Prevarication ill suited her. Perversely, it rankled Maxim that she was deceiving him even if he wasn’t being honest with her. It was as if she were taking the side of Princess Anastasia when he very much wanted Lady Tansy to be aligned with him.
In all ways.
But he couldn’t think of that now. He had another reason for paying this call, and it was far more important than his inconvenient lust. Ye gods, he was no better than Nando.
“There is news from the Boritanian Court,” he told Lady Tansy quietly, carefully. “My spies have sent word that Gustavson grows suspicious at the delay in announcing our betrothal. There is word he may travel to London himself.”
Which meant that they would need to make a formal announcement soon, whether the princess was able to find the exiled prince and rightful king or not. The notion didn’t sit well with him, but there was no other solution.
Lady Tansy’s eyes widened at the news. “I’ll pass on your warning to Her Royal Highness.”
He nodded. “Our time lessens by the moment.”
Her gaze dipped, and unless he was mistaken, landed on his mouth, lingering there like a touch. Everything inside him turned to instant flame.
“Will that be all, Your Majesty?” she asked, her eyes flying back up to his, a slight tinge of pink coloring her cheeks.
Did she think to dismiss him? The daring of the woman knew no bounds.
“No,” he said, even though he knew he shouldn’t. “That’s not quite all, Lady Tansy.”
Tansy bracedherself for what the king would say next.
“How else may I be of service to you?” she asked, trying to maintain her composure.
Doing so was a struggle, given the intensity the king exuded. Being in his presence so soon after she had been on his lap the day before was a challenge all its own. She had spent every moment of their interaction thus far achingly reminded of the large, thick length of him pressing into her. He made her feel restless and reckless, two traits she had never previously believed herself capable of possessing.
From the moment she had been taken beneath the sheltering wing of the St. George family, Tansy had maintained her gratitude and humility. Never desiring anything for herself. Certainly never desiring anyone.
“Come and sit with me,” the king said, his tone one of august command.
He didn’t ask. King Maximilian issued orders, and everyone around him was expected to comply without question. The instinct to deny him was strong. Every minute she spent alone with him took her sixty seconds more perilously close to disaster.
“I would prefer my own chair this evening,” she told him tartly instead.
Without waiting for his response, she swiftly moved to the armchairs flanking each other before the fire crackling in the grate. She seated herself primly on the edge, not about to allow herself to become too comfortable, for she didn’t recognize herself when King Maximilian was in proximity.
Mere moments ago, she had been staring at his stern yet finely sculpted mouth, wondering what it would feel like if those lips claimed hers.
It was an inherently wrong curiosity—and traitorous, too.
The king stalked across the chamber in a handful of long-legged strides and sank into the chair at her side, his dark eyessearching as he reached into his coat. “How are the guards treating you, Lady Tansy?”
The question took her by surprise. She had expected he would engage in further interrogation. He seemed so very suspicious of the princess, and she couldn’t blame him. No doubt Princess Anastasia had possessed an excellent reason for turning away the king’s carriage this evening. But Tansy couldn’t fathom what it could be. If she had to hazard a guess, she would reckon it had something to do with Archer Tierney.
“The guards are treating Her Royal Highness well,” she answered, relieved that she’d had the presence of mind to hideThe Tale of Loveearlier that day.
“I didn’t ask how they were treating the princess,” he drawled, “although I’m pleased to know it. I asked how they are treatingyou, my lady.”
She swallowed against an unwanted rush within; his interest in her should hardly matter. It was likely nothing more than perfunctory. “They are treating me well.”
“They damned well better be.” He had extracted his flask from his coat, she realized, and now he was bringing it to his lips. “Whisky, Lady Tansy?”
She remembered the burn of it on her tongue, down her throat. The way it had seemed to make her feel loose-boned and lighter than a feather, the way it had felt to place her lips where his had so recently been.
Dangerous. So very, very dangerous.
Tell him no, urged an inner voice of caution.It’s hardly befitting of a lady in your position.
