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Bloody hell.
As his face burned and his spine smarted from its unwanted adjustment, tears streamed down his face. So much for making a better impression.
He felt like a fucking idiot.
“Is he okay?” Duchess asked, distress discernible in her tone.
“He will be,” Margery said, her prior pounding dwindling tosoothing circles. “Can you bring me some water? The pitcher is on the counter in the kitchen, through that door.”
“Of course.”
And then Margery was pressing the cool glass into his hand.
“There, love,” she murmured. “Slowly.”
He was once again that little boy who’d come into the kitchen for his snack and hit his knee on the chair because he hadn’t been watching where he was going, his head forever in a book.
The tidal wave of his embarrassment threatened to pull him under, but he fought it, focusing instead on taking sips of water and breathing in through his nose until his vision cleared. Recovered, he wiped his face with a napkin and forced himself to look up.
Duchess stood across from him, lovely in soft pink joggers, a matching jumper that fell teasingly off one shoulder, and her hair in big soft ringlets. Her hands gripped the top rail of the chair, her expressive eyes worried and cautious.
“Pardon me.”
She waved a hand. “You don’t need to apologize. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Great.” Save his bruised ego. He took another sip of water. “What are you doing here?”
The concern fled her face. She pursed her lips. “Even from my banishment in the east wing tower, I can smell the delicious food.”
“Banishment?” Margery asked, her expression undergoing a transformation similar to Duchess’s. She gave him a censorious glance.
Would he ever wake up from this nightmare where he constantly did and said the wrong thing?
“This is Margery, my housekeeper. If you need anything, she’ll be happy to attend to it. Margery, this is Duchess.”
Margery smiled. “Welcome to Primrose Park.”
“Thank you.” Duchess smiled. She gestured to the food on the table. “You certainly have your hands full. Does he eat like this every day?”
Jameson bristled. “No,hedoes not. She made this for you.”
Duchess shook her head. “Oh please. I wouldn’t want to put you through too much trouble.”
“Nonsense. It’ll be nice to have someone other than Prince Jameson to cook for again. Do you have a specific menu you’d like?”
“No, I’m pretty easy—”
His cock threw off its “semi” status and hardened fully.
“—plus, I like to eat the cuisine of the places I’m visiting. I’m open... except for blood pudding. I have no interest in trying that.”
“Understood,” Margery said, her eyes twinkling.
“Oh, and I know that tea is the national drink, but I’d prefer coffee, if you don’t mind.”
“That can be arranged, Du... is it Duchess? Or the Duchess? Your Grace?”
Duchess pulled the chair away from the table and sat down. “Actually, you can call me Dani.”
