Page 82 of A Prince Among Pirates
“Is there?” he asks, more laughter in his voice. “I’d love to see it.”
And then we are walking through the frozen gardens in search of a door into the private apartments of the palace, as mydesperate need for oblivion does battle with my all-too-recently-broken heart.
Admittedly, I have no idea where I am going. I haven’t explored the halls of Kensington Palace without a guide since my childhood, and at that time it was at least thrice the size and the rooms had a tendency to move around.
I don’t know how to get back to my apartments from this garden, though I know there must be some convoluted path there. We make our way back into Kensington Palace through a side door, entering into the conservatory. At first the footman at the door looks alarmed—but then he recognizes me and bows without a word. I give him a grateful nod as we pass, and he closes the door behind us. We leave behind a trail of snow and dirt, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I lead William through to a drawing room, and though it is empty, I decide not to risk a dalliance here, lest someone walk in. We slip into the staircase behind the drawing room instead, and before we make it around the bend of the landing, his hands are on my waist.
I turn and let him crowd me against the wall. His mouth covers mine, and I wrap my arms around his neck as he crushes his body to me. We are similarly built, but the way he’s grinding his hips against mine is causing the wainscotting behind me to dig into my back. It’s not entirely pleasant, but I try to ignore it.
Ineedthis. I do. I try to shift my weight as we kiss—frantic,short-lived kisses with too much tongue and teeth, but stillgood. William is a far more appealing paramour than Digby Hale ever was—though he is nothing compared to my captain.
And just like that, my heart is no longer in it.
I push him back, perhaps a bit too roughly. Before I can explain myself, my cuff catches the queue of his wig and sends it careening to the floor. He gasps and twists away from me to try to catch it, but in doing so, he stumbles back a step and we both go toppling into the railing.
One of us kicks the wig—I’m not sure who—and it vaults into the air to escape down the stairs, then lands at the bottom with an inelegant flop.
We both stare at it, his arms still around my waist, our lips flushed and swollen. He begins to tremble against me, and I almost don’t want to look at him. Is he furious? Have I humiliated him?
Finally I face him and see that he is shaking with barely contained laughter. I let out a breath and a single soft chuckle of my own, and that’s all it takes to break him.
William bursts into laughter, one arm rising to drape across his eyes. He has a lovely, albeit messy, head of dark golden hair. I wonder why he chose to cover it up in the first place.
I let him go, and he slides to the floor. I sink down in front of him, one leg dangling off the steps as I laugh with him—my first genuine bout of laughter since I was on board theDeliverance.
But even that feels like a betrayal. As my laughter turns sour on my tongue, I understand that I’m not ready to be unfaithful to Captain Sharpe yet, no matter how lonely I may be.
Twenty-Nine
It’s settled, then,” King Henry says as he paces back and forth in my bedroom. The fire is burning, leaving the whole room warm and cozy despite its size and grandeur.
A few days have passed since the Saint Nicholas Day ball and the excruciating interaction with my ex-father and ex-family. I hear they are still at court, but mercifully, I have not run into them since.
It likely helps that I don’t leave my rooms much.
“Sorry,” I say, turning to face him. “What’s settled?”
“Your Highness,” Thomas grumbles, “I can’t shave a moving target.”
I turn towards Thomas and offer a small, sheepish smile. He simply narrows his eyes, so I tip my head back and let him continue sliding the flat blade along my jaw.
“Your legitimacy,” King Henry says, exasperated.
“My…?”
“Have you been listening to me at all, Christopher-Henry?” my father grumbles as he steps over to me. “I’ve been talking about it for the past hour.”
I don’t remind him that we’ve been in my rooms for only the better part of twenty minutes. I dare not move my jaw as the blade slides along my skin. But when Thomas stops to wipe the blade on a leather strap, I shift my gaze to my father’s face. “No, sorry.”
He stares at me for a long moment before barking out a laugh. He’s annoyed, I can tell—but he’s also too good-natured to remain so. “I am going to legitimize you in the eyes of the law in a christening ceremony on Christmas Day.”
Before Thomas can lean back in with the blade, I sit up fully and stare at Henry. “You’re going towhat?”
“You are my son, Christopher-Henry. I have no heir but you.”
“You wantmeto be the heir apparent?” I ask. “Me?A common bastard with a criminal record?”
