The King's Bride By Arrangement (Sovereigns and Scandals, Book 2) Page 11

  ‘Exactly.’ His expression grew more serious. ‘Please, Eva, let me do this for you.’

  Eva sighed, her breath shuddering out as the fight finally left her.

  She didn’t have a heavy schedule in Tarentia. She’d finished studying, had thought she’d be busy the next few months preparing for their wedding. A chill enveloped her.

  She told herself this was the sensible option. But secretly she wondered if the real reason she wavered was because part of her still hadn’t got the message about cutting her ties with Paul.

  He stood so near, she inhaled that reassuring scent of pine trees and the outdoors. And his touch, the feel of his fingers wrapped casually around her hand, evoked memories of other more intimate touches.

  ‘Eva?’ He bent closer, snagging her attention.

  Expelling her breath in a sigh of acceptance, she inclined her head. ‘On two conditions.’

  One black eyebrow arched high. ‘Go on.’

  ‘That this is time-limited.’ Stupidly, she felt her throat close on the last word, as if her subconscious didn’t want her to make the break from him.

  ‘Fair enough. We’ll review the situation in a couple of months.’

  Eva frowned. ‘One.’

  ‘Not long enough. Two minimum.’ He read her expression. ‘If we separate too soon, it will have been for nothing. How about we regroup in six weeks and assess how things are? But in that time you stay here in St Ancilla.’

  She hesitated. ‘Surely me staying here all that time will just raise false expectations?’

  ‘The whole point is for us to be seen as a caring couple, finally free to spend time together now you’ve finished your studies. What happens later...’ he shrugged ‘...well, that’s for later. The point is to show what happened hasn’t affected my feelings. That I trust your integrity.’

  He was railroading her. Yet what were her options? She shrank from returning home with her tail between her legs, knowing her parents’ media advisers would be lumbered with responsibility for fixing this.

  Again she told herself the publicity was no big deal. Yet in Tarentia it would be. As far as the public was concerned, she was a bit of a goody two-shoes. Always proper, never putting a foot out of line. Last night’s adventure would be fodder for press gossip for a long time to come, and the dissolution of her engagement on top of that... No, she couldn’t embarrass her family that way.

  ‘Okay. Agreed.’

  Light blazed in his eyes. Triumph or approval?

  ‘Excellent. And the other condition?’

  ‘We handle the media my way.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  PAUL HAD TO hand it to Eva—she didn’t shirk. For a moment yesterday when she’d spoken of handling the media her way he’d wondered if she meant hiding from the press and hoping the negative stories would all go away.

  Which was totally ludicrous, if you knew Eva. And he was beginning to know Eva.

  In some ways he still had so much to learn about her. In others, he knew Eva very well indeed. The surreptitious thought crept up on him, threatening to unravel his composure as he relived the sweet sound of her climaxing, and the feel of her moving against him. Her movements had been eager, if a little inept, till she’d found her rhythm, and all the more arousing for that.

  He concentrated on marshalling his features into a sympathetic expression as he turned from the journalists in front of him to the woman speaking beside him.

  Definitely better to look sympathetic than like he was lusting after her. Which he was.

  Not just now but ever since she’d kissed him in the kitchen and shattered the sexual barriers between them.

  Or maybe earlier. That night, as she’d flounced down the stairs to the ball looking remote and superior and at the same time too sexy for his equanimity.

  He yanked his attention back to what Eva was saying. That women had the right to be unmolested, at night as well as in daylight. That dancing with a man didn’t confer sexual rights. That, in hindsight, she’d think twice about accepting at face value a stranger’s offer of assistance in locating a taxi. But wasn’t that a sad state of affairs?

  Pride swelled as he listened. She’d been right to do this herself rather than leave the PR specialists to craft a press release. Eva had a naturalness, a charming approachability, that drew her listeners in and made her moments of gravity all the more profound.

  She’d be such an asset at his side long-term. How had he not realised?

  But then the only time they’d faced the press together had been on the occasion of their betrothal, each nervous, each aware that the match had been engineered not because of personal preference but for dynastic reasons.

  He looked back now and wondered why he’d let her obvious discomfort colour his view of her. He’d been uncomfortable too. His attempt to kiss her had been clumsy and ill-timed. No wonder she’d pulled away.

  Not like her kisses now.

  Heat brewed deep in his belly.

  ‘And your thoughts, Your Majesty?’ He turned to meet the inquisitive stare of a local reporter.

  Paul reached out his hand and took Eva’s, threading his fingers through hers.

  ‘Frankly, I feel ashamed that this should happen in St Ancilla. Naturally, at a personal level, my fiancée’s distress weighs on me. It’s also drawn my attention to the danger any woman can face at any time from predatory men. It’s something we’re all aware of but too often we—that is, men—forget because we think it doesn’t affect us personally.’

  Slim fingers squeezed his and warmth shot through him. Not the heat of arousal like before, but something altogether different, yet just as potent. He liked it.

  ‘It does affect us,’ he continued. ‘Unless we want a society where our neighbours, colleagues, sisters, wives and fiancées are potentially under threat.’

  ‘So what do you suggest we do?’ asked a man in the second row. ‘Are you advocating violence? It’s been reported that you brawled with the man.’

  Paul felt as much as heard the hush fall across the small crowd of journalists. Eva’s hand tightened around his. In warning?

  He turned towards her and saw she once again wore what he now thought of as her public face. Her expression was serene, but he knew her well enough now to understand the slightly up-tilted angle of her jaw and the silvery glitter in her eyes. This session was tougher than she was letting on and she was upset, or perhaps worried about where this was leading.

  Did she fear charges might be laid against him?

  Paul turned back to his questioner. ‘I’m not advocating violence. I’m suggesting we all think carefully about our behaviour. About the words and actions we, as a society, want to model for our children, or let pass as acceptable. We should call out bad behaviour rather than pretend that sexist or aggressive comments and actions are a bit of a joke. And of course we should each do our bit to help others feel safe.’

  ‘By beating up transgressors?’

  Paul met the journalist’s stare. ‘I had in mind more positive actions, like group car-pooling after an evening out. Or walking friends home.’

  ‘But you—’

  ‘As for my actions the other night, it’s true I intervened. The man sexually assaulted my fiancée and was threatening more violence. I pulled him away from her and when he swung at me, yes, I punched him.’

  That was a shortened version of events. The guy hadn’t given up quickly and Paul hadn’t been in a forgiving mood.

  ‘If the man in question wants to come forward and lay charges against me for defending Princess Eva, I’d welcome that. I’m sure the police will be very interested in interviewing him about the events of that evening. It appears likely he was using a false name, which has hampered attempts to find him.’

  He turned to Eva beside him. ‘For my part, I don’t regret what I did. I just wish I’d been there s
ooner.’

  Eva and Paul left the room while palace staff ushered the journalists out of the palace. Paul still held her hand as he led the way silently away from the public reception rooms and she didn’t object. His touch was supportive, understanding, and it helped.

  The worst was over.

  Hopefully.

  She breathed a deep sigh as some of the tension fell away from her stiff shoulders.

  Relief filled her, laced with a shot of self-disgust. What had happened to her had been nothing compared with the sexual violence suffered by many other women. It seemed almost self-indulgent to feel so undone, reliving the experience.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Paul led her into his study and to a big, leather-upholstered lounge. He drew her down to sit beside him.

  ‘Of course. Don’t I look it?’

  His mouth quirked in a semi-smile that tugged at her heartstrings. ‘You look beautiful, elegant and just a little ruffled.’ Then, seeing her dismay, he added, ‘No, don’t worry. No one else would notice.’

  Because he understood her so well he could see what she tried to hide? It was a disturbing idea. As was her reaction to being called beautiful. For too long, she’d craved his interest and approval.

  ‘You did brilliantly, Eva. Reporting of the incident will take a new direction now. One you don’t have to worry about.’

  She nodded. ‘I hope you’re right. They seemed to accept the truth, even though a couple of them obviously preferred the original story.’

  He shrugged. ‘Because it’s more scandalous, and scandal sells.’

  Eva thought of the report from Paul’s security staff. That in the melee, as the security officer had tried to reach her that night, he’d knocked against someone whose phone had dropped and smashed. She didn’t ask if that was accidental, just felt relieved there weren’t even more photos of the scene.

  ‘Something else is bothering you.’

  It wasn’t a question but a statement. His perspicacity was scary. For so long she’d prided herself on keeping her emotions hidden from him. If he continued to read her so well, what other things would he uncover?

  ‘Eva?’

  She withdrew her hand from his, wondering if it was something about the physical connection that helped him understand her thoughts.

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  Paul’s steady gaze told her he didn’t believe it.

  She shrugged. ‘Just that I feel a bit of a fraud. All this talk about sexual assault when, really, it could have been so much worse.’

  ‘Would you feel better if he’d raped you?’

  ‘Of course not! It’s just that, compared with what other women experience... All this fuss is just because I’m newsworthy.’ Her stomach gave a nauseating little twist.

  He watched her for so long, she wondered what he was thinking.

  ‘You’re right. The public attention is because of who you are. But what he did was wrong. A man who thinks he can force himself on a woman is wrong, whether he managed to rape you or grope you or kiss you when you were unwilling.’ He paused. ‘But, if it’s nagging at you, maybe you need to see this as a chance for positive action.’

  ‘Like you did, talking about changing attitudes and behaviour?’ His words had resonated. She’d admired him, not because he’d deflected attention from her, but because she could see he meant every word.

  ‘Why not? As you say, you have the public profile to draw media attention. You could capitalise on that. Use the opportunity to focus public discussion towards change. Every bit helps.’

  Slowly, she nodded. ‘It’s a good idea.’ And it would give her something to keep her occupied. Her enforced six-week stay in St Ancilla, longer than any previous visit, stretched ahead without any real plans.

  ‘And Eva?’ She met Paul’s eyes again and felt a throb of energy pulse through her. ‘It was sexual assault, and it was inexcusable.’

  There it was again, that flash of heat that she’d seen in his eyes when he’d turned to her at the press conference and said he didn’t regret fighting her assailant. That he wished he’d got there sooner.

  Eva guessed the journalists would take that to mean he wished he’d been there in time to prevent the assault, and she knew that was true. But she also knew, at a primal, bone-deep level, that Paul wished he’d had more time alone with her assailant to make him regret what he’d done.

  The realisation should shock her. The civilised woman she was shied from the idea.

  But at a deep-seated, not at all civilised level Eva felt jubilation. And excitement. Not at the idea of violence, but because Paul really cared about her. There was no mistaking the emotion in that searing gaze. This wasn’t protectiveness because of an arranged betrothal or for the sake of public appearance. This was something primal.

  A shiver raced through her, then another, tightening her flesh and making her nipples bud.

  For a second, then another, she luxuriated in what felt like possessiveness. The sort of possessiveness a man felt for his mate.

  Then common sense intervened and she tore her gaze away.

  She’d had an emotionally draining morning and it had affected her judgement. She was imagining things. Paul didn’t regard her as his, except in the most temporary way. He’d have done the same for any woman.

  For the next month and a half, she had to act the loving fiancée and not read the impossible into Paul’s actions when he kept up the same masquerade. Because soon they’d go their separate ways.

  Her resolve was tested that very day when he announced they were dining out. Not at a royal function, where she’d be busy making small talk with official guests, but at a private dinner for two.

  It would be the first time they’d been alone since they’d left the hunting lodge, except for that brief half-hour following their press conference. For no sooner had they returned to the palace than everyone wanted Paul’s attention.

  How he’d carved out time for a private dinner, she didn’t know. But, despite her nerves at being alone with him again, she was grateful. The St Ancillan palace was comfortable, and the staff eager to please, but it wasn’t like being in her own home where she had responsibilities to keep her busy.

  Besides, no matter how often she reminded herself their brief period of sexual intimacy must end, she missed him.

  They’d had less than twelve hours alone together at the lodge, yet it felt as if everything had changed.

  Everything Eva felt for him was intensified. She told herself the idea of a woman fixating on the man who’d taken her virginity was outdated. The trouble was this was no passing sexual obsession. It was just another facet of the love she felt.

  The love she had to find a way to conquer.

  Even so, she dressed for their dinner date with even more care than when she’d prepared for the royal ball.

  She hadn’t missed Paul’s appreciation of her hair. It had fascinated him when she’d worn it loose. If he hadn’t been staring at it he’d been touching it, caressing it with long, slow strokes or wrapping his fists in it, as if to hold her close as they’d crested the wave of rapture together.

  Her heart gave a little blip and she decided on impulse to leave her hair loose which she never did for any royal function. Even if they were no longer to be lovers, it didn’t mean she could resist the chance to look her best for him.

  To show him what he’d miss when he eventually gave her up.

  Eva grimaced. Since when had she become petty?

  But having the man she loved look at her appreciatively was a temptation too great to be ignored. She brushed her hair till it shone then secured it back on one side with a pearl clip.

  Her dress was new, by a designer she’d met on her last visit here. Of pearl-grey chiffon over grey silk, it was embroidered in graduating shades of pink. The colours might be subdued but it fitted like a dream. Its fli
rty, floaty skirt made her feel good and the colour did wonders for her nondescript eyes.

  Nevertheless, Eva wasn’t prepared for the blatant admiration in Paul’s expression as he met her in the palace entry hall.

  ‘You look ravishing.’ His voice burred to that gravelly baritone note that undid something inside her and, when he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, that sensation of being undone intensified. She had to stiffen her legs, stand taller in her pale-grey sling-backs and focus on smiling.

  His exaggerated response would be for the benefit of the footman waiting near the front door, and any other staff in the vicinity.

  ‘Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.’

  In black trousers, a dark jacket that moulded his straight shoulders and a crisp shirt of palest blue, he looked good enough to eat.

  Heat washed her belly as an image filled her head. Of her returning Paul’s favour and doing to him what he’d done for her the other night at that big kitchen table.

  Lust shuddered through her and she had to fight not to jump as he reached out and tucked her arm through his, leading the way outside.

  Suddenly it didn’t seem such a good idea, wearing her pretty dress, with her hair down and a new shade of lipstick she thought made her mouth look appealing. She’d have been better off in a sombre suit. At least that would remind her that the night wouldn’t end with them sharing a bed.

  Because she couldn’t afford sexual intimacy again if she was going to keep her sanity when the time came to walk away from this engagement.

  As for the sideways glance Paul gave her as they descended the steps to his car, that pierced every protective barrier. It was going to take all her determination to keep her distance.

  Half an hour later, seated at a discreet table for two on a balcony that hung out over the sea, Eva didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The scene looked like something from a photo shoot of the world’s most romantic getaways.

  Being here with Paul came heart-achingly close to a parody of what she really wanted from him. Wanted but could never have.