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"Mistress?" she says, her voice coming out in a squeak that belies her absolute panic at the thought of actually doing that.
"I'll get up," I grumble, taking pity on her after the shock she probably suffered opening the manor door and finding the Crown Prince of England standing there.
I take my time getting dressed despite the fact that the servant who is helping me get ready looks like she's about to faint at the fact that I am obviously intentionally making the Prince wait.
Finally, when I feel like I've made my point, I walk to the main sitting area where a few of my maids are fawning over an amused looking James. They each have several plates of food in their hands and they're offering him everything they have at once. He's trying to be polite, but I can't help but laugh at the scene. I suppose this will be my life if things with James did progress. I just will have to find out exactly what kind of man James Kensington is. I believe the King is on his third wife and millionth mistress. Prince or not, that would not be acceptable to me.
"Your Majesty," I say wryly, and he immediately stands, stalking towards me hungrily.
He catches me completely off guard when he picks me up and kisses me hard right in front of the maids who look like they are both about to faint. I give them a wink after he sets me down, but I'm sure it looks like I'm just blinking my eyes weirdly since I'm feeling a little light headed after the kiss.
"Spend the day with me?" he asks, holding out his hand and looking a little vulnerable for the first time since I've met him.
The maids scurry away since it's clear they won't be holding his attention today.
I nod and take his hand.
James helps me get onto his horse, and then he jumps on behind me. The feel of his arms surrounding me sends the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. We gallop away, and I'm aware of every bump in the road that pushes my body further into his.
"How did you manage to get away from your guards?" I ask, once I realize there is no one following us.
"I climbed out of my window with the help of a certain apple tree," he responds with a wink.
He's so stupidly charming that I almost can't stand it.
We talk as we ride. James is filled with what seems like a lifetime of adventures, and I'm jealous of all that he has seen and done. As a girl I would beg my father to take me with him on his trips. Father would always respond that a ship was no place for a lady. I can only hope that my future has more adventure than my past. I have a sneaking suspicion that if James remains a part of it, then I will have nothing to worry about.
Despite the fact that I'm sure we have ridden for a few hours; our ride seems to go by quickly thanks to the fact that James is a captivating conversationalist. I gasp when we come around a bend, and I see the sea laying sprawled out in front of us. James helps me off the horse and I stretch, not used to riding horseback for so long.
The wind whips my hair across my face, and I laugh out loud in pure delight as I take a deep breath of the sea air. James just smiles at me as if I'm the best thing he's ever seen.
He takes my hand, and we walk along the beach. The waves crash and spray us, and I laugh when a particularly large wave drenches James when he's not paying attention.
After our walk, James pulls a nap-sack from one of his horse's saddle bags that contains not only a blanket, but the most perfect looking picnic lunch that I've ever seen.
I grab one of the apples that he packed with a grin, and then sprawl out on the blanket and stare at the clouds, unwilling to keep up the pretense that I'm a perfect lady. He lays down next to me, so close that our heads touch.
"Do you honestly believe that you are actually a deity?" I muse loudly.
He gives a surprised choke at my question.
"What?" he asks.
"Well, I was always told by my tutors that the royal family are actual extensions of God, so that would make you a deity would it not?"
He's quiet for a moment and I glance at him, wondering if I have overstepped the closeness I thought we were growing in to.
He has a serious look on his face. "My father most definitely believes that," he says quietly. "However, knowing him so well, and also knowing how imperfect I am, I know that isn't the case."
I sense a whole other line of questioning I could embark on, but I hold my tongue. Telling one another everything isn't something that needs to happen on our first official date.
"Where's your favorite place?" he asks, changing the subject to something lighter.
"Here," I answer, not even having to think.
"Why is that?" he answers, sounding intrigued.
"One of the only clear memories I have of my mother is of us going to the sea one day on holiday. Father couldn't come because he was on a trip, and I don't remember any exact details since I was so little, but I remember the feeling of being so happy and loved there. She disappeared right after that. I still feel that sense of being loved every time I visit the sea. It's my very favorite place to be."
