Affairs of State (Daughters of Power: The Capital #6)(12)
Author: Jennifer Lewis

“Goodness.” Eleanor looked dazed.

“Life has been pretty intense this year.” They both sat back down on the sofa. “Sometimes I wonder what else could possibly happen.”

“Don’t tempt fate.” Her mother patted her hand. “But I do hope you get to meet your father soon. I’m so proud of him for being elected president, and I know he’s going to do a wonderful job running the country. He’s off to a great start already. Almost makes me think I should move back.”

Adrenaline surged through Ariella. “You should. It would be so wonderful to have you near. Come live in D.C.! Georgetown, where I live, is quite peaceful really. Lots of trees and lovely old buildings.”

“You make it sound very inviting. Perhaps I have been living in the back of beyond for too long. Hiding away, I suppose.”

“You don’t have to hide from anyone now.”

Eleanor looked doubtful. “I don’t think I could face all those reporters the way you and Ted have. I’d be tongue-tied and embarrass both of you.”

“You couldn’t possibly embarrass either of us. I bet it would be a huge relief to come forward and get it over with. Why don’t you come back to the States with me at the end of the week? I’m leaving on Friday and I can probably get you a ticket on the same plane if I call in a favor or two.”

Eleanor’s hand stiffened. “I…I’m not ready for that.” Once again she felt her mother shrinking away from her. “But I’d very much like to stay in touch with you by phone, and maybe I’ll gradually pluck up the courage to at least come visit you there. And maybe take a trip up to Montana to see all the old friends I’ve avoided for so long. I never told a single soul there about my pregnancy and I’m sure they all wondered what happened when I just disappeared. I stayed in a special home for unwed mothers way outside of town until I was due, and then I took all my saved pennies and left for Chicago after the birth. I couldn’t face any of them knowing I’d given away my own child. Ted’s child. I met Greg there. He’d come from Ireland for the summer to work as a roofer and he swept me off my feet.” Her sad eyes sparkled a little when she spoke about him. “With him I started a new chapter of my life. I never looked back. I felt that if I did I’d fall off some cliff and get swallowed by all the emotion I tried so hard not to feel during that time.” Her pale eyes grew glassy with tears again.

“It’s not good to avoid your true feelings. Sooner or later they’ll come back to bite you. I learned that after my adoptive parents were killed. All that pain is scary, but once you come to terms with it you can move forward. Until then you’re stuck in a place of fear.” She squeezed her mother’s hands, which had softened again.

“You’re very wise, Ariella.”

“I wish I was. I just try to handle one crisis at a time. In my job there’s always another one coming so there’s no point in getting ahead of yourself.”

They laughed, and, taking a cue from the sudden intimacy, Ariella hugged her birth mother for the very first time.

* * *

Simon refused to let Ariella leave England without visiting his home. He promised that he wouldn’t stalk her around London or corner her in private drawing rooms as long as she’d agree to postpone her return flight until the following Monday so she could spend the weekend with him at Whist Castle. He insisted that, in her line of work, staying at one of England’s great country houses counted as research and client cultivation. After a little persuasion, and a conversation with her business partner, Scarlet, she agreed.

He had the staff prepare his mother’s favorite bedroom for Ariella, ostensibly because it had such beautiful views over the lake, but mostly because it had a door connecting it with his own bedroom. It had taken all his gentlemanly self-control to keep all their activities above the neck so far, and he intended to steer them both into unexplored territory this weekend.

His driver brought Ariella up from London on Thursday evening. He had a full schedule of activities planned to keep her entertained and give her a slice of English country life, and he intended to introduce her to the family at a charity polo match taking place nearby on Sunday. This weekend would be an excellent taste of the pleasures and realities of life in the royal family.

The realities, of course, might scare her. There was no denying that his family had rather fixed ideas about whom he should marry. Someone British, with aristocratic heritage and a featureless past that could not draw comment in the press. Of course he’d informed them that he would marry for no reason other than love, but he wasn’t entirely sure they’d listened. He’d been raised to believe that duty trumped all other considerations, including happiness. So far he’d managed to find his own happiness within the confines of his duty, creating opportunities where he saw them. There was no denying that choosing Ariella as his bride would likely draw censure and disapproval.

On the other hand there was no good reason for them to oppose her, and sooner or later they usually saw reason. He just hoped they wouldn’t frighten her too badly.

He tested the handle on the connecting bedroom door, and pocketed the key. No sense filling his head with plans then finding himself locked out. His body throbbed with anticipation of being alone with Ariella. From the first moment he’d seen her, across the ballroom at that gala event, he’d had a powerful sense that she was the one. So far he’d managed to battle all the forces standing between them, and now he was within reach of holding her—naked—in his arms. The prospect heated his blood and fired his imagination.

He hovered at the front windows looking for the approaching car, fighting the urge to phone and see how far away she was, then practically ran down the stairs when it finally nosed up the drive. He couldn’t remember being this eager to see anyone, ever.

Ariella looked radiant, as usual, in a simple black dress, with her long hair flowing over her shoulders. A smile spread across her pretty face as she saw him, and he felt his own face reflect it back. “Welcome to Whist Castle.”

“It’s every bit as beautiful as I’d imagined.”

“I’m glad you think so, too, and you haven’t even seen the grounds yet. Come in.” He fought the urge to slip his arm around her waist, which took a great deal of self-control. “How did your meeting with your mother go?”

“It was amazing.” He glanced at her and saw her smile. “I’d been so worried that she’d seem like a stranger, that maybe we wouldn’t even recognize each other. But I felt an instant connection with her.”

“That’s fantastic. Do you think you’ll see her again soon?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I really hope so. She’s still deathly afraid of publicity and the criticism she’ll face for giving me up and not telling Ted Morrow about me. I got all carried away and started trying to convince her to move to D.C.”

He laughed. “That sounds like the kind of thing I’d do.”

“Too much, too soon?” She smiled. “And then I tried to talk her into visiting Montana with me. I hope I didn’t scare her right away.”

“I’m sure she’s privately thrilled that you’re so glad to meet her and that you want to spend more time with her.”

“I hope so. I really liked her. I plan to call her regularly, and hopefully we’ll build the relationship and take it from there.”

Words to live by. He counseled himself to take the same course with Ariella. Just because he felt a deep conviction that they were meant to be together did not mean that she felt the same way. Gentle persuasion and thoughtfully paced seduction would be the sensible path for him to take, no matter how loudly his more primitive urges begged him to take her in his arms and kiss her hard on the mouth.

He showed her to her room, glancing at the door to his own, but not mentioning it. There would be time for that later. Then he took her on a brief tour of his favorite place in the world—the great hall that had once been a Saxon throne room, and had hosted many riotous dinner parties during his reign there. Then they walked to the oldest part of the building, which held the gallery of paintings collected over the centuries by his ancestors, which included works by Raphael, Titian, Rembrandt, Caravaggio and El Greco, among others.

Ariella was suitably poleaxed. “I think you have a better collection than most museums.”

“I know. I do lend them out to museums from time to time so they’re not entirely hidden away in my lair. I am lucky to have had ancestors with such good taste.”

“Have you ever had your portrait painted?” She glanced up at a majestic Van Dyke portrait of a young Charles II.

“Never. They’d have to nail me down to keep me still enough.”

“I think that’s a shame. I’d love to be able to stare at a magnificent painting of you.”

“Why, when you can eyeball the real thing?” They’d been unabashedly eyeing each other since she walked through the door. Their days apart had created sexual tension thick enough to fog windows.

“What kind of setting do you think would suit you?” She looked him up and down, as if wondering whether a landscape or interior might be better. His skin heated under his clothes as her green gaze drifted from his face, to his torso, and lower…

“Definitely the outdoors. Hanging off a mountain, maybe.”

“That’s a great idea. And these days they can snap a picture to work from so you only have to stay in the same place for a microsecond. Think of all those poor starving artists who would love to become the royal court painter. I think it’s your duty to be a patron of the arts.”

“I hadn’t looked at it that way.”

She swept down the hallway, and he hesitated for a moment to enjoy the swinging motion of her h*ps inside her fitted dress, before striding after her.

* * *

Simon’s castle was very ancient, but with wear from centuries of loving use, it felt like a home rather than a monument. And Simon thought of everything to make her comfortable: tea and scones on the terrace overlooking a lake with water lilies in full bloom, an art collection that could make you weep with its magnificence and a sunlit bedroom with a view of the lake.

Still, she wasn’t entirely relaxed. This weekend would undoubtedly take their relationship to a new level, one way or another. She was on his turf, at his mercy. She had no idea what he had planned for the weekend and he’d told her not to worry, she was in good hands. Which made her very nervous. She was used to being in charge and making plans and booking the entertainment. What if he decided to spring the queen on her as a surprise? With Simon around she knew she’d better be prepared for anything.

“I told the staff we’ll fend for ourselves at dinner.” Simon led her back from the art gallery into a sweeping living room with a high wooden ceiling. “I make a mean spag bol.”

“Is that a British way of saying spaghetti bolognese?”

He winked. “And they say Americans don’t bother to learn other languages.”

He was actually going to cook? She’d tell her beating heart to be still if she thought it would do any good. Dressed in khakis and a white shirt, he looked classically handsome. And the ever present twinkle of mischief in his eyes always sent her pulse racing. “I’ll have you know I speak Spanish and French, and I intend to study Chinese as soon as I can find the time.”

He smiled. “I’m impressed. Of course I’d have expected no less of you. You’re disturbingly perfect.”

“I am not.” She felt her face heat. Now he was making her blush? So much for her famous cool and poised demeanor. “I have many flaws.”

“Name one. No, wait.” He walked across the room to a wooden cabinet, then pulled out a bottle of wine. “I think we’ll enjoy an excellent wine while we discuss your flaws.” He uncorked the bottle with muscular ease, and poured the rich red wine into two glasses.

Her flaws? Was this like a job interview where she was supposed to have flaws like being too much of a perfectionist, or excessively punctual? Or could she be honest?

It’s not like she was trying to get him to fall in love with her.

Their fingers touched as she took the glass from him, sending a jolt of warmth to her core. “One flaw. Hmm. I’m a terrible speller. I always have to get someone to reread important documents. I’m quite capable of spelling my own name wrong.”

“That’s nothing. I’m dyslexic.”

“Are you really? I had no idea.”

“So you’ll need a more impressive flaw than that, I’m afraid.” They settled into a wide leather sofa. He peered at her as he sipped his wine. “A fatal flaw, perhaps. Or else I’ll just keep insisting that you’re perfect.”

“I can be quite impatient.”

“Nonsense. Look at how you’ve handled the press. Most women would have had a tantrum or two by now. Next!” His eyes sparkled.