Shaw wrinkled her brow. “Why so?”
“Because it will give us access to places and people we might not otherwise be able to reach,” Viggo said in a hard voice.
Evander met his flinty gaze and bobbed his head curtly.
“Bloody marvellous,” Rufus muttered.
“Look on the bright side.” Ginny indicated the vessel dominating the harbour with a tilt of her head. “We’ll be travelling on the royal yacht. Not many can claim to have had that honour.”
“I’d rather be in a dinghy,” Solomon murmured.
CHAPTER 13
Two and a halfhours later found Viggo beginning to wish he were in a dinghy too.
The Royal suite assigned to Princess Victoria—or rather, the future German Empress, as he had to keep reminding himself—was more opulent than any room he’d ever set foot in, including Evander’s townhouse in Mayfair.
Gilt-edged mirrors reflected the afternoon light streaming through polished brass-framed windows, the foam-tipped waves breaking the surface of the grey sea beyond glinting under the sun. The furniture was upholstered in deep crimson velvet that matched the silk damask adorning the walls. A Persian carpet thick enough to swallow his boots covered the floor and the air smelled faintly of roses and expensive tea.
Viggo perched on the edge of a delicate chair that looked like it might collapse under his weight and tried not to touch anything.
Evander sat beside him with the easy grace of someone born to such surroundings, his posture relaxed despite the tension Viggo could sense thrumming beneath his composed exterior. The duke had changed into fresh clothes after they’d boardedand now wore a dark blue coat that brought out his eyes and made Viggo want to do decidedly inappropriate things to him.
Princess Victoria poured tea with her own hands, having dismissed her lady-in-waiting with a gracious smile and a wave. She’d shed the formal bearing she’d displayed on the dock, her movements easy and unguarded as she prepared their cups.
“Sugar, Mr. Stonewall?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Two lumps, please, Your Imperial Highness,” Viggo said stiffly.
Fairbridge and Evander had given him a ten-minute lesson on royal etiquette when the invitation for tea with the Crown Princess had been delivered to their cabin the moment the ship had left Dover.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Victoria set down the sugar tongs and fixed him with an amused look. “We’re not at court, Mr. Stonewall. You may call me Princess Victoria. Or Vicky, if you prefer, though I suspect that might be a step too far for you at present.”
Viggo blinked. He glanced at Evander, who was pressing his lips together as if suppressing a smile.
“Princess Victoria it is,” Viggo said carefully.
“Much better.” She handed him his tea, the China cup absurdly dainty in his large hands. “Now then, I’ve been dying to meet you properly ever since I spotted you on the dock, what with you being Evander’s lover and all.”
Viggo nearly dropped the cup. “I—I beg your pardon?!”
Victoria smiled slyly. “Those are the very words Evander spoke when I questioned him about the matter.”
Viggo looked at Evander and nearly fell off his chair.
The duke was pinning Victoria with a scowl that Viggo was pretty certain was against royal protocol. What happened next shocked him even more.
Victoria rolled her eyes at Evander with a familiarity that indicated they had danced this verbal dance a thousand times before.
“Alright, I shall stop teasing, so please lose the glower.”
Viggo’s stomach sank as he registered a daunting truth. Evander and the princess were more than mere acquaintances.
“The two of you appear to be quite close.” He couldn’t help the trace of accusation that coloured his words.
Victoria’s expression grew amused.
“Duke Ravenwood was chosen to be one of the royal children’s companions from an early age,” she said lightly. “We grew up with one another.”
