‘I’ll tell you how I found out.’ His voice grew quiet now. So quiet that he saw her lean forward fractionally to hear him. ‘I woke up one morning and couldn’t find her and when I asked Olga where she was, she told me I must go and speak to my father. So I went downstairs and discovered my father calmly eating breakfast. He looked up and told me my mother had gone and wouldn’t be coming back, but I didn’t believe him. I remember I ran from the room and he let me go. I remember searching every inch of the palace until I was forced to accept that the King had spoken the truth and she really had gone.’
He tried to focus himself back in the present but the memories were too strong and they overwhelmed him like the heavy atmosphere you got just before a storm. He remembered the dry sobs which had heaved from his lungs as he’d hidden himself away in a shadowed corner. He hadn’t dared show his heartbreak or his fear, for hadn’t his father drummed into him time after time that princes should never show weakness or emotion? Olga had eventually found him, but he had turned his face to the wall as she’d tried to tempt him out with his favourite sweets, still warm from the palace kitchens. But the usually tempting smell of the coconut had been cloying and it had been many hours before he had relented enough to take his nurse’s hand and accompany her back to the nursery.
The silence which followed felt like a reprieve, but not for long because Zabrina’s soft voice washed over him with yet another question.
‘And did you ever hear from your mother again? I mean, surely she must have written to you. Sent a forwarding address so you could contact her.’
‘Yes, I had an address for her,’ he confirmed bitterly. ‘And I used to write her letters. At first they were simple, plaintive notes, asking when she was coming back.’ It made him curl up with disgust to think how he had humiliated himself by begging her to return, seeking solace from a woman who had rejected him outright. ‘After a while, I just used to send her drawings I’d made, or tell her about my horse, or my fencing lessons.’
‘But you never heard back?’
Was that disapproval he could hear in her voice, or incredulity? Or just the loathsome pity he had always refused to tolerate? ‘No, I never heard back,’ he clipped back and then shrugged. ‘So in the end, I just gave up. My father never remarried, and brought me up to the best of his ability. It wasn’t great. He wasn’t a particularly easy man and it certainly wasn’t what you’d call a normal, nuclear family but we adapted, as people do.’
‘And, of course, you had Olga.’
He didn’t answer straight away, just stared out of the window, noticing that the silver moon was almost full. ‘No. Actually, I didn’t.’
It was the first time she had looked truly taken aback. ‘But—’
‘My father sacked her.’
‘He sacked her?’
The lump in his throat made it hard for him to speak, yet somehow the words just kept coming. ‘He thought we were too close. As he explained, Olga was a servant and she didn’t seem to know her place where I was concerned. He said you couldn’t have a nursemaid who was acting like a quasi-mother and, anyway, he was done with commoners.’
‘Oh, Roman, I’m so sorry,’ she breathed, and he steeled himself not to react to the crack of compassion in her voice. ‘That’s terrible.’
‘No, it was not terrible. It was manageable,’ he said fiercely, daring her to contradict him, because he didn’t want to dwell on the pain of that double rejection or how cold and how empty his life had seemed afterwards. ‘After that I had a series of nurses and nannies who looked after me—sometimes men and sometimes women—all of them experts in one field or another.’ But despite the variety of staff who had been engaged to help with his upbringing, they all had one thing in common. They never hugged him. Rarely touched him. Sometimes he’d suspected they’d been instructed to behave that way, but he didn’t investigate further because the thought of that made him feel slightly sick. And anyway he didn’t care, for in the end it had done him a favour and allowed him to view his brave new world with different eyes. Because at least you knew where you were with those people. They would never let you down.
He shot Zabrina a speculative look. ‘Satisfied now?’ he questioned, not bothering to conceal the note of warning in his voice. ‘I don’t think there’s anything else you need to know.’
Zabrina bit her lip. She was aware he wanted her to leave it—why, his body language couldn’t have been more forbidding if he’d tried. But how could she stop asking when there was still so much she didn’t know? There were so many gaps in his story and she needed to fill them, because otherwise he would remain a stranger to her and she suspected she might never get another chance like this.
‘Is she still alive? Your mother, I mean.’
His body tensed. She thought it looked like rippled marble in the moonlight.
‘I have no idea,’ he answered coldly. ‘I stopped writing when I was thirteen and never heard of her again.’
‘And you never tried to have her found, not even when you acceded to the throne? I mean, a king has access to the kind of information which would make that sort of thing easy.’
‘Why on earth would I do that, Zabrina?’ His lips curved disdainfully. ‘Unless you’re one of those people who believes that continued exposure to rejection is somehow character forming?’
‘And Olga?’ she questioned, deciding to ignore his bitter sarcasm. ‘What happened to your nurse?’
‘That I did discover,’ he conceded, giving a brief, hard smile. ‘She went back to live with her family not far from here, in the mountain town of Posera.’
‘And do you—’
‘No! No, that is it!’ he interrupted furiously. ‘You have tested my patience too long and too far, Zabrina, and I will not be subjected to this any longer!’
Without warning, he rose from the bed and began reaching for the scattered clothes which had been discarded when he had arrived soon after midnight.
‘What are you doing?’ She was acutely conscious of the note of alarm in her voice but she couldn’t seem to keep it at bay.
‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting dressed. I’m going back to my own room.’
‘But it’s still early.’
‘I’m perfectly aware what the time is.’
‘Roman, there’s no need—’
‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Zabrina. There is every need,’ he interjected coldly. ‘Because I’m not doing this again. Not ever again.’
‘You mean...’ She could feel the sudden plummet of her heart. ‘You mean you won’t be coming to my bed again?’
‘I don’t know.’ There was a pause. ‘That’s up to you.’
‘I don’t...’ Her fingers dug into the rumpled sheet. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t you?’ He waited until he had finished pulling on his soft leather boots before flicking her an emotionless look which had replaced the ravaged expression of before. ‘Then let me make it crystal clear for you, just so there won’t be any misunderstandings in the future. A future you need to make a decision about, because you need to know which direction you want to take.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she whispered.
‘I’ll tell you exactly what I’m talking about. I think we have the makings of a good team,’ he said slowly. ‘In public we just need to turn up and wave and fulfil the worthwhile causes close to our hearts. And in private I certainly have no complaints about what takes place between us, because I would be the first to admit that you completely blow my mind. But as for the rest.’ His face grew dark and brooding again. ‘All this other stuff you seem intent on dredging up with your endless probing and questioning. That has to stop and it has to stop right now. I’m not interested in analysing the past or its effect on me—because the past has gone. And neither will I contemplate the kind of future where you do nothing but needle away at me. I can’t and I
won’t tolerate such behaviour. Either you accept the man I am today, or the wedding is off. No more questions. No more analysis. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Zabrina?’
There was a long silence. She could hear the muffled pounding of her pulse as she looked at him. ‘That sounds like an ultimatum.’
‘Call it what you want. I’m not going to deny it.’
It felt as if someone had taken a heavy, blunt instrument and smashed it into her heart. It was illogical to think he might have reacted any differently, but logic was having no effect on the way his words were making her feel. Zabrina’s head was spinning. He had wanted to call off the marriage once before but she had insisted on going through with it because her homeland badly needed this union, and she’d convinced herself they could make the marriage work and produce a family.
But now she could see it wasn’t as simple as she’d first thought.
She’d used her parents’ marriage as a template for her own behaviour—but she didn’t like her parents’ marriage! Her father’s affairs indicated a total lack of respect and regard for his wife and her mother’s tacit acceptance of his behaviour was tantamount to a nod of approval. Yet she had calmly told Roman she would be prepared to react in a similar way, because she accepted that was what kings ‘did’. Had she been out of her mind? Zabrina’s stomach churned. Had she really imagined she’d be content to sit back and watch while Roman behaved that way, when the thought of him having sex with another woman made her want to scream out her horror and her distress?
She realised something else, too. She wanted a real marriage. She wanted to be a wife to Roman in every sense of the word, and for him to be a proper husband. She didn’t know if that was possible, but surely she had to give it a try. Because when he had been telling her his sad story about his mother, it had sparked off flickers of recognition inside her. It had made her think of other stories which she had heard so many times before. She might be wrong, but there might be a reason why Roman’s mother had disappeared in such a dramatic fashion and maybe she should try to discover if what she suspected was true.
The King was now standing fully dressed in his traditional night-time clothes of jeans and a dark sweater and she could sense the air of impatience radiating from his powerful frame as he waited for her answer. But there was more to Roman than his sometimes intimidating exterior suggested. If she looked beyond his arrogant sense of entitlement, she could detect the deep wound which had been inflicted on him as a boy and which had never been given the chance to heal.
Could she help him do that? Would he accept her help, even if such a thing were possible?
Deliberately she lay back against the pillows. ‘I’m not going to address ultimatums—and certainly not when they are delivered in the middle of the night,’ she said, with a carelessness she was far from feeling. ‘Speak to me about it in the morning.’
She wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t enjoyed the very real flash of shock and frustration which gleamed from his eyes—presumably because he was never obstructed quite so openly—before leaving the room without another word. And she suspected he might have slammed the door very loudly, if there hadn’t been a continuing need for silence.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘SILVIANA?’ ZABRINA MADE a final adjustment to the collar of her silk blouse as, with a raised hand, she waylaid her lady-in-waiting just as she was leaving the dressing room. ‘Did you ever hear of a palace nurse called Olga?’
The servant lifted her head, her thick, blonde bob swinging around her chin as she did so. Did Zabrina imagine the caution she saw written on her lovely face or was she just getting paranoid?
‘Of course I have heard of her, Your Royal Highness. My own mother knew her very well.’
Zabrina nodded. ‘I understand she lives in a place called Posera. Is that very far from here?’
Silviana shook her head. ‘No, Your Royal Highness. It is a little village nestled in the foothills of the Liliachiun mountains.’
‘I was wondering...’ Zabrina swallowed, nervous about saying this, but she needed to say it. For Roman’s sake. For all their sakes. She forced a smile. ‘I would like to visit her. This morning. Right now, in fact.’
‘Now?’ Silviana looked alarmed. ‘But you are already late for breakfast with His Imperial Majesty.’
Zabrina shook her head. ‘I won’t be taking breakfast this morning. Perhaps you could have someone send word to that effect to the King.’ And it wasn’t just the thought of food which was making her throat close up. She couldn’t face walking into the breakfast room under Roman’s indifferent gaze and pretend that last night had never happened. Because it had. He had basically told her that if she wasn’t prepared to accept the most superficial of marriages, then the wedding was off. And that was a decision she wasn’t prepared to make just yet. Not until she was fully equipped with all the facts. ‘I would like to set off immediately. I’m sure that can be arranged?’
‘No doubt the King would be happy to—’
‘No,’ Zabrina interrupted firmly. ‘I don’t... I don’t want the King to know about this. I need you to arrange a car to take me there, Silviana, and for the driver to be sworn to secrecy. You can tell him that I am arranging a surprise for His Majesty.’ Which was true, she thought grimly. The only trouble was that she had no idea if her hunch was correct—or how it would be received if it was.
Her heart was pounding hard in her chest as she accompanied Silviana through the palace and she didn’t begin to breathe normally again until she and her lady-in-waiting were driving through the streets of Rosumunte, towards the famous mountain range which dominated the capital city.
Zabrina tried to concentrate on what she was seeing but found herself not wanting to love the elegant trees and lush foliage as the car skimmed through the green countryside. Because what if she was exiled after all this? What if the wedding was called off because Roman was angered by her taking such a bold initiative? Could she cope with the emotional and financial fall-out of not securing a marriage deal?
She was going to have to.
Before too long, they drew up in front of an old-fashioned cottage with a thatched roof, just like the ones she’d seen in a book she’d once had, all about England. To the front there was a beautiful garden and in the distance was a goat grazing in a meadow. A young woman came running out of the house when she heard the car, her look of curiosity changing to one of shock as Zabrina stepped from the car, and hastily she sank into a deep curtsey.
‘Your Royal Highness!’ she gasped. ‘This is indeed an unexpected honour.’
‘Forgive me for this unannounced intrusion,’ replied Zabrina. ‘But I was wondering if I might have a word with your...grandmother? Alone, if I may.’
‘Of...of course, Your Royal Highness. If you would just give me a moment to inform my bunica and quickly prepare the cottage.’
Zabrina could hear the murmur of voices and the clattering of china before being ushered inside the surprisingly large and very comfortable cottage, and minutes later she was sitting opposite a sprightly looking old lady in a chair which rocked before a blazing fire, despite the sunshine of the day outside.
‘When you get old, you get cold,’ the old lady said.
Zabrina nodded. ‘I hope to have the good fortune to discover that for myself one day.’ But her voice was a little choked as she spoke, her chest tight with emotion as she realised that this woman had rocked the infant Roman, had held his little hand and watched as he’d learned to walk. And then she had been summarily dismissed from his life. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’
Olga’s still-beautiful eyes were a little faded, but they narrowed perceptively as her gaze took in the enormous emerald and diamond engagement ring which glittered on Zabrina’s finger.
‘You are Roman’s woman?’ she asked, very softly.
This was a tricky one to answer, but how could Z
abrina possibly demand the truth, if she was not prepared to speak it herself?
‘I want to be.’ The words came out in a rush. ‘I so want to be.’
Olga folded her hands together on her lap. ‘I wondered when you might come.’
Roman stared out of the window, but the sweeping beauty of the palace gardens remained nothing but a green and kaleidoscopic blur. He turned back to find Andrei regarding him with an expression of concern he hadn’t seen on his aide’s face in a long time. Probably not since he had masqueraded as Constantin Izvor on that fateful journey from Albastase to Petrogoria, he thought grimly.
‘Where,’ he repeated furiously, ‘has she gone?’
‘We don’t know, Your Majesty.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know? How can you not know?’
‘Is the Princess not free to travel at will?’ Andrei asked mildly.
Roman glared. ‘Of course she is. It’s just...’
Just what? Had he expected her to be pale-faced and remorseful over breakfast this morning, telling him she’d been too intrusive with her questions last night and promising him it wouldn’t happen again? Yes, he had. Of course he had. For he wasn’t blind to the effect he had on her—women were notoriously bad at hiding their feelings when they had begun to care deeply for a man, and he knew that cancelling their wedding was the last thing Zabrina wanted.
At first he had even been prepared to overlook her lateness, aware that she was going to have to lose face by backing down and was probably dreading making her entrance and her apology. But as his coffee had grown cold and the servants had hovered around the table anxiously, he had realised that she wasn’t going to show up at all. Not only had she failed to appear, but she had neglected to do him the courtesy of informing him until much later. Wasn’t such an act towards the monarch completely unacceptable?
He had gone to his offices and tried to lose himself in his work, but for once his grand schemes had failed to excite him. Even the prized Marengo Forest seemed to represent nothing but a cluster of trees which had forced him into making the most stupid decision of his life by agreeing to marry the stubborn and foxy Princess who refused to conform to his expectations of her!
One Night Before The Royal Wedding (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 14
