Page 20 of From London, With Love
A knee slid into the mattress on his right side, and then Adele crawled over him, seating herself in his lap. She captured his hands, dragging them from his face and holding them in her lap.
“What do I do?” he asked. “We’re at a crucial juncture in rebuilding our nation. If I step back and grant her the freedom she clearly wishes, am I throwing her to the wolves? What if it all goes wrong? Somebody is already trying to kill her.”
Adele kissed his palms, one after the other. “If the queen desires to rule without being challenged by her councilors, then perhaps you should grant her the leniency to do so. But firstly, I think you should apologize to her.”
He scowled. “You know I hate that word.”
Adele shot him a dazzling smile. “You might be surprised to see how far groveling will get you. It works with me, does it not?”
“I don’t think the queen will appreciate it quite as much as you do.”
“I should hope not. You are mine, after all.” Adele leaned forward, resting her weight on the palms of his hands. He curled them back against his chest.
A loud sigh escaped him. “Apologize. Very well.”
“And soon,” she pointed out.
Chapter 7
The clock on the mantel in her drawing room struck twelve.
The queen stared into the banked embers in her grate, clenching and unclenching her hands as she waited. What was she doing? What had she been thinking to even broach such a proposal with Gideon?
She pressed her fingers to her lips. If she concentrated she could still feel her lips tingling. That. That was why it had to be him.
A sharp rap sounded on the paneling of the wall, and she swiftly crossed to one of the tapestries and unlocked the hidden door.
A cloaked figure stepped through, towering over her. Then Gideon brushed the hood of his cloak back, revealing the stern, aquiline nose she adored so much and the rasp of the evening’s growth of stubble on his chin. His dark hair was damp, as if he’d come directly from his bath, but he hadn’t shaved.
“Are you going to let me in?” he asked, in his deep voice.
Alexandra realized she was staring and hastily stepped out of his way so he could shut the paneling behind him.
And then they were alone in the room together, with her proposition hanging in the air between them.
“What do you want of me?”
All her experience in the marital bed had been rough and rushed and driven purely by the interests of her husband. But she’d seen Mina glowing with happiness every time she looked at her husband, and from the saucyon ditsMina had shared, she’d managed to gather that the bedding was more than pleasant for her friend.
A part of her couldn’t even fathom such a thing—but then she remembered the soft lushness of Gideon’s kiss.
Pleasant, yes.
Far more than pleasant, if she was being honest.
“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted, straightening her shoulders. “My experiences have not been… kind. I can barely stand to be touched. That. That is what I want. To know if there is a part of me that can enjoy the experience. To no longer be afraid of being touched. And I’m not afraid. Not of you.”
“Just how far do you intend for me to take this?” he asked softly.
Alexandra almost choked on her cordial. “I don’t know.”
He nodded slowly. Thoughtfully. Then began to slip his cloak off. “I see.”
She considered the gossip she’d heard from Mina. “I do not think it would be wise to engage in lovemaking. I will not risk a child. I have heard, however, that there are ways….”
He dropped the cloak on the nearest chair and began to remove his gloves. “French letters, yes. Though I will be honest and admit they’re not always successful.”
A tremor of nerves ran through her, as he tossed his gloves carelessly on the chair behind him. “What are you doing?”
