As if Roman Godfrey had taken on a Jekyll-and-Hyde persona, the man who rebuked me yesterday was the Hyde to this Jekyll, the man whose lips and touch were awakening a part of me I’d thought dead.
In my husband’s embrace, my forgotten desires made themselves known. The tightening of my nipples, twisting of my core, and dampness of my bloomers weren’t foreign, and yet it had been too long since I’d had this reaction.
The complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn of my emotions had my mind and body in an unexpected battle. My mind cautioned me to be wary and to question what was real. My body had other ideas.
This unexpected sensation began the moment my gaze met Roman’s. It seemed as if he were looking at me anew. I almost questioned that it was the man I married or if I was conjuring up a substitute in my mind.
I wondered if I could have imagined the change in my reaction into being, as if wishing would make it real. My mind told me not to hope. It only brought disappointment. And then Roman cupped my cheek, stilling my long-winded apology.
My apprehension melted as Roman wrapped his arm around me. His lips took mine, his kiss strong, even possessive, yet it wasn’t forced or rough. In the seconds we connected, all my reservations about this man faded away. The dining room where soon the staff would present the birthday meal was forgotten. The celebration itself was gone from my thoughts as I molded against the man I remembered.
It was as Roman abruptly stopped our kiss that I realized whatever had just occurred was not his intention. Gone were his smile and the glint in his brown eyes. Back were his rigid posture and staunch expression.
It was his words that continued the shock waves that began with his earthquaking kiss.
“You’re my wife. No further explanation is necessary.”
My eyes opened wider as I fought to understand his meaning. Questions spiraled in my mind as I nodded and curtsied.
Was the subject of my disobedience truly closed?
Did he not expect me to further subjugate myself?
When I looked up, Roman was offering me his arm. “Shall we?”
“Your Highness?” I questioned, unaccustomed to any form of physical contact while in the presence of others, especially the queen.
His voice was deeper than usual, his words more enunciated. “I will escort my” —he paused— “princess.”
His princess.
That shouldn’t make me swoon, yet it did.
Laying my hand upon the prince’s arm, I looked up at his stare and spoke more freely than I normally would. “I feel as if I don’t know you anymore.”
His firm lips came together as if there was more he wanted to say.
If I had the power, I would have directed us away from the celebration to the gardens or even upstairs to our apartments. I couldn’t pinpoint the change in the man at my side, but for a few minutes, I basked in my husband’s adoration as if it were the first rays of sunshine after years of flooding rain.
I wanted more.
Alas, Roman pushed the swinging door, and all eyes turned our direction, including those of the queen.
“Roman,” she called, lifting her hand.
Removing my hand, I curtsied. To my astonishment, Roman stayed at my side, his bow at the waist exaggerated before placing his hand in the small of my back and leading me to the queen.
“Mum,” he said before kissing her cheek.
“Lucille,” she said with a smile. “I’d like a minute with my son.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I dutifully replied with a bow of my head. As I took a step back, Roman’s gaze met mine, only for a second before turning back to his mother. It was a connection, one I’d longed for, one I again questioned its reality.
Was I truly so unhappy that I could be creating fiction in my mind?
Blinking, I looked around the large room, finding my bearings. No one else was staring at Roman.
Did anyone else sense a difference?
The answer appeared to be no.
In a confused daze, I made my way across the large parlor to Princess Isabella and the birthday boy, Prince Rothy.
“Thank you for coming,” Isabella whispered with a squeeze of my hand. “I know Roman can be overbearing.”
I looked across the large room, seeing the back of my husband’s head and his shoulders. My vision continued lower until reaching his shoes. I’d smelled the aroma of his cologne, looked into his dark eyes, and still my mind was reeling. I turned back to Isabella and kept my volume low. “Does he seem different?”
“Who?”
“Roman,” I responded.
Isabella looked toward Roman, still conversing with the queen. She scoffed. “No, same pompous ass.” Her smile returned. “I am glad you’re here.”
“I wanted to be here for Rothy.” I turned to the dark-haired boy on the floor with Duke Francis and back with a grin. “This is his only second birthday.”
“I was told you wouldn’t be able to travel due to the unrest.”
I lowered my volume even more. “I’ve been sheltered. Would you tell me more about what’s happening?”
“You don’t know?”
I shook my head in a wordless reply.
Isabella’s dark brown eyes opened wider as she too scanned the room. “Not now, but yes, I’ll tell you what I know.” She leaned closer. “You’re unaware and yet you spoke to the crowd outside the castle?”
Nodding, I recalled Roman’s displeasure regarding that subject. “Lady Buckingham was right; I shouldn’t have spoken. It was impulsive.” I shrugged. “I want to help.”
“Let me guess, my brother doesn’t approve.”
I shook my head.
Isabella reached again for my hand. “You’re admired by the people.” She tilted her chin toward Roman. “He’s jealous.”
Tears prickled the back of my eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t give up and stay strong.”
That was the end of Isabella’s sisterly advice as the nanny appeared with Princess Alice. The toddler had turned one year old during the summer. Unlike her brother, Alice’s hair was fair, much like her father’s, and hanging in soft ringlets.
Soon, the queen and Roman joined us as Rothy unwrapped his gifts, and the royal photographer snapped photos of the monumental event.
While Queen Anne sat on the velvet sofa facing Isabella and me, Roman remained standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. The expression of disinterest was the husband I knew. The way he continually and impatiently checked his watch and let out long sighs were all too familiar.
And then every now and again, I thought I’d caught him looking at me. When I did, instead of getting the feeling that I was in someway not representing him or failing to be the moon to his sun, I felt a rare sense of warmth as if the sun was actually within him.
My mind was playing tricks.
It was as Queen Anne’s mistress, Lady Kornhall, announced dinner was to be served that Lord Martin entered and spoke to Roman, too softly to be overheard. Roman’s eyes met mine before he announced his departure to the rest of the room.
Everything within me wanted him to request my presence.
Realizing that I was hoping for something I usually loathed, my chin dropped with the overwhelming disappointment that he didn’t. Roman didn’t even speak directly to me before turning and leading Lord Martin from the room and away from the dining hall.