Reynolds was too pompous by half, but the man kissed like a dream.
“I am always jealous that the King’s Man has far better quarters than the Queen’s Man,” Brimsley said, once they’d reached Reynolds’s room.
“To be expected,” Reynolds replied. “I am more important than you.”
Brimsley decided to ignore that, partly because he’d already backed Reynolds against the wall, and partly because it was true.
But there was still much to discuss. “We have a problem,” Brimsley said, getting to work on Reynolds’s breeches. Their moments were always stolen; they needed to be quick.
“To be sure.”
“Are we going to talk about it?”
Reynolds whipped Brimsley’s shirt over his head. “Did you get another letter from the Princess?”
Brimsley nodded, then arched his neck to give him better access. This time of night, Reynolds had just the right amount of stubble to make Brimsley’s skin shiver with delight. “The palace is asking for a report.” He yanked off Reynolds’s breeches and pushed him down on the bed. “What are you going to tell them?”
“Me?” Reynolds started working on Brimsley’s breeches. “Why should I be the one to tell them anything?”
Brimsley crawled on top and kissed him with urgency. “It was the King who refused to consummate the marriage.”
It was divine until Reynolds pulled back and said, “She could have seduced him.”
“She is a lady. Pure and well-bred.”
“Fine,” Reynolds said, wrapping his fingers around Brimsley’s length. He smiled coyly and squeezed. “Still, she could have shown him a little ankle, or—”
Brimsley pressed down so they were skin to skin. He was hard, and Reynolds was hard, and it had been weeks since they’d had a chance to be alone. He ached for this man’s touch, and now that he had it, he could not get close enough. Still, even in these few moments of stolen passion, he had to defend his Queen.
“She asked him to stay.” Brimsley kissed him. “He demanded to return here to Kew.” Another kiss. “Without her. As you are aware.”
Reynolds rolled so he was on top. “You say that with a note of accusation.”
Brimsley rolled right back. “You might have done something.”
“I do not control him.”
“You serve him. You know him. Is there a problem? A deformity?” Brimsley could barely voice the question. “Is something wrong with his . . . bits?”
Reynolds sat back. “That is beyond the pale.”
“I am just asking. We have a problem.”
Reynolds let out a groan, as if he could not believe he had been reduced to such reports. “I believe his bits to be fine. Large. From what I have seen, he has large, healthy bits. No deformity.”
“Well. She is a beauty. A jewel beyond compare.” Brimsley paused, aware that he needed to speak very carefully. “But perhaps she is not pretty to him. Not his type?”
Reynolds regarded him with confusion. “I do not know that I can define his type.”
Brimsley glanced pointedly at their penises, both slightly deflated now. Understandable, given the conversation.
“Female,” Reynolds said. “His type is most definitely female. After that, I have never paid attention.”
“Well.” Brimsley pondered this. “Perhaps what they need is to simply spend time together. As they are right now.”
Reynolds nodded slowly, and then he trailed his knuckles down Brimsley’s chest. Lower, then lower, until he finally took him in hand. “Do you suppose they might spend fifteen minutes together now?”
Brimsley touched a finger to Reynolds’s lips. “Let us hope for twenty.”
George
Kew Palace
The Observatory
Ten minutes earlier
She had come to Kew.
He had not expected this.
George had done the right thing, the honorable thing. He had done his duty to his country and his crown, and he had married the German princess. Then he had left her alone.
No one seemed to recognize what a sacrifice that was. He was entranced by his new bride. Maybe this would turn out to be nothing but a grand infatuation, but Charlotte was all he could think about. Her beauty, her wit, the way she seemed to sparkle in his memory. In the days since his wedding, he’d kept his eye glued to his telescope because sometimes, when he was staring up at the heavens, trying to calculate orbits and distances, he was actually able to forget that he had a wife.
He was afraid. He did not understand his mind, could not puzzle why sometimes it raced and sometimes it did not. He had seen the look of terror in his mother’s eyes when he began to twitch, when words spewed from his mouth, strings of nouns and verbs that made sense in his head but nowhere else.
He’d once asked Reynolds to write it down, to keep a record of his ramblings so that he could try to decipher them when he was in a more sensible state of mind. It was horrifying. He could not allow Charlotte to see him when he was like that.
He needed to protect her from it.
He needed to protect himself from her disgust.
But the heavens were safe. The sun and the stars and the planets. Meteors and moons. He could not hurt them. And they would never look down upon him with shame.
So George had sequestered himself in his observatory at Kew Palace, where he whiled away his hours with his giant Gregorian telescope. It was a masterpiece, designed by James Short himself, rivaled only by the one the French king had recently commissioned from Benedictine monks in Paris.
He’d been told that Charlotte was settling in at Buckingham House. He’d asked a few trusted servants to keep an eye on her, and they reported that her days were peaceful. She seemed to like reading and looking out windows.
That seemed normal.
So why had she suddenly come to Kew?
He listened. He could hear footsteps approaching. Just one set. She was alone, then.
He brushed the crumbs of his dinner off his shirt. Was he presentable? He did not look very kingly. He’d been in the observatory for days, even choosing to sleep on a cot in the corner. The dishes from his evening meal had not yet been cleared away from the table. There hadn’t been time. Reynolds had come racing up the stairs mere minutes earlier to tell him that the Queen’s carriage had been spotted at the bridge.
He moved back to the telescope and pressed his eye to the eyepiece. He did not want to look like he was waiting for her.
He paused. The footsteps drew closer.
Finally, her voice. “What is this place?” she asked.
George drew back, trying to pretend that he had not been listening for her. “Charlotte. Oh. Hello. Here you are.”
Her lips moved, but not quite into a smile. “Here I am.”
“This is my observatory,” he said, motioning with his arm. “It is where I look at the stars.” Would she be interested? He rather thought she would. “This is a perfectly clear night,” he said, beckoning her to the telescope. “You can see the constellations. And I think I am getting a glimpse of a planet. Come. Look.”
She took a slow step in his direction, her face marred by a light frown as she took in her surroundings.
“Don’t mind the mess,” he said, shuffling a few piles of paper into one. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Else you would have tidied?”
“Probably not,” he admitted.
He watched as she took in the room. It was strange to have her here, and it set him on edge. He did not like having other people in his observatory; it was one of the few places he could be truly alone. He did not even allow the servants to enter. Except Reynolds, of course. Someone had to bring the dishes in and out. And Reynolds knew when not to speak. More importantly, Reynolds knew when to listen. Because sometimes George just needed someone to listen.