Princess Of Convenience

by Marion Lennox

  She was ready for bed. She didn’t need to leave.

  She slid under the sheets.

  One warm little body sidled closer. Snuggled.

  Oh, God.

  What had she done? She lay and stared into the night, her emotions a kaleidoscope.

  She’d agreed to marry Raoul.

  More. She’d fallen for one little boy. She didn’t want to do it-more than anything she was trying to hold herself rigid in the night-but he was so needful. It would have taken a superhuman effort not to put her arms around him and hold him close and let herself smell the clean-soap smell of a tiny child.

  Dom…

  She was going to choke. The emotions…

  There was a faint knock on the door. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She was going to cry.

  ‘Jess?’

  It was Raoul. The door opened slowly and she could see his outline in the doorway. He was wearing a big, loose sweater instead of his dinner jacket. His body filled the doorway.

  His presence filled the room.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She couldn’t answer. She was so close to tears. He approached the bed, and she looked up at him in much the same way Edouard had looked at her. Fearful. Not knowing what to say.

  She saw his face twist and she knew that he realised what was happening.

  ‘I wanted to walk,’ he whispered, sitting down on the bed and laying his hand on her hair. It was a gesture she might have made to reassure Edouard. Like Edouard, she needed reassurance. She needed…Raoul?

  ‘I had so much to think about,’ he went on. ‘I’ve spent half an hour wandering the gardens thinking of what I was going to do-how I was going to cope-and then suddenly I remembered that Edouard was still here. That I’d left Edouard in your room. And for you to sleep with Edouard…’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she managed, and he shook his head. His fingers started raking her curls, almost absentmindedly.

  ‘It’s not OK,’ he told her. ‘Sure, I know it’s something that you’ll do and I can’t think what else is to be done tonight, but I know what you’re asking of yourself. After losing your Dominic, to hold Edouard… It’s one of the bravest things I’ve seen and I’ve been in some desperate situations in my time. Jess, how can I help? Shall I take him back to my room?’

  She shook her head. Soundlessly. But she’d wept a little-just a little. He laid a finger on her cheek, he felt the damp track of tears and he swore.

  ‘You’re not responsible for Edouard,’ he told her, almost fiercely. ‘I’ll not make you responsible as well.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she made herself say. ‘He needs me. For tonight he won’t let me go and I don’t blame him.’

  ‘But you’ve done enough.’

  ‘I can’t leave him.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ He sighed and glanced around, obviously working on a plan. ‘Tell you what. You sleep with Edouard and I will, too.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ he told her and there was that crooked smile she was starting to know so well. ‘I’m not insinuating myself into your bed. But you can’t tell me that being here with him by yourself isn’t painful.’

  ‘Yes, but-’

  ‘All I’m saying is that I’ll be here, too,’ he told her. He lifted a quilt that was lying over the foot of her bed and took a couple of pillows from the mound she’d discarded. ‘I’ll sleep on the settee,’ he told her. ‘Right here. It’ll make it different. You’re not sleeping alone with a child. You’re sleeping with both of us. Sort of a pyjama party without the movies and the popcorn.’ His fingers touched her hair again. Gently. Questioning. ‘Will that help?’

  How could it help? But strangely she knew that it would.

  ‘There’s no need,’ she whispered and he nodded as if his question had been answered.

  ‘There is a need.’ He stooped, and ever so gently he kissed her. Lightly. Softly. Wonderingly. ‘Sleep well, my Jess. My heroine. My bride. Sleep well and know that I won’t burden you further.’

  He left her then. She lay and listened as he made up the settee. It was crazy. There was no need. She couldn’t sleep if he was here.

  She heard him settle in his makeshift bed.

  ‘Goodnight, Jess,’ he told her.

  She’d never sleep.

  She lay with Edouard warm against her and Raoul not ten yards away.

  ‘Just lie there and think of England,’ Raoul’s voice said into the night, and amazingly there was laughter behind the words. ‘Or Australia. Whatever takes your fancy.’

  She smiled.

  She’d never sleep.

  She slept.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THEIR marriage took place the next morning, before the rest of the world realised the inhabitants of the royal palace were even awake.

  For that they had Henri to thank. The elderly butler did his rounds early-at six. He had found Cosette and the rest of the staff missing, and he discovered that Edouard was not in his bed. He’d then gone to find Raoul and found him missing, too. Finally, starting to panic but not panicked enough to tell Louise, he’d checked Jess’s room, and his relief at finding them all present and correct was almost comical.

  And when Raoul told him what he and Jess intended to do, he’d almost wept. He’d stood, stunned, while Raoul explained what was planned-and then he moved into action.

  ‘Well, if you’re going to marry I’d suggest you do it now,’ he told them, smiling as if he’d been given the world. He glanced at the still sleeping Edouard. ‘You leave the little one with me while you go and tie the knot,’ he told them. ‘I’ll take him to his grandmother.’

  ‘He might be upset,’ Jess told him.

  ‘He may well be,’ Henri agreed. ‘But what you’re doing is intended to make his life a whole lot less upset. It’s the best idea I’ve heard of in my life. Get on, the pair of you. There’s a magistrate down in Vesey. He’s a friend of mine-not a government man-and he’ll bend over backwards to make sure everything’s done legally. Tie the knot before Marcel and his government cronies come up with objections, and be back here in time for breakfast. I’ll have the champagne cold.’

  He was brooking no argument. Even when Edouard stirred and woke he proceeded calmly, lifting the little boy-and attached teddy-into his arms before anyone could demur. Edouard whimpered a little, but Jess was there, pressing Sebastian close.

  ‘You’re going to your grandma now,’ she told him. ‘Henri will take you. Grandma wants to see Sebastian and his new trousers. Your uncle Raoul and I will be back soon.’

  Edouard stared doubtfully from Raoul to Jess-but he was a child accustomed to whatever was thrust at him. His face shuttered a little but he sank against Henri’s chest and allowed himself to be carried away.

  His stoicism almost broke Jess’s heart, but it firmed her in what she was doing. This marriage would give Edouard security and that was all that mattered.

  ‘OK?’ Raoul asked, as Henri disappeared with his charge. Jess nodded. She was feeling really strange, standing here with this man, in her nightdress and her bare feet-and she had a feeling this strangeness was just going to get a whole lot stranger. But she was right. This was a plan that could work.

  ‘No doubt at all,’ she told him. ‘Let’s get married.’

  Raoul gave her a quizzical look and she managed to smile.

  ‘There are not a lot of women who’ve said that to you, I bet,’ she told him. ‘Even among your thousand.’

  He gave her a sideways grin at that. ‘How do you know, Miss Cocky Boots?’

  ‘Right.’ She smiled, the strangeness easing in the face of his smile. ‘I forgot. They’re queued at the gate. All your brides. So let’s give them the slip and get this bride safely hitched.’

  He smiled back. That gut-twisting smile. The smile that changed things…

  It couldn’t be allowed to change things. This was a marriage of convenience, she told herself a trifle breathlessly as he disappeared to change and to shave. Her heart
had no business twisting as it did at a stupid smile.

  Even if that smile belonged to her bridegroom-and she was about to be married to one of the most gorgeous men in the world. And certainly the most eligible.

  Forget about eligibility and gorgeousness, she told herself crossly. She had more important things to think about.

  Like what to wear?

  She really should have a little something in gossamer, she thought ruefully while she showered. A lavish something in white. And a diamond tiara or six.

  Yeah, and a dozen bridesmaids and a glass carriage and a team of silver horses and horse-guards and trumpets and…

  And nothing. Ridiculous!

  In the end she chose jeans and a windcheater. She wanted to attract as little attention as possible, she decided, and when she came downstairs to find Raoul she discovered he’d done exactly the same.

  ‘Matching outfits,’ he told her. ‘The theme is denim.’

  ‘Very nice,’ she said and managed a shaky smile. ‘We’ll set a new trend. Is my limousine at the door?’

  ‘How can you doubt it?’ he demanded-and she went outdoors to find the battered gardener’s van parked at the front steps.

  ‘We’re travelling incognito,’ Raoul told her and she nodded. The gardener’s van was fine by her. Limousines might have been the last straw.

  She was feeling so strange here that if she woke and discovered this was all a dream she wouldn’t have been the least surprised.

  They were silent on the drive to Vesey. Down past the place where Sarah had crashed into her car. Down to the sleepy little city that was the capital of this country but in most countries would scarcely qualify as a city.

  They found M. Marc Luiten at his breakfast. He was an elderly gentleman, long widowed, and as his housekeeper showed Raoul and Jess into his dining room he looked up from his omelette as if nothing in life had the power to surprise him.

  ‘Ha. Raoul.’ He waved a fork at the chairs on the other side of the dining table. ‘Take a seat, Your Highness. Forgive me but you can’t keep an omelette waiting.’

  ‘Nor would we want you to,’ Raoul said politely and he and Jess sat and drank the coffee the housekeeper produced and waited for the omelette to be demolished. It was. Then M. Luiten carefully mopped his moustache with his linen napkin and turned his attention to the pair before him.

  ‘I know I should have called you Prince Raoul,’ he growled, ‘but I’ve known you since you were in short trousers. Too damned old for ceremony. Sorry about your brother. And your bride. Bad business.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for,’ Raoul told him directly. ‘Monsieur, this is Jessica Devlin. Jessie and I thought we might try again.’

  The man stilled, his coffee-cup hanging midway from table to mouth. ‘Say again?’

  ‘We thought we might try to get me married before Marcel takes charge. If you’re willing.’

  M. Luiten turned his attention-carefully-from Raoul to Jess. He’d hardly noticed her before, she realised, and she wasn’t surprised. Raoul’s presence filled the room. He was a royal prince. She could well be considered a nobody.

  The other half of a marriage of convenience?

  ‘Who did you say this was?’ the man said, and Jess smiled.

  ‘Jessica Devlin.’

  ‘The girl who smashed into Lady Sarah.’

  She flushed but she didn’t turn away. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good job there,’ the man said directly and turned again to Raoul. ‘If you’d asked me, boy, I would have told you there was bad blood. I know Lionel advised it but your father’s side of the family is nothing but trouble. Just look at Marcel.’

  ‘Yes, but it left us in a mess,’ Raoul said and the old man nodded.

  ‘Don’t I know it. Marcel and his cronies have been beside themselves with excitement. If they get their hands on the boy there’ll be no stopping them.’

  ‘If Jessica marries me then I’ll stop them.’

  Once again the old eyes perused Jessica. He surveyed her for a long moment and something lit behind his eyes. Hope?

  ‘They say you’re Australian.’ The gruffness was suddenly gone, replaced by businesslike efficiency.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Not married.’

  ‘I have been.’

  ‘Divorced? Widowed?’

  ‘Divorced a year ago.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you have your divorce papers with you,’ he said and there was a note in his voice that said this was important.

  ‘I have, actually,’ Jess told him. ‘I carry a copy of them with my passport.’ In the last few months of Dom’s life she’d taken him on a frantic trip to the US to try a new treatment. Because of tight international child-custody laws, she’d had to carry all her papers with her. Divorce papers. Birth certificates. Statutory declarations from Warren that she had his permission to take Dom wherever she liked.

  She had a document folder that she travelled with and she hadn’t cleared it out. This morning she’d simply picked it up and shoved it into her jacket pocket.

  The man took it, but he looked at her for a long, searching moment before he allowed himself to open the folder.

  Then he adjusted his glasses low on his nose and read.

  At the end, he laid the folder down and there was no mistaking the look in his eyes now. The flicker of hope had become a blaze of excitement.

  ‘These are in order. Raoul…’

  ‘I’ve never been married. You know that.’

  ‘I know that. You brought your birth certificate?’

  ‘Yes. Is there a time limit? Do we have to give notice?’

  ‘No notice at all,’ he said and his tone was expansive, joyful, exuberant. He rose and flicked back the curtains. ‘It’s a wonderful morning,’ he told them. ‘The garden’s looking magnificent. What say I ask my housekeeper and my gardener to act as witnesses? I’ll marry you right now.’

  Thus they were married.

  If they’d been a couple in love it would have been a marriage to remember, Jess thought as the strange little ceremony took place. M. Luiten spoke his own language but it was the hybrid of French and Italian Jess knew well. And she’d made these vows once before.

  ‘To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.’

  It might just work this time, she thought as Raoul made his own vows, strong and sure. He’d taken her hand and the warmth and the strength of him made this seem…right. Her marriage to Warren had been a crazy mistake and even at the ceremony she had been having doubts. But now…she would be this man’s wife unto death.

  Half a world away.

  She looked down at the band of twisted gold Raoul was placing on her finger. That surprised her, but she liked it, she decided. Even though she’d be on the far side of the world, she liked it that she would be married to this man.

  He was a husband to be proud of. A prince to be proud of?

  ‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ M. Luiten said in a voice of supreme satisfaction. ‘You may now kiss the bride.’

  She pulled her hand away, jerking out of her reverie with a start. ‘There’s no need…’

  But Raoul took hold of her hand again. He smiled, and it was different from any smile she’d seen before. This was full of satisfaction-and more. There was release in his expression. This was a happy ending, and both of them knew it.

  A happy beginning for Edouard? A happy beginning for this tiny country?

  Raoul wasn’t the only one who was smiling. The housekeeper and the gardener were beaming their delight, and so was Monsieur Luiten. They were standing under a rose-arch surrounded by the spring borders of monsieur’s luxuriant flower garden. The first spring roses were unfurling above their heads. There were blue jays and there were bumble-bees…

  The world was smiling.

  ‘Jessie, you’ve given me a gift,’ Raoul told her, and his smile was gentle. Reassuring. ‘You’ve given this country-all of us-a gift. If
any bride deserved to be kissed on her wedding day, it’s you.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘No buts, Jessie. Hush and be kissed.’

  His grip on her hands tightened. He stooped-and he kissed her.

  And what a kiss. This was no feather kiss. This was no formal kiss of thanks. This was the kiss of a man claiming his bride. It was an absolutely spectacular kiss, planned and executed with precision and with style. Jess heard the collective intake of breath from housekeeper, gardener, magistrate…and then she heard nothing.

  Her senses shut down right then.

  Was it the day? Was it the simple words of the bridal vows that had affected her so much? Was it this glorious garden and the thought that she was married?

  No. She knew it was none of these things. It was the man, pure and simple. It was Raoul’s mouth claiming hers. It was his arms holding her close, tugging her into him, his strength, his warmth…

  The taste of him. The smell…

  Raoul.

  She’d never felt like this. Never. It was as if something had plugged in, turned on; some current that electrified a part of her she wasn’t aware she possessed. Raoul held her, kissed her and she opened her mouth to receive the kiss and wave after wave of pure, hot light flooded through her body. Changing her.

  This wasn’t right, she thought frantically. This wasn’t how she was supposed to be feeling. This wasn’t good.

  Or was it?

  No. Of course it wasn’t. She was out of control. She hated being out of control. What was happening to her?

  This wasn’t her! But how he was making her feel… She wanted to sigh with pleasure, she thought, but how could she sigh? Maybe she could do without the sigh if she could take control of the situation, grab him and kiss him right back…

  Did she really want to take control? Maybe she’d just submit.

  How stupid could that be? How wrong?

  It couldn’t be wrong, she decided, or if it was it was too late to make such a call, because that was exactly what she was doing. She was submitting to a kiss that was driving her wild. It was transforming her from plain Jessie Devlin, Australian designer, Dom’s mother, Warren’s ex-wife, to someone she had no idea she could possibly be.