A Princess for a Bride (Rothman Royals Book 2)

by Noelle Adams

  “You already said that.”

  “I know. But I mean it. It…it means a lot to me, that you would help my sister.”

  “Good.” Edward’s voice was thicker than normal, and he cleared his throat before he continued. “I’m happy to help her however I can.”

  I didn’t pull away from him, since I liked how warm and firm he felt beside me, but I tilted my head up so I could see his face. “So you’re really an introvert?”

  His eyes widened. “Of course I am. Didn’t you know that?”

  “I guess I did. I just never thought of it in those terms before.”

  “Why did you think I talk so little?”

  I gave a little shrug as I admitted, “I told you we used to think you were a snob.”

  He chuckled and adjusted his arm, wrapping it around me. “You really thought I never talked to you because I was a snob?”

  “Yes. It never occurred to me there might be another reason, that you might be... nervous… about…”

  “Talking to you? Nervous doesn’t even come close.”

  Maybe there wasn’t any reason for my reaction, but I was swept with a sudden rush of pleasure, giddiness.

  Edward Farmingham Channing IV—this incredible man—had actually been nervous about talking to me—so much that he’d barely said a word when we’d interacted before our marriage.

  I could hardly believe it was true.

  “Did you plan out things to say, like you were suggesting to Lisette?” I asked, too caught up in feeling to judge my words very carefully.

  After a brief hesitation, Edward admitted, “Yes. All the time.”

  “But you never said them?”

  “No. When it came down to it, I never said anything I planned.”

  I was pressed up against his side, cradled by his arm. I nuzzled his shoulder, embarrassed and gratified and bewildered by this fundamental shift in how I understood him in the past.

  “Well, I’m glad you talk to me now,” I said at last.

  “So am I.” He reached over with his free arm and took my hand, holding it lightly in his. I thought at first it was a friendly gesture—a kind of understanding between us—but he didn’t pull his hand away.

  He held my hand for the rest of the drive home.

  ***

  When he got back to the house, it was very late. We walked up the stairs to our bedrooms together, neither of us saying a word.

  I really wanted to spend the night with him. I felt closer to him than I ever had before. Even if we didn’t have sex, I didn’t want him to disappear into his own bedroom.

  Maybe I could just ask him.

  Ask him if he wanted to spend the night with me.

  Even if he didn’t, he would probably agree out of politeness, out of kindness, out of pity. I couldn’t bear that—that he was with me just to be nice.

  I wanted a lot more from him.

  And I was willing to wait until he wanted more too.

  When we reached his bedroom door and he still hadn’t spoken, I felt my heart drop in disappointment as I kept walking toward my own room.

  “Victoria.”

  His husky voice startled me. I turned around, my eyes wide and my heart starting to race.

  He opened his mouth, as if he would say something, but no sound came out.

  Instead of speaking, he reached out to take my hand, using the grip to pull me toward him.

  Before I knew what was happening, he was kissing me—hard and passionate and urgent. And I was kissing him back—every bit as eager.

  Soon, he had me pushed back against the wall of the hallway, his hands all over me and his lips and tongue devouring me. I was so out of control that I wrapped one of my legs around his thighs, trying to get closer to him, trying to feel him all over.

  After a minute, he lifted me by my bottom until both of my legs were twined around his waist. He carried me like that into his room, took me to his bed.

  We were still kissing as we tumbled down onto the mattress, and it wasn’t long until we’d torn each other’s clothes off. We were both so impatient that we didn’t have time for any foreplay, but I didn’t need any.

  My whole body was throbbing with desire, with exhilaration, and I was wet and ready for him when he pulled my legs apart and slid himself home.

  He was just as quiet as he’d been before, only his ragged breathing breaking his silence. There was no way I could stay quiet this time, though. He held on to one of my legs as he started to thrust, pulling me wide open to him, and I cried out in pleasure with every push. Together, we shook the bed until the headboard was banging against the wall, the sound vying with my sobs as an orgasm broke hard inside me.

  He wasn’t finished yet. He kept taking me hard and fast and fierce in a way I’d never experienced before. He was watching my face as I came again, my body evidently loosing normal bounds of control in the face of this passion between us.

  Edward was starting to lose control now. I could see it in the twisting of his features, hear it in how his panting breaths were turning into very soft grunts. The rhythm of his hips sped up, and I clawed at his ass as waves of pleasure consumed me as he finally reached his peak.

  “Victoria,” he groaned as his body shook through the spasms of his climax.

  I loved how he said it. Just like the first time. As if my name was all he had left at the end.

  We collapsed in a tangle of limps and skin and perspiration, and it was several minutes before I could extricate myself and stretch out beside him.

  I turned my head to see that he was looking at me, and we just stared at each other for a few moments.

  “That was… that was…” There was no word appropriate. At least, no word I was presently capable of voicing.

  “Mindblowing,” he said hoarsely.

  “Good word.” I was still trying to catch my breath. “We should do that again.”

  “I have no objections to that plan.”

  He sounded so matter-of-fact, almost indifferent, that it triggered a flare of insecurity. “If you want to, I mean,” I added. “Only if you want to.”

  “Victoria,” he said, his altered tone catching my attention. He met my eyes. “After what we just did, can you really ask if I want to do it again?”

  I giggled at his wry tone—mostly in relief. “Oh. Good.”

  “I’ve been wanting it for a really long time.”

  “Me too.” Ever since the last time. I smiled at him. We seemed to be on the same page.

  Maybe this time I wouldn’t have to wait a full three weeks before I had sex with him again.

  Seven

  As I woke up, even before I opened my eyes and could form coherent thoughts, I sensed that something was different.

  This wasn’t my bed.

  And I wasn’t alone.

  Nothing was touching me except very fine Egyptian cotton sheets, but there was a presence nearby. A familiar one.

  One that made me feel safe.

  And happy.

  I was sleeping on my side, so when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Edward.

  He was on his back and still asleep, the covers mostly covering his bare chest but his arms pulled out and resting by his sides.

  Ever since that night almost a month ago after the banquet for the Spanish diplomats, when we’d made love in that rush of passion, we’d been having sex at least a couple of times a week. It still wasn’t a common occurrence—at least it didn’t feel that way to me. It was nearly always after we went out in the evenings, when it felt natural to just fall in bed together after we returned home, the way we’d done that night four weeks ago.

  We invariably had sex in his room, since his was the first one we reached after walking up the stairs, but I always ended up going back to my room afterward to sleep.

  Last night was the first time I’d fallen asleep in his bed and not woken up until morning.

  That was why it felt so different.

  That was why it felt so nice.


  I snuggled down under the covers and watched Edward sleeping until he started to stir.

  Deciding he might think it was a little creepy that I was gazing at him in his sleep, I closed my eyes when his dark lashes started to flicker.

  After a minute, I opened my eyes and saw he’d turned his head and was now watching me.

  Feeling self-conscious about how fluttery I felt, I gave him a little smile, hoping I looked sleepy and unaware. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” His voice was thicker than normal—from sleep, I assumed.

  “I must have fallen asleep last night.”

  “I would assume so.”

  “I mean, that’s why I didn’t go back to my own room.”

  “No reason why you needed to. This bed is quite large.”

  It was large. My bed was big too, but I rather liked the fact that this one was his and I was sleeping it.

  It made me feel special in a very strange way.

  “What time is it?” I asked, desperately trying to act natural and not let him see how oddly I was feeling.

  He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Just after six-thirty. I have a few minutes before I need to get up.”

  “Good. It’s too cozy to get up quite yet.” That was a little too close to the truth, but I hoped it was impersonal enough to pass muster.

  He smiled and moved his arms so he could tug the covers up higher over both of us. Then, it seemed like he was lifting his arm to me in invitation so I couldn’t resist the urge to scoot over close to him.

  I sighed happily when he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me to his side.

  This was even better.

  I nestled against him, even warmer and more comfortable than before, until he asked, “What’s your schedule for the day?”

  His schedule was fairly fixed—he went into the office every weekday and worked mostly regular hours. Mine wasn’t anything like that.

  “I’m supposed to have tea this afternoon with some visiting ladies. I can’t even remember who they are.”

  “Just you?”

  “No, my mother and Lisette will be there too.”

  “How is Lisette doing?”

  I adjusted so I could look at his face. “She’s doing really well, I think. The other day she had everyone at lunch laughing over a story about this bird that attached her and Alex—Alexander Georgeson, the son of—“

  “I know who Alex is,” Edward put in mildly.

  Alex was the son of Francis Georgeson, who had been my father’s administrator for as long as I’d been alive, taking care of the day-to-day logistics of the royal household. Alex had been raised with us, and he and Lisette had always been good friends. Obviously, I knew Edward must have seen him around, but as far as I knew he and Alex had never spoken.

  Alex was the son of an employee, so he wasn’t really in Edward’s social circle. But I knew now that Edward wasn’t snobbish that way. I suddenly felt bed for assuming he was.

  “Yes,” I said. “Sorry. Of course you do.” I dropped my eyes.

  Edward reached out to lift up my chin so I was meeting his gaze again. “You were telling me about Lisette’s story?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, feeling better now that it was clear Edward didn’t think my assumption was a big deal. “She told that story at lunch the other day—it was a formal event, there were probably twenty other people there—and everyone thought it was the funniest thing. She was a big hit. She said she’d been preparing to tell that story for a few weeks, so she was so proud of herself for managing to use it like you suggested.”

  I was nestled up against Edward’s side again, so I couldn’t see his face, but it felt like he was smiling. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “She’s doing really well.”

  “Good,” he said again. His hand started moving slowly, idly stroking my back. After a minute, he asked, “And what about you?”

  I blinked. “What about me?”

  “How are you doing?”

  This was a completely unexpected question, and I didn’t understand it. “Why are you asking that?”

  “I was asking about Lisette, and you told me she was doing well. So now I’m asking about you? What’s strange about that?”

  “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Now, I was confused and felt slightly defensive as well. I sat up so I could look down on him and try to read his expression.

  His face was as blandly composed as ever. It revealed nothing. “I don’t know. Is it really that strange that I’d want to know how you’re doing?”

  “You see me every day.”

  “And you always act like things are fine. But you always try so hard to make sure everyone else is happy that I’m not always sure if you are too.”

  There was no particular reason for me to feel defensive, but I did. Like invisible prickles had sprung out all over me.

  It was as if he’d sensed something in me for these last weeks. Things had been good between us—we were getting along well and having good sex—but more than ever I had this yearning for something more.

  I didn’t want him to see that, though.

  I’d always been a sensible person, and I didn’t have unrealistic expectations about this marriage.

  I didn’t want him to think that I did.

  I didn’t want him to think I was wanting something he didn’t want himself.

  I had my pride, after all.

  “Of course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?” I met his eyes evenly, as if daring him to doubt my word.

  “And there’s nothing that would make you happier?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  I actually hesitated, since his question had come so close to the heart of my reflections.

  I could think of something—one thing—that would make me happier, but it was silly for me to want it, to expect it.

  Edward’s brows lowered. “There is something,” he murmured.

  I shook my head, pulling up the strap on my nightgown, which had slipped down my shoulder. “No, there isn’t. I told you. I’m doing great.”

  “Tell me what would make you happier,” he said, sitting up the way I was in the bed and reaching out to take my face in one of his hands. “Victoria, tell me.”

  I felt the most powerful surge of tension in my chest I could ever remember—like I was actually being torn apart by it.

  But I wasn’t about to blurt out that a marriage-of-convenience wasn’t feeling quite enough for me now, that I wanted things to be deeper between us.

  That would strip away every emotional defense I had for myself, leaving me completely vulnerable.

  He could laugh—although he probably wouldn’t.

  He might pity me, though, and I just couldn’t bear that. I was Victoria Rothman, daughter of the king of Villemont. And I wouldn’t be pitied by my own husband because I was feeling things he didn’t feel.

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I said, pulling away from his warm hand. I rolled away, climbed out of the bed. “Stop imagining things.”

  My words were too brusque, so I smiled to soften them, but they’d already had an effect.

  Edward looked frozen momentarily. Then cool.

  I knew I’d hurt his feelings.

  He’d been trying to be nice, and I’d dashed cold water in his face.

  “I’m sorry,” I said immediately, trying to make it better. I couldn’t stand that guarded look in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to be rude. There’s really nothing to tell.”

  “I understand,” he said with a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  I wasn’t sure if he did.

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I did either.

  ***

  For the rest of the week, we both acted normal, but things felt a little stilted between us, unsettled, not quite as comfortable as they had before.

  I knew it was my fault, but I wasn’t sure how to make it better.

  I wanted to
make it better, though.

  All afternoon on Saturday, Edward locked himself in his office. I was starting to hate that closed door.

  He’d never invited me in that room. I had no idea what was even in it, although I had an image of a traditional, old-fashioned estate library in my mind.

  I lingered in the sitting area right outside the office door, flipping through magazines and texting Amalie and Henry to kill time.

  Edward never came out.

  It felt like he was hiding from me.

  Maybe I was just imagining it, but I couldn’t get the idea out of my mind. I couldn’t focus on anything else. I hated the feeling.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  I was his wife. I lived in this house.

  I could knock on the door if I wanted to.

  So I stood up. Took six steps over until I was standing in front of the closed door.

  Then I knocked.

  I waited a minute, and there was no response, so I knocked again.

  My stomach started to twist when once more there was no response.

  I knew he was in there.

  Surely he wouldn’t be ignoring my knock.

  Had he fallen asleep?

  I started to knock again but then stopped myself.

  I felt like an idiot. Like a fool.

  Like a child.

  Knocking on the door, praying that my own husband would be willing to open the door.

  This was beneath me. It just was.

  I turned around and started to walk away.

  I stopped when I heard the door opening behind me and Edward’s voice saying, “Victoria.”

  When I turned back, I saw him standing in the doorway. His eyes looked groggy, unfocused. His hair was rumpled, and he wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and socks but no shoes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “Were you asleep?”

  “No.” He rubbed at his face. “Sorry. I was just… totally out of it. It took a minute to realize what I heard was a knock.”

  I believed him. He seemed to be telling me the truth. He probably had been working so hard that he could drown out the rest of the world.

  Some people could do that.