Rescuing the Royal Runaway Bride

by Ally Blake

  He stared up at the propeller once more and thought of the look of incredulity in Sadie’s eyes as she’d spotted it. He’d had dates in his London pad before. They’d either not noticed the thing, or they’d thought it inspired. Sadie had known, in a second, that it wasn’t something he’d ever have chosen.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Natalie whooped. And clapped. For so long he wondered if she was giving him a standing ovation.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “You have no idea what I think.”

  “You think I’m skiving off work because I’ve found myself a woman who’s made me realise human relationships are more important than work can ever be.”

  A long pause. “Well, have you?”

  “No, Natalie. I have not. For which you ought to be thankful, as it is my work that keeps you in mulberry jam.”

  Natalie went quiet. Then, “Will Darcy, it is my skill that keeps me in mulberry jam. It’s your work that keeps you from rocking in a corner. Check your calendar; it’s updated. And packed to the rafters, just as you like it. Goodnight.”

  Will threw his phone to the end of the couch, where it bounced and settled. Knowing he ought to check his calendar in order to be prepared for the next day’s work, he instead headed upstairs, ignoring the lift of his pulse as he passed Sadie’s closed door, and headed into his room.

  He showered—and shaved, hallelujah—put on fresh pyjamas, and hopped into his own bed.

  Then stared at the ceiling knowing he’d never been further from sleep in his entire life.

  Natalie’s words floated around and around his mind like so much space junk.

  He had relationships. They were simply shorter, more condensed or more peripheral than others might be used to.

  And, while his work was at the centre of his life, it wasn’t the thing that held him together. If he had to give it up one day, he could. Yup, even he heard it—he sounded like a junkie. Who’s Sadie? Natalie had asked.

  Sadie was the reason he felt a gnawing self-reproach at having missed work for two days apart from a little gazing at the Orionid Shower.

  Sadie was the reason he was holed up in his London house, when he should be in the outback, a desert, anywhere but the high-density cityscape that was London, where it was so grey out he’d see nothing but soup.

  Sadie was the reason he was wide awake.

  He rolled over, and closed his eyes. Sleep would come. This restlessness wouldn’t last.

  Nothing ever did.

  * * *

  Sadie was used to things going bump in the night. She’d grown up in a several-hundred-year-old palace after all.

  But it didn’t make a lick of difference. As tired as she was, knowing Will was out there was making her restless.

  Restless in a way she hadn’t been before the kiss on the cheek.

  Before the photos of them looking so...so...

  Before he’d gone above and beyond, whisking her away to his private residence.

  She rolled over, rifled through her overnight bag. Hello! Her phone.

  It was only slightly charged. And she had so many messages her mailbox was full. She paused a half-second before deleting it all. And she made the only call she needed to make.

  “This is Genevieve.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes. “It’s me, Maman. And I know you know because my number comes up when I call.”

  A beat slid by in which Sadie imagined her mother’s imperious stare. Only then did her mother launch into a series of very important questions.

  “Mercedes Gray Leonine, did I not teach you anything about getting into cars with strange men?”

  “No. You did not.”

  “Really?”

  “It never came up.”

  A beat, then, “Are his eyes as blue as they look in the photo?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Some might call that extenuating circumstances.”

  Some, but not Genevieve. It had been her life’s mission to make sure her daughter thought once, twice, three times before taking anyone at face value. Men in particular. The better looking, the more charming, the more she was encouraged to stay away. It was as if she’d had to defy her mother by falling for her acting coach in New York—an older man, beautiful but fallible—to finally see she had a point.

  Leading her to Hugo. The one man in her life, and her mother’s life, who had always been the exception to the rule.

  Still Sadie had run. And where had she learned that, again?

  “Now Hugo tells me you are living with this man?”

  “Not living. Staying. In his spare room. He is a dear old friend of Hugo’s. He’s been amazingly...unruffled by the situation. A self-contained sort of man.” Yikes, she was making him sound like a doddering uncle. She heard Will’s voice accusing her of protesting too much and eased back. “It’s easier this way.”

  “Hmmm. And how good-looking is he?” her mother asked. “Because if that photograph was even close you need to beware—”

  “Maman. Any chance we can talk about something other than Will?”

  “But why?”

  “Because I ran away from marrying a prince yesterday and I thought you might have an opinion on that. And I hear that you have retired and moved out of the palace and I wondered if you would like to hear my opinion on that?”

  “Not so much.”

  Sadie rolled onto her back and stuck her legs in the air, the huge, lacy white nightie she had never seen before that her mother had so kindly packed for her falling to her hips as she twirled her ankles one way and then the other. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Yes?”

  “About my father.”

  Never a fun topic.

  Sadie’s toes clenched as she waited for her mother’s, “I see.”

  “About the similarities between us.”

  “You do have his eyes.” Genevieve sighed. The love of melodramatics also an inherited trait.

  “I mean, that he was a runner. And so, it seems, am I.”

  “Oh, darling. My sweet girl. What you are is discriminating. You will not be shaken. You will not be swayed. You know kindness and you know how to put people at ease.”

  “I know when I’m being hustled.”

  “That’s my girl. No point being sweet unless it’s wrapped around a core of steel.”

  “That’s right, Maman.” Sadie let her feet drop. She rolled to her side, watched moonlight play over the painted wood floor. “Have you really moved out already?”

  “I really have. To a lovely little cottage on the edge of the grounds. Marguerite has been saving it for me for years. You have a room here too, my darling. If you want it.”

  Sadie rolled onto her front, to the foggy grey view out the window, to the light from the converted homes nearby, the city beyond. Growing up in the country, she’d dreamed of living in a big city one day—close to the best theatres, surrounded by crowds and people who had no clue who she was. Who didn’t watch her every move. Where she could be anonymous.

  New York hadn’t worked out. Maybe this was a second chance.

  “Thanks, Maman. I’ll let you know as soon as I know what I decide to do.”

  Her phone started to buzz. Low battery. She promised to call soon and hung up.

  She rolled to sitting. Her toes reached to the floor before curling away from the cold grey. Only... Her toes tapped against the floor to find it warm. Toasty, in fact. Underfloor heating. Naturally.

  She was thirsty. Or hungry. Or something.

  Whatever she was she couldn’t sit here pretending to sleep. It was early—maybe that was it. She needed to stretch her legs. Or watch a little TV. Hugo had mentioned a book in her bag... No. A book wouldn’t do it. Surely this place had a TV somewhere.

  Grabbing the heavy comforter off
the end of the bed, she wrapped it around her shoulders and heaved open the door and—

  The comforter slid off her shoulders and landed in a puddle on the floor as she came face to face with Will.

  He’d stopped in the hallway, a cup of coffee in his hand. A pristine white T-shirt—creased from where it had just come out of its packet—did magical things to his chest. Or was that the other way around? Dark grey pyjama bottoms hung low on his hips. His feet were bare.

  Moonlight sliced across his strong face. He’d shaved, making him look younger somehow. Clean-cut. All crisp edges, and smooth lines. Much like the statue he seemed too fond of incarnating. Except for the banked heat in his eyes.

  “I don’t remember that being in my spare-clothes drawer.”

  “Hmm?” Sadie followed his gaze, glancing down at her matronly nightgown with its neck-to-ankle pin-tucks. “My mother packed it for me.”

  “Is there a chance she wants you living at home with her for ever?”

  Sadie laughed out loud, recalling the phone call she’d literally just had. “Could be.”

  For a man who came across as so dry, he had a way at cutting to the heart of things. The humanity. Like this strange house of his—cool and intimidating on the outside, but warm to the touch.

  “Did you need something?” he asked. His deep voice rumbled over her skin like a blast of heat.

  Did she? Did she need something? Maybe. Maybe what she needed was right here in front of her.

  No. Don’t be stupid. You don’t need Will. You’ve just gotten used to having him near. You like having him near. You want to have him nearer still.

  Boy, was that a bad idea. He was Hugo’s friend, for one. He was a self-confessed workaholic, existing in the rarefied air of the intelligentsia, whereas everything she did was navigated by her heart. And security was crucial to her; knowing she had a safe place to go home to if everything else in her life fell apart. His home clearly meant nothing more to him than a place to occasionally sleep.

  If she stood a chance of doing this right one day, she’d need a stayer. Someone solid and settled and present. Someone to pin her feet to the floor. Someone she could trust not to bolt. Someone not like her father. Someone not like her.

  She needed someone else.

  But she wanted him.

  He took a step closer and she gripped the comforter for all she was worth.

  “Are you hungry? We could go out—No. Bad idea.”

  Will smiled. It did things to his face, encouraging things, that had Sadie feeling warm all over. It had to be some kind of glitch in the space-time continuum to find the only astronomer in the universe who could do more for a white T-shirt than Marlon Brando.

  “I could order food in. I think Natalie had my cleaning agency pin some takeaway menus to a door somewhere.”

  She shook her head no.

  “How about a book? I know there are plays in my library. Funny, I hadn’t remembered until that moment that Clair used to read herself to sleep when it wouldn’t come on its own.”

  Funny; she wondered if he realised that here, alone with her, he was able to say Clair’s name and not look as if he was being stabbed in the heart as he said it.

  Funny how well he knew her that he understood she was a lover of words.

  Not so funny that all of that burned him a little place marker onto her heart.

  “The building came with a fully stocked library when I bought it. I’m sure even Shakespeare is in there somewhere.”

  Maybe it was the moonlight, maybe it was the man—heck, maybe it was the fact that he kept quoting Shakespeare—but Sadie dropped the comforter on the floor, stepped over it, took Will by the front of the T-shirt, pulled herself up onto her toes and kissed him.

  Time seemed to stand still as her lips met his. Her fingers curled harder into the cotton as every nerve ending zinged as if all the energy in all the world had coalesced into her body in that moment.

  Which was why it took a moment to realise he wasn’t kissing her back.

  Her eyes fluttered open to find his dark. Impenetrable.

  She pulled back. A fraction. A mile. It didn’t matter. So long as she had those eyes on hers. For she knew she hadn’t misread the signs—the way he looked at her, how he found excuses to touch her—had she?

  The urge to let go, to step back, to apologise, make a joke, make light, to run was near overwhelming.

  But this time the want was stronger.

  She squeezed the cotton tighter in her grip, holding on for dear life. And...there. The thump of his heart against her knuckles gave him away. It was galloping, out of control.

  “Will?” she said, her voice barely a breath.

  With a growl that seemed to come from some primal place inside of him, Will’s arms were around her, holding her so close not a sliver of light could get through, then kissed her like there was no tomorrow.

  Colour exploded behind her eyes as heat and want and desire and relief swirled together in a heady mix of intense sensation. His kisses were like a dream, pulling her under until her thoughts were no longer her own.

  Her hands ran over his hard shoulders, diving into his curls. Her knees lost all feeling and she felt an almost insatiable need to cry.

  Then, just when she thought she might dissolve into a puddle of trembling lust, his arm slid under her knees and she whooped as her feet left the ground.

  Laughter spilled from her as Will stepped over the comforter and carried her to the bed. He dropped her so she bounced. Her laughter grew patchy, breathless, as he hovered at the end of her bed.

  He stood perfectly still in a patch of moonlight, every inch of him illuminated in its silvery spotlight.

  She felt as though she could see past the impermeable Will wall and into the heart of him for the very first time. Substantial, stoic, strong and sure. But above all solitary. A lone wolf.

  Her belly fluttered in warning. Be careful. Be sure.

  This had all the markers of self-sabotage he’d observed in her. Only it didn’t feel the same. It didn’t have the same breathless desperation with which she made so many big decisions. She felt...calm. Present. As if she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life.

  “What are we doing, Will?”

  “If you need me to tell you that—”

  “You know what I mean. This, us, it’s just a normal reaction to the stress of the past few days, right?”

  He said nothing. But she’d been stuck in close quarters with him long enough now to read his supremely subtle body language. The heat was no longer banked, the spark of attraction was aflame. But he was as conflicted as she was.

  But then his gaze travelled down her body, roaming over her hair, her shoulders, down her voluminous nightdress to her feet, leopard-print toenails curling and uncurling in the soft grey sheets. It left a trail of warmth, of anticipation, of promise in its wake.

  And he said, “I’ve never been comforted by the idea of normal. Not when there’s the option to reach for more.”

  “All the way to the stars?”

  He smiled then, a deeply sexy smile in which his dimple came out to play. Then he climbed onto the bed and thought became something other people did.

  His hand started at her ankle, then moved slowly up her calf. She jerked as it hit the back of her knee. Then it was gone, over the top of her nightgown now, sliding over her hip, slowly moving over her ribs. Her muscles melted one by one. All except her toes. They curled so far back on themselves they hurt.

  She grabbed him by the T-shirt and dragged him towards her. He caught himself so he didn’t hurt her, muscles in his arms straining as he pressed her back, even as she pulled him down.

  Then his fingers were at her neck, tracing the edge of her nightgown. She realised he was looking for a button. A release.

  She reached down to her knees to grab
the hem, before wriggling the acres of fabric over her head. Dangling it daintily over the edge of the bed, she said, “Unless you’d prefer I fold it and place it neatly in my bag...”

  Will shoved it to the floor, and hauled her into his arms. The heat of him burnt through his clothes, searing her bare skin. It was as if now he had her he couldn’t stand to let her go.

  Dangerous thought.

  This was a man for whom sentimentality was a four-letter word. He would let her go. And that was okay.

  Funny; the fact that he would never expect anything from her made him all the more of a prize.

  As she hovered on the edge of no turning back, her eyes once more found his, moonlight no longer giving her insight, forcing her to respond to the truth of his touch, his pulse, his presence.

  “Nothing’s going to be the same, is it?”

  He smoothed her hair off her face. Kissed her nose. Her forehead. Her chin. And found her eyes again. “Nothing ever is.”

  Then he lowered himself to drag his lips across hers, slow, gentle, before settling perfectly into place and stealing her breath away, taking her to some other place where thought was lost, memory became a dream and nothing mattered but the moment.

  And neither of them said a thing for a good long while.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WILL WOKE LATE. Not that he could remember what he might be late for. Or what day it was. Or what country he was in.

  Then he heard Sadie shift, muttering and murmuring as she rolled onto her belly, the sheets twisting with her, her hair cascading down her back, like liquid fire in the morning light.

  The urge to join her again hit fast and furious. To sweep her hair away and run his hand down her back. To trace her spine with kisses. To see her smile.

  To feel her open to him. To silence her moans with a kiss. To see that look in her eyes, the raw emotion, something beyond attraction, beyond a mere spark, as she tumbled over the edge.

  But, while the night before had felt inevitable, the burning away of the tension that had simmered between them from the moment he nearly ran her down, waking her with a kiss would be a very different thing.