by Robyn Donald
Possibly not, but Gerd’s plans to educate them would help. Rosie said crisply, ‘I’d already worked that out, although I doubt if they’re quite as mediaeval as Father thought them.’
Her mother lifted her shoulders again. ‘Very well, I’ve said all I had to say. Now fill me in on what’s going to happen.’
Briefly Rosie told her of the formal betrothal ceremony that would cement the engagement in the eyes of Gerd’s subjects, and the events that would follow when she and Gerd would be on show.
‘Quite a programme,’ her mother said with a lift of her brows. ‘Is Alex here?’
‘He’s landing in an hour or so.’
Her mother flashed her a taut smile. ‘Don’t look so concerned. I do know how to behave, even with Alex.’
Back in her own suite Rosie stood for a long moment with closed eyes, trying to control the turmoil of her emotions. What had she expected? That her mother would suddenly turn into someone able to offer advice and support?
It was never going to happen, and she’d accepted that long before she’d even understood what she needed from Eva.
She would, she thought with a quiver of apprehension, always be on her own.
But there would be children…
A tap on the door heralded Gerd, who after a moment’s hard scrutiny demanded, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ she said automatically, and to prove it flashed him a glance that was all challenge.
His brows rose, but he said blandly, ‘Can you come along to my office and look over some rings I’ve had sent up?’
At her startled glance he added with a smile, ‘Even in the wilderness of Carathia we have engagement rings.’
‘Oh,’ she said, and managed to produce a laugh that sounded unconvincing. ‘I hadn’t thought of rings.’
His gaze was uncomfortably keen. ‘Then think of it now.’
‘And Carathia isn’t a wilderness,’ she said briskly, still resenting her mother’s comments.
Gerd held out his hand. ‘Come here,’ he said, his eyelashes drooping in a way that made her heart thud erratically.
Flushing, she went into his arms. He seemed to understand she needed comfort more than the erotic flash fire of passion, because he just held her, his cheek on the top of her head. Sighing, Rosie relaxed against him, taking immense comfort from his solid male strength and the warmth of his arms around her.
Eventually he said, ‘Better?’
Feeling a little foolish, she murmured, ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
He let her go, but retained her hand as they left the room.
In his office a tray of rings glittered against the black velvet of their case. Stunned, Rosie drew in a deep breath.
Gerd said, ‘Although diamonds are the convention, I thought golden ones would suit you better than ones with blue fire. But if you don’t like them the stones can be replaced.’
‘I love them,’ she said quietly, and then laughed as she scanned them. ‘All of them! What an impossible choice!’
‘Well, we can sort them out. A stone too big will weigh that elegant finger down, so these can go.’
He indicated three large solitaires.
Colour burned along Rosie’s cheekbones. The last time he’d referred to her hands it had been about their effect on him when they made love.
‘You agree?’ Gerd asked.
‘Yes.’ How she wished she were tall and graceful and gorgeous, like the two women she knew had been Gerd’s lovers. Neither of them had uncontrollable red curls; both had worn smooth dark hair pulled back from superb features, and they’d breathed a sophisticated intelligence.
Clearly he was accustomed to choosing jewellery. So what had he chosen for those women—rings? Probably not, she thought acidly. Rings might be taken to mean commitment. Necklaces? Or brace lets?
Whatever, anything he’d given his lovers had been chosen because he’d wanted them, and not for reasons of state. Hot jealousy—and a bitter spurt of envy—tightened her nerves.
‘Something special,’ Gerd said. He indicated one in particular. ‘Do you like this?’
How had he known that of them all, this was the one she’d have chosen for herself? The stone wasn’t huge, but it shone like the heart of summer, an intense honeyed glow that made the others pale.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Rosie said. But a ring as exquisite as that should be a token of love.
He plucked it from the velvet and held it out. ‘Try it on,’ he invited.
Rosie hesitated, then held out her hand and watched numbly as he slid it onto her ring finger.
Gerd thought that it looked as though it had been made for her, the colour of the stone echoing the sunlit vibrancy of her skin and curls, the glints of gold that usually danced in her eyes.
He watched her face as the ring slid home, saw her mouth tighten and then relax, and wondered again just what was going on in her brain.
She was, he thought grimly, driving him mad. Previously he’d enjoyed civilised affairs; he’d liked his lovers and made sure they understood the limits he set on relationships. They’d been passionate enough to keep him interested, but not so intense that hunger took over his mind and got between him and his work.
Rosemary was different. From the start she’d defied all his rules, starting with that long holiday three years previously when he’d really got to know her. Slowly, insidiously his affection for the girl-child he’d known all her life had metamorphosed into a for bid den desire, one he was determined not to act on.
He’d restrained himself until the night before he’d left for Carathia, but something snapped then, and he’d taken an irrevocable step. It had been meant to be one kiss, and a very light one, but her sensuous response had knocked him sideways. The dangerous surge of desire it summoned had eaten away at his self-control; it had taken every particle of will power he possessed to lift his head and lower his arms and step away from her, and afterwards he’d spent a sleepless night trying to deal with his reaction.
When he’d seen her kissing Kelt just as ardently it had been like a savage betrayal, one he’d vowed never to forget.
Discovering that she’d stayed a virgin had surprised him. More dangerously, the knowledge had satisfied something unregenerate and primal in him, stripping away his defences so that all he could think of was his craving for her.
In his arms she was wildfire and wine and erotic fulfilment, and he couldn’t get enough of her.
Rosie looked up and caught the hunger in Gerd’s gaze, a lick of fire that flared at her instant response. The hairs lifted on the back of her neck while adrenalin surged through her, and her eyes darkened.
He smiled, a tight, fierce movement of his lips, and said softly, ‘Perfect.’
And raised her hand and kissed the ring, and then her palm. Exciting little shivers scudded the length of her spine.
More than anything Rosie wanted him to kiss her properly, but he resisted the vibration that sizzled between them and released her hand. Her pleasure evaporating, she looked down at the ring weighing her finger down like a badge of office.
Exactly what it was, she thought.
He said, ‘So that’s the betrothal ring. What sort of wedding band do you think would go with that?’
‘I—don’t know.’ She looked down at the small sun glittering on her finger. ‘I’ve barely had time to appreciate this gorgeous thing, and now you want me to choose a wedding ring?’
‘It’s traditional.’
‘I thought that in Europe they didn’t have the same traditions we do.’
‘There has always been a wedding ring, and when my grandfather gave my grand mother an engagement ring, the first one in Carathia, every woman in the country wanted one as well,’ he said drily.
Rosie thought a moment, her eyes fixed on the golden diamond. ‘How about a ring with an inlaid silver pattern?’ she suggested.
‘Perhaps you could discuss it with the designer. He is waiting for us. You will need other jewels, of course
.’ His voice altered fractionally. ‘Will you object to wearing some of the royal collection?’
‘No.’ Her voice whispered into the room. Burdened as she was by the reality of marrying Gerd, the royal collection of jewels somehow seemed a symbol of all that would be different in her life from now on.
Well, she’d agreed. So she swallowed and said more audibly, ‘No, of course I won’t.’
‘There is an abundance to choose from,’ he told her negligently. ‘I’ll make a selection of pieces you might like, and you can decide which ones you really like. Some are distinctly old-fashioned, so possibly they’ll need resetting.’
The designer, a solid middle-aged man, bowed when he was introduced and wished them every happiness. He approved her choice of ring, and when asked about a wedding band whipped out a pencil and a pad and sketched something for her.
‘I’m not sure about the roses,’ she said, examining it. ‘My name is Rosemary, not Rose.’
The designer looked chagrined. ‘I’m sorry—’
Gerd intervened. ‘Myrtle.’ He smiled down at Rosie, his acting so good she could almost believe for a moment that he loved her. ‘You liked it, didn’t you, and because it and New Zealand’s pohutukawa are very distant cousins, it will provide a link with your homeland?’
Of course, roses stood for love, whereas myrtle was sacred to Aphrodite, the goddess of passion and desire…
Rosie’s answering smile was restrained. ‘Oh, yes, how suitable.’
Gerd gave her a sharp glance, but the designer nodded. ‘A charming idea.’ Rapidly he sketched another design, then regarded it with a smile before handing it over to Gerd. ‘Yes—the simpler the design the more effective.’
After he’d left Rosie said, ‘That was an inspired suggestion.’
‘You appeared to enjoy the scent of the sprigs of myrtle you picked,’ Gerd said dismissively. Then he smiled down at her. ‘Besides, we made some very pleasant memories there the day you first saw it.’
Her heart expanding, Rosie smiled back. ‘So we did,’ she said.
Surely, he couldn’t look at her like that if he didn’t feel something for her!
Buoyed by that idea, she almost enjoyed posing for the set of official photographs, even though it took almost half a day before the photographer was satisfied.
‘I don’t do dignity well,’ Rosie sighed to Gerd when it was over. She glanced down at her clothes—a dress from a local designer that managed to be both formal and summery. ‘But I love this and the other clothes that have come. Only…who is paying for them?’
‘I am,’ he told her calmly. ‘And I think you do dignity very well. Dignity—but with warmth and interest.’
Right then she couldn’t appreciate the compliment. ‘I don’t think you should be paying for my clothes,’ she objected.
He looked at her, his expression uncompromising. ‘I’ve already had this conversation with your brother,’ he said in flexibly. ‘I don’t intend to go through it again with you.’
‘I don’t want either of you—’
‘Rosemary, just leave it, will you?’ His eyes were as crystalline and cold as the diamond she wore. ‘You are in this position because I asked you to be, and so it is up to me to see that you have everything you need.’
‘Gerd, we are not going to get along at all well if you tell me to leave things instead of discussing them sensibly,’ she said through her teeth. ‘If I’m old enough to marry you, damn it, I’m old enough to be consulted about things that might seem trifles to you but are important to me. It’s disrespectful and unfair and patronising if we can only discuss things that are important to you!’
He looked down at her as though he’d been bitten by a kitten, then unexpectedly gave a wry smile. ‘You are, of course, correct. Very well, then, explain to me how it will make you feel better if neither Alex nor I pay for the clothes you need for formal occasions.’
He had a point. But so did she. Rosie drew in a breath and said, ‘I’m not in the same league financially as you or Alex, but I do have a little money in the bank. I can at least use that.’
‘I would like you to keep it so that you don’t feel entirely dependent on me.’
Neither yielding, they measured glances. Rosie was torn by in decision. In the end she said, ‘I realise it seems quixotic, but—’
‘It’s a statement of independence?’
Actually, it probably was—a symbolic answer to the ring on her finger and all it represented. ‘It’s more that you just made the assumption that you’d pay without even talking it over with me.’
He nodded. ‘I won’t make that mistake again. But there is something we need to discuss right now. You will need an allowance.’
Rosie opened her mouth but before she could speak he said lazily, ‘I shall feel compelled to kiss any further objections away, and you know where that will lead.’
Heat coloured her skin, but her eyes stayed steady. ‘That is sexist. And two can play at that game.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Feel free, any time,’ he invited silkily.
CHAPTER NINE
ROSIE glared at him, then closed her eyes in surrender. ‘You don’t play fair.’
‘Neither do you.’ Gerd’s voice was low and amused and very, very sexy.
Her eyes opened and she warded him off with up-raised hands. ‘As it happens, I wasn’t going to object to an allowance,’ she said forth rightly. ‘But I’ll use my own money until it’s gone.’
Gerd shrugged. ‘You’re not going to budge on this, are you?’
‘No.’
‘And you don’t want me to try and persuade you…?’ He let the suggestion hang in the air.
‘I do not,’ she told him as crisply as she could.
Which was not very effective. Her voice had softened, and the lazy, languorous note in it constituted a far from subtle invitation.
He knew, of course, that if he touched her, kissed her, she’d melt, and then she’d be lost. But he had to accept that he couldn’t just make decisions for her and expect her to obey them without question.
So she repeated coolly, ‘I can see the point of an allowance, so I’ll accept that. But until my money runs out I’ll buy my own clothes.’
‘Your personal clothes,’ he conceded. ‘Anything you need to buy for official occasions will come from your household expenses.’
‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly.
He frowned. ‘Are you always going to be like this?’
‘I suspect I am.’ A little acidly she went on, ‘Feel like changing your mind?’
His face hardened. ‘No.’
The evening before the betrothal ceremony he gave a dinner at the palace, where he introduced Rosie to his personal friends. It was a relaxed occasion, without formal speeches or toasts, but Rosie realised she was being assessed.
Afterwards Gerd dropped a light kiss on her forehead at her bedroom door. ‘Sleep well,’ he said.
‘I’m scared,’ she blurted, regretting the words as soon as they escaped. ‘What if nobody likes me?’
He gave her a hug, but immediately freed her and stepped back. ‘Has anyone ever disliked you?’ he asked rhetorically.
Her mother, for one. ‘Jo Green in Year Three hated me,’ Rosie told him. ‘She used to pinch me and call me Ginge.’
He laughed. ‘Nobody will do that here.’
More seriously she said, ‘I suppose what’s really concerning me is that I simply might not be able to do the job with the sort of—well, gravitas that it needs. I don’t want to fail you or your people.’
‘I didn’t realise that beneath that self-assured manner you’re lacking in confidence.’
She shrugged. ‘It is an unusual situation, and one I haven’t been trained for.’ Unlike Princess Serina, who probably wouldn’t dream of dumping her insecurities on her chosen spouse, no matter who he was.
Gerd said calmly, ‘I have complete faith in your ability to deal with anything.’
Rosie looked up, her
heart thumping erratically. So why don’t you kiss me? But he wasn’t going to use that simplest of ways to comfort her. He seemed to have pulled up some emotional drawbridge, leaving her alone and forlorn on the other side.
Gerd said, ‘Tomorrow morning after the ceremony a crowd might gather in front of the palace.’
‘Why?’ she asked blankly.
‘To wish us joy. We will come out as a family and wave from the balcony off the grand drawing room.’ He smiled at her startled look. ‘So perhaps you will need even higher heels than usual so they can see you over the balustrade.’
‘I’m not that short,’ she said indignantly.
‘Just as high as my heart,’ he quoted.
Rosie smiled and closed the door on him, but her smile faded quickly into wistfulness. She wished—oh, how she wished—he wouldn’t say things like that.
Not when he didn’t really mean them…
Her dress for the official betrothal was already hanging in her dressing room, a silk in a champagne colour that just skimmed her body and made her feel elegant and tall. And fortunately her sandals had very high heels. The hat was cut so that everyone could see her face.
A knock on the door brought heat to her cheeks and an aching hunger to her heart—a feverish anticipation that was dashed when her mother came in.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked.
‘No.’ Her mother noted the dress hanging ready to be worn, and said, ‘Very appropriate. You get your taste from me. Your father didn’t care about clothes.’
Rosie told her what Gerd had said about a crowd collecting, and her mother nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I’ve been forewarned about it.’
‘I doubt if it’s going to happen. Why would they?’
‘Curiosity,’ her mother said dismissively. She paused, then said deliberately, ‘I wouldn’t take it personally. You could have two heads and they’d be delighted. What they want is children from you—preferably boys.’
Rosie lifted her brows. ‘I suppose they do,’ she said quietly, determined not to let her mother see how much that hurt. ‘The succession has to be important.’
