His Majesty's Mistake

“If I stay and eat, would you at least reconsider your decision to send me to London?”

“No,” he answered bluntly. “My decision has been made.”

“But you can change it.”

“I won’t. I stand by my decision. It is the right one.”

“Please.” Her voice dropped to a husky note and broke. “Please. I don’t want to go to London—”

“Hannah.”

“I’ll do better. I’ll work harder.” Her voice cracked. “It doesn’t seem fair to just throw me away after four years—”

“I am not throwing you away!” He was on his feet and starting toward her but then stopped himself. “And don’t beg. You’ve no reason to beg. It’s beneath you, especially when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“If I haven’t done anything wrong, why am I being sent away?”

“Because sometimes change is necessary.”

Emmeline’s heart felt as if it was breaking. She’d failed Hannah again. She reached up to wipe a tear away before it fell. Her hand was trembling so hard that she missed the tear and had to try again.

“Don’t.”

“What? I’m not allowed to hurt? To have emotions? I’m supposed to just let you send me away as if I don’t care?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because your job is to make my life easier and you’re not.”

“How terrible.”

“But true.”

She struggled to catch another tear. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to be human—”

“I realize you’re disappointed, but this isn’t personal, and I’d like you to remain professional. So if you could pull yourself together and have a seat—”

“No.”

His nostrils flared. A small muscle popped in his jaw. “No?” he repeated, his voice velvet-soft. “Did I hear you correctly?”

Her lower lip quivered. “Yes.”

He moved toward her, a deep hard line between his black eyebrows. “That’s insubordination, Miss Smith.”

“I won’t be bullied.”

“I’m not a bully, I’m your boss.” He was before her now, and standing so close that she had to tip her head back to see his face. “Or have you forgotten?”

She’d always thought his eyes were a cool silver-gray, but with him just inches away, she could see that his eyes burned and glowed like molten pewter.

“Haven’t forgotten,” she whispered, her courage starting to fade, as he dwarfed her, not just in height, but in sheer size. His shoulders were immense, his chest broad, his body muscular and strong. But he overpowered her in other ways—made her feel fragile and foolish and terribly emotional.

“Perhaps you’d care to apologize?”

There was a lethal quality to his voice, a leashed tension in his stance. It crossed her mind that she’d pushed him too far, demanded too much. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” His voice was so rough and deep it sounded like a growl.

She was mesmerized by the tiny gold flecks in his gray eyes. That’s why up close his eyes looked warmer. His eyes weren’t a cold gray. They had bits of the desert’s gold sun and sand in them. “I’ve botched it all up.” Her voice dropped and the air caught in her lungs. “Again.”

He was silent, and then he gave his head the slightest of shakes. “I can’t do this with you.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, nodded her head.

“But I do accept your apology,” he added.

Eyes still closed, she nodded again.

“Hannah.”

She couldn’t look at him, she couldn’t, not when she was so overwhelmed by everything.

“Hannah, open your eyes.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll see … you’ll see …”

“What?” he demanded, tipping her chin up with a finger.

She opened her eyes, looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears. “Me.”

For a long, endless moment he simply stared into her eyes. “And why would that be a bad thing?”

The unexpected tenderness in his voice made her heart seize. “Because you don’t like me.”

He exhaled hard. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Absolutely.” And then his head abruptly dropped, blocking the moon, and his lips covered hers.

It was the last thing she’d expected. The last thing she wanted. She froze, her lips stiff beneath his. For a second she even forgot how to breathe, and the air bottled in her lungs until her head began to spin and little dots danced before her eyes.