LONDON'S POINT OF VIEW
London took Dunbar's hand despite her dislike of him and stepped out of the car. Several members of Parliament were gathered near the entrance, probably discussing the afternoon parade.
Crewe joined her and offered his arm.
It took her a moment to understand the gesture. Then she took his arm and carried herself elegantly, just as Frans had taught her. Shoulders back and head held high, she blended in with the guests.
She leaned toward his ear.
"Do I look nervous?"
"No. You look beautiful."
She let out a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly.
He guided her toward the entrance, stopping to greet the Lord Provost. He introduced London, and they chatted briefly before moving on. Then they came across Scotland's First Minister, Nicola Sturgeon. Crewe made the introductions, and they discussed the Scotch whisky industry before continuing.
"The leader of Scotland is a woman?" London asked in surprise.
"Yes. Why is that strange?"
"In the United States, we'd be lucky to have a female president. It's never happened so far."
Crewe never insulted foreign countries. It was part of his royal upbringing.
"I hope it happens one day. Nicola has been First Minister for three years. She's doing an excellent job."
His Scottish accent became more noticeable whenever he was around members of the British monarchy.
She smiled.
"I think you're cute when you talk like that."
"Cute?"
That sounded like an insult to a man like him.
"Sexy. Is that better?"
He stopped and looked at her, surprised by the compliment. She rarely said anything nice to him, except when she worried about his drinking and smoking. Even then, she insisted she didn't care about him.
"You think I'm sexy?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Let's stop playing this game, Crewe."
"I'm not playing."
He studied her expression carefully.
"We both know you're attracted to me. I think that's pretty obvious."
"That doesn't mean I don't like hearing it."
He started walking again, London on his arm. He wished they could have a private moment together, even if it was only for a kiss. But that would have to wait.
He introduced London to many people and explained numerous noble titles she would have needed to write down if she wanted any chance of remembering them. He only knew those things because he had learned them as a child.
When he introduced her to the Queen, London managed to hide her nervousness. She smiled naturally, greeted her according to protocol, and even exchanged a few words about the beauty of the palace.
Crewe had not known the Queen for very long because she was much older than he was. But he could tell when she enjoyed someone's company—and that was rare. Apparently, she had taken a genuine liking to this young woman she had just met.
The Queen and Crewe exchanged a few words before everyone took their seats in the garden. Lanterns hung above the tables, and the air was filled with the fragrance of summer flowers. Servers brought sweets and made sure no glass was ever empty.
The Lord Provost sat on Crewe's left, and London on his right. He started a conversation about current events in Scotland. The Lord Provost asked him questions about Stirling Castle, which he answered politely. The man's wife sat beside him. She was beautiful but clearly bored.
Dinner was served, and the conversations continued.
London ate everything on her plate, even though she usually had a small appetite. She never asked what any of the dishes were, even though it couldn't have been easy for a foreigner. She did her best to be respectful, despite being seated beside him.
The First Minister took the stage and opened the awards ceremony, which honored Scottish citizens for their contributions to Scotland and the United Kingdom. Several names were announced—a soldier, a woman recognized for her work in an orphanage.
Then they called Crewe's name.
"The Duke of Rothesay. Award of Excellence for the Preservation of History and Traditions. Thanks to him, the Scotch produced in this great nation continues to promote Scotland throughout the world. We also thank him for his support of the Aberlour Children's Foundation."
The audience applauded. Crewe rose from his seat, catching the astonished look on London's face before making his way to the podium. The Queen greeted him, and he accepted his award. Cameras flashed constantly before he returned to his seat.
London still looked stunned.
"You knew about this?"
He nodded and took a sip of wine.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.
"Because I wanted to see that expression on your face—and I did."
---
LONDON'S POINT OF VIEW
As night fell, everyone was invited inside the palace for dessert. The men lit cigars, and guests chatted peacefully, continuing to mingle. Even though I knew what year it was, I felt as though I had traveled back to another era. I was surrounded by monarchs whose bloodlines ran through history itself.
Including my date.
Crewe was sociable when speaking with people he had known since childhood—princes from distant lands and foreign monarchs. His hand usually rested around my waist, keeping me close as if he feared I might run away.
We approached the dessert buffet, where the sweets looked almost unreal because they were so beautiful. I wanted to try one of the cakes, but I was terrified of staining my dress. Normally, I wouldn't have cared. But this dress had cost a fortune, and I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of all these nobles.
"Are you going to have something?" Crewe asked softly beside me.
"I'd like to, but... I probably shouldn't."
I placed a hand on my stomach.
He rolled his eyes.
"You're breathtakingly beautiful, and you know it. You could eat everything on this table and still be the most beautiful woman in the room."
His compliment went straight to my heart, and suddenly I felt warm—a warmth that had nothing to do with the wine.
"I'm afraid I'll stain my dress..."
"Oh..."
He hid a smile behind his wine glass.
"Well, yeah. You'd better not do that."
I managed to turn away from the tempting desserts, though I secretly knew I would regret not tasting everything at this dinner.
"I want to ask you something."
"Great," he sighed. "I knew the questions were coming."
"You sell information to people, right?"
His eyes darkened immediately.
"Yes. It's one of my businesses."
"So you spend time with all these monarchs as if they're your friends, then betray them by selling their secrets for money? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem rich enough not to need that."
I couldn't keep the accusation out of my voice. Sometimes he did things that surprised me in a good way, and then I remembered he also did things that were unforgivable.
"You're partly right."
"Why do you do it?"
He didn't even try to look guilty.
"I have my reasons."
"There's another reason besides money?"
He discreetly glanced around to make sure nobody was listening.
"I don't sell information about my allies. That would be betrayal."
I frowned in confusion.
"I don't understand..."
He turned his back to the room, giving us a little more privacy, and lowered his voice.
"A lot of these officials have information about other parts of the world—countries that pose a threat. I collect that information and sell it to the highest bidder."
It was still confusing, but it sounded less terrible than I had imagined.
"And what's the point?"
He took a sip of wine.
"To bring down leaders without declaring war."
This wasn't just about money. It seemed like an enormous undertaking for a wealthy man of royal blood.
"There's something you're not telling me."
His eyes softened as he looked into mine.
"As a member of Scottish royalty, I can't act directly against the men I despise. If I did, it would be considered an act of war by the United Kingdom. The Queen is a peaceful woman who has already lived through a world war. I doubt she wants another."
He drank again, his dark eyes alive with restrained aggression.
"So basically, you sell information to people who share a common enemy?"
He nodded.
"Exactly."
"And you make money at the same time?"
He nodded again.
"You're beautiful and intelligent."
The compliment barely registered because I was too focused on the conversation.
"Who is your enemy, and why?"
It was a personal question, but after sleeping beside him for two months, I felt entitled to ask.
He slipped one hand into his pocket and glanced around once more.
"Russia. Not its people, but its leaders. General Secretary Boris Peskov is responsible for the deaths of my parents and my older brother, Alec."
I had wondered about his family during dinner. If they were alive, they would have been there. I had already assumed they were dead. I just didn't know their deaths had been caused by a violation of international law.
"I... I'm sorry."
I truly felt sorry for him. I felt sorrow for the man who kept me captive against my will. When he suffered, I suffered too. He didn't deserve my sympathy, and yet he had it.
I nestled against his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him because it was the only thing I knew how to do.
He stiffened at first, then wrapped his arms around my waist. He rested his chin on my head and took a deep breath, his broad chest rising against my cheek.
"That was a long time ago."
When I pulled away, I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a brief kiss. Our lips brushed together, tasting faintly of wine and Scotch. Then I stepped back, knowing I shouldn't show him too much affection in a public place like this.
He stared at me blankly, as if he couldn't quite believe what I had just done.
"What happened?" I finally asked.
He looked at me for a few moments longer. Then his brown eyes softened like melted chocolate. He set his empty glass on a passing server's tray and slipped his other hand into his pocket.
"My father was a duke and a diplomat. They traveled to Russia to discuss an international children's program. During the drive from the airport to the palace, a lone gunman opened fire on their car and killed both of my parents. Alec survived and was rescued by Russian police. But he mysteriously became ill during transport and died before he could return home. I was very young, so I had stayed in Glasgow with Finley. I was only six years old."
I didn't know what to say. The story was horrifying and tragic. One day his family had left home, and they never came back.
"Did they at least identify the shooter?"
Crewe shook his head.
"No. I believe the Russian General Secretary was behind it."
"That's a serious accusation..."
"I have my reasons," he said calmly. "I discovered that he was in love with my mother. He pursued her, but she rejected him. Then she married my father, someone with more money and power. I suspect he never got over that rejection. So he had them killed—including their eldest son."
To be CONTINUED....