Читать книгу Capturing the Crown Bundle - Nina Bruhns, Caridad Piñeiro - Страница 18

What had just happened here?

Her pulse racing faster than could be measured by any earthly instrument, Amelia drew her head back to look at Russell.

“Have I gotten to you or are you just trying to shut me up?”

“Yes, and yes,” he answered, a kiss to either side of her neck separating the two affirmations.

He’d been without her too long. It felt like a lifetime, even though logically he knew that by the calendar, it had only been a matter of a few days.

His blood heated to an almost unbearable point, Russell found that he didn’t want to waste any more time, not with words, not with delays. Though nothing had really been resolved to his satisfaction, though he still felt hurt by Amelia’s initial flash of distrust, he couldn’t resist these demands storming through him any longer.

Still kissing her, he moved his hands to the back of her dress. He had only one goal in mind: to separate the heavily beaded gown from her body as quickly as humanly possible.

His goal was thwarted almost immediately. Instead of a zipper, his fingers came in contact with what felt like a army of tiny round buttons, marching up and down the length of her back in single file. They extended from her shoulder blades to well past her waist. There had to be over a hundred of them, he thought in utter frustration as he moved his head back to look at her.

Despite the fact that her skin felt as if it were sizzling, Amelia had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from laughing. The mystified look on her new husband’s face was almost too adorable to withstand.

“You’re bundled up like a national treasure,” he complained. And then the frown left his lips. A look entered his eyes that would have completely captured her heart—if it hadn’t already been his. “In a way, I suppose that you are.”

It took effort not to simply melt into his arms at that point. “The royal dresser helped get me into this,” she told him. There was no way she could have fastened all the buttons on her own.

“Well, I’m not calling her to help get you out. If I can’t manage this on my own, I don’t deserve to be the next King of Silvershire.” With desire vibrating through him, growing in urgency by the moment, he had to focus in order to hold himself in check and not to rip the gown right off her body. “Turn around,” he instructed.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she curtsied, a gleam in her eyes, before she turned and offered her back to him.

“Not yet,” he reminded her. “I’m not king yet.” His breath teased her spine as he removed one tiny button after another from its loop. It was slow going. Far slower than he was happy about. “This is worse than a chastity belt,” Russell muttered under his breath.

She felt his hands along her skin, felt her body tightening and humming in anticipation. She found it difficult to breathe. Difficult to remain where she was instead of throwing herself into his arms and kissing him with abandon.

Standing as still as she could, her hands on her waist, Amelia glanced at him over her shoulder. “And just how many chastity belts have you removed?”

Why did there have to be so many buttons? A half-dozen would have been sufficient. His fingers were growing thick and clumsy as he kept repeating the procedure over and over again. “What?”

“You just said that the buttons were worse than a chastity belt. I was just wondering how many princesses you’ve liberated in your time.”

“You would be the first,” he told her.

And, he added silently, in a way, Amelia was liberating him. Freeing his soul with her sweetness from the solitary cell where it had been confined.

Nothing had changed. He still didn’t want to be crowned king, still didn’t want the attention that went with this very public role he was being forced to take on, but he did want this woman. Wanted her with the last fiber of his being. Wanted her more than he had first initially realized. And if that meant enduring public scrutiny beneath a blistering spotlight, so be it. He would find some way to deal with it.

So long as he could have her. All he cared about was having her, now. He was consumed with desire, with need.

It felt as if the space of time between when they had first made love and now was several decades instead of merely several days. His body longed for her. More, his soul longed for her, for the feel of the safe haven that existed in her arms, in her kiss.

“Done,” he declared with no small note of triumph as he finally pushed the last tiny button out of its confining loop.

Rather than turn her around to face him, Russell slid the dress slowly from her shoulders, down her arms. All the while he had her against him and was kissing the slope of her neck, the soft expanse of her back. He heard her moan and it only served to fuel the fire that had already begun to rage inside him.

The fire that only she could quench.

This was amazing, Amelia thought. Russell was giving her goose bumps even as he was heating her body with his oh-so-clever mouth. She felt as if she were being consumed by both fire and ice at the very same time.

How was that possible?

When he cupped her breasts, still weaving a network of kisses that ran along her back, Amelia turned within the circle of his arms so that she could face him. Face him so that she could begin removing the formal uniform that he had worn to their wedding.

He’d looked so tall and brave, standing there at the altar in his uniform. Her soldier. Now all she wanted was to have him standing there without it.

Eager, wanting, Amelia tore aside the dress sash, pushed the jacket from his shoulders and all but ripped the shirt from his body.

All the while, her body cheered her on, silently crying, “More.”

“Princess,” Russell teased, a wide grin on his darkly tanned face, “are you attacking me?”

“With every fiber of my being,” she breathed. “And it’s Amelia. Amelia,” she emphasized breathlessly for what felt like the umpteenth time. When would he stop thinking of her as a title and start thinking of her as a woman? His woman.

“Amelia,” he repeated, his voice low, husky with unspent passion.

She could almost feel her name dance along her skin, encased in his breath. It drove her crazy.

Everything that came after was a blur, like the events in someone else’s dream.

The rest of the clothing, both hers and his, wound up in a tangled heap of brocades, silks and beads on the floor—as tangled as their bodies swiftly became.

She couldn’t get enough of him.

The more excitement rose within her body in an ever-heightening crescendo, the more Amelia found herself wanting more. Wanting him. She desperately wanted the sensation he had created within her to continue forever, or as close to forever as was humanly possible.

Russell did his best to accommodate her. His pleasure in part derived from the way Amelia moved beneath him, from the moans that escaped her lips as he familiarized his hands and then his lips with every inch of her body. With swift, clever, promising movements, he brought her to climax upon climax. To joy upon joy. Joy that, only a short while ago, had been completely unimagined for both of them.

Within the shelter of an evening, she became his kindred soul. He could read or sense everything she was experiencing. He could literally see it in Amelia’s face. With little effort, he wrapped himself in it, experiencing the moment vicariously with her.

He’d forgotten how almost tooth-jarring falling in love—making love—could be.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, feeling as if he would burst, Russell laced his hands with hers and raised them over her head. His eyes on hers, he lowered his body slowly until the imprint of hers was indelibly pressed against it.

And then he entered her.

This time, there was no small, almost imperceptible protest at the merging. No muffled whimper of pain that she tried to keep from him. This time, there was nothing but joy—for both of them.

The island of time that they had been allowed to carve out for one another faded away all too quickly. By ten the next morning, it seemed to have occurred almost a lifetime away, even though they had made love several times during the course of the night.

With daylight came obligations and matters to see to. They both knew that.

But still, she found herself wanting to break rules, to grab up her happiness with both hands and hold it to her before something or someone made it disappear.

She watched him as he got out of bed. Though she knew it was ridiculous, a hint of loneliness whispered along the edges of her consciousness. “No one would fault us if we remained here.” She raised her eyes to his. “In our own private kingdom where the rest of the world has no access.”

Russell leaned over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re wrong. It does have access.” Before she could protest or ask what he meant, he lightly tapped her forehead where he had just kissed it. “Right there. It barges in at the least opportune time, demanding attention.”

She supposed he was right. Reluctantly, Amelia rose, tossing aside the sheet that had covered her. She felt remarkably unselfconscious about the fact that she was nude. The nightgown that her dressmaker had designed especially for last night had never seen the light of day. It was still tucked away in the bureau drawer.

No one was more surprised than she at the way she felt. But right now, there was no shame, no embarrassment after the dew of afterglow had faded. She felt at ease like this with him.

It was as things should be, Amelia thought, crossing to the closet where members of the staff had already placed any garment that she could possibly want within easy access. Opening the door, she drew a dressing gown from its hanger. Slipping it on, she purposely left the two sides hanging open as she turned around to face him.

“If I had married Reginald, we would be on our way to our honeymoon. To Hawaii, where he would undoubtedly have hit on someone even as the bellboy was checking in our luggage.” She raised her head slightly, her eyes on his as she smiled. “This is much better.”

He had every intention of leaving the room. Of meeting with Lucia Cordez as had been arranged when she’d arrived yesterday. But the sight of Amelia’s soft, inviting curves peering out from beneath the royal-blue silk robe completely destroyed his resolve as well as his game plan.

A man was only so strong and then no more.

What would a few more minutes hurt? It wasn’t as if Corbett Lazlo’s computer expert was going anywhere in the immediate future. For all he knew, Lucia hadn’t been able to find anything yet. The password that Reginald had implemented on his files was, perforce, a bear to break. The late prince had been gleefully proud of that.

Reginald had implemented it not to keep the enemies of Silvershire from knowing any of his private affairs, or even his own personal enemies, but to make sure that his father remained in the dark about his less-than-noble activities.

At thirty years old, Reginald had been a child to the last breath in his body.

Russell couldn’t help wondering now if, for some reason, some secret piece of information on his computer could have ultimately been what had gotten Reginald killed. They might never find out.

The possibilities as to what had led to Reginald’s death were endless. They could also be nonexistent. Either way, if Lucia had come up with an answer, it would keep for a few more minutes. Perhaps even for half an hour.

If he could get his fill of Amelia in that amount of time.

It amazed him, after the night they had spent together, that he still had any energy left to walk, much less to make love with her again. He knew his limitations and he had never been a machine, the way Reginald boasted that he was. But Amelia seemed to bring out a supply of hidden reserves he hadn’t even been aware of possessing, he thought with a grateful smile.

“Yes,” he agreed, crossing to the closet where she stood and slipping the robe from her shoulders. The garment slid from her arms to the floor. “Much better.”

Amelia rose up on her bare toes, brushing her nude body against his.

Again, everything tightened in anticipation even as drumrolls sounded up and down her limbs and her loins moistened. With a soft laugh, her eyes gleaming, she threaded her arms around his neck. Her body pressed closely against his ever-hardening one.

The next half hour was lost. As was the hour that came after.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Russell apologized as he strode into the conference room where Lucia had set up her temporary office.

He had just now finished buttoning his jacket. Russell didn’t have to glance at his watch to know that it was close to noon, almost two hours later than he’d originally said he would come to speak with her. His hair was still damp in places from the shower he’d taken, the one that normally would have taken him less than five minutes. It, too, had fallen behind schedule because, at the last minute, Amelia had slipped into the stall with him.

He’d never enjoyed getting clean as much as he had this time.

Lucia Cordez raised the oversized glasses she used for reading and slid them onto the top her head, giving the duke her undivided attention. She was wearing a pair of cutoff denim shorts that showed her long legs off to their best advantage and a sleeveless light pink blouse that seemed more suited to the beach than to the dark business at hand.

He noticed that there was a plate with just the barest remnants of wedding cake on it and wondered if that had been her breakfast.

Lucia smiled at him. “Actually, you’re earlier than I anticipated.”

He didn’t see how that was possible “I said ten o’clock.”

The smile on Lucia’s lips told him she knew better, even if he didn’t. “You were married yesterday,” she reminded him. “I didn’t think you meant ten o’clock in actual real time. The cake was good, by the way. I wish I could steal your chef,” she added wistfully.

He looked over her shoulder at the computer monitor on the table. The binary code that covered the screen looked like some kind of decorative screen saver. “You give me something I can work with, I’ll have another wedding cake made for you.”

She inclined her head as if to say that sounded fair enough. “Well, as it happens, I’m still working on the prince’s monarch code.”

He’d thought as much. Russell groaned, running his hand through his hair. Damn it, why had Reginald enjoyed that part of it so much? Was it because it made him feel as if he were acting his age instead of behaving like the eternal juvenile he always seemed to be?

“However,” Lucia went on, “there is some good news, so to speak.”

“And that would be—?” he asked, gesturing for her to continue.

“In looking for the encryption code, I stumbled across a sealed file on his computer.” A small, triumphant smile crossed her lips. “It only took about half an hour to crack the password. When I opened the file, I saw that it contained a batch of personal e-mails.” Lucia leaned back in her chair to look at him. She needed to see his face in order to gauge whether or not he was hiding something. It wasn’t unheard of to have the client not altogether forthcoming when it came to an investigation. “Are you aware that Prince Reginald was being blackmailed?”

“Blackmailed?” Russell echoed, confused. That didn’t make any sense. “What could they possibly have to blackmail him with? The photographers followed him everywhere. Everything about his sordid life was a matter of record.”

“Apparently not everything, because the prince was making regular withdrawals from his private account. That usually means that regular payments were going somewhere. In addition, there’s mention of several meetings, all coinciding with withdrawals. The sender also threatens to ‘expose’ the prince several times in case he was thinking of going to the authorities.”

Russell began to wonder if there was anyone on Reginald’s side. The list of people who had something against the man kept growing. He almost felt sorry for the late prince. “Do you have any idea who was blackmailing him?”

Lucia shook her head. “That I haven’t found out yet. I haven’t been able to trace the source of the e-mails—yet,” she emphasized the word. “But I’ve only been at this for less than a day,” she reminded him with the confidence of one who had had eventually met every single technological challenge she’d encountered.

By the expression on her face, Russell surmised that Lazlo’s operative was not in the habit of making excuses or feeling that she needed to.

“Anything else?” he asked before leaving her to her work. He really didn’t expect her to answer in the affirmative.

“Yes.” He stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “Possibly there’s a little Reginald out there somewhere.”

Russell stiffened. “What?”

The depth of Reginald’s stupidity never ceased to amaze him. Or maybe it was just the prince’s incredible ego that had allowed him to think that he could leave traces of his indiscretion right there, in his computer. This after he had gone through all the trouble, at Reginald’s behest, of tracking the woman down to pay her off.

He did his best to appear surprised.

Strange how things turned out. Reginald’s vanity could very well prove to be his saving grace. Reginald’s unborn child was the natural heir to the throne. That could easily take him off the hook. With any luck, Weston could act as regent on behalf of the child until such time as the child was of an age to rule on his own. Anything was preferable to his having to be crowned, Russell thought.

And probably preferable to Reginald having taken the crown, he added as an afterthought. He had no doubts that, barring some miracle, Reginald would have made a terrible monarch.

Feigning surprise, he asked, “Who’s the child’s mother?”

“Strictly speaking, there is no child yet,” Lucia informed him. “But the woman is pregnant. From all indications, by several months.”

“And she claims that Reginald is the father.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but a statement that begged for a response.

“From what I saw in the e-mail, she’s certain. Her name’s Sydney Connor.” She hit several keys on the laptop, then turned it around so that Russell could see the screen. “I was able to trace her e-mails to a computer back in Naessa.”

“Naessa,” he echoed.

Things were beginning to fall into place. Relations between the two countries were less than amicable. If he were to draw up a list of potential suspects who would have wanted to cause chaos within Silvershire by eliminating Reginald, the rival kingdom would be near the top. There were factions within Naessa, dangerous factions, that had aligned themselves with terrorist groups which had struck at Silvershire before and undoubtedly would again.

Was this woman working in conjunction with one of the terrorist groups? he wondered. “Do you know anything about this Sydney Connor?”

“Not yet,” Lucia freely admitted. “But the day is still young. Give me a little time.” She grinned. “A little bit of sugar wouldn’t be out of line, either.” Her grin broadened. “I run on sugar and coffee, in case you’re interested.”

“I’ll have some coffee and pastries sent in immediately,” he promised. “Would you prefer doughnuts, coffee cake or French pastries?”

“Yes,” was her only response. Lucia turned her attention back to the laptop.

With a diet like that, he wondered how the woman managed to remain in the shape she was in. “I’ll have them bring you a selection,” he told her as he let himself out.

An heir. Reginald’s “mistake” might now very well prove to be his own salvation. An heir meant that he wouldn’t have to go through with the coronation.

He felt like a man who had just crawled out from beneath the crushing weight of a boulder. The relief was immeasurable.

Russell began to whistle while he walked.