A Royal Marriage of Convenience

by Marion Lennox

  ‘I did scrub up well,’ he admitted, and thought fleetingly that if his foster brothers had been here they would have looked at the dress sword and given him a very hard time. But Blake and his brothers had been told not to come—not to a mock wedding; that would have been crazy.

  But thinking of his foster family was for later. For now he had to placate his bride—who showed every sign of retreating to her own bedroom.

  ‘I need to go,’ she said. ‘Even if people see me.’

  ‘It’s not a good look—bride bolting for her own room.’

  She glowered.

  ‘It was a very nice wedding,’ he said, striving to keep his voice normal.

  ‘It was.’

  ‘You don’t have to look at me like that,’ he complained. ‘I’m not about to jump you.’

  ‘You’d better not.’

  ‘Why would you think I’d want to?’ he asked and that obviously set her back. The suspicion on her face gave way to confusion.

  ‘You don’t want to?’

  ‘Not if you don’t.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Not even a little bit?’ he asked, and she gasped.

  ‘No. I…’

  ‘I just thought,’ he said, seemingly innocent. ‘I mean, you’ve been a widow for a long time, and there are some things…Well, you might be missing sex?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘No, but I really enjoy sex,’ he said softly, wickedly, thinking well, why not? She was gorgeous. And she was his wife. ‘I’d hate to think of my wife as being deprived.’

  She gasped again and took two steps backwards.

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘You really don’t want…’

  ‘This marriage is a marriage of convenience.’

  ‘So it is. But I think you’re beautiful and you think I’m gorgeous.’

  ‘Just your tassels,’ she said. Breathlessly.

  ‘You want to see me without my tassels?’ he asked, and started unbuttoning his dress coat.

  She yelped.

  His hand stilled. ‘You don’t want me to undress?’

  ‘No. No!’

  ‘So this marriage stays unconsummated.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, but suddenly her voice was a little unsure. She was looking at his throat. Why?

  She wasn’t looking at his face.

  ‘Rose-Anitra.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have I ever told you that’s a beautiful name?’

  ‘Rose.’

  ‘But you’re not English,’ he said. ‘You’re a princess of Alp de Montez. You’re my wife.’

  ‘You don’t have any rights,’ she said.

  ‘I know I don’t,’ he said gently. ‘I would never want you to do anything you didn’t wish. But if you wished…’

  ‘I don’t wish.’

  ‘No.’

  He nodded. This room was massive. It was a suite, really, a vast sitting room with an opulent bedchamber attached. He’d been bemused when he’d seen it. ‘The master of the castle always uses these rooms,’ he’d been told, and he thought he’d better go along with it. But it really was over the top.

  There was a vast four-poster bed draped with crimson velvet, edged with gold. Gold tassels a hundred times as large as the ones on his uniform. Gilt furniture, overstuffed. A couple of gilt lions on either side of the blazing fireplace.

  ‘I guess your patients back in Yorkshire wouldn’t recognise you now,’ he said gently, and she did look at him then and managed a smile.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your parents-in-law didn’t come to the wedding?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she said bitterly. ‘I asked them, but no. I’ve betrayed them.’

  ‘How did you betray them?’

  ‘I abandoned Max.’

  ‘Max died,’ he said, frowning. ‘Two years ago.’

  ‘I didn’t have his baby.’

  ‘I see,’ he said cautiously, but of course he didn’t. ‘And the reason you don’t want to sleep with me?’

  ‘I’m not in love with you.’

  ‘No, but if you were?’ he said, probing something he suddenly sensed was important. She was so lovely. His bride.

  Rose’s dress was a family heirloom. The palace housekeeper had produced it the same day that the country had installed them in this castle.

  ‘We hid it,’ she’d said as she’d presented it to Rose. ‘We hid it from your sister because she’s not the right one.’

  The dress was maybe a hundred years old, exquisite: a clinging bodice and flowing skirt, white silk with gold embroidery, a soft gold underskirt; there was enough color for everyone to decide it was suitable for a widow’s remarriage.

  ‘I can’t be in love with you,’ she said, still breathless. ‘Not and be free.’

  ‘I’d never tie you to me.’

  Her brow creased into a furrow. ‘That sounds almost like a proposal.’

  ‘No, but I was just thinking…’ he said, wondering as he said it, what was he thinking? He wasn’t sure. It was just…She was so lovely. And she was right here before him, her brow creased with just that little furrow. And he’d made those vows, and suddenly they seemed not so stupid after all. Not so scary.

  But she was frightened. She took a step back. ‘Nick, we’re taking this no further.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’d get pregnant,’ she said.

  Yeah? ‘That could happen,’ he said cautiously. ‘But I read something at the back of a very dark bookstore, somewhere in my deep and murky past, that suggested it might just be possible to prevent it.’

  ‘The only sure contraception is a two-foot-thick brick wall.’

  ‘Have you been talking to my foster mother?’ he demanded, but she wasn’t smiling.

  ‘I could never have a child.’

  He frowned. Up until now he’d felt that this situation right now was light. Fun, even. No, she didn’t want to go to bed with him, and he’d never force her. But a bit of light-hearted dalliance after the romance of the day had seemed okay, and if it had led further…

  He wouldn’t have objected at all. The more he saw of Rose the more desirable she became. Today had been fantastical. They’d been transported into a fairy tale, a make-believe that was for now only. But why not let it run its course? What harm would it have done?

  But suddenly the mood had changed. There was bleak heaviness in her voice. I could never have a child.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked, aware that he was intruding, but there was such bleakness in her eyes that he felt compelled to.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong,’ she said.

  ‘But you can’t have children?’

  ‘I…No.’

  ‘You and Max tried?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. Then, ‘You know, this is one thing we haven’t thought of.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The succession.’

  ‘Why would we worry about the succession?’

  ‘If you died then Julianna would inherit.’

  ‘Erhard said we can put changes in place. Permanent changes. This country will never be so dependent on its sovereign again.’

  ‘No,’ he said, doubtful.

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me it’s my duty to have a baby,’ she spat, and her voice was suddenly so laced with fury that he stared.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, and held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You inferred it.’

  ‘I just said it might be fun to learn about how not to have babies.’ He was trying to make her smile again, but she wouldn’t be persuaded.

  ‘Nick, leave it.’

  ‘I’ll certainly leave babies,’ he said, still rattled. ‘I certainly don’t want them myself, and if you can’t have them then—’

  ‘Then the discussion’s ended.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, and drew his sword.

  ‘What are you doing with that?’ She sounded nervous.
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br />   ‘Hey, Rose, I’m not about to ravish you at sword’s point. I thought I might hang it on the hook behind the door,’ he said. ‘It occurred to me that if I’m promising not to ravish my bride I’d better put down my weapons.’

  ‘All your weapons,’ she said.

  ‘There’s only my sword.’

  ‘Stop smiling too,’ she said, and he paused. Carefully he hung his sword and turned back to her.

  ‘Does my smile do to you what your smile does to me?’

  ‘I…What?’

  ‘You see, there’s the problem,’ he said. ‘There’s the crux of the whole mess. Because you’re standing there looking absolutely fabulous and you look amused, and then you look angry, and then you look frightened, and you know what? Every single expression you use makes me want to kiss you senseless.’

  ‘Which…which would be a mistake,’ she stammered, and her voice wobbled.

  ‘I can see that. But I’m damned if I know what to do about it.’ ‘I’m sure I can go to my room now.’

  ‘Listen,’ he told her. From below came the sound of laughter, many voices settling in for the long haul. ‘Did we have to invite so many people?’

  ‘They’ll go home soon. I could sneak—’

  ‘Oh, sure. Open the door really, really silently, checking every inch of the way that there’s no one in the hall. Crouch on all fours so you’re below the level of the balustrade. Crawl slowly along, hoping no one looks up. Oh, and may I remind you that we have guests staying on this floor? Foreign dignitaries from all over. Any one of them could chance along and meet the royal bride crawling bedroom-wards. Wouldn’t look good.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed, and she smiled, resigned. Damn it, there was that smile again. ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Read,’ he said. ‘I have a legal brief or six somewhere.’

  ‘Sleep’s probably a better idea,’ she said. ‘I’m exhausted.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said, and looked hopefully through the door at the four-poster bed.

  ‘You go to bed,’ she told him. ‘I’ll use the settee.’

  The settee was huge. It looked very, very comfortable. Nick looked at it, sighed and knew what his duty was.

  ‘I’m an honourable man,’ he said.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you use the bed and I’ll use the settee.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ he said, and held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I know. Hero is my middle name. Just toss me out four of those feather pillows and two of those duvets, and I’ll suffer in silence right here while you wallow in my rightful princely bed.’

  She giggled.

  He smiled. He’d made her giggle. There was so much about her that he didn’t understand. He wanted desperately more and more to kiss her, to get closer to her, to see if, just if, this relationship might go a little further. He’d always been wary of marriage—attachments—but slowly Rose was creeping under his skin in a way he hadn’t felt possible.

  He’d suggested seduction this night and she’d refused. But instead of feeling wounded he wanted to know why, not for him, but for her. And he liked that he’d made her giggle.

  There was something in the baby thing, he thought. He’d get to the bottom of it eventually. But for now he’d brought the laughter back into her eyes and he was quitting while he was ahead.

  ‘Goodnight, my bride,’ he said and he took her hands and tugged her forwards and kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. God only knew how hard it was to leave it at that, but he did. ‘Sleep well,’ he told her. ‘Sleep in your royal bed while your knight errant guards your sleep.’

  ‘My knight errant?’

  ‘I have no idea what that means,’ he confessed. ‘But it sounds great. It’s me. It means I get to go to sleep with my sword.’

  When I’d far rather be sleeping with my lady, he added under his breath. He wanted the laughter to stay.

  He wanted this lady to smile.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE lay in his too-big bed, dressed in the soft chemise that had been her underskirt during the day. The silk was soft against her body. The feather duvet was so luxurious—so far away from the heavy blankets she’d been used to in Yorkshire—that she felt she was floating.

  She was married. Remarried, she reminded herself. She’d been married once before, and now she’d made those marriage vows again. Only she had not. She’d lied.

  She lay there in Nick’s big bed and felt small. And lost. And lonely.

  Hoppy was down in the kitchens. She should get up and go find him.

  Right—the royal bride padding down through the ancient corridors calling Hoppy, Hoppy, Hoppy…

  It’d probably make headline news.

  See, that was what she hadn’t counted on. This interest. The realisation that this marriage wasn’t just between the two of them—it was a marriage for the country. She’d wanted freedom, but what dumb reasoning had had her thinking she could have freedom as a royal bride?

  And if she succumbed to Nick’s sexiness, the blaze of desire she saw in his eyes every time he looked at her…Where would her freedom be then?

  And a child…A baby…

  It was closing in on her. Nick was too close, just through the door in the shadows, sleeping. She hoped he was sleeping. The thought that he was awake—as she was—was almost unbearable.

  ‘Nick’, she wanted to call, but she didn’t.

  Think of something else. Think of the good things she could do here. Erhard had been with them tonight, pleased but frail. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he’d said, and that had been something to hold onto. For some strange reason he almost felt like family. Erhard had known her mother and he’d known her as a child. She remembered him as a solicitous attendant to a sick old man.

  He was a link to the past.

  Julianna hadn’t been here today.

  That worried her. Rose should have been accustomed to the loss of her sister by now, but she probably never would be. And the whole set-up worried her—that Julianna thought of her as the enemy. She hadn’t thought it through enough. There were repercussions she hadn’t thought of, and she lay there and tried to think of them now, but couldn’t, and she felt like…

  Like padding out and saying to Nick, ‘Move over, I want to share your settee’.

  She didn’t. How could she?

  But sex is fun.

  What sort of irresponsible thought was that?

  It wasn’t a bad thought, she conceded, and she found herself smiling wistfully into the night. She was married. Yes, sex with Nick could be more than fun. But…

  The only true contraceptive was a brick wall.

  Or a bed and a settee in different rooms.

  She sighed again, rolled over and buried her head in her pillows.

  A royal bride on her wedding night. Without even her dog to keep her company.

  Nick stayed awake for longer than she did. He wasn’t a good sleeper—four or five hours usually did him, and tonight even this eluded him. So he was awake when the door opened.

  He was drifting, letting his thoughts go where they willed. Which was right through the door to Rose. So at first he thought he dreamed it.

  The settee was on the far side of the sitting room, facing the fireplace. The fire had burned down, so there was only a soft glow of embers. Nick sensed rather than heard the door open; the soft creak of moving hinges was barely audible.

  Rose must be up and moving about. But why? Had she passed him? Was she leaving the suite to fetch her dog, or returning to her bedroom?

  But then the door closed again, and whoever it was hadn’t left. He or she was still in the room. Footsteps went slowly past him, so muted that if he wasn’t straining he would never have heard them.

  Not Rose. He knew that with a certainty that had nothing to do with logic but everything to do with self-preservation. If it had been Rose going to get her dog he would have heard her go out, and there’d have been no need for her to creep back through the room
with stealth. She knew him well enough to accept he wouldn’t jump her. Surely.

  But if it wasn’t Rose, then who?

  The settee he was on was ancient, down-filled, a great, squishy, luxurious pile of feathers. No modern springs here to squeak as he moved. So he did move, inch by cautious inch, away from the end of the settee closest to the fire so as he edged around he wasn’t in line of sight.

  One of Nick’s foster brothers, Sam, was in the SAS. From the time Sam had come into Ruby’s care as a battered nine-year-old, he’d been intent on joining the armed services. Sam had lived and breathed action comics, James Bond movies, superheroes, and by the time he had been in his mid-teens he was reading how-to manuals that were deadly serious.

  There’d never been any money living with Ruby. The boys had been expected to entertain themselves, but they’d never had to think how when Sam had been around. He’d had them organised into Boys’ Own adventures every minute he could persuade them to leave off cricket or football.

  And Sam’s semi-serious instructions came back now: never put your body between an opponent and the light. Never move until you’re sure of what you’re doing. They’d played tag in the back yard, creeping up on each other, touching and winning by stealth alone.

  Boys’ fantasies. All of a sudden serious. All of a sudden imperative to remember.

  For whoever it was meant no good. Whoever it was, he or she had almost reached the bedroom door. Nick was used to the dim light, and he could see the shadow now. One man, he thought, one man with his back to him. One man, slowly lifting the latch to the bedroom beyond.

  The bedroom door opened slowly, slowly.

  Hell, he needed a weapon.

  The fire-iron. He slid forward, and the cold steel of the massive poker slid soundlessly into his grasp. He moved back, still crouched behind the settee, waiting.

  His heart felt as if it had stopped beating. Sam, where the hell are you?

  Whoever it was had opened the door fully now. There was an almost-full moon. The curtains in the sitting room were drawn but Rose must have opened hers, letting the moonlight flood her as she slept. As the bedroom door opened wide, Nick had a clear, full view of the man’s silhouette. Long and lean and all in black. One hand on the door handle.

  The other…The other holding a gun.