Princess Of Convenience

Her senses shut down right then.

Was it the day? Was it the simple words of the bridal vows that had affected her so much? Was it this glorious garden and the thought that she was married?

No. She knew it was none of these things. It was the man, pure and simple. It was Raoul’s mouth claiming hers. It was his arms holding her close, tugging her into him, his strength, his warmth…

The taste of him. The smell…

Raoul.

She’d never felt like this. Never. It was as if something had plugged in, turned on; some current that electrified a part of her she wasn’t aware she possessed. Raoul held her, kissed her and she opened her mouth to receive the kiss and wave after wave of pure, hot light flooded through her body. Changing her.

This wasn’t right, she thought frantically. This wasn’t how she was supposed to be feeling. This wasn’t good.

Or was it?

No. Of course it wasn’t. She was out of control. She hated being out of control. What was happening to her?

This wasn’t her! But how he was making her feel… She wanted to sigh with pleasure, she thought, but how could she sigh? Maybe she could do without the sigh if she could take control of the situation, grab him and kiss him right back…

Did she really want to take control? Maybe she’d just submit.

How stupid could that be? How wrong?

It couldn’t be wrong, she decided, or if it was it was too late to make such a call, because that was exactly what she was doing. She was submitting to a kiss that was driving her wild. It was transforming her from plain Jessie Devlin, Australian designer, Dom’s mother, Warren’s ex-wife, to someone she had no idea she could possibly be.

Princess Jessica?

Raoul’s wife.

She liked it.

No. She loved it. She just…loved it.

The kiss went on and on, with neither party wanting to be the first to pull away. Why would she want such a thing? He was searching her mouth, plundering her lips with his tongue. His hands were pulling her closer, closer, while overhead the bumble-bees droned in the morning warmth, the flowers dripped their crimson petals and their audience beamed and beamed and beamed.

And when the kiss ended-as finally, inevitably, even a kiss such as this must end-they broke apart and Jess knew her life had changed. And more, she knew that it wasn’t just she who was feeling like this.

Raoul’s eyes were clouded, dazed, and he gazed into her eyes and she knew that he felt exactly the same as she did.

He wanted her. And she wanted him.

Well, why not? she demanded wildly of herself. She was no virgin bride and she knew how good it could be between man and woman. Even if that man had been Warren, it had once been fun. But Raoul… How much better with Raoul?

And Raoul himself…what had he said? He’d had a thousand women?

But this wasn’t about wanting anyone, she told herself, striving desperately for logic. It was more. If she slept with this man, if she stayed with him much longer-then her heart would be given absolutely. She was so close to falling in love.

And love was stupid. Impossible. He was a royal prince and she was a convenient bride who’d now go back to the palace, twist off the wedding ring that he’d placed on her finger for show and forget about being a princess. She’d pack her bags and leave for Australia.

Leaving her husband behind.

He saw her confusion. How could he not? He put his finger under her chin and he lifted her face so he was looking straight down into her eyes.

‘Don’t look so bewildered, Jess,’ he told her gently. ‘It was just a kiss. No?’

‘N…no.’

No? She was agreeing with him. Or disagreeing with him. She didn’t know which.

It was just a kiss.

He’d had a thousand women.

He was a royal prince. Get a grip, Jess. She was looking dumb.

So explain it. Find some sort of reality.

‘I’m sorry but I thought I’d better look moonstruck,’ she managed. ‘For our audience.’

She’d surprised him. She saw a flash of what could have been bewilderment in his eyes-but then the laughter returned and the mask was in place and he was turning his bride to face their audience.

To face the world.

‘We’ve done it,’ he said, smiling, and M. Luiten surged forward to kiss the bride, and so did the housekeeper and then so did the gardener, even though that ancient relic had hands that had just come out of the turnip patch and if Jess had been wearing white gossamer it would have been a disaster. But it was no disaster. She was a gardening type of bride. The bride wore denim…

‘Now.’ M. Luiten was rubbing his hands. ‘I need to get everything here copied and sent to every dignitary in this country so there can be no possible doubt that this marriage is binding.’ Then, as the housekeeper and gardener disappeared reluctantly back to their duties, he became even more direct. ‘I’ve done my job,’ he told them. ‘Raoul, you take your bride home and consummate the marriage before anyone can possibly gainsay it.’

‘No!’ The two voices spoke as one and M. Luiten glanced from Raoul to Jess and back again.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Raoul demanded. ‘Consummate? How can anyone gainsay our marriage if it’s not consummated?’

‘It’s in the ascendancy rulings,’ monsieur told them-apologetically. ‘It’s to stop a child becoming Prince Regent and it dates from the times when princes were married off as children. The prince regent must be a partner in a consummated marriage.’

‘No one told me that,’ Jess said, weakly, and Raoul’s hand gripped her shoulder in empathy.

‘No one told me that either.’

‘Welcome to reality,’ M. Luiten told them. He looked doubtfully at the pair before him. ‘But there’s no problem, is there?’

‘Please tell me we don’t have to prove technically that it’s been consummated,’ Jess managed, with visions of ancient traditions, groomsmen around the bed cheering the groom on, brides’ mothers producing stained sheets… What was the modern equivalent? DNA testing? Surely not.

‘No,’ M. Luiten told them, but he cast an uneasy glance at the retreating back of his servants and waited until they were well out of earshot before he continued. ‘But let’s not take any chances. Just make sure you’re nicely compromised, Jessie, my dear.’

Compromised. She thought back to all those historical novels she’d read-the ones without the groomsmen cheering. Compromising seemed to have been achieved quite easily when a girl’s reputation was at stake. ‘Raoul slept with me last night,’ she ventured, and Monsieur Luiten beamed his approval.

‘Very good. That will do it. Now you’re married, do it again tonight.’

‘Hey,’ Raoul said, startled. ‘We did not sleep together.’

‘We did, too,’ Jess said demurely, and nudged him meaningfully in the ribs. This type of consummation she could handle. ‘Are you saying you didn’t come to my chamber at midnight and stay until well after dawn?’ She smiled at him-still demure. ‘Dear?’

He choked. ‘Yes, but…’

‘There you go, then,’ she said serenely. ‘Consummated.’ She turned back to M. Luiten. ‘If there’s any doubt then ask Henri. He burst in on us at dawn.’

‘When you were compromised?’