Prince's Arranged Bride

by Susan Stephens

  The aisle itself was a work of art, paved in marble and carved by long-dead artisans to such effect that the scenes portrayed appeared more like faded photographs scanned onto the cool surface rather than the painstaking work of supreme craftsmen.

  In front of her a vast window of such intense blue it appeared to be backlit by a power even greater than the sun threw splashes of colour across the faces of the dignitaries, some of whom Emily recognised, but she only sensed rather than saw every head turn her way, because her own gaze had found Alessandro’s.

  Even though she knew he was entering into marriage with no thought of love or romance, his strength lent her courage, and, seeing a flicker of concern in the eyes of his father, when Emily dropped her curtsey in front of him she smiled reassuringly as he reached forward to bring her to her feet.

  Then she was standing next to Alessandro, with every fibre of her being pulsing with awareness…Alessandro, who appeared a daunting figure even in such a setting, where the scale of the building challenged normal perception. She matched her breathing to his, steadying herself, willing herself free of expectation, knowing that if she harboured none she could never be hurt.

  But as the ceremony reached its climax a heady sense of destiny overcame her. Too much incense, she told herself firmly. But, whatever happened, she would do her best for the people of Ferara during her tenure as their Princess.

  ‘You may kiss your bride.’

  Reality struck home like a real physical blow. Would he kiss her? Or would he humiliate her in front of everyone? Was this hard for him? Impossible?

  Too churned up to interpret anything, let alone the expression in her husband’s eyes, Emily tensed as she waited. She didn’t know what to expect.

  He smiled, as if he was trying to imbue her with some of his own confidence. Alessandro, always considerate…thanking her for keeping her part of the bargain, Emily reasoned, wishing against her better judgement that it could be more. She felt his firm lips touch her mouth, pressing against the soft yielding pillow of her lips as she sighed against him—then a chord from the organ broke the spell and he linked her arm firmly through his.

  And they were walking down the aisle together, man and wife, smiling to the left, and then smiling to the right—but never once smiling at each other.

  They had their first row on their wedding night.

  Elevated to a magnificent suite of rooms adjoining Alessandro’s own, Emily prepared for bed alone. Her head was ringing with the effort of maintaining a front for so long. But at least she could console herself with the knowledge that she had begun to fulfil the requirements of their contract.

  Who was she trying to kid? Emily wondered angrily as she sat down in front of the gilt-embossed dressing table mirror. A ceremony couldn’t plug the chasm in her heart, or blot out her certainty that everything she had planned—so carefully, so meticulously—was already falling apart around her ears because she had made the classic mistake of allowing feelings to get in the way.

  The fact that Alessandro was a prince didn’t matter at all—the fact that they had a business contract between them rather than a love affair mattered more to her than she could ever have imagined. It hurt like hell, she realised wistfully.

  Plucking out the last of the pins holding her hair in place, she allowed it to spill over her shoulders and began to brush it with long, impassioned sweeps.

  It was hard to believe she had been naïve enough to think she could simply pick up the pieces of her carefree single life and transfer them to Ferara with the rest of her luggage. Naïve? Her naïvety had been monumental, Emily thought, shaking her head angrily and then tossing the brush aside.

  The wedding changed everything she realised, remembering the solemn vows she had made. Alessandro was her husband now, and she was his wife. And with those simple facts came hope, desire, expectation—and, most pressing of all, she thought, ramming her lips together as she tried not to cry, was the need to spend at least your wedding night with your husband.

  Once they’d left the cathedral there had hardly been a chance for her to speak to him. And even when they had opened the reception by dancing together there had been constant interruptions. And she hadn’t helped matters, Emily thought, remembering how stiffly she had held herself. There had been a moment when the toasts were made—Alessandro’s hand had closed over her own as they’d sliced through a tier of the wedding cake and she had felt her whole body rebel and strain towards him. But she had clenched her fist over the handle until her knuckles had turned white and hurt…and apart from that—

  She started at the knock on the door.

  She had sent everyone away, taking the chance, once she had showered, to slip into a clean old top that had somehow found its way into the bottom of her suitcase. It didn’t matter what she looked like. It could only be the maid with some hot milk, she reasoned, hurrying to the door.

  ‘Alessandro!’

  She felt foolish, standing there with bare feet, wearing nothing except an old faded top while her husband looked every bit as resplendent in a simple black silk robe as he had in full dress uniform, with medals and sash of office.

  ‘I just came to see if you were all right…if you had everything you need,’ he said, appearing not to register her choice of clothes as he scanned her sumptuous quarters as if running a mental inventory.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Emily replied. ‘Just a little tired.’

  ‘You looked beautiful today.’ As he turned to look at her his gaze was steady and warm. ‘Thank you, Emily.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ she lied, forcing a smile. But her glance strayed to his mouth as she remembered his kiss at the culmination of their marriage ceremony…chaste and dutiful maybe, but it still possessed the power to thrill her like no other kiss could ever hope to again. Recklessly she relived it now, briefly, self-indulgently, closing her eyes for just an instant as faint echoes of sensation shimmered through her frame.

  ‘I think it all went well,’ Alessandro said, breaking into her reverie.

  ‘Yes,’ she managed tightly. ‘It all went very well. Miranda is in seventh heaven. The violin is everything—’

  ‘Can we talk about us for a moment?’

  His expression was hidden in shadow as he moved away from her towards one of the heavily draped windows, but Emily knew something had upset him. Perhaps he thought the violin too high a price to pay for a woman for whom he felt nothing.

  ‘There’s no reason why it should be awkward between us—’ he began.

  Awkward between them! What the hell was he talking about? Alessandro thought angrily, balling his hands into fists while in his mind the image of some rare bloom overlaid the fever. He swung around to look at her. Petals bruised easily, too easily—

  ‘Are you all right?’ Emily said, reaching out a hand. Then, remembering her position, she let it fall back again by her side.

  He was completely naked under the robe; she was sure of it. Her speech had thickened as erotic possibilities crowded her mind…No one need ever know. They could be lovers and still end the contract as agreed. Just the possibility was a seduction in itself…The walls were twelve feet thick in this part of the old palace, she remembered. And their rooms were interconnecting. Most of the servants were still celebrating at one of the many parties in the palace grounds—she could still hear periodic explosions from the fireworks outside.

  ‘I’m not aware of any awkwardness between us,’ she said, in an attempt to prolong the conversation, trying not to stare too blatantly at the outline of his hard frame so clear in silhouette as he stood with his back to the window.

  She was standing close to him now…close enough to detect the tang of the lemony soap he must have used in the shower. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, then murmured dreamily, ‘Don’t worry, Alessandro. I’m completely at ease—’

  She gasped in alarm as his fist hit the wall.

  ‘“Don’t worry, Alessandro”?’ he mimicked softly, dangerously, and so close to her li
ps she could feel his warm breath on her face. ‘How can you ask me not to worry? Am I the only one tense here? Don’t lie to me, Emily,’ he warned, pulling back. ‘You’re about as at ease with all this as I am.’

  He took a couple of steps away, as if he couldn’t bear to be close to her any more than she could bear to be parted from him.

  ‘Please don’t waste your breath on innocent protestations,’ he said. ‘I know you’re lying to me. We’re both in this over our heads, and you know it.’

  ‘We knew what we were getting into—’

  ‘Oh, did we?’ He cut in sceptically. ‘You’re quite sure about that, are you, Emily? You’re quite sure nothing’s changed between us now that we’re man and wife?’

  He had taken the same mental journey she had, Emily realised with surprise. And each nuance in his voice betrayed the fact that he was every bit as disturbed by his thoughts as she was by her own.

  ‘It’s our wedding night—’

  ‘So?’ he demanded harshly.

  ‘My no-sex clause—’ She felt so foolish, so exposed. ‘We could—’

  ‘Forget it?’ he suggested.

  His gently mocking tone nudged her senses until she was unbearably aroused; the wet triangle of lace between her legs stretched taut in the struggle to contain her excitement.

  ‘I don’t think so, Emily,’ he said harshly.

  Every last remaining strand of common sense told her he was right, while her instinct, her desire, every hectic beat of her heart said she would stop at nothing to change his mind…But once the terms of their contract were satisfied he would need to move on, Emily reminded herself. Marry a woman of his own choosing—someone, as he had already intimated, who could shoulder the responsibilities of Ferara as an equal partner. There would be no place for her in Ferara then, so she would just have to find some way to rein in her hunger for that country’s prince sooner rather than later.

  Switching on the smile that had served her so well throughout the day, she agreed tonelessly that she did have everything she needed. But, just when she was complimenting herself on the cool way in which she’d handled the situation, Alessandro threw everything into confusion again.

  ‘I suppose we could do as you suggest—keep the terms of our contract and yet have an affair,’ he suggested bitterly.

  There were a few moments of stunned silence, then Emily laughed nervously—as if to show she knew he couldn’t possibly be serious.

  ‘What do you think, Emily?’

  ‘What do I think?’

  What did she think? She wasn’t incapable of any thought, Emily realised as she watched him caress the door handle. Her belly ached with need for him. She was utterly beguiled by his strength, by the subtlety in his hands and by the strong, flexing power in his fingers…She wanted to know how all that would feel, transferred from hard steel to soft flesh—

  ‘Well?’ he said harshly.

  Could he be serious? Her body seemed to think so.

  Even as he watched her eyes darkening, and saw the tip of her tongue dart out to moisten her lips, Alessandro knew it wasn’t enough. Even if Emily agreed, a sexual relationship with his beautiful new wife would only leave him more frustrated than ever. And he wanted more. He wanted much more. He wanted her love. He knew he had to do something…say something…or he might tip them both headlong into a situation from which neither of them would ever recover. He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  ‘Forgive me, Emily. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m very tired—’

  Yes, he was tired, Alessandro acknowledged. He was tired of all the play-acting, tired of pretending he didn’t feel the most urgent need to consummate their marriage and ease the physical torment he was certain now that she felt every bit as much as he did. He longed to make Emily his wife, and in more than name only. He wanted them to be bound together, body and soul, for the rest of their lives.

  But the weariness dragging at his mind had another cause, he accepted restlessly as he started to pace the room. What exhausted him the most was the secret he was forced to keep. The secret he bound so close because it was the one thing in the world that could take her away from him. And, in spite of the physical desire that raged through his body, he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—run the risk of losing her.

  ‘We’re both tired—and no wonder,’ Emily observed gently, trying to hold her husband still from his angry pacing when she knew she had little more to soothe him with than her voice.

  ‘I know,’ Alessandro said, shaking his head as he stopped dead to look at her, as if for the first time. It was as if she understood everything…and nothing, he realised, passing a single finger down the side of her face. But it wasn’t her fault…none of it was her fault.

  Emily longed to grab hold of his hand then, and kiss it, and hold it against her cheek to warm him with her strength…her love…But the moment had passed, and now he was tense again. She could feel it in the air without looking at him.

  ‘My behaviour just now was unforgivable,’ Alessandro said, moving away from her. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. The last thing I want is to make this any harder for you than it already is.’ Reaching the door, he turned to face her again.

  ‘Is there anything…anything at all, Emily…that I could provide for you here in Ferara to make you happy?’

  ‘I am happy,’ she protested quickly.

  ‘Don’t give me a glib answer because that’s what you think I want to hear,’ he warned. Leaning back against the door, he said softly, ‘I mean it, Emily. Whatever you want—whatever it takes to make you happy—just name it.’

  You, she thought, meeting his gaze steadily. That’s all I want…you. First, last and always.

  ‘You mentioned an idea for upgrading the palace apartments for staff—we could set up weekly meetings—’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quickly. Even a regular business meeting with him would be better than nothing at all. ‘I think that’s a wonderful idea.’

  ‘I’m pleased you think so.’

  Emily returned his smile. The first real smile she had seen on his face all day. But if he’d wanted her half as much as she wanted him they would have been setting up a very different sort of assignation, she reminded herself sadly.

  One thing was sure: he wouldn’t have been leaving her to spend their wedding night alone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ALESSANDRO’S father sat up in bed to stare at his son in tolerant mystification.

  ‘You come to my rooms at dawn to ask an old man like me what to do about the state of your marriage? Is this really my son Alessandro talking? I would hardly have believed it possible—before Emily came into your life,’ he added, shaking his head. ‘And had it not been for the nonsense you have told me about this—contract—’ he spat out the word ‘—had it not been for that misplaced kindness to me, you would never have found yourself in this mess in the first place. How could you do such a thing, Alessandro? And how could you imagine such a travesty would work?’

  I did it for you, Father…only for you, Alessandro thought, taking the rebuke in silence. And in spite of everything he couldn’t find it in his heart to regret a thing…except that by trying to help his father it seemed that he had only succeeded in causing him more pain.

  ‘Emily is like a tender bud—’

  ‘I know, Father! I know!’ Alessandro exclaimed impatiently, swiping the back of his neck with his hand as he sprang to his feet to pace the room like a tiger with a thorn in its pad. ‘She is like no other woman I have ever met,’ he went on, shaking his head in utter incomprehension. ‘She shows no real interest in the priceless jewels she is entitled to wear, or the designer clothes I arranged to please her. She chooses instead to devote herself to the needs of our country, and to the small improvements she can make here at the palace. These…these are her passions.’

  ‘Are you complaining, Alessandro?’

  ‘No, Father! No. It’s just that I am having to learn a whole new way of dealing with a wom
an. I feel like a youth embarking on his first love affair—’

  ‘Perhaps this is your first love affair,’ the old Prince murmured sagely.

  ‘So, help me, Father. Tell me what to do.’ Alessandro stopped, and levelled a blazing stare on his father’s face. ‘You must help me. Before I lose her.’

  ‘You know what to do,’ his father told him calmly. ‘You know in your heart what is right, Alessandro. And if you want to make me happy, you will forget all about this foolish contract. Make this marriage work, Alessandro, or spend the rest of your life wishing that you had. It’s up to you.’

  Alessandro stopped pacing and stared unseeing into the distance.’ Monte Volere,’ he murmured to himself. ‘I shall take her to Monte Volere.’ Then he turned around.’ Monte Volere, Father!’

  ‘September…harvest-time in Monte Volere,’ his father commented thoughtfully. ‘A very good place to recharge the batteries of the heart.’

  Alessandro felt the tension leave him as he watched a smile of contentment curl around his father’s mouth.

  ‘I think you’ve redeemed yourself, Alessandro. It’s an excellent idea,’ the old Prince declared with satisfaction.

  ‘How soon can you be ready to leave?’

  ‘Leave?’ Emily said, still reeling from being shaken out of her slumbers by an Alessandro she had never seen before—black jeans, black tight-fitting top, black leather jacket slung across the broad sweep of his shoulders, tousled hair and yesterday’s beard throwing shadows across the harsh planes of his handsome face.

  But they were man and wife now, and her husband seemed to need her. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, instantly alert. ‘Is it your father? Has something happened?’

  ‘Yes. No. And, no—not yet,’ he said, warming to her concern. ‘My father’s fine; don’t worry.’