Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Evangeline
Icouldn't breathe.
The Christmas state dinner stretched interminably—smiling diplomats, clinking glasses, my mother's subtle nudges whenever I failed to respond appropriately to some dignitary's question. All I could think about was James, standing rigid against the wall, watching everyone but never meeting my eyes.
Three days. That's all we had left before he would vanish from my life forever.
I sipped my champagne, barely tasting it as I nodded at something the Spanish ambassador was saying.
My gaze drifted again to the corner where James had been standing, but he was gone.
Something twisted in my stomach at the thought of losing him in just three days—losing the only man who saw me as a person to be protected rather than a prize to be won.
"Evangeline?" My mother's voice pulled me back to the present. "The ambassador asked you a question."
I smiled, apologising for my distraction, but the conversation had become unbearable. The room was too hot, too crowded, filled with people who only saw Princess Evangeline, the royal spare, the scandal-tainted daughter who needed to settle down.
None of them saw me. Not like James did.
"Mother," I leaned closer to her, lowering my voice. "I'm afraid I have a splitting headache. Would you excuse me for the remainder of the evening?"
The Queen's eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded after a moment's calculation. "Of course, dear. I'll make your apologies."
I slipped away as discreetly as possible, instructing a palace staff member to inform James that I would not require a security escort for the remainder of the evening. Once safely in the corridor, I slowed, uncertain where to go. My suite felt like a gilded cage; the palace gardens were too cold.
What I wanted—who I wanted—was James.
"Your Highness?" Maria, a housekeeper who had served our family for decades, appeared at my elbow. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"Just needed some air, Maria. The dinner was rather stuffy."
She nodded knowingly. "Those formal affairs always are. If you're looking for some peace, perhaps the stables? Always quiet this time of night."
"The stables?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "I haven't been there in ages."
"Mmm, well, that tall bodyguard of yours just headed that way. Looking rather brooding, if you ask me." Her eyes twinkled with the mischief that made her a favourite among the palace staff. "Fine specimen of a man, isn't he?"
My heart stuttered in my chest. "Thank you, Maria. I think I will get some air."
I hurried to my suite, quickly changing from my formal gown into a simpler dress—deep blue velvet that I could move in freely. I grabbed a heavy cloak against the December chill and slipped out through the servants' entrance, avoiding the remaining guests from the state dinner.
The night was crisp, and clear, stars scattered like diamonds across the inky sky. My breath clouded before me as I followed the path down the gentle slope towards the stables. The ancient building glowed with soft light from within, confirming someone was indeed there.
James. It had to be.
I paused outside, suddenly uncertain. What was I doing? Chasing after a man who had made it clear he didn't want me? No—that wasn't quite true. He wanted me; I'd seen it in his eyes at the armoury. He just wouldn't allow himself to act on it.
Tonight, I would change that.
I'd spent weeks analysing my feelings, questioning whether this was mere infatuation, a rebellion against my royal constraints.
But it was more than that. James saw me—in a way no one else ever had.
He didn't care about my title, lineage, or the scandal that haunted the palace corridors.
He cared about who I was beneath it all; that recognition had become as essential to me as breathing.
One night. That's all I needed—before he returned to London and I resumed my royal duties. One night to finally understand this pull between us, to get him out of my system.
With renewed determination, I pushed open the stable door.
The warm scent of hay and horses enveloped me as I stepped inside.
The stable was quiet, with the soft whickers of horses greeting me as I moved down the centre aisle.
At the far end, I spotted him—James stood at Brutus's stall, his broad hand stroking the stallion's powerful neck.
Even from behind, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid control he always maintained.
I paused, watching him. In this unguarded moment, something in his posture spoke of loneliness, of a man who had spent too long carrying a weight no one should bear alone.
We'd already talked tonight—about horses, about his way with them versus people, about the danger of us being alone together.
He'd told me I shouldn't be here, and I'd pushed him until he'd finally admitted the truth: that he regretted walking away from me every second since.
That conversation had ended with my desperate question—what if I just wanted him, regardless of whether he could stay?
He'd looked at me with such longing, such conflict, but hadn't answered.
Now, standing here in the quiet stable, I needed that answer.
"Then don't walk away again." I moved until I was directly in front of him. "What if I don't want someone who can stay? What if I just want you?"
He remained perfectly still for a moment, his breathing slow and controlled. His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing my lower lip. The gentleness of the gesture made my heart ache.
"There's an outbuilding," he said finally, his voice rough. "Used to be the stable-master's quarters. Private. Secluded."
My pulse quickened as I realised what he was saying. "Show me."
He nodded once, dropping his hand and stepping away. I followed him out of the stable into the cold night air. We walked in silence across the grounds, moonlight casting long shadows before us. The outbuilding was small, made of the same stone as the stable, nestled amongst bare-branched trees.
James produced a key—of course, he would know where it was kept—and unlocked the heavy wooden door. Inside, it was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the December night. A small fireplace held glowing embers, suggesting someone had been there earlier.
A narrow staircase led to the upper floor, which James climbed without hesitation.
I followed, heart pounding against my ribs.
The upper room was simple but comfortable—a large bed with a patchwork quilt, a worn armchair, and a small table beneath a window.
Moonlight streamed through the glass, painting silver patterns across the wooden floor.
James went to the window, looking out at the night sky, his broad shoulders tense beneath his suit jacket. I watched him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him—strong, controlled, always keeping himself in check.
Not tonight.
I unfastened my cloak with trembling fingers, letting it fall to the floor.
Then, before I could lose my nerve, I reached behind me and pulled down the zipper of my velvet dress.
The fabric slid down my body, pooling at my feet.
The cool air raised goosebumps across my exposed skin as I stepped out of the dress, leaving me in only a pair of lace knickers.
"James," I whispered.
He turned, and the change that came over his face was instantaneous.
His eyes darkened to midnight, pupils dilating as his gaze travelled over my body with searing intensity.
A sharp inhale hissed through his clenched teeth as his eyes roamed from my face down to my exposed breasts, lingering there before trailing lower to the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips, the long line of my legs.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white with the effort of restraint.
For a heartbeat, he didn't move—just stared at me with such naked hunger that I felt it like a physical touch, his gaze so intense it might as well have been his hands caressing my skin.
"Fuck," he whispered harshly, then louder, "Christ, Evangeline," the words torn from his throat as if they caused him physical pain.
I stood my ground, fighting the urge to cover myself. "This is what you do to me," I whispered. You make me forget who I am and what I am. Tonight, I don't want to be a princess. I just want to be yours."
He clawed at the air, gasping, his entire frame trembling with the breaking point of his will.
Two strides — that’s all it took to bring him in front of me, one hand fisted my hair.
Jerking my head back my eyes regained focus on James while his other hand gripped my waist. His mouth crashed down on lips with bruising force.
The kiss was nothing like I'd imagined—and I had imagined it countless times.
It was raw, demanding, almost punishing in its intensity, as if he were pouring months of denied longing into this single moment.
With intense force, he ravaged my mouth, his lips hard and unforgiving, teeth scraping against my bottom lip until I gasped.
His tongue slid between my parted lips, claiming my mouth with a savage dominance that made my body yield to him.
There was desperation in the way he kissed me—desperate hunger, an abject need, a chasm of fury at himself for wanting what he'd forbidden himself to have.
I could taste it on his tongue, feel it in the way his fingers weaved roughly in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make me whimper.
This wasn't tame or tender—he took everything he'd denied himself, everything I was offering, with a ferocity that left me fighting for breath, and in torture.