One Night Before The Royal Wedding (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Unfortunately that will not be possible. I have work which I need to attend to,’ he said coolly, briefly lifting her fingers to his lips and bowing his dark head as he kissed them. ‘I will see you at breakfast tomorrow.’

  The imprint of his mouth on her hand was all too brief and suddenly Silviana was ushering her inside and helping remove her necklace, before undoing all the little buttons at the back of her ball gown.

  ‘Shall I run you a bath before you retire, mistress?’ she ventured.

  Zabrina shook her head. ‘No, thank you. To be honest, I’d just like to be left on my own now.’

  ‘Is something...forgive me for my presumption, Your Royal Highness, but is something wrong?’

  Zabrina was biting the inside of her lip but she forced herself to smile. Because what if she answered that question honestly? What if she dared to admit even to herself that she was scared of the way Roman could make her feel? She didn’t want his disapproval and yet she didn’t want to go seeking his approval like some tame puppet. So where did that leave her?

  ‘No, nothing is wrong.’ She widened her smile, hoping it looked more reassuring than it felt. ‘It’s just been a long day and that was my first official introduction as Roman’s future bride.’

  ‘All the servants were saying how fine you looked, mistress,’ cooed Silviana. ‘And that you will make a wonderful queen.’

  ‘That’s very sweet of them. Go now and make sure you get a good rest. You’ve waited up very late.’

  But once the servant had left, Zabrina found herself unable to relax and, even though she undressed and climbed into bed, the adrenalin which was rushing around her body made it impossible for her to sleep. She stared at the ceiling. She stared at the necklace which lay discarded on her dressing table, the pile of stones glittering in the moonlight like a handful of shattered glass.

  She thought about Roman, working in his office, no doubt. And then she thought about Midas—because that was easier on her heart than thinking about Roman—and was suddenly overcome with an urgent need to see her beloved horse. She could put her arms around his neck and give him the kind of unconditional love she’d never felt comfortable channelling anywhere else apart from to her siblings.

  Sliding on a pair of jodhpurs and a fine wool sweater, she slipped silently from her room, listening for a moment as the door opened soundlessly, her gaze darting down the wide marble corridor. But there was nobody around and maybe that wasn’t so odd. Servants had to sleep.

  She made her way towards the stables, moving as noiselessly as she could and sticking mainly to the shadows but thankfully encountering nobody along the way. Outside in the fresh air the moon was still waxing—every night getting bigger and brighter—and the stable yard was bathed in ghostly silver. Ignoring the heavy sounds of breathing and occasional snorts coming from the King’s thoroughbred horses, Zabrina made her way to Midas’s loose box and peered inside.

  To her surprise, the horse was lying down, fast asleep—which meant that he must be much more contented in his new home than she’d imagined. But he must have had one ear pricked up and heard her, for he instantly picked himself up and came over to nuzzle her. She petted him for long minutes, murmuring to him in Albastasian sweet talk, and felt much better as a result. It was only when she decided that she really did need to get some sleep and reluctantly began to walk back towards the palace that she saw a silhouette standing motionless on the other side of the yard. She did not jump but carried on walking towards the shadowed figure because she assumed...and that was her first mistake.

  ‘Stefan?’ she whispered. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Why, is that who you were hoping for?’

  Instantly, Zabrina knew who was speaking and it wasn’t Stefan. Because although the groom was young and articulate, he did not speak with a velvety Petrogorian accent, nor have such an aristocratic delivery. Nor would his words ever have been tinged with unmistakable accusation.

  ‘Roman,’ she breathed.

  He stepped out of the shadows and she was appalled by her body’s instant response to all that powerful masculinity, because surely her overwhelming emotion in such a scenario shouldn’t be one of desire... He was still wearing the formal suit he’d had on at the ball, though she noticed he had removed his tie and loosened the collar. Just as she noticed the brooding quality of his darkened features and the censure which hardened his sensual lips.

  ‘Surprised?’ he taunted softly.

  ‘A little. Have you been spying on me, Roman?’

  ‘You dare to accuse me?’

  ‘Too right I do! I want to know what you’re doing here. Why you suddenly sprang out of nowhere at this hour.’

  ‘But you weren’t scared, were you? You didn’t scream and raise the alarm as many women in your situation would have done.’

  ‘So I am to be rebuked for reacting maturely and not like some hysteric?’

  ‘Don’t try and change the subject!’

  ‘Then perhaps you could try getting to the point. How did you know where I’d be?’

  ‘Did you really think you could wander the palace at the depths of night without being detected by anyone, Zabrina? That my corridors would go unguarded and my servants not have your welfare at heart?’ He gave a bitter laugh as his gaze flicked over her. ‘When one of Andrei’s aides came rushing to my office and told me that the Princess was out exploring at the dead of night, I knew immediately where you’d be.’

  Her heart was thumping painfully but she tried to put a flippant face on it. ‘Really? Since you’re not a practising clairvoyant as far as I’m aware, perhaps you’d like to let me into the secret of how you “knew” where to find me.’

  ‘Where is he, Zabrina?’

  She wanted to say Who? but she knew exactly who he meant and to pretend she didn’t would surely imply guilt. ‘I suppose you’re talking about Stefan,’ she said slowly. ‘What did you imagine, Roman—that I would creep down here to have sex with my groom at the first available opportunity?’

  He flinched. ‘Did you?’ he grated and Zabrina wondered if she had imagined the shudder of pain in his voice.

  She stared at him, not bothering to hide her incredulity. Did he really think she’d be interested in a man like Stefan—indeed, in any man—when the only one she had ever wanted was standing right across the yard from her? What kind of women had he dealt with in the past if his level of distrust was so deep and so instant?

  ‘I am hugely insulted,’ she said, her voice shaking, ‘that you have made so many negative assumptions about me and should believe me capable of such terrible behaviour. What makes you think so badly of me, Roman?’

  There was a long pause before he answered, his voice seeming to draw each word out reluctantly. ‘I told you. Rumours about you had started reaching me a few months ago—rumours which ignited my curiosity.’

  ‘You mean that I was occasionally guilty of voicing my own opinion?’

  ‘Yes, that.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘But I find that trait is not as unappealing as I imagined it would be.’

  ‘Wow,’ she said sarcastically. ‘This is progress indeed. But much as I would like to applaud your sudden emergence from the Dark Ages, I’m more interested to know what else it was you heard about me.’

  He shrugged. ‘That you had a habit of disappearing. That the Princess Zabrina would sometimes ride out at first dawn with her groom and not return until the noon sun was high in the sky.’

  ‘And so you came to the conclusion that Stefan and I were galloping off together to enjoy some sort of illicit encounter?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘How dare you? How dare you accuse me of such a thing, Roman?’ All pretence at light-heartedness now abandoned, her voice had begun shaking with rage. ‘Do you really think I could be so duplicitous that I would agree to marry one man, while being intimate with another?’
>
  ‘Of course I can!’ he flared. ‘Because you had sex with Constantin, didn’t you, Zabrina? You weren’t thinking about Roman then, were you? So how can you explain that?’

  She spoke without thinking. She spoke from the heart. ‘I can’t,’ she said simply.

  There was a pause. ‘Neither can I.’

  They stared at each other in silence and all Zabrina could see was the gleam of the moon in his shadowed eyes.

  ‘I tried to resist you,’ she said quietly. ‘Or rather, I tried to resist Constantin, because I had never met anyone like him before. Surely you must have noticed how deliberately rude and abrupt I was towards you at the beginning?’

  ‘I thought that was a game you were playing.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Don’t you realise that a headstrong and stubborn woman is exceedingly attractive to a man?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what happened to me that night and I don’t really want to think about it now. But I hold my hands up—I did used to ride out with Stefan. If you really want to know what I was doing, then I’ll tell you—but we certainly weren’t having sex.’

  ‘Really?’ He spoke carelessly, but Roman could do nothing about the sudden punch of hope to his heart, even though he despised his visceral reaction to her words.

  She nodded and in the moonlight he saw her face assume an expression of fierceness. ‘In my country I had a list of charities of which I was patron and which my sister Daria is going to take over, now that I’m no longer there. I was obviously invested in all those charities but there was one in particular which was very close to my heart. It was...’ She hesitated. ‘It was a refuge on the outskirts of the city. A refuge for women who have suffered domestic violence.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘So why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?’

  She nodded, as if this was a topic with which she was familiar. As if she was used to accusation.

  ‘My parents didn’t approve of my involvement with these women. It was something else they turned a blind eye to. To admit that women suffered at the hands of men and were made impoverished if ever they chose to escape from abusive relationships—well, they were both of the opinion that the women didn’t try hard enough to save their marriages!’

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Roman faintly.

  The look she threw him was challenging. ‘What, is that a bit hardcore old-fashioned, even for you?’

  He didn’t like being held up as someone completely out of touch with the modern world, just as he didn’t like the way she was looking at him. It made him feel...uncomfortable. Kings were rarely forced to say they were sorry but Roman knew he needed to say it now. ‘I shouldn’t have leapt to those conclusions,’ he said gruffly. ‘Will you forgive me?’

  Her absolution wasn’t instant. She waited just long enough for him to entertain a little doubt in his mind—and didn’t part of him admire her for her strength of character?

  Eventually, she nodded. ‘Yes, I forgive you,’ she said. ‘But, going forward, I’d prefer it if you didn’t just leap to conclusions. And that it’s probably better if you don’t just brood about something, but ask me outright.’

  She smiled then and the deepening dimple in her cheek drew his gaze, so that suddenly it looked like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  Roman swallowed. Her lips were gleaming irresistibly and looking unbearably kissable. He knew what he should do. Escort her back to her suite and bid her goodnight. Just as he knew what he wanted to do, which was to pull her into his arms and then lay her down in one of the dark corners of the stables and make love to her over and over again. And then he thought of all the reasons why he shouldn’t—but the one which dominated them all was duty.

  Duty.

  It was a word which had been drummed into him from the moment he’d been born. A concept which had driven him all his life. It had been duty which had made him focus himself on his lessons and fencing skills, rather than give in to the bitter tears of a deserted child. Duty which had made him fulfil his end of this marriage bargain with the young Albastasian Princess.

  Couldn’t he—for once—take a break from the crushing weight of royal expectations? Suddenly, he felt a jolt of his own power as he looked at her. ‘I want so badly to make love to you.’

  He saw her bite her lip and gaze at the ground, as if seeking an answer amid the strands of silvered straw which lay there, and when she raised her head again, her face was serene and very solemn, as if she had come to some swift conclusion of her own. ‘I want that, too.’

  He sucked in an unsteady breath, his body warming as he acknowledged her instant capitulation. ‘And I suspect that if I drew you into the shadows now and laid my hands and my lips upon your body,’ he continued, ‘you would again be mine.’

  ‘R-Roman,’ she said shakily, but she didn’t contradict him.

  ‘But we aren’t going to do that.’

  ‘We...aren’t?’

  Was he wrong to enjoy her obvious disappointment? No, he was not. For didn’t her response indicate that the balance of power between them was more equal than he’d thought, and perhaps that was something he needed to address.

  ‘No, we aren’t.’ He paused just long enough to give her a taste of doubt, because wasn’t uncertainty one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs of all? ‘Instead, I will come to your suite tomorrow. At midnight.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘But you can’t! You know you can’t. Tradition states—’

  ‘I don’t give a damn what tradition states because I am King now and I make the rules.’ He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody within earshot. ‘I have no intention of broadcasting my movements to palace staff but neither do I intend to have sex with you on a sofa, or rammed up against a wall, or lying on the dusty ground of the stables, even though the prospect of not doing that right now is almost unendurable. I want to share your bed—properly. As Roman, not Constantin. As the man I am and not the man I was pretending to be. But I need you to be certain that this is what you want too, Zabrina.’ He paused. ‘This is to be no hot-blooded and hasty liaison, fuelled by rampant hormones and frustration, which is why I’m giving you adequate time to think about it. Because if, for any reason, you decide that you would prefer to wait for our wedding night to be intimate with me again then you must send me a signal.’

  ‘How?’

  His eyes gleamed like the blade of a sword. ‘If you wish me to share your bed, then you should light a lamp in your window tomorrow night, and leave it unshuttered. If the light flares, then I will come to you. But if shutters are closed then I will not, and we will never refer to the matter again. It will be as though we never had this conversation. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Zabrina?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, in a voice so quiet he could barely hear her response. ‘I understand.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ZABRINA SHIVERED AS she positioned the light in the centre of her bedroom window, thinking how strange life was. One minute you could be watching a film about a mermaid and wondering how she could possibly keep her hair looking that shiny when it was constantly immersed in salt-water, and the next...

  She licked her dry lips.

  Next you could be sending out a secret and silent message as you waited for your lover.

  And she didn’t have a clue what she was getting herself into.

  Should she be in bed, waiting for Roman to arrive? Surely it wouldn’t be a very attractive sight if she were caught anxiously pacing the floor—even if she was clad in a delicate nightgown which she had plucked from her trousseau with trembling fingers. Maybe she ought to be in bed, carefully positioned against the pillows, with her newly washed hair falling artfully over her shoulders. No. No, she couldn’t do that. She would feel like a fraud—an imposter—and it would make the situation even more unreal than it already was.

  There was a light rap on the door and then
, without any prompting from her, it silently opened and closed again and there was Roman in her suite, dominating the space around him, dominating everything with his aura of alpha masculinity. For a moment Zabrina said nothing—but her breathing was so erratic she doubted she’d be able to speak any kind of sense in any case. Because, as always, his brooding beauty stopped her in her tracks. For once his muscular body was clothed in muted colours—presumably so he would melt into the background as he made his way from his part of the palace to hers. But no matter what he wore, his aristocratic bearing always shone through, like a diamond in a pile of rubble.

  Yet her own royal status suddenly seemed to count for nothing. She felt like a fraud despite standing before him in her provocative lingerie, which was presumably perfect for an assignation such as this. But how she looked on the outside wasn’t how she felt on the inside. Her fluttery excitement kept morphing into worry that she wouldn’t be able to handle the way he made her feel, because wasn’t the underlying message she was getting from him that this was supposed to be about sex, not emotion?

  The King probably thought she knew how these midnight encounters worked, when the truth was she didn’t have a clue. So did she have to go through another humiliating disclosure about her lack of experience and hope he’d believe her this time—or did she pretend, and try to pick things up as they went along?

  Yet wasn’t the whole point of their relationship supposed to be honesty?

  ‘Roman—’

  ‘Shh. Just let me take you to bed, Princess. Because I don’t think I can wait for a moment longer.’

  His soft words shushed her. They bathed her in silk. The slight cracking of his voice was hugely flattering and suddenly Zabrina was in his arms and his fingers were pushing back through the spill of her hair and he was kissing her as she’d never been kissed before. Stars splintered at the backs of her eyes as she kissed him back, as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. He groaned against her mouth and then suddenly he scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, the mattress dipping beneath her as he laid her down on the huge divan.