The rich silver brocade was heavily embroidered with crimson and gold. It was cut like the robes she’d seen of mediaeval princesses. The bodice, with its low square neckline, flattened her breasts with its heavy fabric, but at the same time it somehow accentuated her breasts’ soft swell. The sleeves fell to her fingertips, close-fitting from her shoulders and widening below the elbows, with a circlet of softer fabric at the wrists falling almost to her knees. The vast, embroidered skirt was rich and full, touching the floor at the front and sweeping to a glorious train of gold and silver at the back.
There was a brilliant crimson dragon embroidered on the train.
‘It’s the family emblem,’ Raoul told her, and she cast him a look of disbelief.
‘Think of it as a family pet. And you’re part of our family.’
‘Then let’s change the family emblem to a small, custard-yellow porrywiggle,’ she retorted. ‘Because that’s the way I’m feeling.’
He grinned-but there was no backing out now. Marie was admitting the world to admire her. And they were admiring. In moments she was surrounded by reporters and cameramen, and they were aiming straight at her.
For Jess the sensation was so unbelievable she sought refuge in humour.
‘I need one of those pointy caps,’ she said, staring at herself in the mirror as the final adjustments were made to her train, to her face, to her hair, in readiness for the official photographer. ‘Like you see on princesses in comic books.’
Silence.
‘My wife likes to laugh,’ Raoul told the assemblage.
Jess bit her lip. Uh-oh. Wasn’t humour the way to go, then?
She was his wife for a night. His dignity needed her to behave.
But he looked reproving, she thought suddenly. Reproving? If he thought she was going to buckle down and be a tin-lid…
‘Well, if I can’t have a cap I guess I’ll just have to do without,’ she said mournfully. ‘I guess, as we intend to stay in tonight-dear-then I’ll make do with this old outfit and a bare head. After all-’ she gave Raoul her kindest smile ‘-it’s not as if you’re dressed for going out.’
Raoul’s eyes creased in disbelief-and then into stunned admiration, and the assembled media stared. There was a long pause as if no one could believe what they were hearing.
And then-finally-there was laughter. Tentative at first, and then deeply appreciative.
Jess was used to reporters. Her designs were known around the world and she’d learned to manipulate the media for her own ends. Now she chose to answer exactly what she wanted to answer. Any other questions she ignored with the deftness born of practice.
Had she a family in Australia?
‘Yes.’
She’d been married before?
‘Yes.’
Then it got trickier.
‘You’ve had a child?’ someone asked. ‘Our sources in Australia have done some fast research and they say your child died of leukaemia.’
‘Dominic died, yes.’ She paused, and then said softly, as if speaking personally to each and every one of the assembled reporters, ‘That’s why I believe family is so important. It’s why it’s so important that Prince Edouard can stay with his uncle and his grandmother, rather than his distant cousin. I’m sure every person in this country would agree, and this marriage makes that possible.’
They loved her.
They thought she was fantastic, Raoul thought as, questions completed, they made their way to the tiny palace chapel. Here their marriage would be blessed in a ceremony designed-hastily-to give the people their only chance to meet their princess.
This was right.
But it needed to continue.
If she stayed it’d be so much easier, he thought. Jessie’s hand was resting on his arm as they made their way through the long corridors. Cameras were working at full speed. She wasn’t flinching.
She was wonderful.
He could do this if he had Jessie by his side.
And Jess was alone. Back in Australia she had no one, and the thought made his gut wrench. She had no family and she’d lost her child. She was going home to the grey fog he could sense had been overwhelming her, and he knew that the fog was waiting to engulf her again.
But here she’d lifted his own bleakness, and she’d smiled and entranced the media and she’d brought happiness to a place that could give her happiness in return. She could set up her design centre here, he thought, his mind racing. He’d pay to bring any staff she needed over and maybe they could build Waves up even bigger than it was now. This country had the best yarns and the best cloth. Why not the best designer?
It could work, he thought, and the more the idea whirled through his mind, the better it looked. Jess would be surrounded by her staff-and by her family. Louise would love her. Edouard would love her.
And he…
In time maybe even he…
She was laughing at something one of the reporters had said. He glanced down at the smiling woman on his arm and he felt the growing realisation that things were changing very fast.
Maybe he already did love her, he conceded, but the nebulous idea was immense and overwhelming and even plain damned scary.
But sending Jess home alone seemed even more scary.
She had to stay. She must. It was a brilliant idea and not to try it seemed crazy.
So… He had this night to persuade her, he thought. This night the marriage was supposed to be consummated.
This night she had to agree to marry him in earnest.
The tiny ceremony devised to introduce Jess to the country, to the people, was a simple ceremony of blessing.
It shouldn’t have the power to move her.
But she stood at the end of the aisle and the old priest stood before them in his faded vestments. A soft smile lingered behind his kindly old eyes. He murmured the words of blessing as if he meant every one of them-blessing this marriage forever-and she was definitely moved.
Raoul’s hand held hers. The warmth of him, the strength…the look of pride on his face…
For this moment, this mock-marriage seemed almost real.
And for this moment she almost had a family. Louise was in the front pew, holding Edouard. The little boy had his arms around his grandmother’s neck. His time with Louise in the alpacas’ stall had obviously made him decide this lady was someone he might trust. The ghastly Cosette didn’t appear to be missed at all.
Raoul and Louise had made a tiny beginning to give this needful child a family, Jess thought. A family…
It made her want to cry.
Raoul’s hand held her still and as she looked up at him he smiled gently, reassuringly into her eyes. She was wearing his ring. Almost she could believe in fairy tales, she thought. She could believe that this was her prince and she was loved and she was walking into a happy ending.
Just keep remembering midnight, she told herself fiercely, desperately. The pumpkins will happen sooner than you think.
And somehow she managed to keep herself in control, even when, at the end of the blessing, Raoul turned and kissed her.
This was no kiss of passion. It was a kiss of gratitude, for all the world to see.
‘Thank you, Jessica,’ he told her, and his voice was firm enough for all who were present to hear, and through the microphone for all who were glued to television sets across the country to hear. ‘Thank you from me and from Crown Prince Edouard and from my mother. And thank you from my country, from my people. We all love you and you’ll be in our hearts forever.’
Yeah, right. Nice speech, Raoul, she thought, frantically fighting back stupid tears that meant nothing.
Bring on the pumpkins. Now.
There was a reception-of sorts. So many people, gathered at short notice to make this strange mock-marriage official.
There were so many people that the night was a blur. She smiled and shook hands and curtsied as if she’d been bred to it. She moved from one dignitary to another, being introduced, being quest
ioned, making small talk. Raoul assisted as much as he could but the attention was all on her.
‘You’ve done enough,’ Raoul told her at last but she shook her head. She could do this. One night…
But Raoul had support. ‘Jess cannot stay any longer,’ Louise declared and she didn’t say it to Jess. She said it to the room at large. Louise had left the reception briefly to put Edouard to bed and she’d come back to see Jess wilting. Louise, of all of them, had the most experience of being royalty. She, too, had been a royal bride.
‘She’s not well enough for more,’ she declared now. ‘Raoul, it’s time to take your bride to her bed.’
There was a pause throughout the room as somehow everyone caught Louise’s words.
And then there was a cheer.
Raoul looked down at his bride and he smiled.
She didn’t smile back. She was close to being overwhelmed here and her autopilot seemed to be shutting down.
‘Can I take you to bed, Princess Jessica?’
‘If you must,’ she murmured, thoroughly confused, not just by the situation but also by the tenderness she read in her husband’s eyes. This whole situation was fantastic, and the idea that the assemblage was cheering the royal couple to bed was ridiculous. And that Raoul should look at her like this…
Back to basics, Jessica, she told herself. Get some control here.
‘Fine,’ she murmured, so softly that only Raoul could hear. ‘Or almost fine. You’re not taking me to bed. You’re taking me to the bedroom. That’s it.’ She hesitated and smiled around at the cheering audience before starting to whisper again. ‘But it’s bedroom door only, Your Highness. You stop at the settee. I’ll make it the rest of the way by myself.’
He smiled, his eyes gently teasing. ‘I’m glad you agree, my lovely bride.’ And then, before she knew what he was about, he swept her up into his arms. Her glorious dress hung about her. He stood among the gathering, holding her, claiming her, laughing down into her eyes.
A prince, laying claim to his bride.
‘You’ll have to excuse us,’ he told the assemblage and there were more cheers and laughter.
Vaguely Jess was aware of Marcel, glaring at her with hatred from the corner of the room. But it didn’t matter. How could anything matter when Raoul was holding her like this?
Or maybe it did matter. Maybe Marcel’s awfulness was the simple reason why Raoul was holding her like this.
But Raoul was still speaking. ‘You need to excuse us,’ Raoul said again, and the whole room hushed. ‘I need to take my bride to bed.’
CHAPTER TEN
HE DIDN’T take her to her bedroom.
They reached the turn in the corridor she knew and he turned left and not right.
‘Hey,’ she said and wriggled, and his hold on her tightened.
‘Yes, my darling?’
‘I am not your darling,’ she told him.
In reply he stooped and kissed her, effectively silencing her. Then, with his mouth only half an inch from hers, he whispered, ‘Hush, my love. We’re being followed.’
‘Followed?’
She glanced back over his shoulder. No easy feat this, glancing over the shoulder of the man who was carrying her. It involved a certain amount of contortion as he wasn’t loosening his hold and she felt a little like a minnow enveloped in a sea of embroidered satin-but somehow she did it.
There were men in the corridor behind them. Suits. There were suits following them?
‘Um…who?’
‘It’s the Minister for the Crown,’ he told her, ‘and his minions.’
That jolted her. Badly.
‘Please tell me they’re not intending to watch,’ she demanded, and he smiled.
‘No. We’re not in the Dark Ages.’
‘Then why are they here?’
‘They’ll settle outside the bedroom door and check we stay together overnight.’
‘Who said you’re not in the Dark Ages?’
‘It’s better than them watching. It’s a compromise and if we don’t agree to their presence then our wedding may be deemed not to be consummated.’ He hesitated. ‘There’d be no problem if you agreed to stay forever. Jess, I’d really like you to consider the advantages. You know, there are advantages-for all of us. Resettling here, bringing your work here, having us take care of you… But if you’re intent on leaving…’
For heaven’s sake, what was he proposing? ‘Of course I’m leaving.’
‘Then Marcel will fight to have the marriage annulled. I told you this.’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t really believe you,’ she said darkly. ‘It seemed a bit of a joke. Raoul…’
‘Let’s just go with the flow, shall we?’
She was so confused-but how could she not go with the flow? When he was holding her tightly against him? When he was making her feel…?
Ridiculous?
No. Not ridiculous. But there were no words to describe how she was feeling right now.
‘So where are you taking me?’
‘To the bridal chamber,’ he said, smiling his reassurance.
‘The bridal chamber!’
‘Just shut up and be appreciative,’ he told her. ‘You’re a princess for a night. Why not lie back and enjoy it?’
‘I’ll stand up, thank you very much.’
‘If you like.’ He grinned. ‘Whatever takes your fancy.’
‘Raoul…’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘You’re asking for your ears to be boxed.’
‘Not in front of witnesses,’ he told her. ‘Let’s wait until we get behind closed doors and then you can do anything to me that you want. I promise.’
Which left her speechless.
Her speechless state lasted until she reached the bridal chamber. Then she opened her mouth to speak, but discovered she was speechless all over again.
Marcel’s edict that no staff work in the castle must have gone out the window the moment it was realised that Raoul was married. Now two uniformed footmen flung open a pair of ornate oak doors. They ushered the newly marrieds inside, and closed the doors behind them.
Jess tried to say thank you-and failed.
From the firm hold of her husband’s arms, she gazed around and she gasped in stunned wonder.
‘Christopher Columbus,’ she breathed at last, and Raoul smiled. In truth, he looked more than a little gobsmacked himself. ‘Raoul, put me down.’
He did-but it seemed he did so reluctantly. And she stood, but she missed the feel of his arms.
Concentrate on the room, she told herself fiercely. Concentrate on the apartment.
It was certainly worth concentrating on.
Vast and opulent, the rooms dripped with crimson velvet and white satin canopies. Huge white settees were piled with white velvet cushions. More cushions were scattered over the floor-mounds and mounds of cushions on a carpet that was so thick that the pile hid her toes.
A huge fireplace blazed out a gentle heat, warming every corner.
What else? There were balloons, glistening white and silver and tied in vast bunches with white satin ribbon. Someone must have been working here all day putting the final touches to this opulent glory.
She gazed around her in wonder. The bathroom led off to the left. There was a sunken bathtub, as big as a small swimming pool, gently steaming and infinitely inviting. The tub was in the shape of a Botticelli shell.
‘That’s indecent,’ she said, and Raoul raised his brows and wiggled them in suggestive laughter.
‘It looks pretty damned good to me,’ he told her. ‘And it’s not indecent until we’re in it. Doing stuff.’
She glared. ‘Which we’re not going to be.’
‘Not?’
‘I may just try it on my own,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster. She turned her back on her husband-and turned her attention to the bedroom.
And saw the bed.
‘You could sleep a small army in that bed,’ she gasped-and Ra
oul looked through and nodded. Gravely.
‘I’d guess this must have been the troops’ quarters in the past.’
‘Oh, right. I can just see a whole regiment tucked up in that bed.’ She couldn’t suppress a smile at the thought, and some of the tension eased. A little. ‘This is amazing.’
‘Isn’t it just,’ he said, and his voice was as wondering as hers.
She turned and stared at him, surprised. ‘Haven’t you ever been in here?’
‘Not that I can remember,’ he told her. ‘When I was a kid I was never allowed in this section of the palace. Henri and Mama arranged that we come here tonight. They said it was appropriate.’ He stared around for a bit more in appreciation. ‘I don’t know about appropriate,’ he told her, ‘but it’s pretty good, huh?’
‘Um…right.’
He eyed her with caution. ‘Right?’
‘Right,’ she said, and glowered. Somehow a glower seemed necessary. In the face of his wonder. In the face of…him. She needed weapons here, she thought. She needed all the weapons she could muster and a glower was all she had.
And sense. She had to be sensible.
‘The bedroom’s mine,’ she told him. ‘You can have the rest.’
‘Don’t you need access to the bathroom?’
‘I’ll use two feet along the far wall to get there. When you’re not in it.’
‘You want to build a dividing wall?’ he asked, entering into the spirit of things. ‘With cushions? Hey, we could divide the bath. One of us on either side of the shell. Only maybe cushions wouldn’t work as a barrier.’ His face fell. ‘They might get soggy.’
‘Don’t be facetious.’
‘You don’t think you might be just the faintest bit paranoid?’
‘I’m not paranoid. I’m just…’
‘Yes?’
‘Scared,’ she said and the glower went out of her, just like that.
‘Scared of me?’ His laughter had died, too. He was looking down at her with tenderness and that was worse. It made her feel a whole lot more scared.
‘Raoul, we can’t do this.’
‘We can’t what?’
‘Have a marriage.’
‘No.’ He put a finger under her chin, tilting her face, forcing her to look up into his eyes. ‘No, we can’t.’ His look softened and his voice lowered. ‘I don’t think any real marriage is possible until we both move on from the past. I’m starting to think that maybe I’m prepared to take a risk, but you…maybe you’re not ready to do that. Are you?’
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