Page 30 of Fit for a King

“Baxter,” Nicholas greeted my boss.

God. Could this get any worse?

“Your Majesty, the lord chancellor has arrived.”

“Very good.” I heard movement behind me, indicating Nicholas had gotten to his feet, and I had no idea how he was keeping his composure when I could barely breathe. “I’ll be there shortly. If you’ll please make sure he’s comfortable?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Thank you, Baxter.”

“Your Majesty,” Baxter said, and the door clicked shut.

I let out a shaky breath, hardly believing what had almost happened. What Baxter had almost walked in on.

“Are you okay?”

The voice was soft and close enough to startle me, and I whirled around to see Nicholas standing only feet away. It was crazy how different he appeared standing as opposed to sitting, somehow more untouchable, bigger than life.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, and when he frowned, I wanted to bite my tongue.

He’d asked me to call him Nicholas. But it somehow felt too personal now that we weren’t in that moment.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, and he reached out to put a hand over mine where I held the rinsed towel.

“Thank you for the shave,” he said. “I enjoyed it, very much.”

“You’re welcome.” He raised a brow, and for a second I got a glimpse of the person behind the crown. The man who was just that—a man. “So did I.”

Nicholas smiled then, actually smiled, then nodded and turned to cross the room to the door. “Have a good afternoon, Bennett. I know I will.”

10

NOAH

CHARLIE WAS ABOUT three seconds away from being murdered by a monarch.

Nicholas had that look on his face, the one I’d quickly learned made every staff member within a ten-foot radius try their best to blend in with the wall.

Unfortunately for Charlie, there wasn’t a wall anywhere nearby. He was standing beside the refreshment table on the south lawn, staring down at the mess he’d just made during the royals’ tennis match with Henry Beaumont, Marquess of Blackthorne, and his wife.

I, on the other hand, was trying not to smirk at the karma that had befallen my dear old friend who’d given me such helpful advice my first day at Montclair. Charlie was as pale as the tennis whites Nicholas and Gabriel were wearing, which was a vast difference from the way he’d been laughing and joking with Gabriel only moments ago.

“Charlie,” Gabriel had called out from the far side of the court. “If I collapse from heatstroke, tell the world I died beating the Marquess of Blackthorne.”

Charlie had only grinned and shaken his head. “I’d never lie, Your Royal Highness.”

Gabriel clutched at his chest, giving an exaggerated gasp. “Cruelty from below stairs. On a Tuesday.” When the guests chuckled at that, he winked at Charlie. “You’ll tell everyone if it’s my royal command. And it is.”

Nicholas stood a few feet away, ball in one hand, an annoyed expression on his handsome face. “Are you two finished?”

“Ah, it seems my dear brother is in an incredible hurry to win,” Gabriel said, and pointed his racket at Nicholas. “Go on, then.”

Nicholas cut his eyes at Charlie in a warning not to engage, which my fellow footman really should’ve seen—if he weren’t so busy enjoying the fact he’d made royalty laugh.

I was just glad not to be on the receiving end of that glare. Actually, I was glad Nicholas was completely preoccupied, because I was standing by the towels trying very hard not to think about him in any way other than as my boss, the king.