Page 56 of Her Royal Houseguest

It was a long, beautiful night.

Morning came too quickly. And though it was the chanting that woke him, his first thoughts were of her. Indeed, his kway was so insistent, he was already wrapping a hand around himself when he realised the danger.

He should have woken relaxed or at least pleasantly satisfied. Instead, desire beat a low thrum in his body as his thoughts centred on her. That had never happened to him before. He had certainly enjoyed women. All the princes did. But by morning, he was always refocused on whatever job was at hand. Never had a woman stuck so stubbornly in his thoughts. Or his kway.

This was an unwanted complication. It had been risky indulging themselves yesterday. Indeed, he had not intended to go so far but her responses had been so open and her hunger so keen that he could not refuse. Not when her body accepted him so beautifully and she whispered, ‘yes,’ with every thrust.

But this could not continue. He was residing in her father’s home. And even if he weren’t, no woman could absorb his thoughts now. He and Vaji had risked everything on this trade agreement. If he could not see it done—and done well—then he would return to Siam in disgrace. If he were allowed to return at all.

But what could be done about it? Especially when he woke in such a fever of desire.

What he always did.

He let go of his kway, cleaned himself with tepid water and ruthlessly focused his thoughts on his work. No woman should intrude on those thoughts. And yet, as he made his way below stairs, he thought about how she might feel this morning.

Achy and sore. She, too, would require a bath. A heated one with perfumed oils. He would massage the scent into her skin, kissing—

‘Lady Anna will require a bath today as well,’ he snapped. His anger was for himself but he took it out on Clarke who was at the filter basin trying to manage the monks’ water.

The servant turned to him, his expression carefully blanked. ‘There will not be enough water, Prince Deva.’

‘Lady Anna doesn’t require such things!’ snapped the housekeeper.

What was the sour woman’s name? Barker.

‘This is not the place for you. Go upstairs and someone will serve you in time.’

He turned to stare coldly at the woman. He let his nostrils flare and was tempted to call for a whip to discipline her, only to remember that the English did not whip their servants.

Then he glanced at Clarke who had his gaze lowered and his expression tight. What had he said about the servants in this household? Vaji had asked who was in charge of what. The footman had said that Mr Stanier was in charge but he was old and forgetful, which allowed the housekeeper to let her worst impulses shine. Clearly, this woman was territorial and arrogant enough to think that she could order a prince around.

That gave Deva an idea. One that would vent his irritation without violence and would expose the servants for what they were.

‘Where is your master?’ he demanded of the shrewish woman.

She bristled, her jaw worked and eventually she ground out an answer. ‘The duke is away.’

‘Not that master,’ he snorted. ‘The old one. Does he sleep while others work?’

A quick glance around showed lowered heads and awkward stances. Yes, it appeared the butler did sleep.

‘I see that things are done very differently in England than in Siam. I will discuss this with the duke. He will explain to me how this house is managed better than my palace. Or perhaps he will learn the Siamese way where lazy servants are whipped.’

His smile was cold and the servants all bowed their heads in response. All except the housekeeper whose pride kept her chin lifted.

‘We will care for Lady Anna,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘It is wrong for you to make orders regarding her. She’s an unmarried miss.’

Unfortunately, that was probably true. But that did not give her the authority to question him. He didn’t respond. Instead, he looked at her, his expression hard and cold. He was a prince of Siam and knew how to wrap authority around himself like a shroud. And then he lifted a single brow.

He watched as she wilted under his stare, her cheeks heating as her hands tightened in her skirts. In the end, she glanced sideways at a slender maid.

‘Cora, go see if Lady Anna requires—’

‘She will take the hot water,’ he interrupted. He glanced at Clarke. ‘The monks’ water can be cold this morning.’

‘Yes, Prince Deva,’ Clarke said with gratifying speed.

The housekeeper, however, was horrified. ‘This is an English household with English rules,’ she snapped. ‘Your heathen ways are not welcome—’