The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(110)

I bite my lip, trying to mentally choose my words carefully. I shouldn’t be surprised by the onslaught of information, and I’m not, not really, but what I am is mad. So mad that they discuss my story like it is already written. “Marvelous day, then,” I quip, at a loss for anything else to say. I hate this. My stomach is rolling with frustration and anger, knowing they’ve subjected Josh to that.

“I’ve just spoken to my PR team, here and in the States, and enlightened them on … well, on us.”

“You have?” I say a bit too loudly, causing Davenport’s eyebrow to rise, curiosity all over his face. I need to be careful.

“I have. We need to talk.”

I hate the fact that my back naturally stiffens and my panic increases. Have they advised him to abandon all hope? Have they convinced him I’m not worth the hassle? “What about?” I push my question out past my diminishing breathing, closing my eyes and turning away from Davenport in an attempt to hide the devastation creeping onto my features.

“Adeline?” Josh say quietly, his voice a little shaky. My dread rockets.

“Yes?” Please don’t say it, please don’t say it.

“I love you.”

“Oh, thank God.” I place my hand on the window frame before me and sag into it.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, it’s just … I thought that … I was afraid …” I shake my head, trying to toss all that negativity aside. “Never mind.”

“Don’t even think it.”

I half smile. “I’m sorry.” My apology is weak but sincere. “So what was discussed?”

“Me and you. About sharing our relationship with the world. Tactics. Strategy. That kind of thing.”

I’m in a relationship. It sounds so odd, but equally thrilling. “There’s a strategy? Like a plan?”

“It’s more preparations,” he says, assuring me. I can’t argue with that. Above everything, we need to be prepared, not only for the media frenzy, but for the backlash of the monarchy. “We’ll talk about it later.” Josh sounds determined, and I admire him for it. I think that perhaps spending all day with my kind of people, he’s grasped the gravity of our situation. But he is taking the bull by the horns, so to speak. Leading the way. It is a weight off my shoulders. I would take on my father on my own if I had to, but it makes the path ahead less daunting to know that Josh will be there to hold me up. “Where are you?” he asks.

“I’m at Claringdon. My father wants to see me.”

“What about?” The shift in his tone, from level to cautious, is distinct.

“I don’t know.”

He scoffs. “Probably to restrain you so that jerk can get a ring on your finger.”

“He’s not a jerk.” I feel the need to defend Haydon. He isn’t to blame for this mess.

“Or,” Josh goes on, his voice low, “it could be about a banker.”

I still, staring at the summer house nestled under some willow branches in the garden below. “What?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that bit?” If I could see his face right now, it would be twisted in displeasure. “No?”

“No,” I squeak. He knows fine well he didn’t mention that part.

“Oh, yes. This Gerry Rush. He wants to see you. Or still wants to see you.” He pauses for a moment while I cringe. “I overheard a hushed conversation between the King and his advisors. Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“I haven’t asked about your previous ex-lovers,” I retort indignantly, wondering if Gerry Rush is the reason I’m here. “What did you hear?”

“That you had an indiscretion. That he showed up at the polo match. He’s stalking you.”

“He is not stalking me.”

“He is stalking you.”

I don’t argue with him. It will only agitate him further. Looking over my shoulder, I see Davenport still waiting. “I had better go.”

“Call me when you’re done with King Shoot-a-Lot,’ he quips, and I laugh a little. “Oh, and Adeline?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t blurt out anything before we’ve spoken, no matter how tempting it might be to give him the proverbial middle finger. Do you hear me?”

“I’ve never given anyone the middle finger before,” I muse, looking at my hand. “I would love to give the King my first.”

“I want your first. Call me.” He hangs up, and I rest my shoulder on the frame, gazing out across the grounds, the sky as bright as my secret smile. He’s in my corner. He’s protecting me.

“Everything okay, ma’am?” Davenport asks. Not once in thirty years has he asked me that question.

“It will be,” I say, hoping I am right. My smile transforms into a scowl as I turn away from the window and stride across the huge landing to my father’s office, conjuring up every ounce of resilience I need.

Davenport taps and opens the door for me. “Her Royal Highness Princess Adeline,” he announces.

I immediately hate the scene before me. Hate it. The King is puffing away on a cigar, relaxed back in his big chair, and David and Sir Don are looking all cozy on the chesterfield, a tumbler of fine Scotch resting in their palms. Sir Don is twirling his glass casually and slowly, his gaze on that and that alone, regardless of the fact that I have just entered after being announced. And David? He’s relaxed back, looking self-important and cocky. What are they doing here?