arm and he felt the growing realisation that things were changing very fast.
Maybe he already did love her, he conceded, but the nebulous idea was immense and overwhelming and even plain damned scary.
But sending Jess home alone seemed even more scary.
She had to stay. She must. It was a brilliant idea and not to try it seemed crazy.
So… He had this night to persuade her, he thought. This night the marriage was supposed to be consummated.
This night she had to agree to marry him in earnest.
The tiny ceremony devised to introduce Jess to the country, to the people, was a simple ceremony of blessing.
It shouldn’t have the power to move her.
But she stood at the end of the aisle and the old priest stood before them in his faded vestments. A soft smile lingered behind his kindly old eyes. He murmured the words of blessing as if he meant every one of them-blessing this marriage forever-and she was definitely moved.
Raoul’s hand held hers. The warmth of him, the strength…the look of pride on his face…
For this moment, this mock-marriage seemed almost real.
And for this moment she almost had a family. Louise was in the front pew, holding Edouard. The little boy had his arms around his grandmother’s neck. His time with Louise in the alpacas’ stall had obviously made him decide this lady was someone he might trust. The ghastly Cosette didn’t appear to be missed at all.
Raoul and Louise had made a tiny beginning to give this needful child a family, Jess thought. A family…
It made her want to cry.
Raoul’s hand held her still and as she looked up at him he smiled gently, reassuringly into her eyes. She was wearing his ring. Almost she could believe in fairy tales, she thought. She could believe that this was her prince and she was loved and she was walking into a happy ending.
Just keep remembering midnight, she told herself fiercely, desperately. The pumpkins will happen sooner than you think.
And somehow she managed to keep herself in control, even when, at the end of the blessing, Raoul turned and kissed her.
This was no kiss of passion. It was a kiss of gratitude, for all the world to see.
‘Thank you, Jessica,’ he told her, and his voice was firm enough for all who were present to hear, and through the microphone for all who were glued to television sets across the country to hear. ‘Thank you from me and from Crown Prince Edouard and from my mother. And thank you from my country, from my people. We all love you and you’ll be in our hearts forever.’
Yeah, right. Nice speech, Raoul, she thought, frantically fighting back stupid tears that meant nothing.
Bring on the pumpkins. Now.
There was a reception-of sorts. So many people, gathered at short notice to make this strange mock-marriage official.
There were so many people that the night was a blur. She smiled and shook hands and curtsied as if she’d been bred to it. She moved from one dignitary to another, being introduced, being questioned, making small talk. Raoul assisted as much as he could but the attention was all on her.
‘You’ve done enough,’ Raoul told her at last but she shook her head. She could do this. One night…
But Raoul had support. ‘Jess cannot stay any longer,’ Louise declared and she didn’t say it to Jess. She said it to the room at large. Louise had left the reception briefly to put Edouard to bed and she’d come back to see Jess wilting. Louise, of all of them, had the most experience of being royalty. She, too, had been a royal bride.
‘She’s not well enough for more,’ she declared now. ‘Raoul, it’s time to take your bride to her bed.’
There was a pause throughout the room as somehow everyone caught Louise’s words.
And then there was a cheer.
Raoul looked down at his bride and he smiled.
She didn’t smile back. She was close to being overwhelmed here and her autopilot seemed to be shutting down.
‘Can I take you to bed, Princess Jessica?’
‘If you must,’ she murmured, thoroughly confused, not just by the situation but also by the tenderness she read in her husband’s eyes. This whole situation was fantastic, and the idea that the assemblage was cheering the royal couple to bed was ridiculous. And that Raoul should look at her like this…
Back to basics, Jessica, she told herself. Get some control here.
‘Fine,’ she murmured, so softly that only Raoul could hear. ‘Or almost fine. You’re not taking me to bed. You’re taking me to the bedroom. That’s it.’ She hesitated and smiled around at the cheering audience before starting to whisper again. ‘But it’s bedroom door only, Your Highness. You stop at the settee. I’ll make it the rest of the way by myself.’
He smiled, his eyes gently teasing. ‘I’m glad you agree, my lovely bride.’ And then, before she knew what he was about, he swept her up into his arms. Her glorious dress hung about her. He stood among the gathering, holding her, claiming her, laughing down into her eyes.
A prince, laying claim to his bride.
‘You’ll have to excuse us,’ he told the assemblage and there were more cheers and laughter.
Vaguely Jess was aware of Marcel, glaring at her with hatred from the corner of the room. But it didn’t matter. How could anything matter when Raoul was holding her like this?
Or maybe it did matter. Maybe Marcel’s awfulness was the simple reason why Raoul was holding her like this.
But Raoul was still speaking. ‘You need to excuse us,’ Raoul said again, and the whole room hushed. ‘I need to take my bride to bed.’
CHAPTER TEN
HE DIDN’T take her to her bedroom.
They reached the turn in the corridor she knew and he turned left and not right.
‘Hey,’ she said and wriggled, and his hold on her tightened.
‘Yes, my darling?’
‘I am not your darling,’ she told him.
In reply he stooped and kissed her, effectively silencing her. Then, with his mouth only half an inch from hers, he whispered, ‘Hush, my love. We’re being followed.’
‘Followed?’
She glanced back over his shoulder. No easy feat this, glancing over the shoulder of the man who was carrying her. It involved a certain amount of contortion as he wasn’t loosening his hold and she felt a little like a minnow enveloped in a sea of embroidered satin-but somehow she did it.
There were men in the corridor behind them. Suits. There were suits following them?
‘Um…who?’
‘It’s the Minister for the Crown,’ he told her, ‘and his minions.’
That jolted her. Badly.
‘Please tell me they’re not intending to watch,’ she demanded, and he smiled.
‘No. We’re not in the Dark Ages.’
‘Then why are they here?’
‘They’ll settle outside the bedroom door and check we stay together overnight.’
‘Who said you’re not in the Dark Ages?’
‘It’s better than them watching. It’s a compromise and if we don’t agree to their presence then our wedding may be deemed not to be consummated.’ He hesitated. ‘There’d be no problem if you agreed to stay forever. Jess,
