His Royal Secret (20 page)

Limp in the aftermath, James flopped down and rolled onto his back. Ben stretched next to him, both of them a mess. James thought for a moment of the cleaners, who might well be scandalized when they saw to the rug tomorrow—but Cass’s presence at breakfast time would serve as explanation enough.

“What got into you?” he murmured as he leaned his head closer to Ben’s.

“I don’t know.” Ben’s dark demeanor had vanished. Already he was back to himself. He really was good at this role-playing thing. “Are you all right?”

“All right? God, Ben, that was sensational.”

Ben turned on his side, pillowing his head against James’s shoulder. “That’s better,” he whispered. “That’s much better.”

James didn’t know what it was better than, nor did he care. Nothing could be better than this.

Caught by Surprise

Every once in a while, life provided happy surprises, one of which was the visit of Zale, Prince of Greece and Denmark.

James wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the prince himself. He was handsome, with deeply tan skin and thick black hair he wore slightly long, and his manners were impeccable—so much so that his true character remained mysterious. Certainly at the banquet in his honor, Prince Zale dedicated himself to Indigo, conversing with her away from the others on that first night, and coaxing her out of her shell enough that she laughed.

“That has to be a good sign,” said Nicholas, who had flown over from Anglesey for the occasion. “Indigo isn’t at ease with just anybody.”

“I’ve never seen her take to someone new like this.” James could hardly believe his eyes. According to the discreet background check he’d ordered, Zale was worldly and experienced, but not a true womanizer, more a serial monogamist. He had the sort of middling university degree common among all royal families; this revealed nothing about Zale’s intelligence or lack thereof. James was well aware his biology studies at Cambridge were the anomaly. Even Indigo had only studied art history at Goldsmiths, while Nicholas had contented himself with a geography degree.

As the tabloids focused less attention on other royal houses, they’d never dug up anything on Zale more scurrilous than a few photos at nightclubs that looked ordinary enough, and the one university-era fling with a model that all heterosexual royal men seemed to indulge in. The model said they “remained friends,” which could mean anything short of outright loathing.

So who was this man making James’s sister laugh?

After the banquet, James had a jam-packed schedule for the next week, day and night with hardly even a chance to see Ben. This gave him little time to spend with Zale, and he could only judge by what he heard from Indigo and the others.

“He doesn’t mind that we’ve stayed at the palace so far,” Indigo said late at night as they spoke over their landlines. “Today I even showed him some of my artwork.”

“Really?” James felt encouraged. Indigo was incredibly shy about showing her paintings and mosaics to anyone—ironic, given her genuine talent, but unsurprising. If Zale had been allowed to see her art, then he must already have earned her trust. “What did you show him? Don’t tell me: the one over the bed. But he only saw it upside down—”

“
Stop
it,” she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “My fairy-tale drawings. I have those in a separate sketchbook, so I let him take a look. He caught all these interesting details that I thought nobody would ever see.”

“So he’s got good taste. Does Hartley approve?”

“He winks at me every time Zale has his back turned.”

That was by far the most promising sign, in James’s opinion.

Or at least it was until two days later, when Indigo actually joined Prince Zale on an outing—just a stroll through the Tate Modern slightly after hours, but still. The museum staff had been only too happy to stay on for the private royal tour, knowing the resulting publicity would mean double the revenues for at least the next week. Photographers snapped away as the young royals left the gallery, but Indigo was even able to smile for them over her shoulder. James, viewing the photos online the next morning, noticed that Zale had his hand on the small of Indigo’s back.

He didn’t get to discuss the budding romance with his sister again until a few days after Zale had left. She called him on the first morning he’d had free in two weeks and said, to his surprise, “Let’s go for a quick swim at the House.”

The House
meant Buckingham Palace.

An enormous indoor pool had been built by their great-grandfather, but these days mostly went undisturbed save for live-in staff members, who were allowed to take a dip in their free time so long as no royal was busy swimming. James, Indigo, and Nicholas had frolicked there as children, when they often let any staff members remain, the better to increase the chances of a splash fight. But they had rarely visited the pool since. Still, they had the right to use it if they wished. Indigo was feeling bolder, which James wanted to encourage. And they could talk in the water.

Luckily there was no gauntlet to run: The king was still upstairs in his private rooms, surrounded by nurses and therapists, and the queen had engagements out of town.

“How well do you feel you know Zale?” James asked as they paused, side by side, hanging on to the edge of the pool.

“Completely and not at all.” Indigo wiped droplets of water from her face, which was framed by the bright white swimming cap she’d pulled over her braided hair. “Which means not at all, really. Everything went so fast, and we were almost never truly alone—but when he looked at my sketches, that much was real, I’m sure of it. The rest, who knows? It’s as though I’ve seen the perfect portrait of the perfect man, but I can’t tell whether the likeness is true. And yet . . . I feel safe with Zale, James. I felt safe with him right away.”

Very few people had the gift of making Indigo feel safe. Maybe nothing else mattered, besides that. James said, “Shall I ask him back again? Just after Christmas?”

To his surprise, the soft smile that had played on her face all morning faded. “I don’t know.”

“Why not? You want to know him better, don’t you?”

She didn’t answer at first. James just hung there by her side, waiting. Finally she said, “If he comes back, oh, maybe not this time, but eventually, if we kept going, I’d have to tell him the truth. About this.”

Indigo stretched out so that her body floated on the surface of the water, laying bare the scars on her thighs. Although James had seen them many times, the sight never failed to hurt—a physical pain, as though she’d cut both her flesh and his heart. He thought the scars looked like the kinds of hatch marks prisoners made inside cells to count the days.

He said what his father had said to him, long ago: “You’re not the first, you know. You’re not the only person who’s been through this.”

“The only nice things the papers ever say about me are about my looks. They don’t know about the scars.”

James knew Indigo was concentrating on the physical scars so she wouldn’t have to talk about the deeper reality they expressed. The question wasn’t whether Zale could endure looking at a scarred body; the question was whether he would understand Indigo’s complex psychological needs.

“If he wants to marry you,” he said, “it won’t be for your legs.”

“I know.” She laughed, too merrily. “But will it be for my lovely soul or my lovely fortune?”

And the chance to father a future king or queen of England—though Zale didn’t know that, of course.

James sighed. Although it was always difficult bringing this up, he knew he had to keep trying. “Have you thought any more about seeing someone? Talking with a doctor?”

Sometimes this set off quick fury, which would be followed by a collapse. Other times, Indigo responded by withdrawing into herself completely. This time, though, she listened. Very quietly, she said, “I’ve thought about it. But I still can’t imagine telling everything to someone I don’t even know.”

“We could find someone you’d feel safe with.”

“How? By bringing in stranger after stranger to hear just enough of my secrets to betray us all?”

She was beginning to get upset. Time to let the subject drop. “It’s just something to think about for the future. Like Prince Zale’s return. Consider whether you’d like me to invite him back, and when. You needn’t answer now.”

The distraction worked. Indigo readjusted her swim cap, unconsciously setting herself to rights again. “I halfway wish we were back in the age when our marriages would’ve been arranged eons ago. At least we wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

James laughed. “It wouldn’t have worked out very well for me, or my hapless theoretical bride.”

Nothing drew Indigo out of her dark moods faster than concern for someone else, and that was what gentled her expression now. “Listen to me, whingeing when it’s so much worse for you. I know that.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“I just wish you could have someone.”

This was the point at which James could no longer decently remain silent. But the subject had to be broached very carefully. “Indigo . . . I do. Have someone, I mean.”

She righted herself with a small splash, until they could stare face-to-face. Right now the only emotion he could read there was astonishment, but would it soon be replaced by fear? “You do?”

“We won’t be found out. I promise you.
I promise.
We’re very careful.”

Indigo nodded, but while she didn’t seem on the verge of full panic, she obviously wasn’t sure how to deal with this information. “Who is he?”

James knew no servants were anywhere in the pool area, that they would never dream of intruding until summoned, and yet it was hard to say this out loud, in a palace not his own. “His name is Ben. He’s a journalist.”

“A
journalist
?”

“Not that sort. He covers global business, industry in developing countries, economic history. Very highbrow.” What else could he tell her? There was so much to say, and yet he knew this information had to be parceled out carefully, even to a beloved sister. “He’s lived all over the world. He’s a few years older than me. Handsome too. You’d be jealous.”

That won a small smile. “Are you—well—James, are you in love?”

“No. It can’t be love, not really. Not the way we have to live.” James had rehearsed this speech to himself often enough that it came out smoothly. “But Ben and I are . . . fond of each other. Good friends. And he’s as cautious as I am, so don’t worry. I’m safe as houses, which means you are too.”

“Then I’m glad. I really am. You should get some small share of happiness.”

“So should you.” James smiled at her, and she smiled back, until the tender moment was broken by yet another splash fight. Some things you never outgrew.

But as one of the Buckingham Palace valets helped him dress again and prepare for his afternoon engagements, James found himself wondering just how long this “share of happiness” could last. After all, he and Indigo weren’t the only ones enjoying romantic good fortune.

Cassandra and Spencer were utterly besotted with each other, falling more deeply in love day by day. How much longer would they be willing to take part in the great charade? Earlier this year, James had resigned himself to transitioning out of his faux-relationship with Cassandra. Now, though, he felt a frisson of fear at the very thought. Without the shielding Cassandra provided, the tabloids would start sniffing about even more avidly, desperate for any scrap of romantic news regarding the Prince Regent. How long could he and Ben stay a secret then?

But there was no point in worrying about it at the moment. Cassandra was no shrinking violet; when she wanted out, she’d by God tell him so. He could have Ben, at least for the time being. Maybe he could even have a happy, healthy sister, now that Indigo had met a promising man and was finally considering counseling. Anything seemed possible.

Particularly when, that afternoon, the UK’s ambassador to the Netherlands called with a change in plans . . .

•   •   •

Ben clicked on the Hoovers website, hoping to find a bit more background information on one of the companies expanding into India, at the moment his phone rang. He took the pen from his mouth so he could answer. “Dahan.”

“Hello there.”

As always, when the caller on the other end of the line proved to be James, Ben had to resist the urge to smile. “Didn’t expect to hear from you before lunchtime.” Often James’s schedule was so packed that they weren’t able to plan more than a few hours ahead.

“I had a free moment, and I wanted to tell you today’s big news.”

“What news?”

James was practically gleeful. “My Netherlands trip has been postponed. Queen Beatrix broke her foot and has to have surgery—which is of course terrible, but it’s minor surgery and she’ll be fine, and the whole point is that we have to reschedule that trip for the spring and, drum roll please, I now have an
entire weekend
free.”

“Oh, no.” Ben slumped against the desk. “It would have to be this weekend, wouldn’t it?”

“Of course. Your book.”

“I’d put the time aside to compile the index.” There were probably computer programs that could handle this sort of thing instantly, but Ben did some things old-school. He had a trove of note cards, hardback books not in electronic form, and other material stacked around his flat. “It’s not exactly heavy mental labor, but it’s time consuming and it’s got to get done.”

“I know.” James was so gentle, working so hard to hide his disappointment. “You need to work. It’s all right.”

“Too bad you can’t come to my place,” Ben said, then paused. “Could you?”

He’d been asking more in the abstract whether such a thing would be possible. James’s life was so strictly confined; he’d once talked about buying his own food at a grocery store when he was in university with the same sort of amazed delight most people would use to describe their one-and-only ride in a hot-air balloon. But James brightened at Ben’s words. “Oh! I’d love that. I suppose we could figure something out, if we were very careful. I wouldn’t be in the way?”

Ben made up his mind fairly quickly. Weekends spent alone with only your own words for company became very strange, not so much lonely as surreal. “You’d be fine, so long as you brought a book to entertain yourself while I worked. But how—” He caught himself. They couldn’t talk logistics over the phone. The rest of their conversation sounded like anyone trying to get together with his boyfriend; from here on, their words would be more damning.

However, James didn’t have to worry about being overheard. “I’d have to tell my security team that I was visiting a ‘friend.’ They’d assume I meant a woman who wasn’t Cassandra. As long as they could check the building perimeter and make sure nobody else expected me to be there, they wouldn’t intrude further. Just patrol outside. I’ll have to talk to them. Let me see—Friday or Saturday night?”