Читать книгу The Prince's Captive Virgin - Maisey Yates - Страница 11
ОглавлениеSHE WAS LIKE fire in his arms. That was all he could think as he strode out of her chamber, her lithe body wiggling over his shoulder as he carried her down the hall.
He braced one hand on her lower back, gripping her calf with the other. It had been three years since he’d had his hands on a woman. And suddenly, he was conscious of every one of those years. He had been far too lost in the bleakness of it all to think of it in those terms until this moment.
He had not thought of being with a woman. Hadn’t thought of touching one. He had only been conscious of his bed being empty as far as it being empty of his wife. Not being empty in a way that meant it might need to be filled by someone else.
But now she was hot beneath his fingertips, smooth, and very much alive. So different from the last time he had touched a woman and found her cold, icy and lifeless.
He gritted his teeth, clipping his jaw down tight as he continued to cart his protesting captive down the stairs and toward the dining room.
“How dare you?” she shrieked, pounding one fist against his back.
“How dare I feed you?” He laughed. “I truly am a monster.”
“You could have sent me a crust of bread up to my room,” she continued to protest.
“Yes, but alternatively you can sit and eat with me, and you can have lamb.”
“Maybe I don’t want to eat a baby animal!”
“Are you a vegetarian?”
“No,” she said, sounding small, and slightly defeated in her response. “But still.”
“If you have serious issues eating small, fuzzy things, you can always indulge in the vegetables and the couscous. Plus, there will be cake.”
“I could have eaten that in my room,” she said, wiggling, that movement of her body against his sending a jolt of sensation through him. He ignored it.
“No, agape, you could not have, because it is not on offer.”
He stepped into the dining room, and set her down neatly in the chair next to his own. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. She truly was beautiful. Her dark hair was captured in a low ponytail, her blue eyes glittering in the dim light, distrustful, but nonetheless lovely. She had full lips, the kind he could vaguely remember enjoying back in the days when he had indulged in such pleasures.
Then, there was her body, which was pleasingly round in all the right places, as he had observed while carrying her from her room.
“What do you want from me?”
“I would like for you to eat. With the dramatics kept to a minimum.”
She frowned, her expression stormy. “You did not allow me to trade places with my father so that you could feed me.”
“No,” he said, “perhaps not. I allowed you to trade with your father because you asked me to allow it. And as I mentioned before, I thought, that just maybe you might be of more use to me than a dying man.”
She recoiled. So completely that it was nearly comical. “What sort of use?”
There was a time when a woman would have leaned in at such a suggestion, touched his hand, touched his arm, perhaps made things even more intimate by placing her hand on his thigh. But, those days had long since passed.
He let his eyes wander back to those beautiful rosy lips. And just for a moment, he imagined crushing his ruined mouth right up against them. Yes, she would most certainly take offense at that.
“Oh, anything I can think of. Propping up a wobbly desk, perhaps?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Be serious for a moment.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m always serious.” At least, he had been for the past few years. Until these past few moments.
But, other than his friends, who he communicated with primarily over the phone, he only ever talked to his stripped-down staff. To Fos, the man who had been his father’s right hand for as long as Adam could remember. And to Athena, his cook. Otherwise, the staff tended to rotate, and they kept out of his way.
Belle was one of the first new people he had spent any time with in longer than he could remember.
“Seriously deranged.” She sniffed.
A few moments later, Athena appeared, along with kitchen staff carrying trays. “Tonight,” she said, casting a swift glance over to Belle, “we have lamb with mint and yogurt, couscous and assorted vegetables. For dessert there is baklava.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Athena lingered.
Adam sighed heavily. “Have you something to say, Athena?”
“I don’t approve,” she said, her tone stiff.
“And I don’t care,” he returned. “Leave us.”
Athena cast him a sad glance, and then turned the same look onto Belle. Then she shook her head and walked out of the room.
“Neither of your servants approve of you,” Belle said, looking the food over critically.
“And my captive doesn’t seem to fear me,” he said. “I must be doing something wrong.”
“I came all the way from California to face you down and get my father out of your dungeon. If I was going to freak out, I would have done it already.” She tilted her chin upward, her expression mutinous. And a little bit too committed to defiance.
“We shall see. Eat.”
He took his own command, digging into the food with relish. He picked up one of the lamb shanks, gnawing it close to the bone. He became aware a moment later of Belle’s watchful gaze on him.
“What?” he asked.
“I assumed that... I assumed that royalty would have some sort of exemplary table manners. But, unless your customs are different here...”
He set the meat down onto his plate. “Are you determined to insult me at every turn? I served you dinner. I installed you in a very nice room. All things considered, I find you ungrateful.”
“I’m sorry—am I not expressing adequate gratitude for my imprisonment?”
“You are a prisoner of your own design. You could have left your father here.”
“Right. I could have left my father here to die.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Plenty of people would have. A great many people possess more self-interest than that.”
“My father raised me,” she said, conviction in her tone. “He’s all I have. And it might be easy for you to dismiss him as nothing more than a paparazzo, but he’s everything to me. And you didn’t even let me say goodbye to him.”
“I’m hardly going to keep you captive for the rest of your life,” he said. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“He’s sick,” she insisted. “He might die while I’m away.”
Adam felt an uncomfortable stab of conscience. He was not in the market for his conscience to make any kind of resurgence. Not now. “I truly hope that isn’t the case. However, he was well enough to sneak into my palace and collect photographs of me only a few weeks ago. Then he sold those photos and would do nothing to reclaim them. Tell me,” he said, “since you are so well versed in matters of popular culture, do you know exactly how I got my scars?”
She looked down, shaking her head.
“All it took was a relentless photographer harassing my driver on a night with poor driving conditions,” he said, his tone hard. “And in the end, damage was done that could not be undone.”
He didn’t see the point in bringing up Ianthe. If she didn’t know, he wasn’t going to discuss it. Not something so intensely personal. Not pain that belonged to him, and him alone, so unquestionably.
“I...” She looked away from him, and she had the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t know. I didn’t. But, my father didn’t endanger you.”
“No,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “He only broke into my home and invaded my privacy.”
“He’s harmless,” she said. “I mean, I know that a lot of people don’t understand the paparazzi thing. And I guess it can be a little bit...intense.”
“They are nothing but leeches. Bottom-feeders who leech off the fame of those who have either talent or power.”
“Fine. But my father isn’t a leech. When my mother decided she didn’t want me he took care of me. He’s always taken care of me. And yes, he did it by taking pictures of celebrities. That’s what fed me, all of my life. But nobody else was going to feed me,” she said, her voice vibrating with conviction.
“There are plenty of other lines of work to be in.”
“Says the Prince who was born with his job. Other people have to work. And not only that, they have to work hard to get work in the first place.”
“Are you lecturing me on how hard life can be?” He sat back in his chair. “Excuse me while I get a pen and paper so that I can take notes.”
“I’m sorry about your accident. My father didn’t do that to you.”
“But he was intending to use my personal tragedy for his gain.” He laughed. “In fact, he has succeeded.”
“Yes,” she said, sputtering. “But it isn’t that simple. He isn’t doing it to hurt you. He needs help. He needed to be able to afford his treatments.”
“Your justifications are hardly going to impress me. There is absolutely nothing I hate more than the press. Particularly the kind of fake press your father is a part of. But, it is of no matter to me. There is nothing I can do to prevent the publication of those photographs. Believe me—I have tried. But, I have figured out a way to take control of the situation.”
“What’s that?” she asked, clearly skeptical.
“I have not appeared in public since my accident. That’s why those photographs are so valuable, you know. Because everybody’s curious. How badly am I disfigured?”
She blinked. “You haven’t been in public...at all.”
“No. I think I mentioned when we first met—”
“When you took me captive.”
“If you prefer. I think I mentioned that I have someone ruling in my stead. However, the time frame on our agreement is running out, and if I do not regain control of the country, a general election will result. And so it will be the end of the monarchy as we know it.” He looked at the little woman sitting across from him and twisting her hands in her lap. “I would have thought you would have done a bit of cursory research on me before you tore off to my kingdom and offered to become my prisoner.”
“There wasn’t time. Whatever you think about my father, I hope that you can understand that I love him.”
“Love doesn’t matter except to the people it is between,” he said, thinking of his wife. The press certainly hadn’t cared that he’d loved her. They were always tormenting her, always working to dig up a scandal. “It is precious to no one else,” he finished, the words bitter.
“Tell me. Tell me your plans. Since I clearly factor into them.”
“I intend to keep you here with me, and then I intend to present you to the world as my mistress.”
* * *
Belle felt as though she had been slapped. “Your...what?”
“My mistress. As I said, I have not been seen in the public eye since the accident. But, now those photographs are going to be published, and it is forcing me out of my seclusion. I suppose it had to happen eventually. I dislike greatly having my hand forced, but the timing coincides with an event that is politically expedient for me to attend.”
He began to eat again, just as he had done earlier. There was something feral in the way that he handled his food. In his posture. He wasn’t at all the way she imagined a prince might be. Though, when he talked about how long he had been away from the public eye, it all made a bit more sense. He had been here, she assumed. Nearly alone in this castle, answering to no one but himself. Clearly, performing for no one at all.
His manner was rough, his manners nonexistent.
Of course, she could expect little else from someone who had taken her prisoner over some photographs. Well, as a trade for a prisoner who was imprisoned for photographs.
And he had said he needed her for her beauty. So she supposed she shouldn’t be shocked that this was where it was leading.
But a mistress. Such an old-fashioned word, and certainly not one that had ever been applied to her.
She wasn’t sure anyone would believe it. She didn’t know how to act the part of a vixen. Or even someone mildly flirtatious.
She’d met Tony at school, and if not for him coming into the university library every day around the time she was studying, asking her what she was reading, the two of them would never have started dating. She’d been oblivious, and only his persistence had brought about the first date.
Oh. Tony. He would be...
“I can’t do that.”
“You don’t have a choice. You agreed to be my prisoner, and so, here you are.”
“But...but... I can’t have the whole world thinking I’m with you!”
He lifted his hand, drawing his fingertips across her cheekbone, leaving a trail of strange fire in his wake. “Yes,” he said, his tone dry. “I can see how that would be a grave humiliation for you.”
He’d misunderstood, but she saw no point in correcting him. The why didn’t matter. Not to him.
She looked down. “I don’t suppose you would have a hard time finding somebody else who wanted to go with you.”
“Yes,” he said, “I’m very wealthy, and very powerful. But, a great many men are. And very few of them have my ill humor or destroyed features.”
“So,” she said, “you just want me to be your date?” Spoken plainly like that, it scared her slightly less.
“Oh, it is a bit more than that. I shall present you to the world as my lover, and with that there will be certain expectations. You will be required to keep up the farce or... I will continue to pursue action against your father.”
She felt helpless. And she felt...well she felt like a prisoner. “I have a boyfriend.” As if bringing Tony into the mix would discourage him.
“Not anymore.”
Her heart twisted. “You can’t just do that. I mean, you can’t force me to break up with him.”
“You don’t need to do anything half so dramatic as that. But you will not be allowed to speak with him. In fact, I think I like this scenario even better. I hope he comes forward and complains to the media about the woman who jilted him for this.” He gestured to himself.
“Why do you want this?” she asked. “Just to hurt me? Because of my father?”
“No,” he said, hard and firm. “I need to return to the spotlight as I left.” He laughed then, dark and merciless. “Which is difficult enough. And I will be damned if I allowed myself to be an object of pity. Of scorn. When I walk into that ballroom, in front of the world, it will be as though I never left. Yes, I am scarred now, but I will have a woman on my arm, and there will be no doubt that as easily as I stepped into your bed, I will step back into the throne room.”
“And when...and when the party is over?”
He lifted a shoulder. “You will be free, of course. And we will concoct a story about our drifting apart. I could hardly settle down so quickly, after all. Someday, yes. But after a suitable succession of women such as yourself.”
The arrogance, the confidence inherent in that statement should have enraged her. Instead she felt...hot.
“I need my phone back,” she insisted, thinking again of Tony. Forcing her thoughts back to him.
“No.”
“But, I have agreed to your terms.”
“And yet, you are not a guest. You are my captive. I cannot have you making contact with the outside world that I don’t approve of. You are the daughter of the lowest form of life that I can think of on this planet, and I have no guarantee that you are not also a photographer, or that you wouldn’t also act as one if the opportunity presented itself. In fact, it would be rather a clever ploy, don’t you think?”
She supposed it would be, but she honestly hadn’t thought of it. “Well, I’m not. I’m getting my master’s in literature.”
“What do you do with a degree like that?”
“Teach mainly. But, my point is I don’t move in that world. I don’t condemn my father, but I’m not following in his footsteps either.”
He spread his arms wide. “And yet, here you are. You followed in his footsteps close enough.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, looking at her barely touched food.
“I still am.”
“I want to go to my room.”
He waved a hand. “You will go when I’m finished. I suggest you eat, because there will be nothing served to you after.”
“I’m done.”
“It is not in my best interest to have you show up at our big debut looking half-starved. I should like your curves to be able to fill out a ball gown.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I don’t care what you want my curves to do. They aren’t yours. I’ll put on a show for you, but you don’t get access to my body.”
The air between them suddenly seemed to freeze; then it heated again. He stood from his chair, moving over to where she was sitting. He leaned in and he reached out slowly, drawing his fingertip across her cheek. She was mesmerized, held captive by his face. By every groove and imperfection in his skin, by the twist at the corner of his mouth and that slash that ran over his right eye. With him this close, she could see that it didn’t impact his vision. No, he saw. She had a feeling he saw so deeply into her that he could see just how fast her blood was rushing. How hard her heart was pounding.
“I will have access to whatever I like,” he said, his tone soft. “And you would do well to remember that.”
“I already told you—”
“You have a boyfriend. Yes. But, I have taken you prisoner in my castle, Belle. Ask yourself, do I seem like the sort of man who is concerned about whether or not someone has a boyfriend?”
“Given that...” She swallowed hard, trying to fight the fluttering in her stomach. “Given the fact that you have taken two people prisoner in the space of forty-eight hours, I imagine you don’t care about things like boyfriends, no.”
“You are correct.” He settled back into his chair, and a wave of relief washed over her. But, she also felt a lingering chill from his withdrawal. “You see, it is an interesting thing, having everything taken from you. When you shrink your world down to a palace, to the grounds, it gives you a lot of time to reflect.”
“Yes,” she said, “clearly, you had your own Eat, Pray, Love moment and emerged extremely enlightened.”
“Not entirely. Instead, I had a lot of time to think about what matters. And what doesn’t.”
“What matters to a man like you?”
“Survival. That’s all that matters. That’s the beginning and end of it. There are no rewards given for the manner in which you live, Belle. It would do you well to remember that.”
“You have the audacity to comment on what my father does for a living while you say morality doesn’t matter?”
“Because it hindered my survival. And, as previously stated, that is the only thing that matters to me. When you have nothing else, the elemental need to breathe is all that keeps you going. Yes, survival is the beginning and end of everything. When everything else falls away, the only thing that remains is that indrawn breath, and the seconds that stretch between it and the next. Sometimes, it is simply all you have to live for.” He took another bite of his dinner. “The living. Not the manner in which you live, not anything you possess. We are all creatures driven by that need.”
She shook her head. “Not me. I like books. And I like the ocean. The sun on the sand, and how warm it feels against my skin.” She saw something flicker in his dark eyes, and for some reason she felt her cheeks heat. “Those things are deeper than survival. And they matter. Because they’re what make survival matter.”
He laughed, but the sound carried no humor. “You would be surprised. There was a point in my existence when I looked around, and there was nothing. Nothing but an empty palace, dark, void of life. When every part of my body hurt, when I could barely get out of bed. And I would ask myself why I was still breathing. The answer was not books or the sun on the sand.”
“What was the answer, then?” she asked, in spite of herself.
“Because I’m simply too stubborn to allow death to win. Sometimes, that’s all the reason you have. So it is the reason that suffices.” He stood then. “I am finished. Come. I will show you back to your room.”
“I don’t need you to.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice uncompromising, “you do. Because, I need to establish a few...ground rules.”
She bristled. She wasn’t accustomed to being told what to do. That simply wasn’t the way her father had raised her. No, her father had seemed perpetually out of his element with a small child. But, he had loved her, and Belle had given him as little trouble as possible because she could see how hard he tried. Because from what she could remember of her life with her mother, she was much better off with her father.
He kept her on a very long leash. He had never imposed much in the way of strictures. She fixed her own dinner, chose her own clothes, decided when she would go out at night and when she would stay in.
Having this man suggest that she would be following anything like rules burrowed underneath her skin and prodded her.
Not that she’d ever done much with that freedom. But it was the principle.
Somehow, she managed to bite her lip and keep from saying something. But, the minute she did that fear crept back over her. A reminder that she didn’t know who he was, not really. And didn’t know what he was capable of.
It was so hard to take it all in; it kept hitting her in fits and starts, in little snatches. Probably because if it all landed on her at once, like a ton of extremely archaic bricks, she would lose her mind completely.
“If ever you are hungry, just let Athena know. She will feed you.”
“I can’t just...get my own food?”
“I never do,” he said.
“Well,” she said, “that is not particularly surprising.”
She followed him down the long corridor, back to the stairs. “There is an exit that way,” he said, gesturing to the left. “It will take you out to the gardens. You’re welcome to explore anyplace you want on the grounds. Also, the ballroom, the libraries, all of that is open to you. But my quarters are not.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling a strange sense of relief. Really, she did not want to go to his quarters. Just the thought made her stomach clench up tight.
“My chambers encompass the east quadrant of the palace.”
“An entire quadrant?”
He arched a brow, pausing midstride. “I take up a lot of space.” Then he turned away from her and continued walking. That simple statement was truer than he probably realized. He most definitely took up a lot of space. And all the air in whatever room he was in.
“Can I at least...?” She took a breath. “You won’t give me my phone. I need something. I need some way to get in touch with people.”
“That is impossible. Not at the moment. I have my own agenda, and my concern is that you have your own, as well. I cannot have them conflicting.”
He didn’t sound the least bit regretful. “So you just intend to keep me cut off from the world?”
“It isn’t so bad.”
It was dawning on her, creeping up over her like a chill, that she was committed to staying here with a man who had not been outside palace walls in several years. A man who clearly didn’t understand why anybody would have an issue being so isolated. It wasn’t even an issue of him lacking sympathy or humanity.
He had no understanding. For why she might want more. For why she might need more.
A person could shrivel up into a husk and die here, and the master of the manor would never even have had the slightest inclination she was in danger of doing so.
“I don’t...” It suddenly dawned on her when they approached her bedroom door that she had nothing with her. No clothes. “I don’t have anything to wear.” She had been wearing the same jeans and jacket since she had embarked on her journey yesterday.
“I can have something procured for you. You will get it tomorrow. Tonight, however, there is nothing I can do for you.”
“But... I... I have nothing to sleep in.”
He looked at her, his coal-black eyes burning through her skin, leaving her feeling hot, restless. “Then sleep in nothing. It is what I do.”
For some reason, those words forced an image of him with acres of golden skin exposed. She wondered where his scars extended to. If all of him was so rough and tragically torn, or if parts of him were still whole.
And once more that strange sensation overwhelmed her. Made her scalp prickle, made her heart beat faster.
She gasped and jerked away from him.
He regarded her closely for a moment, and she sensed a strange current arcing between them; for some reason she was incredibly conscious and aware of the amount of restraint and strength it was taking for him to hold himself there, still and steady. She had no idea just what he was restraining himself from doing, or why she was so confident in her assessment of him.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to either thing.
“I will leave you,” he said, his tone hard.
Then he turned away to go, and she found herself strangely wanting to stop him. To prolong the moment.
So she took another step away from him, holding her hands down at her sides and keeping herself resolutely still.
He walked away from the room, and back down the corridor. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. And then she sprang into action. She forced the door shut, and locked it, hoping that it would hold. Then thinking it was probably silly because if anybody had the key to the door, it was her captor.
Her heart began to thunder hard, and she placed her hand against her breast, trying to catch her breath. She was shaking, shaking and trying not to cry. But then she wondered why she was bothering.
She let out a gasping sob, one tear trailing down her cheek. She turned and threw herself on the bed. She was alone. Really alone. Her father didn’t know where she was, Tony didn’t know where she was.
She had no way to reach them. She had no way to get help if she needed it. She simply had to trust the man holding her here.
Her wounded, strangely beautiful captor, who seemed to bring ice with him whenever he entered a room.
She closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to claim her. And as her thoughts began to swirl around in a confusing circle, she kept picturing his dark eyes. Dark eyes, set in a ravaged face, that were windows to an even more ravaged soul.
Thoughts of him made her restless. Made it impossible for her to breathe.
I will present you to the world as my mistress.
Memories of those words, of that voice, set off a quiver low in her belly. And her final thought before drifting to sleep was that if this was fear...if it was anger, it was unlike anything she had ever felt before in her life.
With those words still resonating inside her, she was forced to recognize, as sleep claimed her utterly, that she felt neither fear nor anger toward him.
But she refused to name the things she did feel. Which were far more monstrous than he could ever be.
