Royally Endowed(66)

“Morning, Lo.” He nods. “Miss Ellie.”

“What the hell’s going on, James?” Logan asks.

James cocks his head apologetically. “You are.” He glances between me and Logan, his blond hair falling over his forehead. “While they wait for the babies to be born and the wedding day to arrive, the press is looking to fill their pages with some kind of scandal. And you two are it.”

Logan drapes his arm around me.

“Also,” James continues, “I brought the car. The Queen wants to see you. Now.”

That doesn’t sound good.





Logan and I wait in the Queen’s private drawing room—an amazing custard-yellow-and-dark-wood-accented room—wearing the wrinkled clothes we threw on from last night. Queen Lenora strides in like a pissed-off general—if the military uniform were a pink skirt and jacket, and pillbox hat.

Logan bows and I curtsy.

She smacks several newspapers on her desk—tabloids. All with screaming headlines about me—the bright-eyed royal relation getting down and dirty with the rough security guard from a shady family. Great.

“I am so disappointed in you, Eleanor.” She shakes her head. “Poor George. The young mayor had such promise for you. I can’t imagine what he will say.”

I raise my hand. “He actually texted me this morning. He said thanks. He’s had a crush on the upstairs maid forever and now he’s finally got the guts to ask her out.”

The Queen lifts her nose. “You could have reached so much higher. For a man of importance, of significance.”

She turns to Logan and lowers her nose at him. “And you—you had a duty to this family to protect her—”

I step forward, cutting her off—knowing it’s improper and inappropriate but not giving a single shit.

“He has protected me. Since the day I met him—in every way he knows how. Don’t you dare question his loyalty to your family.”

“Ellie!” Logan hisses quietly. Because even now, he’s trying to protect me.

Queen Lenora shakes her head. “You could have been Madam Eleanor, Lady Eleanor, Duchess Eleanor . . . and you’ve chosen to throw that opportunity away.”

I stand taller, straighter. “My name isn’t Eleanor. It’s Ellie. And Logan St. James is a man of significance and importance, and if you can’t see that, it’s your loss. I don’t need a title.” I look at Logan. “I just need him.”

The Queen scoffs, regally, of course. “Oh, good grief.”

She turns to the painting behind her—the one of her husband, Edward—and shakes her head at it, like it’s the only thing that understands her.

Then, with a breath, she focuses her attention back on Logan.

“Leave us.”

Logan hesitates for just a second—looking to me, checking with me—and I nod. He bows low to the Queen and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Queen Lenora steps closer. “I was your age once. Though I’m sure my grandsons can’t fathom it, it’s true. You are young, and full of hope and beauty, and foolish faith. You believe love can fix everything. Cure any ill.” She shakes her head, looking in my eyes. “It can’t. And though I had different aspirations for you, you have made your choice. I wish you well, truly—I hope you and your guard find every happiness.”

The Queen walks stiffly back behind her desk.

“But, Ellie, if you think things will be easy now, that the two of you will simply ride off into the sunset unaffected by the realities of your situation . . . you should prepare to be mistaken.”





I SIT IN THE ANTIQUE chair outside the Queen’s office, waiting for Ellie. Across from me at his desk is Christopher, Her Majesty’s personal secretary. He’s solid—a big fucker—long reach. It gets me thinking.

“Hey Christopher, you ever do any fighting? Boxing? That sort of thing.”

He adjusts his glasses. “I fence.”

Fencing. I could work with that.

The phone on his desk rings.

“Yes? Yes, right away.” He looks to me. “Winston would like a word.”

I hook my thumb at the door. “Tell Ellie I’ll see her back in her rooms when she’s done here.” Then, as I pass his desk, I add, “We should chat—about training. You’re the Queen’s secretary; you’re with her all the time, her last line of defense. It’d be good for you to know how to handle yourself. I could show you a few things.”

He thinks it over . . . and then he nods.





Down in Winston’s office, I find him and a few of the lads going over the security detail for the wedding. Since I’m no longer privy to that information, they stop the discussion when I walk through the door.