“Would that be wise?” he asked, but she felt the edge to his voice. The hunger that had been there from the start but she’d never understood.
“Perhaps not,” she conceded. “But if you’re asking me if I’d like to be bedded by you again…yes, Your Majesty. I would definitely welcome an invitation to this dance.”
His expression softened and now he did smile, albeit briefly. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow night? My chamber.”
She almost laughed. He was scheduling their assignation. Which was so perfectly him that she couldn’t help but be warmed by it. “Yes.”
He shifted and then picked up her gown and chemise, tangled together at his feet. “May I help you dress?”
She got up, tracking how he watched her as she moved toward him. She ignored the dress he extended to her and instead stepped into his chest, letting her body brush his, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, then his mouth fully. He grumbled against her, his arms coming around her to pull her closer.
She drew back with a smile. “Thank you, Grantham,” she whispered.
His brow wrinkled. “For what?”
“For all of this,” she said.
He considered her a moment and then stepped away, detangling her gown and underthings. “Your chemise, my lady,” he said, handing it over.
She laughed as she tugged it over her head, but there was a niggling sense in the back of her mind. A sensation that although she had gained something tonight, that they had also missed out on an opportunity for something more.
And that more was one thing neither of them would be able to give.
CHAPTER 13
If Grantham had convinced himself, as he tossed and turned in his bed, that finally giving over to the desire he felt for Ophelia would make him more able to concentrate, the next morning proved him entirely wrong. He sat at the head of the breakfast table, his mother at the opposite end, the counts and remaining council members on either side of them, and he could not attend fully. No, his errant mind kept going back to thoughts of Ophelia arching beneath him. Ophelia’s tongue swiping across the head of his cock. Ophelia’s orgasm milking his own.
“But that is not the point, is it Your Majesty?”
Grantham jolted back to the present and looked at the man who had spoken. Count Hadley of the eastern part of the island, who, unlike Count Friskar, was not a friend. Hadley had been overreaching for decades. Even Grantham’s father had been irritated by it.
“Then what is the point, Hadley?” Grantham asked as mildly as he could manage when his mind was spinning so restlessly.
“Uprising is not good for anyone,” he snapped. “And how you can stand by so calmly when it is almost at your doorstep is beyond my reasoning. Do you not care for your country? For those of your class? An overreaching populous must be crushed or we risk losing control, like the English did in America not that long ago. Is that what you want, Your Majesty?” He wrinkled his brow. “A…democracy?”
Grantham swallowed. He had studied in England for a year and the rebellion of the colonies had been covered, with their unique spin on the topic, of course. It had been a fascination to him, the idea of a people governing themselves. Upon his return, he had even tried to broach the idea with his father.
And the punishment for such thoughts had been swift and cruel. “I want what is best for the people. That is supposed to be who I serve,” he said softly.
There was a flicker in Hadley’s eyes at that response and his gaze slipped, just briefly, to Blairford, who Grantham knew was stationed behind him, taking notes on this unofficial meeting. Now why had he looked at the courtier? Grantham’s unease elevated.
He might have addressed it, or at least tried to suss out the truth in a more subtle way, but before he could, Ophelia appeared in the breakfast room door. She came to a halt, her face darkening pink as she looked first at him and then at the others gathered there.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said. “I was told there was a gathering here to join, but I did not realize it was some kind of official business.”
The gentlemen all hurried to rise and Grantham joined them. It was odd that this explosive storm of a woman brought peace into the room when she entered. Just the tiniest edge of it, but there it was. For the first time since she’d left his side last night he felt…calm.
“Oh, please do join us,” Queen Giabella said. “We should enjoy a friendly breakfast before our guests depart.”
There was no doubting the firm resolve of his mother’s tone, and Grantham smothered a smile. She had been putting cranky dignitaries in their places for decades, since before he was born, likely before she even married his father. It came so naturally to her and no one dared deny her.
Instead, the gentlemen all became more relaxed at her order. No longer adversarial, which at least was something. Even Hadley shifted his attention. Only he shifted it to Ophelia, which wasn’t entirely pleasant. He looked at her like she was something he could pluck.
“Why don’t you sit beside me, Lady Ophelia?” the older man asked, motioning to the empty chair that had meant to be taken by one of the leaders who had been called away on an emergency before breakfast.
Ophelia inclined her head. “Oh, you are all too kind. I am sorry I interrupted, but I am pleased to be welcomed so warmly.”
She took her place beside Hadley and the gentlemen all retook their seats as one of the footmen ran off to get a plate for Ophelia. As they waited, she glanced again down the long table at Grantham. She smiled slightly, but it was warm, and once again he felt another level of tension leave his body.
“You mustn’t apologize,” Hadley was saying. “After all, we were just talking of serious matters. Nothing that you should trouble yourself with. And nothing that will change, I fear.”
Hadley shot him a look and the tension returned immediately. The troublemaking bastard was going to be an issue Grantham would have to add to the pile pressing weight to his back.
“I have found that everything changes in the end,” Ophelia said in that cheerful tone that seemed to brighten everything around her, even when she was making a point or bringing someone down a peg. “That is the nature of the world, is it not?”
Hadley pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair a fraction to look at her with disdain. Of course he did. To a man like Hadley, a woman like Ophelia was merely dressing for his arm. He had no respect for her. And if she dared to go against him, as she just had, he would attempt to put her in his place.
“I wonder how much you truly understand Athawickian politics, my lady?” he said, and scorn dripped from every word.
Grantham fisted a hand on the table, ready to push to his feet and call the man out for being rude to a guest of the royal family. But Ophelia glanced his way again and this time arched a brow. A silent order for him to be still. Not interfere.
“I think I would be a fool to think that I knew the nuances of a county’s political situation that is not my own, no matter how much I read about the subject or asked questions of people who do know,” she began. “Even those who live in a place all their lives can be ignorant and closed-minded to all the facts, can’t they?”