Chapter Four

I COULD HAVE decked George. Of course, I was angrier with myself than my knucklehead brother. Maybe Presti’s social skills weren’t as polished as some, but I’d found him quite delightful. I’d never met anyone like him before. From knowing some interesting facts and blurting out whatever thought seemed to be passing through his head at any given moment to his enthusiasm for the natural world and coexisting with it, I found him quite refreshing and downright beguiling.

Everything he felt, I could read in his incredible blue eyes. His embarrassment when he’d thanked me for coming and kissed my hand, his adoration for his mother and friends, his horror yet slight amusement when he’d blurted the tale of glass bottoms. All of it was written and so easily read on his handsome face. Unlike me, he was an open book.

While I could tell myself that only his personality drew me to him, the simple fact was that Presti was stunning to look at. And I mean beautiful in a take-your-breath-away manner. Curly coal-black hair, bright-blue eyes, flawless skin aside from a birthmark shaped not unlike a turtle high on his left cheek, and the most kissable lips I’d ever seen. Despite the ill-fitting tux, it was plain to see his body beneath was fantastic—tall, trim, narrow waist, a swimmer’s body. Add to that, great hands and a spectacular arse. Prestidigitation Jones was as close to perfect as anyone I’d ever met.

When I’d first locked eyes with his brilliant-blue ones, I felt a little as if the ground beneath me had dropped away. For the last few hours, I felt as if I were teetering on a shard of earth, waiting for an inevitable fall. I had no idea what any of that meant. But a strong pull of inevitability made me confident I could not escape whatever fate had in store. Not now that Presti had swept into my life.

And I’d just chased him away by laughing at him alongside my brother like we were a couple of frat boys bullying the school nerd. Ugh . All the kudos I gave myself for being better than George, and it turns out, I’m worse. At least George isn’t afraid to be himself, even if he is a gigantic dick.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, ambling away from George and his posse. I’d thought Hannah was to be George’s date this evening, but she was nowhere in sight. It was a great shame, because she alone managed to curb George’s boorish behaviour. She made him at least tolerable to be around.

George and Hannah had been dating for a little under twelve months. The press and the people adored her. If George somehow managed to marry her, she’d be twice as popular as the rest of us. I wish she’d been here tonight. George never would have openly mocked Presti, and I never would have been a giant prig and joined him.

As much as I detested my brother’s behaviour, I saved my true ire for myself.

“All right, James?” Harlan asked when I practically ran him down in my attempt to escape my brother.

“Sorry, Harlan. Wasn’t paying attention. Thinking about your sister, actually.”

Harlan squinted, pushed his glasses up his nose and said, “Shame she couldn’t make it tonight.”

“I was just thinking the same. She’s okay though?”

“Oh yes. Had a prior engagement.” Harlan’s gaze travelled the room, his feet shifting awkwardly. Unlike his sister, Hannah, Harlan had rather intense social anxiety. His presence here tonight without Hannah as his shield was something of a miracle.

“Are you okay, Harlan? I know events of this kind aren’t your thing.”

Harlan snorted. “Not at all. Must get used to them, I suppose. If George and Hannah… Well, you know.” Harlan waved his hand about. I did know. Both families wanted them to marry. However, Harlan’s family consisted only of grandparents and an uncle or two.

George desperately wanted Hannah to say yes, but I knew she had doubts. She feared becoming part of the royal family, but not for herself.

Hannah loved her brother, and she’d told me several times that she worried about him becoming a more public figure if she were to marry Prince George. Heir to the throne. This is yet another reason she’d be a perfect future queen. She did care for others.

“At least I knew everyone at my table,” Harlan continued. “No mortifying first introductions. How was your table?”

Just then, Prestidigitation Jones walked across my line of sight. Astrid walked at his side, their arms linked, heads inclined toward each other as they chatted. The flush in his cheeks had faded, but as he lifted his head and caught my gaze, I noticed the sparkle in his eyes was gone too.

I’d contributed to that. No. I’d caused that.

And I couldn’t stand that.

“Quite interesting, actually,” I managed to reply. “I’d like you to meet some of them, Harlan. If you’re up to it?”

“Ah, sure, I guess.” Harlan glanced about nervously, but I was convinced he’d enjoy the company of Presti and Astrid. At least, that was the excuse I was giving myself for the chance to speak to Presti again. And apologise to him.

Presti watched us approach. His stunning eyes darted about, and I knew he was searching for an escape. How could I blame him after the way I behaved with George? While Presti looked ready to run, Astrid stood tall and proud, ready to bite my head off. I’d let her do it too. I deserved it.

“Presti, Astrid,” I began as soon as we reached them. “I’d like to introduce you to Harlan Spence, the Earl of Fenwick.”

“Hullo,” Harlan said, offering his hand.

A ridiculous sensation shook my body as Presti reached to shake Harlan’s hand. I wondered if he’d kiss Harlan’s hand too. I was jealous. Ludicrously jealous that Presti might press his lips to another man’s skin. What in the hell was wrong with me?

Presti merely shook Harlan’s hand and offered a warm smile and a simple nice to meet you. Astrid did likewise. Then, she immediately began regaling Harlan with her feelings about his work with animal rights. Harlan was most famous for defending the rights of our animal friends. Well, at least that had been his claim to fame until Hannah and George began dating. And the longer they dated, the more serious their relationship became, and the more scrutiny Harlan and Hannah would face. Now, his life would become fodder for gossip; the more salacious, the better. Nobody seemed to care if it was true or not.

While Astrid swept Harlan up in talk about animals, I turned my attention to Prestidigitation Jones.

Perfect.

My plan was working perfectly. Plan? I only lacked the handlebar moustache to twirl with my fingers.

I turned to Presti, who stood stiffly, studiously avoiding my gaze. Yep. He was pissed or worse, hurt.

“Presti?”

He glanced my way before returning his gaze to Astrid and Harlan. “Mm?”

“Ah…I’d like to show you Gran’s clock room. If you’d like, that is.”

“Clock room?” he asked, interest spiked. The little curious twitch in his gaze was adorable.

“Yes. Gran has received many clocks as official gifts over the years. She keeps them all in the clock room. It’s quite fascinating.”

Presti turned and eyed me cautiously as if considering if he’d be safe with me. I hated that I’d planted that doubt in him. Despite his apparent hesitation in having anything more to do with me, I could read his expression well enough to know he desperately wanted to see this clock room.

“Clocks,” Presti murmured. “A room full of clocks. How could I possibly say no to that.” And then he smiled at me, warm and expansive, lighting him up like a bonfire. Brilliant.

“Very well, then. This way.” I motioned toward the door leading to the south hallway. Presti led, and I fell into step behind him. My hand gently rested on the small of his back as I guided him out of the music room.

My life may not be my own, but I still found alone time—that time I often used to curl up with a good book. Sometimes, these books weren’t so good but most had several things in common. A tingle or a spark when someone touched someone they were attracted to. I’d always considered it artistic fancy, but I’d have sworn on my life that my fingers tingled as they brushed Presti’s body, even though he was most definitely fully clothed. And earlier, when my leg had fallen against his, it had been as if they’d been glued together. I’d been unable, or maybe unwilling, to separate from the feel of him.

“You know, a wonderful gentleman scientist once proposed a flower clock,” Presti said as we exited the music room.

“A flower clock?”

“Mm, indeed. It would utilise the characteristic petal opening and closing times for various species of flowers. In effect, one could look out at one’s garden and be able to tell the time based on which flowers were in bloom. Quite splendid, really.”

“Quite. Gran does not have something quite so marvellous. She does have many unique timepieces though.”

We walked the long corridor of the palace seemingly alone, though I knew security agents wouldn’t be too far behind us. Outside the door of my rooms, I was rarely truly alone. Always wondering who was watching or listening and what they’d do with whatever they saw or heard. I never truly relaxed. It was a hard way to live.

As I opened the door to the clock room, Presti’s soft breath and earthy scent filled my senses. The soft ticking of the clocks couldn’t compete with my thundering heartbeat. Though hundreds of clocks filled the room, Prestidigitation Jones overwhelmed me. He surrounded me until I felt filled with a gentle yearning.

“Wow!” Presti gasped, entering the room, his head shifting as he attempted to take in the view. “There must be a hundred clocks in here.”

“Two hundred and forty-seven, actually.”

“Does the queen have a thing for clocks—not like a kink, of course.” Presti’s face flamed that delicious red. “Not that the queen couldn’t have a kink; I mean, you’re here. Evidence that she isn’t virginal.” Presti’s face scrunched in an adorable wince.

I couldn’t drag my gaze from his beautiful face and pretty lips. I’d watched those lips all night twist around the words Presti spoke. I’ve never seen lips more obviously begging to be kissed. “Christ, but you are beautiful,” I exclaimed.

Despite being in a room filled with clocks, time seemed to stop at my exclamation.

Presti’s blue eyes watched me, squinting as though trying to puzzle me out. “Are you mocking me?” he asked.

“No. God, no. I’m so sorry about before, with George—I shouldn’t have laughed. The fact is, Presti, that I like you. I quite like you very much.” I meant the apology, but although liking Presti was the truth, I hadn’t meant to tell him. Something about Presti somehow made keeping it to myself impossible.

Presti drew himself to his full height and said, “The apology would have sufficed. You don’t need to embellish any fond feelings for me. I know I’m not… Well, people tend not to like me too much.”

Taking a steadying breath, I stepped forward. His skin felt warm and soft where my hand cupped his cheek. I smiled when he tilted his head, leaning into my touch. “Then people are crazy, because you are adorable, Prestidigitation Jones. You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and I’ve met many people.”

“I do t-tend to get called odd a fair bit,” Presti stammered. Though I could feel him trembling, his gaze never left mine.

“I should very much like to kiss you,” I whispered. Another confession I’d thought to keep to myself. Yet, for some reason, I couldn’t help but blurt out these little titbits of feelings.

Presti answered with a slight nod of his head. I leaned in a fraction closer, our bodies so close I felt the warmth of his, yet he didn’t reach for me. “You can say no, Presti. I shan’t send you to the Tower for it.”

His blue eyes softened, those gorgeous lips twisting into a small smile. “You’ve quite bewitched me, Prince James. I can’t think of a single thing I want more in this moment than a kiss…from you.”

Those words, that permission, were all I needed. I pressed my lips to his softly, tenderly. I pulled away and sighed at the tingle cascading along my spine from that simple kiss. Then Presti’s hand gripped my waist, tentative at first, and then more firmly.

I kissed him again, deeper, more urgent. My mouth moved with his as I tasted him, revelled in the feel of his body pressing against mine. The want grew between us, teetering on the edge of need.

How could I need someone I’d only just met?

As his tongue met mine in a shy dance, the feeling of nothing ever being the same again grew and twisted inside me. I’d stumbled upon a vine of hope that maybe I could find someone to share my life with, and it was wrapping me up inside. Reality would soon enough shatter all my Prestidigitation fantasies. Just for now, I’d let myself have them, have him.

“Wow,” Presti murmured as I dragged my lips from his to press soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck.

“Wow, indeed.” I wanted to taste every inch of him. I wanted to spend hours with him, trying to drag out more of those soft moans I doubted he even realised he let escape. “I think it is you who has bewitched me.”

“Must have been all that talk about your grandmother’s kinks,” Presti said. He stiffened in my arms. “Oh, sorry. That was awfully unflirtatious. Let me try again.”

Try as I might, I couldn’t contain a chuckle. “How do you do it?” I asked, pulling him closer, refusing to yield him from my hold even a little.

“Do what?” he squeaked as I nibbled on his ear lobe.

“Just be yourself,” I mumbled.

“I don’t know how to be anything else.”

My lips found his again, his taste exploding on my tongue. Lust and longing boiled in my veins, but there was no way I would go any further with Presti in my gran’s clock room, much as I wanted to.

“Ahem,” a booming voice ripped me from the best kiss I’d ever shared. It was a voice I knew well. And the very last one I wanted to hear when I was in the arms of a man.

“Father,” I muttered. Presti and I stood together, shoulders brushing as we faced the next King of England, my father.

“So, it’s true then,” my father replied, glaring at me as he studiously avoided shifting his gaze to Presti.

My father wasn’t homophobic; in fact, he did a great deal in support of the LGBT community. It was just there’d never been a queer senior royal before. It was one of the many reasons I’d never come out or had a boyfriend. I barely had a sex life. Who could I trust to keep my great secret? How could I be sure they wouldn’t go running to the tabloids to tell—sell—my story?

Fear had kept me from forming any meaningful relationship with anybody. However, that wasn’t entirely true. The truth was I’d never met anybody I’d been willing to risk exposure for—until now.

“Father—”

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Presti cut in. “Please forgive me for kissing your son. Entirely my fault. A great misunderstanding, I think. Quite accidental.”

“Accidental?” My father smirked. “One of those ‘I tripped and fell onto his lips’ type of situations, then?”

“Quite. You see, James, ah rather, His Royal Highness, was showing me his grandmother’s clocks—actually, you may be fascinated to know that the world’s oldest working clock is right here in England. Salisbury Cathedral, to be exact.” Presti stilled and tilted his head a little as he looked at my father. “Though I expect you likely know that being the future king and all. Probably not much you don’t know about your realm. Anyhoo, I should best be re-joining my friend, Astrid. She’s positively wonderful, but she does tend to talk a person’s ear off once she gets riled up about a topic. I’d hate to think she was assaulting a royal ear right now. So, bye-bye now. So delightful to meet you both. Bye-bye.”

And with that, Presti dashed out of the room.

My father watched him flee before turning back to me with a grin. “Well, he was…certainly interesting.”

“Father, I—”

“James.” My father held his hand up to silence me. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow. Make a plan. For now, we both need to return to the party.”

I silently followed my father back down the hall, glaring at my security man, though I was not sure what I expected him to do. Stop my father from barging in and ruining the best kiss of my life? How could he even have known there was a chance I’d be kissing a man behind that door? Nobody knew.

But they did now. My father knew my big secret. And apparently, we were going to make a plan on how to handle it. Great. I couldn’t wait.