Ophelia smiled and wished that her eyes didn’t sting with tears. “It is wonderful. So much better than anything I’ve ever experienced. And that is a gift he has given me that I will not soon forget. The gift I give in return is pleasure, a little break from the pressure on his shoulders. And the fact that I shall never ask for more than he can give.”
As she said it, she realized that was a promise she was making to herself. To him without him even being present.
“I suppose I do understand,” Priscilla said. “Remi worries so about him, if this eases Grantham’s soul then it is a wonderful thing. Even if I did wish for more for both of you.”
Ophelia shifted. “Yes, Remi. You won’t tell him, will you?”
Priscilla’s gaze slid away, the answer to the question even before she spoke. “I could tell you yes, but…but we don’t keep secrets from each other. If he asks, I can’t lie. At any rate, I can tell you that he suspects something between you already. He has for weeks, even before we were together.”
“What?” Ophelia burst out. “Why in the world would he suspect something?”
“Because he’s clever,” Priscilla offered. “And he has eyes in his head, Ophelia. The moment you and Grantham are in a room together, there is a spark. Perhaps you both tried to make it adversarial, but it’s evident there is powerful attraction. And I’m glad you get to have…fun, at least. You deserve pleasure. So does he.”
Ophelia sighed and took Priscilla’s arm again as they started back toward the palace once more. Although she felt a certain sense of relief that at last her friend knew about what was happening, she was still unsatisfied with the conversation. It had only laid bare facts she hadn’t wanted to face. Both about the origins of her relationship with Grantham and the reasons why it could never be more than what it was.
They walked up the stairs to the terrace and back into the house through one of the parlors. Priscilla was kind enough to change the subject as they went, and they were laughing about a mutual acquaintance in London when they entered the hallway. Laughter that ended as Remi came racing up the hallway, the most serious expression on his face that Ophelia had ever seen.
He rushed past them and then stopped, pivoted back and leaned down to kiss Priscilla. “Good morning, you.”
“What is going on?” Priscilla asked, even as her cheeks flamed from his very public ardor. “You look concerned.”
He smiled at Ophelia as if he hadn’t quite noticed her with Priscilla there. “I fear you are a guest of a household in uproar, Ophelia. And it shall only be worse. Grantham has sacked Blairford.”
Ophelia gasped. “What? His head courtier?”
“Indeed.” Remi’s lips pursed. “That bastard was always hated by all the siblings, but it seems he was stirring pots behind the scenes even more than we suspected.”
Ophelia glanced down the hallway toward Grantham’s study. “Is the king…is he well?”
Remi exchanged a quick glance with Priscilla that was impossible to ignore, and now it was Ophelia who blushed. God’s teeth, she really was obvious. A strange thing—she’d always been able to keep her secrets before. But with Grantham it seemed she wore them out in public.
To her detriment, perhaps.
“He is…” Remi shook his head. “I admit, I’ve never seen him so shaken. Actually, I’m pleased I found you two. Priscilla, will you come with me? We are going to announce the marriage tomorrow, and I need your input and help with some arrangements.”
Priscilla’s eyes went wide. “I-I thought we were postponing that for a while, to allow things to calm down a bit after all the other changes.”
He shook his head. “Blairford may cause more trouble and this story will spread far and wide. The family decided to control the narrative with our story instead.”
“A distraction,” Priscilla breathed. “Of course.” She turned toward Ophelia. “I hate to cut our time short—”
Ophelia waved her off. “This is important. Go!”
Priscilla caught Remi’s hand and they raced off together, leaving Ophelia alone in the hallway. She knew what she ought to do: go upstairs and keep out of everyone’s way. She had no part in this development. She was not family, she was barely a friend to these people. Their time together had been so short.
And yet that wasn’t what she did. Instead, she began to move toward Grantham’s study. A foolhardy decision, of course. Every time she pressed him or offered her help, he pushed her away. Today would likely be no different. She might even make things worse.
And yet she needed to see him. To show him that she was there, even if he didn’t want her there. To offer him support that was only for him, because this wasn’t her country or her family.
She reached the huge carved door and stood there. It was cracked a fraction and she couldn’t hear voices. If he was inside, it didn’t sound like anyone else was with him at the moment.
She extended a shaking hand and pushed open the door, uncertain what reception she would receive from the man within, but still needing to see him, to be with him. She just couldn’t analyze why too deeply or else risk a broken heart.
Grantham stood at the window to his office, staring out. He could see the tall spires on some of the buildings at the town below and the sea even farther past. His home.
And he was destroying it, he feared. Tearing it apart with bad decisions just as his father had claimed he would over and over since Grantham was just a boy.
The door behind him shut and he pivoted to see who had entered. He expected a family member or Dash, but instead it was Ophelia who stood there hovering by the door. A ray of sunshine just out of his reach, but oh so warm and welcoming even from a distance.
“Grantham,” she said softly.
He could see she knew what had happened. Remi, he would guess, was the culprit for that revelation. Not that it mattered, because soon everyone would know. And it was good that he didn’t have to tell her. He wasn’t up to repeating the story.
She stepped closer, her expression softening with understanding and warmth and…and pity. She pitied him, he feared. Worse, he feared he was pitiable. But he didn’t want that from her, not from anyone. His pride could not abide it.
So instead of letting her speak or comfort or commiserate, he crossed to her in a few long strides, pressed her back against the door behind her and dropped his mouth to hers. She hesitated in response for a moment, as if she was confused by his sudden passion, but then she shifted. Her body softened against his, her arms wound up around his neck, her mouth opened for him as she sighed against his lips.
That response changed his own. He slowed, actually savoring this moment, letting pleasure wash away some of his regret, some of his anxiety about everything he’d done wrong and would do wrong in the future. He could forget all that when he touched her. Perhaps that was foolish or ill-advised—certainly it was fleeting—but he would take it. And take her.
He needed to take her.
He pulled away from the kiss and slowly reached behind her, turning the key to lock them in. She held his gaze as he did so, nodding to answer the question he hadn’t asked. He all but sagged with her consent and leaned a hand on either side of her against the door, caging her in as she lifted for yet another searing kiss.