Princess Vittoria Olympia of the Romana Family of Olympus
The heavy oak doors of Campbell's suite at Holyroodhouse closed behind us with a solid, echoing thud, cutting off the distant strings of the palace orchestra and the suffocating murmurs of two hundred Scottish aristocrats.
I barely had time to kick off my metallic heels—listening to them clatter against the dark, polished parquet floor—before Campbell's hands were on my waist.
He didn't pull me gently. He backed me up against the paneled wooden wall beside the doorway, crowding out every inch of space in the dimly lit entry alcove. The room smelled of old beeswax polish, damp stone, and the warm, intoxicating cedar-and-salt scent of his cologne. He was still wearing his full dress uniform—dark navy wool, silver buttons that gleamed under the warm glow of the sconces, the heavy silk sash across his chest—and the heat radiating off him felt like a localized fever against the chilly palace air.
