Prince's Arranged Bride

by Susan Stephens

  In a couple of strides Alessandro had crossed the room and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

  ‘Don’t you understand anything, Emily? I do love you. More than you will ever know. No! Look at me!’ he insisted when she tried to turn her head away. ‘I love you,’ he repeated fiercely. ‘I have loved you from the first moment I set eyes on you. I don’t suppose you believe in love at first sight; neither did I, before I met you—’ He shook his head and looked away, as if the emotion was too much for him to bear. ‘I was frightened I might lose you if I told you the truth. I can see now that I was wrong. But if you won’t accept my apology then I don’t know what I can do…what I will do without you…’

  ‘When would you have told me?’ Emily demanded tensely when he’d let her go.

  ‘If you had become pregnant there would have been no need to tell you,’ he admitted with a short, humourless laugh.

  ‘That’s very blunt.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed bitterly.

  ‘And if I hadn’t become pregnant?’ She needed to choose her words with more care, Emily realised distractedly, still agonising over her own startling news and wondering how she was going to break it to him. ‘When…when would you have told me?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Alessandro admitted bluntly. ‘I needed time…time to be sure you trusted me before I could identify the right time.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ he said, taking hold of her again. ‘I was wrong. I can see that now. I should have told you right away. I need you to forgive me, Emily. I need you to accept my apology so that we can rebuild everything I have damaged, however long it takes…Emily?’

  When she told him about their baby—what would he think of her then? Emily wondered numbly. He had been so honest, so frank and giving in his own apology, while she harboured the greatest secret of them all, jealously guarding it inside her like some precious gift she had not yet chosen to bestow. Instead of making it easier for her, Emily realised, Alessandro’s openness had only made it all the more difficult.

  ‘This isn’t easy for you,’ he said. ‘I realise that. You need time to think. I’m going to take you home. No, I insist,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘I’ll keep in touch, and when you’re ready—’

  ‘No,’ Emily said urgently—this wasn’t supposed to happen. ‘I don’t want you to take me home.’ This was the moment. She needed to tell him…whatever the consequences might be for herself.

  She could see how pale he was beneath his tan, hear the enormous pressure he was forced to endure because of her reflected in his voice. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear to see him suffering and know that she was the cause.

  ‘Don’t apologise to me. We’re both at fault,’ she said, the words all coming out in a rush. ‘We had no chance to get to know each other—’

  ‘Listen to yourself,’ he said. ‘You’re half-frantic with worry, and all because of me. There’s no excuse for my behaviour,’ he said harshly, cutting off any chance she might have had to say more. ‘I’m going to get your coat—’

  ‘No, Alessandro, wait—’

  But he was already back, and helping her into it. ‘I’m taking you home, Emily. I’ve upset you enough for one night. I won’t hear any arguments.’

  But her home was in Ferara, Emily thought as he ushered her out of the door. With Alessandro…

  ‘I don’t want to pressure you,’ he said, releasing his hold on her arm at the door to her apartment. ‘I’ve put you through enough. If you come back to me, Emily, it will be for ever, so I want you to be sure.’

  ‘We never expected it to come to this.’ Emily shivered suddenly as he kissed her on both cheeks, as if in that moment the shadow between them had made itself visible.

  ‘We never expected to fall in love,’ Alessandro countered softly, shooting her a wry half-smile as he turned to go.

  Emily had thought she’d had sleepless nights before, but she’d been wrong. This…this was a sleepless night.

  Finally she gave up on sleep altogether, and, clambering out of bed, crossed the wood-strip floor to the enclosed balcony that had been one of her main reasons for buying the riverside flat.

  She could never have anticipated that her meeting with Alessandro would go so badly wrong…that she would be so lacking in force, in ability to put her point across. She was ashamed of the way she had caved in, Emily realised tensely. But the atmosphere had been so fraught, their reunion so fragile…If Miranda had been at home they would have talked things over. But Miranda had already embarked on a tour of the provinces that preceded her debut in the capital…And, though she had lost track of time, Emily knew it was the middle of the night—Miranda would be asleep.

  Wrapping herself in a mohair throw, she curled up on one of the sofas and stared bleakly out at the river, stretching darkly into the distance like an oily rag. The main road was freshly salted with icy sleet and made her long all the more for the mellow colours and warmth and sunshine of Ferara.

  Whatever time it was, her mind was still buzzing. She hadn’t managed to sleep since Alessandro had left a little after twelve. Burrowing deeper into the soft throw, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and wished harder than she had ever wished for anything in her life that things could be different…Wasn’t cheating a man out of his child on a par with cheating a defenceless elderly couple out of their life savings?

  The unmistakable sound of her laptop signalling incoming mail broke into that disturbing thought, and, peering at the clock, she saw that it still wasn’t quite four-thirty in the morning.

  Racking her brains for friends in the Antipodes, or even late-working New Yorkers, she padded across acres of wood-strip flooring into the open-plan space that constituted her living area. Leaning over her desk, she clicked the mouse and brought up the screen.

  Tight schedule—now leaving first thing tomorrow—make your decision about returning to Ferara—let me know soonest—Alessandro.

  Her heart gave a little flurry just to know that he was awake—and thinking of her. But, reading the e-mail again, she went cold. She couldn’t leave London. There was still the court case to settle. And it wasn’t going well; there were all sorts of outstanding issues.

  Fingers flying, she typed a reply and sent it straight back.

  I can’t make that sort of decision yet. I have a tight schedule, too.

  She hovered anxiously over the machine, realising that he couldn’t read her mind and know all the difficulties she was facing at work. Out of context the message would just seem petulant.

  His reply came through right away.

  I understand you need more time.

  Frowning a little, Emily pulled out her chair and sat down in front of the computer.

  The case I’m involved in is proving more complex than I had anticipated.

  This time she gave herself a little more space before touching ‘send’, and checked what she had typed again for possible misunderstandings. She hugged herself as she waited for Alessandro’s reply. It didn’t take long.

  When will your case be completed?

  Difficult to say. Two weeks max, at a guess.

  Before the holidays?

  Hopefully before the holidays.

  I’ll send the jet.

  No need.

  But that’s a yes?

  She hesitated about ten heartbeats—a split second.

  Yes.

  I’ll send the jet.

  Emily sat staring at the screen until dawn sketched rosy fingers across a sullen, snow-laden sky, but there was no more mail that night from Alessandro.

  Touching the screen by his name before she switched off, she wondered what lay ahead for them both with the holidays approaching fast. The possibility of seeing him again was the only present she had on her Christmas list.

  Unforeseen delay in resolving case—no chance I can make it for Christmas.

  Sorry.

  Emily

  Alessandro took out his frustration
on his desk with a blow so hard he found himself nursing his fist, wondering if he had broken anything.

  He had chosen e-mail specifically as a mode of communication to give them both a breather. A voice on a telephone could reveal so much…too much. E-mail was brief and to the point. And utterly without emotion—or should be…had always been…up to now.

  Hating himself for putting his heart on the line, he stabbed back.

  What’s the problem?

  Sitting in her office, surrounded by papers, Emily rested her forehead on the heel of her hand and stared at the screen. She felt sick from early pregnancy blues augmented by a very real concern for her clients. It was beginning to look as though she would win the case, but the chance of securing some money for the elderly couple was appearing increasingly unlikely.

  The likelihood of reaching any type of satisfactory conclusion before the long drawn-out holiday season interrupted everything was negligible.

  She touched the screen by Alessandro’s question, as if it was possible to draw some comfort from him by doing that, then pulled her hand away. Having him at the other end of the line, waiting for her reply, was no compensation for having him with her. And knowing he was out there somewhere, but not knowing where, made her feel lonelier than ever. It made her feel weak and vulnerable—something she could have done without. Because that was no help to her elderly clients, whose future peace of mind lay in the scrambled mounds of documentation scattered across her desk. But the least she owed Alessandro was an explanation for staying in London over Christmas…

  Freemantle has no money—no assets—no nothing. Can’t leave my clients in the lurch—have to keep trying.

  Try what? Emily thought, absentmindedly dispatching the message before she had quite finished it. If Toby Freemantle was stony broke—

  Her eyes flashed to the screen as Alessandro’s reply came up.

  Trace his maternal grandmother’s will. She left him all her art treasures. His brother boasted to me that whenever creditors came to call the paintings were stored in their mother’s attic. Keep me informed. Alessandro.

  Instantly alert, Emily straightened up, and tapped in. Thank you—I will.

  And then, not because she thought it was prudent, or that he would even care, but because her heart took over, she lapsed into a personal style.

  I hope you have a good Christmas, Alessandro—say sorry from me to your father. Emily.

  Making a sound close to a tiger in a rage, Alessandro replied.

  Sure to—Father in South Africa, looking at rose gardens—signing off, Alessandro.

  Alessandro had been right, Emily thought, waving off two very happy elderly people, her hands clutching tight the bottle of champagne they had insisted on buying for her. She wouldn’t drink it now, because she was almost four months pregnant, but it signified their peace of mind, and that was all that mattered. She would take it to the Christmas gathering at her parents’ house.

  Thanks to Alessandro, the works of art she had tracked down with the help of the fraud squad had raised millions at auction, brightening the London scene on the run-up to the big Christmas shut-down. There had been more than enough money to satisfy all the creditors and even set Toby Freemantle up for life—when he came out of jail.

  As the elderly couple disappeared around the corner, arm in arm, she knew her first e-mail had to be to Alessandro. She had to thank him, let him know the outcome of the sale.

  Great news—do you ski?

  Rocking back on her chair, Emily stared at the screen again.

  Almost as hesitantly as she might have said the words, she tapped in, Yes—why? then clicked the mouse and waited.

  We have issues to resolve sooner rather than later. I plan to spend Christmas in a small village called Lech, in the Arlberg region of Austria. I’d like you to join me.

  Emily’s heart leapt at the invitation. But she had promised to attend her mother’s famous Christmas lunch, she remembered, frowning.

  ‘Of course you must go with Alessandro,’ Miranda insisted, when Emily telephoned her twin to run the idea past her. ‘You don’t think Mother will try and make you stay in England if she thinks there’s a chance of a rapprochement with Alessandro, do you?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I haven’t told him yet,’ Emily said tensely, tracing her still flat stomach.

  ‘Are you going to wait until he can see for himself?’

  ‘I don’t know. I—’

  ‘Look, Emily,’ Miranda said, beginning to sound impatient. ‘I’ve got to go to rehearsal. You’re the one who always knows what to do. You know what you have to do now. You’re just allowing emotion to get in the way of clear thinking.’

  Emily allowed herself a wry smile. ‘Are you surprised?’

  ‘That you’ve let things go this far? Yes. It’s a fact that Alessandro wasn’t entirely open with you. Get over it. Aren’t you doing just the same to him now? If you want the truth, it looks like a bad case of double standards.’

  ‘Please don’t be angry with me. You know I’ve forgiven him. But he wouldn’t give me a chance to explain—’

  Miranda heaved a heavy sigh down the phone, cutting her off. ‘I’m not angry with you, Emily. I’m just worried about you—and Alessandro. Please say you’ll go.’

  ‘I can’t just turn up pregnant in Lech.’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ Miranda agreed thoughtfully. ‘So maybe I’ll—’

  ‘No! Don’t you dare say a word to him,’ Emily warned. ‘This is something I have to handle by myself.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Have I ever let you down?’

  ‘This would be one hell of a time to make it a first,’ Miranda said bluntly.

  Emily could feel her sister’s concern winging down the phone-line. ‘I won’t let you down, Miranda. I promise.’

  After doing her research, Emily knew why her husband had chosen Lech for his winter retreat—the townsfolk were so used to visiting royalty no one paid the slightest attention to one more prince arriving for the winter sports. She realised now that any type of anonymity was preferable to none.

  It wouldn’t take her long to pack a suitcase, book a flight—

  She swung around in surprise when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone and, apart from kicking off her high-heeled shoes, she hadn’t even changed her clothes after the final meeting with her clients. Checking her appearance in the mirror, she pulled a face and made a vain attempt to capture some of her long hair into the slide at the back of her head. Reaching the door, she opened it and gasped.

  ‘Alessandro! Wh—?’

  ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Yes, of course. But—’ Her bewildered gaze followed him across the wide expanse of floor to the picture windows, where he turned and stood looking around him, the corners of his mouth pressing up in an appreciative grin.

  ‘This is very nice,’ he said, looking around the apartment.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. Shutting the door, Emily leaned back against it. Her heart-rate had gone into orbit…she needed a minute. No, a minute wasn’t nearly long enough, she realised, staring at her husband.

  His charcoal-grey vicuña overcoat had been left open to reveal a black V-neck cashmere sweater and black trousers, and his inky-black hair in its customary off-duty disarray fell over familiar dark gold eyes—eyes that were presently trained on her with amused speculation.

  ‘I don’t understand—I was just e-mailing you—’

  ‘And you presumed I was in Ferara?’

  She could see he was trying not to smile. ‘Well, yes. I wanted to share the good news with you the moment I found out myself.’ Even as she spoke the words it was as if a double helping of conscience had reared up to mock her.

  ‘Good to know you were thinking about me,’ Alessandro commented, slanting her a look.

  He didn’t miss a thing, she realised edgily, moving away from the door.

  ‘I was just around the cor
ner in my hotel at the time,’ Alessandro said, clearly trying to put her at her ease. ‘What about Lech? Are you packed?’

  ‘I haven’t booked a seat yet.’

  ‘Booked a seat?’

  It took a whole new mind-set to deal with Alessandro, Emily reminded herself. Of course he would have flown to England in his own jet. ‘You came for me?’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘Looks like it,’ he agreed dryly.

  ‘Can you give me half an hour? Here—let me take that for you,’ she said as he began to shrug off his overcoat. ‘Can I get you anything while you wait? A drink?’

  ‘Just get ready,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘Wait out here, then,’ she suggested, opening the window to the balcony. It’s got a fabulous view, and—’

  He caught her to him as she went past, dragging her close and shutting her up with a long, deep kiss that wiped her mind clean of everything but him. But even as she softened against him he gently but very firmly pushed her away.

  ‘Go,’ he whispered. ‘We have a non-negotiable take-off slot. It’s nearly Christmas—or had you forgotten?’

  Alessandro took her through a sumptuous wood-panelled entrance hall into a quaint reception area decorated in typical Austrian alpine style, with red gingham curtains edged with heavy ecru lace. Garlands of dried flowers hung on the walls, and in a huge stone grate a roaring log fire acted like a magnet to the people clustered around, exchanging tall stories from their day on the slopes.

  There wasn’t a photographer in sight, Emily noticed with relief as she watched her husband complete the formalities and return to her side with a huge old-fashioned carved wooden key-fob.