“I—my future?” She sat forward, her frown intense. “I don’t understand. What future did you think I craved that you couldn’t give me?”
There was the crux of it—Meredith didn’t understand. “Meredith Blake is a doctor of mathematics, a skilled lecturer, and a highly in demand theorist. She’s respected in her field and one of the youngest professors to receive tenure. She is amazingly gifted, deeply respected, and—” He recalled Daniel’s reaction to her. “—highly prized for her abilities and work. She is, in all things, at the top of her field with a very vibrant future. Did you not say you have received multiple offers? You’ve published four times in five years, and your work is invaluable. You have provided insights, which have made or broken projects. All of those things were possible because you were not Meredith Dagmar, princess and wife of the second Andraste son. As my wife, you would have led an altogether different life, one you suffered a taste of today.”
Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a noisy breath. Sebastian barely smiled because it seemed unlikely she could have manufactured her response, yet…how could she not have realized?
“I had no idea.”
“Didn’t you?” He canted his head. “You said I kept you a dirty little secret, that you were my mistress. You reconciled yourself to your position in my life.” Damn if her words still didn’t cut him. “Although at all times you held the power to change it and chose not to.”
Anger sparked in her eyes. “How the hell did I have the power when I didn’t even know you wanted to marry me?”
“One phone call, Meredith. One call to the press telling them who you were and what we shared…”
“Then they would have been all over me. You warned me during our first weekend together. You told me to only show what we wanted them to see—” She stopped, and her lower lip trembled.
“Exactly.” This time he did smile, but it held no happiness for him. “As long as you wished for the life you wanted, I wished for you to have it. I wanted you safe. I wanted you to be able to chase your dreams and did not leash you permanently to my side without hope of privacy. When you stayed quiet, when you chose to keep us a secret, I knew it was what you wanted, too.”
“I—” She began then paused. An intense struggle played across her face, and she shuddered. “I thought—I thought we were having fun and fun was what you wanted from me. I loved—”
His heart jerked at her hesitation. “What?” he demanded. “What did you love?”
Soulful brown eyes locked on his. “I loved being with you and, even if all I could have was a piece of your life, I wanted that piece.”
“Until you didn’t anymore…” He finally gave into the urge to be closer to her. Her shoulders jerked as his words found their mark. “Until, for some reason, out of all the many lovers you believed I dallied with, the last unremarkably ridiculous story of my supposed engagement tipped the scale. Why then? What changed?”
When she didn’t answer immediately, the seeds planted over the last few days—based on O’Connor’s outright refusal of orders to his belligerence to the open affection between the two—blossomed into cold certainty.
“Or should I ask who changed your mind?”
She didn’t answer directly, only frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Needing to touch her, he stroked a finger down her cheek. Would he be able to forgive her if she admitted his suspicions were correct? Would it break him if she did? “O’Connor,” he supplied. “Is he your lover?”
An academic, raised by academics, Meredith rarely lost her temper. In fact, her parents’ one steadfast rule throughout her childhood involved never discussing or debating in anger. If she couldn’t be reasonable and rational, then she wasn’t welcome at the table. The lesson served her well, until Bastian asked her about Terry. “He’s my friend Sebastian. Don’t make our argument about Terry.”
He curved his fingers against her cheek and ran his knuckles up the line of her jaw. “I’m not making it about him. However, your concern and affection coupled with his actions and attitude…they leave the situation open to interpretation.”
Pulling away, Meredith tried to wrestle the flames engulfing her thoughts. “My concern and affection, as you call it, are for my friend. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’ve known Terry nearly as long as I’ve known you. You hired him six months after we started seeing each other.” Despite the shot the doctor gave her earlier, her heart began to pick up from a dull thud to a plodding canter. Scrubbing her hands against her face, she stared up at him. “You did not just say you wanted to marry me buried in a qualified argument regarding my future then ask me if I was sleeping with another man?”
Sliding his hands back into his pockets, he regarded her with a brooding look. “A question you haven’t answered directly, and you’re not one to play games, so why are you avoiding it?”
Shoving off the bed, she ignored the sway of the boat even as it made her stomach a bit queasy. Sebastian’s gaze scorched her as he looked her over from head to toe. His shirt struck her mid-thigh and she’d chosen it—a choice she now questioned—because of all the clothes in his stateroom closet, it held onto some of his scent.
“You shouldn’t be up.”
“Oh, stuff it, Your Highness.” She scowled and stomped over to the table. And yes, she was stomping. Marriage. At no point in five years had he ever brought up marriage. Him throwing it into the middle of the argument knocked her sideways. Then, to add upheaval to topsy-turvy, he wanted to know if she was sleeping with Terry.
“Excuse me?” He was right behind her when she made it to the side table where a porter delivered the trays with soups and sandwiches earlier. Ignoring him she plucked up silver lids to find a selection of fruits and cheeses. She slammed them back down with a somewhat temper appeasing clang.
“You heard me.” She bumped into him as the boat did another little roll over some wave. He put his hands on her hips to steady her. Shaking him off, she jerked up the next domed lid only to find tiny crescent cut sandwiches. Clanking it down, she looked under the third. “For the love of God, do your people not ever serve chocolate? I need liquor or chocolate for this discussion. Since I can’t drink thanks to the shot, I want chocolate.” Whirling she faced him and, had her mood been less dark, the utter surprise in his expression might have been comical. “No, I’ve never slept with Terry. I’ve never even considered it. Yes, I’ve slept with him in my house on more than one occasion. He’s held my hand during take offs and landings for the last seventeen trips because planes scare the crap out of me. If you understand the math of velocity, they’d scare the crap out of you, too. He was there when I got the news about your stabbing, and he held me while I cried. He’s the only person I know who knows who you are and what you mean to me. He also held his ground and tried to protect me when I decided I couldn’t do this anymore.”
She took a step toward him and planted a finger in the middle of Sebastian’s chest. “It bothers you he’s friendly with me and he oversteps? Guess what? I have to stare at buxom models, practically spilling out of their clothes, hanging all over you, all the time.” She punctuated each word with a thrust of her finger against his chest. “So suck it up and get me some chocolate.”
It nearly ruined her demand when she weaved her way back to the bed, but she sat with a thump and folded her arms. Sebastian eyed her a long moment before saying in a soft voice edged by concern. “You’re afraid of flying?”
Really? She stared at him. That was his takeaway? No, she wouldn’t answer him. Not while her emotions staged a prison break and rioted through her system. The physician gave her a sedative because she’d experienced a rather rude anxiety attack thirty seconds after Sebastian left the room. Terror from the whole day swamped her. Sebastian lived in a fortress barricaded by armed guards. She’d always known about the potential danger, because his security was rather impossible to miss, but she hadn’t understood the ramifications, not truly, until today.
A moment la
ter, she heard him pick up the phone and say, “We need chocolate. Yes, hot chocolate is fine, but…No, just bring all of it. Thank you.” He hung up and a couple seconds passed before the bed dipped with his weight. His arm came around her. She stiffened, but he didn’t pull her to him so much as drop his chin onto her shoulder and hold her.
Only the hushed sound of his breathing filled the quiet. She could feel the steady thump of his heart where his chest pressed against her back. The rigidity in her spine began to ease because of his nearness. Being surrounded in the rich masculine scent of him further calmed her, but beneath the smell of him, she could detect the barest hint of cordite—gunpowder. He didn’t have the time to shower or do much of anything since the island attack, too occupied trying to look after her and Terry.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” she whispered on a sigh. His arm tightened once, but he said nothing. After a long moment, she frowned. “Bastian?”
“I’m not saying a word until the chocolate gets here,” he told her solemnly.
Surprised, Meredith twisted to look at him and, beneath his very serious mask, a glint of humor warmed his eyes. The corner of her mouth started to twitch and, as one, they burst out laughing.
Chapter Nine
True to his word, Bastian didn’t say anything until the chocolate arrived. When it did, he filled two mugs with hot cocoa and set up a tray on the bed. By unspoken agreement, they sat across from each other. The chef sent up a tray of chocolate delicacies from strawberries wrapped in dark and white chocolate to mousse. “You know, a candy bar would have sufficed.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “Don’t tell Philippe. He will be disappointed if you don’t enjoy these. Desserts are his favorite to prepare, though I admit his talents are wasted on me and my brothers.”
“I suppose offending him wouldn’t help anyone.” Meredith wrinkled her nose, but picked up one of the strawberries.
“No.” He sighed and set his mug down on the table next to the bed. The weighted bottoms on the cups and plates kept them steady. It was amazing how comfortable she was with the sway of the yacht. It had taken her several visits to acclimate. “Meredith, are you really afraid of flying?”
She sighed, wishing not for the first time that she hadn’t blurted her confession out. “Yes. It makes me nervous. The doctor gave me a prescription, but sometimes I don’t have it with me.” Like when he would surprise her, sending a car to the school to fetch her with no warning. She’d leave without even a bag to her name and endure the trip. “I got used to it, and you were always waiting for me on the other end of the flight.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He frowned. “I’ve flown you all over the world.”
“I know.” Meredith finished the strawberry and reached for one of the glass dishes filled with dark chocolate mousse. Dipping her spoon in, she shrugged. “I wanted to see you and it never seemed important once I was there. I’m not always afraid. You actually make me forget I’m on a plane when you’re with me.”
His expression softened. “Be that as it may, tell me when something frightens you. I can’t fix it if I don’t know there is a problem.”
“Oh, you mean like me not knowing you wanted to marry me? How was I supposed to know, again?” She pinned him with a look. “Which conversation about that lovely little gem did I miss?”
Bastian leaned his head back and let out a groan. “I’ve wanted to propose since our first anniversary.”
Her spoon halted halfway to her mouth. They’d been on the yacht during their first anniversary, her very first trip. He surprised her, one of many over the course of their weeklong interlude. She remembered it was the first time Bastian made sure it was only the two of them. Even with the yacht’s staff and his regular security, she’d seen very little of anyone besides Bastian. They’d sailed through tropics, swam in crystal clear waters, and just played together. “I don’t remember a proposal…” Granted, they drank a lot of wine over the duration of the week, but she’d remember regardless, wouldn’t she?
Amusement warred with exasperation in his expression. “Do you remember the night we dined on the deck?”
She remembered skinny-dipping afterward, and her face heated. Bastian showed her the glowing plankton and fish. The water had been warm, like silk. Clearing her throat, she nodded and stuffed a spoonful of mousse into her mouth to keep the decadent thoughts to herself.
His smile deepened, revealing his dimple. Everything in her went low and tight. She loved him so much. “I am referring to the dinner, not the beauty afterward.”
“Yes.” She blushed and dipped her head to let her hair fall over her face. It never failed. He could turn her into a puddle of schoolgirl neuroses and longing with one look. “I remember. We ate something incredibly fancy with four names and seven courses and a bottle of very expensive French wine that you told me a story about.”
This time he gave her a true grin. “And they delivered the black velvet box with the dinner.”
“Oh, the necklace—” She scooped up more of the chocolate and ate it. Nerves fluttered like mad to race around the core of heat blooming in her belly. “It was far too expensive.” So many diamonds—chocolate diamonds, he’d called them. The piece was absolutely exquisite. “It was—it was beautiful.” And far too much for her. He’d put it around her neck, insisting she at least try it on and, when she’d seen it there? Wow. Her heart had done a little summersault.
“Do you remember what you said?” His gaze locked on her as he picked up one of the thin wafers of chocolate and offered it. Leaning forward, she accepted it and laved her tongue against his skin just to watch the heat scorch across his eyes. Yes, she knew how to get to him, too.
“I said I could never wear it.” She’d always regretted reality intruding into their moment. “I was in my first year of tenure, so I really needed to prove myself. Those diamonds were exquisite, but too much.” If she’d stopped there, it would have been fine, but she’d said more.
“And?” he prompted.
Meredith sighed. “And I’m not one of those women you drape in diamonds and then escort around like some type of arm ornament.” She made a face because, while the words were bad, they really weren’t the worst. “Don’t get any ideas about me. Do I look like I want to be a princess?” She grimaced and put a hand over her mouth. “Please tell me you weren’t planning to propose.”
“I would, but it would be a lie.” Sebastian tapped her nose lightly. “You had plans, Meredith. Big plans. You spent the next hour telling me how you were going to rock the academic world. You were so alive with it, practically sparkling.”
“So you just decided to not ask?” Had they missed their opportunity because of her ambition?
“I decided what I wanted more than anything was you by my side, but I wanted you happy to be there. I wanted to ensure your freedom to chase your dreams. How could I ask you to give up your plans and aspirations with only me as poor recompense?” The earnest simplicity in his response…
“Wait a minute, how are you poor recompense?” She straightened and caught his hand when he would have pulled it back. This was important. “If I don’t get to call myself nobody, you don’t get to call yourself a booby prize.”
“My life is dictated by rules, rituals and guards—”
“And death threats.” It made her cold just to think about it. “But Bastian, you’re wonderful. You see all these beautiful things everywhere you go. I mean you really see them. The artists along the Seine, how many did you sponsor? Or the lady with the dolls in Belgium. You paid for her home then gave her a stipend so she would keep making those dolls for children. When the Canadian floods nearly shut down a zoo because the damage was so extensive, I know it was you paid for the repairs. It wasn’t your brother, his company, or his title, but you.”
“I didn’t tell you about the zoo.” A frown arrested his features.
“No, but you called me.” It was her turn to grin. “I heard elephants in the background. I
remember you saying you needed to delay our trip by a day, and I could hear the animals. Still, you wouldn’t say why. A couple of weeks later, there was a special on one of the news programs about a secret angel who rescued the whole shebang.”
“You assumed it was me?” His neutral tone proved difficult to decipher. Was he surprised she’d noticed? Or worried he failed to hide it as well as he’d believed?
“If you didn’t want to tell me, I assumed you must have your reasons.” She’d made assumptions, but so had he. Their entire relationship was built on a tower of presumption. Mirth failed her. “Have we screwed this up? Irrevocably?”
“No.” She believed the stern conviction in his voice. “I have damaged your trust and given you fair reason to question your faith in me.”
His declaration brought her upright. “Bastian—”
He squeezed her hand, tugged her forward, and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. “I don’t like to be interrupted.”
“I’m aware.” She grinned. “I do it because you need to be reminded you aren’t the only one in the room.”
“Never when you’re here. You’re the only one I see,” he told her. “But listen to me for now. Please?”
It was the please that did it. He so rarely said the word, and she knew he implied it more often than not, but he was a man raised to give orders, not make requests. “All right, but can we move the tray? If I dive face first into all this chocolate, I’m going to be bouncing off the walls.” Also, she wanted to be closer to him.
After releasing her, he shifted the tray over to the counter housing the other food. When he returned to sit on the bed, she crawled right up next to him and slid her arms around him. Certainly, they had a lot left to talk about and, yes, part of her was still angry. But even when he’d thought she might have taken Terry as a lover, he hadn’t pulled away from her. The memory of his constant care and comfort—always—bolstered her courage.
Some Like it Secret (Going Royal Book 4) Page 12
