The Heart of a Ruler

by Marie Ferrarella

  Otherwise, she thought, both she and Russell would be lost. Especially her.

  Though she shouldered it well, she had never cared for duty. But in a way, duty was responsible for the moment. For bringing Russell here.

  Despite the way she had to address him in public, always in the secret recesses of her mind, she thought of him not as the prince’s cohort, not as the Duke of Carrington or by any of the titles that protocol dictated. To her, he had always been, would always be, Russell.

  As she drew closer to Russell and her father, she heard the orchestra begin to play. Her mouth curved as the old familiar melody unfurled its notes through the vast room. A waltz. She might have known. Her father’s favorite. The king thought she fancied them, as well. And while she liked them, she had yet to let her father know how much she enjoyed something contemporary even more.

  Amelia sincerely doubted if the monarch knew that Black Eyed Peas were something other than a vegetable found on a side dish at a dinner.

  Her eyes danced as she joined the two men. “I believe they’re playing our song, Carrington,” she teased and, to his credit, he neither looked confused nor tried to contradict her. “Dance with me.” Russell glanced toward the king, who inclined his head, giving his permission. Humor curved her lips as she saw the silent exchange. “I asked you to dance with me, Carrington. You can dance with my father later.”

  King Roman shook his head as Russell placed a hand respectfully on her waist and took her hand in his. He watched his daughter place her other hand on the duke’s shoulder. “Always outspoken,” he said as the couple began to dance away. “From the moment she said her first word.”

  “Funny,” Russell observed as their steps took them farther onto the dance floor and away from the king. “I don’t remember you being outspoken when we were children.” He liked the way laughter entered her eyes. Liked the way she didn’t take herself too seriously. Liked the way her waist felt beneath his hand. “You clean up well, Princess.”

  “So do you, Carrington.” She cocked her head as if she were studying him while the music moved them about the floor. “You’re almost not ugly.”

  “I do my best.”

  And his best, she thought, as the music began to swell, matching the tempo within her chest, was more than enough.

  Russell had had no intention of walking the princess to her chambers. He’d had every intention that they would part company within the ballroom, or perhaps just at the door as they exited. More than anyone, he was well aware that his role in the scheme of things was to be polite, to strive not to look bored even though he would rather have been in his quarters with a good book than exchanging meaningless conversation with a collection of royals who spent the evening vying for his attention.

  He would have been more than content, he silently insisted to himself, to just watch Amelia from afar. Undoubtedly he’d have been safer, too.

  The problem was, the princess hadn’t remained afar. She had purposely remained close to him, as if she had decided that he was her one true friend and it was his company that gave her pleasure instead of any of the others.

  Toward the end of the evening, she’d almost said as much, but had stopped short before uttering the words. Her eyes had told him. That was approximately around the same time that the princess had consumed her sixth glass of very aged, very fine wine. Wine that had been expressly brought out to toast the princess’s upcoming nuptials.

  He had the distinct impression that rather than commemorate it, the princess was trying to blot the moment, the thought, out.

  So, toward the fourth hour, as the reception was definitely winding down, when Amelia appeared to be just a hint unsteady on her feet, he’d offered to escort her to her rooms before anyone else took note of the fact that her eyes appeared just a tad too bright. His duty, he reminded himself, was to ensure the future queen’s dignity.

  When he made the suggestion about seeing her to her rooms, Amelia saw right through the excuse. “You’re trying to help me maintain my dignity,” she guessed in hushed tones, leaning her head into his. Her words ended in a small giggle he found utterly infectious and endearing.

  Tact gave way to honesty. Something told him that unlike Reginald, Amelia appreciated honesty. “I’d rather not see the future Queen of Silvershire guilty of a pratfall.”

  She gave him no argument. Instead, she laughed, delighted. “Ah, chivalry is not dead.”

  “Only slightly wounded,” he replied as he offered her his arm. She slipped her hand through it. Luckily. Because the next moment, the simple action was instrumental in preventing her from having a misstep end embarrassingly. She flashed him a guileless smile of thanks that was completely devoid of self-consciousness.

  Carefully, he guided her from the room, thinking it best not to take his leave of his host. The king was embroiled in a heated discussion he assumed the monarch wouldn’t want interrupted, and besides, he decided that perhaps it was a bit more prudent not to draw attention to the fact that he had to bring the princess upstairs because she was just this side of inebriated.

  “This is very nice of you,” Amelia said as they entered the hallway. The heat and the noise of the ballroom was left behind them.

  Or at least the noise, she thought. The heat that came from too many bodies too close to one another seemed to linger on even though there were just the two of them. “But then, you’re a very nice person, aren’t you Carrington?”

  He wasn’t feeling all that nice right now. What he was feeling he didn’t want to begin to examine. “I try to be, Princess.”

  “Not like Reginald,” she concluded knowingly. Though her path and Reginald’s had not crossed in a great many years, she kept up on the stories. And she hadn’t liked what she’d read, even when she tried to view the articles in a charitable light.

  She was walking slowly, Russell thought. Was that because she was afraid of falling down? He found he practically had to crawl not to outdistance her. And her words made him uncomfortable. His own personal opinion of Reginald wasn’t very high, but he was nothing if not loyal to the crown. He couldn’t share his feelings with her, or agree with what she was saying.

  “Your Highness,” he began tactfully, “I really don’t think—”

  She waved her free hand at him and then swayed ever so slightly. She paused to regain her composure. “Oh, please stop with the titles, Russell. I’m Amelia, just call me Amelia.”

  “But you are not just Amelia,” he corrected gently. “You’re the Princess of Gastonia. And the future Queen of Silvershire.”

  She sighed. “Yes, yes, I know.” They’d come to the foot of the stairs. One hand on the banister, Amelia stopped and looked all the way up the long, winding staircase. She made no effort to take another step.

  Russell looked at her, concerned. “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t think my feet will go.” Each leg suddenly felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds apiece. It was as if the weight of her position was pressing her down.

  He laughed, thinking she was joking. The expression on her face had him changing his mind. “You’re serious.”

  She nodded. “Very.” In her present state, she wasn’t sure if she could negotiate the stairs wearing the shoes that she had on. Maybe if she kicked her shoes off, she thought.

  But before she could act on that, she found herself being swept off the floor and into Russell’s arms. He picked her up as if she weighed no more than a cast-off sweater. Holding her against him, Russell began to make his way up the staircase.

  Had she been thinking a little more clearly, she might have protested, saying something about being perfectly capable of walking on her own. Except that she wasn’t perfectly capable of that right now. And this was infinitely preferable to either sauntering up the stairs in tottering heels, or scampering up them barefoot.

  Her body was tingling and after a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation as she laced her arms around his neck. God, but he felt muscular, she tho
ught. Like a rock. Except that rocks were not nearly so warm.

  With a slight toss of her head, she smiled up into his face. “I could get used to this. Maybe we should give you another title, Carrington. You can be the official princess carrier.”

  “Yes, Princess,” he murmured indulgently, wishing he wasn’t quite so aware of her. Wishing he didn’t like the way she felt in his arms as much as he did.

  She was going to hate herself in the morning, he thought. And probably him, too.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, Russell looked down the hallway. It wasn’t that far to her room, he thought. He might as well carry her all the way. That left less chance for her to stumble and possibly hurt herself.

  Without a word of protest or an attempt to regain her feet, Amelia curled against him.

  Warmth from her body seemed to penetrate every point of its contact with his. He found that his breathing was growing labored, more pronounced. And the climb up the stairs had had absolutely nothing to do with it.

  As swiftly as he could, Russell brought her to her door, grateful that no one had crossed their path. He didn’t want her to be any more embarrassed than he assumed she would be.

  Shouldering open the door, he walked across the threshold, then pushed it closed again. Once inside the room, he gently released her, setting her feet back on the floor.

  She made no attempt to back away, to break the connection. Her arms remained around his neck. When he began to remove them, she whispered, “Don’t leave.”

  Something surged inside his gut. “Princess, I have to go.”

  “No.” Amelia rose on her toes, her arms still around his neck. He felt her breath on his lips as she spoke. “You have to stay.” Her eyes searched his. “Unless you don’t want to.”

  That was just the problem. He wanted to. In the worst way, he wanted to. And it would be for the worst if he did.

  As gently as he could, Russell attempted to disengage himself from her. “Princess, you’ve had too much to drink.”

  “No,” she contradicted, “I’ve had just enough to drink. Just enough to bank down my inhibitions.” She drew her courage to her, knowing that the next steps she was going to take were right. “To give me the freedom, just for a little while, to be me.”

  He began to protest, to make another halfhearted attempt at doing the right thing. And then the princess caught him completely off guard by blindsiding him.

  His resolve broke, like a dried twig under a heavy boot. Suddenly, he was kissing her. As heat flared through his body with the speed of a summer fire rushing through drought-withered grass, Russell closed his arms around her. Pulling her to him, he eliminated the sliver of space that had remained between them and brought her soft curves against the hard contours of his own.

  Desire raced up and down his limbs, nibbling chunks out of his belly. Making him want her the way he had never wanted any other woman. The way he had never wanted anything or anyone before.

  Later, when his blood had cooled and he could look back, he would know that nothing short of madness had possessed him. Because nothing short of madness would have allowed him to do this, to make love with the woman that destiny had chosen to be his queen.

  Which was what she was. For one brief, shining self-contained moment in time, the Princess Amelia was his queen. Not of his country, but of his soul.

  The realization throbbed through his brain that he was going to burn in hell for this. But that was tomorrow.

  Tonight he would gain heaven first.

  Because holding Amelia in his arms like this, kissing her and losing himself within the act, was nothing short of pure heaven.

  Amelia felt her insides trembling like a leaf in the wind. It was all she could do to keep the tremor from spreading to her limbs. It seemed so juvenile to do that, to tremble like some untried virgin. Never mind that she was one; she didn’t want him to think of her that way, didn’t want pity to enter into this.

  Despite the wine that she had consumed, the wine that allowed her to be what she wanted to be, not what she had to be, Amelia felt amazingly clearheaded. She knew exactly what she wanted. And it was all here, standing before her in her bedroom.

  She wasn’t going to spoil it by telling Russell that she had been a little in love with him for what seemed like forever. Even before his lips had touched hers so fleetingly in that darkened passageway all those years ago, she’d been in love with him. She had always known that, despite the practical jokes and pranks, he was a protector. That she could be safe with him.

  It had aroused all sorts of fantasies in her young, fertile mind. Fantasies that had had to be put aside as she grew older and came face-to-face with her destiny and duty. She was trading her dreams and her soul, allowing herself to be bartered away to secure her beloved country and she accepted that. It was just the way things had to be.

  But first, she desperately wanted to be permitted a single sampling of passion, a single night of tenderness and love. The kind of night she already knew in her heart that her husband-to-be, Reginald, would never give her.

  Amelia moaned as she pressed her body to his. Moaned as the kiss and her desire deepened.

  He had to stop her. It was his duty to stop her, damn it, not encourage her. Not allow this to happen.

  But when Russell put his hands over hers, meaning to still them as her fingers fluttered along his chest, all he could think of was how soft they felt. How delicate her skin seemed to the touch. How completely intoxicating her taste was.

  And how insatiable he was for it. For her.

  So, instead of applying the brakes, he pressed down on the accelerator and roared into oblivion, losing himself in the taste, the sight, the very feel of her.

  He felt like kneeling before her in silent worship. He felt like ripping the clothes away from her body. She’d made him completely insane simply with one taste of her mouth.

  His fingers strumming along her spine, he sought out the zipper that had been so skillfully hidden in the folds. Finding it, he tugged, even as his mouth covered hers. The beautiful shimmering blue gown that had captured his imagination slid like a sigh to the floor. Beneath it, he discovered that she was wearing undergarments in the same vivid shade of royal blue.

  Stop! Stop! Unheeded commands roared through his brain. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull back. Strapped into the first car of a roller coaster that was plunging down a three-hundred-foot incline, he no longer had a choice; he was committed to the ride.

  His heart hammering so hard it echoed in his ears, Russell coaxed first her bra, then the lacy thong from her smooth, firm limbs. He wasn’t even aware of breathing. Maybe he had stopped breathing. Stopped, died and entered heaven without realizing it had happened.

  The threads of the thong tangled in his fingers. He’d never been clumsy before. But he had never felt anything like this before, either.

  “I didn’t know princesses wore thongs,” he said thickly. Her fingernails were digging into his arms. He could see the passion flaring in her eyes. It mirrored his own.

  “And here I thought you were worldly.” Her voice, her laugh, were deep, husky and caused his adrenaline to almost overflow.

  She didn’t want to seem overly eager, but she gave up the ruse in a little more than a single heartbeat. This was no time for games, it was a time for honesty. She was eager. Eager to enter this mysterious world that had been blocked from her. Eager to enter it with a guide she trusted.

  It was becoming more and more difficult to catch her breath. Her lungs felt as if they were going to explode as she eagerly tore the clothes from his body. Buttons were sacrificed, as was material. She didn’t care. All she wanted was for him to be as naked as she was.

  Demands pounded through her body as she felt his lips on the hollow of her throat.

  Wild sensations were charging through her body, centering at the very core of her.

  And then they were both as naked as the moment that they had entered life, experiencing life now, perhaps
, for the very first time.

  Amelia pressed herself against the man she had chosen to give herself to as each pass of his mouth made the passion within her grow, made the demands become more urgent until she thought she would either explode or go out of her mind.

  And then she was exploding. Exploding with delicious, wondrous sensations that rocketed through her body, making her feel as if she was inwardly scrambling for some mystical peak.

  Reaching it, she discovered to her joy that the end had not come yet.

  There was more. Because there was him.

  Chapter 5

  The trip from afterglow to aftershock was quick and stunning. The moment that his blood cooled and his sanity returned, remorse and guilt descended over Russell.

  Regret did not enter into it, even though he knew it should. But as awful as he felt about betraying everything he had always held dear and in the highest esteem, Russell couldn’t find it in his heart to regret the sweetest, most stirring experience of his life.

  He was the future king’s right-hand man and the future queen’s protector. He had failed at both. In the worst possible way.

  Sitting up in bed, the sheet pooling around his taut waist, Russell dropped his head into his hands in a moment of despair and shame. The crime he was guilty of committing only continued to escalate in magnitude. He should have put a stop to this before it had gotten out of hand.

  Before he had gotten out of hand.

  Russell couldn’t bring himself to face Amelia. He was afraid of the hatred and loathing he would see there. Not only had he betrayed the prince, but he had taken something very precious away from Amelia.

  “You’re a virgin,” he finally whispered. A sigh shuddered through his perspiration-soaked body. How did he begin to apologize? “Or were.”

  Amelia stared at his muscular back, hardly breathing. He made it sound as if a death sentence had just been carried out. All women began as virgins. What counted was having a choice as to who would be the first. And she had made hers. She supposed it was her form of protest. She had no regrets.