My Royal Sin

Is this what women smell like between their legs?

A muscle in my jaw twitches even as my nostrils involuntarily flare. My mouth waters.

“Sent me, Your Highness?” Her lilt reveals she is from Rosegate, the disputed territory on our northern border with Nightgardin.

Interesting.

Rosegate whores are notorious throughout Europe, hothouse flowers offered to elite clients for the price of what most people make in a year. And I can see the appeal. If I wasn’t planning on offering my inheritance to the church, I’d gladly use it to open this woman’s petals, to press my tongue to her bloom and drink in her dew.

“What makes you think someone sent me?”

I bunch my hands into fists, will my lust into an internal dungeon and padlock the door. My duty is to provide this woman respite from whatever spiritual matters weigh on her soul.

Nothing else.

“You passed by no less than four guard posts, then over acres upon acres of landscaped ground covered in Europe’s most state-of-the-art surveillance system. Yes, my child, someone indeed sent you to me.” But who would want to tempt me from the righteous path? Was it a trick of some discontented servant?

“Oh please.” She huffs a laugh but refuses to meet my gaze. “I’m no one’s child.”

She’s right, of course, even as she evades my question. Her ripe body is pure woman, but she is younger than my own twenty-seven years. If I were a betting man, I’d wager she was at most twenty, a young woman who should be busy studying at university, not here at the royal chapel, being paid to seduce an almost-priest.

“You have two choices.” I draw myself to my full six-foot-five-inch frame. “Either give up a name, or I’ll be forced to take you upstairs for questioning.” I don’t exactly know what that entails, but she can’t remain here in sight of Christ on the Cross. “Follow me.”

“Are we going to your bedchamber?” She skims her hands over her breasts, the tops spilling over her tight outfit, the skin soft and succulent as a peach.

“Not a chance.” I can’t question this woman anywhere near my bed.

That leaves one option.

I begin walking, my pace fast and unfaltering. I might not be heir, but I took my first steps in the throne room and arrogance is my default. I was raised to lead, to expect others to follow. After a moment, the sharp clicks of her heels behind me confirm my assumption that she is keeping up.

We enter my personal tower and I lead her up the spiral staircase. “Do we have far to go?” she asks after the second floor. “These boots aren’t made for walking.”

I’ll give her that, all right. They’re made to draw the eye to the lush curve of her shapely thighs.

“In here,” I say crisply as we stop in front of a carved oak door.

I open it, and the bright summer daylight shines dimly through the slitted windows, an architectural holdout from when medieval archers used these openings while stationed in the turret.

She scans the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and gasps. “I’ve never seen so many books in one place except at the royal library.”

I swallow a smile. My personal collection is rather extensive.”

Little does she know that hidden behind covers like A History of French Cathedral Gargoyles are entirely different reading materials: Story of O, The Joy of Sex, plus a stash of Greek and Egyptian erotic art. Studying sexual arts is something of a twisted hobby. While I may be inexperienced, I’m far from ignorant in the ways of giving and taking pleasure.

“Sit.” I gesture to a leather chair. It takes all my willpower not to revel in the length of her creamy thighs, exposed beneath her tiny skirt. I walk to an antique globe on a desk and give it a spin. “Were you sent by Nightgardin?”

Nightgardin is the kingdom to the north of our borders. Like Edenvale, it is small by modern standards, more a Luxembourg than France, but our mutual enmity has spanned centuries. For generations our two countries have warred through battles and of late, diplomacy, to control Rosegate, a much-admired city that sits on our border, claimed by both kingdoms.

Desperation darkens her gaze. “That’s not important.”

“I disagree. Nightgardin would take pleasure in exposing me as a hypocrite right before I take my holy vows.”

“Please, believe me.” Tears fill her eyes as her delectable bottom lip tremors. “I don’t know anything. The Madam simply informed me of my assignment. A town car picked me up and brought me here.”

My brow furrows at the anxiety in her voice.

“Crap.” She covers her face with her hands. “I am blowing this so hard. Madam will fire me without a second thought, and I will be royally screwed. Please, Highness. Father. Whatever. Let me suck you, fuck you. You can have me anywhere, penetrate any place.” She drops to her knees and tosses her hair back from her face.

“Anything?” Her offer warms my belly like a shot of scotch. “You’ll let me act out any fantasy? No inch of you is off-limits?”

Her pupils widen, the delicate vein in her neck pounds. “I am yours to command.”

Someone is hell-bent on sabotaging me. But the joke could be on them. Tonight’s encounter could grant me a path to redemption that no one has counted on.

This woman offers me the chance to break every rule. But what if I can withstand her angelic body? Here is the perfect way for me to cast doubt aside and prove myself worthy of taking my final vows.

“Stand up. I have a proposition.”

Ruby

I swallow hard. Whatever he proposes, it cannot be enough to sway me from my purpose. I must make him give in to his lust, make him trust me, or we will lose everything. I close my eyes and remind myself of the stories some of the other girls have told me, though these tales are nothing found in the books that line the library’s walls. They claim it wasn’t always like this, that the Madam had changed ever since she’d returned from a trip to Nightgardin a year ago. Now she punished her girls for losing a client—and let clients dole out whatever consequences they saw fit, as well.

I once lost a month’s wages for not swallowing when my client came in my mouth.

I know a girl who had her nose broken for telling her client he needed to bathe more often.

One girl got caught by her client’s wife. The Madam not only fired her but had them scar her face so no client would want her after that, just in case she tried to do business independent of The Jewel Box.

I don’t want to know who they are or how they enact physical punishment, but the prince has not yet kicked me out, so I will humor him and listen to what he proposes.

“What do you want from me?” I ask. “I’ve already offered you everything I have to give.”

Myself.

He walks along the shelves, running a finger over the spines of the books.

“I take my final vows in one month’s time. If it is, in fact, my brother who has put you up to tempting me, then he shall get his wish. Just not as he thinks.”

My brows furrow, and he turns to face me as he continues.

“This—” he points to his collar “—has always been my path. The eldest son will rule the kingdom, and the spare will keep the royal family and its subjects on a moral path. The third... Well, you’ve heard of my brother Damien’s banishment. Our family has been disgraced enough. I will not add to it.” He raises a brow. “I know the rumors about my mother.”

My cheeks burn. Though the queen died many years ago, gossip of the second son—of the man standing before me—being a bastard has long circulated throughout the kingdom. The origin of his birth means nothing to me. All I care about is my duty. My family.

“For many reasons,” he continues, “this is a responsibility I have never taken lightly. Until now I have not succumbed to the temptation of the flesh, but then, I’ve been careful not to let myself truly be tempted.”

I rise to face him, but he still towers over me. “Stop speaking in code, Your Highness. I came here to do my job. Are you or are you not sending me home a failure?” I don’t think the Madam truly cares whether I am able to seduce him or not. I just need to stay long enough to look around—to find the painting she’s so convinced is on these grounds. I try to sound tough, not to let on what failure could mean, but the tremble in my voice betrays me.

He reaches a hand toward my face but squeezes it into a fist before his skin meets mine.

“Tempt me,” he says, and a muscle in his jaw ticks.

“I don’t understand,” I tell him. “I thought I already tried.”

He unfastens his collar and pulls it from beneath his shirt. “I am not worthy of the priesthood unless I truly can resist. Unless I am genuinely tempted. Whatever your fee is, I will triple it if you come here nightly to try to lead me from my virtue.”

My breath catches. Triple my fee. Nightly. Surely the Madam will free me from my original obligation if he is willing to pay such a wage. And coming to him every night? Wouldn’t that give me access and time to find what she seeks?

“Nightly? Would you send for me when wanted, or shall I show up and surprise you?” I laugh and bat my lashes at him. “Like tonight?”

He shakes his head. “If you need to do this to provide for yourself...” He nods at my attire, the small gesture filling me with more shame than masturbating in a confessional.

The Prince of Edenvale sees me as a whore. I have to remind myself that is exactly what I am now. Once upon a time, I was the beloved daughter of a famous and respected man. But I am not that girl anymore.

I raise my chin in a futile attempt at defiance. “What?” I ask. “Say whatever it is you were going to say next.”

He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, and I realize that whatever he’s about to propose, he’s nervous.

This realization melts a little of the ice around my heart.

“There is a cottage past the gardens in the center of the maze. It’s been vacant for months, but there is staff assigned to clean and maintain it in case of visitors. It is ready for you right now.”

My pride begs me to refuse him, but the thought of another night in the brothel has me putting logic, comfort and safety first.

“I can’t afford rent,” I say coolly.

“There would be none, of course.”

“And during the day?” I ask.

He nods. “Your days are your own to do as you please, on or off the palace grounds. I will send for you nightly at eight o’clock. Our work begins tomorrow.”

On or off the palace grounds.

I can find that painting in a matter of days.

“What other rules are there?” I ask, waiting for the catch, for the other shoe to drop.

He clasps his hands at his waist, the collar between them. “As long as your skin never touches mine in a sexual nature, there are no other rules. Do what you will to tempt me from my path.”

He reaches a hand toward my face again, and just when I think he’s about to break his own rule, he pulls my wig free, letting my blond waves tumble over my shoulders. Again that muscle tightens in his jaw, but he is otherwise unreadable.

“And never,” he says, his voice gentle yet authoritative, “wear this again.”

He wants to pay me triple what I’d make with any other clients—without him ever laying a hand on me. I swallow tears and extend a hand. “I’m Ruby.” I give him my fake name from the brothel, and he hesitates, my wig in one hand, his collar in the other. “Shaking hands doesn’t violate any rules, does it?”

The corner of his mouth quirks into something almost like a grin. Almost.

For a moment I’m tempted to tell him the truth. I am Evangeline Vernazza. Surely he would recognize my father’s surname. But no. Prince Benedict and I are more similar than he thinks. I know family disgrace as much as he does. I am not a budding artist, daughter of a respected name anymore. I am Ruby, the newest escort from The Jewel Box, the most prized brothel in Europe.

He drops the wig to the floor and takes my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ruby.”

I smile enough for the both of us. “Your Highness, I’d say you’ve got yourself a deal.”

CHAPTER THREE

Benedict

I HAVE NEVER laid eyes on this woman in my life, so why does a strange recognition thrum through me? Ruby’s golden hair tumbles over her narrow shoulders, loose curls that skim the swell of her breasts as they rise and fall. Her unease is palpable, a problem when my own instincts are hardwired to provide comfort. I flick my gaze to the wall where a discreet intercom system blends into the sumptuous red-and-gold wallpaper. Never once have I summoned for the help of those who wait around the clock for my beck and call. But this woman is causing me to break all of my rules.

I cross the room, press and hold the small button. “X, I have need of you.”

“Very good, sir.” My bodyguard’s response is cool, clipped and unsurprised. He had guarded my brother Nikolai for years but asked to be reassigned to me after my brother’s engagement to his matchmaker, Kate. The request came as a surprise. X joked that he had grown tired of being surrounded by all the newlywed romanticism. If that’s true, he came to the right place in heading up my security detail.

At least, until tonight.

He appears a moment later, seemingly conjured from thin air. His suit is impeccably tailored, his implacable features revealing no shred of shock to find a seminarian alone with a scantily clad lady of the night. Nor does his mouth so much as quirk at my next order.

“This is Miss Ruby. Please escort her to the gardener’s cottage within the maze and see to it the quarters are well provisioned. It should go without saying that I expect a high degree of discretion.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” He is the consummate professional. No hint of incredulity. No second glance at the young woman’s thigh-high boots.

“Spare no expense on food, beverage, clothing. Her wish is your command.” I offer no further explanation. None is required. Being a prince of the blood means never having to give a reason.

“Understood.”

He turns and offers his arm. “Miss Ruby.”

Her hand trembles as she accepts his gallant gesture.

“But what about my things at my...workplace?” she asks. “I don’t have much,” she admits, and I wince at the thought—at the excess in which I was brought up—and suddenly I want to give this stranger everything she lacks.

“I see.” X’s steely eyes hold a hint of a twinkle. “Well, it just so happens that Monique Mantissa is an old friend.”

She gapes. “The designer Mantissa?”

He inclines his head. “I believe her fashion line is rather popular.”

Ruby’s laugh deepens, a husky melody that makes my skin sing. “Um, if by popular you mean appreciated by those who shop at Versace, Chanel or Prada. You know Monique Mantissa. She is rock-star famous. Her shoes are... There are no words.” Her eyes take on a glow that I’ve seen only in nuns after a rapturous spiritual revelation.

The fact X knows such a person is of no surprise. He worked for years as my brother’s personal bodyguard before his abrupt reassignment after Nikolai’s nuptials. That reminds me.

“Also there is to be no mention of this arrangement to my brother or the king,” I command.

“Not a word. Perhaps it would ease your mind to know your father has decided to expand his current travel to fly to New York for a United Nations summit, and Nikolai and Kate left for the Hawaiian Islands on honeymoon this morning.”

“I see.” If a man deserves happiness, it is my elder brother, who finally found true love in a most unlikely place, with the matchmaker assigned to find him a wife. I do not resent his position. His future crown has never been my ambition.

And yet...

And yet nothing.

I swallow hard, refusing to allow any of my true dreams to float to the surface.

“It appears that you have the run of the place. Will you need anything else, Highness?”

“That will be all,” I snap, my tone gruffer than intended. “Wait. Take my Black Amex for the shopping spree. And, Miss Ruby, I shall see you in my bedchamber tomorrow evening when the sunset fades from the evening sky.”

Her expression loses some of its innocent pleasure. After the sound of their footsteps fade, I return to my room, guilt eating at my stomach.

They don’t exactly teach “Obliterating Sexual Urges 101” in the seminary. I am a man with a man’s needs. But I’m also a prince, a second son, who has a duty. I can’t let Father down. Especially when my face is the one that looks nothing like his. I was raised surrounded by the whispers that my mother, the queen, rest her immortal soul, grew lonely during a long absence from my father twenty-eight years ago and took comfort in the arms of the Captain of the Guard. A man some might say is my true father, except to voice such a claim in public would invite charges of treason.

But my blood runs with hidden lust, and in my heart I know that is my legacy. Born in sin, forged by an act of fornication. Father has never acted on these rumors, but he has always kept me at a kingly distance, his touch always a little cold, a little distant. To admit me a bastard would be to admit himself a cuckold.

So I am allowed the titles, the acceptance, the palace life.

Now it is time to pay the piper.

I fall to the unforgiving floor. “Oh, Lord, please grant me the strength to face this challenge.”

Ruby

A knock sounds on the cottage door promptly at eight in the morning. I lie in the unfamiliar bed, blinking away the best night of sleep I’ve had in ages. I burrow further into my pillow, hoping I imagined the sound, and let out a blissful sigh.

I think I want to marry this pillow.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

This time it is loud and unmistakably real. I rise from the bed and wrap the sheet around my naked frame. I know it will not be Benedict. He said my days were my own. He will not require my...services until nightfall. Whoever dares to wake me at such an hour is not worth the time it would take to get dressed.

“I’m up. I’m up,” I groan as I unlock the door only to find a young man dressed in what I assume is the attire of a palace servant—a black double-breasted tuxedo coat and tails, a vest and white bow tie. Wow. I wonder what they’re required to sleep in if this is day wear.

“Miss Ruby,” the man says, wheeling in a silver cart with covered plates on top of it. “X has requested you eat and dress so that you are ready to meet him at the palace gates at nine. A groundskeeper will pick you up in a golf cart just outside the maze in fifty-five minutes to bring you to the car.”

After being told I was free to do as I choose, I open my mouth to protest. But that’s when I smell the buttery sweetness of baked goods, the aroma of fresh coffee. My mouth waters, so I close it before speaking a word and swallow.

“What does Mr. X need me for at nine in the morning?” I ask.

The man uncovers a platter of scones and croissants, another of fresh fruit. He then pours coffee into a porcelain cup and bows his head.

“Shopping, miss. That is all I was told.” He smiles softly. “And you may call him, simply, X.”

My eyes widen as I remember X’s mention of Monique Mantissa, of Benedict offering his credit card. I have never been the kind of girl to get worked up over material things, especially now that I must do whatever I can just to make ends meet not only for me but for my niece and my brother’s wife. But I just slept in a bed fit for a queen and am about to eat a breakfast fit for a king. Is there anything wrong with living like a princess for a day?

To avoid the guilt that threatens to take away my moment of joy, I remind myself that this is all part of earning triple my fee, all of which I will use to support Camille and Lola. Camille’s teacher’s salary alone barely covers their rent, let alone the legal fees piling up since my brother’s arrest. With this job, I may be able to hire a proper advocate to represent Jasper—to prove his innocence.

“Thank you,” I say. “And you may call me, simply, Ruby.”

It’s strange to speak this name, especially to this man who looks at me as if he knows me, as if he senses that behind this name and position is a whole other life, a whole other story.

He smiles another of his enigmatic smiles and bows before exiting the cottage, and I jump up and squeal at the sight of the feast before me. I lose my grip on the sheet, and it falls to the floor as I laugh and shrug. “When in preparation for seducing a priest yet not having to bed a stranger...” I joke to myself, and then I indulge in a chocolate croissant and the most decadent strawberries I’ve ever tasted—and try to forget the fact that I haven’t seen a painting of an angel or what Madam will do if I don’t find it.

I fire off a quick text to The Jewel Box messenger service, asking if Madam will allow me to spend more time on the palace grounds to find what I’m looking for. The response is almost immediate.

Enjoy your stay, Evangeline. I expect this means you will have good news for me soon, or else you know what to expect from me.

My palm flies instinctively to the cheek she slapped the first time I questioned her.

“Whatever it takes, Jasper,” I say aloud. “I will not lose you, too.”

* * *

When X extends a hand to help me from the golf cart and into a Rolls-Royce, he raises his brows.

“What?” I ask, skimming the length of my own body, afraid I’d forgotten to dress myself after my feast.

“Nothing, miss. It’s just—I’m looking forward to finding you something more befitting a palace guest.”

I lower myself into the car as my cheeks flame and my eyes prick with tears. I try to swallow it all back, to not let him see his judgment get to me. But when X situates himself in the driver’s seat, the first thing he does is speak to me via an intercom.

“My apologies, miss,” he says. “I meant no offense. It is just that if we are to be discreet, it is necessary that you do not stand out in a way that will make the staff ask questions.”

I knock on the glass partition that separates us, and he lowers it as he turns to face me. His salt-and-pepper hair lies in neat waves, and that square, rugged jaw is both attractive and reassuring. Somehow I know that whatever happens today, X is on my side. Still, I need to set the record straight.

“I get it,” I say. “I’m here to do a job. And I might not be entirely proud of what I need to do to earn a living right now, but I’m not ashamed of the way I look.” It’s a half-truth. Even if this wasn’t always me, I look and feel sexy in these clothes—in the boots. I just wish I was wearing it all for me and not as a means to an end.

His brows draw together, and his jaw tightens. When he looks at me, it is as if he wants to say many things but holds himself back. “If my comment elicited shame, miss, then again, my sincerest apologies. I am your ally. I do hope you see me as such.”

I swipe away a tear. “Thank you, X. And can we please cut it with the ‘miss’?”

He smiles. “Of course, Ruby. You remind me of Princess Kate.”

With that, he turns back to his steering wheel and leads us away from the palace grounds.

* * *

Belladonna Square is not unfamiliar to me. I’ve driven past it. Walked through it. But never have I stepped foot into one of the shops. It was nothing more than a tourist attraction the few times I’d been in these parts.

“You know,” I say as the car rolls to a stop, “even when things were good, they were never great. My father died when Jasper was fifteen and I was only twelve. Jasper grew up and found work doing research at the art museum and I—Well, there aren’t many jobs out there for a girl who likes to paint.” Especially when her résumé basically reads like a telenovela.

X nods.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” I add. “I guess I’m just a bit overwhelmed is all.”