Читать книгу Capturing the Crown Bundle - Nina Bruhns, Caridad Piñeiro - Страница 11

The trip from afterglow to aftershock was quick and stunning. The moment that his blood cooled and his sanity returned, remorse and guilt descended over Russell.

Regret did not enter into it, even though he knew it should. But as awful as he felt about betraying everything he had always held dear and in the highest esteem, Russell couldn’t find it in his heart to regret the sweetest, most stirring experience of his life.

He was the future king’s right-hand man and the future queen’s protector. He had failed at both. In the worst possible way.

Sitting up in bed, the sheet pooling around his taut waist, Russell dropped his head into his hands in a moment of despair and shame. The crime he was guilty of committing only continued to escalate in magnitude. He should have put a stop to this before it had gotten out of hand.

Before he had gotten out of hand.

Russell couldn’t bring himself to face Amelia. He was afraid of the hatred and loathing he would see there. Not only had he betrayed the prince, but he had taken something very precious away from Amelia.

“You’re a virgin,” he finally whispered. A sigh shuddered through his perspiration-soaked body. How did he begin to apologize? “Or were.”

Amelia stared at his muscular back, hardly breathing. He made it sound as if a death sentence had just been carried out. All women began as virgins. What counted was having a choice as to who would be the first. And she had made hers. She supposed it was her form of protest. She had no regrets.

Please, please don’t ruin this for me, she pleaded silently.

Amelia continued to lie there, looking at his back. Her body was still humming. Was this normal? She didn’t know, she had nothing to go by. All she knew was that, despite the slight moment of pain, the entire experience had felt incredibly wonderful.

“That was the unspoken part of the bargain,” she finally responded, reminding him. “That Reginald receive a virgin on his wedding night.” Her mouth quirked with a hint of cynicism. “I’m sure he’s already had more than his share of those, as well as the tried-and-true variety.”

Russell turned to look at her. He’d taken her silence to indicate loathing. At least she was talking to him. And she didn’t sound as if she were angry. He searched her face for some telltale sign. He reminded himself that Amelia had always had a sweet nature.

And he had taken advantage of that.

He curtailed the impulse to run his hand along her cheek. “I had no right—”

“No,” she agreed quietly, her voice low, “you didn’t.” She saw his shoulders tense and instantly knew what he had to be thinking. He was too honorable a man for his thoughts to be a mystery. Very lightly, she placed her fingers along his back. “Until I gave it to you.”

The very touch of her fingers brought another wave of longing to the surface. He did his very best to bank it down, making an oath to himself that he wouldn’t act on it, no matter what.

He looked at her over his shoulder. “I took advantage—”

“You took what I offered,” she corrected firmly with the confidence of a woman who knew her own mind. “And gave me something to remember.”

She was being kind, forgiving. The smile in her voice tortured him. He felt torn. Because as huge as his guilt was, as overwhelming as the burden of that act was even now proving to be, God help him, he wanted to do it again. To hold her soft, yielding body against his and lose himself in her. To make love with her until there was no air left in his lungs nor a shred of energy in his entire being.

His. Damn it all to hell, he had to stop thinking of himself, of what he needed. Of his own gratification. He needed to focus on what was best for the realm. For Amelia. For everyone else but him. That was what was important.

She was sitting up beside him. Her hair brushed along his arm. He felt heat traveling up his flanks, curling in his belly. Goading him on.

He needed to get this out of the way first. “Princess, I don’t know what to say. I—”

Moving her head slowly from side to side, Amelia pressed her fingers against his lips, trying to abort whatever disclaimer was to follow. Hearing the words would hurt too much.

She read his true feelings in his eyes and her heart warmed. “Please don’t apologize. I’m not sorry it happened. A woman’s first time should be memorable. It should be remembered with something other than a general sense of loathing.”

Very slowly, he drew her fingers from his lips, fighting the urge to kiss each one. Holding her hand in his, he looked at her for a long moment. There were things going on inside him, things that had no place in the role fate had chosen him to play. That his king had chosen him to play.

Why this woman? Of all the women in the world, why did he find himself so strongly attracted to this one? And why hadn’t he the strength not to give in?

“And was it?” he heard himself asking her.

Her mouth curved as her eyes smiled at him. “Vanity, Carrington?”

His expression was deadly serious, even if hers was not. “Concern, Princess.”

“Then you don’t have to be,” she told him. “Not anymore. Because it was wonderful.”

Her own expression grew more somber. She knew what they had done was serious. Not all that long in the past, they would have faced not just censure, but possibly death for what they had done. Even now, there was still a stigma attached to what had happened.

Knowing all that, she still wouldn’t have changed anything for the world.

“You’ve given me something to hold on to, to remember when Reginald comes to claim what he sees as his due.” She sighed, clasping her knees and bringing them up to her. “Why has the twenty-first century come to every corner of Gastonia except where it would count the most for me? I’m living a life that echoes the Middle Ages. I’m being bartered for a treaty.” Forcing a smile to her lips, she ran her fingers through his thick hair. Why couldn’t he have been the prince instead of Reginald? Then doing her duty would have been wonderful instead of odious. “This night may very well be the only true happiness I will ever know.”

Russell shifted toward her, his heart already trapped, even before his body entered the bargain. He tugged away the sheet that she had drawn around her breasts, his blood heating as he heard her soft intake of breath.

“The night isn’t over yet.”

Amelia felt the pull within her instantly and made no attempt to resist it. Instead, she gave herself up to the joyous thrill that rampaged through her body.

When his mouth came down on hers, she felt all points of her body igniting again, like flares being sent up into the night sky.

This time, there would be no surprises, this time, she knew what to expect.

Or thought she did.

But there was more to lovemaking than a repetition of the motions, more than just the anticipation of release, and the first and only lover she would ever welcome to her bed spent the night introducing her to all the wondrous ways a man could make love to a woman. And during the night, Amelia proved to be an able and eager student, not merely content to absorb but to test the boundaries of her knowledge and to see what it felt like not only to be on the receiving end, but to be the one who delivered, as well.

Russell’s experience was not vast. Unlike Prince Reginald, he didn’t bed every woman with a pleasing face who crossed his path. He most valued not just skill, but intelligence, something to stir him beyond the physical. Amelia stirred him that way. She made love to his mind as well as his body. He ceased to be the teacher very quickly, and found himself awed and delighted to be on equal footing with her.

He discovered that Her Royal Highness, Princess Amelia, could easily make him absolutely insane. All it took was a look in her eyes, a smile on her lips, a touch of her hand along his skin.

They made love several times. More times than he had believed he was capable of. Until now.

Until her.

Russell had no idea how much time had passed. An hour, two. A week. Lost in thoughts and feelings, he had no way of reckoning. He only knew that he had never, ever felt so summarily drained and contented at the same time.

Amelia was lying beside him, curled up in the hollow of his arm, and he could not remember ever feeling as happy as he did at this moment. His heart swelled as he looked at her. Russell laughed softly to himself, his breath ruffling her hair. “I think I might never walk again.”

Half asleep, she was amusing herself by playing with the hair on his arm, lightly stroking it and pretending with all her might that tomorrow did not have to come. That she never had to leave this bed, never had to know another man intimately. Only him.

“Is that a good thing?” she murmured.

“That all depends.”

She half turned her face up to his, curious. “On what?”

“On whether or not the bed is on fire.” He wanted to go on holding her like this, wanted somehow to make her his forever. But that was even more impossible than his sprouting wings would be.

He felt her smile against his arm as it widened. Amelia—how could he think of her as the princess after what they had just shared?—raised her head again, her eyes dancing as she looked at him. “And is it?”

“It was.” He pulled her to him, settled her against his chest and felt her heart beat against his. As if they were meant to be one. If only…

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Princess, but you are a natural.”

She moved until she was resting her hands on his chest. Laying her head on top of them, she cocked it slightly as she studied his face. He felt the tickle of her hair as it draped along his naked skin.

“Do you think that you could find it in your heart, for the space of what is left of this night and in light of the fact that you have seen me as naked as the moment I was born, to call me just Amelia?”

He loved her. The thought came to him, riding on a thunderbolt. He loved her. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

But right now, he could play along and pretend that they were just two people who’d found each other. “I could, ‘just Amelia.’”

She sighed, her eyes closing again. “Good.”

Raising his head, he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

It made her feel warm and wanting all over again, even though Amelia doubted she could move. Like him, she was utterly and entirely spent—and thrilled. If there was guilt because she was promised to another, because she had wantonly thrown herself at Russell, it made no appearance tonight. Because tonight didn’t belong to her realm, and certainly not to the man she’d been pledged to from the moment she’d drawn her first breath.

Tonight was hers.

And Russell’s.

“I wish…” Her wistful voice trailed off.

Russell looked at her, curious. “You wish what?”

She opened her eyes again for a moment. The smile that found her mouth was soft, gentle, sad. “Just ‘I wish,’” she murmured.

“Yes, me, too,” Russell whispered softly, understanding what couldn’t be spoken out loud, what couldn’t be. She wished that she were someone else and that they didn’t both have duties standing in the way.

He raised himself on his elbow. “I’d better go,” he began.

But she tightened her arms around him. “Not yet,” she whispered. “Hold me. Just for a little while longer. Just hold me.”

It wasn’t in his heart to say no to her. Besides, it was unheard of for a duke to refuse a princess. Especially when he didn’t want to.

So he remained where he was, holding her in his arms, saying nothing, thinking everything, until the first flicker of dawn creased the darkened sky and she fell asleep.

Then, very carefully, Russell slipped his arm from beneath her head. He held his breath as he slowly left her bed, one tiny inch at a time so as not to wake her. He watched her face the entire time for a sign that he had roused her.

Watched it, too, because he knew he would never be able to see it this way again, relaxed in soft repose, the scent of their lovemaking still on her skin as well as on his.

Russell felt a pang of longing and sorrow in his heart. Damn Reginald, anyway. Why couldn’t the fool have come to get her himself? This would have never happened if Reginald hadn’t allowed his appetites to dictate his behavior.

The pot calling the kettle black? a voice inside Russell’s head mocked.

He was clearly no saint, but there was a difference between him and Reginald, he silently insisted. He sincerely doubted that the prince loved any of the women he bedded. Given a test, the Playboy Prince would probably be unable to recall the names of more than half of them. Lust was his god.

But lust hadn’t been what had led Russell to give in to Amelia when she’d pressed her body so invitingly against his, he thought. He had never been one to be led around by his appetites, even as a teenager with hormones the size of boulders. Longing was what had prompted him to do what he had. To give in. Because from the first moment he’d arrived to escort her back to Silvershire, there had been something, a pull, an electrical charge, something that had seduced him, had whispered her name in his head and made him want her.

If they had both been free to do so, if obligations didn’t bind them, Russell knew he would have proposed to her last night. Because when he had made love with Amelia, every fiber in his being had cried that it was right.

Even if it was so wrong.

Once out of her bed, Russell hastily threw on his clothing and then tiptoed to the door. He eased it open like someone waiting for a telltale squeak to give him away. None came. But he wasn’t home free yet.

He needed to make his retreat without encountering anyone in the hallways until he was well clear of the princess’s suite.

Russell looked furtively first in one direction, then another, before satisfying himself that no one was there to witness first-hand his leaving the princess’s rooms.

Because the palace had had a modern overhaul only two years ago, there were surveillance cameras in almost every corner of the lengthy hallway. Knowing what he did about security procedures, it would be easy enough to quickly doctor the tape that could incriminate both of them. All he would need to do, once he had the tape, was create a quick time loop, for both the time that he and the princess entered her suite and then again for when he left it.

It was a relatively simple matter to erase any evidence that this had ever taken place—from everywhere but his soul. But that was his problem. What he needed to do was make sure that everyone regarded the princess above reproach.

He tried not to think about the fact that in a few short days, Reginald could be enjoying the very things that he had just had. The thought was too painful for him to examine now.

Madeline Carlyle rounded the long corridor, pleased and amazed at how quickly she had rallied. She wanted to be the first to tell Amelia that the trip to Silvershire did not have to be delayed because of her.

Rounding the corner, Madeline came to a dead stop. The smile on her appealing round face froze and then faded when she saw the tall, dark, handsome man emerging from the princess’s suite. Catching her breath, Madeline melted back into the shadows, her heart hammering hard in her chest.

Her first thought was that Amelia was in danger. If that were the case, she had no business hiding. Her job was to protect the princess no matter what. But when she stepped out into the hallway again, the man she’d just seen was gone.

What had he done to Amelia?

Madeline hurried into Amelia’s quarters, completely disregarding any protocol that would have her knocking on the princess’s door and waiting to be allowed access. They had been friends for far too long for her to stand on protocol. Especially since Amelia would have none of it. She’d always encouraged her to treat her as if they were equals.

Rushing through the sitting room, Madeline burst into the princess’s bedroom. The same room where they had played and whispered stories to one another in the dead of night when they were children.

“Amelia,” she cried, “are you all right?”

But even as she asked the question, she saw that rather than looking violated, or like the victim of some sort of mistreatment, Amelia looked absolutely fine. She also looked as if she were asleep.

The sound of Madeline’s breathless question elbowed its way into the dream she was having. With reluctance, Amelia opened her eyes. Dazed, disoriented, it took her a moment to pull herself together.

The fact that she was alone in bed came crashing down on her consciousness.

Her brain replayed Madeline’s question as she tried to focus on the woman’s concerned face. Belatedly, Amelia realized that she was still nude. As regally as she could, she gathered the sheet to herself, forced a smile to her lips and made an attempt at diversion.

“Madeline. You’re better.”

The redhead waved her hand, dismissing the reference to her health. All that was yesterday’s news. She had very obviously stumbled across something that came under the heading of “breaking news.”

And she wanted to know every last detail about it. “Never mind me, what about you?”

For a moment, Amelia avoided her best friend’s eyes. She picked at the sheet, as if arranging it in a more flattering way. “What about me?”

Madeline knelt down beside the bed, her eyes searching Amelia’s face for some kind of sign that would tell her if something was truly wrong. “Are you all right?”

Amelia lifted her head, tossing her hair over her shoulder. A portrait in regalness. “Yes, why shouldn’t I be?”

“Because—” Madeline stopped and tried again, more coherently this time. “Amelia, I saw a man coming out of your rooms.”

So, he’d only just left her now. Somehow, she found that heartening. It meant that he couldn’t tear himself away. The thought made her happy. “No, you didn’t.”

Madeline frowned, confused. “Yes, I did, he—”

Amelia fixed the other woman with a very intent look. “No, Madeline, you didn’t,” she repeated, enunciating every word carefully.

Madeline returned Amelia’s look, trying to gauge the princess’s thoughts. “I didn’t.” It wasn’t quite a question, nor was it completely a statement.

“No.” Amelia’s tone was firm and not to be argued with.

Madeline drew closer still to the woman who had her allegiance before all others. “And this man I didn’t see, exactly who was he?”

They had shared everything. Intelligent, witty and blessed with a delicious sense of humor as well as irony, Madeline was the old-fashioned sort of confidante, the kind who was loyal to her very last breath. They had kept one another’s secrets since before either one had understood what that meant.

Looking down on her knotted fingers, Amelia whispered, “The Duke of Carrington.”

Madeline covered her mouth to keep the squeal of surprise from emerging. When her voice returned to normal, she dropped her hands and asked, “That was Russell?”

Amelia nodded. Rather than regret what, in a moment of wine-aided weakness, she had done, she found herself missing him.

“My lord.” Madeline stared at Amelia, speechless.

No, he’s mine, Amelia thought.

Clearing her throat, Madeline forged ahead, “Did you and he—?” And then she laughed at her own question. “Of course you did. Just look at you, you’re glowing. Glowing and naked.” More than slightly familiar with nights of excitement and passion herself, Madeline knew that Amelia had never been with anyone. “Was he good to you?”

“Better than good,” Amelia breathed. “He was fabulous.”

“If you wanted to run off with him, Amelia, I could create a diversion. I could—”

Amelia placed her hand on Madeline’s, anchoring her attention. She shook her head. “No.”

Madeline’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. Amelia knew Madeline had never liked the prince, had never thought of him as being good enough for her.

“No?”

“No.” Amelia took both of Madeline’s hands and held them in her own. “And you can never tell anyone, do you understand?”

Madeline looked into the imploring violet eyes. With reluctance, she nodded and gave Amelia her word. “I understand.”