She had no intention of playing the part of mistress, and it nettled that he had snapped his fingers and expected her to come to him and do his bidding.
“Something has changed between the two of you,” the prince observed shrewdly. “My brother has been vicious as a thundercloud, and I haven’t seen you truly smile since London.”
They turned and ascended a grand staircase. “The king reminded me of the disparity in our stations.”
And the futility of her love for him.
But her heart still foolishly yearned for him just the same. She couldn’t lie; even the prospect of seeing him again had her filled with a complex combination of anguish and eagerness.
“He can be a very difficult man,” the prince acknowledged. “The war and Mina’s death changed him. He wasn’t always so cold.”
Because he had loved his wife, and he had lost her. Tansy didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to feel jealousy toward a dead woman, for it was wrong.
“Perhaps he will soften in his marriage to Princess Anastasia,” she said, unable to remove the bitterness from her voice.
They reached the door to the king’s private apartments, where a guard was stationed.
Nando stopped before the harsh, dangerous-looking man. “Lady Tansy is expected.”
She turned to the prince. “You aren’t accompanying me?”
He flashed her one of his most charming grins, revealing his dimples. “I’m afraid I have other matters to attend to. I’ll see you later at the betrothal feast.”
She wanted to protest, for she had no desire to be alone with Maxim. It was far too dangerous. Too tempting, despite her hurt feelings and her every intention of never again succumbing to his sensual lure.
Tansy swallowed hard and curtsied, all too aware of the guard standing as silent audience. “Of course, Your Royal Highness. Thank you for your escort.”
Nando bowed solemnly, all traces of levity gone. “The pleasure was mine, my lady.”
The guard knocked at the door as the prince took his leave.
“You may enter,” Maxim called, his deep voice wrapping around her heart like a fist and giving it a squeeze.
The guard opened the door, and she crossed the threshold, stepping into Maxim’s lair. The air within felt as if it bore some manner of charge as the portal closed behind her, leaving her utterly alone with him. He stood by the window, dressed informally in a banyan and trousers, his feet bare. Her breath caught at the sight of his neck, unadorned by a cravat, and the slice of skin revealed by the vee in his banyan.
For a wild moment, she longed to throw herself into his arms, to press her lips against every inch of flesh exposed on him. To fill her lungs with his scent. To wrap herself around him and never let go.
She curtsied instead. “Your Majesty wished to see me?”
How pleased she was with herself for the calm iciness of her voice. Keeping her expression blank required all the restraint she possessed.
He bowed to her and then moved forward, his long-limbed strides closing the distance separating them with ease. “You are well?”
His dark gaze was searching, his lips unsmiling. She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to hate him.
“Yes,” she said simply. “Thank you.”
“The chamber is to your liking?”
She wondered if he had chosen the bedroom for her but quickly banished the thought, for it hardly mattered if he had.
“It is a lovely room.”
His brows snapped together. “You don’t like it.”
“It’s far more than I’m accustomed to,” she elaborated.
He clasped his hands behind his back, the action making his banyan gape at the top and reveal more of his chest. “In what way?”
