Page 63 of Royals
“Aren’t you supposed to be wooing your fair lady?” I say, and he rolls his shoulders, flicking his auburn hair off his forehead in what has to be a trademarked move at this point.
“Can’t find her,” he says, glancing around like Tamsin might suddenly leap out of the wallpaper or something. And then he turns those very blue eyes on me.
“Actually, this is good timing. I was hoping I might talk to you,” he says, walking a little closer. “Alone.”
Groaning, I hold up a hand. “No. Your mother is here, and the last thing I need is for her to find us having a little tête-à-tête in a dark hallway.”
Seb shoves his hand in his pocket, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was genuinely anxious about something.
“Later, then,” he presses. “Once Mummy isn’t around, do you think we might—”
“No,” I say again. “I don’t.” Not only do I not want the queen coming for my head again, but I can’t imagine there’sanything me and Seb need to talk about. And if it’s about Isabel, I really don’t want to hear it.
Patting him on the shoulder, I start to move past him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have... girl things to take care of.”
I’m hoping that might terrify him into bolting, but instead he just sighs and gestures toward the curve of the hallway. “There’s a powder room to the left.”
“Thanks,” I reply, heading in that direction and feeling very relieved when I hear Seb’s footsteps going the other way.
Since I don’t actually need the ladies’ room, I just wander for a bit, finally spotting a door slightly ajar, soft golden light spilling out onto the carpet. That’ll do for a nice hidey-hole, I think, moving toward it and pushing open the door.
Only to come up short as I see that I have found Lady Tamsin. She’s standing in the middle of the room, wrapped around another person, the sounds of heavy breathing and lips meeting soft in the quiet room. For just a second, my confused brain wonders how Seb got back to this part of the house without me seeing him.
And then I reallylook.
It’s very muchnotSeb she’s kissing.
It’s Flora.
Chapter 28
A fun thing about me that I learn on this trip: I really, really hate shooting.
Alex kept his promise—we’re not shooting any living creatures, thank god, but weareshooting clay pigeons, and it turns out it’s not just the killing that bugs me about shooting.
It’s the noise.
When I shriek for the third time as my gun goes off, Gilly, my shooting partner for this outing, gives me a look.
“Every time?” he asks, and I scowl, adjusting my cap lower on my head. Oh yes, I have a cap. I have a wholeoutfitmade out of tweed, and there are sturdy boots and leather gloves, and honestly, if anyone takes a picture of me like this, I am going to die.
“Sorry, I’m not used to gunfire going off right by my head,” I tell him, and Gilly looks at me, puzzled.
“But you’re American,” he says, and then, before I can reply, he shouts, “Pull!”
A clay pigeon soars through the air.
Gilly pulls the trigger and the pigeon shatters.
I shriek.
Sighing, Gilly lowers the gun, fixing me with his dark eyes. “Lady Daze,” he says, “why don’t you go see if there’s something to drink back at the cars?”
I can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of me, but I stick my tongue out at him anyway before gratefully skedaddling over to the cars. There are a bunch of them, old Land Rovers, some jeeps, all of which have seen better days. It must be more of that thing Miles told me about, posh people not needing to show off all the time.
Walking around to the back of the jeep that I know has the drinks and snacks, I kick a loose clod of dirt and grass with the toe of my boot. It’s a beautiful day, clouds racing across the sky, and the air smells sweet and smoky. It’s also warm enough that I don’t really need my jacket, and I shuck it as I round the back of the jeep.
And come face-to-face with Flora and Miles.
