Royal Affair

by Alice Gaines

  They stood in front of a shrine to the local saint, Olivius—a small altar in front of a painting of the holy man with a goat on one side and a sheaf of wheat on the other.

  “Patron of local farmers,” Friedrich said. “It’s said some of them pray to Olivius directly, although the priest discourages it.”

  “Like a pre-Christian god?” she asked.

  “Old beliefs run deep in this part of Danislova.”

  “And you don’t question them.”

  “It’s not my place,” he said.

  Because she could, Marta touched him. No more than a hand on the wool of his sleeve, but she couldn’t afford even that freedom in public, given what he’d said about scandal. “You’re a wise sovereign.”

  “I was born to it, as was Dev.”

  “And yet, he married for love,” she said. “An American, no less.”

  “Felice will make a wonderful Princess Royal.”

  “Still, you weren’t given a choice,” she said.

  “Things were different when I was young.” He turned toward her.

  She studied his face and, as usual, found the strength and determination in the line of his jaw and the warmth of his eyes. The years had only enhanced his male beauty, at least in her view, which was admittedly biased about everything concerning this man.

  “I’m sorry about this afternoon at lunch,” he said.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what you could have done differently.”

  “The people loved Cecile. She was so good with them.”

  “And you loved her.” He’d love Marta, too. Perhaps not with the same passion, but he would.

  He took her hand. “Come, let’s talk.”

  They walked together to a pew and sat. He didn’t release her hand but twined their fingers together on the wood between them. “We didn’t love each other at first, but thank heaven, we at least liked each other. She performed her duties as wife and princess well from the beginning, for which I was grateful.”

  Marta lifted a brow. “Her wifely duties?”

  “Yes, all of them.” Which, of course, would include in his bed.

  “You did need an heir,” she said, and if her arithmetic was right, they didn’t take long to produce a son.

  “I did.”

  “It’s not my business,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “I told you I don’t have sex casually,” he said. “You need to know me.”

  “I do.” Not know him? She’d watched him for decades. If he’d strayed from his wife—and with his looks and station in life, he could have dallied with any woman who caught his eye—she would have known. There would have been gossip. She would have seen his wife’s sadness.

  “Cecile was a virgin on our wedding night,” he said. “I was as gentle as I could manage, but I still hurt her.”

  Imagine. The woman had given her virginity to someone she hadn’t loved. Cecile had known Friedrich, of course, and would have had to realize he’d be kind. But what if she’d loved someone else? Cecile would never have known the true joy of sex for its sake when she’d gone to her marriage bed.

  “We…” Friedrich cleared his throat. “…worked things out as we went along.”

  Meaning they’d had a good sex life. How could they not when they’d obviously adored each other for years before Cecile died?

  “I haven’t had a great deal of experience other than with Cecile, but you won’t find me wanting.” He said it with a shy smile. The statement sent a thrill through her. She’d known they’d become lovers. They’d settled the matter. But to hear him say it out loud in a church in front of Jesus on his cross—not to mention St. Olivius—made their upcoming tryst more immediate. He’d wanted anticipation. Wooing, he’d called it. How wonderful that she hadn’t insisted on rushing things. She couldn’t have enjoyed the breathless excitement, the pleasant tingling that curled her toes.

  He turned toward her, running his arm along the back of the pew behind her. “So, what about you? Were you a virgin? Did you love your husband when you married him?”

  “No and yes.” She bit her lip and willed herself not to blush. Without success.

  “Ah.” One silver brow went up. “Not a virgin?”

  “I’d fallen in love with a young man,” she said. “Or I thought I had at the time.”

  He brushed a fingertip along her shoulder. “And did he make your first time good?”

  “Perfectly horrid. Neither of us had any idea what we were doing.”

  “And so intimacy with Alexander—”

  “—was a revelation, to say the least.” She still had to marvel when she remembered the first night at how much time Alexander had taken with her to make sure she’d enjoyed the act. Of course, she’d married him. Of course, she’d loved him. “I felt so fulfilled as a woman to attract an older man who knew more about the world than I did.”

  “And the two of you were happy.”

  She could have honestly answered yes to that, although “content” fit her feelings better. There had been no excitement to the marriage. And no children.

  “There hasn’t been anyone since,” she said softly.

  “Except for a friend who came to comfort you and took advantage to kiss you.”

  “And immediately ran away as if he’d committed a crime,” she said. “Really, Friedrich.”

  “I can only explain myself by saying I hadn’t…um…known any woman other than Cecile since my marriage.”

  She stared at him, noticed that her mouth had dropped open, and closed it. “No one at all?”

  “It didn’t seem right.” His hand still rested on her shoulder, and he continued to stroke her with his fingertips. “I was afraid word would get out and the woman might be disgraced.”

  “You were young. It had been so long,” she said.

  “I thought you’d understand how I felt at being so alone. I didn’t mean to impose myself on you.”

  “You surprised me. I reacted badly. Then, I kicked myself for months.” She placed her hand on his cheek, “Friedrich, there still hasn’t been anyone else?”

  He shook his head. “Until you.”

  She couldn’t speak. Could hardly breathe. He’d been a vibrant man when his wife had died…scarcely even in middle age. And he’d had no one all that time until he’d finally made his feelings known to her. What a great responsibility he’d given her. What a great treasure. She’d make herself worthy of both.

  “I hardly know what to say.” Her words came out as a whisper.

  “I told you I’m a fool.”

  “You’re nothing of the sort.” She could gush on and on about what a treasure he was. The sort of man one only expected to meet in novels of bygone days full of knights and even unicorns. He would be her fairy tale. She’d only found her fantasy in her later years, but found it she had.

  “Well,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “When shall we…”

  “…consummate our new relationship?” she said. Somehow, the bold, new Marta could make such outrageous statements as if discussing a bridge game.

  “When we return home, I think,” he answered.

  “And when will that be?”

  “I had planned an extensive tour of Danislova.” A wicked gleam entered his eyes. “I suppose it could be cut short.”

  “You do have guests waiting for you at the palace,” she said.

  “Miss Beaumont’s family,” he said. “If what she told Ulrich is true, they may need my help.”

  “There you are, then. You’re duty calls you home.”

  He rose, pulling her up with him. “Come. Let’s give Casey and her family the news.”

  *

  Marta sat in the bay window of her morning room. The spot always allowed the sun to warm her shoulders, and the fresh air from outside brought the scent of roses from the garden outside. This afternoon, this perch gave her a view of the circular drive in front of the house. She wouldn’t know what car Friedrich would use as this was no official
visit. Even his sons wouldn’t know of their assignation. For now, the secrecy made the whole affair all the more exhilarating. For the future…who knew where this relationship was headed?

  She checked her watch again. He wasn’t due for another full ten minutes, and the Prince Royal was never late. If he felt as eager as she did, he might appear early. She’d prepared everything as best she could, and the fluttering in her stomach would have to take care of itself somehow.

  Down at the street, a dark sedan made the turn onto her drive and slowly approached the house. Not particularly large or regal, it would have blended into the traffic across the city from the palace. If indeed, it held Friedrich VonRamsberg in it. If someone else had taken it into his or her head to make an unannounced visit, her maid Hilde would send the person away with a lie that Marta had left the house. She couldn’t bear any interruptions this afternoon.

  Dear Hilde, the one person in the world she could share her secret with. They’d been together so long, they could trust each other completely. Hilde would recognize Friedrich immediately and wouldn’t say a word to a soul about this visit.

  Marta waited, counting the beats of her heart, until a soft knock came on the morning room door and Hilde let herself in.

  “Mr. Schmidt,” Hilde said.

  Marta rose. “Thank you, Hilde. That will be all.”

  Friedrich entered. He wore a hat pulled low on his head and an overcoat far too warm for the weather. A disguise.

  “Schmidt?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Kurt used the name to romance Casey. It seemed to work.”

  “This is all very cloak and dagger.” She went to him and held out her arms. “Let me have that coat and hat.”

  He relinquished them, and she set them on a nearby chair.

  “What about you?” he said. “Where’s your butler?”

  “I gave everyone but Hilde the afternoon off.”

  “And you think I sound like a novel.”

  “I suppose we’re both a bit overly cautious.” They’d discussed hiding their affair. If the scandal sheets found out, they’d publish lurid headlines, which would worry not only his family and Alexander’s but would upset the entire nation.

  With Hilde gone and none of the other servants about, she had him entirely to herself. Somehow, her feet wouldn’t move, and she stood drinking in the sight of him. His two older sons got their stunning good looks from him. The glowing skin and dark eyes. His white hair made the other features even more remarkable. A strong jaw and lips sculpted for sin made him a truly beautiful man. She had to find a way to bridge the few feet between them. Luckily, she’d anticipated the problem.

  “Some music,” she said as she went to the portable stereo she’d set up on a sideboard.

  He didn’t remark at the oddity of her playing music when he’d come for something entirely different. Nor did he say anything when she slid a disk into the player and the low notes of a saxophone came from the speakers. At formal balls, they’d mostly waltzed. This would be a different kind of dance.

  He didn’t object when she approached him but held out his arms in the usual fashion. With one hand in his and the other on his shoulder, she stepped into his embrace the way she had many times before. This time, she wouldn’t have to back away when the music stopped. This time, she could have anything she wanted from him.

  “I remember the first time I became aware I wanted you,” he said. “We were dancing, and suddenly I knew I was in trouble.”

  “Trouble?” She gazed up at him. “Really?”

  “Definitely trouble.” With their joined hands, he tapped the end of her nose. “You were wearing something blue that brought out the color of your eyes.”

  Yes, that gown. She’d thought she’d caught his attention that night. But then, he’d bowed after their dance, and she hadn’t seen him after that. Had he been hiding from her?

  “All of a sudden, I forgot about the other guests and everything I had to do and could only feel you in my arms,” he said. “The urge to kiss you became almost unbearable. I don’t know how I made it through that dance.”

  “That was…five years ago?” she said.

  “Six. Dev’s coronation as crown prince.”

  She sighed and leaned against him. “How much time we’ve wasted.”

  He pulled her closer, curling their joined hands against his chest. The music surrounded them, making their bodies move with the sultry rhythm. Turning her hand, she pressed her palm over his heart and felt the solid beat there, perfectly in tune with her own.

  He stopped moving and simply stood, holding her. Another time, she could stay with him like this for hours, basking in his warmth and strength. Today, mere gentleness wouldn’t do. Pressing her face upward, she nuzzled his jaw with her nose and then kissed his throat.

  Bending, he captured her lips with his own. No shy sampling, this. No kiss good-bye or promise for the future. He meant business, and she yielded to him, urging him on. They clung together as the inevitable climb began. The first steps of a journey they’d take together. From wanting to needing to giving and taking. She held his face between her palms to fit her mouth against his as he reached to her buttocks and kneaded them. When her belly pressed against his growing hardness, she could have sung out with joy. This was really happening. Not some dream that would fade when she woke from a fantasy. She really would have him. Friedrich VonRamsberg would really make love with her.

  “I must ask,” she said. “Your heart…”

  “Ah, that episode from a while ago,” he said. “It was no more than a scare, but the doctors made me give up the cigars, and my sons limit my brandy.”

  “Not very successfully that I’ve noticed.”

  “I’m fine for whatever you have in store for me.”

  “Good.”

  After reaching behind her to take his hands, she backed away. “It’s time.”

  “Past time, rather.” He stared at her with such a look of awe she forgot to breathe for a second. Then heat entered his gaze—an expression she’d only witnessed on a few men, but one you couldn’t fail to recognize. A man who knows his lover is eager for him and is all the more aroused for the knowledge.

  Still holding one of his hands, she led him from the morning room to the staircase that led to the master bedrooms above. Hilde would have removed herself to the kitchen or somewhere equally distant from Marta’s bedroom. They passed portraits of Alexander’s ancestors as they climbed the stairs. On the second floor, they walked the length of an oriental carpet with no more sound than the ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of the corridor.

  When they got to the door leading to the rooms she’d shared with her husband, she gave Friedrich no indication of the importance of the boundary they’d passed but continued on to the suite she’d moved into after Alexander’s death.

  Neither did she stop in her sitting room but took her lover directly into her bedroom. She’d left the door to the balcony open so the warm breeze could make the floor-length curtains billow. After dropping his hand, she went to the windows and closed them. No sound from what would happen could escape this room. Finally, she turned, kicked out of her shoes and began to open the tiny buttons on the sleeves of her blouse.

  “Let me.” He went to her and took over working on her sleeves. “Undressing a woman is like opening a present.”

  “I’ve never heard it put like that.”

  “You have to peel away layers and layers of tissue, but eventually you get to the treasure underneath.” His large fingers might have appeared clumsy against the buttons, but he made quick work of them. His hands on her shoulders, he turned her around so he could unfasten the back of the blouse. Once he had, he tugged the garment free of the waistband of her skirt and pulled it over her head. The silk whispered into a pile at her feet.

  Instead of undressing her further, he nibbled on the bare skin of her shoulder, then along her neck, finally taking her earlobe between his teeth. His breath grazed her ear and slip
ped inside. So incredibly sexy, her knees almost gave way. When she wavered, he caught her shoulders in his hands and continued his assault on the other side. So good, and just a prelude for everything still to come.

  Then he turned her to face him and went back to undressing her. First her skirt, pulling down the zipper and pushing it over her hips. Kicking out of it, she added it to the blouse. Then he pulled her slip over her head and tossed it somewhere. When he worked the front fastening of her bra, her breasts fell free into his hands.

  “Perfect,” he murmured as he palmed them, massaging and then tugging gently at the nipples.

  For a moment, tears burned at the backs of her eyes. How many years since a man had touched her this way? Even before he’d died Alexander had been too ill for lovemaking. Nothing had marked the last time they’d lain together as momentous when it had happened. She hadn’t stored away the memories for the long months when she’d have to exist without human intimacy. And now, she had this miracle, and she’d memorize every moment.

  “Liebling?” he whispered.

  She glanced up to find him staring at her, his brows creased with concern. “Is something wrong?”

  “Something is very right.”

  His smile warmed her from the inside, and she would have wrapped her arms around his shoulders, but he bent, cupping her breast in his palm to bring the peak to his mouth. The gentle tug of his lips set off fireworks inside her—a shower of sparks along her nerves to every corner of her body. No more thoughts of tears. Only sexual awareness. She would couple with this man she’d wanted for so long, and the joining would be heavenly as well as purely carnal.

  Digging her fingers into his hair, she held him against her as he moved to the other breast. Her mind drifted into a haze of arousal that blotted out any unpleasant reality—that she was old and he might find her body unappealing, that the world wouldn’t approve. To hell with all of that. His loving would make her a complete woman again.

  Of course, they couldn’t do much more standing in the middle of her bedroom. She still wore stockings and panties, and he hadn’t removed a stitch of his own clothing. So, she lifted his head, kissed him briefly, and pushed his jacket over his shoulders. When he shrugged out of it, she walked around him to hang it on the back of the chair of her dressing table. He started in on his tie, but she stopped him.