“Well,” said Drew, glancing at Lachlan and the baroness. “I cannot say. I feel certain they are receiving people well into the afternoon. But do we feel well enough to try it?”
“Oh yes, I do,” said Imogene, rising from the floor. She fluffed her skirts and smoothed her hair.
“Ivy?” asked Drew.
“I don’t care one way or the other, honestly,” sighed Ivy. “If Genie would do it, so will I. Mama?”
“We cannot huddle in this storage room, telling fireside tales forever,” said Lady Tribble. “There is an odor here. A fragrance. Hyacinth and... rabbit dander? Do any of you smell it?”
“No,” Lachlan and the twins said in unison, and Drew swallowed a laugh.
“I am highly sensitive to rabbit dander,” reminded Lady Tribble.
“Very well,” said Drew. “Let us return to the antechamber and wait our turn. I shall try to signal a footman. He can slip a note to the princess... hurry the process along.”
“Timothea?” said Lachlan, speaking over the sound of chair scooting and dress fluffing, “would you take the girls into the antechamber ahead of us? I should like a word alone with Miss Trelayne.”
Drew paused in the act of repining the ribbon in Ivy’s hair. He’d just reminded everyone to refer to her as “Drew,” and now he’d invoked the name “Miss Trelayne.” And it wasn’t simply that he’d said it, it washowhe said it. A little clipped. A little commanding. It elicited a fissure of desire, shot straight to her core.
She returned to the ribbon, wondering about the unexpected nature of the request. What could he possibly wish to say that couldn’t wait?
“Fine, Ian,” said Lady Tribble, making her way to the door. “If you can tolerate the smell. I cannot, I must keep apace of my headaches.”
“I’ll be right there, girls,” called Drew. “Pay no mind to the other callers. Truly. The last time I called to the ThroneRoom, your uncle broke a window with a fireplace poker to free someone’s caged birds. In hindsight, it’s best that this family keep to themselves in Kew Palace.”
“There will be birds?” said Ivy, filing out of the room behind her mother and sister.
Drew chuckled, turning to face Lachlan.
“What is i—?”
Click.He closed the door behind them and turned the lock. He pivoted to face her, blue eyes bright and hot.
“I want you,” he said, stalking to her. “So bloody much. Right now. This instant.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Drewsmina Trelayne’s Rule of Style and Comportment #40: As you consider male suitors and potential husbands, seek out mild-mannered gentlemen of a thoughtful, measured disposition. Avoid dynamic, rousing men who may incite breathlessness or frighten birds.
There was no time for Drew to mull over his declaration, no mis-hearing, no stalling,I beg your pardon?
She’d known that purposeful look in his eye; and of course he’d stated his intentions as plainly as he’d locked the door. Now he was stripping off his gloves and tossing his hat.
Drew’s heart leapt into a sprint and she bit her lip to keep from grinning. When he was nearly to her, she yelped a little and darted to the left.
“Oh, make me catch you, will you?” he said, stalking her around a table. “You think I won’t give chase? Is that what you think?”
“Lachlan, we cannot,” she breathed, half laugh, half gasp. Why was she running? She couldn’t say, shewantedto be caught.
“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop,” he suggested wryly.
“Perhaps it makes no difference what either of us wants. We’re are guests of the king. OfEngland. In his palace. It’s... rude and common and indecent, surely. The girls’ confidence is tenuous at best—”
“The girls arefine,” he said. He was nearly to her and she moved right, wading into a cluster of chairs. “They’re with their mother. As they should be. She’ll never step in as a proper parent if you do all the work for her.”
“Lachlan?” she asked, backing deeper into the chairs.
“Hmmm?”
