The jewels spilled like rich wine over Lisa’s fingers as she took them from the aide, and she could picture exactly the kind of dress to wear with them.
It became a labour of love. Something to work towards. Making her dress for the ball became her secret and she decided it would be her gift to Luc. An olive branch handed to him to make him realise she was prepared to do things differently from now on. That the current situation was far from satisfactory and she’d like to change it. She wanted to be his lover as well as his wife.
‘You are looking very pleased with yourself of late,’ he observed one evening as they walked down the wide marble corridor towards the dining room.
‘Am I?’
‘Mmm.’ His gaze roved over her as a servant opened the doors for them. ‘Actually, you look...blooming.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him. ‘I think that’s how pregnant women are supposed to look.’
Luc inclined his head in agreement, waiting until she’d sat down before taking his seat opposite and observing her remarkable transformation. When she’d first arrived she had looked strung out and her expression had been pinched—something which had not been improved by their unsatisfactory sleeping arrangements. He had briefly considered moving into his old bachelor rooms to give her the peace she so obviously needed. To make her realise that the only thing worse than sharing a bed with him was not sharing a bed with him.
But then some miraculous thaw had occurred. Suddenly, she seemed almost...contented. He heard her humming as she brushed her teeth before bed. He noticed that she’d started reading the Mardovian history book he had given her on the plane. Hungrily, he had watched the luscious thrust of her breasts as she walked into the bedroom with a silken nightdress clinging to every ripe curve of her body, and realised he had nobody but himself to blame for his frustration. He could feel himself growing hard beneath the sheets and had to quickly lie on his belly, willing his huge erection to go away, and he wondered if now was the time to make a move on her. Because his experience with women told him that she would welcome him with open arms...
‘You are excited about the ball?’ he questioned one evening when they were finishing dinner.
‘I’m...looking forward to it.’
His eyes flicked over her. ‘You have something to wear?’
‘You mean...’ on the opposite side of the table she smoothed her hand down over the curve of her belly ‘...something which will fit over my ever-expanding girth? It’s not very attractive, is it?’
‘If you really want to know, I find it very attractive,’ he said huskily.
She stilled, her hand remaining exactly where it was. ‘You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.’
‘I never say anything I don’t mean.’ He touched the tip of his tongue to his lips to help ease their aching dryness and wished it were as simple to relieve the aching in his groin. ‘So why don’t you go and put on your dress? Show me what you’ll be wearing.’
She hesitated. ‘It’s a secret.’
For some reason her words jarred, or maybe it was his apparent misreading of the situation. The idea that she was softening towards him a little—only to be met with that same old brick wall of resistance.
‘So many secrets,’ he mocked.
At this her smile died.
‘That’s a bit rich, coming from the master of secrecy,’ she said. ‘There’s so much about yourself that you keep locked away, Luc. And, of course, there’s the biggest concealment of all. If you hadn’t kept your fiancée such a big secret, we wouldn’t have found ourselves in this situation, would we?’
‘And doubtless you would have preferred that?’
‘Wouldn’t you?’
Her challenge fell between them like a stone dropped into a well but Luc told himself he would not allow himself to be trapped into answering hypothetical questions. Instead, he deflected her anger with a careless question. ‘What is it about the hidden me you would like revealed, my princess?’
She put down the pearl-handled knife with which she had been peeling an apple and he wondered how deeply she would pry. Whether she would want him to divulge the dark night of his soul to her—and if he did, would that make her understand why he could never really be the man she needed?
‘What was it like for you, growing up here?’
It was an innocent enough query but Luc realised too late that all questions were a form of entrapment. That if you gave someone an answer, it paved the way for more questions and more exposure. He gave a bland smile, the type he had used countless times in diplomatic debate. He would not lie to her. No. He would be... What was it that accountants sometimes said? Ah, yes. He would be economical with the truth.
‘I imagine it was the same for me as for many other princes born into palaces and surrounded by unimaginable riches,’ he said. ‘There is always someone to do your bidding and I never wanted for anything.’
Except love, of course.
‘Whatever I asked for, I was given.’
But never real companionship.
‘I was schooled with other Mardovian aristocrats until the age of eighteen, when I went to school in Paris.’
Where he had tasted freedom for the first time in his life and found it irresistible. But the truth was that nothing had ever been able to fill the emptiness at the very core of him.
‘And what about your mum and dad?’
Luc flinched. He had never heard his royal parents described quite so informally, and his first instinct was to correct her and ask her to refer to them by their titles. But he slapped his instinct down, because a lesson in palace protocol would not serve him well at this moment. Not when she was looking at him with that unblinking gaze which was making his heart clench with something he didn’t recognise.
‘Like you, my mother died when I was very young.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she said instantly and there was a pause. ‘Did your father remarry?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’ His father had been locked in his own private world of grief—oblivious to the fact that a small boy was hurting and desperately missing his mother. Unable to look at the child who so resembled his dead wife, he had channelled that grief into duty—pouring all his broken-hearted passion into serving his country. And leaving the care of his son to the stream of governesses employed to look after him.
‘I don’t think he considered anyone could ever take the place of my mother,’ he continued slowly and he felt a twist of pain. Because hadn’t he witnessed his father’s emotional dependence on the woman who had died—and hadn’t it scared him to see such a powerful person diminished by the bitterness of heartbreak?
‘How old were you?’
‘Four,’ he said flatly.
‘So who looked after you?’
‘Governesses.’ Even the sound of the word sent shivers down his spine as he thought of those fierce women, so devoted to his father—who had put duty to the throne above everything else. They had taught him never to cry. Never to show weakness, or fear. They had taught him that a prince must sublimate his own desires in order to best serve his country.
‘What were they like?’
He considered Lisa’s question—about how many countless variations there were on the word cold. ‘Efficient,’ he said eventually.
She smiled a little. ‘That doesn’t tell me very much.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t supposed to.’
But still she persisted. ‘And did they show you lots of affection?’
And this, he realised, was an impossible question to answer except with the baldness of truth. ‘None whatsoever,’ he said slowly. ‘There were several of them on some sort of rotation and I think it must have been agreed that they should treat me politely and carefully. I don’t think it was intended for any of them to become a mother substitute, or for me to attach myself to anyone in particular. I suspect there was a certain amount of competitiveness between them and they were unwilling to tolerate me having a fav
ourite.’
‘Oh, Luc.’ Did she notice his faint frown, intended to discourage further questioning? Was that why she deliberately brightened her tone?
‘You were lucky,’ she added. ‘At least you didn’t have the proverbial wicked stepmother to deal with.’
He looked into her eyes. Was he? Was anyone ever really ‘lucky’? You worked with what you had and fashioned fate to suit you.
He sensed she was softening towards him and that filled him with satisfaction. He had played his part with his restraint—now let her play hers. Let her admit that she wanted him. He gave a grim smile.
Because you made your own luck in life.
CHAPTER NINE
THE MAY BALL was the biggest event in the palace calendar, and Lisa planned her first formal introduction to the people of Mardovia with the precision of a military campaign. She ordered a bolt of crimson silk satin and made a gown specially designed to showcase the ruby and diamond necklace from the royal collection.
For hours she worked to the familiar and comforting sound of the sewing machine, painstakingly finishing off the gown with some careful hand stitching. She would surprise Luc with her dress, yes. Her pulse began to race. And not just at the ball. Her self-imposed sex ban had gone on for long enough and now she wanted him in her arms again. He had heeded her words and treated her with respect. Night after night he had lain beside her without attempting to touch her—even though there had been times when she’d wished he would. When that slow heat would build low in her belly, making her want to squirm with frustration as he slept beside her.
She finished the dress to her satisfaction but as she got ready for the ball she felt shot with nerves—because what if Luc had decided he no longer wanted her? What if their stand-off had killed his desire for her? Smoothing down the full-length skirt, she stared at her reflected image in the mirror. He had to want her.
She thought back to how she’d felt when she had first arrived here, when she’d married him under duress and had been apprehensive about what lay ahead. But he had respected her wishes and not touched her. And as he had gradually opened up to her, so had her fears about the future diminished. For fear had no place in the heart of a mother-to-be and neither did selfishness. The life she had been prepared to embrace now seemed all wrong. She’d thought a lot about Luc’s lonely childhood and the repercussions of that. And she knew she couldn’t subject this baby to single parenthood without first giving her husband the chance to be a full-time father. And a full-time husband.
Her heart began thundering with an emotion she could no longer deny. Because when tonight’s ball was ended, she was going to take her husband in her arms and tell him she wanted them to start over. Tell him she was willing to try to create the kind of family unit which neither of them had ever had before. And then she was going to seduce him...
The woman in the mirror looked back at her with hope shining from her eyes and Lisa allowed herself a small smile. Years of working in the fashion industry had taught her to be impartial—especially about her own appearance. She knew that her already curvy body was swollen with child but she was also aware that never had she looked quite so radiant as she did tonight. Her hair was glossy and her skin was glowing. Her handmade dress was fitted tightly on the bodice and cleverly pleated at the front, so that it fell to the ground in a flattering silhouette. And the stark, square neckline provided the perfect setting for the real star of the show—the royal rubies which blazed like fire against her pale skin.
‘Lisa!’
She heard Luc calling and, picking up the full-length black velvet cloak lined with matching crimson satin, she slipped it around her shoulders. Luc would see her at the same time as all his subjects and friends, she thought happily. Tonight she was going to do him proud.
‘Nervous?’ he questioned as she walked alongside him through the flame-lit corridors in a rustle of velvet and silk.
‘A little,’ she admitted.
He glanced down at the dramatic fall of black velvet which covered her entire body. ‘Aren’t you going to show me this dress you’ve been working on so furiously?’
‘I will when we get there.’
‘Are you hiding your bump until the last minute? Is that it?’
‘Partly.’ Lisa felt the heavy necklace brushing against her throat and shivered a little as she pulled the cloak closer. ‘And I’m a little cold.’
But it wasn’t just nerves which were making her skin prickle with little goosebumps, because the fine weather which traditionally characterised the May Ball hadn’t materialised. As soon as Lisa had opened her eyes that morning, she’d realised something was different. For the first time since she’d been on the island, the sun wasn’t shining and the air was laced with an unseasonable chill. According to the servant who had served her breakfast, the temperamental wind they called Il Serpente was threatening to wreak havoc on the Mediterranean island.
But although the predinner drinks had now been moved inside, the palace looked more magnificent than Lisa had ever seen it. Dark roses threaded into ivy were woven around the tall ballroom pillars, giving the place a distinctly gothic feel, and more crimson roses decorated the long table where the meal would be served. The string section of the Mardovian orchestra was playing softly, but as soon as the trumpets announced her and Luc’s arrival they burst into the national anthem. As the stirring tune drew to a close, Lisa slipped the velvet cloak from her shoulders.
She was not expecting such an OTT reaction as the collective gasps from the guests who had assembled to greet the royal guests of honour. Nor for her to glance up into Luc’s face to find herself startled by the dark look stamped onto his features which seemed to echo the growing storm outside. Was her dress a mistake? Did the vibrant colour draw attention to the swell of her body, reminding the Prince and all his subjects of the real reason she was here?
‘Is something...wrong?’
Luc’s cold gaze was fixed on the blaze of jewels at her throat, but he must have been aware that everyone around them was listening because he curved his lips into a smile which did not meet his eyes. ‘Wrong?’ he questioned smoothly. ‘Why should there be anything wrong? You look exquisite. Utterly exquisite, ma chérie.’
But Lisa didn’t feel exquisite as she sat down to dinner, in front of all that shiny golden cutlery. She felt tawdry. As if she’d broken a fundamental rule which nobody had bothered to tell her about. What on earth was the matter? And then she glanced down the table and met Eleonora’s eyes and wondered if she was imagining the brief look of triumph which passed over the aide’s face.
Somehow she managed to get through the lavish meal, perversely relieved that protocol meant she wasn’t sitting next to her husband, because no way could she have eaten a thing if she’d been forced to endure another second of his inexplicable rage. She had lost her appetite anyway and merely picked at her food as she tried to respond to the Sultan of Qurhah’s amusing observations, when all she could think about was Luc’s forbidding posture. But it wasn’t until the dancing started and he came over to lead her imperiously onto the ballroom floor for the first dance that she found herself alone with him at last.
‘Something is wrong,’ she hissed as he slid his arms around her waist, but instead of it being a warm embrace, it felt as if she were locked inside a powerful vice. ‘Isn’t it? You’ve been glaring at me all evening. Luc, what’s the matter? What am I supposed to have done?’
‘Not here,’ he bit out. ‘I’m not having this discussion here.’
‘Then why are you bothering to dance with me?’
‘Because you are my wife and I must be seen to dance with you.’ His words were like ice. ‘To paint the illusion of marital bliss for my idealistic subjects. That is why.’
Distress welled up inside her and Lisa wanted to push him away from her. To flounce from the ballroom with her head held high so that nobody could see the glimmer of tears which were pricking at the backs of her eyes. But pride wouldn’t let her. She mustn�
�t give anyone the opportunity to brand her as some kind of hysteric. That would be a convenient category for a woman like her, wouldn’t it?
So she closed her eyes to avoid having to look at her husband and as she danced woodenly in his arms, she wondered how she could have been so stupid. Had she really thought that some silent truce had been declared between them? That they had reached a cautious kind of harmony?
Stupid Lisa, she thought bitterly. She had let it happen all over again. Despite everything she knew to be true, she had allowed herself to trust him. She had started to imagine a marriage they might be able to work at. A marriage which might just succeed.
Behind her tightly shut eyelids she willed away her tears and finished her dance with Luc, and afterwards she danced with the Sultan and then the cousin of the Sheikh of Jazratan. Somehow she managed to play the part expected of her, even though her smile felt as if it had been plastered to her lips like concrete.
But at least her late pregnancy gave her a solid reason to excuse herself early. She slipped away from the ballroom and had one of the servants bring her cloak, which she wrapped tightly around herself as she made her way back along the deserted corridors to their apartments.
Once inside the suite, she didn’t bother putting the lights on. She stood at the window and watched as the storm split open the skies. Forked lightning streaked like an angry silver weapon against the menacing clouds and the sound of thunder was almost deafening. But after a while she didn’t even see the elemental raging outside because the tears which were streaming down her face made her vision blurry. She dashed them away with an impatient hand, unsure of what to do next. Should she get ready for bed? Yet wouldn’t lying on that monstrous mattress in her nightgown make her even more vulnerable than she already felt?
So she rang for some camomile tea and had just finished drinking it when the doors were flung open and the silhouetted form of her husband stood on the threshold. He was breathing heavily and his body was hard and tense as he stared inside the room. She could tell that he was trying to adjust his vision to the dim light, but when he reached out to put on one of the lamps, she snapped out a single word.
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