Читать книгу A Bride For The Playboy Prince - Сандра Мартон - Страница 15

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘AND THIS,’ SAID LUC, ‘is Eleonora.’

Lisa nodded, trying to take it all in. The beautiful green island. The white and golden palace. The child kicking frantically beneath her heart. And now this beautiful woman who was staring at her with an expression of disbelief—as if she couldn’t quite believe who Luc had married.

‘Eleonora has been my aide for a number of years,’ Luc continued. ‘But I have now assigned her to look after you. Anything you want or need to know—just ask Eleonora. She’s the expert. She knows pretty much everything about Mardovia.’

Lisa tried to portray a calm she was far from feeling as she extended her hand in greeting. She felt alone and displaced. She was tired after the flight and her face felt sticky. She wanted to turn to her new husband and howl out her fears in a messy display of emotion which was not her usual style. She wanted to feel his strong arms wrapped protectively around her back, which would be the biggest mistake of all. So instead she just fixed a smile to her lips as she returned Eleonora’s cool gaze.

She wondered if she was imagining the unfriendly glint in the eyes of the beautiful aide. Did Eleonora realise that Lisa had been feeling completely out of her depth from the moment she’d arrived on the island and her attitude wasn’t helping? The aide was so terrifying elegant—with not a sleek black hair out of place and looking a picture of sophistication in a slim-fitting cream dress, which made Lisa feel like a barrel in comparison. Was she looking at her and wondering how such a pale-faced intruder had managed to become Princess of Mardovia? She glanced down at her bulky tum. It was pretty obvious how.

Lisa sucked in a deep breath. Maybe she was just being paranoid. After all, she couldn’t keep blaming Eleonora for not putting her in touch with Luc that time she’d telephoned. She hadn’t known Lisa was newly pregnant because Lisa hadn’t told her, had she? She’d only been doing her job, which was presumably to protect the Prince from disgruntled ex-lovers like her.

So she smiled as widely as she could. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Eleonora,’ she said.

‘Likewise, Your Royal Highness,’ said Eleonora, her coral lips curving.

Luc glanced from one woman to the other. ‘Then I shall leave you both to become better acquainted.’ He turned towards Lisa. ‘I have a lot of catching up to do so I’ll see you at dinner. But for now I will leave you in Eleonora’s capable hands.’

Lisa nodded, because what could she say? Please don’t go. Stay with me and protect me from this woman with the unsmiling eyes. She and Luc didn’t have that kind of relationship, she reminded herself, and she was supposed to be an independent woman. So why this sudden paralysing fear which was making her feel positively clingy? Was it the see-sawing of her wretched hormones playing up again?

In silence Lisa watched him go, the sunlight glinting off his raven hair and the powerful set of his shoulders emphasising his proud bearing. Suddenly the room felt empty without him and the reality of her situation finally hit home. She was no longer ordinary Lisa Bailey, with a failing shop, a mortgage and a little sister who was being dominated by a feckless man. She was now a princess, married to a prince adored by all his people—and all the curtseying and bowing was something she was going to have to get used to.

And despite all her misgivings, she couldn’t help but be entranced by the sun-drenched island. During the drive to Luc’s palace, she had seen rainbows of wild flowers growing along the banks of the roads and beautiful trees she hadn’t recognised. They had passed through unspoiled villages where old men sat on benches and watched the world go by in scenes which had seemed as old as time itself. Yet as they had rounded a curve in one of the mountain roads she had looked down into a sparkling bay, where state-of-the-art white yachts had dazzled like toys in an oversized bathtub. It had been at that point that Lisa had realised that she was now wife to one of the most eligible men in the world.

‘You would like me to show you around the palace?’ questioned Eleonora in her faultless English.

Lisa nodded. What she would have liked most would have been for Luc to give her a guided tour around his palatial home, but maybe that was asking too much. She could hardly tell him she had no intention of behaving like a real wife and then expect him to play the role of devoted husband. And mightn’t it be a good idea to make an ally out of his devoted aide? To show a bit of genuine sisterhood? She smiled. ‘I should like that very much.’

‘You will find it confusing at first,’ said Eleonora, her patent court shoes clipping loudly on the marble floors as they set off down a long corridor. ‘People are always taken aback by the dimensions of the royal household.’

‘Were you?’ questioned Lisa as she peeped into a formal banqueting room where a vast table was adorned with golden plates and glittering crystal goblets. ‘A bit shell-shocked when you first came here?’

‘Me?’ Eleonora’s pace slowed and that coral-lipped smile appeared again. ‘Oh, no. Not at all. My father was an aide to Luc’s father and I grew up in one of the staff apartments on the other side of the complex. Why, the palace is the only home I’ve ever really known! I know every single nook and cranny of the place.’

Lisa absorbed this piece of information in silence, wondering if she was supposed to feel intimidated by it. But she wasn’t going to let herself be intimidated. She had been upfront with Luc and maybe she should be just as upfront with his aide—and confront the enormous elephant which was currently dominating the palatial corridor.

‘I know that Luc was supposed to marry Princess Sophie,’ she said quietly. ‘And I’m guessing that a lot of people are disappointed she isn’t going to be Luc’s bride.’

It was a moment before Eleonora answered and when she did, her voice was fierce. ‘Very disappointed,’ she said bluntly. ‘For it was his father’s greatest wish that the Princess should marry Luc. And the Princess is as loved by the people of Mardovia as she is by her own subjects on Isolaverde.’

‘I’m sure she is,’ said Lisa. ‘And...’ Her voice tailed off. How could she possibly apologise for having ruined the plans for joining the two royal dynasties? She couldn’t even say she would do her best to make up for it by being the best wife she possibly could. Not when she had every intention of withholding sex and ending the marriage just as soon as their baby was born.

So she said very little as she followed Eleonora from room to room, trying to take in the sheer scale of the place. She was shown the throne room and several reception rooms of varying degrees of splendour. There was a billiards room and a huge sports complex, with its fully equipped gym and Olympic-sized swimming pool. She peered through the arched entrance to the palace gardens and the closed door to Luc’s study. ‘He doesn’t like anyone to disturb him in there. Only I am permitted access.’ Last of all they came to a long gallery lined with beautiful paintings, and Lisa was filled with a reluctant awe as she looked around, because this could rival some of the smaller art galleries she sometimes visited in London.

There were portraits of princes who were clearly Luc’s ancestors, for they bore the same startling sapphire eyes and raven tumble of hair. There were a couple of early French Impressionists and a sombre picture of tiny matchstick men, which Lisa recognised as a Lowry. But the paintings which captured her attention were a pair hanging together in their own small section of the gallery. Luminously beautiful, both pictures depicted the same person—a woman with bobbed blonde hair. In one, she was wearing a nineteen-twenties flapper outfit with a silver headband gleaming in her pale hair, and Lisa couldn’t work out if she was in fancy-dress costume or not. In the other she was flushed and smiling in a riding jacket—the tip of her crop just visible.

‘Who is this?’ Lisa questioned suddenly.

Eleonora’s voice was cool. ‘This is the Englishwoman who married one of your husband’s ancestors.’

It was a curious reply to make but the coral lips were now clamped firmly closed and Lisa realised that the aide had no intention of saying any more. She sensed the guided tour was over, yet it had thrown up more questions than answers. Suddenly, the enormity of her situation hit her—the realisation of how alien this new world was—and for the first time since their private jet had touched down, a wave of exhaustion washed over her.

‘I think I’d like to go to my room now,’ she said.

‘Of course. If you would like to follow me, I will show you a shortcut.’

Alone at last in the vast marital apartment, Lisa pulled off her clothes and stood beneath the luxury shower in one of the two dazzling bathrooms. Bundling her thick curls into the plastic cap she took with her everywhere, she let the powerful jets of water splash over her sticky skin and wash away some of the day’s tension. Afterwards she wrapped herself in a fluffy white robe which was hanging on the bathroom door and began to explore the suite of rooms. She found an airy study, a small dining room—and floor-to-ceiling windows in the main reception room, which overlooked a garden of breathtaking beauty.

For a moment Lisa stared out at the emerald lawns and the sparkling surface of a distant lake—reflecting that it was worlds away from her home in England. Inside this vaulted room, the scent of freshly cut flowers wafted through the air and antique furniture stood on faded and exquisite silken rugs. Peeping into one of the dressing rooms, she saw that all her clothes had been neatly hung up in one of the wardrobes.

The bedroom was her last port of call and she hovered uncertainly on the threshold before going in, complicated feelings of dread and hunger washing over her as she stared at the vast bed covered with a richly embroidered throw. She didn’t hear the door open or close, only realising she was no longer alone when she heard a soft sound behind her—like someone drawing in an unsteady breath—and when she turned round she saw Luc standing there.

Instantly, her mouth dried with lust and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. His hair was so black and his eyes so blue. How was it possible to want a man who had essentially trapped her here, like a prisoner? He looked so strong and powerful as he came into the bedroom that her heart began to pound in a way she wished it wouldn’t, and as her breasts began to ache distractingly she said the first thing which came into her head.

‘I told you I wasn’t going to share a bed with you.’

He shrugged as he pulled off his jacket and draped it over the back of a gilt chair. ‘It’s a big bed.’

She swallowed, acutely aware of the ripple of muscle beneath his fine silk shirt. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘No?’ He tugged off his tie and tossed it on top of the jacket. ‘What’s the problem? You think I won’t be able to refrain from touching you—or is it the other way round? Worried that you won’t be able to keep your hands off me, chérie? Mmm...? Is that it? From the hungry look in your eyes, I’m guessing you’d like me to come right over there and get you naked.’

‘In your dreams!’ she spat back. ‘Because even if you force me to share your bed, I shan’t have sex with you, Luc, so you’d better get...get...’ Her words died away as he began to undo his shirt and his glorious golden torso was laid bare, button by button. ‘What...what do you think you’re doing?’

‘I’m undressing. What does it look like? I want to take a shower before dinner, just like you.’

‘But you can’t—’

‘Can’t what, Lisa?’ The shirt had fluttered to the ground and his blue eyes gleamed as he kicked off his shoes and socks. She was rendered completely speechless by the sight of all that honed and bronzed torso before his fingers strayed suggestively to his belt. ‘Does the sight of my naked body bother you?’

She told herself to look away. To look somewhere—anywhere—except at the magnificent physique which was slowly being revealed. But the trouble was that she couldn’t. She was like a starving dog confronted by a large, meaty bone, which was actually the worst kind of comparison to make in the circumstances. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him. He was magnificent, she thought as he stepped out of his trousers and she was confronted with the rock-hard reality of his powerful, hair-roughened thighs. His hips were narrow and there was an unmistakably hard ridge pushing insistently against his navy blue silk boxers—and, oh, how she longed to see the complete reveal. But she didn’t dare. With a flush of embarrassment mixed with a potent sense of desire, she somehow found the courage to turn her back on him before walking over to the bed.

Heaving herself down onto the soft mattress—her progress made slightly laborious by her swollen belly—she shut her eyes tightly but she was unable to block out the sound of Luc’s mocking laughter as he headed towards the bathroom.

‘Don’t worry, you’re quite safe from me, chérie,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve never found shower caps a particular turn-on.’

To Lisa’s horror she realised that her curls were still squashed beneath the unflattering plastic cap, and as she heard the bathroom door close behind him she wrenched it free, shaking out her hair and lying back down on the bed again. For a while she stared up at the ceiling—at the lavish chandelier which dripped like diamonds—wishing it could be different.

But how?

Luc had married her out of duty and brought her to a place where the woman she’d usurped was infinitely more loved. How could she possibly make that right?

She must have slept, because she awoke to the smell of mint and, disorientated, opened her eyes to see Luc putting a steaming cup of tea on the table beside the bed. He had brought her tea?

‘Feeling better?’ he said.

His kindness disarmed her and she struggled to sit up, trying to ignore the ache of her breasts and the fact that he was fully dressed while she was still wearing the bathrobe which had become looser while she slept. She pulled the belt a tiny bit tighter but that only emphasised the ballooning shape of her baby bump and she silently cursed herself for caring what she looked like. At least the sight of her was unlikely to fill him with an uncontrollable lust, she reflected. It wasn’t just the shower cap which wasn’t a turn-on, it was everything about her...

She cleared her throat. ‘Much better, thanks,’ she lied. ‘What time is dinner?’

Luc walked over to the window and watched as she began to sip at her tea. With her face all flushed and her hair mussed, she looked strangely vulnerable—as if she was too sleepy to have remembered to wear her familiar mask of defiance. Right then it would have been so easy to take her into his arms and kiss away some of the unmistakable tension which made her body look so brittle. But she’d made her desires clear—or, rather, the lack of them. She didn’t want intimacy and, although right now he sensed she might be open to persuasion, it wouldn’t work in his favour if he put her in a position which afterwards she regretted. And she was pregnant, he reminded himself. She was carrying his baby and therefore she deserved his consideration and protection.

‘Dinner is whenever you want it to be.’

She put the cup back down on the saucer, looking a little uncomfortable. ‘Will it be served in that huge room with all the golden plates?’

‘You mean the formal banqueting room which we use for state functions? I don’t tend to eat most meals in there,’ he added drily. ‘There are smaller and less intimidating rooms we can use.’ He paused. ‘Or I could always have them bring you something here, on a tray.’

‘Seriously? You mean like a TV dinner?’ Her green-gold eyes widened. ‘Won’t people think it odd if we don’t go down?’

‘I am the Prince and you are my wife and we can do whatever we damned well like,’ he said arrogantly. ‘What would you like to eat?’

‘I know it probably sounds stupid, but I’d love...well, what I’d like more than anything is an egg sandwich.’ She looked up at him from between her lashes. ‘Do you think that’s possible?’

He gave a short laugh. When she looked at him like that, he felt as if anything were possible. But how ironic that the only woman in a position to ask for anything should have demanded something so fundamentally humble. ‘I think that can be arranged.’

A uniformed servant answered his summons, soon reappearing with the sandwich she’d wanted—most of which she devoured with an uninhibited hunger which Luc found curiously sensual. Or maybe it was the fact that she was ignoring him which had stirred his senses—because he wasn’t used to that either.

After she’d finished and put her napkin down, she looked up at him, her face suddenly serious.

‘Eleonora showed me the gallery today,’ she said.

‘Good. I wanted you to see as much of the palace as possible.’

She traced a figure of eight on the linen tablecloth with the tip of her finger before looking up.

‘I noticed two paintings of the same woman. Beautiful paintings—in a specially lit section of the gallery.’

He nodded. ‘Yes. Two of Kristjan Wheeler’s finest works. Conall Devlin acquired one of them for me.’

‘Yes, I knew he was an art dealer as well as a property tycoon,’ she said. ‘But what I was wondering was...’

He set down his glass of red wine as her voice tailed off. ‘What?’ he questioned coolly.

She wriggled her shoulders and her hazelnut curls shimmered. ‘Why Eleonora seemed so cagey when I asked about the paintings.’

He shrugged. ‘Eleonora has always been the most loyal of all my aides.’

‘How lovely for you,’ she said politely. ‘But surely as your wife I am expected to know—’

‘Who she is? The woman in the paintings?’ he finished as he picked up his glass and swirled the burgundy liquid around the bowl-like shape of the glass. ‘She was an Englishwoman called Louisa De Lacy, who holidayed here during the early part of the last century. She was an unconventional woman—an adventuress was how she liked to style herself. A crack shot who smoked cheroots and wore dresses designed to shock.’

‘And is that relevant? She sounds fun.’

‘Very relevant. Mardovia was under the rule of one of my ancestors and he fell madly in love with her. The trouble was that Miss De Lacy wasn’t deemed suitable on any grounds, even if she’d wanted to be a princess, which she didn’t. Despite increasing opposition, he refused to give her up and eventually he was forced to renounce the throne and was exiled from Mardovia. After his abdication his younger brother took the crown—my great-great-grandfather—and that is how it came to be passed down to me.’

‘And was that a problem?’ she questioned curiously.

He shrugged. ‘Not for me. Not even for my father—because we were born knowing we must rule—but for my great-great-grandfather, yes. He had never wanted to govern and was married to a woman who was painfully shy. The burden of the crown contributed to his early death, for which his wife never forgave Louisa De Lacy, and in the meantime...’

‘In the meantime, what?’ she whispered as his voice trailed off.

‘Unfortunately the exiled Prince was killed in a riding accident before he could marry Louisa, who by then had given birth to his child.’

Her head jerked up. ‘You mean...’

Luc’s temper suddenly shortened. Maybe it was because he was tired and frustrated. Because she was sitting there with that cascade of curls flowing down over her engorged breasts and he wanted to make love to her. He wanted to explore her luscious body with fingers which were on the verge of trembling with frustration, not to have to sit here recounting his family history. Because this was not the wedding night he had anticipated.

‘I mean that somewhere out there a child was born out of wedlock—a child of royal Mardovian blood who was never seen again—and they say that there is none so dangerous as a dispossessed prince.’ His voice grew hard. ‘And I was not prepared for history to repeat itself. Because I have no brothers, Lisa. No one else to pass on the reins to, should I fail to produce an heir. Succession is vital to me, and to my land.’

‘So that’s why you forced me to marry you,’ she breathed.

He nodded. It was not the whole truth, but it was part of it—because he was slowly coming to realise that there were worse fates than having a woman like Lisa by his side. Duty, yes—he would not shirk from that—but couldn’t duty be clothed in pleasure?

Wasn’t she aware that now he had her here, he had no intention of letting her or the child go? If she accepted that with a good grace then so much the better, but accept it she would. His will was stronger than hers and he would win because he always won.

And then something else occurred to him—a fact which he had pushed to the back of his mind because the sheer logistics of getting her here had consumed all his thoughts. But it was something he needed to address sooner rather than later. He tensed as he realised that until they consummated the marriage, their union was not legal. His heart missed a beat. He realised that, but did she?

He remembered her defiant words on the plane—a variation on what she’d said just now, when she’d announced she had no intention of sharing a bed with him. He didn’t doubt her resolve, not for a moment, for Lisa was a strong and proud woman. Yet women were capricious creatures who could have their minds changed for them. But only if you played them carefully. He had learnt his first lessons in female manipulation from the governesses who’d been employed to look after him after his mother’s death. Run after a woman and it gave her power. Act like you didn’t care and she would be yours for the taking.

Duty clothed in pleasure.

He had vowed to be a good husband as well as a good father, so surely one of his responsibilities was making sure his wife received an adequate share of sexual satisfaction? He looked at her green-gold eyes and as he detected the glint of sexual hunger she could not disguise, he smiled.

His for the taking.