Page 26 of Royal Trouble
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Xander led Everly across the garden before cutting behind a row of hedges then picking up the narrow stone path that led to the servants’ entrance. The patio would’ve been a more direct route, but given the circumstances, it was probably best to avoid the crowds. It was clear she hadn’t wanted to face her father, and he excelled at dodging self-important courtiers.
Just one of his many talents, really.
As he’d expected, the path was deserted. With every step they took, the sounds of the party were dampened by distance and shrubbery. He stole a glance at Everly. The color had returned to her cheeks, but her eyes remained guarded.
What had happened to put that look in her eyes?
Beyond court gossip, he knew little about her family life. It was no secret the Duke of Lennox was her father, though he’d never formally acknowledged her at court.
Or anywhere else for that matter.
The cruelness of it heated his blood. How could the man treat his own child—treat Everly—so callously?
From what he’d heard, her mother had been employed by the Lennoxes as a nanny. That was until news of her pregnancy sent her fleeing back to the U.S. with her newborn child. Apparently, it had been quite the scandal. Everyone had forgotten all about the nanny and her infant until Everly enrolled at Westbury Academy with the other Lennox children, reigniting the old rumors.
Bollocks. He shook his head in disgust. Why was it always the children who paid the price of their parents’ sins?
“Where are we going?” Everly asked, hurrying to match his stride.
The question sliced through his bitter thoughts, and he slowed his pace, refusing to analyze his newfound desire to protect her from her bastard of a father. “You’ll see.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is everything a game to you?”
He considered the question. “No, but I do find life at court is far more palatable when you don’t take it too seriously.”
The alternative was too depressing to contemplate, especially when you were the screw-up of the royal family.
He decided to take her lack of response as approval and ushered her through a rear entrance reserved exclusively for servants. The dimly lit hall led directly to the kitchen, which was fully staffed at the moment. He did a quick scan of the room before entering.
The head chef was nowhere to be seen. Perfect. They’d have to work fast.
“Follow my lead.” He grabbed Everly’s hand and pulled her along behind him. They skirted the center island, where a team of caterers worked to plate hors d’oeuvres, but they were focused on their mission at hand, and no one looked at them twice. Wooden crates of champagne were stacked six high next to the pantry, and he grabbed a bottle on his way past. “The key is to look like you belong.”
“You’re a prince,” she hissed. “I think they know you don’t belong in the kitchen.”
“I never pegged you for an elitist,” he called over his shoulder, earning a huff of annoyance as they wove their way through the bustling kitchen. He paused at a rolling rack filled with trays of delectable-looking finger cakes, tarts, and petit fours. He turned to Everly and gestured to the desserts. “Ladies’ choice.”
“What?” Everly’s gaze shifted from Xander to the rack, her eyes wide with longing. “We can’t take these. They’re for the party.”
He smirked. “We’re guests of His Majesty. Ergo, these desserts are in fact meant for us.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Christ. The woman needed to lighten up. Did she really think the king would have her drawn and quartered for pinching a few desserts? “All right, then. We’ll just try a bit of everything.”
He grabbed a platter from the stack on the island and began piling it high with cakes of various shapes and sizes, making sure to get at least two of everything. He thrust the tray into her hands, grabbed the bottle of champagne, and moved on before she could launch into another protest.
The desserts were the easy part of this mission. Phase Two would be the real test.
The door to the head chef’s office was ajar, and he peeked inside, confirming it was empty before turning back to Everly.
“You’re on lookout,” he whispered. “Let me know if anyone comes by.” He paused, taking in her scandalized expression. “And maybe try not to look quite so guilty.”
“I can’t believe you’re making me an accomplice to…whatever this is!” she sputtered.
“Don’t worry, love. Kitchen theft is a minor offense. They’ll probably let you off with a warning. Or scullery work.” He winked at her. “I bet you’ll look great in one of those little white caps.”
Hell, she’d look good wearing a potato sack.
Before she could reply, he slipped into the head chef’s office and scanned the cluttered desk. It was littered with recipe books and invoices, but no keys.