“And that would be correct,” he says, his piercing blue eyes locking on mine. “I do want you. I was going to kiss you last night. But it’s more than that.”
I’m so surprised, I can’t find the words to respond.
“What I want,” Xander continues slowly, as if to place importance on what he is about to say, “is to get to know you. I want real conversations with a real woman. Who is a talented biscuit artist. I take exception to the ‘just a biscuit artist’ comment, so that’s my own editorial revision. But I want to get to know you, Poppy Davies. The same way I hope you want to get to know me. Xander Wales.”
My throat constricts. I can’t believe the words that have passed his lips. While I already knew from last night this wasn’t a hookup, this is so far from him being Xander the Philanderer, it makes me question how he even had that nickname in the first place.
I swallow, as I have something he needs to hear from me, too. To make him understand how much I want to get to know him on another level as well.
“I want more than that,” I say.
Xander blinks in surprise. “Like what?”
“While I want to get to know Xander Wales,” I say softly, “I need to know Prince Alexander of Wales. And Captain Wales. In fact, I want to know all sides that make up Xander Wales. Except for one. I don’t want to know the details of Xander the Philanderer.” I grin cheekily at him. “A woman doesn’t need to hear all the details of your past, you know.”
Xander laughs, the rich sound sending a happy shiver down my spine.
“Thank God,” he says. “That’s enough to put anyone off me.”
Hmm, probably not as much as Xander knowing I had sex with a flailing, gasping, slimy cod, but I decide he doesn’t need to know everything about me, either.
“So, will you now allow me to walk next to you?” Xander asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes, but not too close,” I say. “I don’t want to give anyone a reason to talk.”
“All right. May I carry the box for you?” he asks.
I snort. “I don’t think so. My clients would not carry my box for me.”
Xander laughs. “Oh, so I’m a client?”
I smile. “No, but you did invite me over to instruct you in all things royal icing.”
“I invited you. I’m not paying you,” Xander clarifies. “Therefore, I’m carrying the box.”
“No, that would look weird,” I say.
“Xander Wales would carry this box.”
“Well, when we are behind closed doors, and you become Xander Wales, you can,” I say smartly. “But right now, you are Prince Alexander of Wales, standing on the path of Kensington Palace, and it would be impossible for you to be carrying around my stuff without causing suspicion.”
He exhales loudly.
“You know I’m right,” I challenge. “Don’t act like I’m not.”
Now he’s scowling. And it’s so funny, I burst out laughing.
“You said you wanted someone to be real with you. Don’t be mad because I am.”
The hint of a smile plays at his mouth. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“You did. Now should we walk, or should we spend our entire time together on the path?”
“You are going to be a challenge, aren’t you?” he asks as he begins to walk.
“If being myself is a challenge,” I say, falling into step with him, “then yes, I am.”
“You have no idea how damn refreshing that is,” Xander says as we head towards Nott Cott, which is what he calls his cottage. “The last woman I was with said whatever she thought I wanted to hear.”
India.
He’s talking about, oh, what was her full name? Lady India … Rothschild! That was it. Lady India Rothschild.
“Lady India,” I say.
He visibly flinches as soon as I say the name. “Right. I suppose you would know that; it was everywhere, wasn’t it?” Xander says, reaching up and re-adjusting his navy cap.
“If it makes you feel better, I only saw headlines and photos when scrolling on my phone. I can’t say I was actually that interested in royal news.”
Xander shoots me a side-eye, and I can’t help but giggle.
“Sorry,” I say, still giggling.
“Now, that’s surprising. I assure you we’re just as soapy as EastEnders,” he quips. “In fact, I’d bet the palace that we’re juicier.”
My eyes widen. Ooh, now that’s a big hint to life behind palace doors.
And my gut says he’s not referring to his own escapades, but those of other family members.