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‘How the hell did you let it come to this?’
She threw open the door. No knock, because she was Queen and there wasn’t a door in this palace she had to knock on before entering. Two faces turned to her. The prime minister, who looked her up and down as if she had something nasty stuck to her shoe, and Rafe, whose gaze slid over her slowly, palpable as a caress. Hasselbeck stood. Rafe just sat there behind the desk, looking at her. His thunderous gaze softening to something no less stormy, but more heated.
Lise wanted to shout at them both, but she reined in her temper, barely.
‘I would have thought, Prime Minister, that if you were calling on the palace, I should have been advised beforehand,’ she said, trying to insert a chill into her voice commensurate with the ice permanently running through her veins. She eyed a red folder on the desk, open. Papers scattered across the dark desktop. Her desktop, behind which Rafe was sitting.
The usurper.
‘My apologies, Your Majesty. There were a few matters I needed to discuss with His Majesty. I didn’t wish to trouble you.’
Which likely meant he didn’t think a woman could manage or understand what he was trying to say. He’d always dismissed her when she was a princess. She wouldn’t stand for it, as Queen.
Though come to think of it, Hasselbeck looked decidedly sweaty. She didn’t invite him to sit again, so he didn’t. He glanced at Rafe, who said nothing, damn him. No rebuttal at all. Although he did have a slight smile on his face as if he was enjoying the scene. Of course, he should be standing too, and the lack of concern for propriety rankled her. But she’d deal with him later. She had her whole life to do so, as the cursed wedding ring on her finger perpetually reminded her.
‘Did your conversation concern personal business with my husband, or business about Lauritania?’ Hasselbeck fidgeted. She didn’t need him to spell out the answer because, from his discomfort, she knew.
Lise wasn’t the tallest of women, especially without heels. Still, she drew herself as tall as she could, given the circumstances.
‘Anything that concerns my country, concerns me,’ she hissed, but her eyes were on Rafe. He didn’t have the good grace to look uncomfortable or chastened. He looked entertained. At least Hasselbeck appeared nervous, his neatly trimmed moustache quivering.
Rafe eased from the chair, then moved to the front of the desk. His eyes so dark they were almost black. He turned to the prime minister. ‘Do you want to explain this, or shall I?’
Hasselbeck looked from one to the other then bowed. ‘I’ll leave you to discuss the situation, with my profound thanks.’ He began to back away.
‘You haven’t been dismissed yet,’ Rafe said. The prime minister stopped at the door, eyes narrow and loathing written all over his face. He turned to Lise and the look on his face chastened a fraction.
‘Ma’am?’
The request for permission mollified her only a little. ‘You can go. But make sure thisneverhappens again.’
The prime minister nodded, opened the door and fled. She knew the rotten scent of treachery when she smelled it, and it didn’t leave the room with the prime minister. It stayed and clung to Rafe.
‘You’re glorious when you’re magisterial,’ he said. ‘I think the man cowered.’
Rafe’s voice was liquid heat. It was tempting to let it trickle through her and warm all her cold places, but she wouldn’t let him distract her. Lise whipped around, the suppressed anger bubbling in her blood. Rafe didn’t appear apologetic, and she hated that he stood in the room as if he’d always meant to be here.
‘I’m the Queen. Over seven hundred years of history stand behind the role I now hold. You’ve been King for mere days. Why are you meeting the prime minister without me?’
Rafe didn’t cower. He stood there all dark and brooding, his shirt stretched tight and far too distractingly over the muscles of his chest. He crossed his arms and his biceps bunched. Something heated slid inside her belly. Anger, that was all it was. Something to warm the frozen heart of her.
‘His arrival was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.’
She clenched her jaw. The schemer in Rafe was coming through again. She didn’t believe him, and she wouldn’t be distracted by his brooding masculinity.
‘I should have been called immediately.’
‘I agree.’ He raked a hand through his hair. Blew out a long, slow breath. ‘Unfortunately, I became preoccupied with what he had to say.’
‘Which was?’
‘Did your father or brother ever discuss finance with you?’
‘No,’ she was forced to admit. She’d always been an afterthought if they’d thought of her at all. She’d formed the view long ago that if she wanted more, she had to make her own way. Even when she’d tried, it had to be attractive types of charities. Abandoned kittens and puppies because everybody thought they were cute and worth saving. Not the meatier issues of domestic abuse and homeless teenagers, which had been her true passion. Those she’d had to sneak around to see, in secret. Not any more.
Rafe ran a hand through his hair again, leaving it messy and dishevelled. ‘You might want to take a seat.’
‘I’m sure I’ve had worse news.’ She’d never sit down to take bad news again, even if her knees trembled and her stomach churned. She was made of stronger stuff.
