Читать книгу Capturing the Crown Bundle - Nina Bruhns, Caridad Piñeiro - Страница 20

“What’s the matter?” The words slipped from her lips in slow motion as nerves began to knit themselves together and tighten.

Something was wrong, Amelia thought, looking at Russell. Something had changed since last night when, like all the other nights since the wedding, they had found a haven in each other’s arms. Her mind stretched itself in several directions at the same time, searching for a reason for the somber expression on her husband’s face.

Had he found out something more about Reginald’s death? Had someone else been killed? Was there some kind of further trouble or intrigue brewing against the crown?

The burden of leadership weighed heavily on her shoulders. Concerns about subversive organizations and the havoc they could wreak were never all that far from her mind and especially now that she had become the wife of a man who was about to ascend the throne of Silvershire.

Heads of state were given to dark thoughts, even if they tried to maintain a light, gentle touch, she thought sadly, wishing it were otherwise. She had only to look to her father to know that.

Had her father’s thoughts been lighter, more optimistic in nature, she knew that he would have not felt the need to forestall a possible and entirely theoretical attack from Naessa by marrying her off to the future king of a stronger, more powerful country. Within reason and adhering to the proper boundaries of the social world into which she had been born, Amelia felt that she might have been left to her own devices in choosing a mate. Possibly allowed to even follow her heart instead of an international game plan.

And she would have wound up exactly where she was, she thought, married to Russell, who was the man of her heart’s choice.

Sometimes life arranged itself in mysterious ways, she mused.

Russell wasn’t sure just how to say what he had to say. Never glib, he’d still been thought of as being diplomatic. It had always been his job to exercise damage control after Reginald had had one of his escapades. But when it came to matters that concerned him, his tongue felt as if it were bundled up in an overcoat that was two sizes too large.

So he picked his way slowly through what was suddenly a potential minefield to him. “Amelia, certain things have come to light.”

She’d never seen him look like that before, as if hope were only a word to be found in a dictionary. Her heart felt like a solid lump of coal in her chest.

“Things?” she repeated, bracing herself for the worst. “What things? And why do you look as if you’re about to tell me that my pardon has been revoked and that I am about to face a firing squad?”

He nearly smiled. Incredible how her exaggeration had almost hit the nail on the head. At least, as far as his own situation was concerned. She, of course, might have feelings of an entirely different nature if this baby did turn out to be Reginald’s heir. If that caused their union to be rendered null and void, Amelia might not greet the news with a heavy heart. She might even, it occurred to him, be relieved.

He was quiet. More so than usual. This was a bad sign. Amelia tried not to let her imagination run away with her, but it wasn’t easy. And there were no clues that she could discern in his eyes.

When she’d woken up this morning to find Russell gone, she’d just assumed that the new king-in-waiting was going about some sort of royal business. Taking the crown over from Weston required a great deal of transfer of information. And there was the coronation looming before them. The date had been changed, but still, it couldn’t be in the too-distant future. There was a great deal that had to be attended to between then and now in order for Russell to become prepared for that auspicious occasion.

Unlike her, she thought ruefully. Her role in the upcoming coronation was merely decorative. Her only job was either to stand or to sit beside Russell and look proud, which she knew she could handle without being required to resort to any acting on her part, because she was proud, very proud. Proud of the man she had taken to her heart. Proud of the man that she knew he was. Russell was everything that Reginald had never been and, had he lived, she was fairly certain he would never have become. Honest, kind, loyal, Russell was the kind of man who was concerned about leaving the world a better place than when he had first entered it.

But the dark look on his face probably had nothing to do with the coronation.

Or did it? she suddenly wondered.

Talk to me, she all but screamed mentally. Out loud, she felt she had to prod him along. “Is this about Reginald?”

“In a way, yes.” And then, in the light of the repercussions that would follow Reginald’s thoughtless act, Russell amended his statement. “In a very large way, actually.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Had she been alone, she might have sat down, braced herself before hearing more. But she had always prided herself on meeting adversity head-on, on “hanging tough” before a world that was quick to judge. And Russell, she reminded herself, had never seen her in action. She couldn’t give in to weaker elements and show him that she was unnerved. He had to think of her as strong.

“Is he alive?” she finally asked in a hushed, disbelieving voice.

Had there been some mistake made earlier? Had the body that Russell found in Reginald’s bed only resembled Reginald marginally? Was that what he was so obviously wrestling with telling her now?

Oh God, please don’t let it be that. Don’t let me have to marry Reginald, after all.

She’d hang tough, she promised herself. A marriage was a marriage and there was no way she was ever going to leave her marriage bed, no matter what Russell was about to tell her.

Stunned by the question, Russell looked at her incredulously. “You mean did he suddenly rise up from the dead? Reginald was many things in his lifetime, but a vampire was never one of them.” Although, more than once, he’d heard the late prince referred to as a bloodsucking ghoul.

She cleared her throat, feeling a little foolish for being so skittish. “No, I just thought that maybe a mistake had been made in identifying the body.”

“I was the one who found the body,” he reminded her. “It was Reginald. No mistakes were made.”

Outside, a cloud passed over the sun, suddenly making the room seem dark. She fervently hoped it wasn’t an omen. Amelia drew her courage to her and demanded, “Then what is it that you’re talking about? What has this to do with Reginald?”

He looked at her for a long moment, wondering what her reaction might be. Despite her words, did becoming a queen outweigh everything else for her? There was only one way to find out. “There might be an heir.”

Confusion narrowed her eyes. “An heir?”

He felt a twinge of guilt for having kept this from her, but it hadn’t been for long.

“The computer expert that was sent from the Lazlo Group discovered some personal correspondence on Reginald’s laptop from a woman claiming that she was pregnant with his baby.” Russell couched his words carefully. “It could be a hoax—”

“Or, it could be true,” Amelia countered pragmatically.

Very honestly, she was surprised that this was the first paternity claim to be made, and that there was only one. Reginald had gone around scattering his seed with abandon since he’d been in his teens. That this was the first so-called bastard that had surfaced was rather incredible.

Amelia paused for a moment, looking at Russell. He spoke to her as if she were his equal in this, instead of some hanger-on to be kept in the dark. She liked that.

She hadn’t been wrong about him, she thought. Her heart had picked the right man to love.

“And if it is true,” Russell continued, “if she does give birth and the child turns out to be a boy—” He paused, studying her face as he waited for the significance of what he was saying to set in.

It didn’t take much to know where Russell was going with this, Amelia thought. “You’re thinking he could be next in line, rather than you.”

“Yes.”

When she was a young girl, everything about her life seemed to be cast in stone. Things were fixed according to her father’s word or to the traditions that seemed to rule so much of her life. Now, with this news, it felt as if everything was in flux and what she thought was stone was merely plaster of Paris, easily cracked. Easily shattered.

The crown was not yet on Russell’s head and, if certain things came to pass, it might never be. She looked at Russell, trying to gauge what he was thinking. The man could play poker with the best of them, she decided. Had her kingdom’s only income still been garnered from the casinos, he would have made a perfect symbol of the successful gambler.

“How does that make you feel?” she finally asked.

He answered her honestly. “Relieved—except…” Unable to finish, he looked at her.

“Except?” she prompted.

He was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but when it came to her, he found that he couldn’t quite help himself. “Except for the fact that if this does come to light, your father might call for an annulment of our marriage.”

“An annulment?” For the first time since Russell had entered the suite, she found herself laughing. Laughing so hard that her next few words were shaky as she uttered them. “Annulments are granted if the marriage isn’t consummated. I think it’s a little too late to call off the marriage using that as the excuse on record,” she quipped. “We’ve ‘consummated’ this marriage a great many times as I recall.” She put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. “I’m afraid an annulment is out of the question, Russell.”

He took her hand, about to brush it off. He found himself holding it instead. Wondering if he’d been a fool, thinking that he would be allowed to face eternity with her at his side.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Amelia. You know what I mean.”

Amelia took a breath, doing her best to steady herself. But her cheeks refused to pull themselves into a serious expression no matter how much she told herself they should.

“Yes, I know what you mean and I beg to differ, Carrington. The day we cease to laugh is the day we begin to die. This most certainly is a laughing matter because, in case you hadn’t noticed, I got the last laugh, so to speak.” When he looked at her quizzically, she explained. “I didn’t have to marry that horrible hedonist.”

And then she stopped abruptly. Russell was looking at her as if he was trying to assess something. As if he was seeing her for the first time. Because she was so incredibly attuned to him, she suddenly realized what he had to be thinking. It hit her squarely in the pit of her stomach.

She might have been affronted, Amelia thought, if the thought wasn’t so completely absurd, so foreign from anything she might have entertained.

Because she always tried to put the best possible face on everything, even an insult, she decided to take Russell’s unwarranted suspicion, however fleeting, as a compliment to her ability to take care of herself.

“No, Russell, I didn’t have Reginald killed, if that’s what you’re thinking. I would have had to take a number and I have never liked having to stand in line. My father once said that if I had to stand in line to get into heaven, I’d probably decide to go to hell instead.” She cocked her head, studying his face. This wasn’t all. “What else is bothering you?”

The thought that she might have had a hand in Reginald’s demise had been a fleeting one at best. Though she didn’t strike him as being a pushover, he knew she wasn’t capable of coldly ordering someone’s death.

He might as well get through all of it, he thought. “Our union only took place because your father believed I was the man Weston was selecting for the crown. If that crown goes to someone else, what then?”

She didn’t see what the problem was, at least, not for them. Her father wouldn’t be happy that the marriage did not back up their countries’ alliance, but things did not always work themselves out perfectly no matter how much effort went into arrangements.

“Then you pledge your allegiance to the baby or whoever King Weston chooses and we return home to Gastonia to live happily ever after.”

That didn’t satisfy him. Hers was not the last word on the matter. “Won’t your father want you to marry whoever is king here?”

Her laugh was soft, indulgent. She touched his face affectionately. “Not even my father would marry me to someone after I’d just been married before God and the good citizens of Silvershire, not to mention Madeline,” she added with a broad smile. “That would be ludicrous.”

“But the marriage was to reinforce the treaty,” he insisted.

He was worried about that, she suddenly realized. Her heart grew warm. He was afraid she would have to walk out on him. As if that could ever be possible.

“My father’s not that small a man,” she assured him softly. “Having his daughter married to the Duke of Carrington, the king’s right-hand political adviser, carries weight to it,” she assured him, then added, “Especially when he sees how happy his daughter is—in direct contrast to how very unhappy he knew she would have been if Reginald had lived and he had become her husband.”

A small wave of relief finally came. Russell allowed himself a small, affectionate smile. “You’re referring to yourself in the third person.”

Amelia pretended to toss her head. “All us royal types do that.” And then she laughed and winked.

He put his hands on her waist, holding her for a moment, thinking how quickly he had gotten used to having her in his arms.

Again, his expression became somber as concern nibbled away at him. “But if it came to that, if your father decided that Gastonia’s needs were immediate and urgent and since the heir to Silvershire’s throne was an infant, perhaps a more suitable match for the matter of security could be made with the prince of another kingdom—” There were still a few kingdoms that could come into play when it came to making treaties, kingdoms that knew safety lay in alliances.

She didn’t want to play this game. It was tiring and pointless. What he was suggesting wasn’t going to happen. Amelia placed her finger to his lips, stilling them. “Don’t borrow trouble, Your Highness. I’m your wife and I’m going to remain that way.”

She’d called him “Your Highness,” as if he were a prince. It was in jest, but he couldn’t divorce himself from the thought that that was what she wanted from the man she was wed to. The promise of a crown.

His eyes searched her face as he asked, “Would it bother you if I wasn’t king?”

“It wasn’t your crown that drew me to you in the first place,” she reminded him, lacing her arms around his neck. She sighed as her body came in contact with his. “It won’t be your crown that will make me want to remain.”

“Oh?” The weightier matters of Reginald’s death and the state of the country took a back seat to what was happening here, in this section of the palace. He felt his mouth curving into a smile, felt his body following suit. “And what will?”

Her arms still around his neck, Amelia pressed her body tightly up against his. Her eyes were dancing as she said, “Guess.”

She could make him forget everything else in a heartbeat. He’d never met another woman like her and was grateful that somehow, fate had arranged for her to be his. “I had no idea that you were this lusty, Princess.”

“Neither did I, Carrington,” she teased, amusement highlighting her features. “See what you’ve done?”

“I?” he asked innocently.

“Yes, you.” She raised herself up on her toes, bringing her mouth up close to his. “You’ve made a wanton woman out of me.” She could feel love exuding from every pore of her body. It was incredible what a difference a few weeks made. Just a month ago, she’d seen her life—certainly her happiness—ending. And now, she could honestly say she had never been happier. All because she was married to Russell. “And then an honest one.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” he reminded her. “That was the king’s choice. And, as for the first matter, as I remember the series of events, you were the one who chose me, not the other way around.”

With a laugh filled with pleasure, she kissed him. She did it quickly, then did it again before drawing away, savoring the masculine taste of his lips. She could feel her blood singing.

“If they don’t make you king, you could always become the royal lawyer,” Amelia quipped. He reached for her, but she playfully took a step back, lacing her fingers through his hand. “Now, tell me everything. Just who is this woman who says she’s having Reginald’s baby? Do you know her? Do I?”

He drew her over to the sofa and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. She settled in, lacing her arms around his neck as she listened.

“No to both,” he told her. “Unless it’s an alias of some kind. According to what Lucia found out, the woman’s name is Sydney Connor. The e-mail was tracked back to Naessa.”

“Naessa,” Amelia echoed incredulously. She banked down a shiver. There had been threats made against her father from several terrorist factions whose roots, it was discovered, ran deep in Naessa. “Nothing good ever comes from Naessa.”

“Not so,” he contradicted. When she looked at him quizzically, he said, “If this woman is on the level, then the future king of Silvershire might well be coming from there. If Sydney Connor is a native of Naessa, then Silvershire’s new king would be half Naessian.”

Amelia frowned as she turned the idea over in her head. There had been too much bad blood in the past between their two countries and Naessa.

“I don’t think that’s going to go over very well with the people of Silvershire. Or with the people of Gastonia, for that matter,” she added.

Russell nodded. She had a point, he supposed. For the sake of peace in the kingdom, Weston might not want to recognize a bastard’s claim to the throne. It might set off too many diverse factions.

For the moment, his ascent to the throne seemed inevitable again.

“And it might just set off Nikolas Donovan and his little band of merrymakers,” he commented dryly.

He could almost hear what the Union for Democracy would have to say about placing Reginald’s illegitimate son on the throne. They could use the country’s unrest to demand that the entire sum of governing power be turned over to the people.

Amelia put into words what he hadn’t said. “And unless Reginald secretly married this woman, which I sincerely doubt, the fact that the baby is a bastard might make a great many people unwilling to accept that child as their king. For that matter, the king might chose not to recognize the baby, either,” she added. “In any event, Weston still has the right to choose whomever he wants to be king since he no longer has a living son to take the crown.”

Amelia smiled at him, her eyes encouraging. “I’m afraid that you are going to be king of Silvershire whether you like the idea or not, my sweet.” She curled up in his lap. “Just think of me as your consolation prize.”

“I think of you as the only prize,” he answered just before he kissed her.

The kiss, meant to be fleeting as he stood up to take his leave, took on a life of its own, growing and flowering until it threatened to overwhelm them both, blotting out the room, the palace and everything that was beyond the very small circle created by the two of them.

She heated his blood the way no other woman ever had before her. An eagerness went galloping through his veins, causing him mentally to discard the rest of the things he had intended on seeing to in the next few hours.

Nothing was nearly as important, nearly as pressing, as allowing himself to make love with this woman he had had the great fortune to have bestowed on him as his bride.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Amelia breathed against his mouth as he began to remove her clothing with the speed and dexterity of a finely skilled magician. Not to be outdone, she began separating him from his own garments almost as quickly as he was peeling her out of hers.

“Yes.” His own breath was growing shorter and shorter just as his anticipation was steadily growing greater and greater. “I do. Right here,” he told her. “Right now.”

“Can’t argue with that,” she laughed softly.

And she didn’t. Not for the next few hours.