Читать книгу The Prince She Never Knew - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

THEY WERE ALONE. Every muscle in Alyse’s body ached with exhaustion, yet even so she could not keep a heart-stopping awareness of Leo from streaking through her as he closed the door behind them.

They’d retired to the tower suite, a sumptuous bedroom, bathroom and dressing-room all housed in one of the stone turrets of the ancient royal palace. A fire blazed in the hearth and a huge four-poster bed with silk coverings and sheets took up the main part of the room. Alyse stared at the white silk and lace negligee laid out on the bed and swallowed hard.

She and Leo had never talked about this.

They should have, she supposed, but then they had never really talked about anything. Their relationship—and she could only use that word loosely—had been little more than a long-term publicity stunt. Conversation had been limited to managing their appearances together.

And now they were married. It felt, at least to her, like a complete game-changer. Until now they’d only experienced manufactured moments lived in the public eye; but here, for the first time, they were alone with no need for pretence.

Would this moment be real?

‘Relax,’ Leo said, coming up behind her. Alyse felt his breath on the back of her neck and she suppressed a shiver of both anticipation and nervousness. ‘We’ve been waiting for six years; we don’t need to rush things.’

‘Right,’ she murmured, and then he moved past her to the window. The latticed shutters were thrown open to a starlit sky. Earlier in the evening there had been fireworks all over the city; the celebrations of their marriage had gone on all day.

It was only now that the city’s joy was finally subsiding, everyone heading back to his or her home—and Alyse and Leo to this honeymoon suite.

She watched as Leo loosened his black tie. He’d changed into a tuxedo for the evening party, and she into a designer gown chosen by the team of stylists hired to work on her. It was pale pink, strapless, with a frothy skirt. A Cinderella dress.

‘Do you want to change?’ Leo asked as he undid the top few studs of his shirt. Standing there, framed by the window, the ends of his bow-tie dangling against the crisp whiteness of his shirt, he looked unbearably handsome. His hair was a glossy midnight-black, and rumpled from where he’d carelessly driven his fingers through it.

His eyes were dark too—once Alyse had thought they were black but she’d learned long ago from having had to gaze adoringly up into them so many times they were actually a very dark blue.

And his body... She might not have seen it in all of its bare glory, but he certainly wore a suit well. Broad shoulders, trim hips, long and powerful legs, every part of him declared he was wonderfully, potently male.

Would she see that body tonight? Would she caress and kiss it, give in to the passion she knew she could feel for him if he let her?

And what about him? Would he feel it?

In the course of six years, he’d always been solicitous, considerate, unfailingly polite. She couldn’t fault him, and yet she’d yearned for more. For emotion, passion and, yes, always love. She’d always been drawn to the intensity she felt pulsing latent beneath his coolness, the passion she wanted to believe could be unleashed if he ever freed himself from the bonds of duty and decorum. If he ever revealed himself to her.

Would he tonight, if just a little? Or would this part of their marriage be a masquerade as well?

‘I suppose I’ll change,’ she said, her gaze sliding inexorably to the negligee laid out for both their perusals.

‘You don’t need to wear that,’ Leo said, and he let out an abrupt laugh, the sound without humour. ‘There’s no point, really, is there?’

Wasn’t there? Alyse felt a needle of hurt burrow under her skin, into her soul. What did he want her to wear, if not that?

‘Why don’t you take a bath?’ he suggested. ‘Relax. It’s been a very long day.’ He turned away from her, yanking off his tie, and after a moment Alyse headed to the bathroom, telling herself she was grateful for the temporary reprieve. They could both, perhaps, use a little time apart.

We’ve basically had six years apart.

Swallowing hard, she turned on the taps.

There were no clothes in the bathroom, something she should have realised before she got in the tub. Two sumptuous terry-cloth robes hung on the door, and after soaking in the bath for a good half-hour Alyse slipped one on, the sleeves coming past her hands and the hem nearly skimming her ankles. She tied it securely, wondering what on earth would happen now. What she wanted to happen.

For Leo to gasp at the sight of me and sweep me into his arms, admit the feelings he’s been hiding all along...

Fantasies, pathetic fantasies, and she knew that. She wasn’t expecting a lightning bolt of love to strike Leo; she just wanted to start building something, something real. And that took time.

Tonight was a beginning.

Taking a deep breath, stealing herself for whatever lay ahead, she opened the door.

Leo had changed out of his tuxedo and now wore a pair of navy-blue silk draw-string pyjama bottoms and nothing else. He sat sprawled in a chair by the fire, a tumbler of whisky cradled in his hands, the amber liquid glinting in the firelight.

Alyse barely noticed any of that; her gaze was ensnared by the sight of his bare chest. She’d never seen it before, not in the flesh, although there had been several paparazzi photographs of him in swimming trunks while on holiday—though not with her. They’d never actually had a holiday together in six years’ engagement.

Seeing his chest now, up close and in the glorious flesh, was another thing entirely. His skin was bronzed, the fire casting long shadows on the taut flesh and sculpted muscle. She could see dark whorls of hair on his chest, veeing down to the loose waistband of his trousers slung low on his lean hips, and her heart felt as if it had flipped right over in her chest. He was just so beautiful.

He glanced up as she approached, and his lips twitched in sardonic amusement as he took in her huge robe. ‘I think that one’s mine.’

‘Oh.’ She blushed, and then as she imagined Leo attempting to wear the smaller, woman’s-sized robe, a sudden bubble of nervous laughter escaped her. He arched an eyebrow and she came forward to explain. ‘I was picturing you in the other robe. Mine, apparently.’

‘An interesting image.’ His lips twitched again in a tiny smile and her heart lightened ridiculously. All she needed was a smile. A single smile on which to build a world of dreams.

She sat in the chair opposite his and stretched her bare feet towards the fire. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, the only sound the comforting crackle and spit of the flames.

‘This is strange,’ Alyse finally said softly, her gaze still on the fire. She heard Leo shift in his seat.

‘It’s bound to be, I suppose.’

She glanced upwards and saw his face was half in darkness, the firelight casting flickering shadows over the other half. She could see the hard plane of one cheek, the dark glint of stubble on his jaw, the pouty fullness of his sculpted lips. He had the lips of a screen siren, yet he was unabashedly, arrogantly male.

She’d felt those lips on her own so many times, cool brushes of mouths when what she wanted, what she craved, was hot, mindless passion—tongues tangling, plunging, hands moving and groping...

She forced the images, and the resulting heat, away from her mind and body.

‘Do you realise,’ she said, trying to keep her tone light, and even teasing, although they’d never actually teased each other, ‘we haven’t actually been alone together in about a year?’

He shrugged one bare, powerful shoulder. ‘That’s not all that surprising, considering.’

She glanced back at the fire, tucking her now-warmed feet underneath the hem of her robe. ‘Considering what?’

‘Considering we’ve been living separate lives ever since we announced this sham of an engagement.’

Alyse swallowed. ‘I know that.’ Neither of them had been in a rush to get married. Leo certainly hadn’t, and Alyse had already accepted a place at Durham University. Her parents hadn’t wanted her to give it up for marriage at eighteen, and neither had she, although she suspected Queen Sophia could have bullied her into it.

She’d been so young then, so naïve and overwhelmed. She liked to think she’d changed, that she’d grown up, at least a bit. She hoped she had, but right now she felt as gauche as ever.

At any rate, a long engagement had fed the media frenzy, accomplishing the monarchy’s purposes of keeping them in positive press for over half a decade. For the last six years she’d been living in England, completing her BA and then her MA in European history—a subject the monarchy had considered acceptable for its future queen, since it could be relevant to her rule. Alyse just loved history.

She’d wanted to have some kind of normalcy in her life, some kind of separation from Leo and the feelings he stirred up in her; from the bizarre intensity of life in the media spotlight and under the monarchy’s critical eye.

University had thankfully given her a degree of that normalcy she’d craved. Out of respect, and perhaps even love for her, the paparazzi hadn’t followed her too closely.

She’d had a somewhat usual university experience—or as usual as it could be, considering the jaunts to royal functions every few weeks, her carefully choreographed appearances with Leo and the constant curiosity and speculation of the other students and even some of the tutors and lecturers.

Remembering it all now brought a sudden lump to her throat. No matter how normal her life had seemed on the surface, she’d still felt the loneliness of being different from the other students. Of knowing the paltry truth of her relationship with Leo.

It was a knowledge that had sometimes led to despair, and that had once led to a foolish choice and a heartache and shame that even now could bring her to a cringing blush.

She pushed the memory away. It had no place here and now, on her wedding night.

‘But we’re not going to live separate lives now,’ she said and Leo inclined his head in brief acknowledgement.

‘I suppose we need to decide how we want to conduct our marriage, now that we’ll be under the same roof.’ He paused to take a long swallow of whisky, and Alyse watched the movement of the corded muscles of his throat, felt a spasm of helpless longing. ‘I don’t see any real reason to change things too much,’ he continued. Her longing left her in a rush.

She felt the way you did when you thought there was one more step in a staircase, the jolt going right through her bones to her soul. Had she actually thought things would change that much now they were married? That Leo would? It would mean more pretending, not less. Yet how could they pretend that much?

‘Things will have to change a bit, I imagine,’ she said, trying to speak lightly. ‘I mean...we’re married. It’s different.’

‘Assuredly, but it doesn’t mean we have to be different, does it?’ He glanced at her, eyebrows raised, cool smile in place. ‘The last six years have worked out quite well, don’t you think?’

No. No, no, no. Yet how could she disagree with him when she’d been acting like she’d agreed with him all along? Alyse swallowed. ‘I suppose, but now we have a chance to actually get to know each other...’ She trailed off uncertainly, wanting him to leap in and agree. When would she learn? He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t that kind of man.

Leo frowned, then turned back to the fire. ‘We’ve always had that chance,’ he answered after a moment. ‘We just chose not to take it.’

‘I suppose,’ Alyse managed. She tried not to let his words hurt her; he didn’t mean to be cruel; he simply had no idea of how she felt, never had. This wasn’t his fault, it was hers, for agreeing to pretend for so long. For never having been honest with him about how she really felt.

‘It might get a bit tedious,’ she ventured. ‘Pretending for so long. We’ll have to appear together more often, I mean.’

‘Oh, the media will get tired of us eventually,’ Leo said dismissively. He gave her a quick, cool smile, his eyes hard and glinting. ‘Especially once the next generation comes along.’

The next generation. Their children. Alyse felt her heart start to thud.

He put his glass down, raking both hands through his hair so Alyse’s gaze was drawn to the ripple of muscles in his arms and chest, the sculpted beauty of his body. Desire twisted and writhed inside her like some desperate, untamed creature seeking its freedom.

Leo dropped his hands and gave her a measured look. ‘I know tonight is bound to be awkward, at least at first.’ He nodded towards the huge bed looming behind them. ‘I think if we acknowledge that up front, it might be easier.’

Alyse’s mouth felt like sandpaper as she stared at him. ‘Yes, probably it will be.’ She tried for a light tone, or at least as matter-of-fact as his. She wasn’t sure she managed either. ‘Much better to be upfront and honest with each other from the start.’ She forced a smile, knowing her words for lies. ‘We pretend enough as it is.’

‘Exactly.’ Leo nodded in approval. ‘It’s one thing to pretend to the press, but I hope we can always be honest with each other.’

She nodded back mechanically. ‘That...would be good.’

‘Don’t look so terrified,’ Leo said dryly. He nodded once more towards the bed. ‘I hope we can find a little pleasure there at least.’

A little pleasure? His words stung. ‘I’m not terrified,’ she told him crisply. ‘It’s just— It’s a bit awkward, like you said; that’s all.’

‘Naturally. I’ll do my best to alleviate that awkwardness, of course.’

She heard a thread of amusement in his voice, saw it in his cool smile, and knew that being made love to by Leo wouldn’t be awkward at all. It would be wonderful.

Except it wouldn’t be making love. It would be cold, emotionless sex. A physical act, a soulless transaction. ‘A little pleasure’, indeed. She closed her eyes, hating the thought. Hating the fact that she had to pretend, would always have to pretend, not just with the press but with him. It would be so, so much harder now. Why hadn’t she realised that?

‘Alyse,’ Leo said, and she opened her eyes. He was leaning forward, his eyes narrowed in concern. ‘If you’d rather, we can wait. We don’t have to consummate our marriage tonight.’

‘A reprieve?’ she said, her voice sounding cynical even to her own ears.

‘It might be more pleasant when we’re not so tired and there are fewer expectations on us,’ Leo answered with a shrug. ‘And frankly, no matter what you’ve said, you do look terrified.’

Yes, she was, but not in the way he thought. She wasn’t afraid of sex. She was afraid of it being meaningless for Leo. Did he want her at all? Was this a bore for him, a chore?

‘I promise you, I’m not afraid,’ she said when she trusted herself to speak as neutrally as he had. ‘But I am tired, so perhaps this...aspect of our marriage can wait a little while.’

Leo shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way, and that hurt too. ‘Of course. But we should both sleep in the bed. Staff see everything, and even palace employees have been known to gossip.’

She nodded, trying not to imagine lying next to Leo, his nearly bare body so close to hers. It was a big bed, after all. And she needed to learn how to manage this kind of situation. They would, after all, be sleeping in the same bed for the next...

Except, no; perhaps they wouldn’t. Perhaps they would have separate bedrooms along with separate lives, coming together only for the cameras or to create an heir.

‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll just put some...’ She trailed off, because the only clothes in the room were her ballgown and the negligee. She didn’t like either option.

Leo glanced at the lace confection spread out on the bed. ‘It’s a big bed,’ he said dryly. ‘And I think I can control myself, even if you wear that bit of nonsense.’

Alyse swallowed, nodded. Even tried to smile, though every careless word he spoke felt like a dagger thrust to her heart. She didn’t want him to be able to control himself. She’d always known him to be cool, pragmatic, even ruthless. Yet she wanted him to be different with her, and she was honest enough to recognise that some stupid, schoolgirl part of her had secretly hoped things might change when they were finally alone.

‘Fine,’ she said and, rising from the chair, she went to the bed and swept the negligee from it before disappearing into the bathroom once more.

Leo stretched out on one side of the bed and waited for Alyse to emerge from the bathroom. He felt the conversation hadn’t gone as well as he would have liked. Alyse had seemed brittle, almost as if he’d hurt her feelings, a possibility which exasperated him. He’d thought she was as pragmatic as he was about their union, yet this new, unexpected awkwardness clearly unnerved her—as well as him.

When had he started caring about her feelings, whether she felt nervous, awkward or afraid? The whole point of this marriage, this pretence, was that he didn’t have to care. He didn’t have to engage emotions he’d purposely kept dormant for so long.

And while he might be weary of pretending—he’d done enough of it in his life, God only knew—at least this marriage, this pretence, had been his choice. His decision.

He still remembered the negotiation they’d gone through after that wretched photograph had gone viral. His father had asked to see them privately.

Alyse had flown to Maldinia a few weeks after her birthday party; her mother had accompanied her. And, when she’d walked into his father’s private study alone, Leo had been jolted by how young and vulnerable she looked, dressed simply in a plain skirt and schoolgirl’s blouse, her dark hair held back in a ponytail.

His father hadn’t minced words; he never did. Queen Sophia and her mother were friends, he told Alyse, and they’d considered a match between her and Leo. Leo knew that hadn’t exactly been true; his mother had wanted someone with slightly bluer blood than Alyse’s to marry her son. Leo had gone to that birthday party with only a vague and passing knowledge of Alyse’s existence and it was the media hype that had turned it into something else entirely.

‘In an ideal world,’ King Alessandro had said with a geniality Leo knew his father did not remotely possess, ‘you would have got to know each other, courted. Seen if you suited. But it’s not an ideal world.’

Alyse had simply stared.

Leo, of course, had known where this was going all along. He’d talked to his parents already, had received the assignment from on high. You must marry her, Leo. The public adores her. Think of what it will do for your country, your kingship.

He’d known what they really meant: what it would do for them. They’d done enough damage to Maldinia’s monarchy with their lies, affairs and careless spending. He was the only one left to clean up the mess.

He’d understood all that, but Alyse hadn’t. She’d just looked thunderstruck. She’d barely spoken for that whole meeting, just listened as the King went on about the benefits of a ‘decided’ marriage—a much more innocuous term than arranged, Leo had thought cynically. Or commanded.

She’d only spoken when she’d begun to perceive, dimly, just what kind of charade they would be perpetuating and for how long. ‘You mean,’ she’d said in a voice only a little above a whisper, ‘we have to...to pretend we’re in love?’

‘Feelings come in time, don’t they?’ Alessandro had answered with that same false joviality, and Leo had looked away. No, they didn’t. If Alessandro held up his own marriage, his own family, as an example, it showed they never came. And you couldn’t trust them anyway.

But Alyse had nodded slowly, accepting, and their engagement had been announced the next day along with them posing for requisite photos.

And the rest, Leo thought now, lacing his arms above his head, was history. Repeating itself over and over again.

The door to the bathroom opened and Alyse emerged, wearing the woman’s robe. Leo wondered if she’d try to sleep in that bulky thing. He supposed a little virginal shyness was natural.

He watched as she skirted the bed and then hesitated on the far side, her fingers playing with the sash of her robe. Leo reached for his bedside lamp.

‘Shall I turn out the light?’

‘If you like.’

Actually, he didn’t like. He was suddenly rather curious as to what Alyse looked like in the skimpy negligee. He’d seen her in plenty of designer dresses and well-coordinated outfits, hair and make-up immaculately styled, always primped to perfection.

But he’d never seen her like this—wearing a bridal nightgown, her chestnut hair loose about her shoulders, grey eyes wide, about to climb into his bed. He felt an insistent stirring of arousal; it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. A very long time.

He switched the light off, but the moon spilling through the open windows was enough to see by anyway, and as he lay back against the pillows he saw her slip the bulky robe from her body. Dressed as she was in only the slinky negligee, the moon gilded her slender curves in silver.

He could see the shadowy vee between her breasts, the dip of her waist, the hidden juncture of her thighs. Then she slid hurriedly under the covers and lay there, rigid and unmoving.

Leo had never felt so far from sleep and, judging by how she lay there like a board, he suspected Alyse was the same. Perhaps they should have agreed to consummate their marriage tonight. At least it would have given them something to do.

He considered talking to her, but after six years of enacting this parody of love he had nothing of consequence to say, and he didn’t think she had either. Which was how he’d wanted it.

Yet in the darkness and silence of that moment he felt a sudden, surprising need for conversation, even connection. Something he’d taught himself never to crave.

And he had no idea how to go about creating it now.

‘Goodnight,’ he finally said, his voice coming out gruffer than he’d meant it to, and he felt Alyse tense even more next to him.

‘Goodnight,’ she answered back, her voice so soft and sad that Leo felt caught between remorse and exasperation at her obvious emotion—and his.

With a barely suppressed sigh, he rolled onto his side, his back to Alyse, and willed himself to sleep.