Royal Marriage Of Convenience

‘Read,’ he said. ‘I have a legal brief or six somewhere.’

‘Sleep’s probably a better idea,’ she said. ‘I’m exhausted.’

‘Me too,’ he said, and looked hopefully through the door at the four-poster bed.

‘You go to bed,’ she told him. ‘I’ll use the settee.’

The settee was huge. It looked very, very comfortable. Nick looked at it, sighed and knew what his duty was.

‘I’m an honourable man,’ he said.

‘So?’

‘So you use the bed and I’ll use the settee.’

‘But-’

‘Don’t say it,’ he said, and held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I know. Hero is my middle name. Just toss me out four of those feather pillows and two of those duvets, and I’ll suffer in silence right here while you wallow in my rightful princely bed.’

She giggled.

He smiled. He’d made her giggle. There was so much about her that he didn’t understand. He wanted desperately more and more to kiss her, to get closer to her, to see if, just if, this relationship might go a little further. He’d always been wary of marriage-attachments-but slowly Rose was creeping under his skin in a way he hadn’t felt possible.

He’d suggested seduction this night and she’d refused. But instead of feeling wounded he wanted to know why, not for him, but for her. And he liked that he’d made her giggle.

There was something in the baby thing, he thought. He’d get to the bottom of it eventually. But for now he’d brought the laughter back into her eyes and he was quitting while he was ahead.

‘Goodnight, my bride,’ he said and he took her hands and tugged her forwards and kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. God only knew how hard it was to leave it at that, but he did. ‘Sleep well,’ he told her. ‘Sleep in your royal bed while your knight errant guards your sleep.’

‘My knight errant?’

‘I have no idea what that means,’ he confessed. ‘But it sounds great. It’s me. It means I get to go to sleep with my sword.’

When I’d far rather be sleeping with my lady, he added under his breath. He wanted the laughter to stay.

He wanted this lady to smile.

CHAPTER NINE

SHE lay in his too-big bed, dressed in the soft chemise that had been her underskirt during the day. The silk was soft against her body. The feather duvet was so luxurious-so far away from the heavy blankets she’d been used to in Yorkshire-that she felt she was floating.

She was married. Remarried, she reminded herself. She’d been married once before, and now she’d made those marriage vows again. Only she had not. She’d lied.

She lay there in Nick’s big bed and felt small. And lost. And lonely.

Hoppy was down in the kitchens. She should get up and go find him.

Right-the royal bride padding down through the ancient corridors calling Hoppy, Hoppy, Hoppy…

It’d probably make headline news.

See, that was what she hadn’t counted on. This interest. The realisation that this marriage wasn’t just between the two of them-it was a marriage for the country. She’d wanted freedom, but what dumb reasoning had had her thinking she could have freedom as a royal bride?

And if she succumbed to Nick’s sexiness, the blaze of desire she saw in his eyes every time he looked at her…Where would her freedom be then?

And a child…A baby…

It was closing in on her. Nick was too close, just through the door in the shadows, sleeping. She hoped he was sleeping. The thought that he was awake-as she was-was almost unbearable.

‘Nick’, she wanted to call, but she didn’t.

Think of something else. Think of the good things she could do here. Erhard had been with them tonight, pleased but frail. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he’d said, and that had been something to hold onto. For some strange reason he almost felt like family. Erhard had known her mother and he’d known her as a child. She remembered him as a solicitous attendant to a sick old man.

He was a link to the past.

Julianna hadn’t been here today.

That worried her. Rose should have been accustomed to the loss of her sister by now, but she probably never would be. And the whole set-up worried her-that Julianna thought of her as the enemy. She hadn’t thought it through enough. There were repercussions she hadn’t thought of, and she lay there and tried to think of them now, but couldn’t, and she felt like…

Like padding out and saying to Nick, ‘Move over, I want to share your settee’.

She didn’t. How could she?

But sex is fun.

What sort of irresponsible thought was that?

It wasn’t a bad thought, she conceded, and she found herself smiling wistfully into the night. She was married. Yes, sex with Nick could be more than fun. But…

The only true contraceptive was a brick wall.

Or a bed and a settee in different rooms.

She sighed again, rolled over and buried her head in her pillows.

A royal bride on her wedding night. Without even her dog to keep her company.

Nick stayed awake for longer than she did. He wasn’t a good sleeper-four or five hours usually did him, and tonight even this eluded him. So he was awake when the door opened.

He was drifting, letting his thoughts go where they willed. Which was right through the door to Rose. So at first he thought he dreamed it.

The settee was on the far side of the sitting room, facing the fireplace. The fire had burned down, so there was only a soft glow of embers. Nick sensed rather than heard the door open; the soft creak of moving hinges was barely audible.

Rose must be up and moving about. But why? Had she passed him? Was she leaving the suite to fetch her dog, or returning to her bedroom?

But then the door closed again, and whoever it was hadn’t left. He or she was still in the room. Footsteps went slowly past him, so muted that if he wasn’t straining he would never have heard them.

Not Rose. He knew that with a certainty that had nothing to do with logic but everything to do with self- preservation. If it had been Rose going to get her dog he would have heard her go out, and there’d have been no need for her to creep back through the room with stealth. She knew him well enough to accept he wouldn’t jump her. Surely.

But if it wasn’t Rose, then who?

The settee he was on was ancient, down-filled, a great, squishy, luxurious pile of feathers. No modern springs here to squeak as he moved. So he did move, inch by cautious inch, away from the end of the settee closest to the fire so as he edged around he wasn’t in line of sight.

One of Nick’s foster brothers, Sam, was in the SAS. From the time Sam had come into Ruby’s care as a battered nine-year-old, he’d been intent on joining the armed services. Sam had lived and breathed action comics, James Bond movies, superheroes, and by the time he had been in his mid-teens he was reading how-to manuals that were deadly serious.

There’d never been any money living with Ruby. The boys had been expected to entertain themselves, but they’d never had to think how when Sam had been around. He’d had them organised into Boys’ Own adventures