Highness (The Lonely Heart Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

fact, that was the only thing real about her. 
    The rest was just a well-orchestrated lie.
    Evidently, her family in their haste to defend her honor had also already issued a statement to the public, which of course every rag in the UK happily ran.  And because of his reputation before dating her, despite the fact that he had never once cheated on her during their relationship, everyone was taking her side. 
    Go figure.  
    Now his mother, the Queen of England, wanted to weigh in.  And while he could not blame her for wanting to know the details, he was certain that she’d agree that it was entirely his fault, as was everything. 
    As soon as the door of the bulletproof truck opened and Michael’s foot hit the ground, the front doors of Balmoral Castle opened and a small succession of staffers. 
    Since he was a young boy, he had always hated being waited on.  No one believed him, but he rather envied young men who grew up without all of the pomp and circumstance. 
    But there were at least two people in the mansion in front of him who would definitely disagree. 
    Stepping out into the cool breeze, he looked up at the lavish granite estate in all of its glory and felt ill.  Even among all of this decadent beauty, today’s meeting was going to be ugly, and he already could feel his mother’s hot as hell-like wrath emanating from the very pores of the structure.  
    Yet again, he had disappointed her.  Only this time, it was with good cause. 
    “We are most honored to have you back in our presence, Your Highness,” the butler said, bowing as Michael passed.  He was stereotypically old and haggard in a tailored uniform with silver hair and liver spots, but he was also Michael’s favorite servant. 
    “Hello Albert,” Michael answered as he walked briskly past. “Where is she ?” he asked.  He stopped in the foyer and slipped his hands in his pockets. 
    “The queen is indisposed at the moment, however, she has asked that upon your arrival, you meet her in the sitting room for a conversation,” Alfred said, closing the front doors behind him.
    “Good. Then I’ll just head to the parlor for a drink before,” he said, rolling his eyes.  There was no way that he was going to take his tongue-lashing sober in a place that distilled its own whiskey. 
    This glorious, historic estate that outsiders coveted with a certain amount of absolute glee carried many memories for him, not all of them good .  He was here when his father passed away, here when Margaret Dunning first broke his heart, and here when his first bones were broken from falling from a nearby tree.
    This was the place he went when nothing was right in the world. 
    It was exactly why he had not brought Thalia here to propose to her, but exactly where he should have brought her to break up. 
    Now, he was again, facing another pivotal point in his life, and it irritated him to no end that he was doing it at the Balmoral.
    Taking off his winter green North Face jacket, he laid it on the back of a finely upholstered wing-backed chair in the gilded golden parlor colored by fresh bouquets and fine furniture and went over to the bar. 
    Without apology or restraint, he wanted whisky, and not the crap distilled a stone’s throw from the estate.  He wanted American whiskey.  He wanted to get properly drunk.  That was the simple and complete truth. 
    Picking up a rare and hard to find bottle of Jefferson’s Presidential Select, his mouth watered.   He poured a hefty helping of the Kentucky made bourbon into a crystal tumbler and raised the glass to admire the attractive copper color – flickering from amber to mahogany in the dim light.
    “You’ve managed to make the news again,” a deep English baritone echoed from behind him. 
    Michael looked up from his glass into the large mirror behind the bar to see his brother’s regal reflection glaring at him. 
    Great. An ambush. 
    “Bloody hell.  I wasn’t aware that you were here,”