Playing Dirty(101)

“Good,” Queen Constance replied, though I could tell that this answer had by no means satisfied her completely. “He is respectful?”

“I think so,” I said. At least he had been this morning. He’d been looking at me rather oddly, but not in a sleazy way; not like yesterday, and he’d even apologized when I noticed.

“It was always going to be a little awkward because—I don’t know if he told you—we’ve briefly met before,” I continued. “When he was in New York. That’s where I’m from.”

The friendly nature of our relationship and the trust the Queen seemed to place in me had motivated me to tell the truth—I didn’t wish to keep things from my boss and saw no harm in it. But as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I saw her stiffen, and I realized that I’d made a huge mistake. It was one thing for the Queen to break rank enough to enjoy an afternoon of art appreciation with a servant, or even to discuss the problems in her own family, but there were lines, and I’d apparently crossed one.

“In New York, you say.”

It was not a question but a bald statement. The Queen seemed a different person from mere moments ago; then she had been a person, now she was the sovereign, retreating behind the crown.

With a shock, I suddenly recalled all the pictures of Andrew that had been in the papers and magazines and plastered across the internet, from his time in New York. Pictures of him with one girl or two girls, or a whole crowd outside the bar where we’d met for that one ill-fated drink. All the girls were anonymous conquests, and the idea that any might pursue her son for some claim to him had clearly panicked the Queen.

I hastened to explain that I wasn’t one of those tabloid girls. “Oh, your Majesty, I don’t want you to think that—”

With a silencing hand gesture, the Queen interrupted me. “Please, I do not wish to know the details. I am aware of my son’s life choices but I have no desire to hear about them. Perhaps that is cowardice in me, and perhaps my inability to face it is the reason he runs as wild as he does, but there it is.”

“But what I meant to say is that I’m not one of those girls from the gossip columns,” I said. “We didn’t….it was different.”

I’d thought that the Queen might be angry, but instead she met my statement with an almost inexpressible sadness in her eyes. “I know, my dear. No one ever thinks they’re one of those girls. They’re always ‘different’. But they never are.”

A cold streak of doubt passed through me. If it hadn’t been for those girls outside the bar, then I definitely would’ve gone back with Andrew, and we definitely would’ve slept together, and then…what? I would’ve been just another one of those girls? Another notch on his bedpost? On the night, I’d tried to convince myself that that was all I wanted; my first one night stand. But even then it had been wishful thinking; I’d really liked Drew Ellis and wanted more, and naïve as I was, I’d thought he wanted the same. And who could say how many other girls had been in that very position with him?

And yet…no. I was different, at least in one way. I hadn’t slept with him, even though I’d had the chance to. And for all the strangeness of the last few days, there was something between us. For all that I tried to impose distance and professionalism on our relationship, there existed a spark, a tug, a something that drew us in a way that went deeper than mere attraction. It was impossible to explain, but it was there, and I felt it burning deep within my body every time I pictured him.

“Your Majesty, I think I might’ve given you the wrong impression,” I said, speaking more passionately than I’d intended. “It wasn’t…”

Her hand went up again, and I snapped my mouth shut without even thinking about it. Though her façade had cracked again for a moment, the Queen was all business again.

“I think it best for all concerned if you have no further contact with Andrew. Please go about your duties for now, and I’ll have Rogers reassign you from Andrew’s service soon.”

“But…”

“Are you arguing with me?” All geniality was gone, replaced by icy, regal hauteur.

I demurred. “No, of course not, your Majesty.”

“Then go.”

“Of course, your Majesty. Thank you for allowing me to see the Long Gallery.”

She nodded, and I turned and hurried for the door. For a moment, I thought that I saw something like regret pass fleetingly across the monarch’s marble features, but perhaps I’d just imagined it.

Good job, Keira, I chastised myself as I headed down the hall. Only my second day on the job, and I’d really screwed up.