His Convenient Royal Bride

by Cara Colter

  “Drop it,” Ward said, and when he saw she wasn’t going to listen, he hopped on the foot of the bed and lurched toward her. The mattress bounced with his added weight and bounced more as he made his way across the bed to her.

  “Oh,” she said, unsteadily, “oh, dear.”

  She released the painting, and he went to catch it, but then realized he had to catch it or her. He chose her, but it was too late.

  Her legs had collapsed under her. Her momentum pulled them both down in a hopeless tangle of limbs, him on top of her. He managed to deflect the painting from hitting them, but she heard it hit the floor with a distinctive crunch.

  Maddie stared up at him and felt his weight on her, most of it being held off, but still enough that she could feel the uncompromising lines of him, be nearly overwhelmed by his gorgeous scent.

  She freed an arm and touched his face. He had shaved before getting off the plane and his skin was smooth, as sensuous to touch as silk. She traced the line of his lips, the lips that had kissed her so recently, and felt a surrender sigh within her. She loved how the blue sapphire blue of his eyes deepened to the navy blue of deep seawater as he looked down at her.

  “Maddie?”

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “It wasn’t really an idea. More like an occurrence.”

  His mouth tilted up on one side. He really had a sinfully sexy smile. The expression on his face was one of amazed discovery. Of her. With exquisite softness, he traced the line of her mouth.

  They heard a door open.

  He leaped off her. “That will be the luggage. Should I send it in?”

  “Tell them to leave it at the door. We don’t want them in here, Ward. Or they’ll know.”

  But know what? It certainly didn’t feel like a sham at the moment! He gave her one more faintly tortured look and disappeared out of the room.

  * * *

  Maddie’s first weeks at the palace passed in a blur. She wasn’t sure if Ward had planned it like this to minimize “occurrences,” or if he’d done it to keep her from feeling lonely, or if this was simply the pace of his life, but it seemed every moment of every day was highly scheduled.

  She barely saw her husband, let alone had an opportunity to “rescue” him from what she had perceived as his loneliness. Now it was clear he was far too busy to experience the normal pangs of human loneliness. She was not sure she had ever seen a man who started so early in the morning and worked so late. Was he avoiding her? Or was he always like this?

  But her own life was also a whirlwind. Mornings were devoted to the wedding gifts and cards that had begun to pour in from around the world. Edward’s sister, Princess Abigail, sometimes dropped by to help, her precocious daughter, Anne, with her. Though Abigail was reserved, Maddie soon delighted in the visits because of Anne.

  Glenrich became her lifesaver. Though much of what was sent was presorted, every gift received had to be acknowledged with a signed card. Many of the gifts were extremely valuable, and Maddie had to decide what to do with them. Some were adorable, like the one from a six-year-old girl in California who sent her a plastic tea set for hosting her princess parties! She passed that along to Anne, who treasured the plastic set above her many, many rare and expensive toys.

  During those mornings, Glenrich coached her, gently and firmly. Protocol. What to wear for what occasion. How to address whom, in public and in private. When did you shake hands, and when didn’t you? The proper way to hold a teacup. And a knife and fork. There was even an accepted way for her to sit, her legs never crossed, but pressed together and leaning to one side, her hands clasped neatly together in her lap.

  Glenrich also taught her a few words of the ancient language of Havenhurst, particularly old greetings, and words of thanks and sympathy. She taught her the colorful history of the island and helped her sort through the mind-boggling number of invitations she received.

  Maddie was so grateful to Frederique that she had a suitable outfit for every occasion, for every day held occasions. She was the Prince’s wife, and people wanted to meet her. Glenrich, thankfully, slipped into the role of her secretary. Having her own staff member increased the sense of this all being a dream. In what world did Maddie Nelson from Mountain Bend have a secretary? In this world, where she desperately needed one.

  Maddie’s favorite events quickly became the ones she attended with Ward, since she seldom actually saw her husband and got to spend time with him. It was with growing amazement she watched his skill with people. He treated everyone—from the flour-covered baker walking down the street, to high-ranking officials—with equal respect. He made time to listen. He engaged people at a deep, deep level. The admiration of the palace guard soldiers was obvious, as was the affection of every member of the palace staff.

  He was also treated with extraordinary respect and not entirely because of his station. She could tell his skill at business was extraordinary and his investment in the future of his island was all consuming.

  In private he was unfailingly decent and respectful to her, winning her trust and her admiration day by day, and yet she found she was beginning to like the public occasions, because his affection came out. Maddie loved the feel of his hand resting on the small of her back, the way he teased her, the way he cocked his head to listen to her, the pride in his voice when he introduced her to someone. He made her feel special, but of course, he did that to everyone.

  It was what she had signed up for, and yet she felt disappointed that the small gestures were dropped at their front door. They barely shared the suite.

  The truth was her husband was winning her heart the same way he had won the hearts—the absolute devotion—of his people. But she wanted more.

  She was the one who wanted a change in the rules!

  And when she received a handwritten invitation, addressed to her personally, to Princess Aida’s wedding, she hoped she had found a way to do that.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  PRINCESS AIDA’S WEDDING was small, perfect and beautiful. She and her groom had invited only a few select guests. Despite that, for privacy, they had secured an entire lodge on the Island of Wynfield. Everything had been set up at a grotto around a pool, and once the ceremony and meal were finished, the tables were put away and music and dancing ensued.

  Aida and her husband, Drew, were so in love, and so open in that love, that Maddie was envious.

  Ward was particularly handsome tonight, in a black tuxedo, white silk shirt and bow tie. He knew all the people there and was so skilled at including Maddie in the conversations that she soon felt that she had known them all her life, too.

  They had not danced together since the concert.

  Now, when they did, Maddie was so aware how much her feelings for him had changed. But just like that night, she felt sexy and beautiful, and she loved it that she could tell by the look on his face that he found her sexy and beautiful, too.

  They laughed and danced and talked until the wee hours of the morning. It was the most time they had ever had together.

  As they were preparing to leave, Lancaster appeared and whispered something to Ward.

  He turned to her. “I’m afraid there’s been a small mechanical problem with the plane. It will be fixed by morning.”

  It occurred to her they would be staying here! And that they couldn’t very well ask for separate rooms.

  Maddie was thrilled. She couldn’t wait to have her gorgeous husband to herself. She could not have planned for the evening to end this well.

  They entered the room, and both of them gaped. It was like a honeymoon suite: a beautiful four-poster bed at its center, draped in white gauzy fabric. There were even rose petals scattered on the cover.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor,” Ward volunteered.

  But Maddie was tired of Ward being the gentleman. T
ired of the distance between them. She craved a deepening of their relationship, in every way. She took his hand and pulled him to the bed, sat down and patted the place beside her.

  He hesitated, and then sat.

  She spoke no words. She placed her hand on the back of his neck and drew his lips to hers.

  She tasted him, well aware this was their first kiss that was not public. This was their first kiss that was not for display. It felt as if she had waited her whole life for this kiss. She felt like a flower that had waited for rain, as if her petals, dry and thirsty, were opening up in celebration of the force that gave life.

  He groaned with surrender, wrapped his hands in her hair and pulled her in tighter to him. The kiss became savage with need. He pushed her gently onto the bed, and lay down over her, covering her body with his own. Her every cell felt as if it was screaming with need of him. She let her hands roam the hard surfaces of his body. She reached for the buttons on his shirt.

  He rolled away from her, sat up on the edge of the bed, and then found his feet. He ran his hand through the dark crispness of his hair. His chest was heaving. His eyes were dark with wanting.

  But he looked tormented.

  “I can’t,” he said huskily. And then he turned sharply on his heel and left the room, closing the door with a quiet snap behind him.

  What? What had he seen, naked in her face, that he knew he could not—or would not—return? It was a warning, and she wished she could heed it. His family, after all, saw love as a weakness. She had thought she could knock down his barriers, but now she was not so sure that her growing feelings for him could break down the barriers he had put around his heart.

  Or maybe it wasn’t him, at all. Maybe it was her. It seemed every insecurity she had ever had rose to the surface. She wasn’t good enough for him, just as she had not been good enough for Derek. She let the tears fall.

  * * *

  Edward made his way through the dark streets of Wynfield to the airport. Lancaster, with his instinct for these things, had somehow materialized and dogged his heels down the dark streets, but did not try to engage him in any conversation.

  Edward decided he would stay on the plane tonight. He could not believe what had just happened. He was a man who had been raised knowing the virtues of control. He had known, practically since he was a toddler, how to control himself. As he had grown older, he had learned how to control the world around him.

  And yet, just now, with Maddie’s sweet curves nestled underneath him, with her eyes wide on his, with her lips moist and full, he had nearly lost control completely.

  Oh, not the me Tarzan, you Jane kind of control, though, yes, her lips beckoned and he had given in to the temptation to taste them. And taste them. And taste them. It was like drinking a wine you could never get enough of.

  But it was a different loss of control that he feared even more than the desire that burned like a hot coal in his belly anytime he was within touching distance of her.

  He had seen something in her eyes. Something to reach for. Something to believe in. Something to trust. Something to hope for.

  He had seen what she was offering him: a lifeline.

  The shocking truth was that he had not known he was drowning!

  In terms of control, this whole marriage to Maddie was already going seriously off the rails. His goal had been to save Aida so that she could have what he had resigned himself to never having: true love. Was it the utter romance of the wedding that was making him feel the gaping wound of emptiness where love could not be?

  Or was it what he had seen in Maddie’s eyes right now? A chance. An opportunity to know love.

  Impossible. Dancing with that particular dream could only get her seriously hurt. Nursing such fantasies couldn’t be good for him, either!

  What was the point of saving Aida, if he crushed another young woman’s hopes and dreams and prospects in the process?

  “What a mess I’ve made,” Edward muttered out loud as he made his way to the safety of his bedroom on board the plane. Well, he could not undo what had been done. He could not take back the kisses they had shared—ones where he had actually felt as if the earth shifted under his feet.

  He knew himself to be a strong man. But not strong enough to resist the invitation he had tasted on her lips, and seen in her eyes, and sensed in the soft pliability of her body underneath his when they had collapsed together on the bed just now.

  He had to avoid her. In the morning, he had the plane return him to Havenhurst alone, and then sent it back to her.

  * * *

  And so began the most miserable period of the Prince’s entire life. While he stayed away—eating in the palace dining room and making sure his business interests consumed his days—his suite underwent the most amazing metamorphosis.

  When he stumbled in at night, too exhausted, thank God, to think of Maddie—her eyes, her lips, his longing for her conversation, or a hand of poker—he noticed portraits that had hung for hundreds of years had disappeared. He didn’t want to know how she got them down, or what she did with them as staff were still banished from the suite.

  Walls—some of them eighteen feet tall—were washed, filling his house with the clean scent of new beginnings. Then they were painted, heart-stoppingly tall ladders leaning about the place. One wall in the living room was painted a burnt orange that should have hurt the eyes, but somehow warmed the soul instead. Cheerful abstracts and art that showed things like little children in rowboats, cottages behind masses of flowers, puppies chewing on old boots, took their place.

  Early, early in the morning, when he rose to avoid her, he noticed curtains had come down and light spilled in. He had paused to look at the changes, when her bedroom door squeaked open.

  Her hair was a mess, and her pajamas were crumpled. She looked adorable. And gorgeous. Somehow, impossibly, she looked sexy.

  And so hopeful. As if maybe they could sit and have a coffee together. Talk. Yearning leaped in him.

  “I hope you are not getting up on those ladders yourself,” he told her curtly.

  The sleepiness was gone in a second. She had lifted a rebellious eyebrow at him.

  “I am ordering you to stay off those ladders.”

  She had stared at him for a moment, and then stuck out her tongue at him, flounced back into her room and slammed the door.

  But underlying that show of feistiness, had there been sadness in her eyes? Despite the metamorphosis to his home, was he responsible for some new insecurity in her? He hated that. And didn’t know what to do about it without getting in over his head.

  Only his own room remained untouched. She never came in it, and as soon as he closed the door at night, instead of feeling safe, instead of feeling as if he had a sanctuary from her, he could feel the acute emptiness, the lack of her, somehow. Every day his bedroom seemed a little darker and a little danker and a little colder in comparison to all the places she had touched. Sometimes, it seemed to him, it was the kind of room a bitter old man would have: surrounded by his riches, his heart impoverished.

  Combining with the smell of paint and cleanliness, in every room but his, was the underlying smell of good things cooking: the delicate aroma of scones, fresh-baked bread, cookies. He didn’t know where she was finding the time for all this, or where all the goodies went, but they seemed to disappear as fast as she made them. When he pressed Lancaster, he found out she was baking for the whole regiment.

  He also found out Maddie had taken to walking to town every day, taking the steep steps down the cliff, her shopping basket over her arm. She had accepted the security personnel, but refused to let her security detail carry her groceries. She greeted everyone she met. She stopped and exchanged pleasantries. She listened to problems. She hugged babies and old people.

  She had, according to Lancaster, found a drop-in center for young people, and once a week she taught a g
roup of young mothers how to make scones.

  Of course, Ward ran into her by accident, though sometimes he wondered if she wasn’t trying to catch him. He was curt rather than cordial. The invitation to come into the warmth she was creating never flagged in her eyes. He never quit resisting it with all his might, and the hurt in her eyes at his rejection always seemed brand-new.

  Over time, she stopped trying so hard to engage him. She became more impersonal with him when they were together for official functions. She talked to him about the people she met. Sometimes she asked him to intercede in a problem that had been brought to her. She wanted him to look at putting a bakery in a vacant main street shop, so she could start a proper business and training program for her “girls.”

  He limited public engagements together, but there were several official engagements he could not avoid, and they attended as a couple.

  He didn’t make the mistake of touching her. He thought it would be perfect if they were the same kind of royal couple that his mother and father were.

  It was at these public engagements that Prince Edward found out how much her little trips to town had been winning her favor.

  People knew who she was. And they loved her with a kind of simple devotion. Maddie, at these gatherings, performed as if she had been born to the role of princess. She was gracious, natural, good-humored and compassionate.

  The fact that she was making such a good life for herself without him took away some of the guilt he was feeling that he had brought her into this.

  And, if he was completely honest, made him jealous, too!

  He thought he probably could have gone on this way indefinitely. Until one night he came home very late and heard the sound of quiet crying.

  His head told him not to investigate.

  But his heart refused to listen. He followed the sound through the darkened apartment and to Maddie’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar.