They followed Catriona through the long, dark hallways of the palace and through a brightly lit landing before they arrived at the dining room, a massive stone space decorated with ancient suits of armor and medieval tapestries, enormous chandeliers lowered over a table that stretched farther than any table Siobhan had ever seen.

It could seat fifty or sixty easily, in the high-backed mahogany chairs that sat heavy and imposing. It was a room designed to overwhelm, and it did.

She stopped just inside the door.

Angus instantly squeezed his fingers on her elbow, understanding her.

“She chose this room for a reason,” he whispered, so softly she barely heard him. “To intimidate. Don’t allow it.”

She smiled and stiffened her shoulders, not caring a bit about what he saw—caring only that her discomfort was invisible to Catriona. Softly, she whispered to him, “I don’t intimidate easily.”

The Dowager Princess’s gaze was unwavering as she indicated Siobhan’s place settings on the other side of the table. “Please sit.”

There was no request in the words, only command. Nothing approximating politeness. Despite a keen desire to ignore it and leave to wherever her rooms were, Siobhan approached her place and a footman pulled the chair out for her.

* * *

His mother despises me. There was no other accounting for her placement at the dining table. Siobhan peeked between the gold candelabras unfortunately placed and the garish to where Angus sat.

At her right side, sat a laconic old man, who had been introduced as a distant cousin, spooning the strange white broth into his mouth as if his last meal had been a long time ago. At her other side, sat a matron who didn’t speak a word of English. Siobhan asked a footman to have someone invite the matron to sit in Abigail’s empty seat, explaining that her personal guest would be arriving soon to sit beside her.

On the opposite end of the enormous, rectangular table, Caroline Marine, seated at Angus’s right, regaled those around her with talk of her most recent trip to Japan, in a loud enough voice—and in English—to reach Siobhan’s ears. Colorful tales that illustrated her vastly different life experience and international adventures that Siobhan obviously did not have.

Sensing motion to her left, she turned and saw the humble teen from the crowd transformed in a young beauty who looked every bit as though she belonged in a palace. They’d not only found her an exquisite dress, but managed to do her hair and make-up as well.

“Elise,” Siobhan said with a big smile. “Thank you again for joining me.”

Elise curtsied like a pro and took her seat, seemingly not at all intimidated by the settings. Nor was she impressed or by bothered by Caroline Marine who was drawing the attention of all those near her, including Angus.

Siobhan stole a sideways glance at him at the right moment when Caroline, gesticulating wildly as she spoke, earned a deep, rumbling laugh from Angus and those seated around her.

Siobhan had never been one to charm others easily. Not the way the stunning creature held those around her enraptured. Angus nodded at something the woman was saying and then, whatever his return reply, he earned a pretty blush…and a husky laugh better suited to a wicked widow.

Gritting her teeth, Siobhan dipped her spoon into her bowl a little too forcibly.

The clanging on the fine china, the clear broth spilling over the edge and splattering the table, and the spoon falling to the floor, earned Siobhan a few looks.

Bloody hell. Siobhan’s skin pricked but she tipped her chin up and the curious onlookers returned to their discourse and meals.

All except for one.

From her seat at Angus’s left side, Catriona gave her a disgusted shake of her head before she, thankfully, shifted her miserable attention over to a lord beside her.

Siobhan made to retrieve her spoon but a footman was already tidying her place and replacing her spoon.

Bereft, she picked up the new spoon with fingers that trembled.

A quiet cough brought her head up.

Using the silver brocade napkin in his fingers, Angus dabbed at the corners of his mouth, his lips moving.

Siobhan blinked slowly as the candles’ glow sent shadows dancing on the harsh, angular planes of his face.

“Smile,” he was soundlessly commanding, angling his head ever so slightly.

Siobhan followed that gesture to Caroline Marine and frowned at him. What?

“It’s you who are my fiancée.” Angus articulated each word, slow, mute, and yet precisely. “It’s you I have chosen.”

As he had intended, a smile opened on her face.

Purple-clad liveried footmen chose this moment to take away the soup bowls and replace them with silver platters of roast fowls, stewed peas, and French peas.

Siobhan murmured her thanks, but she as she started to reach for her silverware, the delicious smell hit her nose, and though it smelled good, she began to feel nauseous.

She peeked over at Angus. Silent, he now contemplated the contents of his wine glass, while the effervescent Caroline Marine chatted with his mother.

She took a sip of her water and reclined back in her chair, breathing through her mouth. To no avail. Darn.

She looked to one side and the other, desperate for an excuse to flee the room but found none as everyone proceeded to cut and eat the fowl.

She was going to be sick right then and there, on her first formal lunch as Angus’s fiancée, in front of all his family.

* * *

Angus pinched the bridge of his nose discreetly to ward off an oncoming headache. He detested the unending parties his mother stubbornly surprised him with. Hopefully, now that he was going to have a wife, he wouldn’t have to endure them anymore.

He smiled at something inane Caroline said to him and picked up his wine glass, drinking from it to avoid engaging in another conversation with the vapid blonde.

He sneaked a peek at Siobhan in-between the candelabra and flower arrangements. Something about her being here in his home felt so right.

Taking a sip of his wine, Angus frowned when he saw Siobhan’s face pale.

When she turned positively green and put a napkin over her mouth, he shoved back his chair and stood up. The room fell silent as he strode to Siobhan’s side.

“Angus Augustus Lenox-Braxton,” disapproval slid in Catriona’s voice.

Fighting the dizzying pull of her nausea, Siobhan raised her gaze as he gently pulled her chair back and took her out of it.

“We are tired, Mother. You will have to excuse us.”

Siobhan sent a prayer skyward as Angus put an arm around her waist, stabilizing her as he guided her away.

Passing by Elise, Siobhan said, “I’m sorry. I’ll make up for this.”

“You already did, Miss!” The answer and the smile on the younger girl told Siobhan she didn’t have to worry.

Angus ignored the hushed whispers and left the room, motioning to Fiona and Kerr to follow them.

Outside the dining room, he said to Kerr, “Please, bring tea for Ms. Faulkner and coffee for me in her rooms.”

And then he picked up Siobhan in his arms and strolled to the staircase with Fiona rushing behind to match her cousin’s strides

“Angus. Put me down,” she whispered, mortified at the surprised glances from the footmen.

“Indulge me,” he said in an amused voice.

She wished she could leave crumbs behind because she was surely going to lose herself in that maze.

She had to ask—she simply had to. “Does your mother visit often?” Goodness, I certainly hope we are not all going to be sharing the same roof.

Her eyes were wide and her voice threadbare. His dragon mother had that effect on all. She always had.

“No, she bases herself in London these days and makes occasional visits.”

He turned right on the first floor, into a corridor papered with golden silk, and she counted at least ten doors before he stopped in front of double doors at the end of the corridor.

Fiona opened one of the doors and Angus entered a large sitting room and turned left, into an even larger room.

Siobhan had never seen such a huge bedroom; it could swallow Jaxon’s house whole. She blinked when she saw a staircase at the foot of the four-poster gigantic bed and then realized she would have to use it if she was to get on—or out of—the bed without Angus’s help, it was so tall.

“Well, Caroline Marine is a lesson in torture,” Fiona said, as she sat in an armchair near the bed.

Angus snorted as he put Siobhan on the bed.

“How could you stand listening to her? Did she ever stop to take a breath?” Fiona repeated incredulously. “The woman went on for at least an hour—”

“An hour and thirteen minutes,” Angus muttered as he propped pillows under Siobhan’s back and moved to the armchair beside Fiona’s. “I was counting the minutes on the ormolu clock.”

A giggle exploded from Siobhan, that mirth-filled sound bouncing off the walls of the cavernous room.

Away from her intimidating mother, Fiona was a different girl, vivacious with sparkling eyes and a ready smile. It was nice to feel an immediate kinship with the other woman.

Angus enjoyed watching Siobhan and Fiona talking and laughing. And it was a great distraction for when she wasn’t feeling well, which the presence of his mother and her venom wasn’t helping with at all.

Kerr entered the room bringing the requested tea and coffee, served them, and, after asking if they needed anything else, left. So did Fiona.

The seclusion in the bedroom was heavenly after the boisterous gathering downstairs. Siobhan wasn’t used to such large crowds, and she reclined contentedly on the bed, sipping her tea, wishing she could sink down into the coverlet and sleep for a month.

Angus could see Siobhan’s mind returning to her troubles, as if Fiona’s departure deflated her spirits. He kicked his shoes off and climbed in bed with her. “I drink it because Catriona finds it uncouth.”

She tilted her head at him. “Pardon?”

“A few days ago, you asked why I drink coffee.” Lifting his cup, he elucidated, “Long ago, I dedicated my life to earning my mother’s disapproval whenever and wherever I could.”

What prompted that vow? A thousand questions whirred in Siobhan’s mind as Angus spoke of a conscious decision to agitate the Dowager Princess.

Again, he lifted his half-empty cup. “And she quite disapproves of coffee. She claims it’s a ‘heathens’ drink.”

Her lips twitched, and twitched again before she burst into laughter.

Angus grinned at her, happy he had made her laugh, even if it was partly at him, and even if the background surrounding the story was not so funny.

At the unexpected tap on the door, Siobhan’s heart jumped.

“Come in,” Angus called out.

The door swung open and Jaxon, with a huge smile and bright clear eyes said, “I told you I’d see you soon!”

“Jax!” Silently chastising her skittish behavior, Siobhan jumped down from the bed and rushed over to give him a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad to see you too, but geez, you make it sound like you’re someplace awful.” He cast a questioning glance at Angus, who with his shoes back on, was already by their sides. Jaxon shook hands with him and asked, “Is everything okay?”

“She met my mother,” was Angus’s cryptic answer. “I have to oversee a few things but I will be back soon.”

When the door closed behind Angus, Jaxon turned worried eyes toward Siobhan.

“Everything is fine—it’s just…” She sighed, running a ran through her hair. “I don’t know—strange. It’s not home. You know?”

“Well, I’m prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice and give up my flat and move in so you feel more at home here,” he said, with mock gravity.

Grabbing his hand, Siobhan lead him to the armchair, sitting herself beside him. “That’s exactly what this place needs. More of my things, and my people. Have you spoken to anyone? They’re unbelievably stuffy.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, popping a sweetened biscuit in his mouth and pouring tea for himself. “They live in a different world here, honey.”

“I think you really should move in with me. Seriously. Would you? I feel so much better when you’re here. I mean, I lo—Angus is great. Don’t get me wrong. But you’re my best friend. My brother. I need you here with me. At least until the baby is born. It would really help me feel calmer.”

“Do you think they could make room for me?” he asked, raising his blond eyebrows.

“I’ll talk to Ang—” she started, then realized he was joking.

The palace was enormous. They could surely squeeze in twenty or thirty Jaxons and a few families.

“Of course, we have room for Jaxon,” Angus said, re-entering the room.

Because he would do whatever it took to make Siobhan happy in his home.

* * *

Angus arranged for a light late repast to be served in their sitting room and invited Jaxon to dine with them.

After Jaxon left, with the invite to return and stay with them for a lengthier period, Angus made love to her and snuggled in bed, talking about nothings.

Siobhan propped herself over his long body. “Angus, I know I laughed about you drinking coffee to make your mother mad…”

“It’s a funny story,” he interrupted her, with a smile.

She looked at him dubiously. “Is it?”

“My parents were never…in love…I think. Their marriage was arranged by their parents: my grandfather wanted to secure the line through my father, my mother’s parents wanted the prestige that would come from having a princess as a daughter.” He scratched his chin and put his arm behind his head, staring at her. “But things didn’t turn out as planned. My father disliked my mother on sight—although he never told me this. I learned from boarding school gossipers that after the wedding, instead of going on a honeymoon, he took her to a clinic in US and impregnated her through artificial methods.”

“Wait a second. Your father didn’t know your mother before they married?”

“Correct.”

“And…instead of…trying to…make a child with her, he took her to clinic? Like a walking womb?”

He frowned at the way she put things, but nodded. “Correct again.”

God. “And she didn’t oppose to any of it?” Although it was not a question, he shook his head. Siobhan added. “Well…that’s the most weird and sad story I have heard in a while.”

“She was young.” And stupid. He shrugged. “And she received a lot of money for doing it, so did he.”

Siobhan’s mouth opened in shock. “What?”

“My father didn’t have any control over his own money under the terms of the Braxton-Lenox trust, which stated he had to produce an heir before he could start spending it. So…both my grandfathers worked out an agreement, with the compliance of my parents. My mother received quite a fortune for…lending her womb to house the next Braxton-Lenox heir and my father got his hands on his money for a bit of sperm.”

And what did you get, Angus?

Angus simply continued talking as if he was telling the most normal story, “Although what I remember from my father was an affectionate and doting parent, my mother probably never got the love she was looking for, she was always a bitter woman. When he died, she decided to…enjoy her youth. Though I can say she was anything, but discreet. When I was in Lekten, her lovers were never around her.” He smiled, as if this were perfectly normal. “One can’t blame my mother for hating my father—and me—in retribution.”

Oh, Dragon, one couldn’t? I can. She cleared her throat, which suddenly seemed strangely too tight. “But you too didn’t have an heir.”

“Oh, but the children in the boarding school told me everything about my parents’ marriage and I decided I wouldn’t wait for an heir to have funds of my own. I made my way through school and university studying hard so I was never dependent on any of the money in the Braxton-Lenox trust.” He gave her a nonchalant shrug and grinned at her.

How he could smile when her heart was breaking she had no idea.

He shook his head at her in what seemed quiet amusement. “I quadrupled the size of Lekten Royal Bank and I have very rentable asset management of my own.”

Siobhan didn’t know what to say, he was lying there beside her, smiling, as if he had just related an anecdote and she was supposed to laugh at it. “Well, it’s not a very funny story.”

“No?” For one second, there wasn’t the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes. He looked so old, the tiny lines at the corner of his mouth gathering as his lips pinched together. And yet he also looked young—impossibly young, as if his five-year-old self were still looking out from behind his eyes, watching his mother send him away.

He looked away from her, and then back. That urbane amusement was back on his face now, but it looked lopsided on him—as if he were trying to wear a hat that didn’t quite fit. “Maybe because you don’t know what freedom I had in the boarding school. The pranks I played.”

“Yes, sure. That might be it,” she agreed because she didn’t have the heart to say otherwise. It has to be a funny story to him. She realized how much it meant to him that this little tale of adults selling themselves for a child be funny. “You must tell me all about boarding school time.”

“Tomorrow, maybe.” He yawned and moved her from his body, just to turn on his side and pull her to his front. That feeling of rightness at having her there intensified. He wanted to put a name on it; identify it. Is it happiness? “Goodnight, Angel.”

“Goodnight, Dragon.” She kissed his bicep and he cinched it tighter around her waist.

Siobhan had noticed two things when she slept with him. He wrapped his arms around her, clasping her as tightly as he would his most treasured prize.

This was the man who had seen marriage through distorted lenses, not once, but twice. He knew in his bones what it meant to have a woman—his own mother—walk away from him, and he’d married a friend, negating the possibility of finding love, because he was afraid of being rejected.

And now he was trying to do the same thing, keep love out of the equation.

Perhaps she could show him there were other ways, that in life and love, two plus two could make five.

Perhaps.