Royal Regard

Epilogue, Part 2

"Were it not for the benevolence of his Majesty," she said waspishly, "we would all be much happier adjourning to the countryside, not inviting scandal and notoriety in London."

"You would be happier," he commented, rolling the dice, turning up double threes, which allowed him to bring all of his exiled pips into her home board without risking them further. His lip turned up in amusement, and he tapped his foot against hers. "The rest of us don't mind London."

She huffed out her indignation and, in her usual fashion, avoided giving him an inch by dropping her dice cup and turning the topic. "I'm not at all certain involving the king is a sound decision." The clock chimed half-past nine. It had been months since they had retired to their bedchamber so late.

Nick unbuttoned his green wool waistcoat and the four buttons holding his white linen shirt closed, then went to work on the emerald studs at his cuffs.

"It was impulsive, I admit, but insulting to rescind. One does not insult sovereigns, I expect you recall."

They were silent for a time, only the sounds of dice tossed across felt, ivory tiles clacking, the tapping of his fingertips on the Queen Anne card table, the scrape of hairpins passed back and forth between them, and the snap of the fire as it consumed a cherry wood log.

As he began bringing tiles into his home board, signaling the beginning of the endgame, she turned her head away and poked her nose into the air. "His Majesty is no example of moral decency, and consider the poor child, the expectations it will place—"

Shrugging off his waistcoat and tugging his shirt from his waistband, he raised one eyebrow and said the same thing he had already repeated dozens of times, "The expectations that arise from having the King of England as godfather are the kind I wish my son to uphold. You may complain at your leisure, sweeting, but Sunday afternoon, the new Marquess of Abersham will be baptized David George Northope under the protection of the king."

"I hope Davey spits up on him."

"With a bit of luck," Nick concurred, "Prinny will reek of soured milk all day."

He shifted to the side in his chair so he could remove his boots, dropping them with a thump next to the table. His stockings were next, tucked into the boots. She eyed his large feet, so he wiggled his toes.

"Blakeley will be none too pleased to find your wardrobe strewn about the study."

"Thanks to you, he has discovered my stockings in stranger places."

The sweet pink of her blushes reminded him of the young girl he night have married instead of travelling, had they met. Knowing her as he now did, he imagined meeting her as a debutante and stealing her right out from under Myron Holsworthy, taking her away to sea, sharing their adventures in truth, not just conversation. He would have stopped her wasting so much of her life on mere affection. She would have stopped him wasting his on emotionless harlots.

When he slid his big toe up under her dress, following the same path as hers before he had annoyed her so thoroughly, her breath caught.

"I believe I would like to change the stakes," he said, deliberately lowering his voice, allowing it to take on a husky rasp.

She stopped his foot with one hand, but permitted him to set it on the edge of her chair, letting her fingertips drift along his ankle through her skirts. "You only wish to change the stakes because you are winning."

"Why else?" He offered, "If I win, I will hear no more argument about London or the king until we reach Wellstone. Once there, you may be as shrewish as you like."

She snorted, "Once there, you have hundreds of thousands of hiding places you have known since you were a boy."

"True. But you will have my sister's help to ferret me out, and I'm certain she has a map."

She nodded absently and tapped her finger on the tabletop. "What will you offer when you lose?"

"If I lose, I shall divest myself of the rest of my clothing, then remove yours, and worship at your feet until morning."

"You will do that in any case," she laughed, pinching his toe. "While a delightful prospect, hardly comparable to unquestioned deference in everything unpleasant for the next eight days. I shall accept your wager, and when I win, you will rescind your invitation to His Majesty, and we will leave for Bristol in the morning and Venezia as soon as our families can be graciously removed from the estate."

"I cannot—will not—withdraw my request to the king, as you know, but we'll leave for the West Country directly from Windsor Castle on Sunday and set sail in six weeks' time. And you may complain about everything as much as you like, as long as you refrain in company or in front of the king."

She pretended to consider, tapping her finger against her cheek. "I believe that will provide sufficient incentive." She picked up the dice cup. "Shall we say best three of five games?"

"It is far too late in the evening for that, my lady." He pulled his shirt over his head, leaving it to hang off the arm of his chair, watching her eyes grow glassy, as they always did when faced with his half-clothed form and the surety of his passionate attention. Now, Nick had seen the pretty pink blush all over her body, so when it appeared on her face, he imagined it underneath her clothes. He was feeling a bit more glassy than usual himself.

He loosed two buttons on the fall of his trousers, squinting at the game board, counting tiles, and opined, "I am winning, but haven't won yet."

She quirked a coy brow, licking her bottom lip. "So it seems."

Rubbing one of his fingers between hers, burrowing chilly toes into his thigh, she tossed the dice.