The Scotch King (Scotch 1)

I approached from behind her then extended my arm.

It took her a moment to realize what I was asking. She took my arm and held herself with elegance, the way Frans taught her. She kept her shoulders back, her chest up, and she blended in with everyone else.

She turned her lips to my ear. “Do I look nervous?”

“No. You look beautiful.”

She released the air she was holding, relaxing slightly.

I guided her to the entrance but stopped to say hello to Lord Provost. I introduced him to London and we made small talk for a few moments before we continued onward. Next, I ran into the First Minister of Scotland, Nicola Sturgeon. I made the introductions, and we discussed a few matters of the scotch business before I continued forward.

“The President of Scotland is a woman?” London asked in surprise.

“Yes. Why is that strange?”

“In America, we’d be lucky to ever have a female president. So far, it’s never happened.”

I tried not to insult other people’s countries. It was in my royal blood. “Hopefully, it’ll happen someday. Nicola has been the First Minister for three years now. She’s done an excellent job.” I continued speaking in my Scottish accent now that we were among the monarchs of the United Kingdom.

She smiled. “I think you sound cute when you talk like that.”

“Cute?” Cute was an insult for a guy like me.

“Sexy. Is that better?”

I stopped walking and stared at her, caught by surprise from her compliment. She never said anything nice to me, except when she showed her concern about my drinking and smoking. And even then, she claimed she didn’t give a damn about me. “You think I’m sexy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not play games anymore, Crewe.”

“I wasn’t playing them to begin with.” I stared her down, watching her expression.

“We both know I’m attracted to you. I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it.” I continued to walk forward with London still on my arm. Now I wished we could have a moment alone together, even if it was just to share a heated kiss. But that would have to wait until later.

I introduced London to a lot of people and explained a lot of titles she would have to write down if she ever had any hope of memorizing them. I only knew these things because of my early childhood.

When I introduced her to the queen, London hid her nerves well. She smiled like she belonged there, greeted her correctly, and even shared a few words with her about the beauty of the palace.

I’d known the queen for a short period of time, since she was simply so much older than me. But I could tell when she adored someone—as rarely as it happened. And she had genuine affection for this woman she’d just met.

The queen and I shared a few more words before we took our seats in the outside garden. Overhead lights streamed across the tables, and the garden was blooming with summer flowers. Waiters brought delicacies and never let a glass go empty.

Lord Provost sat on my left while London sat on my right. I engaged in conversation about the general happenings in Scotland. He asked me about Stirling Castle, and I gave him a polite answer. His wife sat beside him, beautiful but clearly bored.

Dinner was served, and the quiet conversations continued.

London ate everything on her plate even though she hardly ever had much of an appetite. She never asked what anything was even though it probably wasn’t obvious to a foreigner. She did her best to be as respectful as possible, even though she was trapped at my side.

The First Minister took to the stage and began the award ceremony, recognizing Scottish citizens for their contributions to the territory, as well as the United Kingdom as a whole. They listed off a few names, one man serving in the military, and another for her social work at an orphanage.

And then they called my name.

“The Duke of Rothesay. For excellence in preserving history and tradition, the scotch created in this glorious country continues to give Scotland its fine name. In addition to his founding and continued support of Aberlour Child Care Trust.”

The audience erupted in applause, and I rose from my seat, catching a glimpse of the shocked expression on London’s face, and then walked to the front to be kissed by the queen and receive my award. Photographers took our picture before I returned to my seat.

London still looked shocked. “Did you know?”

I nodded then sipped my wine.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

“Because I wanted to see the look on your face—and I did.”

18

London

As the night progressed, we were moved inside the palace for dessert and wine. Men lit up cigars, and people spoke quietly together, the mingling continuing. Even though I knew the date, it seemed like I had stepped back in time to another era. I was standing among monarchs whose blood ran deep into history.