Page 23 of Pregnant In The King's Palace

The perils of heading a monarchy. And, boy, was he in for a treat. ‘Let me give you the tour.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

THERE WAS SOMETHING surreal about having Angelique give him a tour of a manor house he owned. He’d come to visit her on a whim, not intending to pursue her before she’d even settled in, but his desire to see her again had overridden common sense. She was nearby and he’d sped through all his work for the day and was at a loose end. In his imagination she had been alone and half expecting him. A diaphanous nightgown and a sultry smile had featured heavily in his daydream. She’d been wearing them when she opened the door to him...

His libido had clearly not died along with his ability to procreate.

Nor, apparently, had his imagination.

In reality, he’d knocked on the huge manor house doors and when no one had responded he’d gone round the back and, led by the noise, had let himself into the wet room and followed the scent of food through to the kitchen door. He’d somehow found himself sitting down to what amounted to a Cordova family dinner. Shedding his kingly persona bit by bit as the evening wore on, watching Moriana let her hair down with no little astonishment, enjoying Benedict’s razor-sharp tongue and Carlos’ calming presence in a room full of volatile people. Luciana and Angelique so different from one another underneath their near identical features. The Cordova matriarch so beloved by them all, and Eduardo Cordova presiding proudly at the head of the table. A generous, gregarious man, with a steady hand on the reins of his family and an air of unwavering love and support.

For Valentine, whose family life had never been nurturing, it was like stepping into a whole new world.

After dinner, he’d made sure the drawing room had been stocked with the best the cellar could provide and had then made up some flimsy excuse to seek out Angelique. Fortunately, he’d found her alone, and now she was giving him the tour, her face flushed and her saunter relaxed. Her jeans, high boots and floral cotton top with a drawstring loose around her neck suited the informality of the evening and showcased her generous curves. He definitely had a thing for boots, he decided, and mentally shredded the diaphanous nightgown.

Only to have his brain helpfully replace it with an image of Angelique wearing boots and lacy pink lingerie with little bows.

The manor house had not been made for comfort or for nesting. Ceilings soared, bedrooms were huge and the dining rooms gilded with thick golden drapes of crushed velvet. Stone lined the floors, a mixture of grey and mossy green slate. The floor rugs were threadbare and the furniture heavy hand-carved dark wood. The entire manor had a faded, medieval air about it.

And then came the master bedroom—a circus from start to finish, what with the leopard prints and the zebra stripes and the ruby-red drapes and various stuffed animals. The leopard prowling the ceiling beams, as promised. A stuffed monkey hanging from the ceiling light. ‘Moriana saw this?’ he asked.

‘Sure did. She said you win on the mad décor front, although her brother has a round room for courtesans that takes some beating. It has a trapeze.’ She eyed the manacles bolted to a nearby wall. ‘I didn’t ask if it had restraints. Who used to live here?’

‘A duke, a hundred years ago. Change whatever you want. There’s likely an attic full of spare furniture somewhere.’

‘There is, and we’ve already raided it. I only intend to occupy half a dozen rooms at most, and we spent the weekend making them comfortable. And the horse facilities are everything we could ask for and more. We’re happy with the move and so we should be.’ Her eyes drifted towards the ceiling and another stuffed monkey occupying a beam. ‘Monkeys included. Plus I’ve had a few more minutes to think about being your date for the art gallery opening, and I’m happy with that too. I’m ready for you.’ The look she sent him was pure smoulder.

‘So if I was to kiss you right now, before I take my leave, that would be an acceptable end to the evening?’

‘Yes.’

He’d kissed her before, all those years ago. He thought he remembered her passion and sweetness but it was nothing compared to what he tasted now. He let himself sink, undone, overwhelmed. He wanted nothing more than to pull her down onto the bed and take all the time in the world to discover her all over again. But there were monkeys overhead, and her family just down the hall and he wouldn’t put it past any of them to go looking for her. He could wait. He’d waited this long, after all. They had time.

‘Come back here after the gallery opening,’ she murmured and drew him down for another kiss. ‘Can that be arranged beforehand?’

‘Presumptuous.’

‘Yes, I am. I know enough about kings to know that spontaneity is hard to come by. So let’s plan. Or am I moving too fast for you?’

Oh, challenge accepted. ‘Your room. Now.’

He’d never seen her move so swiftly in the other direction. ‘With my parents in the house? Never.’

It felt so good to laugh and pretend to be that carefree boy again—the one who had played and loved without reservation. Fearless, in a way he’d never been since. ‘I’ll see myself out, shall I?’

‘I can walk you to the door.’ She looked around. ‘If I can find it.’

They found it together. His security team filtered in from their positions and she clocked them all and nodded but said nothing. ‘Thank you for the meal,’ he offered.

‘What did you think of the paella?’

It wasn’t just the food. It was the atmosphere around the table that made the meal so memorable, the warmth and wit and welcome extended to him. ‘I’ve never tasted better.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

FOUR DAYS LATER, Valentine stood on the steps of the art gallery and watched Angelique alight from the vehicle he’d sent to collect her. He’d worked long hours all week so he could take tomorrow morning off, and he had every intention of enjoying himself this evening. If Angelique’s presence at his side caused a stir, so be it. The people of Thallasia would simply have to get used to it.

She wore scarlet—of course she did, and her shoulders were bare and her hair had been artfully piled on top of her head and held in place by pins tipped with pearls to match the three-strand pearl choker at her neck. That choker had a leash on it—he had no idea what else to call it—that dangled down her back to rest just above the curve of her utterly perfect rear. He could pick it up and reel her in and his hand itched to take hold of it.

---