Page 24 of Pregnant In The King's Palace

She saw him moments later and put her arms out and twirled. ‘Will I do?’

‘What exactly are you aiming for?’

‘Well, the exhibition’s called The Downfall of Man—it’s an inspired first-date choice, by the way. I thought I’d stick to theme.’

‘Good job.’

‘Although there’s really only one man whose downfall I wish to be associated with, and that’s yours.’

‘Still with the revenge theme.’

Her megawatt smile almost blinded him. ‘That’s what they’ll say, and I do aim to please.’

He held out his arm for her to take, and felt a jolt of possessive satisfaction when her slender hand covered his arm. ‘You certainly do. Do you need a powder room before we’re announced?’

‘Wouldn’t hurt.’

‘Are you nervous?’ She didn’t look it.

‘I’d be mad not to be. But there’s a difference between nervous and ready, and I’m ready.’

They caused a stir on entry to the exhibition as he had known they would, and she bore it all with a flair for mischief that shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did. She genuinely enjoyed the exhibition, it seemed, and stayed attentive during the speeches. She didn’t simper, cling, or go out of her way to impress. At one point she winked at him and almost derailed his speech.

The ease with which she navigated his world surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. They’d spent years travelling in similar circles, overlapping, rarely meeting.

His sister was in attendance and made a point of joining Angelique to view several of the paintings together. Enough to imply approval of his choice of guest for the evening. He nodded his thanks and she raised a brow and excused herself from Angelique’s side and began to work the room in earnest—backing up the efforts he’d already put in. Not just the spare to be sidelined, she’d stepped up to present a united front alongside him and begun to let people glimpse the formidable intellect beneath the looks she’d always relied on to impress them.

Angelique welcomed him with a smile as he held out his arm for her to take and moved them on to the next picture.

‘Kind of your sister to publicly endorse me,’ she murmured. ‘Did you put her up to it?’

‘No. She likes that I’m falling in favour and that her power is rising. I’m giving her more responsibility, and for all that she may not have wanted it, she wields it beautifully. Makes it easier for me to move over.’

‘You’re still considering abdication?’

‘Not any more. No. But it doesn’t hurt people to see King Valentine with his twin at his side. They’re getting two for the price of one. They should be pleased. Anyone give you trouble here this evening?’

‘With you here watching them, and me, like a hawk? Who would dare?’

‘Oh, I think you’ll find that the papers tomorrow will dare.’

She shrugged dismissively. ‘Don’t expect me to care. My family is the foundation on which I stand, and they know who I am.’ She looked so beautiful with her flashing black eyes and the scarlet draping her curves. ‘I’m more worried about the fallout you’ll face.’

‘It can hardly be worse than being rendered less than a man and a failure as a king for being unable to provide an heir. “You had one job...”’ he began, and she laughed, because, seriously, who knew he could do voices?

But it wasn’t just the voices. He was beginning to accept his new limits and move forward, and she respected him for that.

And wanted to undress him very soon.

It wasn’t a normal date, by any means, and when it ended and his driver took them to her place, which was technically his place, his security detail checking through the house put an end to all thoughts of ravishing him the moment they stepped through the doors. Still, there was a certain satisfaction in seeing him methodically unwind after being on show for the evening. They started in the study her visitors seemed to favour—the one with the deep library chairs and the side bar stuffed full of spirits and cut-glass crystal. She watched as he removed his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair before loosening his tie and then removing his cufflinks one by one before making a beeline for the drinks.

He’d been offered champagne on arrival at the gallery and had taken a flute full and carried it around for some time before handing the half-full glass off to a waiter and refusing another. So that other guests could feel free to pick up and carry a drink, he’d murmured at the time, but there had been no more drinking on his part and she’d stuck to two drinks, although contrary to him she’d finished both. Waste not want not, and all that.

‘So it’s not that you don’t drink.’ She set her clutch on a side table and silently admired the sheer beauty of him in the lamplight. ‘But rather that you don’t drink when on duty.’

‘Exactly. May I pour you a nightcap?’

She asked for limoncello. He opted for a Scotch that might have been older than her. Would they sit down to dissect the evening and predict tomorrow’s headlines, was that how this went? Because, boring.

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