It was a slightly less sensual embrace than their usual, what with Kunigunde holding the swaddled book out to one side, but any kiss from her was a kiss well worth taking.
Her mouth was familiar by now, her taste every bit as exciting as the first time. He would never tire of her lips against his, of their bodies pressed together, of his bare hands tracing the flare of her hips.
They did not break apart until they heard others’ footsteps hurrying down the stairs in search of breakfast.
“I suppose we ought to put in an appearance at the table.” He released her soft curves with regret. Nothing on the sideboard would be half as tempting as the woman in his arms.
She hesitated, which put all of Graham’s nerves on edge. Something was wrong.
He cupped her cheek. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” she said quickly. “It’s…Here. This is for you.”
She placed the large book into his hands.
It was so light, he nearly fumbled it. Not a book at all, but a canvas.
He carefully unwrapped the linen to reveal a painting mounted on a frame of lightweight wood. It was a painting of Graham.
And…someone else.
Not Kunigunde. An apple-cheeked blond woman wearing an elegant gown covered in ruches and ruffles, and an ostentatious gold crown sparkling with jewels of every color.
“Is this…” he breathed.
Kunigunde nodded. “Princess Mechtilda of Balcovia.”
Graham was depicted in full court dress, genuflecting to the princess. Her Royal Highness inclined her head in acknowledgment, the very picture of elegance and grace. Literally a picture. In Graham’s hands.
His eyes flew to Kunigunde’s in delight. “I cannotwaitto tell people this royal moment actually happened.”
“Look closer,” she answered.
Only then did he realize where the scene was located. In this house. In the Wynchesters’ finest parlor. Every detail was captured, from the ivory-colored ceiling entablature to the intricate pattern of the carpet.
He stared at the image of his boyhood fantasy. “A painting of my fairy tale?”
“It shall not be fiction for long. I can make a meeting happen. The princess and I have known each other since we were small. If I tell her I’d like to introduce her to someone, she’ll be eager to meet you. She will have to bring her Guardsmen, of course.”
“Eager,” Graham repeated. “To meetme.”
He could barely think. The rest of the room disappeared, save for the painting in his hands. He was already imagining himself living this painted moment. Standing before an actual, honest-to-god princess. Bowing to her. Watching her personally acknowledgehim.
No one was ever, ever going to believe this.Grahamcould barely fathom it. He couldn’t wait for the scene to come true. Especially because it meant Kunigunde would be in London, too.
Her expression was guarded. “I take it you like your gift?”
“I adore it!” Was hegushing? Elegant, self-possessed gentlemen did notgush. But there was no better word to describe how he felt about this painting and his impending introduction to royalty. “A princess. A real princess. In my parlor. In front of my face.”
Her lips twitched.
“How long can she stay? For tea? For dancing?” He swirled about the room with the painting, holding the canvas at an exaggeratedly formal distance as he waltzed.
He stopped when he caught sight of Kunigunde’s face.
“Are you angry?” he said uncertainly. “That I like the gift you made for me?”
She schooled her expression. “No. I knew you would. I’m glad you like it. That’s why I did it.”
