Her Highness, Princess Perry_Contemporary Reverse Harem Page 5

  The world might think it was because they were consummate bachelors, but that wasn’t the case. Before he and Perry had slept together, he hadn’t been celibate, exactly, just disinterested in the women he’d met in his small circle. This usually only involved ladies from the court, as the only time he left his lab was to answer the Queen’s summons that he attend a ball or gala at the castle.

  He knew Edward was the same. Only George had had more freedom than most when he’d left Veronia to study and then live in the States. But even he hadn’t settled down.

  Well, that was what Xavier believed until George had brought Perry home.

  Three men, all accustomed to getting their way in whatever they wanted, and yet, they were willing to share Perry.

  Why?

  Because she was unique.

  Special. In ways Xavier couldn’t really explain.

  He could only liken her to an unpolished diamond. Amid a treasure chest of emeralds and rubies, she shouldn’t have stood out. And yet, she did. And when she was cut, she’d be larger than the Hope Diamond, and more beautiful than the Ugly Duckling post-transformation.

  “You’re missing nothing. Edward can just be a pain sometimes. Look, can we move to the Chinese Lily Room or what?” George was grumbling now. “It stinks of cow shit in here.”

  “I’m experimenting,” was all Xavier said, well-accustomed to the stench. Although, it explained why Marianne had looked so uncomfortable in the glasshouse. Not enough to leave its confines for their conversation, mind. Just enough to wander deeper into the wilds of his specially cultivated plants, where the scent from his experiment was farther away.

  “It does stink in here,” Perry admitted ruefully, peering over her shoulder at him. “And I could eat.”

  George looked her over with a weather eye. “You haven’t been eating that much of late, have you?”

  She moved away from Xavier so he could stand, but he saw her shoulders stiffen and her head tilt—she was bristling.

  “Since when do you watch what I eat?”

  “Since I noticed you dropped about five pounds that you can ill-afford to spare,” George snapped back.

  His highhandedness had Xavier shaking his head. “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, George,” he retorted.

  “Not with Perry,” he said mulishly. “She needs vinegar. Just like I do. We’re two peas in a pod.”

  Perry stiffened again, then blew out a breath. “Dammit, stop being right.”

  George’s grin, when it beamed Xavier’s way, was smug.

  Damn his hide.

  Agitated and uneasy, Edward paced the length of the Chinese Lily Room.

  Unlike the rooms at Masonbrook castle that were named after flowers, this place wasn’t loaded with furniture topped with vases of their namesake.

  Instead, great murals had been painted onto the walls. Edward easily remembered how much his aunt had loved this sitting room, and when meeting with guests, Xavier’s force of habit was to seat them in here.

  The man had had a busy morning between his arrival and George’s, alongside Perry’s too. Plus whoever the tea had been originally intended for.

  Considering that the tea was Tienshe Flower, he had a feeling it was his mother. Only Marianne drank the delicate tea in their family. If that didn’t help identify the tea’s original intended recipient, the exact brand of honey was further clue.

  He rubbed his chin, wondering why his mother had visited with Xavier.

  They were close as a family. Always had been. Though Marianne and Edward’s Tanta Lisetta hadn’t been friendly, they’d been loyal to one another. Family first, and all that.

  Xavier had been at the castle as much as Edward and George had been as a boy. It was why the three of them were so close; Xavier had always been welcome in Masonbrook, and for a long time, before the troubles had befallen them, Xavier and Edward had been the best of friends.

  In truth, if Edward thought about it, he still considered Xavier his closest confidante.

  It was just that, of late, he hadn’t had much confiding to do.

  With his back to the murals of Chinese Lilies, endless rows of them that had graced this room for close to two centuries with its aged patina, he stared out onto the Ansian mountain range ahead.

  One couldn’t go far in the city without spying Xavier’s ducal territory, and as he looked on, he couldn’t help but feel jealous.

  Xavier had the freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted with his days, while still remaining tied to the family.

  He, on the other hand, had no choice but to dedicate his life to a throne he’d never particularly wanted.

  He’d never liked strings… and being a DeSauvier meant strings were par for the course.

  Behind him, the door opened. George and Perry were bickering over how badly the Guardians of the Keys would react if Edward and she had been caught doing far more than just kissing.

  Edward sighed. “You told her.” Why had George done that?

  Honestly, the man had the mouth of a gossiping old hag.

  He ran a hand through his hair, uncaring that he was unsettling the pristine style he kept it in. By nature, he wasn’t a groomer, but necessity had shown him how always presenting a perfect image facilitated him.

  The ways were numerous and pathetic.

  “Of course he did,” Perry retorted as Xavier closed the door to the sitting room behind him, shutting them all in.

  She surprised him by striding over to the window he was still half-facing, and slipping her hand around his waist.

  Tenderness wasn’t alien to him. His mother, though she was by nature not the most affectionate of creatures, did hug him and always kissed him farewell—whether it was for a short, out-of-town visit, or just to bid him goodnight. His father was a hearty back-slapper, and George had inherited that trait. But Edward’s ex-wife had made a can of tuna seem warm and tender, so Perry’s generosity with herself came as a surprise.

  A welcome one.

  Still acclimating to that side of her, he allowed himself to react spontaneously—sliding his arm around her waist so they were mutually linked.

  “You should have told me. It’s not down to you to take the blame for everything I do wrong. And we both know I started that kiss.”

  Desire flashed through him, and he knew she saw it in his eyes. The wicked grin curving her lips told him exactly how amusing she found that.

  He sighed, recalling the incident two days ago.

  She’d stunned the hell out of him by pushing him against the wall in the West Wing as they strode away from an interview with the royal chronicler who was commemorating their nuptials in the family records.

  She’d grabbed his hands, pinned them to the wall, and had kissed him. Thoroughly.

  Of course, he’d had to cooperate.

  Perry was tiny in comparison to his six feet four inches, and there was no way she would have had the strength to keep him in place unless he had wanted to stay there.

  Sadly for him, well, both of them, Murielle Harlington had caught them in the act. She’d merely cleared her throat and made her disapproval known before sweeping away to her office.

  He’d had the misfortune of greeting her on his own this morning.

  “You started it, but I wanted it to happen,” he told his fiancée calmly. A part of him was still amazed she’d said yes, mostly because he didn’t understand her reasoning for it.

  She didn’t love him. Of that he was well-aware.

  He wasn’t a lovable man.

  George was easy to love, with his teasing nature and wicked and wide smiles. Xavier might have spent most of his time with his head buried in a book or his eyes squinting over some noxious vapor he’d created during an experiment, but he, too, was witty and charming.

  Edward, on the other hand, felt certain he was dull as ditchwater.

  Had she been anyone else, he’d have believed she’d said yes because of his title. But if anything, that title terrified Perry.

>   The responsibilities and duties were akin to a nightmare for her.

  So, no. There was no reason to believe she’d said yes to become the next queen of this glorious nation.

  Which meant he had no real logical explanation for her behavior.

  Sometimes, she was standoffish, abrupt and almost aghast when she was processing the many aspects of her new role as his fiancée. She didn’t sink into him like he’d seen her do George or Xavier… but she did attack.

  Not in a bad way, of course. But in a way that seemed unique to him.

  She had a habit of grabbing his hands and shackling his wrists with her own when she kissed him. Almost like she was frightened he’d touch her.

  He wasn’t sure why that was. She liked his touch, that he knew. He’d given her pleasure, and knew far too much about a woman’s body to think she could be lying about climaxing in his hands.

  He supposed it might have been a control thing. She was as unsure about him as he was about her...but it wasn’t derailing their plans.

  “You think too much,” she said softly, breaking into his thoughts not only by word but by deed too—her finger came up to stroke along the pucker between his brows.

  “The lot of a prince, I’m afraid.”

  “Before I met you and George, I’d have said that was the last problem a prince had to deal with.” She smiled ruefully, and it was aimed at herself. “Truth is, I’ve never seen two people work so hard for so little appreciation.”

  “That award has to go to my mother and father,” George retorted, clearly amused at Perry’s frank remarks. He took a seat and grabbed a sandwich. Studying the teapot with interest, he said, “You think what Edward does is thankless? You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  Edward sighed. George, for all his smarts, could be an idiot sometimes.

  “You mean the roles Edward and I will fulfill at some point in the future, George?” she asked, but he was relieved to hear the teasing note to her tone.

  His little brother, as always, was unapologetic. He brandished the sandwich at her, wagging it around so that bits of grated cheese fell to the floor. “I’m honest, Perry. You know that. I never said it was going to be easy, just that it would be worth it.”

  “That Aubusson rug will be worthless if you get more cheese in its weave,” Xavier said mildly as he poured himself a glass of juice from the carafe on the tea tray.

  George peered down at the rug and grimaced. “Sorry, cuz.”

  Their cousin just chuckled and turned to face the tray. “Do you want something to drink, Perry?” he asked, changing the subject with an ease Edward envied. “It would seem Rodgers has provided a veritable feast.”

  “He would, wouldn’t he?” Edward asked blandly. “If my mother was visiting…”

  From behind, Edward couldn’t discern his cousin’s expression but he could see the sudden tension in Xavier’s shoulders.

  “Yes. She was here,” he said softly, not turning back to look at them as he spoke.

  “Why?” George asked, frowning at his sandwich before he took a large bite.

  “Because she wanted to speak with me, of course.”

  George huffed. “I managed to figure that one out, Sherlock. What about?” He enunciated his words carefully.

  “She thought your father was keeping something from her.”

  Edward winced. “She always was too smart for her own good.”

  “Wait a minute,” Perry broke in. “You mean to tell me Philippe hasn’t shared news of the UnReal’s regrouping?”

  Edward squeezed her waist. “My mother’s reactions to that news wouldn’t be…” He cut off his own words. Marianne was a grown woman; they all had a tendency of trying to protect her, but the truth was, she was, like the rest of them, a survivor.

  It was an intrinsic part of being a leader: the instinct to survive. To wend through political drama and fuss with little difficulty.

  “She should have been told,” he admitted softly, and he felt Perry relax at his words.

  Inadvertently, he’d managed to say the right thing.

  “Well, she wouldn’t leave until I told her, so she knows now.”

  George finished his sandwich and reached for another. “How was she?”

  Something passed over Xavier’s face, something Edward couldn’t understand. Xavier took another sip of his juice then murmured, “As you would expect. She took it badly. But she composed herself before she left.”

  “That bodes well,” George pointed out. “If she was too distraught, she’d have had to take to one of the rooms and rest here.”

  “I can’t imagine your mother being that delicate,” Perry confessed.

  “She isn’t. Unless it comes to us,” Edward admitted quietly.

  Perry rubbed his side with her hand, then detached herself from his grip.

  The ache that bloomed inside him at her absence surprised him, but he tracked her movements. He watched as she placed a hand on Xavier’s back, then peered at the tea trolley that would feed an army.

  The irony was that his mother rarely ate any large meal. Maintaining her figure was paramount in her eyes.

  Still, the kitchens would try their best to impress and would, ultimately, be disappointed, he thought wryly. Now, he was grateful that he’d had the urge to come to the estate, even if all it achieved was saving Xavier’s chef’s pride from the tray returning untouched.

  There were jugs of two different juices—the colors telling him one was apple and the other cranberry. A carafe of milk, a pot of coffee, and a teapot of his mother’s favorite tea were all stacked on the trolley, surrounded by several types of mugs, cups, and glasses. There were dishes piled high which were loaded with scones and sandwiches, and a cake stand topped with petit fours.

  The urge to come here had been spontaneous. A desire to escape the castle, to flee the many eyes that watched over them, had filled him with the memory of Murielle’s chastising ringing in his ears. On his way out, his brother had caught up with him, and they’d decided to visit Xavier together.

  Only on the road over here, when George had called their security team, had they both realized that Perry had fled to Xavier’s estate, too.

  Will this always be our bolt hole? Edward asked himself.

  Their safe haven from the prying eyes of court?

  He didn’t know, and only time would tell.

  Striding over to her side, he reached for a plate and loaded it with petit fours and a sandwich, as well as taking a dish of a posh fruit salad.

  As he turned back to the room, he saw everyone was gaping at him. Well, everyone save Perry, who was watching his brother and cousin gape at him.

  “What?” he demanded with a scowl.

  Xavier cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

  George hunched his shoulders. “Yeah. Nothing.”

  Edward’s nostrils flared irritably. “If you have something to say, say it.”

  Perry, an éclair in hand, murmured, “I don’t get why they’re staring at you, Edward, but I’d hazard a guess that it’s because you never seem to eat outside of mealtimes. And even then, you eat very little.”

  “I eat. Just not in front of people.”

  That had Perry blinking. “Huh?”

  George and Xavier were nodding sagely, as though that was the answer to one of life’s mysteries.

  “Why don’t you eat in front of people?” Perry asked when he took a seat. His stomach began churning now that he realized he was about to do what he hadn’t done in a long time. But the petit fours looked good, and it felt, well, different to relax.

  He was among friends, family, and his lover. It was time to unbend a touch.

  “You know I was kidnapped, Perry,” he told her smoothly, though his insides roiled with anxiety. When she remained silent, he managed to whisper, “The men enjoyed starving us, then giving us a feast. Then they’d watch us puke it all up when we realized it was either bad or dosed with sleeping pills.” He clenched his jaw. “Of course, we were not onl
y young, but starved, too. We had no choice but to eat, and then to continue the vicious cycle as they watched and laughed.”

  George cleared his throat. “I don’t really remember it.”

  “Good,” Edward retorted succinctly. “I wouldn’t wish those memories on my worst enemy.”

  Perry stared at him a second and carefully placed her éclair down on the plate. A thoughtful look appeared on her face and she murmured, “These UnReals?”

  Cautious, he asked, “The ones who kidnapped me or the group itself?”

  “Your kidnappers,” she clarified, then asked, “They were executed, weren’t they?”

  Apprehension filled the room. He, George, and Xavier all shared uneasy looks—she might approve, she might disapprove. Who knew with Americans?

  He forced himself to pick up a petit four and take a bite. It churned in his stomach, then settled, and he took another bite, well aware that neither George or Xavier would answer in his stead.

  By the third bite, he knew he wouldn’t be sick, and knew all the more that he could continue eating everything else on his plate.

  “Yes,” he told her, after a good two minutes had passed.

  Tension seemed to bloom in the room like a mushrooming cloud of toxic air that had the power to poison them all. Then it disappeared, as if a huge swell of wind blew it away, when she murmured, “Good.”

  A surprised laugh burst from George. “Bloodthirsty wench.”

  She grumbled, but didn’t deny it. Instead, picked up her éclair and took another bite. As she did, her gaze remained fastened to his. Each bite was slow, calculated, and he realized she was trying to entice him to carry on eating.

  He gulped, touched by her consideration, then picked up a sandwich. As was always the way, the first mouthful was like sawdust.

  But it dispelled.

  As did some of the shame he felt for being so weak as to allow a childhood incident to still affect him this late in his life. That she’d noticed his eating habits at all, that Xavier and George had been surprised by them, embarrassed him. He hadn’t realized they were so evident to those close to him.

  His stomach still churned, but it eased as conversation swelled once more, and Xavier and Perry slouched on the sofa beside his brother. When the focus was no longer on him, the food actually started to taste of something other than wet pencil, and he managed to do the plate of food justice.