The Bad Royals Box Set: The Complete Royally Unexpected Series, page 22
Curling my fingers into a fist, I let my tongue drag over my lips. My mouth is dry. I watch the woman take a flute of champagne with a nod, drinking it down in only a few gulps. She turns to listen to an older woman speak.
I want to feel her silken skin beneath my fingers. I want to bury my head in her soft black hair and inhale her scent. I want to drag my tongue over every inch of her skin and reveal all the secrets that dress is hiding.
I try to look away, but my body feels alive for the first time in years. Heat curls in my core at the sight of her leaning toward her mother, the long column of her neck exposed.
I’m not here to meet anyone. I’m only here to say congratulations to the monarchs and then slip out without anyone noticing. The King and I have become closer since he took the throne, as he’s trying to rid Farcliff Court of all the corrupt, venomous courtiers his father supported. Ever since my brother died, I’ve wanted to do the same.
But tonight isn’t about business. It’s about congratulating the royal family and making an appearance, then leaving before it gets so torturous I want to follow my brother to the grave.
Flicking my eyes to the opposite corner of the room, my mouth tastes bitter. I pinch my lips together as I watch that snake, Gregory, pretend to laugh at someone’s joke.
I can’t be in the same room as him. I can’t watch him swan around the room like he doesn’t belong in jail. Every time I see his name in the papers, extolling his virtues and congratulating him on his donations to medical research, it makes me want to wreck something. Or someone. Mostly him.
The Count lifts his eyes, and my blood turns to ice. He’s seen her. His lips have tugged into a horrid smile, and I watch his hand drift unconsciously toward his waistband.
Disgusting. He wouldn’t be worthy of kissing her shoes, let alone touching himself at the sight of her.
I glance at the woman again, feeling a tug in the center of my chest. Her mother—at least, I assume it’s her mother, based on how similar they look—grabs her elbow and whispers something in her ear. They start walking. Count Gregory watches my girl’s every move, and I realize she’s heading toward him.
No.
Fuck no.
No fucking way.
Anger bubbles through my veins. Everything’s hot. I tug the collar of my shirt, wishing I hadn’t tied my bowtie quite so tight.
Then, as if she senses me, she lifts her eyes to mine. I’m nailed to this spot on the floor. I can’t move. For the few seconds that she keeps her eyes on mine, the pain inside me dulls ever so slightly. Ever since my family died, there’s been a high-pitched humming in my ears. It quiets down, and I almost feel like myself again.
God, I want to touch her. I need to know what she tastes like. I need to wrap my arms around her and hold her close.
But she drags her eyes away from mine and paints a smile on those perfect lips, the guests parting to let her pass as she walks straight to Count fucking Gregory.
4
ADA
Every cell in my body is tuned into the Duke of Blythe’s frequency. Even from across the room, his eyes are magnetic. I can’t see the color of them, but I can imagine the shifting green within them. My heart thumps as my whole body heats, caught somewhere between walking and stumbling as my parents drag me across the room.
Reluctantly, I look away from the Duke to make sure I don’t fall flat on my face. I’m breathless.
Stealing a glance across the room, disappointment crashes into me when I see he’s gone. The space he only just occupied is empty, and I feel an ache in the center of my chest.
Silly. That’s all I am. I had a glass of champagne on an empty stomach and I’m already a little tipsy. That’s the only explanation for my light-headedness and the feeling that my tongue is made of lead.
My mother comes to a stop, giving a warm greeting to Count Gregory.
His thin lips curl into a cold smile, and he drops them to touch my mother’s extended fingers. “Duchess Belcourt,” he croons, smiling as his eyes remain dark. “Ravishing as always.” He greets my father, then, and finally turns to me.
The warmth that ran down my spine when the Duke of Blythe looked at me evaporates. In its place, a slimy, cold feeling inches over my skin, crawling across my pores. I shiver.
“Good evening, Lady Belcourt. I was saddened to hear about your sister’s accident, but I’m so very glad you were able to take her place.”
His lips curl up farther, but I wouldn’t quite call it a smile. With a hawk nose and dark eyes, the Count looks more dangerous than friendly. He extends his hand toward me, and I slip my fingers against his, fighting the urge to shudder.
When his lips touch my fingers, I want to puke.
My sister can’t marry this man.
No way.
No, no, no.
Panic swells inside me as the Count straightens, his eyes dropping from my face down the length of my body. That slimy, cold feeling follows his gaze. I don’t care how rich he is, how well-connected and well-titled he is. He shouldn’t be looking at anyone like that when he’s promised to my sister. Especially not me.
His gaze lingers on my chest, and I suddenly hate the fact that this gown is backless. I’m not wearing a bra, and I feel so incredibly naked. Exposed. Oh, I wish I were wearing a thousand layers to cover myself up! My hands itch to cross over my chest, but I hold them straight at my sides, my clutch gripped against my thigh.
Sucking in a breath, I clear my throat. “Lovely to meet you,” I lie. “Maggie tells me you enjoy hunting.”
From the time I was a toddler until now, I’ve been trained to act like a lady. That’s the only thing working right now. It’s keeping my spine straight and my smile from slipping. It’s helping me nod and smile and ask follow-up questions as the Count tells me of his hunting trips and many rifles.
Panic trills inside me as my breath grows shallower.
I don’t like this man. I can’t let Maggie marry him. We’ll figure something else out. We’ll find another husband for her, or me. Kiera can get a scholarship. A loan.
Anything but him. Not Count Gregory.
A trumpet sounds, and everyone in the room hushes at once. We all turn toward the entrance as an expectant whisper ripples through the audience.
The King, Queen, and newborn Prince are arriving.
A sick feeling still churns in my gut, but I shove it aside. My eyes drift over the audience, searching for the Duke of Blythe. Maybe the sight of him will steady me. But as I scan the crowd in the ballroom, I can’t see him anywhere.
All the guests in the room are being ushered into a long line across the room, presumably so the King and Queen can greet us all one by one. I make sure to put as much distance between me and the Count as possible, even though my mother gives me a disapproving glance.
Can she not sense the predatory energy he’s giving off? Does she not have alarm bells ringing in her head from his nearness?
Closing my eyes, I take a spot next to my father. That puts both my mother and father between me and the Count, but it’s still not enough. Nervous energy ripples through the guests as the King and Queen approach, their steps echoing in the long hallway leading to the ballroom.
That’s not why I’m nervous, though. My cheeks feel red. My heart is hammering. My mouth tastes of metal, and I wish I could get out of here.
“I never liked Count Gregory,” a male voice says in my ear. “I don’t blame you for that reaction.”
His voice sounds like warm honey with a hint of spice. Gravel rattles around at the edges, with the depth and resonance that screams male.
I open my eyes, but I already know who it is. The Duke of Blythe stares back at me, his face mere inches from mine.
The pictures didn’t do him justice.
A thousand shades of green with little speckles of gold. A fine, long nose and regal brow. When my eyes drop to his lips, my breath catches. Full and pink, they make me want to lean in and feel them against my own.
“Your Grace,” I stammer, racking my brain for the correct title. Is it Your Grace? Or just Lord Blythe? Sir? Mister? Suddenly, my training doesn’t seem so foolproof.
“You’re blushing.” His eyebrow arches as a smile quirks his lips.
I blush harder, which makes his lips tug even more.
“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”
God, if I could bottle his voice up and sell it, I’d make millions. It sends little thrills rushing through my veins, warming me up from top to bottom. I’d swoon to him reading me a recipe book.
“Ada,” I answer simply.
Before he can say anything, all attention turns to the entrance. The King and Queen have arrived. The King is dressed in his ceremonial uniform, with a gold crown nestled in his hair. His broad, muscular shoulders taper down to a thin waist, and he keeps one hand on his queen’s lower back.
Queen Elle was a commoner not long ago, but you’d never guess it now. Dressed in an emerald gown with a sparkling tiara in her short, dark hair, she looks as regal as any regent who went before her. A member of staff whispers names of attendees to her before she greets them, smiling warmly at each and every person.
In her arms, her first child sleeps soundly. The three of them—the King, Queen, and their heir—make such a perfect image, it makes my heart ache. I can almost feel the love radiating between them.
My sister will never have that. Will I? Or will I be married off to some rich old man who can elevate our family’s standing?
Her Majesty the Queen greets Count Gregory, and my mouth sours. My sister won’t get everlasting love like the Queen has. Not if she has to marry the Count.
I stiffen as I watch the older man give a deep bow to the monarchs, unable to hide my aversion.
Then, a warm hand slides over my lower back. “Try not to make your distaste so obvious, Ada,” the Duke whispers in my ear. “If everyone knows exactly how you feel about them, you’ll make lots of enemies around here.”
He takes his hand away, but not before my whole core blazes. I can feel the imprint of his hand on my lower back, and the spot where his thumb just brushed against my exposed skin. Heat rises up my neck.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.
I look at the Duke, but I should have listened to myself and resisted the urge. His eyes bore into mine, and heat whips through my body like a fire through a field of dry grasses. It carves a wide path down my spine, making every part of my body burn hotter. My nipples pebble against the silver fabric of my dress, and I suck my lip between my teeth, drawing the Duke’s gaze.
His eyes darken at the sight of my mouth, and the heat in my core cranks higher. A man has never looked at me like that before. Like he lives to look at me. Like he wants to eat me.
“Lady Belcourt,” the Queen says, and I snap my head back to meet her gaze. Standing before me, she’s at least six inches taller than me. She used to be a rower at Farcliff University, apparently. An athlete.
I mumble a greeting and sink down in a curtsy, dropping my head as I rise again.
“I saw you at the Farcliff Jubilee Concert Hall last month,” the Queen says. “You played beautifully.”
“You…you were there? And you saw me playing?” My father stiffens beside me, and I know I’m messing this up. I gulp. “I mean, thank you, Your Majesty.”
The Queen smiles just as her child blinks awake. He makes a soft noise, spittle bubbling at his lips. The Queen’s eyes soften as her son reaches for her. The baby turns his head to me and giggles, reaching a tiny, closed fist in my direction.
“I think baby Charlie likes you.” The Queen laughs, and the King leans over to chuck his son’s cheek.
The King meets my eyes. “We’re looking forward to coming to your Christmas concert in three weeks’ time.” He smiles at me, as if he isn’t the literal King of Farcliff.
They’re looking forward to my concert? What?
I dip into another curtsy, and the Queen moves over to speak to the Duke. Vaguely, I notice that the King seems very familiar with the Duke, and even shakes his hand and calls the Duke by his first name. Heath. Yum.
When the monarchs move on to the next guest, I steal a glance at the Duke of Blythe. He meets my gaze, his eyes impossible to read. It’s not until the greetings are over and the King and Queen announce the official start of the ball that I remember to take a full breath again.
By the time I come back to myself, the Duke has disappeared from my side.
5
ADA
My head is a mess. Count Gregory keeps asking me questions, and my parents keep staring at me like my brain is leaking out of my ears. I can’t seem to make sentences. My body is still on fire, and my eyes search everywhere for the Duke. I need to get away from all these people.
I ignore my mother’s disproving stare and drink another glass of champagne. It only makes me feel worse. My stomach churns as the alcohol hits it, and…oh, shit. I shouldn’t have drunk that so quickly. My mouth fills with saliva, and I have that horrible sensation rising in my throat…
No, no, no.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I throw open a stall door and puke into a toilet. As my eyes water and I spit bile into the bowl, I realize the toilet is inlaid with gold buttons to flush. Lovely. What a nice touch. Only the best for a duchess to hurl into.
When I exit the stall, the restroom attendant directs me to the vanity and lays a brand-new toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste next to the sink. I pinch my lips into a smile and thank her, embarrassment ripping through my chest.
Once I’ve cleaned myself up and my mouth is minty-fresh, I find a sofa in the corner—yes, in the bathroom—and pull out my phone. I need a minute.
Ada: Saw the Duke. No selfie yet.
Kiera sees the message, three dots appearing on the screen within an instant.
Kiera: GET TO WORK.
Smiling, I let my shoulders relax. Pulling out a compact to touch up my makeup, I take a deep breath and steel myself for the crowd outside.
It’s not that crowds make me uncomfortable, exactly. It’s just that I feel like I don’t belong here. Sure, my family has royal lineage. We have lands and titles and an official royal invitation to the Christmas Ball.
But my gown is rented. I don’t have sapphires dripping down my neck, and I only know the names of most people here because I’ve studied pictures of them. Just like the staff.
But the worst part is that every time Count Gregory speaks, his eyes snaking down my body in a way that makes me feel ill, all I can do is think of my sister.
She’s marrying him.
The beautiful, elegant ballerina is marrying a creepy old Count who can’t keep his eyes to himself.
It just… It makes me feel sick. Clearly.
The restroom door opens, and my childhood best friend walks through. Rhoda is tall and graceful, with hair like spun gold. She’s wearing a cobalt gown that makes her deep-blue eyes sparkle.
“Ada.” She smiles, spreading her arms. “I saw you rushing in here a few minutes ago. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I answer, standing up to give my friend a quick squeeze. I haven’t seen Rhoda in about a year. Ever since we graduated from college, we’ve tried to stay in touch—but life tends to get in the way. We’ve drifted apart.
I pull away, shaking my head. “You look amazing.”
“Got rid of my dorky aesthetic once I graduated college,” she laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. A massive diamond engagement ring glitters on her finger. Wait…Rhoda’s engaged?
I gasp. “Rhoda!”
“Oh, this?” She looks at her finger, smiling.
“Who is he?”
She holds out her hand as I lean over her ring, watching how the light catches every facet cut into the stone. When I look up, Rhoda smiles. “It’s the Duke of Harbor. We’re having an engagement party next week. You should have received the invitation already.”
“The Duke of Harbor?” I frown, pulling away. “He’s nearly seventy years old.”
“Ain’t nothin’ but a number,” she says, laughing, but the light doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sixty-two,” she adds. “Hardly almost seventy.”
My chest clenches. A lump grows in my throat. It hurts to swallow past it. “Congratulations.”
Rhoda gives me a tight smile, nodding. “Thank you. It’s a good match. My family is pleased.”
A good match.
I nod. “And you?”
“Me, what?”
“Are you pleased?” I ask, tilting my head.
Rhoda’s cheeks grow red and she ducks her head to the side, pulling out a bullet of lipstick from her clutch. “He’s kind to me. And he cares about animals.”
“Will you be able to finish your PhD? He’s from another generation, Rhoda. He might not approve of you staying in school after the marriage.”
Rhoda shrugs. “He’ll have to. I only have a year left before I defend my dissertation.”
Forcing a smile, I sling my arm around Rhoda’s waist. “I’m happy for you,” I lie.
The truth is, I’m not happy for her. I feel sick. She’s just like my sister—marrying an older man just to make her family happy. Is this what our world has come to? Court life dictates a lot of our actions, but we’re not living in the Middle Ages. I thought we’d moved past arranged marriages and good matches.
Swallowing down bile—I will not throw up again—I fluff my hair in the mirror. “My sister’s supposed to marry Count Gregory.”
Rhoda’s hand pauses, the lipstick hovering near her lips. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and a veil of sadness covers her face. “Oh.”
I pinch a bitter smile. “Yeah.”
“He’s…” She shakes her head. “I’ve heard rumors about his temper.”
“But he’s rich and well-titled, and the Belcourts are on the decline. Kiera needs to get into a good college, and Gregory has all the connections. It’s a good match.” I can’t keep the revulsion out of my voice, and Rhoda drops her lipstick.
