Royal Regard

Epilogue, Part 1

1823: Dalrymple House, London, England  

Ending the day in the library an hour after supper, Bella set up the board for a game of backgammon while Nick shuffled through a pile of cards on a silver tray on his desk. Darkness had fallen, so on his way to the card table, he turned up three of the Argand lamps that had been installed during their time abroad.

Waving a stiff card in her direction, he said, "We have an invitation from the Palace."

"Of course we do," Bella sniffed, popping a pair of dice into a cup. "We cannot possibly come to London without His Majesty making much of us."

She pulled the blue woolen shawl closer to keep out the chill that seemed so much colder after two years in Italy. When he saw her shiver and rub her stocking feet together under the ladder-back chair, Nick made sure the curtains had been drawn tight and stirred the fire, certain his warm legs would soon be providing her toes more heat than he wished.

"Does he not care about the on-dit?" she asked.

"On the contrary, my love," Nick said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "He hopes to see what kettles he can stir to boiling. It will please him best if we fan the flames." Taking a seat across from her, he placed a few more notes and letters on the table next to the board. "As to whether he knows the on-dit..." Nick looked down again at the invitation with a raised brow. "'His Majesty requests the company of the Dangerous Duke and Depraved Duchess of Wild, Wicked Wellbridge.' We are summoned to Windsor Castle on Friday evening at ten o'clock for an informal repast among friends to mark our auspicious occasion and long-delayed return from the Continent."

"Really!" Her lips drew up like a drawstring bag as she rolled a die against him and won the first turn. "He is the very limit. Is it not enough we—"

"We cannot deny him the amusement. We owe him much this day." Nick laughed, but in a sudden shift of mood, all but chided, "Not least we still have friends in London, and will not be torn apart by a mob of long-nosed aristocrats."

"Now only half a mob," she said with more than a hint of pique, "and he is naught but making recompense for his trespasses against us. Or so he says."

"Kings only trespass against other kings, my dear. Would it improve your mood were I to say," he waved another card at her, "this was mixed in with my letters and informs you the Marchioness of Firthley will retrieve you for shopping tomorrow at the ungodly hour of nine in the morning?" She snatched it away, with a smile that finally reached her eyes, the first hint of excitement since their carriage had crossed Westminster Bridge. "How is it we've been in London a full day and you and Charlotte have not yet ordered new wardrobes?"

"Do not believe you will slither out of an argument by invoking new dresses."

She rolled a three and five and closed her first point.

The two and one he rolled were indicative of the poor start he had just made. "You are only cross," he teased, "because you wish to stay in your room until we leave for Wellstone, and no one will allow it."

Her face was peevish, but her icy foot nudged his calf under the table, "I am cross because I wish to be docked in our Venetian lagoon, clothed in naught but your dressing gown, sipping grappa and choosing tomorrow's destination by a game of Hazard, not fawning over Prinny in court dress, making a fool of myself in pursuit of unpleasant society."

Nick dropped the dice cup in his lap at the thought of dressing gowns, and an accidental brush of the back of his hand against his rising cock was suddenly excruciating. When she allowed her foot to tease up his leg, he sucked in a breath, but icy toes did nothing to cool his heating ardor. He considered, briefly, whether he might cut short both discussion and backgammon in favor of a more satisfying game, but her narrowed eyes caught him out before he could suggest it. She was not angry enough to avoid his touch, but was not remotely finished arguing.

Rolling the dice, then drawing his hand along her ankle, he tucked her lovely toes in closer to his manhood, a calculated risk, given her upset. But in all the arguments since they were wed, she had never yet delivered on promised violence against his person, only against his ears when he made the mistake of not listening. His hand warmed her foot, though it leached all the heat from his fingers, leaving him all but shivering.

His next roll knocked two of her pips to the bar and advanced Nick's score by twenty points. Reaching across the table, he pulled a pin from her hair, setting the shawl off her shoulder, letting long strands fall across the dropped sleeve of her blue brocade evening gown. Her head arched as he pulled a pin from the other side. She turned suddenly as he drew back, grazing his wrist with her lips and the tip of her tongue.

Her roll not only put all of her pips back in play, it knocked two of his onto the bar. She snatched back her pins, but didn't put them in her hair, only dropped them next to the board, tapping one on the table, using the back of her other hand to sweep disordered hair out of her eyes.

Deciding on a policy of appeasement, he purposely misused his next four and six to leave three pips vulnerable to her attack, then stayed his hand only a few inches up her leg and offered, "The Firthleys and Nockhams and Smythes are in the City en masse. A score of people to whom you can offer no objection."

"Of course they are here to celebrate with us, and I look forward to seeing everyone. It's only—"

"We are here but a sennight. Nary a ballroom nor banquet hall will we see."

She sighed, "But for the king's."

"But for the king's," he agreed.

Her foot dropped from his inner thigh to the floor as she rolled double fours and sent all of his exposed tiles to the bar. He really should know better than to play backgammon. He should have suggested piquet.

"You owe me three pins."

He removed his cravat pin and handed it across the table. "Two. For now."

As their play continued, he unknotted the green neckcloth slowly, tracking her eyes following his hands. When he unwound the silk from his neck and untied his collar, she swallowed hard and turned her head. The emerald stickpin dropped into her lap when he caught and held her eyes. She took up the two hairpins left on the table to secure her limp locks firmly back to her head. The frown on her pretty mouth put an end to any thought he had of distracting her with kisses, and a beleaguered sigh forced its way past his lips.