Tangled Up in Princes (Royal Romances Book 1) (14 page)

"Edward, your plate is full. I don't want to be one more person you have to save, one more problem you have to fix. I won't be that."

"You aren't. You'd never be that for me. Where is this coming from?"

"Jamie explained it to me."

"Jamie," he muttered, "I truly will kill him."

"Don't. He was only trying to help."

She got up from the swing and studied the shrubs growing in front of the porch.

"Why didn't you call me after I left Scotland?"

"What? I didn't call because I thought putting distance between us would be the best way to keep the press off your trail. I wanted to give you back your privacy."

She faced him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"I suppose that's why you had a fling with that Swedish Princess."

"Astrid? Yes, that's exactly why I appeared to have a fling with her. I wanted the press to focus on someone other than you, and Astrid is accustomed to that sort of attention."

"I'll bet. What other kinds of attention is she used to from you?"

Carrie was furious -- furious and jealous. He tried and failed to stop the smile that threatened on his face.

"Astrid is a friend."

He got up to stand in front of her. He put a finger against her lips.

"A long-time family friend. More to the point, she's practically betrothed to Jamie."

Her eyebrows shot up at that.

"He didn't mention that."

"No, he wouldn't, and I said practically engaged. It's hardly a certainty. Unlike Jamie, I am not inclined toward public kisses with my brother's intended."

"You saw that, did you?"

"Yes, just as Jamie no doubt planned. Is he here, by the way?"

"No, he left in a garbage truck early this morning."

"Fitting."

"None of this explains why you bought my shop."

He'd hoped they wouldn't get back to that.

"I am guilty. It's just as you said. I wanted to fix this for you. I felt like it was the only thing I could make right for you."

"I will not let you buy my shop. I won't sell it to you."

"Fine. Just let me give your father the money to repay the Rhys-Coopers then."

She glared at him.

"I am not a problem you can fix, nor am I a product you can buy and ignore at your whim."

"That's not what I meant. I never thought of you that way. You know that."

"Really? How would I know that Edward? You never even gave me a cell phone number to contact you. All I've ever had from you is whatever scraps of attention you were willing to give at the time. Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming you. I fell hard for you, and that's my fault, but I'd rather be nothing to you than be one more inconvenience you feel you have to deal with."

His composure snapped. He prided himself on keeping a cool head in all situations, but this, this was too much. He pulled Carrie to him and wrapped his arms around her. "I never thought of you as an inconvenience, or a difficulty, or a problem, and I'm sorry Carrie, so damned sorry that I made you think so. I've thought of little else but you since I hid behind those curtains and heard the sound of your voice. You didn't know who I was. You spent time with me for me. You can have no idea how rare, how singular an experience that is for me. I wanted to give you everything, but Jamie and my family--I couldn't shake free of prior obligations, and the thing is, I'm still not certain I can, now or ever. I am a member of the British royal family. I will always be that, and everything that comes along with it -- the family and the paparazzi and the endless obligations -- I wanted to spare you that, even as it killed something inside me to have to do it. Buying your shop, I should have consulted with you first. I realize that now, but I wanted to do something for you. I wanted to do something to make you feel as good, as whole, as you made me feel."

When he'd finally finished speaking, he realized that he was pressing her hand against his chest, over his heart. He dropped his hand, but she kept hers pressed against him.

"You said earlier--you said you'd fallen for me. Have my mistakes and utter incompetence managed to undo those feelings?"

"I thought so," she said and swallowed hard, "but you give a fine speech."

"Perhaps I should keep talking then."

"No."

She rose and pressed her lips to his, the sweetest, sexiest, most sensual kiss he'd ever experienced. He put out a hand to the porch railing for support. He ran his hands up her shoulders and into her long, loose hair.

"I want this, Carrie. I want to stand out in the open with you in my arms. I want it so much."

"I'd like that too, but I'm just not sure it can ever happen."

"It's happening now. I know it can't be like this all the time, but we've found this moment here, now. We can find more. We can make more moments like this."

"What is it you want from me, Edward? Because I'm not convinced you know yourself."

"I didn't know, not until I got here. I knew I wanted you. I've always known that, but I wanted to protect you from the insanity of my life more."

"And now?"

"And now, I think my life may not be quite so insane with you in it."

He stole another kiss before going on.

"Clearly, Jamie is more capable of looking after himself than anyone gave him credit for."

She drew a finger down his cheek.

"Jamie was looking after you."

"That's a welcome role reversal, but one that will take some getting used to."

"I'm glad he's the one who'll be king some day and not you."

"Me, too."

"You never thought about becoming king?"

He gave a shudder as though from a recalled nightmare.

"Not with any feelings of fondness, I assure you."

"What do you want then? If you give up your role as the family fixer, what will you do with yourself."

"You know, there is one thing."

"What?"

"I was thinking of opening a yarn store in London."

"You know, you can't drive like this here," Carrie said from inside Edward's new Porsche, "you'll get a ticket."

The trees lining the Bluegrass Parkway dazzled in their November best.

"I've diplomatic immunity plates on the car."

"You're spoiled."

"I am."

He laid a hand on her thigh.

"Where are we going?"

"Home. I told you already."

"Since my home is the other direction, and your home requires a plane to get to, your answer isn't very satisfying."

He gave her a sidelong glance.

“Are you unsatisfied?"

They'd had a little interlude back at an empty rest stop.

"You are beautiful when you blush like that. Stop it, or I'll have to pull the car over."

"You're being obtuse.

"Is that what you Americans call it?"

She resigned herself to being kept in the dark and enjoyed the view, if fast moving, outside the car window. She also enjoyed Edward's hand on her thigh, which had gathered up her skirt and was now stroking bare skin. She reached for the radio dial but stopped herself just in time. Over the past few weeks, she and Edward had learned that they had many things in common, but their musical preferences weren't among them. Strangely, Edward loved classic country music, the whinier and twangier the better, while Carrie leaned toward British rock bands-- Beatles, The Stones, The Who, even Duran Duran and some 80's electronica. In this, they had agreed to disagree. Reading her thoughts, he laughed as her hand fell away from the dashboard.

"No banjos unless you tell me where we're going," she said.

"Relax. You're safe. We're here."

He turned the car onto a long, tree-lined drive that had a gatehouse at the end. Edward flashed the guard his ID. The guard stood up straighter, started to salute, thought better of it, then just looked confused.

"Thank you, my good man."

Until a few weeks ago, the sight of the house in front of her would have awed her. It was huge, in the Tudor style, its gleaming whitewash crisscrossed with dark timbers. The diamond-shaped panes of glass glittered in the autumn sunlight. It was beautiful, but it was no Buckingham Palace. She knew because she'd spent a week in that fabled residence, not a month back.

She thought her life should be pretty smooth sailing from here on out because nothing -- nothing -- could be as anxiety-inducing as meeting Edward's parents. She'd expected them to be disapproving. She was no Swedish princess after all. She hadn't even managed to place in the Watermelon Princess pageant when she'd been in high school. To her surprise, the king, and especially the queen, were delighted at the idea of Edward marrying her. His mother seemed genuinely happy for her son -- even tearing up a bit as she'd watched Edward place her own mother's wedding ring on Carrie's finger. His father thought the respectable spectacle of a wedding would be a good distraction just now, and Edward marrying an American would test the waters of how well the British people would take one of their royal family marrying outside the realm. When the king had mentioned that particular benefit, he'd been looking sternly at Jamie.

As for Jamie, he'd gotten into the act by doing a television interview with Dinah Adams explaining the kiss the world had seen between himself and Carrie. He'd laughed once the footage of their now infamous kiss had played.

"Well, Dinah, did you see her face? It was hardly the visage of an impassioned woman. I count myself lucky indeed that she didn't deck me."

"You say there was nothing romantic between the two of you, yet the entire world saw that video for themselves."

Jamie leaned back and crossed his legs, propping ankle on knee. He gave the camera a heart-stopping, sly grin.

"I know my brother. I knew he was in love with Carrie, and I knew he was worried about how the British people would take having an American as their princess. As for myself, I know my countrymen well. I knew they'd embrace her warmly, as they have."

In truth, they hadn't -- not until that statement from Jamie urged them to do so.

"Nothing makes a man in love take action like a challenge, wouldn't you say?" He winked at the camera, and women all over the world had swooned, actually swooned.

"What is this place?" Carrie asked Edward as he helped her out of the car.

He backed her against the car and framed her face with his hands.

"It's home."

"It's what?"

"Home. I knew you were homesick while we were in England. You said you didn't mind living there," he said and tilted up her chin to brush a kiss across her lips, "and I love you for that, but I know your heart aches at the idea of severing ties with this place. As it happens, my family has long owned this estate. Granny Pemmy, she liked the ponies."

"She was an equestrian?"

"A gambler, more like. Anyway, she bought this house and horse farm thirty years ago. Nobody much uses it since her death. Actually, I think it might have been forgotten, but Father remembered it and he deeded the property to me."

She stared from the house to Edward.

"Your father gave you this?"

"He gave us this. He's not as harsh as he wants everyone to think he is."

"He's excellent at concealment then."

He lifted her hand, the one bejeweled with a five karat emerald cut sapphire set in platinum, to his lips.

"When we're in the midst of the wedding insanity, and you feel sure you'd rather leave me than endure one more fitting or photo shoot, I want you to remember this place. I promise I'll bring you back here. We'll spend half our time in Britain and half here. It's my promise to you."

She wrapped her arms around him.

"When we first met and I called you a jerk --"

"And a bridge troll. Don't forget the bridge troll."

"Well, I take it all back. You're a wonderful man, and I'm the luckiest woman in England or America."

He looked pointedly at her huge diamond ring, then at the mansion ahead of them. "It really doesn't take much to sway you, does it?"

<<<>>>

Thanks for reading Tangled up in Princes, the first book in my Royal Romances series. I hope you enjoyed it. If so, please consider leaving the book a review. Reviews help other readers decide whether my books are a good fit for them and can have a huge impact on an author’s career.

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About the Princess Royale … Are you interested in knowing more about Lizzy, Edward’s impetuous, Twitter-addicted, younger sister? Turn the page for the first chapter.

Molly

By Molly Jameson



Chapter 1

Eliza Margaret Penelope, Princess Royal of the United Kingdom, was talking to her cat.

“Bennie, I reckon it’s time for another tattoo,” Lizzy said, scratching the cat under his chin. He purred his approval. “I’m about to be well shot of Magnus who, I’m sorry to say, has proved to be something of a shit.”

Lizzy was stretched out across her canopy bed, mussing her designer gown as well as the starched and pressed duvet. She stood and gave a studied little wriggle until the draping of her beaded gown hung just right. All of her dresses for official functions were long and heavy as hell. This one was silver with a lovely cool corsetry top and crystals on the skirt.

She picked through the leather cases that had been delivered from her parents. She was expected to wear something from the private jewels, the collection of royal baubles accumulated over the centuries. She lifted the lid of the first leather case and grimaced. It was a brooch. No one but her mother had worn a brooch in fifty years. She moved on to the next box and found the inevitable pearl choker her mother would have insisted upon. She flicked through the rest, all non-possibilities. Losing hope of anything original, Lizzy picked up the pearls. She stacked up the rest of the cases and counted them idly. She’d looked at eleven pieces of priceless jewelry and hated most of them. Too stuffy, too ornate, too old. She set the pearls back down absently, peering at the stack of leather cases. One of them, black and scuffed, unassuming, didn’t look familiar. She had stacked the others on top of it. She felt a slight thrill of excitement as she uncovered it and flipped it open. She had known by the deep box that it would be a tiara. But this was
the
tiara, the very one she’d been asking to wear since she was twelve. Lizzy had wanted it with a fierce greed that she had felt for no other material object. It was the pink Argyle diamond tiara, the curls of white and pink diamonds in rose gold evoking the shape of swans.

“Yes!”

Lizzy set it on her dark hair and instantly she looked and felt like a princess. She held her neck more regally, straightened her posture. She fussed with a hairpin and messaged her driver. Stepping outside her room, she informed the security guard that he could take the rest of the jewels back to the vault. She rode to the ballroom of the Perpetua Hotel for a benefit for the royal endowment for music education. Some year-eights were to provide music for dancing before the orchestra began. Watching their performance might be the only bright spot of her evening apart from the tiara.

She knew already what the headline would read in the morning.

“
Princess Eliza arrived at the gala on the arm of on-again love, the international playboy Magnus Cameron.
”

Lizzy reminded herself to stand tall as Magnus joined her, escorted by his latest minder. He required an entourage no less than any drug-addled rock musician. He was looking laddish in his designer tux, blond hair carefully mussed, a rogue’s dimple flashing as he offered her his arm.

“You’re looking well, Liz,” he said, eyes raking her with appreciation. She stifled a groan.

“It is a lovely dress,” Lizzy said. “Your suit is nice as well.”

“No, on second thought that gown hides your tits too much.”

With Magnus, that was what passed for seduction. He made Lizzy miss her cat.

She set her hand at his elbow and waited to be given leave to enter. When they were announced, she smiled and glided forth smoothly. The room was opulent with painted frescos, dark columns and the gilded trim all lit to a burnished glow by the blaze of crystal chandeliers. They were seated at a table with a handful of businessmen whose wealth would be welcome in the musical education program, and their Sloane wives, preening in their Prada. Magnus was on about his trip to Mustique and held their attention admirably, despite the odd reference to his recreational drug use. Lizzy pinched his leg meaningly and his accent climbed a notch more toward Eton. Lizzy picked up her dinner roll and buttered it lavishly.

“Liz, carbs,” Magnus said.

Magnus was one of the few who were aware of the directive her father’s office had given her to stop gaining weight. When she set her roll down on her bread plate to cut her fish, Magnus took her roll away and proceeded to eat it himself.

Lizzy didn't permit herself a scowl. Instead she turned to one of her dining companions, a Mr. Belford, who had a remarkable family fortune, some of which ought rightfully make its way to the underprivileged music students they had gathered to benefit. He had a comfortable belly beneath his fine suit and was, she noted with slight envy, working his way through his second dinner roll.

“Mr. Belford, I understand you have quite an interest in racing?” she said.

“It is a hobby. We keep a little stable.”

“Did not your horse win at Newmarket? The Craven Meeting?”

“Yes. Mellow Spring is a fast animal,” Mr. Belford said. “We got him in Lexington, in the States.”

“I’ve heard fine things about Kentucky horseflesh.” Lizzy said. “My grandmother had a racing stable there when I was a child. Where do your horses go when you retire them?”

“Oh, out to pasture, you know. Stud services, if you’ll pardon the indelicacy, Your Highness.”

“Have you trained any of your retirees as therapeutic animals? I’ve read great things about former racers serving in therapy for people who’ve had strokes.”

“I cannot say as I have thought of that before, however if you suggest it…” Mr. Belford said.

Lizzy remembered that she was meant to be on about musical education and not her favorite topic instead.

“Not at all. Forgive me. We’ve come to enjoy the performance of some truly remarkable year-eights. Did any of you have musical lessons?” she asked.

What followed was a sort of upper-crust reverse one-upsmanship as each in turn suggested with false modesty that his efforts on an instrument were dismal despite excellent tutors. Mr. Belford himself had taught his own children the violin and Mrs. Limbridge once toured with the ensemble at public school to do a concert in Austria. She confessed to having played the tuba.

“There are really quite a few children in our city who haven’t the opportunities we’ve had--a good school and on ski trips after term. The fine arts have always been an interest of mine and it grieves me to think of little children who wish to learn and haven’t the chance.”

“My daughter stopped her piccolo lessons at fifteen. We were so disappointed,” one woman said. “Playing the flute was such a source of joy for me. I so enjoyed accompanying her on flute at family gatherings.”

Lizzy nodded, trying not to cringe on behalf of the teen who had been forced to perform at dinner parties with her mum on flute.

“She may return to the practice later in life,” Lizzy said. “Even if she does not, she had the opportunity to play and appreciate music.”

“Indeed. It is so important for a well-rounded character,” the woman said.

“I never learnt an instrument.” Magnus put in.

“Do you regret missing the opportunity?” Lizzy pressed, hoping that for once he was going to support her.

“Fuck no. Lot of poncy twits at school used to do chorus. I stuffed a few of them in the bin.” He let out a coarse laugh and Lizzy tried to think of what to say to smooth this gaffe. She had an impulse to kick him extremely hard.

“That’s a bit of a different experience than the one we advocate with the musical education initiative, Magnus,” she said. “Surely you’ve matured a bit since stuffing defenseless persons into bins.”

The music began and she nearly sagged with relief. She nodded to Mr. Belford who took her hand. She kept smoothly to her topic of music lessons and applied only a touch of flattery to secure the donation. At the end of the dance, Mr. Belford bowed to her. Someone caught her hand. She turned to see not Magnus but Phillip, her older brother Jamie’s best mate. Phillip, the unfortunate bridegroom.

He was quite the opposite of Magnus when it came to appearances. He was stronger, sturdy and dark. She smiled her first genuine smile of the evening when she saw him. He set her hand on his shoulder and led her through a waltz.

“Now, would that be the famous tiara, Lizzy?” he said.

“Why famous? All our jewels are famous, cheeky boy,” she scolded.

“The pink Argyles you used to tell me about. When you were about eleven, I’d say. Jamie had brought me along for holiday. You were pouting over this very thing. It looks as though you’ve grown into it.”

“You remember that?”

“You were devastated. I had thought at the time, we were at Pembroke, I think, and out by the pond, that you might cry off and be the next Ophelia.”

“I wasn’t that mad, even as an adolescent, Phillip. You’re far too harsh on me.”

“Indeed I feared for your very life. You were off your trolley. You told me you’d no reason to live. You were only a princess and no one cared for anything you did except—”

“What I wear and if get fat or divorced,” she said. “I’m older now, but it’s still true enough.”

“Now you’ve got an ace tiara,” he said.

“I quite like it. Thanks for noticing.”

“Was it your birthday present?”

“Hardly. Mum called to say they had a tree planted in my honor and I presided over the opening of a new flower bed.”

“Exciting times, then. What about the dashing Magnus? Did he give you sacks of diamonds and a Ferrari?”

“He forgot. Claims he did.”

“How could he forget? You’re his girlfriend.”

“You sound more indignant than I did!” she said. “I did point out rather forcibly that everyone in the UK knows I’m born on the eight of April. There were coins minted in commemoration, in fact!”

“If I’d known the smoothie git was going to bugger off—”

“Phillip, I realize you’re a commoner, but you’re at a ball, with the nice silver and the toffs. Do restrain yourself.”

“I forgot your birthday too, on the day. I’d have rung you.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve had things go pear shaped recently. I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Thought I could do with a bit of cheering up. You could try to coax me into a donation.”

“Shall I have them get you an extra helping of pudding? You were once quite mad for custard.”

“It might help your cause along. I had rather have you come to sit at my table. The crowd is dull as may be.”

“Really. Whom are you seated by?”

“My parents,” he said and she laughed. “They want me engaged to be married posthaste.”

“How sensitive of them. I’m not certain you want me at your table. I’m like to say something rude about their treatment of you.”

“They want me to be resilient and conquer greater things, you see. I’m to propose to someone of good birth with a title.”

“That’s total crap, Phillip, I’m sorry. I hate that it didn’t turn out for you.”

“Dance with me again later? It’s good to have someone to talk with at these dos,” he said.

As they parted ways, she was startled to see her elder brother Jamie come through the crowd toward them. Lizzy wasn't sure why he was there--a benefit of being one of seven royal children was that only one or two at a time ever had to attend official events, so surely he hadn't been bidden to appear at something so paltry as a children's musical charity. The Prince of Wales was usually reserved for more pressing and prominent causes.

Yet there he was, striding across the dance floor toward the pair of them with purpose on his handsome face. If anything had been seriously wrong with their ailing dad, Martin would have sent someone inconspicuous to retrieve her, so there was no reason for her stomach to plummet with worry as it did. Then she saw Jamie's gaze was fixed on Phillip, not herself. Her stomach lurched again, this time with real purpose. They probably hadn't seen one another since Jamie got caught in flagrante with Phillip's bride-to-be in Scotland. She had to get them out of sight, was her first thought. If there was going to be a row, which she had every reason to expect, it was her duty to get them to a private location. There was no press in the event but there were plenty of Sloanes with cameras on their mobiles who could record the proceedings and stir up a real scandal.

She seized Phillip's arm as he was nearest to her, and tugged at it.

"Let's go out for some air, eh, Phillip?" she said urgently.

He ignored her. His arm was pleasingly solid and muscular and she scolded herself for getting distracted and for holding on to his arm a bit longer than necessary.

"Now, James," she said to her brother. "Wouldn't it be best if we went--"

"No, Lizzy. If he's to take a swing at me, he ought to get to knock me down in front of a whole roomful of spectators. I deserve it," Jamie said, a defiant lift to his jaw. "I was a comprehensive ass and ruined his wedding. He's the best mate I ever had and I treated him very ill indeed." Jamie stood, hands in his pockets, waiting confidently to be punched by Phillip Rhys-Cooper, the wronged party.

Leave it to Jamie to apologize with unmitigated swagger, she thought.