Playing Dirty (A Bad Boy Sports Romance)

by Avery Wilde

  I smiled, said ‘thank you’ and hurried off. Why the family had stuck to the old color-coded names for some rooms in the house, I was never altogether sure, since the yellow drawing room had been redecorated in blue during the 1950’s. It was tradition, I supposed, which was the answer to so many questions in this house.

  I arrived at the door to the drawing room and was about to knock when I noticed the door was ajar and voices could be heard from within—Andrew and his mother. After our last encounter, there was no way that I could have any conversation with Andrew while the Queen was in the room, and certainly not this particular conversation, seeing as the Queen would certainly have something to say about a possible pregnancy...and I had a feeling that anything she had to say on the matter wouldn’t be positive, given my supposedly lowly status as a maid.

  I turned to leave, but something made me hover a moment longer. It was something in the Queen’s tone that did it. By the nature of her job, the Queen was expected to say nothing, to have opinions on nothing, to make decisions about nothing, and so she had developed a way of making her opinions clear by fluctuating tones in her voice. I hadn’t had a long enough acquaintance with her to be able to read those tones accurately, but I was more than familiar with this particular tone: disapproval. I’d heard it in my own voice enough times in my early teens, when I’d been dealing with all the crap my parents threw at me before they’d finally sorted their lives out and quit drinking.

  It was also a tone that I automatically associated with the Queen talking about me and my acquaintance with Prince Andrew, given the way she’d spoken to me in the Long Gallery all those weeks ago, and I was filled with a maddening curiosity. Was it possible that Andrew had told his mother about us? Possible, but not likely—surely he would’ve told me if he was planning on doing that. So was it possible that the Queen had found out on her own? That was very possible, for her Majesty was exceptionally intelligent and insightful, but she also hated confrontation and it seemed unlikely that she would put her son on the spot about his fooling around with a maid. That said, she might scold him by inference as she so often had in the past.

  Knowing that I would never be content with wondering if the jig was up or not, I stole back to the door. I checked up and down the ornate vestibule looking for anyone who might catch me in the act of eavesdropping, which was the cardinal crime of a royal servant, but there was no one. Cautiously, I leaned closer to the crack in the door and held my breath, listening intently.

  “…to your left,” the Queen said.

  “To my left,” repeated Andrew.

  “Other left.” The Queen’s tone was withering.

  “Sorry. I was thinking stage left.”

  “Why?”

  “Not sure, really.”

  “Andrew…” That tone of distinct disapproval that I knew so well had re-entered the Queen’s voice. “I can’t help feeling that you are not giving this matter the attention it requires.”

  “Does it really require that much attention? We’re essentially talking about seating arrangements.”

  “If you address the person to your right rather than the one to your left, then the whole dinner is rather for nothing.”

  “I understand that,” Andrew said. “But a) I have met Princess Alexandra before, and I know what she looks like. And b) the person to my right is Rear-Admiral Tobias Grieg, and I would ask you to give me credit enough to acknowledge that I can tell the difference between a bearded sailor in his late sixties and a Swedish princess. I realize you have a low opinion of me, but this I can do.”

  “It’s important, Andrew.”

  “I know.”

  There was a pause before the Queen spoke again. “Andrew, you are brushing me off again.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Andrew replied. “Look, we’ve met before, so I do know her. We got along well.”

  My intake of breath was so sharp that I feared I might be heard, but the speakers were too busy with their own conversation. Were they still talking about the aforementioned Swedish princess? If so, why?

  “You do like Princess Alexandra, don’t you?” the Queen said, confirming my suspicion.

  “Like I said, we got on very well before. I mean, we were kids back then, but still…”

  “That didn’t sound very sure.”

  “I like her fine.”

  “Nor did that.” The Queen sighed. “I hope you know, Andrew, this is not how I would have preferred it to happen. Your father and I loved each other very much. It was a convenient marriage but it was our choice first and foremost. I would rather you have the same experience.”

  “We both know you think I make dumb choices,” he replied.

  Oh. My. God.

  I knew what this was now. They were discussing a royal marriage…Andrew’s, no less. The Queen was setting him up with this Swedish princess, and Andrew was just calmly responding to her as if it were the most perfectly natural thing in the world.

  What the hell?

  There was another pause as the Queen seemed to consider something. “Ill-advised choices, perhaps,” she finally said. “But not dumb. I wish this could be your choice, but Princess Alexandra…there was an agreement. And none of us can escape our duties forever.”

  “Right.”

  “I hope the two of you get along.”

  Andrew yawned before replying. “That would make things easier.”

  “Quite. You’ve had months to get used to the idea, so I hope it’s all settled into that head of yours.”

  Another yawn. “Uh-huh.”

  I listened in quiet shock. Shit. He’d known. He’d known that he had to marry someone else; this Princess Alexandra. It didn’t sound as if it was his choice or that he was particularly excited about it, but he’d damn well known, and he was saying nothing to stop it.

  In all the time the two of us had spent together, he’d never said a word to me about it.

  God, what the hell was wrong with me? How stupid could I have been, thinking there was any real sort of relationship between us, and what more vivid illustration could there be of how little I mattered to him than the conversation I’d just overheard? And why should I have mattered to him, anyway? After all, he was Prince Andrew, Andrew Arlington, heir to the British throne…and I was nobody compared to him.

  Absolutely nobody.

  I’d been utterly delusional in thinking we’d been anything more than a fling; so blinded by my feelings that I hadn’t realized he was playing me for a fool while he was planning to marry another woman. All those conversations we’d had, all those moments we’d shared…it must’ve all been a lie, and my supposed knowledge that he’d reciprocated my feelings had all been in my head.

  I didn’t stay to listen to any more of his conversation with the Queen, and I walked away from the yellow drawing room and headed for home, stopping at a drugstore on the way back. I bought a pregnancy test, and as soon as I got back to my apartment, I ripped it open and headed for the bathroom, my heart numb. Just this morning, I’d been worried about my possible pregnancy, but I’d been happy at the same time….and I’d been utterly deluded in being so pleased. If Andrew knew about this, he’d probably view the pregnancy as an unfortunate accident and nothing more, and I must’ve been crazy to think otherwise.

  The pregnancy test instructions said that I had to wait five minutes for the results to show up properly, so I sat on the toilet and waited, my heart hammering like crazy in my chest as my mouth dried up in fear. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl, and I honestly felt as if a thousand years had passed before my watch finally told me that five minutes was up.

  I closed my eyes, turned the test over in my hand, and then I opened my eyes again, my breath catching in my throat as I looked down at the little display window.

  Positive.

  Of course it was.

  Chapter 15

  Andrew

  I woke up happy.

  That wasn’t unusual, because I was a prince, and however structured tha
t life might be, it was not an arduous one—I had very few worries. But I fancied that there was a difference to the happy state in which I woke these days to that in which I’d woken for the better part of my adult life. Happiness, I now recognized, should be an active state—there should be some cause for it. Without realizing it, I hadn’t really been happy to this point, I’d merely been carefree, which was like happiness but was a passive process—it simply required nothing to be wrong. Prior to meeting Keira, there’d been nothing wrong in my life and so I was carefree, but since meeting her, I had a reason to be happy.

  Very fucking happy.

  I rolled over, and I was vaguely aware of a figure in the room with me. “Morning, Margo!” I called cheerily.

  “Good morning, your Highness.” The figure bobbed a curtsey.

  I sat up in bed and contemplated the day before me. The only thing that really mattered was that Keira was working today. Seeing her was always a challenge as we needed to meet in secret, but I was now thinking that the time might have come for that to change. True, we hadn’t known each other all that long and had spent a disproportionate amount of that time having sex, but I saw that as a plus. To have known someone for so short a period and yet learned so much about them, to have gained such a good impression of them, to have recognized them as the person with whom you might just want to spend the rest of your life—that was something to say on so limited an acquaintance.

  I knew for certain that Keira was my future, and when you realize that about a person for the first time, then you want that future to start as soon as damn possible. The time would come when I had to break the news to my family (and I hoped that they would take it better than I feared), and there seemed little point in delaying the inevitable. After all, my mind was already made up on the subject—I loved Keira.

  There, I damn well said it.

  I loved her.

  My mother’s ridiculous plan regarding Princess Alexandra would be an inconvenience, of course, but it wasn’t like anything was set in stone. Arranged marriages fell apart every day, and this one was going to as well, just like the last three supposed ‘arrangements’ my mother had tried to make between me and other women. It was all a scare tactic she used to try and convince me to settle down. I’d played along with her whenever she’d chatted to me about it, purely because I couldn’t be bothered getting her all riled up, but if she actually thought I was going to go along with any kind of stupid arranged marriage, then she was dreaming. It wasn’t the damned seventeenth century, and I wasn’t going to be told who to marry or when.

  The only woman I wanted to marry was Keira…although I might’ve been getting a little bit ahead of myself there. I hadn’t even told her I loved her yet, and that was a huge step for me; to share such an intimate conversation with someone.

  But dammit, I wanted it all from her, and I couldn’t wait to have it.

  As distracted as I was by these thoughts and happy anticipations of sharing my life with Keira—I could just imagine her face when I finally told her I loved her—I still noticed what was going on in the room.

  “Are you off, Margo?” I asked. The maid was already headed out the door.

  Margo managed a slightly fractured smile. “Yes. With your leave, your Highness.”

  “Of course, of course.” I dismissed her and Margo hurried out in what seemed like extreme relief. That was odd. As was the brevity of her stay; she usually took a lot longer about cleaning the room. She’d also seemed oddly nervous when I woke up, and I wondered if she had problems at home. I’d have to ask—I liked to take an interest in those in my employ.

  Once I was showered, dressed, and had eaten breakfast, I hurried off in the direction of the stables. I was accustomed to taking a roundabout route that would not let anyone guess my true destination, and I started on such a route today before checking myself. What was the point? The time for such ruses and misdirection had passed, and I had no further need of them. Today, I would walk directly to the stables, and if anyone asked me where I was going then I would say ‘the stables’ in a proud, clear voice. And if that person were to press further and ask me why, then I would reply, ‘to see Keira Valencia’.

  In the event, not only did no one ask me where I was going or why, but my passing seemed to excite no interest whatsoever in the people I passed, which was a relief, and yet also somewhat disappointing. But not nearly as disappointing as what I found when I arrived: there was no sign of Keira in the small tack room. That was not so unusual in itself, because she had other duties around the stables, and I hurriedly set off to look for her. But a quick circuit of the complex provided no more signs of her than the small tack room had. I thought about asking someone, but even with my newly found pride in our relationship, I decided that might be a step too far; I didn’t want to get her into trouble after all, and it seemed as if my presence here was already drawing a few glances.

  In fact, my presence seemed to be drawing more glances than I would have usually anticipated. I enjoyed riding and wasn’t an unfamiliar face at the stables, so why should it be a surprise? But there was no doubt that the stable staff were looking at me and then looking hastily the other way when I tried to meet their gaze. They all had a look on their faces that I’d seen once already this morning on the face of Margo as she left my bedroom. Rightly or wrongly, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I began to mentally connect this curious behavior with Keira’s absence.

  I headed for the servant’s notice board. I hadn’t wanted to be so blatant about this, at least not before I’d had a chance to talk to Keira herself, but this seemed like the only way to find her. But yet another disappointment was awaiting me, and this one came edged with shock.

  Keira’s name had been removed from the board.

  I stood staring for a moment, allowing the horrible possibilities to crowd in upon me. Had our relationship gotten her fired? But then surely she would have called me. Did she blame me? Or perhaps I had misread the whole situation; perhaps she’d never really liked me as much as I liked her, and now that we’d started to become closer, she’d decided to leave me.

  I had to know, and I hurried back outside, hastily fumbling my phone from my pocket as I went. My call got no answer and my texts were likewise ignored. Of course, if she was at work somewhere else, then she might not have time to answer, but the whole affair was leaving me in a deep morass of uncertainty. I was now sure that something was wrong, that something had happened, but I had no idea what.

  I tried to get a handle on myself enough to think clearly and realized that there was one person who might be able to clear this up.

  “I’m afraid that I cannot help you,” said Rogers as we sat in his neat little office ten minutes later.

  “One day she worked here, the next she’s gone,” I replied. “You’re in charge of the staff here, you must know why!”

  Rogers said nothing, nor even moved his head, but his acknowledgement of this fact was none the less clear.

  “Has she been fired?”

  “No.” That much, Rogers was apparently willing to say.

  “Then she quit?”

  A flicker of tension passed across Rogers’ impassive features—he was the ideal of his profession, the most dedicated and devoted of servants, and to not answer a direct question from one of his royal masters was painful to him. But he was also responsible for the wellbeing of his staff and he wouldn’t betray their trust either.

  “I could order you to tell me,” I said with steel in my voice.

  “Yes,” Rogers replied. “You could, your Highness.”

  I gritted my teeth. The man was not going to make this easy for me. “And if I did?”

  “Then I would very much regret my inability to give you the information you are requesting,” said Rogers.

  “Inability or unwillingness?”

  “In this case, I feel the two go hand in hand.”

  “You mean, you know something but you can’t tell me.”

 
Rogers said nothing.

  “I don’t see why you have to take this attitude,” I said. “It’s perfectly obvious that everyone around here knows what’s going on—knows where Keira has gone and why. I’m the only one who doesn’t! I could order any one of them to tell me!”

  “I would prefer it if you didn’t do that,” said Rogers.

  I slumped back in my chair, the bluster gone out of me. I didn’t want to be an asshole who made everyone uncomfortable, so I’d have to find out what was going on another way. “I won’t,” I finally said.

  “Thank you, your Highness.”

  “And I won’t order you to tell me either.”

  “I appreciate that very much, your Highness. There are times when this sort of thing is necessary, but it goes very much against the grain in me to refuse the wishes of the family.”

  I said nothing for a long while, my mind racing and yet going nowhere. Finally I spoke again. “You may not believe this, Rogers, but I care about her very much. And if there’s something that I’ve done to hurt or upset her, then I wish she’d spoken to me about it. But perhaps the fact that she didn’t means something in itself. Perhaps it means that I’ve misread the whole situation between her and me. Perhaps she never cared for me at all and that’s what you are shielding me from. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I feel like my guts have been ripped out. I don’t know why it’s happened—except that it seems to be my fault—I don’t know how to fix it, or if it’s fixable, or where to find her if it is and I could. And I can’t talk to anyone about it because no one is supposed to know.”

  Rogers listened in stony-faced silence, perhaps appraising my sincerity, or perhaps just waiting for me to finish so he could return to his own duties. It was impossible to tell with his face.

  “I was going to tell her that I loved her.”

  The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. I wasn’t sure I even would’ve stopped them if I could. It wasn’t the sort of thing that a prince was supposed to share with the help, but there was no one else, and besides, I’d known Rogers all my life. I trusted him and knew that anything I said to the man in confidence was as safe as if it was locked in the Tower of London. “I was going to tell her, and then my mother. And then there probably would’ve been some unpleasantness, and some more of the usual media rubbish, but I would’ve weathered it all for her. Do you believe me, Rogers?”