His Majesty's Marriage

by Rebecca Winters

  ‘Exactly. There’s no substitute for private letters.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s true,’ he murmured, sending warm breath skittering across her cheek. She saw how very close his mouth was to her own, and tried to control her riotous thoughts. But they wouldn’t be controlled. They raced ahead, speculating about the shape of his mouth, the firmness of his lips, how they would feel against hers…

  She looked up and what she saw gave her a shock. Despite the apparent ardour in his behaviour there was only cool calculation in his eyes.

  She tried to clear her head, to know what this meant, but that was hard when the world was spinning around her. As they slowed she realised that he had danced her right around the corner of the building. He was smiling at her, and she could believe, if she wanted to, that the chill look of a moment ago had been all her imagination.

  ‘You’re not the only historian who wants to write about my grandfather, Miss Boothe.’

  ‘No, but I’m ahead of the pack,’ she said simply.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes. Because of Aunt Lizzie, who knew him as nobody else did.’

  ‘I wasn’t forgetting that, nor that such knowledge is valuable.’ He stressed the word in a way that fell oddly on her ear.

  ‘Priceless,’ she agreed.

  ‘I’d hardly say priceless. Sooner or later most things have a price. The problem is agreeing on it.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I understand Your Majesty.’

  He smiled. ‘I think you do. I think we understand each other very well, and have done from the beginning.’

  The reserve had gone from his eyes, replaced by something that made her heart beat faster. Almost unconsciously she raised her face towards him as he lowered his mouth onto hers.

  She was no green girl experiencing her first kiss, but it might almost have been the first from its effect on her. There’d been a time when a king had held his throne by being better, stronger, more skilled at everything than his subjects, and perhaps it was still partly true, for this king kissed like an expert, ardent, subtle, knowing how to seek out a woman’s weakness. Lizzie had never been kissed like this before, not even by the eager young husband with whom she’d shared a few months of wild passion before parting in bitterness.

  His mouth caressed hers with urgency. In repose his lips were firm almost to the point of hardness, but now their movements were teasing, driving her as though he was being harried by his own desire. She tried to master her own rising excitement, determined to stay in control, but he was equally determined to strip control away from her. And he was winning.

  He kissed the soft skin beneath one ear and she gave a small gasp. She was so sensitive there that normally she tried never to let a man approach it, but he’d known her weakness by instinct and gone for it without mercy. He continued the subtle assault down her long neck while she trembled and clung to him.

  When he raised his head she longed to pull it down to her again and tell him to continue what he’d begun. Instead she became hypnotised by his eyes, which were brooding over her as though he too was trying to comprehend her, and failing.

  ‘You came here tonight for a purpose,’ he murmured. ‘Was this it?’

  ‘I-don’t know,’ she said wildly. ‘Perhaps-’

  ‘Ah, yes, the letters. Words on paper between people who are dead and gone. But we are alive. No woman ever felt so alive in my arms as you.’

  And no man had ever made her feel so vibrant with life. Her head was swimming.

  A noise from nearby made him release her reluctantly.

  ‘We must talk more-in Voltavia,’ he said. ‘I leave tomorrow. You will follow me next week.’

  It was more than she’d hoped for but she couldn’t help rebelling against this diktat. She wasn’t one of his subjects.

  ‘Will I indeed?’ she asked.

  ‘If you’re serious about what you’re after, yes. Be there on Wednesday. If not-’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she said quickly, fearful of seeing the prize snatched away. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, amused. ‘There was never any question of your refusing. No, don’t be angry with me. I hold all the cards, and you know it.’

  It would have been wonderful to take him down a peg, but she was too close to her dream to risk it. She took the arm he proffered and they walked sedately back along the terrace to the little table. Frederick was waiting for them, with the reminder of an ambassador’s wife who must be honoured. Daniel inclined his head graciously to Lizzie.

  ‘I shall be waiting,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t disappoint me.’

  He walked away, leaving her to return to the ballroom on Frederick’s arm. She felt as though she was walking on air. The glittering professional prize had been held out to her. That, she told herself, was the reason for the swift beating of her heart. That, and no other reason.

  But she was deceiving herself, and she knew it.

  When the last guest had departed the King relaxed with a brandy and soda, indicating for Frederick, his most trusted aide, to join him.

  ‘Did she say anything of importance to you?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘Not a thing, sir. She replied to all my questions but revealed nothing at all.’

  ‘That’s no more than I expected. This is an extremely clever lady, but I have her measure.’ A wry smile broke over Daniel’s face. ‘She’s going to be a pleasure to do battle with. You know the plan?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Frederick took a deep breath before venturing to say, ‘You don’t think that this way of doing things is a little-a little…?’ His voice ran down as his nerve ran out.

  Daniel took pity on him. ‘Devious, unprincipled, cold-blooded?’

  Frederick ran a finger around his collar. ‘Those are Your Majesty’s words.’

  ‘Coward,’ Daniel said without rancour. ‘Yes, Frederick, I’m being all those things. But then, so is she. This is no ordinary lady. She’s sharp, shrewd, and utterly unscrupulous. So the only way I can fight her is to be the same.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘A WOMAN is never too old to be glamorous,’ the Dame had been fond of declaring to her awe-struck young relative, and she had lived up to her philosophy to the end. Life with the great lady had been fun because she’d never been less than exotic.

  But it was Bess who’d mothered the teenage Lizzie. Bess had been Dame Elizabeth’s dresser when she trod the boards, and in old age she’d still been her all-purpose maid and companion. When Lizzie had returned from boarding school it had been Bess who’d made sure she was comfortable, checked what she liked to eat, put flowers in her room. When Lizzie had gone out on a date it had been Elizabeth who’d lectured her about ‘man management’, which had been fun, even though the advice was often out of date. But it was Bess who’d waited up to make sure she was home safely, and Bess in whom she’d confided.

  One time the Dame’s advice had been spot-on when she’d tried to warn Lizzie off Toby Wrenworth, a daredevil motorbike rider.

  ‘That young man was made to be a lover, not a husband,’ she’d declared in her booming voice. ‘Don’t confuse the two.’

  ‘Auntie!’ Lizzie had exclaimed, not sure whether to be amused or aghast. ‘You’re not actually advising me to-?’

  ‘I’m advising you not to confuse the two,’ the Dame had repeated firmly.

  But the eighteen-year-old Lizzie had ignored the advice, and in due course she’d wished she’d heeded it. The Dame had glared all through their wedding, but when the inevitable divorce happened, two years later, she’d been a rock. If she hadn’t overflowed with sympathy neither had she uttered reproaches.

  ‘Stop crying and get yourself off to college,’ she’d commanded. ‘It’s what you should have done before, instead of wasting time on a man who was all teeth and trousers.’

  The robust approach had done Lizzie a world of good. For sympathy she’d turned to Bess, and they’d cried together.

  Even as a teenager she’d been sensitive eno
ugh to feel sad for the maid who lived in her employer’s shadow and had no life of her own, although she’d always seemed contented enough with her lot. Since the great lady’s death Bess had lived in a retirement home. It was a comfortable, even luxurious place, with large gardens filled with flowers, and Bess seemed happy there.

  Lizzie visited whenever she could, and made a point of going to see her friend before she left for Voltavia. Bess was old and frail, but her mind was clear, and her first words were eager. ‘Tell me all about your lovers.’

  ‘Lovers? Plural? You think I’m living a really exotic life, don’t you?’

  ‘I think you’re a pretty girl, and a pretty girl should have lovers.’

  ‘Well, I have a boyfriend or two.’

  ‘Do they break your heart?’

  ‘Do you want them to?’ Lizzie asked with a chuckle.

  ‘No, of course not. But I worry that it isn’t possible. You’ve been rather armoured since Toby.’

  ‘Good thing too.’

  ‘No, my dear. A woman should stay open to love, no matter how much it hurts.’

  ‘But I am. You should have seen me at the embassy ball. Flirting. And more.’

  ‘That’s different, and you know it. Throwing out lures, as we used to say, because you’re hoping to catch a prize.’

  ‘Yes, and I caught him too. Oh, Bess, he’s eating out of my hand. I’m that close to those archives.’

  ‘Yes, dear, but you’re hiding-as always. Work is such a convenient excuse, isn’t it?’

  Bess’s eyes saw too much, Lizzie thought. Abruptly she changed the subject.

  ‘What I came to tell you is that I’m off to Voltavia tomorrow.’

  Bess’s old eyes sparkled. ‘How lucky you are!’ she exclaimed softly. ‘It’s such a wonderful country.’

  ‘Of course, you went there with Auntie, didn’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. If only you could have seen her. She was at the height of her beauty, and she made a kind of triumphal procession around the main cities, and then she performed for the court. She was guest of honour at a ball, and danced with the King.’

  ‘Did you see him, Bess?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I was there too, in a little ante-room, so that I could look after her when she needed to take the weight off her feet. What’s King Daniel like? I’ve seen his pictures, but they make him look rather cold.’

  ‘He does, just at first. But there’s something about him that isn’t cold at all. I’m sure of it.’

  Bess nodded, smiling. ‘Ah, yes. Something deep inside, and he won’t let you reach it until he’s ready. Just like his grandfather.’

  ‘Did the Dame tell you that?’ Lizzie asked with a chuckle.

  For answer Bess laid a finger over her lips, with a look of mischief.

  ‘Have a wonderful trip, Lizzie, dear. And come and see me when you get back.’

  Voltavia lay in the very centre of Europe, with borders that touched France, Switzerland and Germany. It had a population of a million, four cities, one important river, three official languages-English, French and German-and one airport.

  Lizzie emerged from Arrivals to be greeted by a driver in the palace uniform. He took charge of her bags and escorted her to a waiting limousine. When she was settled in the back he showed her the well-stocked bar, asked what she would like to drink, and poured her an orange juice.

  ‘It’s thirty miles to the palace,’ he said, taking his place behind the wheel. ‘I hope you enjoy the journey.’

  The first part of the trip lay through some of the most magnificent rugged scenery Lizzie had ever seen. She watched, holding her breath, as mountains gave way to pine forests, where wild bears still roamed, and then to lakes, serene and impossibly blue under the summer sky. At last they neared Durmann, the capital, turning off just before the city to sweep down the long approach to the palace.

  It was a grand structure, a quarter mile long and built from a honey-coloured stone that looked beautiful in the soft glow of the sunset. Two Z-shaped staircases adorned the front, on one of which a man was waiting to greet her. Lizzie recognised Frederick from the ball. Smiling, he explained that he would be her host until the King was free.

  They embarked on what seemed like a long journey, down endless corridors, until at last they reached the apartment set aside for her use. It was a charming place, a bedroom, a living room and bathroom, with modern facilities, yet a touch of old-worlde grandeur. When Frederick had gone Lizzie stripped off for a shower and a change of clothes that left her feeling ready to tackle anything, even Daniel.

  Especially Daniel. Wryly she made the admission to herself.

  She wasn’t only here as a historian seeking facts. She was here as a woman who’d been passionately kissed and wasn’t prepared to let it go at that. She considered the elegant trouser suit she’d just put on, and was dissatisfied with it. The green silk dress would be better. It took a moment to change and brush out her red hair again. Dame Elizabeth would have been proud of her.

  And so, perhaps, would Bess. ‘Be open to love,’ she’d said, and the soft pounding of Lizzie’s heart was warning her that suddenly she wasn’t as armoured as usual.

  The knock on the door brought a smile to her lips. Daniel at last.

  But it wasn’t Daniel.

  ‘Your supper,’ Frederick said, ushering in a footman with a trolley.

  Supper was delicious, a wide selection of dishes, all perfectly prepared, and a bottle of excellent wine. Frederick was charming company, but he wasn’t Daniel.

  ‘I expect you want to go to bed now,’ he said at last, rising. ‘I’m sorry His Majesty couldn’t see you today, but I’m sure it’ll be early tomorrow.’

  They bade each other a civil goodnight and he departed, leaving Lizzie feeling very cross indeed. She reminded herself that Daniel hadn’t specified a time. She couldn’t really complain. It was just…

  She sighed. It was just that if he’d been half as eager to see her as she was to see him he would have rushed to her.

  She watched satellite television for an hour, but took nothing in. She went to stand on her balcony overlooking the front of the palace, where floodlights picked out the two staircases and highlighted the building’s elegant, symmetrical beauty. From somewhere above her head a clock chimed midnight. She returned indoors and closed the windows.

  He wasn’t coming now. She took another shower and put on a soft peach silk nightdress before climbing into the vast antique bed that looked big enough for ten. It had probably been built for an orgy, she thought despondently. It certainly hadn’t been intended for a solitary sleeper.

  She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, or how much time passed, but it was very dark when she opened her eyes to the sound of somebody knocking on the outer door of her apartment. She whisked on the peach silk robe that matched her nightdress and hurried out of the bedroom to the main room. The soft tap on her front door came again, and she opened it cautiously.

  The corridor outside was dimly lit, and empty except for one man.

  ‘Good evening,’ Daniel said with a smile. ‘Forgive me for arriving at such an untimely hour, but I thought it best to be discreet.’

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed, backing away to let him in.

  Daniel quietly closed the door behind him. Lizzie went to the main light switch, but he halted her with his hand on her wrist.

  ‘I think not,’ he said, switching on a very small table lamp. ‘This will be sufficient.’

  The tiny lamp gave a reasonable illumination, while still leaving the room half hidden in shadow. But she could discern enough of Daniel to feast her eyes. He was in day clothes, but without a jacket, his shirt open at the throat, looking more informal than she’d seen him before.

  Lizzie felt at a slight disadvantage. She was sufficiently worldly wise to have realised that this moment would probably come. Even to hope for it. But had she hoped for it quite so soon?

  Then she put her chin up. She was alone with the most dangerously a
ttractive man she’d ever met, his dark eyes were regarding her with appreciation, and if she couldn’t cope with that then it was time she retired from the fray and took up something easier, like taming lions.

  ‘I’m sure you understand why I’ve come here so late, and so discretely,’ he said, still with his eyes on her. ‘In fact, I’ve been sure that we shared a perfect understanding from the first moment. Neither of us is exactly inexperienced in the ways of-shall we say-intrigue?’

  She smiled, beginning to feel at ease. ‘Does it matter what we call it?’

  ‘Some people believe that to define things exactly is essential. Others feel that if the essence is right, the rest is froth. You clearly belong in the second group, which I must admit surprises me a little.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘As a historian I should have thought you valued precise definition. And you are here as a historian, are you not?’

  ‘In the presence of a king I am always a historian,’ she riposted. ‘Among other things.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, let us not forget that I’m a king, because if I weren’t you wouldn’t be here.’

  Not strictly true, she thought, looking at his throat and the few inches of chest she could see beneath it, rising and falling with some emotion that excited her. There was more excitement when he touched her face and wreathed his fingers in the hair that fell over her shoulders, drawing her swiftly close to cradle her head against his shoulder.

  He covered her mouth swiftly and suddenly, kissing her with lips that demanded more than caressed. There was no tenderness, just an assertion of power, but while one part of her rebelled at this, another part, infuriatingly, was thrilled at the complete, unquestioning confidence of this man. His power came less from his rank than from his ability to drive a woman into a turmoil of dizzying sensation by his kiss alone. When he released her she was gasping, and shocked at how easily he could make her want to yield.

  His face bore a look of resolution, as though he’d just come to a decision. Lizzie waited with pounding heart for what he would say next. But when the words came, they were the last she had expected.