In Which Royal Interruptions Prove Most Inconvenient
Percy's POV
Percy’s POV
I was returning from the village, having spent the morning making final arrangements for our afternoon wedding ceremony, when the sight of multiple royal carriages in my drive brought me up short.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered, taking in the scene with growing irritation. Guards were positioning themselves around the property, servants were unloading enough luggage for a month-long visit, and standing in the center of it all like a golden statue was Princess Ella herself, directing the chaos with the imperious air of someone who’d never doubted her welcome anywhere.
Beside her stood Prince Albert, looking about as enthusiastic as a man facing a dental extraction.
This was going to complicate everything.
I had barely begun calculating how to navigate royal protocol while maintaining our elopement schedule when I spotted Margot emerging from the house, her expression grim. She moved with the purposeful stride of a woman preparing for battle, and I felt a surge of fierce pride at her composure in the face of this unexpected invasion.
“Percy,” she called softly as she reached me. “We need to talk. Privately.”
Before I could respond, Aunt Honoria appeared at the front entrance, moving with unusual urgency for a woman of her measured bearing. She held a letter in her hand, her expression grim.
“Margot,” she called, approaching us with purpose. “I need to speak with you immediately. Both of you.” She glanced meaningfully at Percy. “It concerns Florinda.”
Margot’s expression grew wary. “What’s happened?”
Honoria held up the letter. “I’ve received word from Lady Pemberton in Bath. About young Mr. Hartwell.” Her voice carried the particular tone of someone delivering unpleasant but necessary news. “I’m afraid my suspicions about his character have been... confirmed.”
“What is it?” I asked quietly.
Honoria consulted the letter, her expression growing more severe. “Lady Pemberton writes that Edwin Hartwell was observed yesterday afternoon on the Royal Crescent, holding hands with an unknown young woman. He was seen kissing her fingers in full view of other promenaders. They appeared...” she paused delicately, “quite intimate.”
The sound that escaped me was not fit for polite company.
“Indeed,” Margot said grimly. “And now I have to break the news to Florinda while entertaining royal guests and somehow salvaging what was supposed to be a celebration of her happiness.”
From inside the house came the sound of excited feminine voices—Florinda’s dramatic tones rising above the others as she no doubt regaled the Princess with tales of her romantic triumph. The irony was almost too cruel to contemplate.
“Together,” I said firmly, taking her hand. “We face this together. All of it.”
She squeezed my fingers gratefully, and I felt the familiar surge of protectiveness that had been driving me to distraction for months. Here she was, preparing to comfort a heartbroken daughter while managing royal guests and God knew what other crises, and all I wanted was to sweep her away from it all.
“The arrangements are made,” I said quietly, my thumb tracing across her knuckles. “The vicar will be here at three o’clock. Special license, witnesses ready—everything exactly as we planned.”
Her face, which had begun to soften with relief, suddenly shuttered. “Percy, we can’t. Not today. Not with Florinda devastated and the Princess here and—”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended, fury rising in my chest—not at her, never at her, but at the endless parade of obstacles that kept preventing me from claiming what was mine. “No more delays, Margot. No more excuses.”
She stared at me, clearly taken aback by the intensity in my voice.
“For months, I’ve been patient,” I continued, my voice dropping to something rough and dangerous. “I’ve waited while you ran from your feelings. I’ve been understanding about your fears, accommodating about your need for propriety, gentle about your hesitation.” My grip on her hand tightened. “But I’m done waiting.”
“Percy—”
“Edwin Hartwell’s betrayal doesn’t change what we are to each other. Princess Ella’s dramatic arrival doesn’t alter the fact that I’ve been going slowly mad wanting you.” I stepped closer, backing her against the garden wall, my body caging her in. “Nothing—nothing—is going to stop me from making you my wife today.”
Her breath caught, and I saw heat flare in her eyes despite her protests. “It’s not appropriate. The timing—”
“The timing will never be perfect,” I said fiercely. “There will always be some crisis, some obligation, some reason to postpone our happiness for the sake of everyone else’s comfort.” My free hand came up to cup her face, my thumb brushing across her lower lip. “I refuse to let other people’s drama dictate when I can claim my wife.”
“The girls need me—”
“The girls need to see that love wins,” I countered, my voice softening slightly even as my eyes remained intent on hers. “They need to see that when real affection exists, it doesn’t crumble under the first sign of difficulty.”
I leaned closer, until my breath ghosted across her ear. “And you need to understand something very clearly, my darling Margot.”
“What?” The word came out breathless, barely a whisper.
“Whether we speak vows this afternoon or not,” I murmured against her throat, my lips brushing her pulse point, “tonight you’re mine. Tonight, I’m claiming you in every way that matters. Tonight, I’m going to show you exactly what it means to belong to someone who burns for you.”
She shivered against me, and I felt her resolve wavering. “Percy...”
“Say yes,” I demanded, pulling back to meet her eyes. “Say yes to marrying me this afternoon, or say yes to being thoroughly compromised tonight. But don’t think you can keep putting walls between us just because circumstances aren’t ideal.”
Her lips parted, and I could see the war between duty and desire playing out across her features. The flush spreading down her throat told me which side was winning.
“You’re being completely unreasonable,” she whispered, but her body was melting against mine.
“I’m being honest,” I corrected. “I want you as my wife, legally and completely. But if you insist on postponing that for the sake of appearances, then I’ll settle for having you as my lover. Tonight. In my bed, crying my name while I worship every inch of your skin.”
The sound she made was half gasp, half moan, and entirely surrender.
“Choose, Margot,” I said against her lips. “Marriage this afternoon, or seduction tonight. But no more delays. No more excuses. No more putting everyone else’s needs before what we both want.”
For a moment, we simply stood there, breathing hard, the air between us charged with months of suppressed desire finally given voice.
Then, squaring her shoulders with the resolution of a woman who had weathered far worse storms than meddling royalty and faithless poets, Margot turned toward the house.
“Three o’clock,” she said decisively. “But after we’ve handled Florinda’s crisis and before the royal guests expect formal attention.”
The smile that spread across my face was pure triumph. “Perfect. Though I should warn you—I may not be able to wait until tonight to demonstrate my... appreciation for your decision.”
Her cheeks flamed, but she lifted her chin with that particular expression that never failed to make my pulse race. “You’ll behave yourself until after the ceremony, Lord Raventhorn. I refuse to be married while thoroughly disheveled.”
“We’ll see about that,” I murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “I find I rather like you disheveled.”
The look she shot me promised retribution—and considerably more interesting developments later.
“Well then,” she said with grim determination that was thoroughly undermined by the way her voice shook. “Let’s go break a young woman’s heart and somehow make it bearable.”
🖤 Some interruptions are inconvenient. Others arrive with royal crests and devastating news.
Subscribe to get the next chapter delivered straight to your inbox—because Margot just agreed to marry Percy this afternoon, between comforting a betrayed stepdaughter and hosting royalty. But it’s not the logistics that threaten to unravel her—it’s what he whispered in her ear before she said yes.
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