A Royal Entanglement: The Young Royals Book 2 (6 page)

The last six months hadn’t all been a dream or scandal-free, but at least the scandals hadn’t been to do with me or my family and had been easily handled.
 
And I hadn’t had to bail anyone out of jail or go to court to suppress media speculation and innuendo.
 
In fact, by contrast to my life in the States, it had been a piece of cake.

And now that was threatened by the appearance of him.
 
I’d worried that with my family attending the coronation I might have to do some fancy footwork to keep their penchant for trouble from touching the new Queen, but I had never, in my wildest dreams, thought I’d be the one causing a potential PR nightmare.
 
I’d worked so hard to become the squeaky clean professional that I was and I just refused to let Brad or my family taint me with any of their trash.

Which is why I had cancelled my plans to lie around in bed and read and binge on junk food on my first day off in far too long to count.
 
It was why I was up early, having barely five hours sleep, dressed and ready to go into battle.
 
With a fortifying cup of lemongrass and ginger tea, I was ready to fight for the hard won peace I had carved out for myself.
 
I simply refused to go back to the chaotic and unstable world that I’d fled from.
 
I was going to march over to Château de Monterey and inform Mr Bradley Corsair that he was not welcome here.

Except that I wouldn’t because that wasn’t my style.
 
I didn’t yell or screech or make a fuss.
 
I would, instead, ask him politely to leave and then walk away, hoping that he would do the right thing.
 
That’s how I handled everything.
 
Politeness, aloofness, controlled.
 
I was the epitome of decorum.
 
I ruled my small staff with an iron fist and without raising my voice.
 
And that’s how I would handle this too.
 
There would be no meltdown, no screaming match that might get filmed by one of the household staff and uploaded to YouTube.
 
I would be the embodiment of grace and propriety.
 
No matter how much I wanted to throw a tantrum and maybe punch something, or someone.

In all my months at the Palace, I had never visited Château de Monterey, the estate of Freddie’s parents.
 
I had seen it of course; it sat along the banks of Lac Merveilleux and was visible from the Palace grounds, but I had never been there.

I sat in the back seat of one of the Palace sedans and had to clench my teeth to stop my jaw from hanging open.
 
The front gates were tall and imposing, but that was nothing to the first glimpse I had of the front of the castle, and castle it was.

The Château de Conte de Fées, the Queen’s Palace, was a fairy-tale castle of tall turrets and whimsical stained glass, Château de Monterey was almost the complete opposite.
 
It was blocky and square with crenelations along the roofline like a traditional fortified castle.
 
I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a host of archers standing behind the merlons, their bows trained on anyone approaching the front of the castle.
 
I also wouldn’t have been surprised to find a drawbridge and moat and was a little disappointed when the car pulled up to a stop and there wasn’t one.

I smiled to myself as I was handed out of the car by one of the footmen.
 
Such a silly, romantic notion.
 
It may have once had a drawbridge, but of course there wouldn’t be one now and there was no need for a moat.
 
It was impressive just the same and a little intimidating.
 
If I hadn’t met both Freddie and his father, the Duke of Monterey, on numerous occasions, then I would be shaking in my boots.

I pulled my wayward thoughts together and straightened my shoulders.
 
With determined and purposeful steps I crossed the beautifully arched stone footbridge and climbed the stairs to the front door.
 
It opened in front of me and a well-dressed butler bowed with a small click of his heels.

“Lady Alexandra Fornette to see Mr Bradley Corsair,” I said in my best royal voice.

He nodded and stepped aside, “This way my Lady.”

He knew I was coming, of course he did, one did not simply turn up on the doorstep of the highest ranking peer below the Queen without first informing them of your arrival, it was just not done.
 
He opened a door and ushered me in to a formal parlour.

“Mr Corsair will be down momentarily,” he said, “I shall have a tea tray brought for you in the meantime.”

I inclined my head to him before turning away to choose where I would sit.
 
I felt rude to turn my back on him and to use such a high-handed tone, but it was expected.
 
There were games that had to be played if one wanted to be accepted and respected.
 
The Queen might have a more relaxed view of how to treat her circle of confidants, but the other Houses still followed the expected the traditions.

I paced around the room and took in the antique furniture, the portraits of previous Dukes and Earls and Viscounts and the priceless artefacts placed strategically around the room.
 
This room was designed to intimidate.
 
It was designed to let the visitor know that this was an important family with a long history and powerful connections.

But this was not Bradley’s world, this was my world and I was the one who should be in the seat of power.
 
I needed to use this room to my benefit, to show him that I would not bow down to his demands, that I would not be cowed.
 
He was an American, I had royal blood in my veins.
 
That might not have meant much to him while I was in his world, but here, in Merveille, it was a completely different story.

I chose my seat and I lowered myself gracefully to the plush fabric.
 
I sat comfortably, not on the edge like I was ready to flee, but like I had all the time in the world.
 
I demurely crossed my ankles and rested my hands in my lap.
 
My cream Ralph Lauren pants suit was stylish and professional.
 
My hair was tied back in a low pony tail and my makeup was light.
 
I didn’t need to impress him, but I did need him to understand that I wasn’t the same woman he was going to marry.
 
I had learnt something from that whole experience that I wasn’t likely to forget.

I followed the footman through the corridors and down the stairs, still not quite able to reconcile that I was in a castle.
 
Dayne, Lord Bingham’s assistant had given me the history of the place when we’d arrived yesterday and if the move had been to intimidate me, it had worked.
 
I’d never even heard of Merveille before Alex’s parents had told me where she’d run off too and she had never divulged her connections to the Royal Family, although now that I knew, it fit.
 
Not that her parents showed any kind of class, but Alex had always seemed above them, and me if I was honest.

The footman opened the door to a room that looked like it should be in a museum, most of the castle was like that though, and I had my first glimpse of my runaway bride in six months.
 
She stood and I let my eyes roam over her greedily, she looked good, real good.
 
Living in Merveille obviously agreed with her.

“Bradley,” she said, her voice cool.

Alex was always in control and if I had expected her to be flustered by my appearance, I was sorely mistaken.
 
She stood before me in an elegant pants suit looking every bit the Lady Alexandra that Lord Bingham had called her.
 
I’d watched the coronation on the television and couldn’t help but be impressed.
 
I hadn’t had much to do with royalty or the traditions that went along with it, but I knew enough to know that she had to be dog tired after yesterday, but she looked as fresh as if she’d spent the day at a spa.

She raised an eyebrow at me and I realised I had been staring at her.

“Alex,” I said, walking into the room towards her, my hands outstretched.

She held up a hand to stop me from pulling her into a hug and I stopped, just inches from her.

“Have a seat,” she said, and I took the hint.

I took two steps back and lowered myself onto the antique settee.
 
She sank back down onto the single wingback chair where she had been waiting for me and eyed me.
 
I didn’t mind her looking me over, I welcomed it.
 
I hadn’t realised just what I had been walking into when I arrived and I hadn’t packed more than jeans and t-shirts.
 
Her mother had failed to mention the whole ‘working for the queen’ thing and I felt entirely under-dressed in my faded Levi’s and grey t-shirt.

“I know—“ She held her hand up to stop me speaking and then turned to look at the door.
 
It opened to reveal a maid of some sort pushing a tea trolley.
 
A tea trolley.

“You can leave it there,” she said in a voice that I had never heard from her.
 
She sounded like Lady Muck and, I supposed, she was.

The maid curtsied before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
 
I remained silent as Alex rose and walked to the trolley.

“Tea?” she asked.

“Coffee?” I asked hopefully.

She nodded and picked up a tall white china pot tipping it expertly to splash some dark liquid into a delicate china cup.
 
She placed it on a saucer and handed it to me before going back to the trolley to pour herself some tea from a squat china teapot.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked, sweeping her hand across the tiered stand filled with pastries like a model on a game show.

I shook my head, “No, thank you.”

She stepped back to her seat and took a sip of her tea before making eye contact with me again.
 
This was like an elaborate game and I had no idea what the rules were.
 
I knew she wouldn’t yell at me, Alex didn’t raise her voice, and I had expected her to be cool towards me, but I’d also hoped that
 
there would be some flicker of interest or that she might be a tiny bit pleased to see me.
 
So far, nada.

“Why are you here Bradley?”

I sipped my coffee and then placed the tiny cup and saucer on my knee, securing it with one hand.

“I came to find you,” I replied.

“It’s been six months,” she said, “Why now?”

“I didn’t know where you were before,” I replied, trying to keep my cool.
 
I was angry with her for leaving, for running out on our wedding and leaving me to clean up the mess that she’d left in her wake.

“I wasn’t hiding,” she said and sipped her tea.

“Nobody would tell me where you were, you just vanished.”

She regarded me over the rim of her teacup, her eyes cool and assessing.
 
I sat still and let her look, I needed her to trust me.

“So why are you here?”

“Because I want you back, Alex.
 
I still want you to be my wife—”

The doors opened and Lord Bingham walked in.
 
Alex’s eyes flicked to him and, if I hadn’t been watching her closely, I would’ve missed the look that crossed her face.
 
I didn’t know what that look meant, but I didn’t like it.

“My darling Lady Alexandra,” he said in the same posh tone I’d heard Alex use earlier, “What a lovely surprise.”

Alex stood and dropped a minuscule curtsy before raising her eyes to look at the interloper.

“Lord Bingham,” she said demurely, “I apologise for disturbing your morning.”

“Not at all,” he said, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, his eyes never leaving her face.

I wanted to hit him.
 
I’d wanted to hit him the day before when he’d stopped me from seeing Alex, but seeing the way her cheeks pinked at his attention made me want to punch him even more.
 
Only the knowledge that I was in his house and he was an important man in this country stopped me.
 
I’d seen him in the coach with the Queen and her consort yesterday and heard the television commentators tout his credentials.
 
This wasn’t a man I wanted to make an enemy of.