Captivated

'Then free will isn't an issue,' he brusquely noted. 'Do you love me?' His voice shouldn't have been so chill, he realized. 'Do you love me?' he repeated, a softer appeal in his tone this time.

She gazedinto his beautiful dark eyes, then looked away, the crushing responsibilities of her life overwhelming.

'I'm not asking if you're allowed to love me,' he gently said, 'only if you do.'

Her gaze swung back, and a lush warmth shone in her eyes. 'You know the answer to that.'

'I'm not as arrogant as I once was,' he said with a rueful smile. 'Tell me.'

'I love you,' she whispered, looking young and vulnerable in her summer frock. 'I love you now, yesterday, a thousand years from this moment. I'll always love you.'

'Three years is a very long time to live without you,' he quietly said, holding his hands out to her. 'There were times I thought I'd lose my mind.'

When she still hesitated, he crossed the small distance between them and took her in his arms as though years and countries and politics didn't divide them. As though they were back at Woodhill and the sunshine of the world was shining on them alone. 'I love you in every way a man can love a woman, and whatever you have to do, we'll do together,' he murmured, holding her close.

'This is a dangerous part of the world,' she softly warned.

'Then my son could use another guardian.'

She gazed up at him. 'You'd stay?'

'I'd do anything for you; you should have asked me three years ago.'

'I didn't know. Forgive me… for everythingwell, almost everything.' Her smile lit up her face. ' Sava looks just like you, you know; you couldn't deny paternity if you wished,' she lightly asserted. 'And he always wants his own way, toolike you,' she went on with a grin. 'Would you like to meet him?'

'I would have taken on Gregory and his entire troop to see my son.' His mouth quirked into a half-smile. 'Love is strange.'

'And miserable at times.'

'Not anymore,' he cheerfully declared, lifting her off her feet and swinging her up into his arms. 'From now on,' he murmured, smiling down at her, 'we're the luckiest people on earth.'

When father and son met short moments later, Sava raised his pudgy hands to his father and repeated the wordPapa his mother had used, his babyish smile open and warm.

His eyes glistening with emotion, Hugh glanced at the princess and whispered, 'Thank you,' before lifting the young toddler into his arms. He spoke to him in a low, gentle voice, telling him of his journey, of the trains and ships that would interest a young child, and before long, father and son were busily engrossed in the mechanics of a beautifully wrought model of a new steam-driven automobile.

They were like a matched pair, their features so pure and fine the princess marveled that the Crewe pedigree bred true to such a finite degree. Two dark, ruffled heads were bent over the delicate mechanism, identical black ochre eyes scrutinized the auto, and when they sent it racing down the nursery floor, they both laughed with the same abandon. Hugh Dalsany and Sava became fast friends that day, and in the years to come, the Marquis of Crewe reconciled to the role of legal guardian to the young prince. Guided him, nurtured him, loved him as a father.

The marquis and Mariana married when the prince was five, and three more children were born of the happy union. They stayed in the mountain kingdom far from the tumultuous events of Europe until the Treaty of Versailles rearranged the map of Europe once again, wiping away the last of the isolated Balkan principalities.

The duke took his family home to England then, to the estates he'd inherited on the death of his father years before. And the Duke and Duchess of Temerley, along with their children, lived a quiet, private life of great happiness.

Because of love.

And the rustication he'd once contemplated out of frustration and ennui became instead his blissful solace and content.

Dark Desires by Thea Devine

chapter 1

'If you force me to marry that man, I will never,ever let him touch me…'

She had said it; she had meant it. And now she stood beside Courtland Summerville, powerless, still as stone, hiding behind her veil, her pride, and her rock-ribbed determination to never ever submit to him.

He was not the man she was supposed to marry.

He was a monster, and her father had sacrificed her to him, and she couldn't look at him, or the crowded church, or at the minister without feeling like the whole thing was a nightmare.

She hated him. And she hated Gerard Lenoir, the man she loved, who had just stood by andlet her father give her to Court. It was inexplicable, unforgivable, that he hadn't even fought for her, and she would never understand why.

She felt as if she were all alone in that church, that there was no one there for her, and that the man who had walked her down the aisle and handed her over to Court was a stranger.

She heard the words of the service; she heard Court's strong burnished voice reply to the time-honored questions of love, honor, and duty in the affirmative, and her heart started pounding painfully.

Had she truly thought he would say no, he wouldn't. Take her.

Oh, God, take her…

Or that Gerard would charge up the aisle at the last minute to save her?

Gerard was nothing less than a craven coward, brought to heel by the wealth and influence of Court's family, and the determination of her father, who so desired this marriage that he was willing to trample anyone who got in his way.

'Drue Caledon, do you take Courtland Summerville…'

She swayed slightly; she felt as if she were watching a play, and that someone else was responding to the minister's words.

That someone said, 'I will,' and heard the minister pronounce them husband and wife; thatsomeone turned as he presented them to the assembled guests.

Someone else… who was she?

To his credit, Court didn't try to kiss her; his expression was impassive, forbidding. She couldn't imagine him ever touching her, even though the marriage contract between him and her father specified that he had every right to have her and that she would submit.

Written in stone. Her life, his to do with as he pleased…

Dear Lord

It was unimaginable.

She placed her icy hand in the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead her out of the church and into the blazing sun of a sultry Louisiana morning.

The heat hit her like a wall, suffocating, thick, imprisoning. And they still had to get through the reception; no matter what the reality, all the amenities had to be observed. They waited on the bottom step until the youngest daughters of the surrounding parish families came to the forefront to strew petals in their path as they led the way to the rear of the church.

Her father and Courtthey did everything to a nicety… everything to circumvent gossip and make it look as if the marriage was real.

She kept her gaze down as they paced slowly behind the children and the fluttering rose petals, with the guests following in their wake.