“Don’t play stupid, Andrew. You know I’m asking why you didn’t show up for our walk in the garden. You could have called if you were running late.”

  Shaking my head, I tell her, “I wasn’t running late.”

  “Are you serious? You just decided you didn’t want to join me, and you didn’t even have the courtesy to call and tell me?” Her complexion is a gorgeous pink that speaks to how angry she is with me.

  “Oh, I wanted to join you.” It sounds like a threat because it is.

  Shaking her head, Agnes throws her arms into the air and turns around. “Then why didn’t you?”

  I take a step closer so that I’m nearly pressed up against her. Wrapping my hands around her upper arms, I lean into her and whisper in her ear, “Because I respect you too much.”

  Her body shudders in response. “What does that mean? You respect me too much to let me get some fresh air?”

  “I thought about you all night, Agnes. And all night I wondered what it would be like to kiss you. If I had come here, that’s exactly what I would have done.”

  “I saw the newspaper this morning, Andrew.” She turns around so she’s facing me. “I saw you and Chantelle in the back of your limo. So please don’t try to sell me on the absurdity of that comment.”

  “Chantelle seems to be planning some type of military coup and I’m the prize,” I tell her heatedly. “She gloms onto me like a barnacle to a boat whenever cameras are near.”

  Agnes turns around and walks into the parlor. Once there, she sits down on the sofa and picks up the paper. “You do a very nice job of pretending you’re enjoying yourself,” she tells me.

  “I was thinking of you …” I wait a beat before adding, “I was thinking about how you wanted to tell your grandchildren that you once kissed the king.”

  “I … um … well …” She shifts nervously in her seat.

  I walk toward her slowly while saying, “I don’t see what it would hurt.”

  “You want to kiss me, even though we could never have a future together?” She sounds both hurt and intrigued.

  Nodding my head, I tell her, “I want that very much.”

  “And you would have kissed me last night?” I can tell that her breathing is getting shallow by the way she sways before seemingly forcing herself to inhale deeply.

  “I most certainly would have.” I sit down next to her on the sofa.

  “But you don’t even like me,” she says.

  “I like you very much, Agnes. The reason I’m often harsh with you is because I like you too much.”

  “Drew …” she says while leaning closer to me.

  “Agnes, I want to kiss you now,” I tell her. In response, she closes her eyes while biting her luscious bottom lip. “Open your eyes. I want you to see me.”

  When her lashes flutter open, her expression is full of need and yearning. It’s time to claim my prize. Pressing my mouth to hers feels like coming home. It’s a sensation of pure unadulterated joy.

  I start out gently enough, but within seconds I want more, so much more. I tease the seam of her lips with my tongue until she opens for me. Then I advance like a general going into battle. I invade her, I possess her, I want all of her.

  Agnes releases a groan of need that practically undoes me. Unfortunately, it also brings me to my senses. I don’t want to cheapen her by treating her like she’s nothing more than a plaything. I won’t do that. So, I pull away from her and wait for my heartbeat to slow down.

  After a minute, or two, or twelve—time is currently not a concept my brain can process—I tell her, “Now you can tell them all about kissing the king.”

  Her eyes flutter in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You can tell your grandchildren that you once kissed the king.”

  “That’s really all this was all about?” she demands hotly. “I thought … you said …”

  “Just because I said that I thought about kissing you all night doesn’t mean I would have done it.” I sound like a total jackass. I want Agnes more than I’ve ever wanted another woman, but I will not toy with her further. Better she thinks I’m a monster than let feelings grow where they cannot flourish.

  “You can’t be serious …”

  “I’ve stayed long enough,” I tell her. Standing up, I add, “I’d best be getting to work now.” I force myself to put one foot in front of the other as I walk out of Agnes’s apartment. I hate myself right now, but I also know that leaving is the only option open to me.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Amelia

  Standing in the royal kitchen, Jacqui tells the cook, “And we thought you could have a booth at the Foliage Festival and sell some of the queen’s favorites.”

  “Queen Charlotte suggests you limit the number of items you offer to three so as not to be overwhelmed,” Amelia adds.

  “How many people should we prepare for?” Cook asks while folding butter into the dough she’s working on.

  “I think five thousand individual items should do,” Jacqui tells her. “You’ll probably sell out pretty quickly, but that will just add an air of excitement.”

  Cook nods her head. “Do I need to hire someone to work the booth, or will you take care of that?”

  “We’ll hire someone …” Amelia gets distracted by someone else walking into the kitchen.

  “Isabelle,” Prince Andrew greets before seeing that Cook is already in a conversation.

  “Drew, darling,” Jacqui gushes as she crosses the short distance to her godson. “What are you doing down here?”

  “Aunt Jacqui.” He hugs her briefly before nodding to Amelia. “Mrs. Dupuis. I’m here to order a picnic basket.”

  Cooks drops into a curtsy. “Your Highness. You could have just called.”

  Drew winks at the cook flirtatiously. “And miss an opportunity to see you? No, thank you, Isabelle. You’re a sight for sore eyes, and you know it.”

  “I’m older than your mother, you scoundrel,” she pretends to scold.

  “You’re like a fine wine,” he tells her. “Only getting better with age.” Cook giggles like a schoolgirl.

  “Who are you having a picnic with?” Jacqui asks. “Anyone we know?”

  “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

  “So, you’ve been kissing someone, have you? Come on, Drew, tell us who,” Jacqui demands.

  The prince merely shakes his head. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  Agnes

  I’m so mad right now I want to throw things. Of all the infuriating, reprehensible, no good … Come on, words. In lieu of smashing crystal, I need a good old-fashioned tirade, but the insults keep jamming up in my brain.

  I cannot believe Drew just walked in here, kissed me senseless, and then strolled out like he’d performed a public service. Just for that, I’m never going to mention him to my grandchildren.

  Sprawling across the sofa, I relive the best, and worst, experience of my life. It’s been a while since I’ve kissed a man, but from what I recall, it was nothing like what just occurred in this apartment. My lips are still tingling, and my heartbeat is racing like I’ve just bungee jumped off a hundred-story building.

  It’s going to be nearly impossible to work with Drew now. How can I be his secretary after knowing what’s it like to be held in his arms? To be possessed by him …

  Wait a second. A thought so abhorrent, so disgusting pops into my head, my mouth hangs open in horror. Was Drew trying to make our working relationship uncomfortable so I’d quit? Was he just toying with me? That fiend.

  I jump up from the couch and start pacing across the floor. I will not allow him to manipulate me in that fashion. As such, I need to prove to him that I was unaffected by our kiss. But how am I going to do that while trapped here in this apartment?

  I stop moving as the answer pops into my head. I’m not going to stay here anymore. I’m going to go back to work. Who cares who sees me? Who cares what they say to the press? I’m going to do what I wanted to do all along. I’m going to brazen this out until everyone realizes the truth. I mean nothing to Drew.

  Storming into my bedroom, I change my shoes and run a brush through my hair. Then I put on some lipstick and reach for the box of photos the queen had sent up. I walk out of my apartment with my head high and my shoulder squared.

  As I stride down the corridor, I try to think of the worst thing that could happen. I suppose that would be getting fired, but if Drew dares think he can fire me over this, I could threaten to report him for sexual harassment.

  The thought makes my stomach churn because I wanted that kiss. I wanted it so much I would have traded a kidney for it. But Drew doesn’t know that. I will not just roll over and let him toy with me.

  The first person I see after walking into my office is the temp that has been filling in for me. “Jonathan,” I tell him. “I’m back at work, so you’re no longer needed.”

  He stands up from my desk. “You came back from your vacation early?”

  Crap, I forgot I was supposed to be out of the country. “I did. It turns out St. Tropez isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  His eyes pop open, nearly doubling in size. “Exotic beaches and world class dining aren’t your thing?” he asks.

  Well, when he puts it that way … But the word of the day is “brazen,” so here goes nothing. “No.”

  “Would you like me to finish up the tasks I’m already working on?”

  “No need,” I tell him. “Just leave them on the desk and I’ll see to them.” Before he leaves, I ask, “Was there anything urgent?”

  “Yes. The cottage on the lake needs to be furnished with supplies. The prince’s friend, Felicity Collinsworth, is coming to visit.”

  “But she was just here a few days ago …” I wave my hand. “Never mind. I’m on it.”

  After Jonathan leaves the office, I look around the room. It’s only been a short time since I was here working every day, but it no longer seems to fit me. Maybe the better way of saying that is that I no longer seem to fit here.

  Sitting down at my desk, I start to sort out all the work ahead of me for the day. My first call is to Felicity. I pick up my telephone, and punch in a number. When it’s answered, I say, “Mrs. Collinsworth, this is Prince Andrew’s secretary calling. Do you have any special requests for your visit?”

  “I … that is …” She hiccups like she’s been crying. “I’m sorry … I just …”

  “Mrs. Collinsworth …” I start to say, but she interrupts me.

  “Please call me Felicity. I’m nowhere near as high in the instep as Drew.”

  “Felicity,” I say. “Is there something I can do to help you?”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  I don’t know her, and what I do know about her, I don’t particularly like. For instance, I don’t like the fact that she’s married and carrying on with Drew. Of course, I might feel the same way if she weren’t married, but I don’t stop to investigate that. “You seem to be in some distress,” I say.

  “I am.” She inhales deeply before saying, “My husband has been very sick and last night, he had a stroke.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.” Regardless of what she has going on with Drew, she must care about her husband greatly.

  “He’s being transported to the Capitol Hospital today, which is why I’ll be up there.”

  “Will your daughters be joining you?” I ask.

  “No. They’ll stay home with my mother. I’ll be coming alone. I don’t think I’ll be spending much time at the cottage.”

  “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” I tell her, surprising myself by meaning it.

  “Drew is lucky to have you.”

  “Yes, he is,” I say before hanging up. And then, speak of the devil, the man himself walks into my office.

  “Jonathan …” he starts to say before he’s seen that it’s me. “What are you doing here?” he demands hotly.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Queen Charlotte

  “I told Drew to meet me in the rose garden at noon, and to have Cook pack us a picnic lunch.”

  Alfred looks up from his newspaper. “It feels like there’s more to your story than just dining al fresco with our firstborn.”

  “Oh, there is,” Charlotte says. “I’m not meeting with him at all. I’ve invited Chantelle to join him.” Watching as her husband’s eyebrow arches in question, she adds, “I may have also asked the royal photographer to be on hand to take a few photos.”

  “For posterity?” Alfred asks sarcastically.

  “For the papers, dear. You know we occasionally tip off the press when we want a certain story planted.”

  “You’re going to leak pictures of Drew and Chantelle?”

  “Of course.”

  “Because you think that it will make Drew come to his senses and realize that his secretary is the one for him?” Scratching his head in confusion, he adds, “I think you’re reaching, Lottie.”

  Putting her teacup down, Charlotte says, “I’m not quite sure how it’s going to play out, but I guarantee something of interest will happen. I’ll figure out how best to make use of whatever that is once I see the photographs.”

  Prince Andrew

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as soon as I see Agnes sitting behind her desk. “Where’s Jonathan?”

  “I told him his services were no longer needed,” she says plainly before turning back to her work.

  “But I told you that you were to stay in your apartment.”

  She continues to type on her computer without even looking at me. “That no longer suits me.”

  “Excuse me? I thought we had decided it was best if no one saw you for a while.”

  “Because of some photo taken of us in a ladies’ loo?” She looks up. “Look, Andrew, I can’t help that you looked like some lovesick puppy in that picture, but I was unconscious, so that’s on you.”

  “I did not look like a lovesick puppy,” I declare hotly. I totally did. “And I’m your boss. You have to do what I tell you.”

  She laughs. Laughs. “I will perform my secretarial duties as I always have,” she snaps. “But that’s the only area of my life you have any say over. You don’t get to decide where I sleep, who I see, or anything of a personal nature. Do you understand?”

  “Agnes …” I’m not quite sure what I’m planning to say, but we’ll never know as she interrupts me.

  “Unless, you’re going to say, ‘Agnes, I’d like a cup of tea,’ or ‘Agnes, please get the PM on the telephone,’ or ‘Agnes, please make a luncheon reservation for me,’ I don’t want to hear it.” I can practically see the steam radiating off her beautiful head.

  “Agnes, I’m having luncheon with my mother in the garden today at noon. Please call Cook and have her pack enough for three.”

  As she reaches for the phone, I ask, “Don’t you want to know who will be joining us?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t care less.”

  “You will be joining us,” I tell her. “As my mother also thought it best that you keep a low profile, perhaps you’ll listen to reason from her.”

  She glares at me like she’s ready to commit violence and slams down the phone. “Your mother is not going to change my mind.”

  “Nevertheless, I’d like for you to dine with us.”

  Ignoring my dictate, she says, “I’ve had the cottage prepared for Felicity.”

  “Good. Please make sure they fill the kitchen with enough comfort food for an army.”

  “She told me that she’ll be coming alone.” Agnes is back to looking at her computer.

  “She is, but Filly likes her biscuits and tarts. I don’t want her needing a thing while she’s here.”

  Agnes turns to me and her eyes narrow like she’s inspecting a unique bug. “Are you friends with her husband?”

  “No.” Why in the world would she want to know that?

  “But he does know about your friendship with his wife …” Ah, there it is.

  “Yes, he knows.” God, this is uncomfortable. Agnes is still under the impression that Filly is my paramour, but she’s not coming right out and saying it.

  “I see.” She snatches up the phone again and punches in the number for the kitchen. “Isabelle, Prince Andrew needs his picnic basket increased to serve three. Thank you.” Then she hangs up and goes back to work as though I’m not even there.

  “Agnes, are you upset about what happened between us this morning?” Obviously.

  “What happened?” she demands.

  “Our kiss?” I cannot believe she’s going to pretend not to remember.

  “Oh, you mean that little thing for me to tell my grandkids? That was hardly anything to get worked up about. It was hardly anything at all.” Ouch.

  “Why are you so angry then?” I demand while shoving my hands in my trouser pants.

  Pointing her finger at me like it’s a sharp knife she’s going to use for my lobotomy, she stands up and walks toward me. “I’m mad that you think you can boss me around. I’m angry that you think you own me, and finally, I’m furious that you would dare put your lips on me while you’re clearly seeing two other women.”

  “Yet you seem to have enjoyed the experience very much.” I know I’m poking the bear, but I can’t help myself. Agnes in a fit of rage is a very passionate sight indeed. And if I’ve discovered one thing about my secretary, it’s that I like to engage her passion.

  “I enjoyed it? I enjoyed it?”

  “That’s what I said,” I tell her smugly.

  “Did it ever occur to you that I felt like I had to let you kiss me, because you’re my boss?”

  I feel like I’ve been hit with a wrecking ball. “No, it did not.” The wind has been totally taken out of my sails. I’m not the kind of man to toy with my employees in such a reprehensible fashion. “If I’ve misread the situation, then I owe you a huge apology, Agnes. I’m very sorry.” And horrified, and humbled …

  She rolls her eyes before answering, “Quit being so dramatic. That’s not what happened, and you know it.”