CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
The glass slipped from Amelia’s hand and landed on the bed. Neither she nor Asher made a move to pick it up. They just sat there, staring at each other, while Amelia tried to process what he’d just told her.
“I’m right,” she said woodenly. How could Asher possibly know that? Had he ever met Holden? Did Asher even know who he was? “I don’t understand.”
“I saw him.” Asher shook his head slightly, then corrected himself. “I saw them. I walked in on them and saw something I shouldn’t have.”
“You saw them? When? Where?” Amelia shook her head. This didn’t make sense. He had to be mistaken.
He didn’t look mistaken, though. His mouth was flattened into a thin line and his eyes were grim.
He looked 100 percent sure.
“At Westminster Abbey. Today. That’s why I came to your room earlier. I was going to tell you. I thought you deserved to know.” He reached for her hand and wove his fingers through hers.
She liked the way her hand felt intertwined with Asher’s. He had lovely hands. Hands filled with music.
“Holden and Lady Wentworth were together at the Abbey?” That took nerve. But at the same time, it made sense.
She’d just run into them at Cadogan Hall the other day. She’d been so shocked to see Holden there that she’d barely noticed the strange looks that had passed between him and Wilhelmina. She’d assumed they’d been suspicious of her dubious explanation for being there. That hadn’t been it at all.
“Yes.” The pad of Asher’s thumb traced a soothing circle over the back of Amelia’s hand. He looked at it, seemed to realize what he was doing, and stopped. “I don’t want you to think I’m telling you about Holden because of what’s happening between us. I’m telling you because you deserve the truth.”
Her heart began beating hard in her chest. “Something is happening between us?”
They could talk about it now. She could say it out loud. Holden’s affair changed everything. If he wasn’t playing by the rules, then neither was she.
“You know there is,” Asher said. Then he took her hand and placed it on his chest so she could feel his heartbeat.
It galloped just as frantically as hers did.
That was all the encouragement Amelia needed. She leaned toward him and touched her lips to his, and this time it was a tender kiss. Gentle. Reverent. Full of honesty and longing.
She could feel it in the heat rising from his body. She could taste the yearning in his kiss. Every square inch of his beautiful body was hard.
But at the same time, everything had changed. There was an undeniable purity in the way they touched each other now. An innocence that hadn’t been there before.
They weren’t betraying anyone.
Amelia couldn’t marry Holden now. She wouldn’t. Somewhere in the back of her mind, beneath the swirl of pleasure that coursed through her when she shifted on the bed so that she was facing Asher, straddling his lean hips with his erection pressed hard against her center, she realized things weren’t so simple. The wedding was in just under fourteen hours. A bank holiday had been declared. Shops would be closed. Right this very minute, people were camped out on the Mall so they could have a front-row spot for all the pomp and circumstance that came with a royal wedding.
England was preparing for the party of a decade.
But she didn’t want to think about that now. Not tonight. Not after fate had given her such a divine gift. Not while she was in Asher Reed’s bed.
“So lovely,” he whispered against her neck as he slid his hands up the back of her blouse and splayed them against her bare back.
“More,” she murmured. She wanted more of him. More of his skin touching hers. More of his mouth on her body. She wanted all of him. Everything he had to give.
She lifted her shirt over her head and even before she could toss it aside, Asher’s hands were cupping her breasts. He kissed her nipples, running his tongue lightly over one, then the other. The scrape of his five-o’clock shadow against her softest, most sensitive flesh was exquisite. She loved the raw masculinity of his body, the way she felt so small and delicate in his embrace. Not like a princess . . . like a woman.
“I need you,” she whispered, burying her hands in his hair and holding him close, anchoring him to her breast.
Truer words had never been spoken. She needed him. She needed this. She’d spent far too long fighting her attraction to him. No matter how hard she tried, no matter what she did, it was always there, humming beneath the surface. Always, always there.
“I want to see you,” he said. His voice was a low rumble that she could feel deep inside. “All of you.”
You already have, she thought as he undressed her and her breath grew shallow with anticipation. She’d shown him parts of herself that she’d never shown anyone. Not the perfect, regal exterior, but the hidden, messy parts that so often got lost beneath the luster of the crown.
She’d been real with Asher. From the moment they met, there’d been nothing but brutal honesty in their eyes. He’d seen her that night in the Abbey. Before she’d even shown him her face, he’d known her. His music had resonated with her in a way that made her feel more connected to a living soul than she’d felt in a long, long time. Perhaps ever.
“My God, Amelia. You’re stunning,” he groaned when she was fully exposed, bared for him. “I want to kiss you everywhere, touch you everywhere.”
She nodded and inhaled a shuddering breath. She wasn’t sure how long she could bear the searing heat that had begun to flow through her—thick and sweet, like honey. She needed to take him inside, to hold him tight. To know him as thoroughly as he’d known her.
Asher bent to kiss her again, and as her eyes drifted shut, his hand found her center. He slipped a finger inside her, and she cried into his mouth.
“Shh,” he whispered against her lips. “Slow down, love. I want to do this right. We have time.”
Did they though?
Did they really?
Don’t think about that now. Don’t think about what comes next.
She moved her hips in time with Asher’s hand, seeking relief to the chaos inside. She loved the way he touched her—like she was a precious instrument and he knew all the right ways to draw out her most soulful harmony. As he did . . . as he played her to perfection and she slipped into the dreamlike rhythm of his melody, she forgot about the time they didn’t have. She let it go, along with everything else, and made the most of the moment.
ASHER WASN’T GOING TO be able to wait much longer.
He was doing his best to draw things out, to take Amelia right to the edge and then gently, slowly, bring her back again . . . to keep the crescendo just out of reach. He wanted this to be good for her. Perfect. He wanted her to remember him once he’d gone, because even if she didn’t marry Holden, Asher knew good and well there was no real future for them.
She was a princess.
If she didn’t marry the duke, another man would come along. Not a man with a cello, but one with a crown. That seemed important for some reason. Necessary.
Asher harbored no illusions. He wasn’t even British. He knew he wasn’t necessary to the monarchy, but he wanted to be necessary to her. To Amelia. He wanted her to remember this night for the rest of her life. He wanted her to think about him years from now when her prince touched her. He wanted her to picture his face and wish it were him.
He wanted her to remember.
Maybe that made him a selfish prick, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t think straight where Amelia was concerned. If he’d been capable of rational thought, she wouldn’t be in his bed, writhing so beautifully as he stroked her and whispered how badly he needed his cock inside her. He would have never kissed her, much less grazed her nipples with gentle bites of his teeth until her supple spine arched like a bow.
He wanted her in ways he’d never conceived of. He didn’t know who he was anymore. Sex had never been this intense for him. But everything about his life seemed to be shifting lately. He was experiencing some kind of sea change, and Amelia was part of it. She was the deep end of the ocean, and he was hell-bent on drowning.
“Now, Asher. Please.” He undressed in a frenzy and his entire body sighed with relief when he lowered himself on top of Amelia and they were finally skin-to-skin.
No barriers. No protocol. Just the two of them.
Amelia took him in her hands to guide him to her entrance, and he groaned his pleasure. In the moment before he pushed inside her velvet heat, he whispered, “This, my love. We’ll always have this.”
No matter what happened come morning.
AMELIA WOKE IN A panic, with her head on Asher’s chest and her legs wound deliciously with his. Sometime during the hazy hours right before dawn, she’d had a revelation. It might have come to her in a dream, or her subconscious may have been working overtime trying to come up with a way to cancel the wedding and still save the crown. Somehow she’d done it. She’d figured it out, but there was something very important she needed to do before it was too late.
She needed to get the pocket watch back. The watch was the key to her freedom.
Amelia sat up and scanned the darkened room with her gaze, searching for her clothes.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Asher murmured, reaching to run a hand through her hair.
She closed her eyes and dipped her head back, leaning into his touch. She could stay right there in his bed all day long. Maybe they could barricade the door and lock themselves inside until the hour of the wedding had passed.
No. That wouldn’t work, obviously. It was time to face the music.
“I need to go talk to my mother,” she said.
Asher grew very still. “Does this mean what I hope it means?”
“Possibly.” She swallowed. “I mean, yes. Definitely. It does.”
He sat up, swept the hair from her face, and looked into her eyes for a long, loaded moment. “It’s okay if it doesn’t. But if you’re free today, there’s someplace I’d like to take you.”
“Are you asking me out on a date, Asher Reed?” She giggled. It seemed inconceivable that she could relax enough to laugh when she had a wedding to cancel and a throne to secure, but Asher managed to make her do it.
He winked. “I am.”
“I’ll be back. I promise.” She kissed him. Long and hard. But as she hurried into her clothes, a voice in the back of her head seemed to whisper. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
Fifteen minutes later, Amelia was situated on her mother’s floral sofa. She’d gone straight from Asher’s bed to the queen’s sitting room. “I need the pocket watch. Where is it?”
“Amelia.” Her mother looked her up and down. “What have you done to yourself? You look like a mess. The wedding is in a matter of hours!”
Amelia could see a trace of her reflection in the large pane windows that overlooked the palace courtyard. Her mother was right. She was a mess. Probably because she’d done the walk of shame down the entire length of Queen’s Hall.
Did it really matter what she looked like? There wasn’t going to be a wedding. As soon as she had the pocket watch back, she could formulate some kind of plan. That watch was more precious than the gold it was crafted of. It was her evidence. Her smoking gun. The Becketts could threaten to go public with their ancestor’s diary all they wanted. If they did, pictures of the pocket watch would be splashed on the front page of every tabloid in London, right next to photographs of Lady Wentworth’s engraved pendant. She’d been wearing the necklace faithfully for years. Finding a picture of it would be easy.
Amelia just needed the watch.
She was starting to wonder why her mother hadn’t opened a drawer and retrieved it yet.
“Eleanor and I had a hen do last night. We had a bit to drink, and I slept in my clothes.” It was two-thirds true, anyway.
Amelia fully intended to tell her family about Asher when the time was right.
Probably.
Either way, the morning of her wedding wasn’t the right time by any stretch of the imagination.
“A hen do?” Amelia’s mother looked at her in horror. “You’re a royal bride, or have you forgotten?”
I wish. “The watch, mum. Where is it?”
The queen sighed. “Not here. Why would I still have it?”
A tight knot of panic wound its way around Amelia’s heart. “You told me you’d get to the bottom of things. I gave you the watch so you could figure out if it meant Holden was having an affair with Lady Wentworth, remember?”
Her voice sounded borderline hysterical. Why was she having to explain this again?
“I remember, Amelia. But I never said I’d return the pocket watch to you. If you’ll recall, you never asked me to do any such thing.”
Was that true?
It couldn’t be, could it? She would’ve insisted that her mother return it. The watch was important.
Although she hadn’t realized quite how important it was until Asher told her what he’d witnessed. Still, she had to get it back. Either that, or she just assumed her mother would know.
Oh no.
She’d assumed, hadn’t she? Why would she do that? She and her mother were never on the same page. Never ever.
This was a colossal mistake. The worst screwup of her life.
Don’t panic. You just need to find out where it is and get it back. You can fix this.
Everything would be okay. It had to.
She took a calming inhale and did her best not to scream. “Mum, what did you do with the watch? I need to get it back.”
“Holden has it, darling.” The queen glanced at the opened diary on her desk. “The hairdressers are due to arrive in five minutes. Go along now. You don’t want to keep them waiting.”
Amelia couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. The world was crashing down around her feet.
Her mother frowned at her. “Amelia, what’s gotten into you this morning? You’re not still upset about the watch, are you? I thought you would have calmed down by now. I spoke to Holden personally, and he assured me that it was a simple token of friendship. There’s nothing at all to worry about.”
Nothing at all to worry about.
Except that yesterday Holden and Lady Wentworth had been busy shagging in the bathroom at Westminster Abbey.
But she couldn’t say that, could she? She had no proof. Not one shred of evidence. It would be her word against Holden’s. The Beckett diaries against the crown.
She was right back to square one, just like a month ago when she’d gotten engaged.
“Mum, I . . .” She swallowed. I want to call off the wedding. “I’m just not sure he’s telling the truth.”
“It’s a little late to worry about that now, don’t you think? Darling, the archbishop is waiting. A billion people all over the world are sitting in front of the telly waiting for you to walk down the aisle. You’re getting married.”
Today.
She was getting married today.
ASHER HAD STOPPED GLANCING at the clock.
Every time he did, he felt as if it shaved years off his life. And there was something wrong with the way the timepieces in the palace worked . . . the hands on the clocks were all moving at warp speed today. Too fucking fast.
Where was she?
Was she with him?
He hated himself for contemplating that question. Holden was no threat to what Amelia and Asher shared. She didn’t love him. She never had. When she’d learned about his affair, her first reaction had been relief. Not hurt, not devastation. Just the sweet assurance that she hadn’t been imagining things after all.
It matters because she could still marry him.
She wouldn’t, though. Right?
Asher wouldn’t let her. He’d storm the Abbey if necessary. He’d confront her lying, cheating fiancé himself if he had to.
Except it wasn’t his choice to make. It was Amelia’s. He’d made love to her. Once. That didn’t make them engaged. It didn’t even make them lovers. Maybe the only thing it meant was that his chest would feel like it had a gaping hole in it while he watched Holden Beckett put a ring on Amelia’s finger.
The doorknob to the Blue Room twisted, and Asher died a thousand deaths in the time it took the door to open and reveal James on the other side of the threshold. He didn’t even try to mask his disappointment. He stayed seated at the foot of the unmade bed and dropped his head into his hands.
James cleared his throat. “Mr. Reed, would you like some help getting dressed for the ceremony?”
Asher looked up. “Do me a favor today, will you? No sirs, no Mr. Reeds. Call me Asher. Please.”
If James was going to see him in his weakest, most vulnerable moment, he could at least call Asher by his name.
Besides, Asher needed a friend. He may never have needed one quite as much as he did now.
“As you wish, Asher.” James smiled, but beneath the friendly expression there was a sadness that cut Asher bone deep.
James’s gaze flitted to the unmade bed and its pale blue tangle of sheets. He knew. Asher didn’t know how, but he knew.
“Give it to me straight, James. Do I really need to put on a tuxedo right now? Will that be necessary?” Asher focused on the floor and the plush blue carpet. He didn’t want to see the look on James’s face when he gave him the bad news.
He’d known it was coming the moment she’d left. She’d taken everything good out of the room with her. She’d taken the music. The silence had been unbearable.
“The queen has called for the coach,” James said gently. “I’m afraid the coach only comes out for coronations, the opening of Parliament, and royal weddings.”
Asher stared at that godforsaken carpet so hard that it began to blur before his eyes. “So she’s going through with it.”
James sighed and came to sit down at the foot of the bed beside Asher. “It appears so. I’m sorry, Asher.”
“So am I, friend,” Asher said. “So am I.”
They sat in silence for several long minutes, until Willow slipped quietly through the dog door and curled into a dejected pile at Asher’s feet.
Then they all sat just a few minutes more.