Page 97 of Her Royal Houseguest

‘That will be a great loss. To London. To yourself.’

Would it? Maybe. But maybe it was time to start a brand-new chapter in her life. ‘Phoebe wants to go with me. We’ll travel. Maybe as far as Siam.’ She grinned at him. ‘I’d like to see your country.’

‘We would be honoured to host you.’

She flinched at his phrasing. Was that the royal we? The Golden Throne would be happy to host the daughter of an English duke? Was there nothing more personal between them?

She looked away, not wanting to see the answer in his eyes. She didn’t blame him. She was the one who put the boundary between them. She would not be intimate with a man who willingly hurt her. Of course he’d already apologised. She’d already forgiven him. The real problem was what? Did she love him? Of course. But there was so much more to marriage than love.

She turned to him, wanting to say more. She wanted to explain or to ask or to somehow voice all these feelings inside. She loved him. And she wished it could be different between them.

What would she give up to make it different between them?

The carriage pulled to a stop and they disembarked. Her maid curtseyed to them and headed to the servants’ entrance while Deva offered her his arm. She took it, smiling at the sight of his very Siamese attire with his very English actions. She found the incongruity delightful as he guided her to the foot washing bench.

She was practiced at this now. A royal must have his feet washed. But when she went to the basin, he stopped her.

‘Please,’ he said, an unmistakable seriousness in his eyes. ‘Please, sit.’

‘What?’

He didn’t explain but guided her to the bench. She sat because he asked her to. Then she stayed there dumbfounded as he gathered the implements before kneeling before her.

‘Prince Deva—’

‘You are a person of great worth,’ he said.

She stared at him. He’d said a person. Not a woman of worth but a person.

‘To my shame,’ he continued, ‘I have discounted you.’

‘No—’

‘I have ignored your worth and hurled insults at you when I was angry at myself.’

‘We all get angry.’

‘And yet you have never broken faith with me.’

At that, he gently lifted her foot and bent to untie her shoe. His hands were quick with the work and yet, he seemed unhurried.

‘Prince Deva, stop. Others are watching.’ Their front door was visible to everyone along the street, carriages and people strolling, not to mention servants running errands.

‘Let them see. Let them watch me give you honour.’

‘But—’ Her word ended on a gasp. His hands had moved to untie her stocking, high on her thigh. And excitement coursed through her body as he tugged the fabric down.

Oh my!

He pulled the stocking away, then shifted the basin so that she rested her foot in the water. Oh, that was delightful. He sluiced the water across her flesh then used his hands to knead every inch of her foot.

‘Deva,’ she whispered. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Let them see,’ he repeated. ‘Let them report to the Golden Throne itself that I serve a queen. I feared you could not withstand the court in Siam. I see now that you are more powerful than any woman I have ever known.’

She did not know what to say to that. She was not a queen but the words wouldn’t form. Not when there was such adoration in his eyes. And his hands caressed her feet as if it were the greatest honour to touch her.

‘I am sorry,’ he continued, ‘for not seeing the truth of you.’ He gently slid the cloth over her toes. ‘I am sorry for treating you as a slave to my temper.’