Lucky Deefer.
Fifteen minutes. Twenty. The clock over the vast mantel ticked like a bomb. Tick tick tick.
She was going nuts.
The door swung open again. Andreas. Still in his ceremonial bridal toggery. Still looking absurdly handsome.
Still her husband.
‘We’re ready,’ he said and she suddenly had a ghastly vision of the royal brides she’d heard of in history-a dozen witnesses clustered around the bed waiting for evidence of her virginity.
‘Um…we?’ she whispered, and he chuckled and strode forward, lifted Deefer from her arms and pulled her lightly up to stand beside him.
‘Georgiou.’
‘Oh, goody,’ she whispered. ‘My favourite person.’
‘My favourite helicopter pilot,’ he said. ‘I’ve had too much wine to fly myself. Not that I’m drunk but there’s zero alcohol tolerance for flying. Besides, I wish to concentrate entirely on my bride. So what say Georgiou takes us away from all this? Back to our island.’
Her eyes widened in shock. ‘We can just…go?’
‘That’s just what I think we should do,’ he said. ‘We’ve done the honourable thing, my love. The rest of the night’s just for us.’
‘And Georgiou.’
‘As you say,’ he said and grinned. ‘But I’m thinking the island’s big enough for all of us.’
This was ridiculous. She should have insisted on changing clothes, Holly thought as she sat on the opposite side of the helicopter to Andreas and hugged Deefer. To travel in her wedding gown-she still had the tiara in her curls!-seemed crazy. As did the fact that Andreas was still wearing his royal regalia. He was leaning back in the luxurious leather chair that served as the helicopter seat, his eyes almost closed, as if in meditation. What was he thinking?
He had a bride?
What was he going to do with her?
In days of old she’d be a trembling virgin, terrified of what lay ahead. Bolstered by maternal advice…Don’t be frightened, there’s nothing to it. Lie back and think of England and it’ll soon be over.
She bit back a nervous giggle and Andreas turned.
‘So what are you thinking?’
‘Of England,’ she said and bit her bottom lip and thought the tension was going to kill her. What was she doing? A kid from Munwannay, in the royal helicopter, in full bridal toggery, being carried to an island hideaway with her prince.
Her husband.
If he thought he was going to…
Of course he thought he was going to, she told herself. He’d gone to all this trouble to get them alone. And they were married, in the sight of God and before such a congregation…
‘England,’ he said blankly.
‘It’s what all brides think of on their wedding night.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely,’ she assured him, trying hard not to sound breathless. ‘I’m trying to sort out the English mountains. Ben something…Isn’t that the biggest? And what’s the capital of Sussex? Don’t distract me.’
He didn’t distract her. He simply grinned, turned back to his window and let her be. By the time they landed she’d not only had time to think about England’s biggest mountain, but she’d had time to reach a point where her nerves were threatening to snap. What did she think she was doing? She hadn’t agreed to this. It was a marriage in name only.
No. It wasn’t. Not when Andreas looked as he did, when she felt as she did and it had been ten long years. Holly’s life on a remote cattle station had been very remote indeed. In a few weeks she’d be back there and this was all she’d have to remember.
Except…Except…
‘I can’t get pregnant,’ she said suddenly into the stillness as the helicopter landed and the roar of the motor died to nothing. The thought had hit her as a vicious slap. What was she risking? The whole nightmare happening all over again?
‘It won’t happen,’ Andreas said gravely.
‘I believe that’s what you said last time.’
‘I’ve taken precautions.’
‘Like you’ve had a vasectomy?’
He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘No,’ he said, ‘though Christina wanted me to.’
‘Your wife wanted you to have a vasectomy?’
‘She didn’t want children.’
‘Did you want children?’
‘More than anything in the world,’ he said simply and she knew he was speaking a fundamental truth. ‘But you needn’t worry. Not with you. Not this night.’
‘So you’ve brought the odd condom.’
‘Or six,’ he said and the gravity went from his eyes. ‘Or more if we need.’
‘You’re acting on a huge presumption.’
‘Which is?’
‘That I’ll go to bed with you.’
‘You put your ring on my finger.’
‘So that means…’
‘You want me as much as I want you.’
‘Andreas, you and I…’
‘I understand,’ he said softly. ‘No, Holly, I’m not asking you to join the royal entourage. I will keep my word and let you go. But for tonight…I’m hoping tonight can just be for us. A night out of frame. So I’ve brought you here.’
‘And I’ve come,’ she whispered. ‘But, Andreas, if I were to get pregnant…’
‘I’d take care of it this time,’ he said, strongly. ‘I’d take care of you.’
‘You’d take care of…it?’ The joy had gone out of the night. Reality, cold, hard, appalling, had raised its ugly head. This wasn’t a fairy tale. This was real.
He’d take care of…it? What, abortion?
‘I’ll do nothing you don’t want,’ he said.
‘Like I believe that. Bringing me all this way…’
‘I’ll take no unwilling bride to bed,’ he said, sounding suddenly stern. Royal even, and the thought almost made her smile. He might be her Andreas, the Andreas she loved with all her heart, but try as he might, he was still a prince. Her prince.
‘It’s not that I’m unwilling, Andreas,’ she whispered, trying to make him see. ‘God help me, I’ve wanted you for years.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ he said, and he smiled that gut-wrenching smile she loved so much.
‘But there are consequences,’ she managed.
‘There are,’ he said gravely. They were strapped into separate seats, separated by three feet of open space. He reached across and touched her hand, fleetingly, a feather touch of something that was obviously supposed to be reassurance. And stupidly, insensibly she was reassured.
But not enough. Not enough.
‘It’d be crazy to go to bed,’ she said miserably. ‘When this marriage is only for a few weeks.’
‘The marriage is for as long as we want it to be,’ he said.
‘Right. You need a commoner for a bride like you need the plague, and I need to go home.’
‘Do you really need to go home?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, thinking back to that tiny grave.
I’ll take care of it. The words had brought Adam’s loss flooding back. Her mother, visiting her fleetingly, saying ‘Never mind, dear. He was never going to marry you. Losing it is for the best. Now you can get on with your life.’
She’d never got on with her life. She’d worked hard, she’d tried to live her life to the full, but a part of her had been buried the night she’d buried Adam. To get it back…
‘This is wrong,’ she whispered, miserably, and Andreas reached out again and took her hand strongly in his.
‘It isn’t wrong,’ he said. ‘Not now. But we’ll take this as it comes. Don’t look like that, my love. I will not force myself on you.’
‘But you’ve brought six condoms.’
‘Just in case,’ he said and he quizzed her gently with his teasing smile. ‘Just on the chance you decide I’m not so bad after all. I am your husband, Holly.’
‘You’re saying you have rights?’
‘No rights,’
he said. ‘Let’s just play this night as it comes.’
Okay. She wasn’t going to sleep with him. That was the sensible course, and she knew enough of her…her husband…to know he wouldn’t take her against her will.
So it was only her will that was the problem, she thought, and her will had to be cast-iron. She’d walk into the pavilion from the helicopter, she’d bid Andreas a civil goodnight-maybe she’d even apologize because just possibly she’d given him the wrong idea-and then she’d go to bed. In her bedroom. With the door locked.
Sophia would be here. That steadied her. She could do this.
But there was the first hiccup in her plans. The pavilion was deserted. There was no Sophia and Nikos to meet them. Georgiou escorted them to the entrance from the helicopter pad and then faded into the darkness. Wherever the staff were tonight they weren’t here. It was Andreas himself who flung open the huge doors-and when she saw what was inside Holly gasped in shock.
Candles. Candles as far as the eye could see.
The huge central courtyard with its magnificent pool was a glittering mass of flickering candlelight. There were even tiny tealights floating on the water of the pool, their flames reflecting over and over in the depths of the still water.
The fireflies were at work as well, seemingly encouraged by such a mass of flickering light. Last time she’d been here she’d seen and loved them, but there surely hadn’t been as many as there were this night. Their tiny moving glows brought the whole place alive with light, alive with the warmth of the flames.
‘So many fireflies,’ she whispered.
‘I paid ’em to come,’ Andreas said and looked smug.
What else had he paid to have done?
The big table had been removed. There was one small table right by the water, set for two. A path of candles led to it.
Right by the door-in a pool of light created by a sweep of graded candles-was a pile of pillows. Huge. Soft.
In the middle of the central pillow was a bone. One vast marrowbone, with a central section carefully carved out so a small dog could reach the marrow. If he tried hard enough. If he didn’t succumb to the pure luxury of the down-filled cushions beforehand.
‘You’re even trying to seduce my dog,’ she whispered, awed, as Andreas took the sleepy Deefer from her arms and plopped him on the pillows. Deefer looked adoringly up at Andreas as if to say if this was seduction then thank you very much, he’d take it every time. He put his small mouth round his very big bone, he snuggled into the cushions, he put two paws possessively over the bone-and he went back to sleep. Clearly he was in doggy heaven and he intended to stay there for a very long time.
‘I don’t think I had to try very hard,’ Andreas said and smiled. ‘I suspect Deefer considers himself seduced. And now, my love,’ he growled and took her by the waist. ‘Now for us.’
‘Andreas…’
‘Meal only,’ he said, sounding innocent. ‘I swear.’
‘When did you set this all up?’ she whispered, awed.
‘I didn’t.’ His dark eyes gleamed in appreciation as he surveyed the scene beforehand. ‘I’d anticipated spending this night at the palace. Only then…it seemed important. So I rang Sophia and said we’d be here.’
Sophia must have done all this before, Holly thought, trying not to think it, but thinking it all the same.
‘She hasn’t done it before,’ Andreas growled, his hold on her tightening.
‘How did you know…?’
‘I could feel it. Holly, despite how this appears, this is no practised seduction scene.’
‘N…no?’
‘I brought Christina here early in our marriage,’ he said. ‘Years ago. She loathed it. No shops. No jet-setting friends. She never came again and I brought no one else.’
‘You’ve never brought a woman here?’ she demanded, not believing him. ‘Don’t tell me there was only Christina.’
‘I won’t tell you that. I won’t lie to you,’ he said. ‘But I’ve brought none of my mistresses here. Until you.’
‘I’m not your mistress,’ she said sharply and he nodded, as if in courteous acknowledgement.
‘Maybe that’s why you’re here. You’re my wife,’ he said and his hold on her tightened, until suddenly it seemed that tight wasn’t enough, he was forced to sweep her up in his arms and hold her against his heart. ‘You are my wife, and this night I intend to take you. Or…’ he amended as he felt her stiffen, ‘I intended to take you. Until I heard your very reasonable reservations about why six condoms won’t necessarily work. But let’s not worry about that now. I believe Sophia has left a meal for us. I haven’t seen you eat all day. For what I have in store for you tonight I want no wilting bride.’
So they ate. To her amazement she was hungry. Sophia must have half expected this. She’d surely planned it. But still Sophia remained invisible. It was Andreas who did the serving, disappearing and appearing again like a genie producing his magic.
He was still dressed in full dress uniform, his tunic buttoned high to his throat, his scarlet sash and medals emblazoned on his chest. He’d removed his dress sword but that was his only concession to casual. His high leather boots gleamed like jet-black mirrors. And his tight-fitting pants…There should be a law against them, she thought. For a man to wear such things…For a prince to wear them as he served her…
He was a prince serving his bride. And with food fit for the bride of such a man. Course after course, each small, each tantalizing, each delicious.
Kotosoupa Avgolemono…A chicken and rice soup, with egg and lemon…
He’d made this for her before, she remembered, once when her parents had left them alone together for the evening. ‘I’ll cook,’ he’d said, and she’d scoffed but he’d simply smiled his fabulously sexy smile and made her a soup she’d remembered ever since.
She’d watched him make it. For years after he left she’d tried to make it again, but it had never tasted the same.
It did tonight.
She raised her spoon to her mouth and he was watching every move; a hawk watching his prey, she thought.
‘You like?’ he said and she closed her eyes and savoured the taste of it and the memories and she couldn’t lie.
‘It’s magic. You cooked this for me years ago…’
‘I did,’ he said and smiled. ‘You remembered. I’ll cook it for you again. Whenever you want, my heart.’
She almost choked. She looked across the table and he was smiling at her and she thought of those six condoms and she thought, No, no, no.
‘Leave me alone,’ she managed, sounding virtuous. ‘I need to concentrate.’
‘There’s plenty to concentrate on,’ he agreed gravely. ‘You keep concentrating, my heart, and I’ll keep feeding you.’
So she kept eating. There was no choice-and in truth she had been hungry.
There was no way she was leaving this table hungry. Andreas was already leaving, to return with what came next. Tiny vol au vents, made with flaky, buttery pastry that melted almost as it touched her lips, filled with ingredients she couldn’t identify and didn’t need to-the combination of flavours was just right. Just perfect. Tiny and exquisite.
Then there was a modest medallion of rare fillet beef, served with baby mushrooms and a rich burgundy sauce. There were slivers of young asparagus, oozing butter. A tiny pile of creamy mashed potato. With truffle? Surely not. But, yes, she’d tasted truffle once in the distant past, and here it was again, unmistakable.
They didn’t talk. She couldn’t talk. She was saying a mantra over and over in her head.
Sensible. Sensible. Sensible.
How could she stay sensible? She was achingly aware of his every movement, of every flicker of those dark, dark eyes. He was watching her as she ate, devouring her with his eyes. She should object. She should…
Just eat, she told herself. Just watch him. Maybe even relax a little? Just take every moment of this magic meal as it came. The time for making things clear they wer
e going no further was for later.
The steak was gone, the plates cleared by her prince, her waiter, her husband. He poured her a glass of dessert wine, a botrytis-affected Semillon. To her amazement it was Australian, a winemaker she knew, a wine she’d loved for always.
‘How…?’
‘I remembered,’ he said and smiled. ‘I had Georgiou find this wine. Just for tonight.’
She drank and her resolutions grew hazier. This was only her second glass. She was hardly drunk. She was just…entranced?
Seduced?
No!
But he’d remembered her wine.
And then there were sweets-tiny, bite-sized eclairs oozing with rich, dark chocolate and creamy custard. There were strawberries tasting how strawberries should and never did, but this night how could they help but taste like this? Andreas watched her as she put each red fruit between her lips, and he smiled and they might as well be making love. The candles were flickering, burning to stubs. They were going out, one by one, and the light was fading.
The night was ending.
She was half expecting Sophia to appear, to clear the table, to bid them goodnight, but there was still no one in sight. Just the two of them. She and her husband.
She took her last sip of coffee. ‘I need to go to bed,’ she said, a little unsteadily, and Andreas was behind her, drawing out her chair, helping her to her feet, his hands holding hers with strength and desire and absolute surety of what was to follow.
‘I believe we’ve missed our bridal waltz,’ he whispered into her ear and suddenly it was all she could do not to chuckle.
‘You have some set-up here.’
‘I knew I built it for something. I believe I built it for tonight.’ He was whispering into her ear, his breath warm on her skin, his touch sending heat surging to every part of her body. He deliberately unfastened the top two buttons of his tunic, loosening the garment as a non-royal would shrug off a tie. Then before she could respond, before she could haul her resolutions into line again, he swept her up into his arms and strode to a central panel. Still holding her in his arms, he pushed discreet buttons and on came a waltz, slow and soft and dreamy.
The Prince’s Captive Wife Page 11
