Reluctantly Royal(21)

“Cool.”

Marty sat back in his pillows and got comfortable while we raced. It wasn’t until his car ran off the track that I realized he was asleep. Chuckling, I turned down the sound and got up from my seat. My back complained from having sat in one position too long, so I stretched the kinks out.

Carefully I pulled Marty’s shoes off and tugged his legs up onto the bed. Slowly I covered him with the blanket on the bed and looked down at his sleeping face. The moonlight that streamed through the window highlighted his cheekbones and cast long shadows of his eyelashes along his skin. It was that moment that I realized just how young the boy was. He didn’t deserve to worry about his mother. He deserved the life he had in England, where he played football with his mother and went to school with regular kids.

As I turned to leave the room, my eyes fell on a sketch pad and I couldn’t help myself. Sitting back down in the chair I flipped it open and smiled at the drawings inside. Marty had promise for such a young kid. Turning to a blank page, I glanced around and searched for a pencil. Charcoal would be best, but pencil would do.

I started with the lines of his forehead, the curve of his impish nose, the roundness of his cheeks. I was lost in the sketch, enjoying the shadows, the tenderness in his expression, working to capture that moment of utter innocence.

“That’s beautiful.” Her voice was soft.

I looked up from what I was doing, not surprised that she had snuck up on me. When I’m lost in a project, the world disappears; the only thing I’m aware of are the layers of the project I’m working on.

“He’s a good subject.” I turned back to the paper and finished up the shading of the blanket.

“Only because he’s asleep and not moving.” Her quiet laugh sent shivers over my body.

“That does help.” I smiled up at her. “But it’s the contrast. The contrast of him awake versus him asleep. He looks so young right now, so innocent.”

“What do you mean?” She leaned closer to look at the picture.

“He’s so mature, quick-witted.” I whispered the words. “But here he is, looking like the child he is.”

“His teachers say that,” she said. “That he’s quick to pick things up.”

“I’d say so.” I turned and handed her the sketch pad. “I hope you don’t mind that I drew him. The light and shadows were too perfect to resist.” Sort of like her right now. The way the moonlight glinted in her eyes and shone along her hair. Her perfect features would make any artist ache to draw them. Her pixie nose, the heavy eyelashes, the curve of her body hinted at by the oversized sweater she had wrapped around herself. It made my palms itch. Partly because I just wanted to touch her, to see if she would taste as sweet as she looked in that moment.

“Thank you for keeping him entertained.” She stood up. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” I stood up and stretched. Her eyes swept over my chest and then back up to my face. Maybe I wasn’t the only one tempted to touch. I hated to admit it, but I had a flare of pride. “I enjoyed hanging out with him.”

I was surprised to realize I meant it. I never would have thought spending time with a six-year-old would have been enjoyable.

“Looks like he did too.” She moved away from the door and I followed her into the hallway.

“Did you get everything settled?”

“I think so.” She frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Her expression worried me.

“Granddad would have hated a large ceremony.” She sighed and headed for the stairs. “But I guess that as a duke there are some things that have to happen.”

“I don’t blame your grandfather.” I followed behind her. “I would want a small ceremony, not to be made into a production.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t like any type of production.” She looked at me over her shoulder.

“Not really, no.” I wasn’t going to lie. “I don’t like being the focus, being the center of attention. It makes me uncomfortable.” I wasn’t going to lie, but I hadn’t intended to tell her so much about me.

“And yet you agreed to help me with my grandfather’s funeral.” She turned to me at the bottom of the stairs and set the sketch pad on a table. “Why?”

I stared at her for a minute, enjoying the way her eyes looked up at me, the tilt of her chin, the way her hair cascaded around her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

Unable to help myself, I reached out and touched her cheek with my fingers. Her pupils dilated and she inhaled softly. With one thumb I traced the dip under her plump bottom lip. Her hand reached up to trace my jaw and she took a step closer to me.