The Prince’s Captive Wife

CHAPTER NINE

THE following days were a dream. A honeymoon. Six condoms? There were more where they came from and it was just as well.

For once started it was impossible to stop. Holly was just as crazy as she’d been when she was seventeen, and just as helpless. She was just as hopelessly in love.

Andreas just had to look at her and she melted. He just had to touch her and every fibre of her being responded with pure, white want.

‘My hot woman,’ he called her, tugging her into his arms over and over. ‘My captive wife. I have a mind to keep you here for ever.’

That was fine by her, she thought dreamily as the days wore on. Her time with Andreas in the past had been stolen moments, passion laced with guilt. Caution had made her hesitate on her wedding night, but having abandoned caution she discovered there was nothing more to worry about. There was nothing but the love she felt for this man.

He could take her in any way he pleased, and he did, he did. In turn she took him. He might be aristocratically demanding, but so too could she be. He could be tender in turn and he brought out a gentleness in her she didn’t know she had.

Sophia appeared again, and Nikos and Georgiou, but they stayed in the background. This was their own desert island, their own paradise, just for them.

Deefer was a part of their world, a bouncing ball of fun, flying along the beach, rounding up gulls, following them bravely into the surf, but collapsing in true puppy fashion, exhausted and happy while his master and mistress took their pleasure until they, too, felt the same.

Paradise, just for them.

Only of course it couldn’t last. They were given three days and then the fairy tale ended.

It ended with a knock on the bedroom door. It was eleven in the morning. They’d swum and made love lazily in the shallows, then wandered back hand in hand for a late breakfast by the pool. While Deefer slept the sleep of a truly contented pup, Andreas and Holly had showered with the intent of dressing. But that was as far as they’d got. Their bed was too inviting.

Now they lay coiled together in the aftermath of loving, hazy with heat and spent passion. But the knock sounded urgent. Andreas swore, shifted Holly in his arms and called, ‘What is it?’

‘His Majesty, Prince Sebastian, is on the phone for you.’ It was Georgiou, sounding, for Georgiou, apologetic.

‘Damn.’ Andreas moved Holly gently away from him, kissing her lightly on the forehead. ‘If I go will you promise to stay?’

‘You think I have energy to move? Don’t be long.’

‘If my brother calls…’ He didn’t finish. He hauled on his clothes and disappeared and Holly was left with vague forebodings.

Her forebodings were right. Andreas was gone for half an hour. She showered again and this time she dressed, simply in a soft sarong. She tugged her hair back into a coil and fastened it and slipped her feet into sandals. She was about to emerge when he reappeared.

One look at his face told her their idyll was over.

‘We need to go,’ he told her and her heart sank. His face was set and hard, already moving forward.

‘Back to the mainland?’

‘I need to go to Greece,’ he told her. ‘There are rumours that the missing diamond’s been sold to a private buyer. The royals from Calista are sniffing around already. If they find it before we do…’ He left the sentence unfinished but he was already moving towards the bathroom. ‘Georgiou’s checking the helicopter now. We’re leaving in half an hour.’

And that was that. No ‘can you be ready?’ No ‘I’m sorry the honeymoon’s been interrupted.’ Andreas was moving on.

Back to being a royal. And that left her…where?

He was stripping, stepping into the shower again. He wouldn’t want to smell of lovemaking when he met his family, she thought dully. He’d need to be royal again.

She swallowed. Maybe she could stay here.

She couldn’t. She knew that. She needed to go back to the mainland. For a start. To see…If there a future there was for her?

But Andreas had never said there was a future for her as a princess. As his wife. As far as Andreas was concerned she still wanted to go home.

Of course she did, she reminded herself sharply. Of course she did.

She left him showering. Sophia was waiting outside, looking anxious. ‘What will you do?’ she asked.

‘What comes next,’ Holly whispered. ‘In truth, Sophia, I don’t know. But for now…I have so few clothes and I’m about to return to Aristo as a royal wife. Let’s you and I do a fast sort through this appalling wardrobe and see if we can find something that makes me look vaguely respectable.’

‘More than respectable,’ Sophia said and hugged her. ‘You want a wardrobe that makes you look royal. You want a wardrobe that makes Andreas wish to keep you.’

‘Yeah, well that’d be a magic wardrobe,’ Holly said stiffly. ‘Let’s not count on miracles here.’

Andreas stood under the streaming water and felt ill. He’d almost forgotten. The last three days had been a magic time out, but Sebastian’s phone call had been curt to the point of being brutal. A reality check in the worst possible way.

‘You have to get back here. I can’t trust many people with the knowledge of the missing diamond. You have to go to Greece and search.’

‘I can’t leave Holly.’

‘You’ve done what you had to do with Holly. That problem’s over. Forget her. We have bigger problems now.’

‘She’s my wife…’

‘Because she had to be your wife,’ Sebastian snapped. ‘You hardly want to keep her.’ Then, as Sebastian heard nothing in response-heard the nuances behind Andreas’s silence-he sighed. ‘All right. She’s beautiful, I grant you. But if you want her long term then she has to play by the rules. This situation is too complicated as it is, and if she makes it more so…Leave her on the island. Or send her back to Australia.’ He hesitated. ‘No. It’s perhaps too soon for that. But if she sticks around, you need to make sure she stays firmly in the background.’

‘She’s hardly going to bring us down, Sebastian,’ Andreas said.

‘Anything can bring us down right now,’ Sebastian answered grimly. ‘We’re on a knife edge. We have to find that diamond. So I want you here now.’

The phone went dead. Andreas was left staring into space. Hating it.

The royal goldfish bowl…He couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t hated it.

A memory popped up, uninvited and maybe untimely.

When he was six years old he’d been ill. Seriously ill, with rheumatic fever. He had glimmers of memory through a haze of fever. His huge bed with its starched white sheets, in the over-ornate hall that served as the royal nursery. Doctors surrounding him, looking grave. His mother coming into the room, sitting on his bed-an almost unheard of thing for the queen to do. His father restricted his contact with his parents to a ten-minute recital of his achievements for the day, formally performed before high tea. But this day she had stayed, and looked worried. And then he remembered the magic words-said to his nanny, Sophia.

‘Very well, if that’s what the doctors are ordering, you can take him home. I’ll defy his father, on this. But you’re not to let him forget what’s due to him.’

What followed was three months in Sophia’s home town, in Sophia’s own home. Sophia’s mountain village was known for its medicinal qualities-it was supposed to be a place where damaged lungs and hearts could find a place to heal.

Sophia had promised his father that he’d be treated as a prince, gravely and sincerely. They’d been driven to the village in one of the palace’s vast limousines. Sophia had been strictly formal all the way home, but as they stood in the doorway of her home and watched the limousine disappear into the distance she’d suddenly bent and hugged him.

‘I have you here, my little cabbage, and I’ll make you well,’ she’d said joyously. ‘This is our secret but for these three months I want you to be a child. I want you to be free.’

And he had been. As his health had improved he’d swooped around the village as part of the tribe of local kids, running, playing, going to the local school, getting into mischief, falling for the misbegotten mutts that were the family pets. He’d eaten at Sophia’s kitchen table with Sophia and Nikos-they’d both been granted leave of absence from the palace staff to take care of this sickly princeling.

They were sharing the rambling old house with Sophia’s two grown sons and their wives, and a tribe of grandchildren. Sophia had tucked him into bed each night-a bedroom he shared with Sophia’s oldest grandson. She’d hugged him and kissed him and he’d slept as he’d never slept before or since.

His mother’s words had stayed with him as he returned to the palace. You can take him home. That was what it had felt like. He’d wanted so much to go back. His time in Australia had been a desperate attempt to relive that experience-being normal-being a kid again.

And in a way it had worked. He’d fallen in love with Holly in the same way a six-year-old had fallen in love with Sophia. Or actually in a very different way, he thought ruefully. But there were similarities. He’d escaped into…love.

But both times had ended. Both times he’d been called back to the palace, to the place where shows of emotion were regarded as weakness. Where noise and mess, pets and mischief were not tolerated. Where the word home had no place. But he had no choice. It was his duty. It was his birthright.

He was needed now. He had to go back.

With Holly. It had to be with Holly.

She’d hate it, he thought. He had no right to ask this of her, even for a short while. But it was too soon to send her back to Australia.

Hell, he didn’t want her back at the palace, confined to royal protocol. His fantasy with Holly had never included royal trimmings.

He looked through the open bathroom door to the bedroom beyond. Deefer was watching him from the doorway. The pup’s intelligent little face was cocked to the side as if he knew his master was troubled.

‘Can you be a royal dog?’ he asked.

Deefer stared back at him, appearing to ponder the question. Then, bored, he gazed around him.

The bed had a massive brocade cover, tumbled now and lying half over the end of the bed. It had magnificent gold tassles on the side.

Deefer barked at the closest tassle. Then he crouched low, pounced, grabbed the tassle and headed for the main door. Dragging the priceless brocade with him.

Maybe not, Andreas thought ruefully. Maybe Deefer wasn’t a royal dog as Holly wasn’t a royal princess.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and flicked off the taps. He reached for his towel and padded through to find his clothes. A suit. Clothes to make him a prince again.

With wife? With dog?

Only if they both learned to toe the royal line.

They were on opposite sides of the helicopter again. This machine wasn’t meant for lovers. Nor was it meant for man and wife.

She didn’t feel like a wife right now. She was on her way to being a royal princess. She felt small and insignificant and scared.

Andreas was staring out the window to the land below. Aristo.

A reception committee was waiting. From the helicopter she could see a cluster of waiting suits, of media jostling for position.

‘The press?’ she asked in a small voice and Andreas sighed.

‘It’s only to be expected. Our marriage has caused enormous interest. However hopefully they’ll back off now I’ve done the right thing.’

‘Now I’ve done the right thing…’

He was still staring below. Preoccupied. How could he know that her heart felt as if it had been pierced?

‘They would have had my hide if I hadn’t married you,’ he said grimly, almost to himself. ‘It’s what being a royal’s all about. You’re pressured from day one. Your life’s not your own. Hell, if I’d been able to follow my own course…You’re better out of it, Holly.’

He turned to her then and she had to fight-really fight-to get her face under control. She felt sick.

‘I…How long do I need to stay?’ she managed.

‘I’ll talk to Sebastian.’

And that was that. He’d talk to the future king. He’d do what was required.

The last three days she’d allowed herself to hope. No, she’d allowed herself to believe that there was truly a marriage, for that was what it had felt like.

I’ll talk to Sebastian.

The course of their marriage was in the hands of the Prince Regent, Sebastian. Naturally.

This had been truly time out of frame, she thought dully as the helicopter landed, as the doors were hauled open to readmit the world. Three days of memories to last her for the rest of her life.

How could it be enough?

Maybe it had to be enough. They were taken over the moment they landed. The moment the doors were open there were flashlights going everywhere, almost blinding her.

Andreas climbed out first and helped her after him. He held her hand and she clung.

She was wearing a tight-fitting, little green dress-a sundress. She should be corporate, she thought. To face this she needed power clothes. Shoulder pads. Business black.

‘How was the honeymoon?’ someone yelled, and there were chuckles and questions, fielded by Andreas like an expert. All she could do was cling like a limpet and hope it’d soon be over.

‘How does it feel to be a royal wife?’ someone called and Andreas was before her.

‘Holly’s not intended to be a royal wife,’ he said smoothly. ‘Yes, we’ve wed, but Holly’s life is in Australia. She runs one of the most beautiful cattle stations in her country. I’ll never ask her to give that up to take on royal duties.’

There was a moment’s shocked hush. Then a torrent of follow-up interrogation, all of which could be summed up in the one phrase.

‘You mean it’s not a real marriage?

‘I didn’t say that,’ Andreas said smoothly. ‘We were married before God and we intend to keep our vows. But marriage means different things for different people. Christina and I had a royal marriage where both of us were expected to play a role in public life. But Holly’s not a royal wife. To ask that of her would be unfair.’

‘So you’re going back to Australia?’ someone demanded of her. ‘When?’

‘There are many things to be sorted,’ Andreas interceded smoothly. ‘We’ll let you know.’

‘But you’ll attend royal functions until then?’ someone called.

‘She will,’ Andreas said.

What was happening here? Holly thought, stunned. Limpet? Wet rag more like it. Docile bride standing meekly by her husband’s side as he answered her questions. The husband as the woman’s spokesperson.

‘And how do I like my porridge?’ she blurted out, before she could help herself.

‘Pardon?’ Andreas stared down at her. Everyone was staring at her.

‘Tell the press how I like my porridge,’ she said dangerously, and she knew no good could come of this. She could feel a wave of anger so strong it threatened to overwhelm her. But she was on the wave now and there was no way she could get off until it was ridden to its end.

‘We don’t understand,’ a reporter complained.

‘I mean if I’m asked a question-about me-then maybe I’m the one capable of answering it. I’ll be going back to Australia when I feel like it,’ she snapped. ‘When I decide. I’m not intended for a royal wife? That sounds like I’ve been produced on some breeding programme. I’m sorry, my love,’ she said, and she managed a saccharine smile as Andreas stared at her, astounded. ‘I know. A royal wife shuts up and lets her husband speak for her. But I’m not a royal wife. You’ve just said so. I’m just a wife. I’m just me. Let’s take that as read and move on.’

He was furious. Not just angry but almost impotent with rage. They sat in the back of the limousine on the way to the palace and he stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.

Two could play at that game. She stared right back, furiously defiant.

‘A royal wife stays in the background,’ he snapped.

‘Does she? I wouldn’t know. I’m not a royal wife.’

‘Holly, you don’t understand. It’s imperative that our behaviour is above reproach.’

‘I thought my behaviour was above reproach,’ she said, dangerously quiet. If her father could hear her now maybe he’d warn Andreas. My daughter has a temper. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

But Andreas had no such warning. The political consequences of their actions were first and foremost in his mind and he wasn’t seeing past them.

‘You had a child out of wedlock,’ he said tightly. ‘That’s enough.’

‘Enough?’

‘For the country to judge you. You need to be demure and quiet and respectful.’

‘Respectful of you.’

‘Of course. I’m your husband.’

‘I thought you were more than that. I thought you were my lover.’

‘On our island, yes. Not here. Here you follow the rules set by my family. You have to be silent, Holly.’

‘I don’t believe,’ she said softly, ‘that silence was in the marriage vows.’

‘You know it’s why I married you.’

‘Sorry?’ She was past angry now, but she wasn’t shouting. Maybe she even sounded reasonable. Softly enquiring of her husband what he meant.

‘If the Calista royals had found you before we did…’

‘Before…we?’

‘My brother and I.’

‘What would the royals of Calista have done?’

‘They would have brought us down. Hell, Holly, I don’t have to tell you this. I’ve never made a secret of it.’

‘No,’ she said, breaking eye contact to give her head a bit of space. She turned and stared out the car window. They were approaching the palace. Huge tree-lined avenues heralded the approach. They’d swept in the main gates but there was still half a mile to travel before they reached the main residence.

The gates had closed behind them. If she got out now…

‘Look, Holly, I don’t know how long Sebastian intends to keep you here…’

She gasped at that, swivelling back to stare at him again. ‘Sebastian. Sebastian! So it’s not up to us, how long our marriage lasts. It’s not even up to you. It’s up to Sebastian!’

‘He’s your future king.’

‘Your future king,’ she snapped.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You can walk away.’

‘When Sebastian says I can.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with you?’

‘Holly, this was never a real marriage. You know that. I have royal obligations and you…you can’t even bear to shut up for one press call.’

‘I can’t, can I?’

‘Holly…’ He hesitated, then held out his hand to her in a gesture of entreaty. She stared down at it-a tanned, finely boned hand, complete with a wedding ring.

He was coaxing her to do the right thing. He’d done the right thing-by the nation. For the royal family. He’d married her in all honour. And then he’d bedded her in spectacular fashion-for why waste a perfectly good wife?

Only now the deed was done, normal life must resume. Stay in the background, shut up and wear beige. No, that was the rule she’d heard for the mother of the groom at weddings. Never for the bride.

But she wasn’t a bride; at least not a royal one. Her husband was holding his hand out to her, commanding her to join with him, commanding her to keep up this pretence.

Fine. She would. But pretence it was. She ignored the hand, and grabbed Deefer who’d been sleeping on the seat beside her. She hugged him to her, holding him like a shield.

‘I need to know how long,’ she muttered.

‘How long what?’

‘Before I can go home,’ she answered angrily.

‘Holly, please…’

‘Look, Andreas, let’s agree. The whole situation is irrational. I hadn’t figured it out until now, but finally I have. All right, Andreas, I’ll stand back, shut up and wear beige. But you and Sebastian had better figure out a time frame to let me go, because wearing beige will make me crazy.’

It got worse. The servants were lined up to welcome them ‘home’. It seemed Andreas had his own apartments in one wing of the vast Castle of Aristo. There were no less than fifteen uniformed servants lined up to receive them. Andreas walked down the line shaking hands, receiving congratulations. Holly followed, but the first time she tentatively went to shake a hand herself Andreas stopped her with a sharp little gesture of rebuke. The servant-a middle-aged woman-took a fast step back.

‘This is Mme Pirentas, our housekeeper,’ Andreas said, formally, and then proceeded to introduce each in turn. Valet, butler, footmen, housemaids, gardeners. Each made a formal bow to her, but she’d learned her lesson now and kept her hands to herself. And her tongue.

They’d just reached the end of the line when there was a stir inside the entrance. Two more liveried servants emerged, ushering out a woman between them. Queen Tia, Andreas’s mother. The elderly queen walked down the steps, grasped Andreas’s hands and kissed him on either cheek.

‘My son,’ she said softly, sounding worried. ‘Welcome home. You are naughty to take your bride away when we needed you.’

‘Three days, Mama,’ Andreas said. ‘Hardly an extended honeymoon.’

‘No, but at such a time, with Alex still away…Sebastian has barely been able to contain himself.’ Tia shook her head, her formal smile of welcome fading as she turned to Holly. ‘Welcome home, my dear. I’ll have someone show you to your apartments. Andreas, Sebastian is expecting you in your father’s study. Now.’

‘I should show Holly-’

‘I’ll organize Holly,’ Tia said in a tone that reminded Holly forcibly of her son. Aristocratic. Determined. And sure that the Red Sea would part for her. ‘You go. You’re needed. Holly will understand, I’m sure.’

And that was that. Andreas disappeared. Holly was left with a dozen servants and the queen.

Holly will understand? No, she didn’t. She should have felt lonely. Deserted and intimidated. Instead she was trying to control a fury that was threatening to overwhelm her.

‘So I’ll see my husband again…at dinner?’ she asked and the queen flashed her an uncertain glance.

‘I’m not sure. I believe Sebastian wishes him to travel to Greece.’

‘Greece,’ she said blankly. ‘Um…with me?’

‘You need to make yourself at home here.’

‘Do I?’

‘My dear…’

‘Oh, you needn’t worry,’ Holly said, seeing dismay wash over the aristocratic features. ‘I’m not about to make a scene. I’ve been told my role here is beige and that’s what you’ll get. So I’ll stay here while my husband goes to Greece. When can I have an audience with Sebastian?’

‘Pardon?

‘It’s Sebastian who pulls the strings round here, right? Then it’s Sebastian who’ll tell me when it’s convenient for my marriage to end.’

‘You mean His Majesty, Prince Sebastian,’ Tia said severely. ‘And I believe my son thinks it might be a good thing if it doesn’t end.’

Holly’s eyebrows did a hike skyward. ‘Really?’

‘It was a lovely performance in church.’

A performance. A performance!

‘That’s nice,’ she said between clenched teeth. She bent down and picked up Deefer. She’d set him down to greet the servants but she had need of his small, plump presence. Her comfort dog.

‘Give the dog to one of the men,’ Tia said, looking uncertain. ‘Is he yours?’

‘Yes,’ she said and her hold instinctively tightened.

‘He can be looked after in the stables.’

‘He’ll stay with me.’

‘My husband’s rule is that we don’t have animals in the palace.’

Her husband? Wasn’t Aegeus dead?

Did the rules made by dead kings last for ever? And did the rules made by dead kings apply to her?

‘That might create a problem,’ Holly said cautiously. ‘You’re saying I have to sleep in the stables?’

Tia glanced nervously at the servants. They were out of hearing. Just. Her tone softened, becoming sympathetic. ‘As a young bride I learned fast that I needed to obey the rules.’

Holly frowned. After how many years of marriage was Tia still obeying rules? ‘But you’re the queen now,’ she said. ‘The family matriarch. Surely you can make your own rules.’

‘It’s Sebastian who makes the rules now.’

‘But he’s your son.’

‘This is hardly appropriate-’

‘It’s not, is it?’ Holly said tightly. ‘I’ll discuss this with Andreas. Hopefully before he goes to Greece. Meanwhile have someone show me to my bedroom. With my dog. Or have someone show me to the stables. With my dog. Take your pick. Your call, Your Majesty.’