A Royal Marriage Of Convenience

CHAPTER NINE

SHE lay in his too-big bed, dressed in the soft chemise that had been her underskirt during the day. The silk was soft against her body. The feather duvet was so luxurious-so far away from the heavy blankets she’d been used to in Yorkshire-that she felt she was floating.

She was married. Remarried, she reminded herself. She’d been married once before, and now she’d made those marriage vows again. Only she had not. She’d lied.

She lay there in Nick’s big bed and felt small. And lost. And lonely.

Hoppy was down in the kitchens. She should get up and go find him.

Right-the royal bride padding down through the ancient corridors calling Hoppy, Hoppy, Hoppy…

It’d probably make headline news.

See, that was what she hadn’t counted on. This interest. The realisation that this marriage wasn’t just between the two of them-it was a marriage for the country. She’d wanted freedom, but what dumb reasoning had had her thinking she could have freedom as a royal bride?

And if she succumbed to Nick’s sexiness, the blaze of desire she saw in his eyes every time he looked at her…Where would her freedom be then?

And a child…A baby…

It was closing in on her. Nick was too close, just through the door in the shadows, sleeping. She hoped he was sleeping. The thought that he was awake-as she was-was almost unbearable.

‘Nick’, she wanted to call, but she didn’t.

Think of something else. Think of the good things she could do here. Erhard had been with them tonight, pleased but frail. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he’d said, and that had been something to hold onto. For some strange reason he almost felt like family. Erhard had known her mother and he’d known her as a child. She remembered him as a solicitous attendant to a sick old man.

He was a link to the past.

Julianna hadn’t been here today.

That worried her. Rose should have been accustomed to the loss of her sister by now, but she probably never would be. And the whole set-up worried her-that Julianna thought of her as the enemy. She hadn’t thought it through enough. There were repercussions she hadn’t thought of, and she lay there and tried to think of them now, but couldn’t, and she felt like…

Like padding out and saying to Nick, ‘Move over, I want to share your settee’.

She didn’t. How could she?

But sex is fun.

What sort of irresponsible thought was that?

It wasn’t a bad thought, she conceded, and she found herself smiling wistfully into the night. She was married. Yes, sex with Nick could be more than fun. But…

The only true contraceptive was a brick wall.

Or a bed and a settee in different rooms.

She sighed again, rolled over and buried her head in her pillows.

A royal bride on her wedding night. Without even her dog to keep her company.

Nick stayed awake for longer than she did. He wasn’t a good sleeper-four or five hours usually did him, and tonight even this eluded him. So he was awake when the door opened.

He was drifting, letting his thoughts go where they willed. Which was right through the door to Rose. So at first he thought he dreamed it.

The settee was on the far side of the sitting room, facing the fireplace. The fire had burned down, so there was only a soft glow of embers. Nick sensed rather than heard the door open; the soft creak of moving hinges was barely audible.

Rose must be up and moving about. But why? Had she passed him? Was she leaving the suite to fetch her dog, or returning to her bedroom?

But then the door closed again, and whoever it was hadn’t left. He or she was still in the room. Footsteps went slowly past him, so muted that if he wasn’t straining he would never have heard them.

Not Rose. He knew that with a certainty that had nothing to do with logic but everything to do with self-preservation. If it had been Rose going to get her dog he would have heard her go out, and there’d have been no need for her to creep back through the room with stealth. She knew him well enough to accept he wouldn’t jump her. Surely.

But if it wasn’t Rose, then who?

The settee he was on was ancient, down-filled, a great, squishy, luxurious pile of feathers. No modern springs here to squeak as he moved. So he did move, inch by cautious inch, away from the end of the settee closest to the fire so as he edged around he wasn’t in line of sight.

One of Nick’s foster brothers, Sam, was in the SAS. From the time Sam had come into Ruby’s care as a battered nine-year-old, he’d been intent on joining the armed services. Sam had lived and breathed action comics, James Bond movies, superheroes, and by the time he had been in his mid-teens he was reading how-to manuals that were deadly serious.

There’d never been any money living with Ruby. The boys had been expected to entertain themselves, but they’d never had to think how when Sam had been around. He’d had them organised into Boys’ Own adventures every minute he could persuade them to leave off cricket or football.

And Sam’s semi-serious instructions came back now: never put your body between an opponent and the light. Never move until you’re sure of what you’re doing. They’d played tag in the back yard, creeping up on each other, touching and winning by stealth alone.

Boys’ fantasies. All of a sudden serious. All of a sudden imperative to remember.

For whoever it was meant no good. Whoever it was, he or she had almost reached the bedroom door. Nick was used to the dim light, and he could see the shadow now. One man, he thought, one man with his back to him. One man, slowly lifting the latch to the bedroom beyond.

The bedroom door opened slowly, slowly.

Hell, he needed a weapon.

The fire-iron. He slid forward, and the cold steel of the massive poker slid soundlessly into his grasp. He moved back, still crouched behind the settee, waiting.

His heart felt as if it had stopped beating. Sam, where the hell are you?

Whoever it was had opened the door fully now. There was an almost-full moon. The curtains in the sitting room were drawn but Rose must have opened hers, letting the moonlight flood her as she slept. As the bedroom door opened wide, Nick had a clear, full view of the man’s silhouette. Long and lean and all in black. One hand on the door handle.

The other…The other holding a gun.

How he moved, he didn’t remember afterwards. The man’s arm was raising. He was moving inside the bedroom, intent, concentrating fiercely on his target. His hand came up further…

And Nick’s poker smashed down with all the force he could muster.

He must have made a sound, slight but a sound for all that, for the man jerked to one side so that the poker didn’t smash down on his head but hit him hard, sickeningly, where neck met shoulder, then slid down, still with force, smashing into his gunarm, causing the gun to drop and skid and spin across the room.

And Nick had him, hauling him round, bringing his knee up, fighting foul as he’d learned to fight with six brothers. Ruby had hated their fighting, but they’d all been brought up tough and they knew the ways of the world. They’d practised constantly. Every single one of Ruby’s boys had learned the hard way that you could never depend on others to defend you.

But the man whirled and smashed back. Nick was too close to raise the poker again. He punched with all the power he had.

‘Rose!’ Nick roared as the man staggered against the wall, and he powered in again. ‘Get the gun.’

‘Wha…?’ Wakened from deep sleep, it took Rose all of two seconds to snap to wakefulness. ‘The gun?’ she said blankly.

‘Under the bed, your side!’ Nick yelled, and hit the guy again. If this guy knew any martial arts, Nick was in big trouble. Nick was a lawyer. Yeah, he’d learned to fight, but he hadn’t fought for years. But he wasn’t giving the guy room to do anything, punching him against the wall, hitting him, hitting him until the guy lashed out again…

‘Move one muscle and I’ll shoot.’ Rose’s voice rang out clearly over the moonlit room. The nightlight snapped on.

She must have been brought up in the same school as him, Nick thought approvingly, for she’d flicked the bed-lamp on and moved away up to the back of the bed so she could see but was in the shadows.

All the same, he could see enough to know she had the gun.

He moved back, which was a mistake. The guy lurched forward and his hand suddenly glinted in the light.

A knife…

The gun fired, a heavy, dull pop into the stillness. And everyone froze. For a moment.

The black figure cursed, grabbed his shoulder and lurched backwards. The knife, a wicked-looking stiletto, clattered onto the bedroom floor and slid harmlessly away.

‘I’ll shoot again,’ Rose said in a voice devoid of all inflection. ‘I’d advise you to keep very still indeed.’

The guy did. So did Nick. This seemed dream-like. Like a game with his brothers. But it was no dream. He was wide awake now and he felt sick.

Hell, she’d shot the man…

‘Back against the wall,’ Rose said, still in that cold, dead tone, and she jumped lightly from the bed and flicked the overhead light on. Nick grabbed the huge gold tassel of the bell-pull and pulled for all he was worth.

The bell pealed out so loudly that you could have heard it in the middle of next week. Not a nice, discreet, ‘hear it only in the butlers pantry’ bell. If the old Prince had wanted something he’d wanted the whole castle to know about it. The man made an involuntary lurch towards the door.

‘Still,’ she snapped. ‘I will shoot.’

‘Rose…’

‘Get right away from him,’ Rose said.

He couldn’t believe it. She was standing in her chemise, barefoot, her hair tousled from sleep, her face deathly pale. She was holding the gun in both hands and she was aiming it straight at the intruder.

The intruder had frozen. And why wouldn’t he? The man was young, thickset, dressed all in black with a balaclava covering his face. He was holding his arm, and blood was dripping slowly onto the polished floor.

And then there were people in the doorway. An elderly liveried manservant. A couple of dignitaries who were staying in the castle, in their nightwear. And behind them, blessedly, one of the castle security-guards. The man edged through the crowded doorway and stopped dead in astonishment.

‘He came to kill us,’ Nick said.

Rose hadn’t moved. She was still pointing the gun directly at the man before her. ‘Can I put it down?’ she whispered.

‘Let’s get back-up first,’ Nick said, and looked expectantly at the security guard, and the guard took a shocked look at Rose and moved into action. He spoke urgently into his radio.

And suddenly things were out of their hands.

The next hour passed in a blur. The security guards took their intruder down to one of the main sitting-rooms, where those who had no direct cause to be present could be closed out.

Nick called Erhard. The old man was a guest this night in the castle. Nick didn’t want to disturb him, but faced with what might have happened, faced with the evil he’d seen tonight, he needed to be sure who he could trust.

Erhard arrived in bathrobe and carpet slippers, looking pale, old and shaken to the core, but still retaining the aura of dignity that he’d carried from the first.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he told Rose, his voice trembling. ‘I would never have asked you if…’

‘It’s alright,’ Rose said, but she wasn’t moving from where she was. Which was tight against Nick. From the moment Nick had lifted the pistol out of her hands, she’d started trembling and the trembling hadn’t stopped. Nick had wanted her to be put to bed, for the doctors here to give her something to help her sleep, but she’d reacted with anger, and momentarily the trembling had stopped.

‘Someone tried to shoot me, so I’m supposed to take a sleeping tablet and go calmly to sleep without getting it sorted? You must be out of your collective minds.’ Then as Nick had held her she’d subsided against him and let him do the supporting. ‘I have a husband,’ she said with dignity. ‘When he goes to bed, I go to bed, and not before.’

She’d held to that line, as more onlookers had spilled from the surrounding bedrooms, as every member of the castle staff had seemed to find some excuse to see for themselves what was happening.

Little was happening. The security guards had held their prisoner until Erhard had arrived.

‘These men can be trusted,’ Erhard told Nick, nodding to each of the four security-guards. ‘I know each of them. But I don’t understand how-’

‘There was a disturbance on the far side of the castle grounds,’ one of the guards told Erhard, sounding appalled and apologetic at the same time. ‘The fence was slashed and a group of youths tried to break in. They were young and drunk and foolish, but we all attended.’ He hesitated. ‘There’s only been the old Prince here for so long,’ he said. ‘There’s been no interest in the castle. My officers have been lax.’

‘There’s been little need for security in the past,’ Erhard said gravely. ‘But there is now. What chance these youths were paid to make a distraction?’

‘I’ll find out,’ the senior guard said grimly. He looked at the man they were holding. Rose’s bullet had clipped his skin, a surface wound. One of the guards had roughly bandaged it to stop it bleeding. The man stood now between two guards, grim-faced, silent. ‘As we’ll find out who this is.’

‘And who’s paying him,’ Erhard said heavily. ‘Can you triple your numbers here tonight, using trusted people only? I want people outside and in the corridors.’ Then he turned to Rose. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said again. ‘We weren’t prepared. You’ll be safe now.’

‘I had Nick,’ she said.

‘Yes.’ The old man’s eyes met Nick’s. ‘Without you…’

‘It was Rose who did the shooting.’

‘Thank you both,’ he said grimly. ‘My two…’He hesitated, and appeared to think better of what he’d been about to say. ‘We’ll keep you safe,’ he said roughly, and turned and walked away, signalling the guards and their prisoner to follow.

They were left alone.

‘I think we should go fetch Hoppy,’ Nick said, and as they walked out of the sitting-room door they had to walk past two burly security guards.

Two more appeared from nowhere and escorted them to the kitchens.

They retrieved Hoppy. Their guards followed at a respectable distance as they made their way upstairs again.

‘Not your room,’ Rose said urgently, hugging Hoppy close, and Nick nodded.

‘Okay, sweetheart,’ he said. There’d still be blood on the floor. He could understand. ‘But I’ll walk you to your door.’

‘Not…’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I meant both of us not to your bedroom. I thought maybe you’d come to mine?’

The security guards behind them had paused. They stayed, impassive. Maybe they didn’t follow English, Nick thought hopefully.

‘Of course,’ he said. It was totally understandable that she didn’t want to stay in the bedroom by herself, he thought. So why his heart should lurch…

‘Thank you,’ she said simply, and they didn’t say another word until they were in her suite with the door locked behind them. Securely, with a key, and the key stayed on the inside of the door, with a bolt besides.

Rose placed Hoppy on the floor. Hoppy looked up at his mistress, and gave a sleepy wag of his tail; it was four in the morning, after all, and a dog had need of beauty sleep. He hopped through to the big bed in the next room, leaped lightly up onto the pillows and proceeded to go back to sleep.

‘Great watchdog,’ Nick said, and smiled.

‘I think we’re safe tonight,’ she said.

‘Yes.’

‘It’ll have been Jacques.’

‘Probably,’ he said.

‘And Julianna.’ She was still deathly pale. Dressed only in her chemise, she was shivering. It was warm enough, and the fire made it more so, but still she shook. ‘Julianna’s my sister,’ she said, distressed. ‘I never dreamed…’ She shuddered. ‘She must hate me. I never thought. Back home this seemed so simple, but how did we ever think we could do it, take over a throne just like that? You know, somehow, because Julianna was planning to do it herself, it seemed possible. Feasible, even. Marry you. Have the great adventure. Save a country. It’s the stuff of storybooks where there are happy endings and everything’s resolved by…I don’t know kissing a frog.’

She hiccupped on a sob and he reached for her and tugged her against him, holding her, simply holding her as she sobbed and sobbed. The front of his shirt grew wet from her weeping, but still she wept, great, shuddering sobs that wracked her whole body.

He held her for as long as it took. But finally she cried herself out. He felt her body go limp. He was half-supporting her. She felt so…So…

So much his wife.

That was what it felt like. It felt like he had all the time in the world. It felt that indeed this was his wedding night, or more, that this was his wedding moment. He’d sworn never to fall in love, but he had, he had. If she’d been killed tonight…

He kissed her gently, wonderingly, on the top of her head, and maybe he shuddered himself for she drew back a little and looked up at him in the firelight.

‘I’m s-sorry,’ she said, hiccupping slightly as she tried to find her voice. ‘I don’t cry.’

‘I can see that about you.’

‘No, really,’ she said, and somehow she made her voice firm. ‘I don’t. I don’t know what I’m about tonight.’

‘You shot a man,’ he said gently. ‘How you did that…’He felt his gut clench at the thought of what she’d done. ‘How the hell did you do it?’ he asked, thinking it through. ‘To wake up and get the gun and actually fire the thing?’

‘I’m a vet,’ she said simply.

‘I’m not sure that that explains it fully.’ He tugged her close again, not because he needed to-oh, fine, yes, he needed to-but not for comfort. Just because this was Rose.

His wife!

‘I deal with big animals,’ she said.

‘And?’

‘And I had to learn to deal with firearms. The first time I ever needed to…Well, there was an injured bull. There was no way I could get near it, but I couldn’t leave it. The farmer handed me his gun and expected me to use it.’

‘He handed you the gun?’ What sort of wimp had this guy been?

‘Farmers get attached to their animals. It’s hard to put them down.’

‘So you did.’

‘Not that time,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t. I…Well, the farmer had to do it, and it took him two shots and he cried. I went home that night and said I couldn’t do it, and my father-in-law said he’d take the practice back over for a week while I did a firearms course.’

‘He what?’ Hell. ‘Where was Max in all this?’

‘Ill. He was only well for a short time.’

‘So you had to do the shooting?’

‘Not often.’ But he could hear it in her voice-too often.

‘Did you want to do big-animal stuff?’

‘I’d started vet school wanting to look after dogs,’ she said, and sniffed. ‘And cats and canaries and kids’ tortoises. Cases where sheer strength isn’t an issue when an animal’s in pain.’ She was hugged against him as naturally as if she belonged there. ‘But the family needed me.’

‘Max’s family. And now your family’s trying to kill you,’ he said. ‘You’ve had a rum deal.’

‘No.’ She hugged him a bit closer while she thought about it. Which was fine with him. More than fine. ‘I asked for this,’ she said at last. ‘But it’s been a shock…that Julianna would…’ She hesitated. ‘Maybe she didn’t know.’

‘Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t even Jacques.’

‘Do you think whoever it was really meant to kill us?’

‘Yes.’ There was no point in lying to her. The man behind the gun hadn’t hesitated, he had aimed at the figure in the bed with one thought in mind. He’d have been expecting there to be two in the bed. Maybe the far side of the bed had been in shadow, but he’d had six bullets in the chamber. He’d come to kill. He’d even brought a knife as a back-up, to finish the job if he had to.

Rose knew it as well as he did. He felt her shudder and held her tighter.

‘Julianna’s my sister,’ she whispered bleakly. ‘My family. There’s no one else.’

He couldn’t bear it. ‘There is someone else,’ he said, pulling her hard against him so strongly that he could feel her heartbeat against his. ‘You have a husband. As of today. It’s time someone took care of you. It’s time.’

‘You’re only here for four weeks or so.’

‘I’ll stay for as long as you need me.’

‘I don’t…I don’t think…’

‘You don’t need to think. Leave thinking for the morning, sweetheart,’ he told her. ‘You’re done.’

‘I am.’ She hesitated. ‘Hoppy’s asleep on the bed.’

‘So he is. You want me to shift him to the settee?’

‘I…No. It seems a shame to shift him.’

Right. Rose’s suite was the same as his. A living room with fire. Bedroom through the farther door. From where he stood her bed looked vast. Far too big for one. There was plenty of room for Rose to sleep and not disturb the dog. But…

‘Nick?’

‘Mmm?’

‘You wouldn’t like to share the settee with me?’

There was a moment’s pause while he thought about it. Her heartbeat was synchronised with his, he thought, and it felt fine. It felt right.

Share the settee. To sleep. But the way he was thinking of her…‘If we did that,’ he said cautiously, ‘we might just…’

‘Yes,’ she said, and it was an answer to a question he hadn’t asked.

‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ she said again, and she smiled.

He put her at arm’s length, searching her face in the moonlight. Astounded. ‘Rose, are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you were so sure we shouldn’t.’

‘Yes, but things have changed,’ she whispered. ‘For tonight, it’s not the same. I don’t want to be an adventurer for tonight. What I’d really like is to be a wife.’

‘You are my wife,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re sure?’

‘Yes.’ And she smiled again.

He kissed her then, softly, sweetly. Wonderously. She melted into his kiss, and her arms wound round his neck and held.

‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘Nick, I need you. Please, I need you in my bed. You’re my husband, Nick, and I want to be your wife.’

And then, suddenly, before any more of these stupid scruples could get in the way, she tugged her chemise over her head. Underneath she was wearing scant lacy knickers. Nothing more. With her eyes not leaving his face, she slipped them down and let them fall, stepping out of them and taking a step back.

Standing before him in the firelight. Gloriously naked.

His wife.

Her auburn curls, loose and floating round her shoulders, almost seemed to be dancing in the firelight. Her eyes were too big in her too-pale face. Yet she smiled, tremulously, as if she wasn’t sure what she was offering was wanted.

How could she doubt that?

He caught her hands and held her out from him, glorying in her nakedness. Glorying in the fact that this could be happening. That such a woman could want him.

That such a woman could be his wife.

The words he’d spoken this afternoon came back to him, and they seemed so right. How could he ever have thought he’d never marry? He hadn’t understood until tonight what it was. Marriage. The joining of man and woman, making one.

But he needed to be sure. He wouldn’t take this woman unless she understood…

‘Rose, there’s the contraceptive thing.’

‘There’s condoms in my toiletries bag,’ she told him, and he almost gasped.

‘But you said…’

‘I know what I said,’ she told him. ‘But I was coming here to be married to the world’s sexiest man, and a girl would have to be crazy not to plan for all eventualities.’

The world’s sexiest man…

He needed to put that aside. ‘But if there’s a baby?’

‘There won’t be.’

‘Rose…’

‘Okay, there might be,’ she said. ‘Slight chance. I’m risking it.’

‘Earlier tonight you wouldn’t.’

‘Earlier tonight I was ten years younger than I am now. Nick, I need you. Are you saying no?’

‘Not just for sex, Rose.’ He shook his head, confused, but at some deep level understanding that he was in uncharted territory. This was important. A voice in the back of his head was hammering with dogged insistence, get this right.

He’d never felt like this about a woman, and he wouldn’t mess with it for want of patience, or for want of restraint, no matter how much that restraint might cost. He wouldn’t risk her waking in the morning and reacting with horror at what they’d done. ‘This needs to be an act of love,’ he said, and as he said it he knew that it was right. Something was changing inside him. Something he hadn’t been aware could be changed.

She was smiling in the firelight, standing on tiptoes so she could kiss him. His hands dropped to her waist, and the feel of her silk-smooth skin…

If she was to move away she had to do it now, he thought, and his thoughts were getting a little blurred. He was offering her the chance to change her mind, but a man was only human. If she said no now…

She did no such thing.

She lifted one of his hands from her waist, lifting it high so the back of his hand was against her cheek. So she could feel the roughness of his skin against her. Then she moved his hand slowly down, gently guiding it so the palm of his hand was cupping her breast.

It seemed she had no doubts. For this night, she was his wife. For this night, their vows would hold.

The terrors of the night, overwhelming, appalling, out of their world, were slipping away now as if they’d been a bad dream. This was the reality, and only this. She put her hands up and touched his face gently, tenderly, never letting her eyes move from his.

‘Nick.’

He bent and he kissed her.

And in that instant, her world readjusted. The awful tilting somehow righted itself. For this wondrous moment, the horrors of the night and the bleakness of the past few years made way for…

For Nick. For loving. For wonder. Nick’s mouth was on hers, and he tasted wonderful. His hands were on her waist, tugging her against him. His hands were a man’s hands, big, strong, but caressing with a tenderness that made her want to weep. But the time for weeping was past. She was tracing the contours of his cheeks with her fingers, feeling the roughness of the beginning of stubble, glorying in his sheer masculinity. It had been too long since she’d held a man. Any man. She’d loved Max, but for years he’d been ill, and her touch had needed to be tender. She’d been the one doing the giving.

Not here. Not now. She could feel the strength in Nick, the unleashed power, and she wanted it, oh, she wanted it. But she’d never guessed until this moment how much.

He was deepening the kiss, and she gloried in it. Her lips parted, and her tongue did its own exploring. Her breasts were pressed hard against him, against the soft linen of his shirt, feeling the strength of his chest. Feeling…

All she was doing was feeling. All she wanted to do was to feel. He’d kept his trousers and his shirt on during all the troubles of this night, but she wanted them gone now. But to ask him to remove them-to remove them herself-was to break the moment. And how could she?

It was Nick who paused. It was Nick who moved back, just a little, holding her at arm’s length so he could look into her eyes. His eyes were dark in the firelight, almost black, and when he spoke his voice was deep and husky with desire.

‘This is love-making,’ he said softly. ‘Rose, what we’re doing, it’s because of love. I should say…’

She knew what he wanted to say. This was a marriage of convenience. A marriage for a month. He wanted no commitment, and he was an honourable man.

Too honourable. When she wanted this so much.

‘We can be in love only for tonight,’ she whispered, knowing it was what he wanted to hear. It was what she wanted herself-wasn’t it? But she no longer knew and she no longer cared. Tomorrow was for tomorrow. ‘For now, yes, I’m loving you. I just want you to love me. Please, Nick. Now.’

The ‘now’ didn’t quite work. For she couldn’t quite form the word before her lips were claimed again. Her mouth was being plundered by his, his hands were tugging her close, pulling her up against him, almost lifting her in a long, triumphant, loving kiss where the night dissolved around them and doubts were swept away, and there was only Nick in her world. And there was room for nothing else.

She closed her eyes, her whole body responding with sensual pleasure as he deepened the kiss. She was holding his face in her hands, aching for him to be closer, closer. His hands were in the small of her back, pressing her against him, sending shivers of ecstasy though her whole body. Nick…Her man.

Her hands slipped under the fine fabric of his shirt, tugging him against her, moulding to him, letting him take her weight as she gloried in the strength of him. For Rose, who’d had to be strong for so long, to let go now, to let this man take her…

This was some romantic fantasy that was suddenly, gloriously real. This was happening in truth and not in dreams. She’d married this man today. This was her husband. She had every right to demand that he take her, as he could demand that she surrender. Glorious surrender. Only it worked both ways, this surrender. She was plundering him as he was plundering her. As he was surrendering to her. He groaned softly into the night and she thought, yes, he was out of control and so was she, and this was their right.

His mouth was moving now. Still he held her against him so her feet were barely on the floor, but he had total control. He kissed her as she ached to be kissed. Her neck, her lips, her eyelids. She arched her neck and let him do as he willed, her body heating as she’d never known it could heat. Her whole world centred around the pattern he was making with his tongue.

He was lowering her now, to the rug before the fire, following her down, his hands, his mouth still conjuring their magic. But he was still in his clothes. She needed him closer. She wanted his skin against hers. She wanted his body, and this man was her husband. She had the right.

She pulled back, just a little. The flickering firelight was lighting his face, shadows and contours, illuminating the strength of his bone structure, showing the passion deep in his eyes. A passion that she was sure was matched in her own.

He watched her, intent, tracking every expression as her fingers unfastened the buttons of his shirt. She was lying full-length against him, side by side, and she could feel his breathing deepening as she made her way downward. Button by button. Slow but sure. There was no rush. She had all the time in the world, and this was her man.

His shirt was gone now, and she couldn’t think how. She didn’t need to know how. She shifted downward a little and pushed him back, just slightly, so he rolled onto his back and she could lie her cheek on his chest. His fingers caressed her hair as she kissed his chest. She found his nipples, one after the other, tasted them in turn, teased them with her tongue and felt him groan again. He was at her mercy. Her man. Hers.

She pulled herself over him so her body lay full-length on his. She tugged his arms up, holding them, then lowering her mouth so she could kiss him as he needed to be kissed. Then her own arms were captured and he pulled her upward, lifting her higher. She lay motionless, gasping her pleasure as his tongue found her breasts. Slowly. Slowly. He explored each breast and kissed them in turn, taking her sensory awareness to a new plane, a place she’d never known was there…

He rolled her sideways then, so they were side by side again. Her lips cried out a protest, but this time it was needful. His mouth claimed hers again, but she felt his fingers fumble for the catch of his pants. Yes. Her fingers moved to help him and his kiss stopped, and he gave a low chuckle of pure, sensory pleasure.

‘I can undress myself, Madam Wife.’

‘Not fast enough-my husband,’ she murmured, and she chuckled and tugged the zip down in one triumphant tug. Away. He’d have to do the rest himself, for as his trousers disappeared her hands stayed where they were.

She was going nowhere. This was what she wanted most in the entire world. There was nothing except this place, this time, this man. She’d made her vows and this was her right.

How could she have wanted this to be a marriage on paper only? How could she have denied herself this joy? Yes, this was for now. Nick had no want of an everyday wife, and she wanted her freedom. Or she thought she wanted her freedom. But that was for tomorrow and to deny herself this pleasure, this wonder, this sensation that she was where she most wanted to be in the world, that she had at last found her home…

‘Where did you say this condom was?’ he growled, and she came as near as a hair’s width of saying ‘no, no need’, for to lose him now, to have him move away…But somehow sense prevailed; somehow she managed to whisper directions; somehow she made herself release him and wait and hold her breath in case the magic was lost…

But then he was back, sinking down onto the wonderful thick fireside-rug, smiling down at her in the moonlight and making love to her with his eyes.

‘And now,’ he whispered softly, in a slow, sensual whisper that made her body tingle with aching need. ‘And now…’

He was above her, lowering himself with tantalising slowness. Skin against skin, not all at once but inch by glorious inch, until they lay full-length naked against each other.

Oh, the wonder of him. He was kissing her neck, her breasts, a rain of kisses, while his wonderful hands caressed her body, her navel, her belly and beyond.

He was so beautiful. He was…Nick.

The fire crackled, spitting out a tiny shower of sparks like an exclamation mark into the night. She could hear the fire, hear Nick’s breathing, and she’d never felt so alive as she did at this moment.

‘Nick,’ she whispered.

‘My love?’

‘I want you.’

‘Not half as much as I want you,’ he whispered, and he shifted, pushing himself upward, holding her firm within the strong bounds of his thighs. She gasped with pleasure, with aching need, arched upward, aching to be closer, closer, closer.

Nick.

He was too slow. She held his hips and tugged him forwards but he leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, languorously, a foretaste of what was to come.

‘My Rose,’ he whispered. ‘My wife.’

‘I need you.’ Her thighs were aching with need, her body was creating a flame all of its own, but still he resisted. He smiled at her, his smile a caress, and then he kissed her. He moved dreamily downward, tasting her, loving her, moving from lips to neck to belly and beyond, until she was ready to cry with frustration and pleasure and want, and aching, throbbing need.

This was no one-sided love match, she thought as her need took over. This was her man. Her husband. The last dreary years-the fear of Max’s illness, a husband who had no strength to take her, a desolate widowhood-they had been far too long to wait a moment longer to take what she most wanted in the whole world.

Nick…

He was rising again, thinking where next his mouth should explore, but she was no longer interested in his mouth. With a fierceness that surprised him her hands moved to have, to hold, to centre him exactly where he needed to be centred.

‘My love,’ she whispered, and he was there. He was where she most needed him to be.

And he came down, deep, deep inside her, strong and gentle, plundering yet loving. She arched, wanting him deeper, deeper. She moved with him, moving sensuously on the fireside rug as he needed her to move, letting him take her where he wanted, but assuaging her own need, taking her to where she was meant to be.

She loved him. For this moment she loved him, and how could she not? She was wedded to this man, and that he could be her husband left her wide-eyed with wonder. Her husband. Her mate.

But then she stopped thinking as her body reacted in the most primeval of ways. This was meant to happen-a man taking a woman unto him and becoming one. That was how she felt, as if she was dissolving and becoming part of him, losing a part of herself and gaining him in turn. The warmth, the dark and the firelight, the terrors of the immediate past and the bleakness of the last few years, none of them could impinge on what was happening here-this wondrous fulfilment of passion that had her body taking its need, and causing the night around them to merge into a mist of heat and firelight and white-hot love.

It went on and on, blissfully, achingly, magically, and the moment the sensation eased another started to build. Over and over.

And when it finished, when finally they lay back exhausted, still she held him. Her Nick. Who knew what tomorrow held? But for tonight she was where she was meant to be. She was in her husband’s arms.

They rolled until they were side by side. The fire was warm in the small of her back. Somehow she found the energy to pull away, just far enough so she could kiss him tenderly on the mouth. So she could smile at him in the firelight and watch him smile back. She loved his smile. She loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. She loved Nick.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

‘Thanks?’ Surprise was mixed with the remnants of spent passion. ‘You’re thanking me? Rose, do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You’re the most desirable woman.’ He groaned. ‘And how do you think I can walk away after that?’

Her thoughts clouded a little. Just a little, as reality returned.

But tomorrow was for tomorrow. She refused to let it cloud right now.

‘We should go to sleep,’ she whispered.

‘Hoppy has the bed.’

‘So he has.’

‘Are you warm?’ he asked, and she chuckled.

‘You’re really asking that?’

‘I guess I’m not,’ he said, and kissed her again. ‘Do you really want to go to sleep?’

‘I guess.’

‘You guess?’

‘Maybe not.’

‘Good,’ he said, and tugged her to him again. ‘Good, my love. Hoppy has the bed and he needs his beauty sleep. But you don’t need beauty sleep, for how could you be any more beautiful than you are right now? So, if you don’t need beauty sleep, have you any more suggestions as to how we can fill the time?’

‘I’m guessing here,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Maybe twenty questions?’

‘There is that,’ he said with mock seriousness. ‘Or “I spy”.’

‘Maybe we could find that pack of cards.’

‘I have another suggestion,’ he said, and lifted himself up so his eyes were gleaming down at her in the firelight. ‘It’s a really good suggestion.’

‘What…what is it?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ he whispered. ‘Just lie back my love, think of England and let me show you.’