Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch (45 page)

Janelle smiled at him.  “It’s a good place to come, isn't it,” she said.  “Beautiful, but reasonably private.”

She leaned forward, opening her lips slightly.  Henry leaned towards her and kissed her, gently.  The kiss grew deeper and deeper until she was sitting next to him, without him having the slightest idea of when she'd moved from her chair.  Her lips tasted faintly of summer, probably an engineered perfume.  Royal Navy crewmen were only allowed minimal cosmetics.

“My mother thought it was an advantage to smell nice,” Janelle said, when he broke the kiss and asked.  Despite her dark skin, she flushed with embarrassment.  “She was always more traditional than my father.  And she told me she wouldn't speak to me again if I went into the Royal Navy.”

Henry winced.  He had some relatives like that too, although in his case he was reasonably sure they were more concerned about avoiding a nasty succession crisis than Henry’s own survival.  It had struck him, more than once, that they were wasting their time.  If Henry died in the service, his sister would take the throne and any debate about male primacy would be put off for at least another generation.  There wouldn't be any way to argue, in the immediate aftermath of his father’s death, that Henry should take the throne if Henry was dead.

“I think she was worried about you,” he said.  “Did she keep her word?”

“Well, she keeps moaning and demanding to know when I’m going to leave the Navy and start
living
,” Janelle said.  “Other than that ... she does talk to me, whenever I can't avoid it.”

“I know the feeling,” Henry said.  He had relatives he was forced to be polite to, whenever there was a formal dinner or some other social event.  And foreign ambassadors, who always seemed as bored as Henry himself felt.  “But at least she hasn't cut you completely out of her life.”

“I don't think my father would let her,” Janelle said.  She pulled him in for another kiss, then hesitated.  “He was always more proud of me than he let on, I think.”

Their lips met, again.  Henry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, then started to stroke the edge of her jacket.  She shivered slightly against him, then kissed his lips harder as his touch became more and more intimate.  It was strange, part of his mind realised, the part of him that never fell completely to emotion.  She didn't seem to have any reserve at all, no awareness that making love to him was making love to a prince.  Was this what it was like to make love without reservation?

“Not here,” she muttered, as his fingers started to pry open her uniform jacket.  He’d always wondered – it had been the source of many jokes – why the designers had made the jackets so they could be opened quickly.  “We could get caught.”

Henry felt himself flush.  Just because they’d been alone all the previous times they'd shared in the blister didn't mean they would always be alone.  He drew back for a long moment, feeling oddly disgruntled by her sudden change, then smiled as an idea came to him. 

“We could use one of the private suites,” he said, softly.  He felt himself flushing a moment later, torn between embarrassment and horror at his words.  If she didn't want to go any further ... what would she say to him now?  “I ...”

“We could,” she said, with another kiss.  “Let me see.”

She pulled her terminal off her belt and tapped it with her fingers, her hair falling down to surround her dark face.  Henry stared with unabashed interest, wondering how much of her appearance was the result of genetic engineering before deciding he didn't give a damn.  It wasn't something a gentleman asked, in any case; besides, there was quite a bit of genetic engineering in his own family tree.

“One of the rooms is currently available,” she said.  She looked up at him, her brown eyes bright.  “You want to go?”

“If you want to,” Henry stammered, suddenly finding himself tongue-tied.  He was no virgin – assorted crawlers and the womenfolk of Sin City had seen to that – but there was a difference between such prostitutes and a girl who wanted him for himself alone.  “I don’t mind.”

Janelle laughed out loud.  “I’m sure you don’t mind,” she said, as she pulled herself to her feet and held out a hand.  “Check your appearance, then come on.”

Henry smiled and followed her through the ship’s corridors, trying hard to remember what he’d been told about the private suites.  It had been one of the lectures he’d received from Wing Commander Paton, one of the ones he hadn’t paid much attention to at the time.  He honestly hadn't expected to meet someone interested in Charles Augustus, rather than Prince Henry.  The crew could use them for some private fun time – the Wing Commander had used those exact words – provided they didn't break the rules on fraternisation.  As a member of the Admiral’s staff, Janelle wasn't in the prohibited categories.

He watched as she pressed her fingertips against the sensor, opening the hatch, then stepped inside the chamber.  It was large enough to qualify as a luxury cabin, at least on the standards of most military starships, although it was no larger than a cheap hotel room.  One bulkhead was covered with a strict warning about breaking the regulations concerning relationships while onboard ship; the others were gunmetal grey, as bland and boring as possible.  A mirror hung on one bulkhead; behind it, there was a shower and hairdryer.  He smiled as the hatch closed firmly behind them and locked.  It
did
look like a cheap hotel room.

“I have three hours until I have to go back on shift,” Janelle said.  Now they were alone together in a locked compartment, she sounded almost nervous.  “And yourself?”

Henry checked his watch.  “Four hours before my next active duty shift,” he said.  “If the aliens attack early ...”

He had a sudden mental vision of having to snatch up his clothes and run for his starfighter, probably in his bare feet.  Moments later, he started to giggle.  He’d been told that some pilots had scrambled so quickly that all they’d worn was their flight suits and nothing else, but it was probably against some regulation or another.  Part of the reason one squadron was kept at permanent launch readiness was to buy time for the remaining pilots to dress and sprint to their planes in a more formal manner.  Haste, his instructors had said, bred forgetfulness.

Janelle giggled too.  Perhaps she’d had the same thought. 

“Sit down on the bed,” she ordered.  “Please.”

A quaver in her voice betrayed that she was still nervous.  When Henry obeyed, she straddled him and pushed him down until he was lying flat on the mattress.  She started to kiss him, each kiss slowly growing stronger and stronger, then pulled away and started to undo her jacket.  Her bare breasts bounced free, both as perfect as the rest of her.  Henry reached for them and cupped them in his hands, then started to stroke the nipples gently.  She let out a dull moan, shifting awkwardly on top of him.  Sin City had been an education in more ways than one.

“Relax,” Henry whispered, trying hard to keep his desire under control.  He quickly removed his uniform, then his underclothes.  She stared at his nakedness as if she hadn't seen a nude man before, something that seemed more than a little odd.  Even if she was virgin, surely she would have seen porn.  “We have plenty of time.”

Afterwards, they lay together in a pool of shared sweat, smiling tiredly at each other.  It
had
been her first time, Henry realised; he felt a moment of gratitude for the whores of Sin City, no matter how shameful going there had seemed the first few times.  They’d taught him how to give pleasure as well as how to take it.  It was an expensive service, but worth every penny.  Besides, as North and the others had pointed out, girls
liked
it when guys made them have a good time too.  It brought them back for more.

He looked over at her, feeling his smile grow wider.  “Was ... was that good for you?”

“It was,” she said.  “I ... thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Henry said.  “You were great too.”

He found himself wondering just what he could do with her, apart from sex.  There were plenty of places they could go on the moon ... but, sooner or later, he would have to tell her the truth.  And then ... who knew what she would say?  Most of the girls who would
like
the idea of being Queen were the type of girls who shouldn't be allowed anywhere near Buckingham Palace.  A stab of guilt shot through him and he sat upright, suddenly cursing his own desire.  But he’d wanted to be normal, just for once. 

“We’d better shower,” Janelle said.  He couldn't tell if she’d picked up on his mood swing or not, but she didn't seem to want to lie down and cuddle any longer.  “You never know what will happen.”

Henry nodded, then stood and walked into the shower.  Surprisingly, the water was suspiciously cool, but he washed himself down anyway as Janelle waited outside.  As soon as he was out of the shower and drying himself, she was inside, washing the sweat from her body as fast as possible.  He wondered, suddenly, if she regretted what they’d done.  But then, one of the more practical pieces of advice his father had given him had been that some girls grew moody and sad after losing their virginity, no matter how much they’d enjoyed the experience.  All the man could do, his father had said, was wait for them to get over it.

But was it a
good
piece of advice?  Henry had never realised just how warped a royal upbringing was until he’d seen other teenagers, long before he'd decided to go to the Academy.  Could it be that his father was wrong?

He dressed slowly, then watched as Janelle dressed.  She seemed to be moving slowly, without the simple joy of living she'd shown earlier; perhaps, he told himself, she was depressed.  He gave her a hug and a kiss, then held her hand as they walked out of the compartment ... and straight into the XO. 

“Commander,” Janelle said.  She sounded startled, even though they hadn't actually been doing anything wrong; she hastily let go of his hand.  “I ...”

“I need to speak with Augustus,” the XO said.  She waited until Janelle had walked through the airlock, then swung around and glared at Henry.  There was something in her furious gaze that made him quail.  The only other person who had looked at him like that was a female relative who had given him riding lessons and threatened to whip him if he ever mistreated one of her beasts.  “The Admiral’s office, now!”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Years ago, Ted had been called out of class and sent to face the headmaster of his school for something that hadn't been his fault.  He'd hated the feeling of being stared at by the old bastard who’d run the school and resolved that if he was ever in the same place, he would treat his students with considerably more respect.  Now, as a grown adult, he understood the old man more than he cared to admit.  It had been his job to maintain a distance between himself and his pupils.  He couldn't serve them by being their friend.

He looked up as Prince Henry was escorted into his office by the XO.  Ted had heard from her while the Prince remained outside, but he found it hard to come to terms with what he’d heard – and what he could do about it.  Going by a strict reading of the regulations, the Prince had done nothing wrong, not when Ted’s Flag Lieutenant and he were in different chains of command.  But morally?  Ted had to admit that he was coldly furious about the whole affair, no matter the legal rights and wrongs.  The Prince would do uncounted damage to Lopez’s future career if the media ever found out.

Or even another officer
, Ted thought.  The Royal Navy was hardly free of favouritism or nepotism – the Old Boys Network saw to that – but anyone who might have been tainted with either tended to be tested to the limits by their new commanding officer.  After all, it had been uncontrolled nepotism that had caused some of Britain’s greatest military and political disasters.  It might have its uses, but the government was determined to keep it firmly under control.  If Lopez was believed to have benefited from her relationship with Prince Henry, her next CO might be very suspicious of her until she proved herself.

He studied the Prince for a long moment, trying to gauge his mood.  Unfortunately, growing up in Buckingham Palace had made the Prince a practiced dissembler, at least when he wanted to conceal his emotions.  Captain Fitzwilliam had said the Prince had a chip on his shoulder, but Ted didn't see it, not now.  Or perhaps he’d reached a point where he tried not to give in to the temptation to start screaming and throwing tantrums.  It wasn't something he could ever ask the younger man.

And he is young
, Ted reminded himself. 
He’s only nineteen years old
.

“So tell me,” he said, as the Prince came to a halt in front of his desk and saluted.  “What
were
you thinking?”

The Prince looked, for a long unguarded moment, remarkably sullen.  “I was thinking that I had a chance at a proper relationship,” he said.  “And I took it.”

Ted met his eyes and held them, firmly.  “Tell me,” he demanded.  “Does she know who you are?”

“I don’t think so,” the Prince said.  His demeanour started to crack.  “Did you tell her?”

“No,” Ted said, shortly.  He’d been careful not to discuss the matter with anyone other than Captain Fitzwilliam, Commander Williams and the CAG.  It was possible that Lopez could have accessed the file belonging to Charles Augustus and realised there was something wrong with it, but it would be a jump from seeing that to recognising that she was dating Prince Henry.  “But that raises another question, doesn’t it?”