His Royal Secret (7 page)

Ben kicked the door shut behind him, unpacked with his usual efficiency, and went for the hair-of-the-dog solution in a more reasonable manner, namely a single shot of vodka followed by nothing more than a cup of tea and some contemplation on his small, one-chair balcony.

He didn’t like this about himself, this occasional yearning for something he could never have. Ben had last felt at home as a child; that sense of belonging had died with his parents. To some extent he knew he honed the edges of his solitude so that their absence would remain sharp for him. He had been disabused of the notion that life was fair, and happiness enduring, while he was still very young.

Better to live without illusions, he felt, but he missed the comfort only illusion could provide.

Warner was the only one who had ever made him wonder whether he could live his life differently. When they’d met in Berlin, Ben had been a rangy kid eager to experiment with his sexuality and just cocky enough to think he could handle a man in his thirties. Warner had been in his life for five months—which, to a sixteen-year-old, seemed like a very long time. During that time Ben had learned everything his body could do for another man, learned a lot about what another man could do for him, and discovered that he couldn’t handle Warner, at all. Back then, though, he hadn’t known why. He’d just cried himself sick when his lover took off one day, sending only a single short e-mail as a casual good-bye.

Almost a decade later, during Ben’s vagabond stage, he’d found Warner again, in Thailand this time. Ben had told him he was a shit for taking off like that. Warner had laughed and said Ben had become even prettier now that he was grown. Within two hours Ben had been back in his bed. In the fever of the moment he’d told himself this was his fate—aware it cut both ways, even then—and that he’d be a fool to try and fight it. He felt tied. Committed. Bound, in ways bad and good.

To be loved was to be owned: That was the bargain. Ben knew he could never bring himself to make that bargain again. But Warner had gotten to him early, so the usual rules didn’t apply.

So many things about that temporary madness appalled Ben in retrospect, but the worst was that it had led him, almost accidentally, to the best decision he’d ever made.

Ben was eager to stay in Bangkok and remain by Warner’s side. That meant some kind of work if he could get it. A friend of a friend worked at an English-language newspaper and was willing to give Ben a try on the business beat. To their mutual astonishment, Ben had turned out to both like the work and be good at it. The education he’d cast aside as so much jetsam floated back to him, now informed by a broader experience of the world. Before long, some of his stories were being picked up by wire services.

Success couldn’t have come at a better time, because—once again, after five months—his relationship with Warner fell apart. Ben now saw that Warner’s “mysterious” behavior was deliberately opaque, part of the endless mind games he liked to play. Warner wanted the power in their relationship; he demanded it. Despite the hold Warner had over him, this time Ben had been strong enough not to surrender.

Once again he’d been abandoned. This time, though, the loss hadn’t stung so much. Mostly Ben was angry he hadn’t been the one to leave first.

He’d thrown himself into his work and reaped the rewards. He’d joined Global in their Bangkok bureau, then been transferred to Melbourne, then to Cape Town. He’d freelanced for the best business publications in the world, and a publisher was seriously considering his pitch for a book. Ben should have been on top of the world.

With a sigh, he took up his tablet, brought up the Global website, and saw James’s face staring back. It seemed like those green eyes could see right through Ben, straight through to the heart.

Ben wished he could ask James what he saw there.

•   •   •

Around midnight, just when James was so exhausted he thought he might be able to sleep despite the suspense, Cassandra straightened. “He’s posted!”

“What?”

“Benjamin Dahan, Global Media Services, ‘A Prince’s Devastation’—oh, that doesn’t sound good—”

James grabbed the tablet from her, then thought better of it and thrust it back into Cassandra’s hands. “I can’t read it.”

“The hell you can’t. Man up, Your Royal Highness. I’ll be right here by your side.”

Shoulder to shoulder, they looked together as James clicked on the headline, opening the story. His own face peered up from the page, as though curious. In that first moment, James scanned only for the words
homosexual
or
gay
. When he didn’t see them, he wondered if he was being obtuse, missing the point.

“It’s all right.” Cassandra began to laugh in sheer relief. “James, it’s not an expose. Good God, it’s even
kind
.”

So it was.

Rainy season has endured in Kenya this year, flooding virtually every location on the royal visit. As the prince left, handlers held an umbrella over his head, even though he waded through water nearly a foot deep. There was no shielding him from the rain, nor from the knowledge that, should his grandfather die, he will be thrust suddenly and irrevocably into the role of king. Little wonder, then, that those who saw his departure described him as “haunted,” a man burdened by both grief and responsibility.

“I’m off the hook.” James could hardly find the breath to support his voice. “He had me just where he wanted me, and he let me go. He let me go.”

Cassandra bounced up from the sofa, practically dancing in her excitement. “Ben’s not going to expose you. Impossible. He’d do it straight away if he were to do it at all. The story’s worth more money right now, frankly. If he didn’t publish it today, he won’t publish it, period.”

She was right, and James knew it, but his weary heart found it hard to believe. All he could think about was Ben’s fury as he’d shouted James back out into the rain.

That memory was suddenly, vividly replaced by the memory of Ben smiling at him over a chessboard, curiosity and desire lighting his deep brown eyes and warming James as though he sat near a fire—

“James?” Cassandra froze mid-dance step and frowned. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head. Although he managed to keep his self-control, it was a near thing, and it took several long moments, during which Cassandra returned to his side and draped her arm around his shoulder. One of the corgis waddled over to snuffle at James’s side, and with his free hand he stroked Glo’s furry head.

When he could speak again, he said, “I’m sorry. You know how it is. When you prepare yourself for cruelty, the one thing you can’t handle is kindness.”

“That’s the least he owes you.”

“Forget what he owes me.” The sooner James could forget Ben Dahan altogether, the happier he would be. He took her hand, hoping to ease her into this. “The past day, all I’ve been able to think about was how horrible it would be if this blew up in my face, especially right now. This is the worst possible moment to rock the boat.”

She bit her lower lip before she said, “You want us to ‘reunite’ again.”

“Times of crisis, people get closer, you know. It’s believable.”

“We can’t go on like this forever.”

“I realize that. But I need us to go on a while longer. Please, Cassandra. I know it’s too much to ask. It always has been. But I’m asking.”

Cassandra hesitated, and James wondered if this time she would finally draw the line. “I want to help you. You know that.”

He nodded. Where was this going?

“Things are different now.” Then her face lit up in a smile so soft, so radiant, that for a moment he hardly recognized his rough-and-tumble friend. “Because of Spencer. He’s not just a man I’ve been seeing; he’s important to me. He might even be
the
man.”

“Really?” James couldn’t help smiling back. Fancy Cassandra head over her heels in love.

“Maybe. I hope so. But he’s not the kind of person to sneak around behind another man’s back. We only got started because I told him you and I were as good as through. Then when you and I pretended to break it off—it’s serious between us, now, and if I come back to you, it’s all over.”

James considered this in silence for a while. It was one thing to ask Cassandra to endure the judgment and anger of the public as his pretend-girlfriend, quite another to ask her to scuttle a promising relationship. Even though it had been only an illusion, the connection he’d believed he felt with Ben in Kenya had showed James what falling in love might feel like. He couldn’t steal that from Cassandra, no matter what.

“Let’s consider the possibilities,” he said. “Spencer’s a good man, you said. An honorable man.”

“Very much so.”

“You trust him.”

“Completely.”

“Would he keep a secret?”

Her eyes widened. “You want to tell him the truth?”

“Maybe he’d agree to play along for a while, if he understood the whole story. He ought to know that you were never cheating on me, not for a moment. And he ought to know what a good friend you’ve been to me. How selfless you are. Maybe we can never tell the whole world that, but we could tell Spencer, at least.”

“Oh, James.” She seemed nearly speechless, an event so rare that James intended to tease her about it later. “You’d do that for me?”

“After everything you’ve done for me, it’s the least I owe you. If Spencer doesn’t want to go along with it, all right, you and I will find a way to wrap it up.” The very idea of ending their ruse filled James with unease; at the moment, he desperately wanted something in his life,
anything
, to remain the same. But he couldn’t continue to abuse Cassandra’s friendship so egregiously. “What do you think are the odds he’ll agree to the charade?”

“He’ll probably go for it, honestly, just because he’d love the idea of playing a joke on the whole world. Certainly he’d never, ever tell anyone else. You’re going to like Spencer, I just know it. And he’s going to like you too, if he knows what’s good for him!”

Laughing, Cassandra hugged James tightly, and he took what comfort he could in her embrace. The thought of revealing his secret to a total stranger was frightening—but after spending the last day in nonstop terror, he felt this seemed like a minor problem in comparison.

You hurt me
, he said to the Ben Dahan in his head, in the first of what would be many imagined dialogues.
But you made me stronger.

•   •   •

Although a bedroom in Clarence House had been reserved for Cassandra ever since they’d left university, she didn’t stay over that night. Neither of them wanted the tabloids to start reporting their supposed reunion until they’d had a chance to speak to Spencer Kennedy, together.

“I’ll tell him you’ve invited him for a cordial lunch,” she said as she headed for the door; Glover would be waiting downstairs with her mackintosh in his hands. “Spencer will be skeptical, but I can get him through the doors, never you worry. And I’ll leave the big reveal to you.”

“Thank you, darling.” They’d called each other that for years. It began as a joke for the public, but it now felt perfectly true. Had James been straight, he
would
have married Cassandra . . . assuming he could ever have convinced her to say yes, which was doubtful. “You saw me through a rough night.”

“And I’ll see you through as many more as it takes. After all, I’m getting a tiara out of this deal.”

Cassandra winked at him, then departed.

Afterward he fed the corgis and collapsed into bed. Exhaustion had drained away all other concerns. James thought of nothing more than the fact that his suddenly altered schedule would allow him, for once, to sleep late in the morning. Glover would walk the dogs. He could just . . . sleep.

He dreamed of Ben, but the vision was indistinct, neither fantasy nor nightmare, just the image of his face and the knowledge of his presence. James awoke a few times, as if shaken by the sheer force of the memories, and he’d think,
Still Ben
, before falling asleep again almost instantly. Maybe he had dozens of dreams about Ben; maybe it was just one dream, which couldn’t be ended by waking.

Then a hand tapped him on his shoulder, gently but briskly. “Sir?”

James opened his eyes. Glover, his butler, stood at his bedside, impeccable in his suit, though the grayish light through the drapes suggested it was still only just past dawn.

“What is it?” James mumbled. It was unlike Glover to rouse him this way. Although awakening an employer was one of a butler’s traditional duties, James preferred to rise by his own devices and had instructed Glover to allow this unless specifically told otherwise. Then he realized one of the possibilities and sat upright. “Oh, God. Is the king dead?”

“No, sir. However, the Lord Chancellor wishes to meet with you rather early this morning, and I believe the Lord Chief Justice and the Master of the Rolls will also be in attendance. According to Ms. Tseng, they hope you will be able to meet with the Privy Council this afternoon. I thought you would wish to breakfast well.”

The regency—they were going ahead with it immediately. Today.

What swept over James then was the deepest, most profound relief. Last night he’d been too battered down by fear and exhaustion to see Ben’s small show of mercy as any but a temporary respite from the ongoing suspense he lived with, forever wondering if he would be found out and cast from the succession.

But today he would become prince regent, king in all but name. Richard’s skullduggery was powerless against that. The queen might protest today, and as the wife of the king she was one of the five people who had to be consulted about a regency—but with three of the others agreeing to it, even the queen’s objection could be overruled.

James was going to fulfill his promises to his father. His sister would be safe. He could go on forever like this, if it meant being true to his family and his duty; that mattered more than his personal happiness, more than anything. And now, finally, nothing could stop him.

“Sir?” Glover raised an eyebrow. “Shall I see to breakfast?”

James took a deep breath. “Quite right. Thank you, Glover.”