My Royal Sin / Playing Dirty. Lauren Hawkeye
see.” X’s steely eyes hold a hint of a twinkle. “Well, it just so happens that Monique Mantissa is an old friend.”
She gapes. “The designer Mantissa?”
He inclines his head. “I believe her fashion line is rather popular.”
Ruby’s laugh deepens, a husky melody that makes my skin sing. “Um, if by popular you mean appreciated by those who shop at Versace, Chanel or Prada. You know Monique Mantissa. She is rock-star famous. Her shoes are... There are no words.” Her eyes take on a glow that I’ve seen only in nuns after a rapturous spiritual revelation.
The fact X knows such a person is of no surprise. He worked for years as my brother’s personal bodyguard before his abrupt reassignment after Nikolai’s nuptials. That reminds me.
“Also there is to be no mention of this arrangement to my brother or the king,” I command.
“Not a word. Perhaps it would ease your mind to know your father has decided to expand his current travel to fly to New York for a United Nations summit, and Nikolai and Kate left for the Hawaiian Islands on honeymoon this morning.”
“I see.” If a man deserves happiness, it is my elder brother, who finally found true love in a most unlikely place, with the matchmaker assigned to find him a wife. I do not resent his position. His future crown has never been my ambition.
And yet...
And yet nothing.
I swallow hard, refusing to allow any of my true dreams to float to the surface.
“It appears that you have the run of the place. Will you need anything else, Highness?”
“That will be all,” I snap, my tone gruffer than intended. “Wait. Take my Black Amex for the shopping spree. And, Miss Ruby, I shall see you in my bedchamber tomorrow evening when the sunset fades from the evening sky.”
Her expression loses some of its innocent pleasure. After the sound of their footsteps fade, I return to my room, guilt eating at my stomach.
They don’t exactly teach “Obliterating Sexual Urges 101” in the seminary. I am a man with a man’s needs. But I’m also a prince, a second son, who has a duty. I can’t let Father down. Especially when my face is the one that looks nothing like his. I was raised surrounded by the whispers that my mother, the queen, rest her immortal soul, grew lonely during a long absence from my father twenty-eight years ago and took comfort in the arms of the Captain of the Guard. A man some might say is my true father, except to voice such a claim in public would invite charges of treason.
But my blood runs with hidden lust, and in my heart I know that is my legacy. Born in sin, forged by an act of fornication. Father has never acted on these rumors, but he has always kept me at a kingly distance, his touch always a little cold, a little distant. To admit me a bastard would be to admit himself a cuckold.
So I am allowed the titles, the acceptance, the palace life.
Now it is time to pay the piper.
I fall to the unforgiving floor. “Oh, Lord, please grant me the strength to face this challenge.”
Ruby
A knock sounds on the cottage door promptly at eight in the morning. I lie in the unfamiliar bed, blinking away the best night of sleep I’ve had in ages. I burrow further into my pillow, hoping I imagined the sound, and let out a blissful sigh.
I think I want to marry this pillow.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
This time it is loud and unmistakably real. I rise from the bed and wrap the sheet around my naked frame. I know it will not be Benedict. He said my days were my own. He will not require my...services until nightfall. Whoever dares to wake me at such an hour is not worth the time it would take to get dressed.
“I’m up. I’m up,” I groan as I unlock the door only to find a young man dressed in what I assume is the attire of a palace servant—a black double-breasted tuxedo coat and tails, a vest and white bow tie. Wow. I wonder what they’re required to sleep in if this is day wear.
“Miss Ruby,” the man says, wheeling in a silver cart with covered plates on top of it. “X has requested you eat and dress so that you are ready to meet him at the palace gates at nine. A groundskeeper will pick you up in a golf cart just outside the maze in fifty-five minutes to bring you to the car.”
After being told I was free to do as I choose, I open my mouth to protest. But that’s when I smell the buttery sweetness of baked goods, the aroma of fresh coffee. My mouth waters, so I close it before speaking a word and swallow.
“What does Mr. X need me for at nine in the morning?” I ask.
The man uncovers a platter of scones and croissants, another of fresh fruit. He then pours coffee into a porcelain cup and bows his head.
“Shopping, miss. That is all I was told.” He smiles softly. “And you may call him, simply, X.”
My eyes widen as I remember X’s mention of Monique Mantissa, of Benedict offering his credit card. I have never been the kind of girl to get worked up over material things, especially now that I must do whatever I can just to make ends meet not only for me but for my niece and my brother’s wife. But I just slept in a bed fit for a queen and am about to eat a breakfast fit for a king. Is there anything wrong with living like a princess for a day?
To avoid the guilt that threatens to take away my moment of joy, I remind myself that this is all part of earning triple my fee, all of which I will use to support Camille and Lola. Camille’s teacher’s salary alone barely covers their rent, let alone the legal fees piling up since my brother’s arrest. With this job, I may be able to hire a proper advocate to represent Jasper—to prove his innocence.
“Thank you,” I say. “And you may call me, simply, Ruby.”
It’s strange to speak this name, especially to this man who looks at me as if he knows me, as if he senses that behind this name and position is a whole other life, a whole other story.
He smiles another of his enigmatic smiles and bows before exiting the cottage, and I jump up and squeal at the sight of the feast before me. I lose my grip on the sheet, and it falls to the floor as I laugh and shrug. “When in preparation for seducing a priest yet not having to bed a stranger...” I joke to myself, and then I indulge in a chocolate croissant and the most decadent strawberries I’ve ever tasted—and try to forget the fact that I haven’t seen a painting of an angel or what Madam will do if I don’t find it.
I fire off a quick text to The Jewel Box messenger service, asking if Madam will allow me to spend more time on the palace grounds to find what I’m looking for. The response is almost immediate.
Enjoy your stay, Evangeline. I expect this means you will have good news for me soon, or else you know what to expect from me.
My palm flies instinctively to the cheek she slapped the first time I questioned her.
“Whatever it takes, Jasper,” I say aloud. “I will not lose you, too.”
* * *
When X extends a hand to help me from the golf cart and into a Rolls-Royce, he raises his brows.
“What?” I ask, skimming the length of my own body, afraid I’d forgotten to dress myself after my feast.
“Nothing, miss. It’s just—I’m looking forward to finding you something more befitting a palace guest.”
I lower myself into the car as my cheeks flame and my eyes prick with tears. I try to swallow it all back, to not let him see his judgment get to me. But when X situates himself in the driver’s seat, the first thing he does is speak to me via an intercom.
“My apologies, miss,” he says. “I meant no offense. It is just that if we are to be discreet, it is necessary that you do not stand out in a way that will make the staff ask questions.”