Playing Dirty(94)

I had no idea what to say. I hadn’t expected to be having any sort of conversation with the Queen at all, let alone listening to her confide anything about her two sons.

“They are both decent,” the Queen seemed sad as she spoke. “In their way. They just don’t know how to behave, you know? I was lucky. My father became King during the war and that gave him a quite different view of people, so he raised me accordingly. My husband was the same. Perhaps if he had lived longer…” She broke off. “But why am I telling you this? I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to an old woman go on about what imbeciles she raised. Come, tell me more about my paintings. Your tasks can wait a while longer.”

Walking around the private gallery and discussing art with the Queen had to rank as one of the more surreal hours of my life so far, but it was the most enjoyable time I’d had since I’d come to Richmond and perhaps since I’d arrived in Britain. While not an art student, the Queen clearly knew her collection and was as enthusiastic and passionate an art lover as I was. It was nice to see how art could bond people, whether they were continents apart or in vastly different social classes like we were.

“Well,” the Queen finally said, glancing at her watch, “I must get back to work. There’s a mountain of paperwork in my office and somewhere in this house there’s a pair of offspring to be taken to task.”

I opened my mouth to speak but was again silenced by the Queen’s raised hand—the woman had an unsurprising authority in everything she did.

“I shan’t mention your name to my sons, so don’t trouble yourself. They’re always doing something stupid so they’re never surprised when I tell them off. I fear it may have lost its sting.”

She reached out a hand which I took, gingerly and uncertainly, and she shook my hand firmly.

“I have very much enjoyed our chat, Keira. Perhaps when you’ve finished work tomorrow afternoon, we might go to the Long Gallery to see some of the paintings you were asking about. I could certainly use your eye for art to teach me some more things, and I think you will be quite impressed with the paintings.”

“Thank you, that’d be really lovely, and an absolute honor,” I replied, blushing again.

She nodded. “I grew up here and it still takes my breath away.” She looked at me with a grave countenance, suddenly seeming older than she was. “It’s a privilege, you know. And not one that I take for granted. But I wasn’t always so appreciative of that fact. One day my sons will have the epiphany that leads them to understanding just what it means to be royalty.”

I nodded. “I think there’s a lot of good in them.”

I felt more than a little presumptuous in saying it, but the Queen smiled. “I hope so.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out, leaving me dumbfounded. The day so far had been one of extremes; I’d somehow seen the worst of working here and also the best. On top of that, I’d seen the worst of royal privilege and also the best. I wasn’t leaving this job, I knew that now. There was no way that I could leave before I’d seen more of the artistic treasures that this palace had to offer.

But that wasn’t the only reason why.

Given our encounter this morning, it seemed ridiculous that I would be thinking this at all, given what a royal prick he was, but something told me that I wasn’t yet finished with Andrew. There was something about him keeping me interested, although I had no idea what that could possibly be, and as much as I hated to admit it, he continued to play on my mind.

I just wished he’d play elsewhere…





Chapter 6

Andrew



It was at a leisurely eleven-fifteen the following morning that I was lulled into full wakefulness by the light coming though my curtains. The previous evening hadn’t been an especially big one, but I’d stayed up pretty late, playing poker with two under-butlers and the stable-boy—who had turned out to be a seventeen year old hustler and had walked off with the pot—and so the opportunity to sleep until a reasonable hour was most welcome, especially in contrast to yesterday when I’d been woken by that bloody vacuum cleaner.

“Good morning, your Highness.”

I blinked my eyes fully open and sat up in bed, somewhat surprised to see Keira, respectfully attendant beside my bed, a feather duster in her hand. If she was still angry about the day before, then she showed no sign if it; her demeanor was cool, calm and collected.

“Good morning.” The absence of antagonism between us made me oddly uncomfortable. I was more at ease when we were scoring points off each other or being thoroughly unpleasant, because I’d found that hot as hell, and I wondered if that said something about me as a person—if it did, then what it said was clearly nothing good. “No vacuum today?”