#alternative title: (you really shouldn’t) come hither

[gmalaart]

Studying the Correspondence with Dr. Cavendish

[thespecialrelationship-phff]

Chapter 3

AN: Take a shot every time you read the word ‘prosecco’ Enjoy!

Harry’s POV

I glance back up to watch Margaret, wary of being trapped once again. Her shapely fingers twirl around the flute gently. I remember the discordant clink of her nail hitting the glass when she first picked it up.

She looks different today, more relaxed, which I suppose makes sense. A brunch in Grosvenor Square is a bit more casual then dinner at Kensington Palace. I remind myself that this change in demeanor and attire have nothing to do with me. We’ve only just met.

And yet, ever since her office called Kensington to schedule this brunch I wondered if I had made some sort of impression or more likely had the Games made some sort of impression her. Considering the dinner was less than inspiring I thought the phone-call boded well. For a moment I thought Will’s teasing had been correct, maybe she was just nervous. I held onto the hope that perhaps she was more than just a pretty face.

Of course, her being just a pretty face wouldn’t hurt Invictus either. I know that images of her with the competitors would make for good media and that some competitors would probably prefer to have a photo with her instead of me. Not that I could blame them, she was beautiful.  And in a photo, captured for that one moment of time she’s magnificent.  And when you first see her she shines almost blindly. So that by the time she’s gone her aura is seared into your memory.

So yes, even though we hadn’t had the best conversation last night or much conversation at all my memory mostly focused on her presence, like a goddess visiting the masses. When I first saw her this morning I was hit with those same feelings. Perhaps now, the two of us, I can make her speak, force myself to dig beyond the surface. As she pours herself more prosecco I’m a bit nervous, what if I don’t find anything more?

“You’ve seen another what, five, ten blocks of London since last evening.  Has the city charmed you yet?” I ask as our food arrives. Truthfully, I’m not sure what I ordered. Quickly I look down…hmm eggs benedict.

She carefully sides her fork through smoked salmon, a slight smile on her face. “Well yes. I’ve now seen Bond Street and Piccadilly though not Piccadilly Circus…”

“Bond Street has some amazing shopping.  I have a few friends who quite enjoy it there.”

“Yes. I doubt I’ll be able to go this trip, but I sent my Chief-of-Staff.  Figured she deserved a little break.”

Vaguely I remember that her Chief-of-Staff is a glorified assistant.  She handles Margaret’s appointments, wardrobe decisions probably and communications. In my head I automatically equate her to my version of Ed.

Margaret is continuing, “Anna Perez, my Chief-Of-Staff, will be traveling to Orlando with me, so you’ll get to meet her then.”

And she has provided me with the perfect opening to discuss the Games. I put my fork down gently.

“I hate to sound like a broken record, but we should discuss the Games, at least a bit, right?”

She smiles tightly, “This is after all, a business meeting, right?”

Did I imagine her stress the word business? Had I been too informal? Surely she wasn’t offended by my attire. She was wearing jeans just as I was.  I look at her trying to decipher what she exactly meant. But she stares back blandly and the fear returns. There very well might be nothing beneath the surface.

Besides, This has to be a business meeting because the alternative would mean she wanted to see me on a personal level.  Frankly, that didn’t make sense to me, not to say I wouldn’t be interested I would just be surprised. And the last thing I need is to get involved with the First Lady is any manner that is not professional.  I can imagine exactly how the aftermath would play out.

William would be smug, thinking I had acted on his advice.  Which would make him believe he would be entitled to details.  My skin crawls thinking about it.  More terrifyingly I would have to deal with Grandma and Father, both of whom would be immensely displeased. For some reason I imagine Father would use the phrase, ‘an international incident’ when he lectured me afterwards.

Yes, just business it must be.  Really, she hasn’t given me a single reason to be considering these things. I’ve moved beyond the phase of being charmed by every pretty face I see, right?

Internal monologue complete, I nod. “Yes. It is. I want to ask you first, do you have any questions from last night, now that you’ve had the opportunity to think over everything?”

Delicately she wipes the corner of her mouth but I see a hint of a smile.  Again, I’m wondering just what’s going on in her mind. “Yes. I wanted to discuss the Opening Ceremony and the interview with GMA’s Ramona Robinson.”

I nod and motion for her to continue. Her interest bodes well.

“Well, I would like to say that..” she pauses as if summoning the strength.

I rush to assure her, “You don’t have to if you’re nervous.”

“No!” her adamant refusal draws the attention of the table across the room. I smile apologetically.

“So, I assume you want to give the speech and do the interview.”

She nods steadily, “Yes.”

“I think that would be wonderful.”

Now she smiles, “Good. Besides I was thinking, the two of us making those appearances together will hold much more weight, considering the Games are taking place in America.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“And, perhaps my involvement will set a precedence for the future. Heads of state or their counterparts will be involved so you can keep the momentum growing for the Games.” She finishes.

I’m afraid my mouth is hanging open. I’m truly that surprised.

She’s absolutely right and no one else has bothered to voice that thought to me. I was about to waste her involvement in the Games by using her as a prop.  The more she’s involved, the greater precedence well basically the more guilt a future head of state will feel by not supporting it. It’s actually quite brilliant.

I realize she’s staring at me so my mouth must be hanging open. Shame washes over me. I can’t believe I was really that surprised. Just because she’s pretty and doesn’t talk much, doesn’t mean she’s stupid.  Immediately I reach for my glass to try to mitigate the issue. I take a healthy sip before returning to the conversation, hopefully more focused. “Yes, of course. That’s a very good point.”

“I just think it would be in your best interest to have me give that speech and the interview.” She reaches across the table now and gently touches my hand. “I’m here to help you and the Games.”

Her hand on mine is doing weird things to my brain. It’s just not what I was expecting. I think she might be flirting with me now? What I do know is that is exactly what I wanted to hear. I suppose I didn’t have anything to worry about after all. She seems to be dedicated and apparently somewhat intelligent.

The waiter appears then and her hand snaps away. I relax again and the waiter begins to clear the table. As he’s leaving, I order one more bottle of prosecco. Once again, the First Lady raises her sculpted eyebrow. It’s a taunting, come hither look and my mind immediately envisions the other places she makes use of that look.

In my gut I know that Margaret Randolph could bring a man to his knees with nothing more than that look, that look promising salvation or maybe it’s damnation. Hell, all I know is that could definitely bring this man to his knees.

“What?” I ask, feigning innocence.

She shakes her head chuckling, “Two bottles of prosecco before noon? I think I’m giving you the wrong idea about me your royal highness.”

She’s definitely flirting now.  There’s the teasing lilt to her voice and the stressed use of my full title. Her eyes shine with mischief.  The woman knows exactly what she’s doing. The issue is I do as well yet I have no intention of stopping it, not today at least.

The waiter returns with the bottle and we toast, this time to our partnership.

I pour her glass with a healthier portion this time than the last, knowing that it would just be a waste of time otherwise.

“And what is on the First Lady of the United States agenda for the rest of her sojourn in London?”

She sips the drink casually before placing it on the table, “I’m afraid I’ll be barricaded to my hotel suite.”

What? She can’t mean that can she? If I remember correctly her and her father are scheduled to be here for another two days. Being cooped up for that long sounds like nothing short of hell to me.

“Surely you don’t mean that.” Perhaps it’s just code for boring engagements.

She squints her eyes for a moment before she shakes her head slightly. “Oh, I don’t.” Margaret places a hand to her forehead in a thoughtless gesture “Sometimes I use the insider lingo around people who aren’t familiar.”  

I nod, that makes more sense.

“I’m actually accompanying my father to a few small events, um and checking in on some family acquaintances.” She smiles apologetically, “I should probably lay off the prosecco.”

I don’t think Margaret could actually be that drunk, I mean it’s only a half-bottle of prosecco. However, she sounds embarrassed so immediately, I want to assuage her feelings. “But then I would be drinking by myself.  I assure you, there is nothing sadder than a Prince drinking prosecco, alone at noon on a Thursday.”

My comment has the desired effect as she laughs lightly. “Well I would hate for that very specific scenario to come to fruition. I’ll continue to drink…” She points her glass towards me. “But only for your sake.”

“I appreciate the sacrifice.” I say and am rewarded with another smile.

God, she has a beautiful smile. It’s friendly, inviting. I can feel myself being sucked in again, powerless against her charms. I’m drawn like a moth to the flame.

Shaking my head, I try to focus. “You said you have family friends here.  Anyone I may know?”

Her face blanches for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything. They are my grandmother’s, on my mother’s side, friends.”

I try to remember who her grandmother is and why she shouldn’t have said anything. “I could still know them.”

“Oh, it’s not that. It’s just that I don’t really know them.”

I nod in understanding, “Ah, it’s one of those social calls. I’m well versed in those meetings. Old friends of the family that you haven’t actually seen in years or maybe even met.”

“It’s exactly one of those things.” She confirms with a groan.

I sympathize with her plight.  In some ways my life is just the intervals between uncomfortable meetings with distant friends.

“So, who is it?”

“Maurice FitzGerald. He’s the…”

“Duke of Leinster.” I supply.  I’m familiar with the families of most of the dukes. “I don’t know them very well but I’ve only heard good things.”

She shrugs, as if it doesn’t concern her much. “But I doubt my grandmother is as close to them as she would lead me to believe.”

“Now I’m intrigued.” And I am but I’m also trying to figure just how her grandmother knows the Duke of Leinster. I didn’t think the Americans were in the habit of electing Presidents with close ties to nobility.

“My grandmother was sure to mention that when I meet with the his Grace I should also inquire about his nephew, who happens to be of marriageable age.”

“And heir to the dukedom.” I supply. I know who she’s talking about, at least vaguely.  The information intrigues me, particularly because I had never thought of Margaret as someone who would be getting married. Idiotic, of course since she’s an attractive young woman. Probably the most eligible bachelorette in the world.

“Exactly.”

I’m trying to read her face, trying to get a read on how she feels about meddling noble matchmaking. She seems very collected, a little annoyed, but not angry. I look at her eyes, they’re clear and focused.  Once again I wonder about her prosecco comment. Something tells me that the First Lady isn’t being completely authentic with me today.

So of course, I have to push her further. I lean back poised to take a sip of prosecco. “No desire to be Her Grace, Duchess of Leinster?”

I watch carefully as she reacts. Immediately she shakes her head with a rueful smile, “I doubt I’m cut out for all that.”

She says it and I know she believes it, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to be a duchess. Besides, she’s wrong. She would be a perfect duchess. Stupidly, I tell her just that.

“You flatter me.” She replies.

“You’re already half way there.” I counter, referring to her position as First Lady. “And you’re very good at it.”

Now she frowns something about that last comment upsets her. “I disagree, but thank you.” And she finishes her glass. Then she’s smiling at me, “You truly are Prince Charming.”

For a moment I’m lost in that smile again. Her face framed by long, wavy honey strands of hair. It’s easy to forget the moment of tension in the conversation. She’s effectively washed it away, by simply looking at me and smiling.

The waiter comes over again, asking if we need anything else. Margaret checks her watch and I know it’s time to go. I tell the waiter as much and give him the nod that I’ll settle the bill later. Margaret begins to protest but I just purse my lips, “Did you honestly believe I would let you pay?”

She holds my gaze, “I did extend the invitation.”

“Yes, you did.” I say thoughtfully. “Why?”

She blinks, “To talk about Invictus obviously.”

“Nothing else.” I’m finishing for compliments, and it’s not attractive, but I can’t help it. Her ‘Prince Charming’ comment even if meant as a deflection was like a drug.

“I don’t think so, but thank you for your words about the FitzGeralds. It will help, if I visit the family.”

“You’re welcome.”

She smiles, “I suppose I should go. I can feel the glares of my secret service shadows for waiting too long.”

She has a point so I stand and watch as she does as well. I admire the way her jeans hug her figure slightly, a figure I can grow accustomed to appreciating. Luckily, I remember my manners quickly enough to help her into the coat. She murmurs her thanks.

We walk through the restaurant in comfortable silence.

One of my protection officers stops us as we approach the reception area. Next to him stands another severe looking man, no doubt a member of the secret service. “Sir, the crowds outside are large. With the First Lady’s car waiting I would suggest we go to the back.”

I glance out the windows and see that he’s right. It would be chaos. If we walked out together I would have to say goodbye in front of the cameras, and the kiss on the cheek, something completely appropriate would be blown out of proportion in the press. A little gossip is nice for Invictus, but it can’t be the only focus.  Besides I can already imagine the lecture I would receive from my father.

“Good call.” I look to Margaret, who has placed her sunglasses on the top of her head. She isn’t fazed one bit by the crowd outside. “I enjoyed our brunch.”

“Likewise.” She smiles and leans forward, I place a perfunctory kiss on each of her cheeks. I pointedly ignore the sweet smell of her perfume. “And remember what I said about the speech and the interview.”

“Consider it scheduled.” I say and she smiles brightly.

“Until Orlando then.”

“Until then.” And then because I can’t resist, I bow my head slightly. “Your Grace.”

Her eyes flash, a smirk pulls at her lips. “Incorrigible.”

“I have on a good authority that I’m charming rather than incorrigible.” I’m pushing her, wanting to see that beautiful smile one last time. I smile, challenging her.

“Naughty then.” She says.

Damn that word. And damn her shapely mouth saying that word.

I step closer, knowing that now no one should hear this but us. The sane part of my brain is screaming at me to stop this game now. It’s yelling that I’ve already pushed beyond the bounds of ‘business.’ Unfortunately, the other, larger part of me is saying that it can never really be business between two people whose jobs are so wrapped up in their identities. That part of me, the naughty part of me, is urging me to continue. As the world can attest, I’ve always been more impulsive than prudent.

“I’ll admit to being naughty.” I say, my lips near her ear, as close as I can be while still being appropriate. “But I can also be very, very good.”

My words don’t solicit that sought after smile, no I’m rewarded with something better: desire. Her lips are parted softly and her brown eyes are a deep, inviting black.

But as soon as I see it there it’s gone.  She’s replaced the naked desire with her soft, trademark smile.

“Pity. Good is so boring.” With that she places her sunglasses over her eyes, slowly.  Her brown eyes lock with mine until they’re covered by the dark shades. I watch as she walks away, hips swaying, blonde hair waving about her. When the door opens I can hear the din from the paps and people outside. Margaret doesn’t react though, she takes it all in stride, head held high, a confident smile on her lips.

I’m left with the profound feeling that Miss Randolph is a dangerously underestimated woman.

Chapter 2                                                                                             Chapter 4