With an effort, he shook off the past. “Just reliving the happy scenes of my youth. Come on, let’s get this over with.”
But she didn’t move forward with him and he stopped and looked at her. “Uh-oh. You don’t think we know each other that well, but I already know exactly what you’re going to say next.”
“You do not.” But her voice was indulgent.
“What scenes from your childhood were you reliving?” He did his best imitation of a cracked feminine voice, and she laughed.
“All right. I confess. Maybe it’s just that women in general are invariably nosy? And I’m just like every other woman.”
“Not a chance.” Rafe took her hand and pulled her nearer. “Believe me, there’s no other woman on earth like you.” He raised her hand to his lips. “And I mean that in the best possible way.”
She swallowed, and the rosy blush he so loved warmed her cheeks. He hadn’t thought a simple compliment, if it even qualified as such, could unsettle her like that.
“Thank you,” she said. But as the heavy door began to swing open, she smiled at him, flashing the little dimple in her cheek he found so fetching. “Don’t think you’ve sidetracked me. We’ll get back to this conversation later.”
A butler in formal dress opened the door and Rafe noted it was the same stodgy old coot his father had employed for eons.
“Good afternoon, Trumble. How have you been?”
“Very good, my lord. Welcome home.” The old man’s face was a study in blank disapproval, a look he’d worn since the days when Rafe was a young boy trying to sneak in the kitchen door with the garden snake he’d captured. “May I take your wraps?”
Rafe stepped behind Elizabeth and removed the car coat draped over her shoulders, then handed over his leather jacket. “We have bags in the car. Could you have them taken to a guest suite, please?”
“Certainly, my lord. If you’ll follow me…?” As the man turned and started down the hallway, Rafe spoke again.
“Don’t bother showing us in, Trumble. I know the way. Family in the drawing room?”
“As you wish, sir.” The aged servant nodded stiffly, and Rafe could see his insistence on informality was a source of irritation. Some things never changed. As they moved down the hall, Rafe leaned close to Elizabeth’s ear. “Trumble’s been here since the place was built. He was born that age and he wins yearly awards for his personality and charm.”
She laughed, a soft, musical sound. “He certainly seems a bit on the…sour side.”
“Lemons are sugar in comparison, believe me.”
They continued down the hall and turned left, heading for the room where he knew the family would be gathered, having their pre-dinner drink. Routine rarely, if ever, varied in his father’s house. As they passed a large linen closet, Rafe paused and opened the door. Ha! Empty. Grabbing Elizabeth’s wrist, he dragged her behind him into the small, dark room, reaching out to flip on the single light.
She turned her face up to his and her green eyes were wide and alarmed. “What are we doing in here?”
He looked down at her and smiled. Then his gaze dropped to her lips, the luscious field of soft pink slightly parted as she waited for his response. He could see the instant the intimacy of their position dawned on her. Slipping one arm around her, he drew her close while with his other hand he covered her hard little tummy, his fingers nearly brushing the top of the warm feminine mound below as he cupped the small bulge. He slipped one hand up to the back of her neck, drawing her up on tiptoe against him while he still held his other hand over her unborn baby. “Stop thinking so much,” he growled as he bent to her lips. “Turn off your brain and go with your instincts.”
Then he kissed her, and just as it had every other time he touched her, the world fell away and all he could feel, all he could smell and taste and touch was her, surrounding his senses so that he could think of nothing else. But this time there was a new element of intimacy in the meeting of their mouths, a recognition that this was meant to be. It was as if each of them had realized in their one day apart just how much they needed each other.
“You have to marry me soon,” he said, and his voice was so rough and deep and hoarse that it didn’t sound like his at all.
There was a moment when her gaze flew up to meet his and he couldn’t read her thoughts. A cold arrow of fear shot through him at the idea that he’d been mistaken, that she hadn’t really agreed—
“All right.”
He might not have heard it if he hadn’t been watching her face. Jubilation expanded within him until he thought he might have to shout aloud. But instead he forced himself to release her, then gently turned her around while he brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt and she fished a tissue out of her purse for him to wipe her lipstick from his lips.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said. “The sooner we can get home to Phoenix, the better.”
It was a little like facing a firing squad, she thought, as Rafe opened the double doors. She’d met every one of the three people in the room many times before. But you weren’t pregnant and unmarried, said the little voice inside her head that still shamed her from time to time.
The Thorton family stood as she preceded Rafe into the room. Though not a one remarked on her pregnant state, she knew it was obvious in the simple wool maternity suit she’d worn, and she felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment at the slight widening of their eyes before they all hastily dragged their gazes to her face.
Training kicked in and she went from one to another, exchanging a small word with each person as Rafe followed behind her. As they approached his father, she caught a flash of deep emotion in the older man’s gaze as he looked at his eldest son. But in an instant it was gone, and, after greeting her, the Grand Duke turned to Rafe with a stern cordiality so remote he could have been addressing a peer whom he barely knew.
“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 uns
eated 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 Roland’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 spo
ken 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.
The Pregnant Princess Page 13
