“I don’t.” Grantham pushed to his feet and paced back to the window. Ophelia was no longer in sight, of course. But he could still picture her out in the green expanse, turning her bright blue gaze toward him. He cleared his throat. “With things as they are, I am in no position to consider a part of my future that includes, as you put it, romantic entanglements. Even if I were…to consider Lady Ophelia…”
“Why not her?”
Grantham pivoted back toward him. “Are you serious?”
“I am. She’s beautiful, she’s a challenge to you, which I think you like more than you let on. She’s bright—”
Grantham flinched. “Yes. Too bright. Far too bright.”
Jonah hesitated, and Grantham realized he had meant bright as in intelligent, which was true and a commodity that Grantham prized highly. But when bright was used as a term in conjunction with Ophelia, he couldn’t help but see the sun.
Jonah seemed to recognize that, for he inclined his head as he got up from the desk. “Perhaps bright is exactly what you need then. I shall leave you and go discuss our plans with Ilaria. Then I’ll reach out to Dash, as you suggested, and have him help us with the plans. Good morning.”
Grantham inclined his head to dismiss Jonah, then let out a long sigh after he was gone. He feared his new brother-in-law might have hit on the material problem:
Bright was exactly what he wanted. What he craved. And that was terrifying.
CHAPTER 7
The royal wedding that had taken place in the chapel on the palace grounds such a short time before had been enormous and filled with pomp and circumstance, but this one felt even more special. Ophelia stood in the front row of the church, one of the only guests save the royals in their box to the side, and beamed as Priscilla and Remi said their vows to one another.
It was intimate and loving and just the distraction Ophelia needed after the past two frustrating days. She had barely seen Grantham in that time. He’d been holed up in his office, just passing through parlors or dining rooms. He never looked at her. And what could she say about it? She couldn’t complain even to Priscilla. Partly because her friend had been busy with wedding planning and partly because if Ophelia did vent her anger, she would also have to confess about the kiss.
And somehow that topic felt very…raw. So she’d avoided it. She’d been light and lithe and playful. When they talked, she always guided Priscilla to the topic of her wedding, steering her neatly away from the turmoil Ophelia was experiencing. Honestly, she was happy Pris wasn’t sharing her room anymore. She woke so many times, sheets tangled around her, panting from dreams of Grantham’s mouth on her. His hands on her.
She blinked those thoughts away now. The bishop was droning on and her gaze moved across to where the royal family was seated together. Ilaria and Sasha linked arms, their eyes brimming with happy tears as they watched Remi take his bride. Queen Giabella beamed, her gaze only shifting occasionally to where the household staff sat together, headed by her personal secretary, Dashiell Talbot.
But it was Grantham’s reaction that interested her most. The king leaned forward slightly, a smile tilting his lips. A real smile, very much like the one she’d seen when he gave away his sister so recently. There was the man, not the king. Flesh and blood with a beating heart that actually cared about other people.
How she was drawn to that glimpse of who he really was. Who he could be.
As if he sensed her stare, he looked over at her. Their eyes locked briefly, and it was she who broke the gaze, her heart throbbing as she returned her attention to Remi and Priscilla.
The last of the vows had been spoken, Remi was placing a crown atop his wife’s head and tears streamed down her face as she mouthed, I love you.
Ophelia flinched at that naked display of devotion. Flinched again when the couple turned and the attendees exploded in applause. Remi and Prisilla laughed together as they raced their way down the aisle, officially husband and wife. The other royals departed next and Ophelia followed them.
Outside all were gathered, the staff giving their good wishes and the family exchanging kisses and congratulations to the deliriously happy couple. Ophelia pushed away her oddly conflicted feelings as she stepped up herself, kissing Remi’s cheek before Priscilla tugged her into a tight hug.
“I am so happy!” her friend whispered. She was trembling, her heart throbbing so wildly that Ophelia could feel it. “How could anyone be so happy?”
“You deserve all the happiness in the world,” Ophelia said as she pulled back a fraction. “Today and all days.”
“We shall walk back together,” Queen Giabella announced. “And the staff is invited to join us for our celebration in the garden, as thanks for your hard work in making this wedding so beautiful in such a short time.”
She sent a playfully stern look toward Remi, who gasped out a laugh. The staff stepped aside and so did Ophelia, expecting Grantham to take the queen’s arm and lead the way. But before he could move to her, Giabella reached for Dashiell Talbot instead. The secretary looked surprised but pleased, and together they stepped out for the short walk back to the main palace.
Ignoring precedence, Remi and Priscilla followed behind, with Princess Ilaria and Jonah Crawford next, and Princess Sasha and Lord Bramwell after that.
Ophelia tensed as she let her gaze slip to Grantham. He shifted, muttered something beneath his breath and then approached her. “May I escort you back, my lady?” he asked, his tone laced with tension.
She steeled herself to it, ignoring her first response, which was to be defensive. Defensive wouldn’t irritate him nearly as much as bouncy and light seemed to do. Let him see that how he felt about her meant nothing to her. Even if it wasn’t exactly true.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she said, all but batting her eyelashes at him. “I would be delighted.”
He made a gruff sound in his throat as she glided her hand into the crook of his arm. Oh dear, this was not well thought out. After all, she was very close to him. Close enough to smell the lovely spiciness of his skin, to feel the warmth of him, the firm and muscular form.
She swallowed. “It was a lovely wedding,” she began. “I do not think I’ve ever seen any two people happier together, and I am pleased for Priscilla. After all, she’s been through she very much deserves her happiness.”
“I very much agree. And my brother will, shockingly, make her happiness his priority for the rest of his days, it seems.”
“Shockingly?” Ophelia repeated.
“It isn’t as if his reputation wasn’t public knowledge,” Grantham said. “Come now, my lady, we needn’t play coy with each other.”
She arched a brow at him. “And so you doubted he had a heart? Not particularly charitable of you.”
He pursed his lips. Good, she had annoyed him. Annoying him was rather fun, though there did feel to be an edge of danger to it.
“Of course not,” he said. “I have always known my brother to be more than that reputation. I did not, however, always believe he would let himself be. But he does love your friend, and I think Priscilla will be a lovely addition to our family here in Athawick. The people will like her, as well.”
“Of course they will,” Ophelia said. “If they do not, I will come back to Athawick and invade, myself, to rescue her from your clutches.”