by Kelly Hunter
Bloodthirsty. He liked it. ‘I’d rather keep my sight.’
‘Pick a different wife and you can keep your mistresses and your sight.’
‘Or I could be faithful to you. I don’t do love, Moriana. You know it and I know it, but if you help me out in this...if you wear my ring I will be faithful to you. Think of it as part of our negotiation. You need it and I’m willing to accommodate it in return for your service. This isn’t an area of potential conflict. Move on. Say yes.’
But she didn’t say yes.
‘What now?’ he grated. He didn’t have time for this.
‘That kiss we shared, was it normal?’ she asked tentatively.
He didn’t know what she meant.
She sent him a look, half-pleading, half-troubled. ‘I don’t have the experience to know if it was good, bad or mediocre. You do.’
‘It was good.’ Blindingly good. ‘Surely you’ve kissed Casimir before?’
‘Not like that.’ She looked away.
‘Someone else?’
She shook her head.
‘Anyone else?’
‘No.’
‘It was good.’ Never had he cursed a woman’s inexperience as much as he did in that moment. Her eyes widened as he stalked towards her. ‘What would you have me do to convince you? Another kiss, perhaps? A better one?’
She didn’t say no.
He wasn’t patient with her the way he was before. He didn’t bury his desire to touch and to take. Instead he wrapped one hand around her neck, wrapped his other arm around her waist and hauled her against him.
Her sudden rigidity shouldn’t have thrilled him the way it did. Her gasp as he plundered her lips shouldn’t have made him stake his claim the way he did. She opened for him, melted against him and let him own the kiss in the same way he wanted to own her.
At the age of ten, the betrothal arrangement between Moriana, Princess of Arun, and Casimir, then Crown Prince of Byzenmaach, had been nothing but an amusement to tease them with.
At fourteen, their arrangement had been like a thorn in Theo’s paw. He’d known what the stirring in his trousers meant by then. Known full well he wanted her with an intensity that never waned, no matter what he did. Pick at her, scowl at her, argue with her and, by all that was holy, don’t touch her. That had been his motto for more years than he could count.
At fifteen, his father had seen where Theo’s gaze had led and told him in no uncertain terms that Moriana of Arun was off-limits. Liesendaach needed to maintain cordial relationships with bordering kingdoms far more than Theo needed to seduce a pretty princess.
At fifteen, he’d done his father’s bidding.
At fifteen, his parents and brother had died and ripped Theo’s heart straight out of his chest. There’d been no room for love after that. When he chased women, he’d been chasing only one thing: sweet oblivion. They’d meant nothing to him.
Standing here at thirty, he still chased sweet oblivion. The open, loving part of him had broken long ago, and no one had ever come close to fixing it—least of all him. But he could give the woman in his arms some of the things she wanted. Good things. A good life. All she had to do was let him.
He heard a groan and realised belatedly that it had come from him, but she answered with another and that was all he needed to keep going. She tasted of warm spirits and untrained passion and it shouldn’t have lit a fire in him the way it did. The slide of their lips and the tangle of tongues turned to outward stillness as she learned his taste and he learned hers.
She was slender to the touch, long-legged and gently curved, and he pressed her into his hardness because to do otherwise would be sacrilege. She had both hands on his chest and he wanted her to do more. He could teach her everything she wanted to know about passion.
But not until he got what he wanted.
Theo eased out of the kiss and took his sweet time letting her go, making sure his hand stayed on her waist in case she needed steadying. She wasn’t the one with a clearly visible erection but she did have a fine flush running from cheek to chest, her lips looked plump and crushed and her eyes were satisfyingly glazed.
She looked...awakened. It was an extremely good look on her.
‘Our bed would not be a cold one, Princess.’ Theo stepped back and reached for his jacket. ‘The weight of the crown is heavy enough without adding infidelity and a spurned queen to the mix. I would not look elsewhere if I had you. We are sexually compatible. Save yourself the trouble of years of casual sex and take my word for it.’ He let his gaze drift from her face to glance at the little wooden box on the mantelpiece. ‘You know what I want.’ Time to leave her be before he opted for plan C—which was to take her back into his arms and have her pregnant by morning. ‘Think about it.’
CHAPTER FOUR
MORIANA SLEPT BADLY. Maybe it was because Theo’s words and his kisses were on a replay loop in her brain. Maybe it was because Theo’s marriage proposal was still on the table and his ring box was still unopened on her mantelpiece. Maybe it was because she was so sexually frustrated that nothing was going to fix the ache in her tonight. Whatever the reason, sleep proved elusive and there was no other option but to get out of bed, fix a post-midnight snack of banana, blueberries and unsweetened yoghurt and take it through to her sitting room. The same sitting room she’d entertained Theo in.
The room with the ring in it.
If he had commissioned the ring especially for her—and she didn’t believe that for a minute, but if he had—what would he choose? Something traditional like a solitaire diamond? Something ostentatious like a coloured stone surrounded by diamonds and big enough to picnic on? Something square-cut and colourless? She wouldn’t put it past him.
And there was the box, sitting oh-so-innocently on the mantel, just waiting for her to open it and find out.
She retrieved it from the ledge and set it on the side table beside her chair. There it sat until she’d finished her snack and then she picked up the box and ran her fingers across its seam. The box was beautiful in its own right—a walnut burl, polished to a dull sheen, with a maker’s mark she didn’t recognise. A clover leaf or some such. Pretty.
Theo of Liesendaach had offered for her, and it wasn’t a joke. He’d promised to be faithful to her. He’d offered kisses that made her melt.
He’d even made her forget the debacle with Casimir and the morning’s Ice Princess headlines.
Words of love had been noticeably missing from his offer—at least he’d been honest about that—but he had done something good for her this evening. He’d made her feel wanted.
Oh, she still resented his form letter proposal. She still thought marriage to him would be a volatile, loveless endeavour, but there would be benefits she hadn’t previously considered.
Like him. Naked and willing.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and opened the ring box. On the count of three she opened her eyes and looked.
He’d chosen an oval, brilliant cut diamond, flanked on either side by a triangular cluster of tiny dove-grey pearls. The stones were set in a white-gold filigree almost too delicate to be believed. She’d seen some beautiful diamonds in her time, and this one was flawless. Not too big and unwieldy for her finger, not too small as to be overlooked. The grey pearls reminded her of her homeland, and as for the whimsical, playful design...that element put her in mind of Liesendaach. She slipped it on.
It fitted.
‘Bastard,’ she murmured with half-fond exasperation, because it really did seem as if he’d chosen it with her in mind. And then her smile faded as anxiety crept back in.
How—in the space of two kisses—had he managed to make her feel so alive? He’d been so responsive, so free with his body and secure in his sexuality, so open. No one had ever given themselves over to her so freely and it had been better than any aphrodisiac.
He’d said it was good and she’d believed him.
There were reasons for this marriage that she could understand. A political merger, yes. Stabilisation for a region. A smart, politically aware queen could lighten her husband’s load considerably. It didn’t matter how hard Moriana had worked to get there, she was a smart and politically aware player these days. An asset to any monarch. She knew this.
She’d been worried about Theo’s sexual experience and her lack of it but, after that kiss and Theo’s parting words, she wasn’t nearly as worried as she had been. Call it attraction, pheromones or alchemy, their kisses had been explosive.
Moriana knew she had self-esteem issues. Her utter fear of never measuring up had turned her from a curious child with a too-hot temper into a humourless, duty-bound over-thinker with an unhealthy attention to detail. A woman who thought of failure first and for whom success had always been hard won.
And then there had been Theo, telling her to touch him and that he wasn’t going to judge her curiosity or her inexperience and find her wanting, and hadn’t that been a revelation. Touching him, wanting him, enjoying him—everything had been so effortless.
She smirked, and then snorted inelegantly as she pictured her mother at the dining table, damning Moriana with faint praise for whatever task her daughter had tried and failed to do that day. Disguising her disappointment behind impeccable manners as she told Moriana yet again that one day she would find her true calling, something she would be instinctively good at.
Not fencing or dancing or music or drawing. Not horse riding or shooting or politics or fundraising or running a castle or making a social function an event to be remembered. She’d never been good at any of those to begin with.
But kissing Theo, she’d been good at that.
Moriana ran her hand across the sofa cushion, smoothing the velvet first one way and then digging her nails in to rough it up on the back stroke.
He’d been sitting right where she sat now, taking up more space than any one man had a right to, and she closed her eyes and wondered if she could still scent his arousal in the air. Maybe not. Maybe it was long gone.
Maybe he was right this minute taking care of his needs somewhere in the palace, and he’d damn well better be alone, his legs spread wide and his hand pressing down, just as hers was snaking down towards her panties, pushing aside the layers of silk and cotton, dipping into warmth. Maybe he had no shame whatsoever when it came to pleasing himself while remembering every shudder and every breath he’d given to her this evening.
Why should there be shame in this?
Her fingers moved quickly and her body grew taut. She’d always known what her body could do in this regard, how lost she could get. She’d never before thought of her inherent sensuality as a strength, but Theo had it too and tonight he’d shown her how he wielded his, succumbed to it, even as he owned it, until it was more than just a strength.
It was a gift.
* * *
The headlines the following morning were still not kind to Princess Moriana of Arun. She’d found the newspapers in their usual place in the breakfast room and had mistakenly thought that their presence heralded other more appealing news than her love life or lack of it.
Not so.
Out of Her League one paper proclaimed, with a picture of her and Theo from last night beneath the headline. The photographer had caught them as they’d been discussing the merits of the Vermeer. Theo looked sharp-eyed and handsome, the edges of his lips tilted towards a smile but not quite getting there as he studied the painting. She’d been looking at Theo and the photographer had captured her from behind. There was something vulnerable about the lines of her shoulders and neck and the curve of her cheek. From the position of their bodies, it was obvious her attention had been on Theo rather than the painting. Her hand had been resting on his sleeve, and instead of it looking like a courtesy on his part it looked like a desperate plea for attention on hers.
Great. Just great. She tossed the paper aside and picked up the next one.
The Fall and Fall of Arun’s Perfect Princess this one said, and the photo must have been taken when she first saw Theo and her brother stepping into the auction room last night because she looked gutted. It was there in her eyes, in the twist of her lips. One single moment of despair at her brother’s betrayal and they’d caught it; of course they had. Her mother would have been horrified by such a vulgar display of emotion. Moriana didn’t much care for it herself. Not in public. Masks should never slip in public. All that ever did was invite predators to circle.
The article went on to criticise her dress, her shoes and her too-slender frame, and suggest she needed professional help in order to cope with her rejection. Arun’s relationship with Byzenmaach was now strained, they said. Trust between the two kingdoms had been shattered and she knew that wasn’t true, only there it was in black and white.
And then Theo walked into the breakfast room and drew her attention away from the hateful words.
He wore his customary dark grey trousers and white dress shirt but he’d done away with the tie and undone the first two buttons on his shirt.
‘You’re still here,’ she said, and he nodded agreeably.
‘I still need a wife.’
Half-dressed and unashamedly comfortable in his skin, he leaned over her shoulder and plucked a paper from the pile she’d already looked at before settling into the chair next to hers to read it.
‘Two-timing Princess,’ he read aloud. ‘Go you.’
‘Read on,’ she muttered. ‘You’re a ruthless despoiler of all that is pure and good in this world.’
‘Of course I am. How is this even news?’ He put that paper down and picked up another and was smirking two minutes later. ‘Don’t let anyone ever tell you those shoes you wore last night were a bad fashion choice. The shoes were good.’
The shoes had been vintage Jimmy Choo. Damn right they were good. ‘You’re reading the one about how I was dressed for seduction last night in a desperate attempt to end civilisation as we know it and finally get lucky?’
‘I am. You should dress for boar-hunting one evening. Knee-high leather boots, armguards, stiffened leather corset, breeches and a forest-green coat that sweeps the floor and hides your weapons. See what they make of that.’
He was even better than Aury at mocking press articles. He truly didn’t seem to give a damn what was printed about them.
‘Doesn’t it bother you? All these stories?’
‘No.’ His voice turned hard and implacable. ‘And it shouldn’t bother you. The only reason the press are on you now is because you’ve never been at the centre of any scandal before and they’re hungry for more. Strangely enough, now is the perfect time to reinvent yourself in the eyes of your public—assuming that’s something you want to do. Or you could mock them. Tell them you’re pregnant with triplets and don’t know who the father is. Make Casimir’s day. Four royal bastards for the new King of Byzenmaach.’
‘Oh, you cruel man.’
‘Made you smile though, didn’t it?’
She couldn’t deny it.
Finally he turned his attention away from the newspapers. She could pinpoint the moment he truly looked at her, because her body lit up like sunrise.
‘Good morning,’ he murmured. ‘Nice dress.’
She’d worn one of her favourite casual dresses from the same section of her wardrobe where the red gown usually hung. It was part of her ‘love it but where can I wear it?’ collection. It was lemon yellow, strapless, snug around the bodice and flared gently from the waist to finish a couple of inches above her knees. She’d kept her jewellery modest. Two rings for her fingers—neither of them his ring—a pair of diamond studs for her ears, and that was it. Her sandals were the easy on and off kind and she’d caught her hair back in a messy ponytail that spoke of lazy weekend sleep-ins.
; ‘Yeah, well. Maybe I’m out to seduce you.’
‘A for Effort,’ he murmured. ‘That dress is a weapon. You need to be photographed in it looking all tumbled and content. With me.’ He picked up the pile of still unread papers and dumped them on the ground between their two chairs.
‘I hadn’t finished with those yet.’
‘They were making you unhappy. Why read them?’ He reached for a croissant and the blackberry jam. ‘I need you to be more resilient in the face of bad press. I honestly thought you were.’
She wasn’t. Not at all. ‘And it bothers you that I’m not?’
‘It bothers me a lot.’ For the first time this morning he sounded deadly serious. ‘Liesendaach’s court can be hard to navigate. My uncle’s legacy of corruption still lingers, and every time I think I’ve stamped it out, it comes back. I don’t trust my politicians or my advisors. I barely trust my palace staff. You will get bad press if you marry me. You will get people trying to befriend you and use you in the hope that you can influence me on their behalf. I can’t protect you from either of those things, so I need to know in advance that they won’t break you. I need you to know that some days it’s going to feel as if the world is out to get you and no one has your back.’
‘You’re not exactly selling your marriage proposal this morning, are you?’
‘Not yet. I’m mainly mentioning the fine print. But I will be selling it. Soon.’ He shot her a quick glance. ‘Just as soon as I think you’re up for an onslaught.’
‘Maybe after my next cup of coffee,’ she murmured.
He reached for the coffee pot and offered to top her up but she shook her head so he filled his own cup. ‘How did you sleep?’
‘Poorly. Your ring is lovely, by the way. I lasted until almost two a.m. before looking at it.’
‘Well done.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I notice you don’t have it on.’
‘Don’t push. I’m considering your proposal. Yesterday, I wasn’t even doing that.’
‘Yesterday, you thought me indifferent to you. Now you know I’m not.’
