‘Earlier tonight I was ten years younger than I am now. Nick, I need you. Are you saying no?’
‘Not just for sex, Rose.’ He shook his head, confused, but at some deep level understanding that he was in uncharted territory. This was important. A voice in the back of his head was hammering with dogged insistence, get this right.
He’d never felt like this about a woman, and he wouldn’t mess with it for want of patience, or for want of restraint, no matter how much that restraint might cost. He wouldn’t risk her waking in the morning and reacting with horror at what they’d done. ‘This needs to be an act of love,’ he said, and as he said it he knew that it was right. Something was changing inside him. Something he hadn’t been aware could be changed.
She was smiling in the firelight, standing on tiptoes so she could kiss him. His hands dropped to her waist, and the feel of her silk-smooth skin…
If she was to move away she had to do it now, he thought, and his thoughts were getting a little blurred. He was offering her the chance to change her mind, but a man was only human. If she said no now…
She did no such thing.
She lifted one of his hands from her waist, lifting it high so the back of his hand was against her cheek. So she could feel the roughness of his skin against her. Then she moved his hand slowly down, gently guiding it so the palm of his hand was cupping her breast.
It seemed she had no doubts. For this night, she was his wife. For this night, their vows would hold.
The terrors of the night, overwhelming, appalling, out of their world, were slipping away now as if they’d been a bad dream. This was the reality, and only this. She put her hands up and touched his face gently, tenderly, never letting her eyes move from his.
‘Nick.’
He bent and he kissed her.
And in that instant, her world readjusted. The awful tilting somehow righted itself. For this wondrous moment, the horrors of the night and the bleakness of the past few years made way for…
For Nick. For loving. For wonder. Nick’s mouth was on hers, and he tasted wonderful. His hands were on her waist, tugging her against him. His hands were a man’s hands, big, strong, but caressing with a tenderness that made her want to weep. But the time for weeping was past. She was tracing the contours of his cheeks with her fingers, feeling the roughness of the beginning of stubble, glorying in his sheer masculinity. It had been too long since she’d held a man. Any man. She’d loved Max, but for years he’d been ill, and her touch had needed to be tender. She’d been the one doing the giving.
Not here. Not now. She could feel the strength in Nick, the unleashed power, and she wanted it, oh, she wanted it. But she’d never guessed until this moment how much.
He was deepening the kiss, and she gloried in it. Her lips parted, and her tongue did its own exploring. Her breasts were pressed hard against him, against the soft linen of his shirt, feeling the strength of his chest. Feeling…
All she was doing was feeling. All she wanted to do was to feel. He’d kept his trousers and his shirt on during all the troubles of this night, but she wanted them gone now. But to ask him to remove them—to remove them herself—was to break the moment. And how could she?
It was Nick who paused. It was Nick who moved back, just a little, holding her at arm’s length so he could look into her eyes. His eyes were dark in the firelight, almost black, and when he spoke his voice was deep and husky with desire.
‘This is love-making,’ he said softly. ‘Rose, what we’re doing, it’s because of love. I should say…’
She knew what he wanted to say. This was a marriage of convenience. A marriage for a month. He wanted no commitment, and he was an honourable man.
Too honourable. When she wanted this so much.
‘We can be in love only for tonight,’ she whispered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear. It was what she wanted herself—wasn’t it? But she no longer knew and she no longer cared. Tomorrow was for tomorrow. ‘For now, yes, I’m loving you. I just want you to love me. Please, Nick. Now.’
The ‘now’ didn’t quite work. For she couldn’t quite form the word before her lips were claimed again. Her mouth was being plundered by his, his hands were tugging her close, pulling her up against him, almost lifting her in a long, triumphant, loving kiss where the night dissolved around them and doubts were swept away, and there was only Nick in her world. And there was room for nothing else.
She closed her eyes, her whole body responding with sensual pleasure as he deepened the kiss. She was holding his face in her hands, aching for him to be closer, closer. His hands were in the small of her back, pressing her against him, sending shivers of ecstasy though her whole body. Nick…Her man.
Her hands slipped under the fine fabric of his shirt, tugging him against her, moulding to him, letting him take her weight as she gloried in the strength of him. For Rose, who’d had to be strong for so long, to let go now, to let this man take her…
This was some romantic fantasy that was suddenly, gloriously real. This was happening in truth and not in dreams. She’d married this man today. This was her husband. She had every right to demand that he take her, as he could demand that she surrender. Glorious surrender. Only it worked both ways, this surrender. She was plundering him as he was plundering her. As he was surrendering to her. He groaned softly into the night and she thought, yes, he was out of control and so was she, and this was their right.
His mouth was moving now. Still he held her against him so her feet were barely on the floor, but he had total control. He kissed her as she ached to be kissed. Her neck, her lips, her eyelids. She arched her neck and let him do as he willed, her body heating as she’d never known it could heat. Her whole world centred around the pattern he was making with his tongue.
He was lowering her now, to the rug before the fire, following her down, his hands, his mouth still conjuring their magic. But he was still in his clothes. She needed him closer. She wanted his skin against hers. She wanted his body, and this man was her husband. She had the right.
She pulled back, just a little. The flickering firelight was lighting his face, shadows and contours, illuminating the strength of his bone structure, showing the passion deep in his eyes. A passion that she was sure was matched in her own.
He watched her, intent, tracking every expression as her fingers unfastened the buttons of his shirt. She was lying full-length against him, side by side, and she could feel his breathing deepening as she made her way downward. Button by button. Slow but sure. There was no rush. She had all the time in the world, and this was her man.
His shirt was gone now, and she couldn’t think how. She didn’t need to know how. She shifted downward a little and pushed him back, just slightly, so he rolled onto his back and she could lie her cheek on his chest. His fingers caressed her hair as she kissed his chest. She found his nipples, one after the other, tasted them in turn, teased them with her tongue and felt him groan again. He was at her mercy. Her man. Hers.
She pulled herself over him so her body lay full-length on his. She tugged his arms up, holding them, then lowering her mouth so she could kiss him as he needed to be kissed. Then her own arms were captured and he pulled her upward, lifting her higher. She lay motionless, gasping her pleasure as his tongue found her breasts. Slowly. Slowly. He explored each breast and kissed them in turn, taking her sensory awareness to a new plane, a place she’d never known was there…
He rolled her sideways then, so they were side by side again. Her lips cried out a protest, but this time it was needful. His mouth claimed hers again, but she felt his fingers fumble for the catch of his pants. Yes. Her fingers moved to help him and his kiss stopped, and he gave a low chuckle of pure, sensory pleasure.
‘I can undress myself, Madam Wife.’
‘Not fast enough—my husband,’ she murmured, and she chuckled and tugged the zip down in one triumphant tug. Away. He’d have to do the rest himself, for as his trousers disappeared her hands stayed where they we
re.
She was going nowhere. This was what she wanted most in the entire world. There was nothing except this place, this time, this man. She’d made her vows and this was her right.
How could she have wanted this to be a marriage on paper only? How could she have denied herself this joy? Yes, this was for now. Nick had no want of an everyday wife, and she wanted her freedom. Or she thought she wanted her freedom. But that was for tomorrow and to deny herself this pleasure, this wonder, this sensation that she was where she most wanted to be in the world, that she had at last found her home…
‘Where did you say this condom was?’ he growled, and she came as near as a hair’s width of saying ‘no, no need’, for to lose him now, to have him move away…But somehow sense prevailed; somehow she managed to whisper directions; somehow she made herself release him and wait and hold her breath in case the magic was lost…
But then he was back, sinking down onto the wonderful thick fireside-rug, smiling down at her in the moonlight and making love to her with his eyes.
‘And now,’ he whispered softly, in a slow, sensual whisper that made her body tingle with aching need. ‘And now…’
He was above her, lowering himself with tantalising slowness. Skin against skin, not all at once but inch by glorious inch, until they lay full-length naked against each other.
Oh, the wonder of him. He was kissing her neck, her breasts, a rain of kisses, while his wonderful hands caressed her body, her navel, her belly and beyond.
He was so beautiful. He was…Nick.
The fire crackled, spitting out a tiny shower of sparks like an exclamation mark into the night. She could hear the fire, hear Nick’s breathing, and she’d never felt so alive as she did at this moment.
‘Nick,’ she whispered.
‘My love?’
‘I want you.’
‘Not half as much as I want you,’ he whispered, and he shifted, pushing himself upward, holding her firm within the strong bounds of his thighs. She gasped with pleasure, with aching need, arched upward, aching to be closer, closer, closer.
Nick.
He was too slow. She held his hips and tugged him forwards but he leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, languorously, a foretaste of what was to come.
‘My Rose,’ he whispered. ‘My wife.’
‘I need you.’ Her thighs were aching with need, her body was creating a flame all of its own, but still he resisted. He smiled at her, his smile a caress, and then he kissed her. He moved dreamily downward, tasting her, loving her, moving from lips to neck to belly and beyond, until she was ready to cry with frustration and pleasure and want, and aching, throbbing need.
This was no one-sided love match, she thought as her need took over. This was her man. Her husband. The last dreary years—the fear of Max’s illness, a husband who had no strength to take her, a desolate widowhood—they had been far too long to wait a moment longer to take what she most wanted in the whole world.
Nick…
He was rising again, thinking where next his mouth should explore, but she was no longer interested in his mouth. With a fierceness that surprised him her hands moved to have, to hold, to centre him exactly where he needed to be centred.
‘My love,’ she whispered, and he was there. He was where she most needed him to be.
And he came down, deep, deep inside her, strong and gentle, plundering yet loving. She arched, wanting him deeper, deeper. She moved with him, moving sensuously on the fireside rug as he needed her to move, letting him take her where he wanted, but assuaging her own need, taking her to where she was meant to be.
She loved him. For this moment she loved him, and how could she not? She was wedded to this man, and that he could be her husband left her wide-eyed with wonder. Her husband. Her mate.
But then she stopped thinking as her body reacted in the most primeval of ways. This was meant to happen—a man taking a woman unto him and becoming one. That was how she felt, as if she was dissolving and becoming part of him, losing a part of herself and gaining him in turn. The warmth, the dark and the firelight, the terrors of the immediate past and the bleakness of the last few years, none of them could impinge on what was happening here—this wondrous fulfilment of passion that had her body taking its need, and causing the night around them to merge into a mist of heat and firelight and white-hot love.
It went on and on, blissfully, achingly, magically, and the moment the sensation eased another started to build. Over and over.
And when it finished, when finally they lay back exhausted, still she held him. Her Nick. Who knew what tomorrow held? But for tonight she was where she was meant to be. She was in her husband’s arms.
They rolled until they were side by side. The fire was warm in the small of her back. Somehow she found the energy to pull away, just far enough so she could kiss him tenderly on the mouth. So she could smile at him in the firelight and watch him smile back. She loved his smile. She loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. She loved Nick.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘Thanks?’ Surprise was mixed with the remnants of spent passion. ‘You’re thanking me? Rose, do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You’re the most desirable woman.’ He groaned. ‘And how do you think I can walk away after that?’
Her thoughts clouded a little. Just a little, as reality returned.
But tomorrow was for tomorrow. She refused to let it cloud right now.
‘We should go to sleep,’ she whispered.
‘Hoppy has the bed.’
‘So he has.’
‘Are you warm?’ he asked, and she chuckled.
‘You’re really asking that?’
‘I guess I’m not,’ he said, and kissed her again. ‘Do you really want to go to sleep?’
‘I guess.’
‘You guess?’
‘Maybe not.’
‘Good,’ he said, and tugged her to him again. ‘Good, my love. Hoppy has the bed and he needs his beauty sleep. But you don’t need beauty sleep, for how could you be any more beautiful than you are right now? So, if you don’t need beauty sleep, have you any more suggestions as to how we can fill the time?’
‘I’m guessing here,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Maybe twenty questions?’
‘There is that,’ he said with mock seriousness. ‘Or “I spy”.’
‘Maybe we could find that pack of cards.’
‘I have another suggestion,’ he said, and lifted himself up so his eyes were gleaming down at her in the firelight. ‘It’s a really good suggestion.’
‘What…what is it?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ he whispered. ‘Just lie back my love, think of England and let me show you.’
CHAPTER TEN
MORNING came too soon.
Or maybe it wasn’t morning. Rose stirred where she lay. She was still before the fire, which was now a pile of glowing embers in the grate. At some stage of the night Nick had thrown on another log, and fetched pillows and a vast down-filled duvet, so as the fire had died they’d stayed warm. She was still cradled against his body, the small of her back pressed gently into the curve of his chest. As if she belonged there.
There was a soft knock on the door. Maybe that was what had woken her. She lifted Nick’s wrist a little so she could see his watch—and she yelped.
But, instead of releasing her, Nick’s arms held her tighter. He nuzzled her ear and she felt rather than heard his low chuckle.
‘Going somewhere, wife?’
‘The door…Nick, it’s two in the afternoon.’
‘Golly,’ he said, and hugged her still tighter, and kissed the nape of her neck. She giggled and rolled sideways, sighed and reluctantly sat up. The sun was entering through the chinks in the drapes. Hoppy was sitting on the settee looking down at them with lop-sided concern.
The knock sounded again, gently insistent. The world wanted to come in. Whoever it was wasn’t going away.
Nick reached
for his trousers. ‘Just roll away while I open the door,’ he told her.
‘Roll where?’
‘Somewhere.’ He smiled down at her. ‘You want to be found naked on the sitting-room floor?’
‘Hmm.’ She smiled back up at him. Last night someone had tried to kill her, yet right now she felt light and free and deliriously happy.
‘Roll,’ he told her, and he leaned over, bundled the duvet round her and pushed.
She chuckled, and rolled behind the settee, and then wiggled a bit so she was obediently out of sight. Nick walked to the door, bare-chested. Rose peeked out from behind the settee—and there were her panties right where she’d stepped out of them the night before. ‘Nick, wait…’
Too late. ‘Yes?’ Nick said, and opened the door.
It was a maid, one of the normally somber, uniformed staff who kept the wheels of domesticity turning. At the sight of Nick, naked from the waist up, she gasped.
‘Can we help you?’ Nick said politely.
‘If you please, sir,’ she said, but she ran out of words. She was gazing at his chest, then looking past him. Her mouth sagged open.
‘Yes?’ he said encouragingly, and she gasped again.
‘I…Monsieur Erhard has asked me to tell you…’
‘Mmm?’
She swallowed and made an Herculean effort to get things straight. ‘He wants to see you. He says…He says he’s sorry, but it’s urgent. We told him you hadn’t had breakfast, so he’s asked us to serve croissants and juice in the conservatory.’
‘I think we might have breakfast in our room,’ Nick said.
The girl had spotted the panties now. Her lips were pressed together. Hard. In disapproval?
‘I…No,’ she said, and pressed her lips closed again.
‘No?’
‘Monsieur Erhard says you have company,’ she said. Desperately. Clamping her lips tight together again.
‘Company?’
‘Monsieur Erhard himself. And the Princess Julianna, the Princess Rose-Anitra’s sister. And a lady I don’t know. She says she knows you and her name is Ruby.’
A Royal Marriage of Convenience Page 14
