Royals Saga 3 Crown Me (5 page)

“Never mind,” Edward said with amusement. “Hurricane Alexander is home.”

“Good night.” Alexander kicked the door closed behind us and took me to bed.

E
dward tapped on the spotless glass case. “What do you think of this?”

“Too ostentatious,” I said decidedly. The thick yellow gold ring featured large square diamonds circling the band. Whoever wore that ring would be hard to miss—not exactly what seemed important to someone like Edward’s boyfriend. “I can’t imagine David wearing that.”

“Neither can I.” Edward released a long sigh and shook his head. “Remind me that this isn’t the most important decision of my life.”

I inclined my head thoughtfully, my fingers twisting my own ruby engagement ring. “Asking him to marry you certainly is.”

“But not the ring,” Edward clarified.

“You could probably give him a rubber band and he would be thrilled,” I agreed. “He wants to be asked.”

“God, I hope you’re right.” Edward pointed to another band, which the saleswoman swiftly retrieved for his inspection.

“Hey, no cold feet.” I bumped his shoulder with my own, trying to cheer him up. “Don’t get angsty unless he says no.”

“And if he says yes?” Edward asked, turning the ring over in his palm before slipping it onto his own finger.

“That’s a whole different matter.”

“How are your feet?” he asked.

“Toasty warm,” I assured him, before adding, “most of the time.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“I wear thick socks.”

His lips pressed into a thin line before he turned his attention back to the task at hand. “Thanks for coming along with me on this. The tabloids would have a field day if someone snapped a photo of me here alone.”

Here was Hammond’s—London’s premier private jeweler, located in posh Belgravia. I’d never heard of the shop until today. I’d assumed Edward was actually referring to Harrods, the famous department store nearby. Instead I’d found myself in a tiny shop tucked back in an unassuming line of stores. As it catered to a very exclusive clientele, the Royal family included, the only thing on the sign was the store’s name and the year of its establishment: 1875. The well-appointed interior full of luxurious leather chairs and plush imported rugs made it a surprisingly welcoming space—that was until I saw a price tag.

No wonder the shop was the Royal family’s jeweler. Each piece cost a king’s ransom.

“I am the perfect alibi.” I leaned closer to the glass, my breath fogging the pristine surface. “I need to buy a wedding band myself.”

“I don’t think you can give Alexander a rubber band.” Edward smirked as he teased me.

“Probably not.” At least not with the whole world dissecting every decision we’d made about the wedding. I sighed, struggling to convince myself that public expectations didn’t matter. The fact was that they did. The closer I grew to Edward, the more I longed to see the rest of the family stop merely tolerating one another and actually love each other. I wasn’t about to admit that to Alexander though.

“This one,” Edward said triumphantly, pushing his glasses on top of his head so he could inspect it more closely.

My purse vibrated and I nodded encouragingly while I dug my phone out.

“Very nice choice,” the girl behind the counter opined. “That’s brushed 14-Karat white gold and of course these”—she pointed to two thin yellow gold rings on both edges—“are also 14 Karat.”

The number on the screen was unfamiliar but I recognized the area code. Oxford. I silenced the call with trembling fingers and dropped my phone back into my bag.

“Are you okay?” Edward asked.

“Yeah,” I lied, pretending to look at the jewelry case. I stepped away as they discussed price and tried to turn off the sudden onslaught of fears the phone call had provoked. Running my fingers along the glass, I paused as a simple band caught my eye.

“May I show you something?” A man in an expensive tailored suit stepped from the shadow of the back room. He was striking—classically handsome, save for a nose that looked as if it had been broken a few times. And judging from the salt and pepper in his hair, he was close to my father’s age. I nodded and gestured to the ring that I had just spotted.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. It’s a pleasure to have you in my shop, Miss Bishop.”

I started, caught off guard by the fact that he knew me. Then I remembered that I was no longer an anonymous woman. He reached out and grasped my hand, drawing it to his lips. Charming, handsome, and he owned a jewelry store—he was a triple threat. I couldn’t help but wonder if Belle’s Aunt Jane was seeing anyone yet.

“Mr. Hammond, I presume.”

“Please call me Jack.” Despite the warmth of his greeting, there was a coldness behind his flinty eyes that sent a chill running down my spine.

“Then you must call me Clara.” I started to pull my hand away but his grip on it tightened.

“Such a lovely ring. My father made it for Albert.”

I raised an eyebrow. Alexander’s father wasn’t the type to be on a first name basis with his jeweler. I smiled politely. “I’m very attached to it.”

“I was certain you would be. No doubt owing in no small part to the man who gave it to you.” He studied me for a moment, and I squirmed under his gaze, my discomfort growing with each passing second. “Tell me, how is Alexander? I’ve expected him to pay me a visit since I heard of your engagement.”

“I plan to wear his mother’s ring as my wedding band,” I explained to him.

Jack released my hand and smiled wanly. “Still, a man should keep his jeweler close if he wants a happy marriage.”

I laughed politely. Jack Hammond bent to reach into the case and I shot daggers at Edward, who merely returned my glare with a puzzled shrug.

“This would suit your fiancé,” he said as he handed me the ring. It was a simple platinum band but the inside was coated in rose gold. It reminded me of the night he’d proposed to me with dozens of red roses.

“Could you engrave it?” I asked, handing it back to him.

“Certainly.” He placed it on a small, velvet square. “And I’d be happy to deliver it to your house.”

I had the oddest instinct to say no. “Can you send it with Edward’s order? I don’t want him to see it before the wedding.”

Jack inclined his head in agreement, and relief washed over me. I immediately felt silly. There was no reason to be so paranoid. The store’s doorbell—another measure of its exclusivity—chimed, distracting him and saving me from any further consideration on the matter. It had been months since Daniel’s assault, and I was still seeing wolves behind every friendly face.

We arranged for payment and delivery, and I tried not to think about the extravagant price tag. If Alexander was going to wear this ring for the rest of his life—and he was if I had anything to say about it—it was worth the cost.

As Edward finished signing his check, I glanced up, noticing the shop’s newest customer for the first time. And the fact that she was studying me. Her gaze didn’t waver even when I caught her staring. I flushed, turning away, but not before I’d gotten a good look at her. She was about my age, but that was where our similarities ended. Dressed in tight jeans and leather boots, she didn’t look like the type of client I expected to find here. Except that she was gorgeous. Thick, black hair hung loose past her shoulders. Full lips that pouted without trying. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a woman as stunning as this bold stranger.

“Miss Bishop,” Jack called. “Allow me to introduce one of my partners. This is Ms. Kincaid.”

Ms. She looked like the type that would insist on Ms. Maybe it was her boots or the fuck-off look plastered on her face.

She sashayed a few steps closer and stuck out her hand. “Georgia.”

“Clara.” I stumbled over my own name, feeling slightly confused.

“Ms. Kincaid is a…matchmaker,” Jack explained, tacking on, “of sorts.”

“Unfortunately, we’ve met too late then,” I joked.

Georgia laughed, but her amusement didn’t reach her eyes. I couldn’t help but get the sense that she was taking my measure.

“Are you ready?” Edward asked, completely oblivious to the introduction occurring behind him. When he turned, he froze, just as quickly composing himself. “Thank you again, Jack.”

Edward hooked an arm through mine and led me quickly from the shop.

“That was a little rude,” I told him. “But thank you. They just kept staring at me.”

“Well, you are going to be the next Queen of England.” There was an edge to his words.

“Who was she?” I demanded. “You knew her, and she was sizing me up the whole time.”

“No one,” Edward said too quickly.

“I don’t buy that,” I said as we reached the Rolls.

Edward slid into the back without answering, and I followed him in, more determined than ever to uncover Georgia Kincaid’s mystery.

I crossed my arms and stared him down.

“You aren’t going to let this slide, are you?”

I shook my head.

“Someone from the past.”

“Alexander’s past?” I guessed. My stomach plummeted, but I shook off my unease. “No wonder she was staring at me.”

“You can’t blame her for being curious.” He lounged against the leather seat.

Curiosity, but not exactly jealousy, got the better of me. “Was it serious?”

“I don’t think so. Honestly, I was young. I never really met any of Alexander’s girls.”

“Until me?” I teased.

“Exactly,” he said. “So who cares about that girl? Not Alexander.”

I hoped he was right.

I waved goodbye to Edward from the front stoop. Shooting an awkward smile at the guard stationed near the gate, I stepped inside and closed the door softly. I waited for a moment, listening for Alexander, before I ducked into the study off the front hall.

My fingers shook as I found the missed call and hit return.

“Oxfordshire Clinic,” a perky voice chirped.

“I, uh, missed a call earlier.” I stumbled over the simple statement. My heart began to pound so hard that I could feel my chest moving.

“Name?”

“Clara Bishop,” I whispered, questioning if this was a good idea. Hospitals had privacy policies, but I was no longer just some university girl. Privacy without anonymity didn’t feel all that private anymore.

“Bishop,” she repeated, pausing for a moment. “Oh yes! We received your request for your medical records.”

I wet my lips, nodding. “Yes.”

“My apologies for the delay in responding. Unfortunately, we were unable to locate any record of treatment for you.”

“What?” I pressed a sweaty hand to the back of my neck, rubbing out the knot of tension that had suddenly formed. “I was hospitalized a little over a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We’ve been updating our computer system, it’s possible it just got lost.”

“Is there anyone I can speak to?” I fumbled for a solution, but I knew it wasn’t there. It was no coincidence that they had no record of my hospitalization.

“I can put in a request for you to speak with a patient liaison, but I assure you that I’ve done a thorough search.”

I didn’t miss the annoyance in her voice.

“Thanks anyway.” I ended the call and stared at the phone.

I’d expected answers. I’d dreaded them as soon as I’d seen the caller ID. Instead I’d only been left with more questions. Daniel had claimed I was responsible for the death of our unborn child. Was he right? Had I actually been pregnant? Now I would never know. Alexander claimed he didn’t care. I believed him. So why had I requested those records? I hadn’t been sure then.

But now I knew it was because I did care.

I also knew those records hadn’t just disappeared.

Taking a deep breath, I redialed the number and clutched the phone to my ear.

“Oxfordshire Clinic.”

“Hello. I just called. I thought of one quick question. Do you have a Clara Bishop listed in your system at all?”

She paused. “No. I am sorry. Are you certain you have the right hospital?”

“Quite.” I hung up the phone, stunned. Part of me wished that I had the wrong hospital because the alternative was worse. Much worse.

I’d been scared for the last few weeks that I’d lose myself in all the changes. I had never considered that I might be being changed.

“Poppet?”

I jumped, startled as Alexander leaned against the doorframe.