The King's Bride By Arrangement (Sovereigns and Scandals, Book 2)

by Annie West

  Fifteen minutes later, Paul parked the anonymous vehicle in a side street.

  He’d refused a security escort but knew somewhere behind him there’d be a minder or two discreetly melding into the night. It wasn’t unheard of for royals to escape for a couple of hours’ private partying. At such times security staff kept their distance.

  Paul’s plan was to find Eva and bring her back to the palace.

  She had a perfect right to party but the idea of her doing so without him, possibly prey to the advances of predatory guys, disturbed him.

  He loped down the cobble-stoned street towards the night club, mouth tightening at the coincidence that this was the same place Karen Villiers had invited him to. Fervently he hoped she was no longer on the premises.

  Quickening his step, he was crossing a narrow lane on the way to the main entrance when a woman’s voice stopped him.

  ‘I said, let go of me!’ Gasping as if from effort, higher pitched than normal, the voice was still familiar.

  Eva.

  Paul swung round and hurried towards the sound. The lane was dark, illuminated only by a feeble bulb near a metal door—the night club’s back entrance, he assumed. He could see movement, a jumble of figures and a flash of light. There was a hiss of breath and a curse.

  In that moment’s bright light, he saw enough. There were people milling near the club’s back door but another couple caught his attention. A woman had her back to the wall, straining away from a man boxing her in who pawed at her short skirt, lifting it up her thigh.

  As Paul broke into a run he saw the woman jerk one knee up and the man hunch, cursing. There was just enough light to make out the woman’s horrified features.

  Eva.

  Nausea filled Paul, and an unholy rage.

  He reached them as the guy straightened, filling the air with a stream of ugly curses.

  Ignoring the bystanders in the doorway, Paul grabbed the man by the shoulder and spun him round.

  It all happened so fast, Eva had trouble taking it in. A minute ago she’d been fending off her companion’s suddenly groping hands. She’d been stunned by how he’d morphed from debonair, amusing company to mauling octopus, his lips wet on her neck and cheek when she tried to avoid his kisses.

  He hadn’t taken rejection well, ignoring her first polite request that he step back. Instead he’d used his size and weight to pin her to the wall and try to lift her skirt, his other hand groping at her breast.

  That was when fear had kicked in. But her desperate knee to his groin had only slowed him. Her hackles had risen in terror at what he’d said then, and the raw fury in his voice, but before he could follow through on his threats he was wrenched away.

  To her right came the sound of breaking glass and the alley was plunged into darkness.

  She was aware of raised voices near the club’s exit but kept her eyes on the heaving figures before her. All she could discern was two men and the sound of fighting. Grunts, thuds and at one point a crunching that turned her stomach.

  Then a man’s voice whispered in her ear. ‘Palace security, Your Highness. You need to leave now.’ A hand at her elbow urged her to move away from the club.

  She shook her head, trying to make out what was happening in front of her.

  ‘We can’t go. He might need help.’ They couldn’t abandon the man who’d rescued her.

  The reply was so soft, she had to strain to hear it. ‘His Majesty has things in hand. He’ll join us in a moment.’

  His Majesty? Did he mean Paul?

  ‘This way, please.’ She was propelled, half-carried, to the end of the alley and round the corner.

  Shocked and out of breath, Eva finally gathered her thoughts and found enough purchase on the slippery cobbles to slow their progress.

  ‘No. I refuse to go until I know he’s okay.’ She yanked her arm free of the bodyguard’s hold, but only, she knew, because of who she was, not because she’d managed to break his grip. ‘We can’t just leave him. What if he’s injured?’

  The man opened his mouth as if to argue then stopped, turning to face the way they’d come.

  Finally, over the pounding of her pulse in her ears, Eva made out the sound of footsteps approaching. She turned.

  There was Paul, striding towards them. In the dim light he looked different. Bigger, somehow, and broader in a dark sweater and trousers instead of the dress uniform he’d worn earlier tonight. His hair was rumpled, falling forward across his brow, and she thought she saw a smear of something across his cheek.

  ‘Why haven’t you already gone?’ He addressed the bodyguard rather than her. ‘The Princess needs to be away from here.’

  ‘The lady was concerned about you, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Really?’ Paul turned to her, his expression unreadable in the darkness.

  ‘Really,’ she said when she found her voice. ‘You could have been hurt.’

  ‘So could you.’ His voice sliced like a honed blade through butter. ‘Didn’t you think of that?’

  Eva stared up at him. She’d never heard her fiancé angry. If anything she’d have called him even-tempered. Yet now it sounded as if he spoke through gritted teeth. Even in the gloom she saw the way his dark eyebrows angled down in a disapproving V.

  Was he angry with her?

  She hadn’t created that scene back there.

  Abruptly she shivered, her hands rubbing her bare arms as the night air blanketed her. But the chill in her bones wasn’t because of the weather.

  ‘If I might suggest, Your Majesty.’ The bodyguard spoke. ‘If you take the Princess away, I’ll tidy up here.’

  Tidy up? What did that entail?

  She had to ask. ‘How is he? Fabrice?’

  ‘Fabrice?’ Paul shifted closer to her.

  ‘The man you fought.’

  ‘You’re worried about the man who assaulted you?’

  No. I’m worried about what you’ll face if he’s badly injured.

  The last thing Paul needed was a scandal when every action in his reign had been directed to protecting St Ancilla from the revelation of his father’s iniquities. That would lead to loss of confidence in the country and its financial system.

  ‘If he needs a hospital—’

  ‘Hardly. He’s just a little bruised.’

  Eva squinted up at her fiancé, hearing unmistakeable satisfaction in his voice. Had he enjoyed the fight? The idea was out of step with everything she knew of him.

  ‘Okay.’ Paul nodded to the security guy. ‘Go and do what needs to be done.’

  ‘Yes, sir. And my apologies for not intervening earlier. It wasn’t obvious initially that the Princess would welcome intervention. When I realised the situation, I was delayed by onlookers.’

  ‘I understand. I’ll look after the Princess.’

  Another shiver rippled through Eva. Because the man had thought she’d wanted to be groped. And because of Paul’s harsh tone. As if she were some chore, an unwanted obligation.

  But that was exactly what she was. Paul had just stopped pretending otherwise.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  Eva blinked and realised she’d given a huff of bitter laughter. She looked past him. They were alone now, their companion already disappearing round the corner to the lane at the back of the night club.

  ‘Nothing.’ She tilted her head higher, meeting Paul’s gaze full-on. ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  As nights went, this was an utter disaster. The worst of her life. Rejected by the man she loved. Taken in by a charming stranger who’d offered to walk her to a taxi rank when she’d decided the night-club visit was a mistake. Groped and savagely threatened. And now, if she read the crackling atmosphere right, she’d infuriated the man who’d rescued her.

  Tough. He infuriated her.

  She turned away and marched d
own the street.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Back to the palace. If the police need me to make a statement, your man can direct them there.’

  ‘There’ll be no need for that.’

  She tossed a look over her shoulder and found Paul right behind her, so close he could have curled his arm around her if he’d wanted. But of course he didn’t want, did he? A rising tide of bitterness engulfed her.

  ‘Why? Are you going to get your staff to paper over the incident, like your father would have done?’ She stumbled to a halt, fear sucking in her breath. ‘He’s not going to be dumped somewhere, is he?’

  Eva didn’t know the full details of King Hugo’s crimes but she knew he’d ruthlessly used his security services to make problems disappear. He’d had Princess Caro’s infant daughter stolen from her at birth because he’d refused to acknowledge an illegitimate grandchild. Eva had been shocked when her then future sister-in-law had confided that secret, but pleased she’d trusted her with it. Especially as the story had a happy ending, Caro finally reuniting with the child she’d once believed stillborn.

  ‘Dumped?’ Paul stared down at her. ‘What do you think’s going on? He works for the royal family, not the Mafia.’

  ‘Then how do you know the police won’t get involved?’

  He angled his head as if to view her better. ‘Because I assume you don’t want to press charges and face the publicity that would bring. Your Fabrice sure won’t. He’ll thank his lucky stars he’s not locked up. Unless you do want the police involved?’

  Eva considered it for a whole three seconds. ‘No, I don’t.’ She cringed at the thought of reliving those horrible moments for the authorities. Of what had happened becoming fodder for the press.

  What she wanted was to go back to her suite and take a long, hot shower.

  ‘Good. Come this way.’ Paul didn’t touch her but gestured to a car parked up ahead, its lights blinking as he unlocked it with a remote control.

  Eva didn’t want to go with Paul. Didn’t want to sit in that confined space with him of all people while her nerves were so jangled and her flesh crawled at the too-real memory of that man’s hands on her. Especially as Paul seemed to blame her for what had happened.

  ‘Eva?’

  She glanced at those imposing shoulders, then at the solidity of that strong jaw. Why had she never thought of it as stubborn before?

  She was tempted to keep on walking. To say she needed to clear her head rather than subject herself to his frowning fury. But she wasn’t that stupid. She’d been gullible, trusting a stranger after such a short acquaintance, but the thought of walking down these deserted streets back to the palace...

  Eva marched to where Paul stood holding the car door open. Her high heels clicked smartly on the cobbles. She kept her chin up, clutching her small shoulder bag to her side, and got into the passenger seat without once brushing against him or meeting his eyes.

  Paul seethed, the satisfaction he’d got from downing the man who’d dared touch her already fading.

  Her precious Fabrice.

  He hadn’t believed his ears when Eva had asked how he was. The man had assaulted her and yet she was concerned about him. It had been there in her voice.

  Had she known him before tonight?

  Was there something between them?

  Paul had assumed they were virtual strangers but...

  ‘If you take your hand away I’ll shut the door.’ Her voice came crisply but otherwise uninflected from inside the car.

  Belatedly Paul stirred, realising he was making her a target for curious eyes with the door open and the car’s interior light on. He stepped away and closed the door gently, concealing the roiling anger inside him.

  No one had ever made him so furious. Except his late, unlamented father. But then King Hugo had been monstrous—narcissistic, venal and with a wrathful temper that had scorched anyone who disobeyed him.

  Was it any wonder Paul had made it his life’s work to contain his temper? To ensure he was as unlike his father as possible?

  He shook his head and stalked round the car. Sliding inside, he shut his door and started the engine, plunging them into darkness.

  But not soon enough to blot out the image of Eva’s long, pale legs stretching out beside him from under that short dress.

  Why hadn’t he known she had legs like that? Legs that dragged a man’s eyes down then up again even when his thoughts were still half with the guy he’d left sprawling in the alley. When she’d walked down the street, chin up and hips swinging... No, not walked. Sashayed. Her rump twitching, hips swaying and those legs...

  Stifling a growl of frustration in the back of his throat, he reached for his seat belt and eased the car into gear.

  ‘Buckle up.’

  But of course she already had. Princess Eva of Tarentia always followed the rules. Her grasp of court etiquette was second to none, her willingness to do what was expected of her one of the reasons she’d been put forward as a royal bride.

  Except when she didn’t do what was expected. Like tonight.

  Another thing he’d only just discovered. The fact that the woman who was still his fiancée was a rule breaker, skiving off to a night club notorious as a venue for discreet hook-ups wearing a dress that barely covered the essentials.

  Then, when some chancer had tried to take advantage, had she thanked him, Paul, for rescuing her? No, she’d worried about the man who’d tried to undress her in an alleyway, all but accusing Paul of wrongdoing.

  The car shot forward with a growl and the squeal of rubber on wet stone, forcing him to focus on his driving.

  The way things had gone so far, he just needed to smash the car to round off a terrific evening.

  Her voice cut through his turbulent thoughts. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Belatedly he recalled she’d been concerned for him earlier. Or so she’d said. Had she been more worried about how Fabrice emerged from the encounter with Paul’s fists?

  ‘You’re not acting like you are.’

  Paul clenched his teeth, easing his foot off the accelerator. ‘Perhaps I’m just tired. It was late when I came out to rescue you.’

  Which wasn’t strictly true. It had been late but he’d been wide awake, working his way through reams of paperwork. He hadn’t bothered going to bed because his conversation with Eva had left him unsettled and discomfited. He wasn’t used to his carefully laid plans being upended.

  His mouth twisted grimly.

  All these years he and so many royal advisors had considered Eva the perfect, conformable, comfortable royal spouse. None of them had realised her hidden, troublesome depths.

  He shot her a sideways glance, caught sight of gleaming pale flesh in the darkness and registered the now-familiar grab and twist of desire low in his belly, and even lower, in his groin.

  Even the sight of all that lustrous hair disturbed him. It was loose down her back and around her shoulders, and slightly dishevelled.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if that was how she looked in bed.

  Sultry, delicious and rumpled.

  He sucked in a sharp breath, trying and failing to banish the thought.

  There was something subtly decadent about the sight of her hair loose, almost to her waist. It caught him on the raw that she’d worn it like that for a stranger but not for him.

  Before tonight he’d felt sorry for his fiancée, trapped in a betrothal she patently didn’t want. He’d worked hard not to take that personally, and had almost succeeded.

  Tonight Eva had upset the tenuous balance of their relationship. Instead of sensibly agreeing to separate, she’d refused his plan. She hadn’t precisely objected, but she’d tossed a spanner in the works with her announcement that she was content to marry him.

  Content!

  Had she
any idea what an affront that was? What an insult to a man who, even allowing for the pull of his royal title, always had his fair share of female interest?

  He might have inherited a kingdom that was a financial basket-case but Paul wasn’t used to being dismissed so easily by any woman. He’d spent the last four years fending off females, only too eager to offer him solace and support while his fiancée was away, because he took his betrothal vow seriously.

  His jaw worked and pain radiated from his grinding molars as he thought of the efforts he’d gone to for Eva. And did she appreciate them?

  ‘This isn’t the way to the palace.’ Her voice came out of the darkness, drawing him back to the present.

  Paul inhaled a slow breath and forced the negative thoughts to slide away. He refused to pile his frustrations one on top of the other, or to blame them all on Eva. He wasn’t his father. He’d work through their difficulties and find a reasonable solution, not rage about them, lashing out indiscriminately.

  ‘No. We passed the turn a few streets ago.’

  In his peripheral vision he caught the pale oval of her face turning towards him.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Somewhere where we can talk without interruption.’

  Because, whether Eva liked it or not, there were things they needed to sort out. Now. Tonight.

  Their engagement. The potential fallout from tonight’s escapade. And the unexpected zap of electric awareness between them that undercut everything he’d told himself about a lack of attraction.

  He was torn between two competing impulses. To berate Eva for putting herself at the mercy of a stranger. Or pull over to the side of the road and kiss the mouth he’d discovered was anything but prim when she forgot to hold it taut. A mouth as lush and inviting as any he’d known.

  Another spasm of pain circled his jaw.

  One thing was certain. Tonight was a test of his control in ways he’d never expected.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE CAR PULLED up in a world of thick shadows. Tall trees lined either side of the road and they’d left the city lights far behind.

  As Paul swept to a halt at the end of a long, gravelled drive, sensor lights switched on to reveal a quaint building, several storeys high, and built in a style that harked back to a previous era.