer. And yet…god, I couldn’t forget how he’d made me feel in those moments back in the bar in New York, and the way my body had responded, practically begging me to throw caution to the wind and take him home for the night. He was just so sexy, and….
I shook my head clear, one thought reverberating throughout my mind now.
Remember who this man is.
Chapter 4
Andrew
Two things were guaranteed for me this morning.
One of them was a consequence of the night before, and the other happened every morning. The first was a hangover, because I’d been to an event last night. I couldn’t remember what it was, possibly a charity, but there’d been a lot of champagne and scotch. I took pride in the fact that I could hold my drink, and with the number of high-class events of one variety or another that a royal life entailed, alcohol had been a regular part of my diet for much of my life. But no one was completely immune, and I’d been profoundly bored at last night’s event, and so I had really drunk. I hoped I hadn’t done anything stupid, or that if I had it hadn’t been recorded by the tabloid photographers that swarmed these sorts of events.
I really didn’t need any more bad publicity.
The other thing I was guaranteed to wake with, and with which I woke every morning, was a massive erection. Colloquially referred to as ‘morning glory’, I had, since puberty, always woken with a full-blooded boner. Regardless of how much I’d drunk the night before or whatever else I might’ve done, my morning glory was always present and correct. I liked to think that this was because my cock was an optimist, eager for the new day and whatever opportunities that day might bring, and although those opportunities might not be present right now, there was no harm in being ready.
Just in case.
I also attributed my general happy disposition to this tendency; there was nothing like some morning wood to put you in a good mood for the day.
Right now that good mood was being thoroughly tested, however, as I hadn’t been gently awakened by time or the sun, nor even prodded awake by an urgent alarm. I’d been wrenched unwillingly from my slumber by the sudden roar of a vacuum cleaner. This was never a good way to wake, and for a man with a hangover it was doubly unpleasant, so I took a moment to remind myself that however much it felt like it, there was not a chainsaw being slowly pushed through into my ears.
“Fuck…what in the hell…?” I finally managed to grunt, prying sticky eyes open and looking for the evil perpetrator.
“Good morning, your Highness.”
I recognized the voice before the fuzzy outline resolved itself into a distinct figure through the haze of drink and tiredness. Keira smiled at me, and then continued to vacuum.
“Are you really vacuuming?” Either that or I’d been transported to the seventh circle of hell.
My head pounded as I sat up, and Keira smiled politely again. “Well spotted, your Highness,” she replied, her eyes gleaming.
When she was the one controlling the conversation, Keira was suddenly a whole lot cheekier and a whole lot less respectful. I wasn’t sure that was a good thing, but the thought of bending her over the bed and giving her a good spanking to teach her a lesson made my cock even harder.
“What time is it?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“In the morning?”
I’d been told that there was an eight o’clock in the morning, but I’d never personally wanted anything to do with it. I felt that one eight o’clock per day was enough, and the one in the evening suited me far better. “Why would you do this?” I asked, rubbing my head.
“It’s my job,” Keira pointed out.
“I was bloody well asleep.”
“Orders from the Queen
,” she said. “Your room was to be cleaned whether you were awake or not.”
Through the fragments of my disordered mind, I wondered if I was being deliberately tortured by my mother or my maid. Both had the capacity to do it, both had the desire to do it, and though I was loath to admit it, both had cause.
Maybe they were even in it together.
“You couldn’t come back in…” I glanced at the clock. “Six hours?”
“Her Majesty seemed quite specific.”
It might have been my imagination but I was sure she was now revving the vacuum cleaner like a motorbike engine. Was that possible? I hadn’t had enough experience with vacuum cleaners to be sure.
Well, if she wanted to play dirty, then two could play at that game…
I threw back the covers to get out of bed and was pleased to see Keira almost drop the vacuum cleaner hose in shock. I didn’t sleep in the nude, but the boxers I wore did nothing to hide the erection currently tenting them. Keira’s eyes widened as she stared for what was obviously far longer than she intended to before snapping her gaze back to the vacuum cleaner and her work. She was bright red and flustered, far from the cocky girl she’d been mere moments ago, and I smiled to myself.
“Leave the vacuuming.” I felt that I had, quite rightly, regained the upper-hand. Somehow my prominent tumescence seemed to convey authority.
“But I…”
“There’s plenty of other cleaning to do—quieter cleaning. We both know you didn’t have to start with the vacuuming, but you damn well chose to. Very funny, but the joke’s over. Now make the bed. Please.”
For a moment, Keira looked in two minds, somewhere between capitulation and slapping me. Her discomfort at my sleazy behavior had seemingly swiftly turned into disgust and seethed from there into anger. But what could she do? This was her job. And right now, given how she had treated me, I was quite happy to exploit the weakness.
