âShall we have a story?â Devlin suggested, as anotherenormous clap of thunder rattled the rooftop. He traced thecurve of his wifeâs bare shoulder with the tip of his finger. âAbedtime story. Something distracting. Something to keep uswarm on a wicked night.â
âWhat sort of a story?â Maeve turned her head, hidingher eyes but not her smile. His wife knew exactly what he had inmind.
âOh, an erotic story, to be certain.â Devâs finger tracedher collarbone to the hollow in her throat. And then down. Athousand and one times heâd touched her, and still he felt theheat. âThose are the ones that warm and distract me best.â
It was a challenge. It was a gameâa game he and hislovely Maeve had played before. Never quite the same, butalways exciting.
Maeve plumped the pillow behind her and sat up. Thecandlelight caught the twinkle of her glass, half-full of sherry.Dev watched her take a long swallow and lick her lips. Thestorm whistled outside. She made a point of snuggling deeperunder the bedclothes, tucking the sheet around her.
âTonight Iâm Scheherazade?â
âAnd Iâm your king.â He tugged at the sheet, until itspilled around her waist. âEntertain me, madam, or suffer theconsequences.â
âWell, let me thinkâ¦â
Queen Philomena waited.
Not patiently, and not without anxiety. As she came to the end of the rug, she turned on her heel, flipped her skirts behind her, and began to pace the opposite direction. She had chosen to wear a simple gown so that once the time came, it would not be necessary to summon an abigail for assistance.
âA who?â Dev whispered, his hand creeping under the sheet.
âA maid,â she explained. âStop that.â
âStop that, your highness.â
âOh!â She caught her breath. âYour highness, that sortof thing will make it very hard to concentrate.â
ââVery hardâ seems fair to me. Go on then.â
Queen Philomena waited⦠and wondered.
Perhaps the gentleman would consider it an insult? He might think she did not value hisâ¦service, if she did not wear something appropriate to her status.
She would have to address the situation directly. Frank discussion and a thoroughly negotiated agreement was her best hope of resolving any delicate issues that might arise.
Or so the king, may he rest in peace, always said. Philomena touched her wedding band as she thought of him. It slipped easily around her finger; nerves always left her hands cold and dry.
âYour Majesty,â her handmaid called. âThey are here.â
âShow himâthemâin.â Philomena smoothed the front of her gown and assumed the face of the queen.
Three soldiers entered the room.
She suffered a moment of panic. What was she to do with three of them? Was she supposed to choose?
One of the men seemed familiarâa freckled young man whoâd served on the court guard the last year or two. The second man was very large, tanned and weathered, the sort whose military career had been served in the rough. His face was plain, but his eyes were kind and full of good humor.
The third man was a shock.
He was fair, in all manner of the word. Sunny hair and sky-blue eyes. Almost pretty, Philomena thought, except there was too much intelligence in the candor of his gaze. He was scant inches taller than she. Not quite as large in height or frame as either of the other two men, but somehow Philomena felt his presence more forcefully. He was certainly the soldier in charge.
âGood evening, gentlemen,â she said, as the queen ought.
All of them bowed respectfully.
âThank you forâ¦attending me,â Philomena began. âHas my lord chamberlain spoken with you?â
The third man answered. âYes, your Highness. May I introduce Joseph, my sergeant major.â He waved a hand at the rough-hewn man. âAnd you may already know Thomas, of your own house guard? The Lord Chamberlain suggested a small, personal guard might be best this evening. All others have been dismissed.â
There was no smile on his lips, but Philomena saw it in his eyes and heard it in the tone of his voice. She turned to hide the coloring of her cheeks, and fiddled with the contents of her open lap desk.
This would not do. She must be committed. She must hold to her resolve, or she would begin her next life with regrets.
âYes. That seems wise.â Closing the portfolio of documents she had vacantly reviewed for the last hour, she called, âThank you all, gentlemen, for your discretion in this matter. That will be all.â
She heard heels click, boots crossing the marble floor, and the thunk of the heavy oak door as it closed.
Philomena peeked over her shoulder.
This time, the smile teased the corner of his mouth. âDid you expect me to take my leave, also? Wouldnât that have been counterproductive to Your Majestyâs desires?â
Desires.
The word slipped like steel from a scabbard. Philomenaâs heart raced; her throat tightened.
âIndeed.â Philomena inclined her head. âYour name, sir?â
âI am Dante.â
âDante. Welcome. Before we beginâ¦our business, I would like to come to an understanding on certain things.â She smoothed her gown and sat, very upright, on the chaise near the fire. The door between the sitting room and the boudoir was partway open and the sight of the bed made it hard to think. Waving him to a slipper chair across the rug, she managed, âPlease. Be comfortable.â