Читать книгу Modern Romance December 2016 Books 5-8 - Annie West - Страница 23

CHAPTER ELEVEN

UNDER THE CURVING arches of a galleried ballroom an orchestra played and Rafe looked around him. Beneath the low murmur of voices, he could hear the occasional aristocratic laugh and bell-like sound of champagne glasses being chinked. Even for a man who had attended more than his fair share of dazzling occasions, the Isolaverdian New Year’s ball was quite something.

He could sense people’s eyes on him—at least, everyone’s except Sophie’s. She seemed to be avoiding his gaze as much as possible. He wondered if she was remembering that unsatisfactory episode of lovemaking yesterday, when she’d been about as responsive as a block of ice in his arms. His mouth flattened because that had never happened to him before—a woman staying ice-cool even while he was deep inside her body. And Sophie wasn’t some random lover he could just forget about, or decide that maybe they weren’t so compatible after all. He shook his head as someone offered him a glass of champagne. She was the woman he had vowed to make his wife and he knew it was a lifelong commitment.

A middle-aged blonde—a fortune in emeralds dazzling around her neck—was making no attempt to hide her interest and even though he was used to being stared at, it had never felt like this before. He was aware that his every movement was being observed, his every comment noted and analysed. Was this what being royal was all about—along with all the damned rules and endless protocol which seemed to make this palace seem like a giant institution? Was that the reason Sophie had been so uptight the moment she’d stepped back on familiar territory? Why she was scarcely recognisable as the warm woman he’d grown to know?

He glanced across the ballroom as she strayed into his line of vision. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, her dark hair studded with sapphires and a matching midnight-blue gown hugging her slim figure. But she looked cool and aloof as she greeted the high-born guests and once again that feeling of unease settled over him.

He had asked her to be his bride but he couldn’t deny that doubts had started to creep into his mind since they’d arrived here in Isolaverde. Back in New York, it had all seemed ridiculously simple. He’d been on a high—amazed to find a woman whose company didn’t irritate him and dazed from the non-stop and amazing sex. They’d each dragged out their demons and shone daylight on them and confronting them had seemed to diminish them. She’d told him she wanted a family and marriage; well, so did he. And the cherry on the cake as far as he was concerned was that neither of them was chasing after that disappointing fairy tale known as love.

But in the high-octane buzz of the city it had been easy to forget that Sophie was a royal, while here it had been in his face from the moment they’d touched down. And nothing was ever going to change that. He wanted children of his own—but hadn’t he overlooked the fact that any child he sired with Sophie would be royal by birth? As soon as they were born, wouldn’t expectation be heaped all over their innocent heads? Could he willingly subject any child of his to a life beneath the glare of the spotlight?

Sophie was walking towards him and he could see people bobbing into curtseys as she moved past. ‘So. There you are,’ she said.

‘Here I am,’ he agreed, his eyes capturing hers. ‘And I’m all yours. Dance with me?’

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips as he took her into his arms and the orchestra swelled into a slow and sensuous waltz. He could smell a different scent on her skin, something warm and spicy, and he felt the punch of his heart as he drew her close.

‘Having fun?’ he questioned.

‘Of course!’ Her voice sounded bright. ‘How about you?’

‘This is certainly a very elaborate production,’ he said dryly.

Now what did he mean by that? Sophie glanced up into Rafe’s hard-boned face but his shuttered features gave her no clues. She thought how unapproachable he looked this evening, even though she kept trying to tell herself she was imagining it. But deep down she knew she wasn’t. Things had been awkward between them since that disorientating episode of sex when she hadn’t felt a thing. They hadn’t discussed it because neither of them had acknowledged it—and hadn’t she been secretly praying he might not have even noticed? That his own pleasure had been powerful enough for it to have passed him by? But the truth was that he hadn’t laid a finger on her since.

Yet while his lack of attention had removed her fear of a repeat episode of unresponsiveness, it did nothing to lessen her dread about what was happening to them. Her growing fear that this was how it was going to be from now on. Her stomach tied itself up in knots as they moved around the dance floor. Because what if she was one of those women who couldn’t sustain sexual enjoyment? She’d read about that kind of thing happening. Women whose senses shut down for whatever reason, leaving their highly sexed menfolk aching and frustrated.

And she wasn’t stupid. There were plenty of reasons why a rift should have appeared between them and it wasn’t just because they weren’t having sex. She’d seen the expression on Rafe’s face when he wasn’t aware she was watching him. He reminded her of a person walking around a zoo and observing all the exhibits with a wry and faintly disbelieving look on his face. What if he’d changed his mind about wanting to marry her, now that he had seen her in her natural habitat of the royal palace?

She lifted her gaze towards his shadowed jaw and asked the question she had been dreading. ‘You are still happy for the marriage announcement to be made tomorrow?’

The look he slanted down at her was unfathomable. ‘I gave your brother my vow, didn’t I? And I never go back on my word.’

But Sophie took little comfort from his response. Why, that was the most lacklustre endorsement she’d ever heard! The dance finished and an Isolaverdian nobleman she’d known since childhood stepped forward to take Rafe’s place. With a smile, she shook her head, taking a glass of punch from the tray of a passing waitress instead. But she wanted a drink even less than she wanted a dance. It was more of a distraction—a stalling device—something which enabled her to observe Rafe as he headed over towards a nearby beauty to ask her to dance.

The beauty was a Duchess, an ethereal blonde who’d been sitting near Rafe at the pre-ball dinner, and she accepted his offer immediately. Sophie felt her heart plummet. Of course she did. What woman wouldn’t want to be in the arms of Rafe Carter? Despite the fact that he had no royal title, he was easily the most attractive man in the crowded ballroom. She watched him move the Duchess round the floor, wondering if she was imagining that he seemed more relaxed than he’d been during his dance with her. But could she blame him? It couldn’t be much fun dancing with a woman who had suddenly turned to ice in his arms.

She tried not to react but she couldn’t seem to quash the sheer, blinding jealousy of seeing him so close to another woman. She told herself not to be so stupid—that it was all completely innocent. And it was innocent. Logically, she knew that. She believed in his vow of intended fidelity, just as she believed he was a man who wouldn’t go back on his word.

But that was before she had shut down in his arms, wasn’t it? Before he’d seen at close quarters just what it meant to marry into the pomp and ceremony of the Isolaverdian royal family.

Feeling as if someone were pressing their fingers against her throat, Sophie turned away and found herself a hiding place behind a tall marble pillar, dejection washing over her as she leaned back against the wall. Because nothing had changed, had it? Despite her daredevil stab at gaining some independence, everything was as it always had been. She had tied up her future with a man who’d promised her the security of marriage but without the cushion of love. Just as Luc had done.

And she was just as trapped as before!

Only this time it was worse.

Much worse.

She’d known all along that her feelings for Luc had been tepid, because they’d never been given the freedom to get to know each other properly. But she did know Rafe. More intimately than she’d known anyone. She’d been his lover. She’d shared his bed. She’d cooked him meals and vice versa and she’d lain face down on the pillows of his New York bed while he had carefully massaged her shoulders and then, afterwards, eased himself inside her aching body. He’d taken her to parties, and shows. They’d shopped together and walked for miles through the snowy streets of New York City. And if the truth were known, she’d fallen in love with him along the way, hadn’t she?

Hadn’t she?

The music changed to a lively foxtrot as she tried to tell herself she was panicking unnecessarily. That tomorrow Rafe would slide on the huge ruby and diamond ring they’d chosen together on Madison Avenue and the people of Isolaverde would be delighted that their princess had found her own happy ending at last.

But she hadn’t, had she?

She was still that same dumb, docile princess who thought she couldn’t exist without the patronage of a powerful man. She was about as modern as one of the ancient suits of armour which stood in the palace entrance hall! How could she knowingly walk into such a one-sided relationship and open herself up to all the potential pain of such a union? How could she force that on Rafe when the agreement had been that neither of them was asking for love?

Thought after disturbing thought rushed through her head, but she kept them hidden behind a careful smile as she went through the motions expected of her. She danced with the prime minister, with assorted Dukes and a visiting Sheikh. She even danced with Rafe again, trying not to indulge in a rush of jealous questions about his many dance partners.

And this was what her future would be like, she realised. Life with a man who couldn’t love her. A man every woman would see and want and probably make a play for.

And she would be left watching from the sidelines, not daring to show him her feelings because they didn’t have that kind of marriage.

‘Relax,’ he said, his thumb making idle little circles at her waist.

‘I’m trying.’

‘Then try a little harder.’ He smiled. ‘Because soon this will all be over.’

The decision she’d been trying her best to avoid could no longer be ignored and Sophie wondered if Rafe had any idea how eerily accurate his words were. Because suddenly she knew she couldn’t keep running from the truth. Running only got you so far. Sooner or later you had to stop and face what was troubling you—and what was troubling her was that she couldn’t let this fantasy marriage go ahead. For all their sakes, she needed to stop it. She swallowed. ‘Rafe, I need to talk to you.’

‘Then talk.’

‘No. Not here. It’s too public. Can we go somewhere more private? Please.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s important.’

He loosened his hold on her fractionally, pulling back from her so that his silver-grey gaze clashed with hers. ‘But the ball hasn’t finished.’

It felt like a reprimand. It was a reprimand. How ironic that the commoner was giving the Princess a lesson in etiquette. ‘After the fireworks and once my brother has left, can you meet me in the Ruby Drawing Room?’ she questioned breathlessly. ‘Do you know where that is?’

He nodded, but now his gaze was thoughtful as it rested on her. ‘Sure.’

Somehow Sophie got through the remainder of the evening. At midnight the French windows were opened and everyone moved onto the terrace as bells peeled out all over the island to celebrate the coming of the new year. It was always an emotional time but tonight it seemed even more poignant as Sophie thought about what lay ahead. She could feel the prick of tears as the sky exploded in a spectacular display of fireworks—silver, gold, cobalt and pink flowering against an indigo backdrop—all reflected in the dark gleaming waters of the Mediterranean. She heard the collective gasps of the ball-goers echoing around the vast terrace as the fireworks whirred and whistled in the air, but somehow she didn’t feel part of it.

And then the evening became nothing more than an endurance of clock-watching. All she wanted was for Myron to retire, because nobody was allowed to move until after the King had taken his leave. At last the King whispered into the ear of a stunning redhead before sweeping with his entourage from the room and, a few moments later, Sophie saw the woman follow him.

Sophie’s heart was thumping as she made her way to the eastern side of the palace. The Ruby Drawing Room was one of her favourite places in the palace, its décor overseen by her late mother, whose favourite colour and gemstone it had been. Hers, too. The walls and floor were in restful shades of darkest pink and only the ornate ceiling was gold—its intricate mouldings picked out with dazzling precision. It was a room which made her feel emotional for all kinds of reasons and therefore probably not the best choice for the kind of talk she and Rafe needed to have, but it was quiet and far away from the hustle and bustle of the ball.

She walked in and saw that Rafe was already there, tall and magnificent as he stood beside the marble fireplace, his grey eyes watchful as she pushed the door shut.

‘So what’s with all the cloak and dagger stuff?’ he questioned.

She drew in a deep breath, her heart pounding with nerves. ‘I’ve brought you here to tell you I can’t marry you, Rafe.’

She searched his face for a trace of emotion. Something which might hint that her words had surprised him, even if they hadn’t actually wounded him. But no. There was nothing. Those dark features remained impenetrable. And somehow that made her decision easier. It reinforced that she was doing the right thing—because he could turn it on and off like a tap, couldn’t he? The man he’d been in New York seemed to have vanished. He seemed more of a stranger even than the day she’d first met him. ‘I wanted to tell you tonight...’ she stared into his eyes ‘...so we can stop the announcement being made.’

Not a trace of emotion showed on his face as he shot out the single word. ‘Why?’ And then his face darkened. ‘Surely one episode of disappointing sex isn’t enough to make you have cold feet?’

‘It’s a contributory factor, yes.’

He slanted her another unfathomable look. ‘You want me to lock the door and make you come? Will that make you feel better?’

Sophie could feel her cheeks growing hot. ‘No, of course not. It’s about much more than that.’

‘Like what?’

She bit her lip. She could do the easy thing of telling him she’d changed her mind and didn’t want marriage after all. She could even pretend that she’d been sucked back into palace life and had decided that she liked it too much to ever leave. Except she suspected he was intuitive enough to know that wasn’t the case—and besides, why on earth did she think any such option would be easy? None of this was ever going to be easy.

‘Because we want different things.’

His brow darkened. ‘I thought we’d already thrashed this out and decided that ultimately we wanted the same things. A family life together. Wasn’t that what we both agreed, Sophie?’

And Sophie knew then that nothing would do except for the truth, no matter what the cost to her own pride. She kept her voice very low. ‘I can’t marry you, Rafe, because I’ve fallen in love with you. And I can see from your face how much that horrifies you.’

‘Because love was never part of the deal,’ he ground out.

‘I realise that.’ She licked her lips. ‘Do you really think I want to feel this way? Because I don’t—but I needed to be honest with you. I lied to you in the past about stuff and I think you realised I had reasons for keeping the truth hidden. But I don’t ever want to do that again. And since our relationship is supposed to be based on truth then you need to hear it. And the truth is that I’ve fallen in love with you, Rafe. I’ve tried my best to stop myself but there doesn’t seem to be a thing I can do about it.’

She stared straight into his face, willing him to say something, but she was met only with silence.

‘Only something tells me that love won’t work in a marriage which was only ever supposed to be practical,’ she continued unsteadily. ‘I thought... I thought I could do practical, but I was wrong. I’m not going to opt for second best. Call me stupid or unrealistic, but I’d rather hold out for love—even if that never happens.’

He nodded his head like a mathematics teacher who’d just been presented with a tricky equation and as Sophie waited, didn’t part of her hope her words might have struck a chord, even if it was just a little one? That there might be a platform from which to springboard her growing feelings. What if he told her that he was receptive to the idea of love—would that be enough for them to go on? Wouldn’t the tiniest crack in his armour mean that some of her love might be able to slip inside and warm him? She kept her eyes fixed on his face and watched as something in his expression changed. And it was as if the shutters had suddenly been lifted for there was no disguising the sudden hostility which gleamed so hard and silver from his eyes.

‘I told you emphatically that I didn’t do love,’ he said. ‘And you know why? Because it means nothing. Nothing. I’ve seen greed and lust and ambition, all masquerading as love. Did you really think that your words might bring about a fundamental change of heart, Sophie? That I was going to have a personality change just because you looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes and told me words I never wanted to hear?’

Sophie felt that little spark of hope crumble inside her, like a heap of dust onto which a heavy boot had just stamped. She wanted to break down. To sink to her knees and let the great slurry of dark emotions come sliding down onto her head. But she would not. She could not. She was going to walk away from this relationship with her heart shattered, but she would make sure that her dignity was kept intact.

‘No, Rafe,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t think that, although I’d be lying if I denied that’s what I was hoping for. I thought you might be open-minded enough to the idea that feelings can sometimes grow if you let them—but maybe you won’t let them. Or maybe you can’t.’ She met his stony gaze and nodded her head. ‘We need to tell the King so that no announcement of our engagement will be made. We need to end it, as of now. Well, not tonight, obviously. But first thing tomorrow.’

‘So I’m to go to your brother and tell him that my vow was worthless?’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ll tell him. I’ll make sure he knows that you didn’t break your precious word and that the fault was all mine. I should... I should never have agreed to it.’

‘Another marriage which has fallen by the wayside just before it reached the altar,’ he observed. ‘Are you really prepared to go through with the damage to your reputation, Sophie?’

‘Better a brief spell of shattered pride than a lifetime of disillusion,’ she flared back. ‘Of always having to hide my feelings for fear that you might mistake them for lust or greed or ambition.’ She swept the palm of her hand back over her chignon, checking that her appearance was pristine enough to face any servant she might encounter on the way back to her room, and then lifted her chin to direct one final look at him. ‘Your words can sometimes be cruel, Rafe—but I suppose I should be grateful for your candour. Because, for the moment at least—I’m finding it very easy not to love you.’