by Abby Green
“Welcome home, Raphael.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Rafe didn’t bother to add any small talk to ease them past the moment, and when she glanced at him, the muscle working in his jaw warned her just how difficult this was for him. Quickly she stepped into the breach.
“My father says you’ve got an exceptional colt out of the mare you bred to his stallion,” she said. Then she blushed as she realized breeding practices probably weren’t the wisest topic of conversation under the circumstances.
But Victor Thorton only nodded and smiled at her. “Yes, indeed. The last time we bred them, we got that pretty little filly who has gone on to win every two-year-old race out there. Your father kept that one, and I’m hoping this colt will be as superb a piece of horseflesh.”
They moved past him then to where the Grand Duchess of Thortonburg stood beside the wingback chair in which she’d been sitting doing needlework before they arrived.
“Your Grace.” Elizabeth touched her cheek to the older woman’s, noting the still-beautiful skin and, more importantly, the open warmth in her green eyes as she gazed at her son. “Thank you for receiving me.”
“It’s my pleasure, dear.” The Grand Duchess spoke to Elizabeth, but her hungry eyes barely left her son. As Elizabeth moved aside, the slender woman stretched up to enfold her eldest child in her arms. “Oh, Raphael, it’s good to have you home. You’ve been missed.”
“It’s only a visit, Mother.” Again, Rafe was stiff and abrupt, though Elizabeth noticed his arms tightened for a long moment about his mother’s slender frame.
“One we hope you’ll repeat often.” The Grand Duchess smiled serenely, but Elizabeth saw the hurt she couldn’t hide.
“And Roland.” Elizabeth held out both hands to the waiting man. A year younger than she, they’d attended balls and house parties and all manner of things with the same crowd of young aristocrats.
“Princess Elizabeth. It’s been too long.” Roland drew her close and kissed both cheeks.
“Hmm.” Elizabeth drew back and considered. “Nearly four months. The last time I saw you, you’d been unseated during a hunt and landed in a mudhole as I recall.”
Roland gave her a mock-scowl, then grinned and her heart stuttered at the resemblance to his brother. “You have a good memory. Too good.” He turned to his older brother with his hand extended. “Welcome home, Raphael.”
“Thank you.” Rafe took the outstretched hand and the brothers shook.
An awkward silence fell. It was as if these people didn’t know how to make small talk with each other, she thought. Then she realized that was probably the literal truth. Rafe had lived at schools most of his life. Any attempt at “catchup” conversations would be severely limited because they simply didn’t know each other well. Comparing them to her own boisterous, warm, loving family, she felt her heart constrict. No wonder Rafe had trouble allowing himself to feel.
As the silence grew oppressive, she opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Rafe forestalled her by taking her hand in his and holding up the engagement ring he’d given her.
In a curiously formal tone, he said, “Father, Mother, Roland, we have an announcement to make.” He paused for a moment and looked down at her, holding her gaze with his as he said, “Elizabeth has agreed to do me the honor of becoming my wife. We’ll be married in Wynborough in two weeks.”
Two weeks? Suddenly time seemed to be rushing past.
He must have read the shock in her eyes because he smiled then, a small, private smile just for her before turning back to his family. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a bit of a need for haste,” he added wryly.
She was blushing, she knew she was and she made a face at him. Darn the man for pointing out something that didn’t need any additional notice.
“Well!” The Grand Duke’s tone was too loud, too enthusiastic. “That’s wonderful news, Raphael. Congratulations to you both.”
The Grand Duchess looked happy but hesitant. “I wasn’t aware that you two had ever met,” she said.
“We became acquainted at the Children’s Fund Ball last fall,” Rafe informed her. “Elizabeth has been a guest in my home in Phoenix recently. We’ll be living there after the wedding.”
She had to admire the way he left out all sorts of pesky details which would have required a rather more in-depth explanation.
“But you weren’t home at that time—” Sara Thorton stopped abruptly as she realized that her eldest son had indisputably been in Europe at that time. He simply hadn’t chosen to visit his family.
The Grand Duchess bit her lip and turned away, and Elizabeth saw the sheen of tears in the older woman’s eyes. “It was a very quick trip,” she offered impulsively.
A muffled choking sound from across the room drew her attention. Roland’s eyes were dancing with laughter and she realized she was only making things worse. Rafe obviously had had time for some things. She could feel her cheeks heating again.
“We’ll be married in Wynborough, but we will continue to make our home in Phoenix,” Rafe said.
“In Phoenix! But you can’t take the potential heir to the throne out of the country,” the Grand Duke protested.
“Elizabeth cannot take the throne,” Rafe said sharply. “Alexandra’s the eldest, so her firstborn son will ascend the throne. I do remember a few things from my classes in governmental policy, Father.”
“There’s been a change—”
Rafe’s mother cut off her husband’s blustering tone. “Where will the wedding take place?”
“At Wynton Chapel,” Elizabeth volunteered gratefully. She could practically see Rafe’s temper rising perilously close to the boiling point, and apparently his mother did, too. She put a gentle hand on his arm. This topic was not one she wanted to discuss at the moment.
The Duchess was determined to get the conversation back onto safer topics. “Then we’d better get on with the arrangements. I shall call the Queen tomorrow and offer my assistance.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Rafe stepped forward and kissed her cheek and again Elizabeth saw the woman blink back tears. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I’m sure Elizabeth would like to rest before dinner. Is there a room prepared?”
Roland strolled to the door. “Can you imagine that there isn’t?”
That succeeded in drawing a chuckle from Rafe and Roland beckoned for them to precede him. “I’ll show you to her room.”
They followed the younger man to the second level of the old castle and down several long hallways until he halted and turned the knob of a door. Along the way, she surreptitiously watched Rafe’s face as he absorbed the ambience of his childhood, but his expression was completely blank and she had no clue as to what was going through his mind. The only suggestion of tension came from the rigid set of his shoulders and the muscle ticking in his jaw.
At the door of the room they all paused. “It really is good to see you again, Roland,” she said, breaking the silence that hung between the brothers.
“And you,” he responded, reaching for her hand and holding it for just a moment. “Good luck with this baby. It’ll be easier if it’s a girl, I’m sure. No decisions to be made.”
She nodded, and she knew her voice sounded troubled when she answered him. “Thank you.”
“Rafe…” The younger man hesitated. “I know it hasn’t been easy to come back.”
“I wouldn’t have come at all if a certain skittish woman hadn’t made me chase her through three time zones.” Rafe reached out and gave a lock of Elizabeth’s hair a gentle tug.
“I know.” Roland smiled. “But maybe it’s a good thing. You and Father needed this.” Then he hesitated. “He’s sorry, you know, even if he can’t say it. He’s been different lately—mellower—largely because it broke his heart to realize he had driven you away.”
“You’re trying to tell me he learned from his mistakes?” There was sarcasm in Rafe’s voice.
The affable mask over Rolan
d’s handsome face dropped away, and suddenly Elizabeth felt the aggression that charged the air. The two men faced each other, and if the atmosphere hadn’t been so tense, she would have laughed at the sight of the brothers who looked enough alike to be twins but for their age disparity glaring at each other.
“I’m not trying to tell you, I am telling you,” Roland said levelly. “I remember very little of what happened when you two got together. If you can’t forgive him, I’ll try to understand. But I hope you’ll think about it.”
Rafe sighed. “You ask a lot.”
Roland shrugged, smiling, then he extended his hand. “Thank you for coming, whatever the reason. I’m glad you’re here.”
Rafe hesitated. Then, grabbing his brother’s hand, he pulled the younger man into an awkward embrace. “It surprises me to admit that I’m glad I’m here, too. Thanks.”
In the next moment, the door closed behind Roland, and Rafe and Elizabeth were alone in the room. For an instant, he wondered about his brother’s odd words when he’d spoken to Elizabeth. But when he looked across the room at his woman, everything else faded from his mind except the need to reassert his claim.
He closed the space between them in three quick steps, taking her by the shoulders and dragging her into his arms.
Eight
“Rafe!” She squeaked and struggled, but he caught both wrists in one big hand behind her back, arching her against him and rubbing his body back and forth against hers, feeling the heady rush of arousal course through him. Her body was soft and warm and when he bent his head and covered her mouth, she didn’t fight him but opened to his probing tongue as if she’d been waiting for him.
Maybe she had. He hoped he wasn’t the only one who’d been driven crazy by the hours and the night they’d spent apart.
Lifting his head a fraction, he said, “Do you know how I felt when I realized you were gone?”
Her body stilled. “Furious?” she ventured.
“Well, that, too.” He framed her jaw with one big hand. “I was worried sick. Not that you had decided to travel independently—” He forestalled her when she would have spoken again. “You’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be running around the globe.” He paused for a moment, and his next words were more of a thought spoken aloud. “I don’t want you away from me overnight ever again.”
Her eyes widened. They stared at each other for a moment and again he recognized that something had changed between them. But her body was calling to him, soft and enticing against him, and he couldn’t think of anything but making her his again in the most basic way there was, telling her without words how much she meant to him.
Putting a hand on her hip, he explored the inside of her mouth as he urged her toward the high, antique bedstead with its tapestry canopy. When the backs of her knees bumped against the mattress, he slid his free hand around to palm one smooth, rounded buttock, but the fabric of her skirt got in the way.
Releasing her wrists, he muttered against her mouth, “Get these clothes off,” as he plunged his hands beneath her skirt and tugged both her knickers and her tights down and off. She was unbuttoning the line of tiny buttons running down the front of her blouse when he stood again. Impatiently he pulled the blouse and her slip over her head in one smooth move, then tossed them aside and reached for her bra. As he unclasped the garment and drew it aside, her breasts fell free. He cupped them in his palms, feeling their cool weight warming beneath his touch as he slipped his hands around and around in small circles, brushing repeatedly over the sensitive nipples that rose to meet his stroking.
He leaned down and kissed her again, then dropped his head to her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the fine-grained flesh he found there, marveling at the bounty of feminine beauty he’d exposed. She was making small noises in the back of her throat and she brought her hands up between them to deal with the buttons of his shirt, shoving it aside and dragging up his T-shirt beneath to expose his broad, rough-haired chest. He felt her breath hot against him and then he jumped at the startling sensation of tiny teeth closing gently but firmly over one of his flat male nipples, using her tongue and her teeth to draw it into the same nubbin of aroused flesh that he had called from her.
Arrows of desire sizzled a path through his nerve endings from her teasing tongue straight to his groin, and he groaned, abandoning her breasts to slide his hands around her bottom and pull her higher against him. He pushed a muscled knee between her slim legs, parting them and moving steadily forward until she rode one hard thigh. She brought a hand down then, exploring him through his pants, and the feel of her small palm rubbing over his cloth-covered erection drove him wild. Holding her in place, he fumbled with his belt, roughly unzipping his pants and then stepping away from her momentarily to discard the rest of his clothing.
Elizabeth stood with her back against the bed, her chest rising and falling with her quickened breathing, her arms braced behind her on the mattress. He stepped forward again, pulling her against him, and they both made anguished sounds of frustration and delight at the feel of naked flesh against naked flesh. His hot, pulsing column pushed at the mound of her belly and when she slowly rocked back and forth, caressing him with the small motion, he closed his eyes and threw his head back, giving himself to her ministrations.
With his eyes closed, every touch of her fingers to his skin made him tremble. She smoothed her hands over his chest, flicking lightly over his nipples again, then made small circles that moved steadily lower and lower. Over his rib cage, down into the tiny well of his navel, then even lower until she was brushing the thicket of black curls that surrounded his aching hardness. She toyed with him, straying down to the creases where his thighs met his torso, stealthily sliding her fingers along those folds to the heavy sac that hung between his legs, gently cupping him in her hand with her fingers slowly slipping back and forth. But she didn’t touch him as he longed for her to, and he felt himself getting harder and larger, and more and more frantic for her touch.
Finally he couldn’t take another second of her sly teasing. “Touch me,” he growled, dropping his head to seize her earlobe between his teeth and deliver a not-so-gentle nip of warning. He slid his own hands down her body to her hips and held her firmly with one, while with the other he dipped boldly into the shadowed cleft between her legs, finding her hot and wet and unbelievably slick and ready.
She wrapped her fingers around his straining shaft, feeling the silky heat, running her thumb up over the tip and discovering the slipperiness already forming there. She rubbed her fingers around the broad head, then down again, clasping him in a firm hand and beginning to stroke him rhythmically.
“Like this?” she whispered.
His breath whistled in and out between his teeth in agonized pleasure. His hand between her legs pushed her thighs apart until she widened her stance, then found the humid entrance to her and pushed one long finger steadily, slowly but firmly up into the tight feminine channel. “Like that,” he managed. He matched his finger’s motion to the strokes of her hand, feeling the pace quicken far too fast, knowing this was going to be over in a matter of moments, but he couldn’t bring himself to drag her hand away. Instead, he found himself covering her hand with his free one and showing her an even more intense rhythm, tutoring her in the hot, fierce pleasures of sensual fulfillment.
But all too soon, he began to shake uncontrollably with the effort to retain control, and he had to force himself to draw her hand away, twining her fingers with his when she made a sound of protest and reached for him again. The tip of his erect staff brushed against her belly and he groaned. He knew he didn’t have much time. Withdrawing his hand from her steamy center, he grabbed her by the hips and boosted her up to perch on the edge of the high bed, placing her in a perfect position to receive him. His body was so ready for release that he groaned aloud as he clasped himself in one big hand and positioned himself for the final claiming. Then he pulled her off the edge of the bed.
She slid onto him in a deep, s
mooth stroke so perfect she might have been made for the moment, wrapping her legs around his hips and drawing him even more closely to her. He thrust deeply into her and she cried out as her most sensitive knot of tiny nerves banged against his pelvis.
She threw her head back and looked up at him, her eyes wide, pupils dilated with passion. “I can’t…I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” Scarcely able to restrain himself, but still in control enough to know that he didn’t want to go without her, he pushed his hand between them and found the little bump of pouting flesh with his thumb. Her body was quivering around him and he’d barely started a steady circling when her back arched and she screamed.
Inside her, strong muscular contractions squeezed his bursting flesh, and as she shuddered and heaved in his arms, Rafe felt himself gathering into one giant sensation all centered on the hot flesh snugly ensconced within her body. His hips thrust, withdrew and thrust again, slamming against her, and she screamed with each contact of flesh against flesh. His body drew taut, sensation dancing down his back, starting deep within him and pushing his seed up and out, arching him against her again and again, bucking wildly as he emptied himself into her receptive woman’s well.
Finally there was nothing left to give, nothing left to feel but satiated pleasure and drowsy exhaustion. His legs trembled; her ankles slipped from their clasp behind his back and her legs slid to the floor.
He reached behind her to the gold coverlet, pulling it back before lifting her and placing her gently on the crisp sheets. Drawing the cover up around her, he walked around the foot of the big bed to the other side and climbed in. She turned to him as she had the night before on another continent and he slipped one arm beneath her, drawing her close, conscious of how small and fragile she seemed. Her hand came up to rest on his chest and she nestled against him with one leg over his thigh; the mound of their child pushed into his side, cradled between them and he felt her give a deep sigh.
