She heard a hint of warning in his voice. One that echoed her own instincts. She had a feeling Beatriz was being so helpful on the “keep your friends close and your enemies closer” principle.
His arm still rested on her waist, holding her so that only a few warm inches of air separated their torsos. Exquisite torture. And what if someone was watching? She pulled her arm from beneath the covers and lifted it to cup his cheek and stroke his hair, like a lover might.
At first he looked confused, then he submitted himself to her caresses with a bemused expression, until he leaned in, pressed his mouth to her neck and rasped, “Let’s make love.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
To say it was awkward to “make love” to Darias while he propped himself on his elbows and moved his hips over her, under the covers, would be the understatement of the century.
For a start, she could definitely feel how aroused he was. He tried to keep his hips raised enough so as not to touch her, but every now and then she could feel the hard length of his manhood brush against her thighs or belly.
The sensation made her catch her breath, which probably made the sound effects more realistic. She kept her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers playing in the hair at the nape of his neck. It was a good thing she got to keep her eyes closed.
Darias built the rhythm to a crescendo, then emitted a groan and collapsed to the side of her. He leaned his face in so close that his lips were touching her ear. “I just want you to know that if I was really making love to you, it would be a lot longer and more passionate.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she whispered back. Then she said louder. “That was amazing.”
Darias tried to hide the smile crossing his mouth. She could tell he wanted to laugh. The whole situation was so tense and crazy. Both of their bodies zinging with arousal, writhing around under the covers and pretending to make love rather than actually doing it.
“We could really do it, you know.” He gazed at her through narrowed eyes, still whispering.
She blinked and swallowed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He relaxed his head into the pillow. “As you wish.”
She didn’t wish. She’d love to touch all over his hard body and really let herself fall deep into one of those hesitant kisses.
But she knew that would be a disastrous. This was a game to Darias. A convenient arrangement with a finite end. Much better to keep her heart, and her private parts, tightly under wraps for the duration.
They rolled apart, heads each on their own pillow. Much better. They’d put on enough of a show to allay suspicion and possibly disappoint any eager viewers. After tomorrow the room would be cleared and they wouldn’t have to fake it again.
How funny that she’d heard Darias fake an orgasm. There couldn’t be many women who’d had that privilege. She couldn’t imagine there were many women who’d lain in bed with him and willingly kept their hands to themselves, either.
This would be a lot easier if he were unattractive. Or a jerk.
Darias watched her, dark eyes gleaming.
She wondered if he intended to say something for any potential eavesdroppers. “I love you,” perhaps. What else would real newlyweds whisper as they lay in bed together on their wedding night?
Sometimes it was hard to remember this was all fake. There was something magical about being folded into the bosom of this big family, when she was still reeling from the loss of her mom.
“You’re a very special woman.” His voice was low enough to be almost a conspiratorial whisper but probably loud enough to be picked up by recording equipment. Was he truly saying this to her, or was it for the benefit of snoopers?
“Thanks.” Did it really matter whether he meant it or not? He was paying her handsomely to be here, and she needed to do her job.
It would get easier over time, wouldn’t it?
At dawn Darias turned the shower as cold as possible. Last night had been almost unbearable torture. How was he supposed to lie in bed next to such a beautiful woman and not make love to her? Worse yet, he had to pretend to make love to her. Perhaps that hadn’t been such a great idea. They didn’t know for sure that someone was bugging the room, and they could have just pretended to be too tired. Probably many couples didn’t make love on their wedding night after an exhausting day of festivities and too much booze.
But that idea appalled him. If he married a woman, he wanted her satisfied and filled with joy on her wedding night. Was he so narcissistic that he expected his paid wife to fake such delight?
He let out a dark sigh. Better that he get away from her and get on with the job of finding the enemy in their midst before something bad happened.
He turned off the shower and roughly toweled himself dry, then dressed in pants and a shirt, ready to greet the guests who’d stayed overnight, then make his excuses.
Emma looked like an angel with her gold hair splayed on the pillow. A sad angel. What lovely woman wanted her wedding to be a sham? His heart ached that he’d done that to her.
“I’m going to find Gibran and make sure the room is swept today—and every day.”
There was no way he could pretend to make love to her again. It had half killed him. He couldn’t be sure he could control himself the next time.
“Okay. I’ll go find your mom and Beatriz and join them for breakfast.”
“Perfect.” She knew her job, and she performed it perfectly. Why did that make him feel like such a heel?
The next few days where a whirlwind of activity for Emma. A number of guests stayed at the palace after the wedding, including all of Darias’s siblings. She was swept into a number of activities, including bicycle rides through the countryside, dining out in little pastry shops and cafes, and exploring the tiny villages that dotted the hillsides. They also played tennis on two courts behind the palace and rowed on a beautiful lake, and she watched his siblings jump their magnificent horses in a sand arena near the palace stables.
It was like living in a fairy tale—and knowing you’re the bad fairy who shouldn’t be there. She tried not to dwell on that, though. She figured she should make the most of this once-in-a-lifetime chance to immerse herself in the culture and customs of Altaleone, and enjoy what was really a long vacation in a billionaire’s playground.
Nights, however, were a whole different story.
Darias was gone much of each day doing who knows what. It wasn’t her business to ask. In the evenings he joined the family for dinner, and they all spent time chatting or watching a movie in the palace theater. Then they retired to their bedroom, where their conversation was so formal you might almost think they were being recorded. Except that he assured her they weren’t.
“How was your day?” She never asked for details as they lay next to each other in bed, at least a foot of cool mattress in between their bodies.
“Fine. I met with the minister of agriculture. Learned about the grape harvest and how I can grow the market for our wine internationally.” He never really gave details.
“Nice.”
“Yes. Interesting.”
His coronation was only three days away, and she knew he wanted to be up to speed on all his official and unofficial duties beforehand. Still, did it really take all day, every day?
Or was he avoiding her?
That was what it felt like.
Maybe he was carrying on with a different woman every afternoon? She couldn’t smell them on him and saw no traces of lipstick on his cheek. Then was ashamed of herself for looking.
You’re not really married. It’s a sham.
She didn’t believe it, though. They’d gone through the ceremony, and in her heart she wanted to be faithful and true to him at least for that one year.
But there’d been no clause in the contract about his behavior. Only about hers.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” It would be nice to go for a bike ride in the country with Darias. Or row on the lake with him.
<
br /> “Meeting with the minister for exports and tariffs. There’s a lot to learn about our trade relationships with other countries.”
“Oh.”
“Good night.” His dark eyes met hers for a brief moment, and she wondered if any thoughts about her flashed behind them.
“Good night.” Sleeping next to him was torture. Sometimes she lay awake for hours, willing herself to be completely still. She could hear his soft breathing and feel the weight of his body shifting on the mattress. His subtle masculine scent tormented her, lingering on the sheets even when he wasn’t there.
“Only two more days until the coronation!” Darias’s mom was busy with Beatriz, talking to florists and briefing the staff. Emma wondered how she’d manage when all the festivities were over and she had less to distract her from her loss. Right now they were sitting at the big dining table going over details for the coronation dinner. “And my sister is finally able to get away for a few days.”
“Aunt Liesel?” Beatriz sounded shocked.
“Yes. She hasn’t been here in years.”
“Because daddy couldn’t stand her.” Beatriz frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? She’s such a pot stirrer.”
“Beatriz! Mind your tongue. She’s my only sister. The only member of my family that I have left now.” She pulled a tissue from her sleeve and blew her nose. “I’ve been talking to her on the phone every day since your father died, and I’m very much looking forward to seeing her.”
Beatriz grimaced. “Does Darias know?” As usual Darias was off on official business somewhere.
“Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to see his aunt.”
“Don’t count on it. Goodness, look at all this mail.” A staffer had brought in a tray piled with envelopes. “I suppose it’s probably just thank you letters from wedding guests. Emma, would you mind sorting through it and dealing with the letters for Darias?”
“Sure.” She was glad of something to do. She felt at a loose end a lot of the time. She started to organize the letters into stacks. Most of them were for Darias’s mom, Her Royal Highness Carolina Leone, but a few were for other siblings and several were addressed to Darias.
“You can open them and respond. I’m sure he’d be grateful.” Beatriz was drawing up the seating arrangements for the coronation banquet.
“Isn’t it illegal to open someone else’s mail?” The idea shocked her.
“Not in Altaleone. Besides, you’re married. That means you’re pretty much the same person.” Beatriz’s lifted eyebrow left her unsure if this was a joke or a taunt. For all Beatriz’s helpful intimacy, she still seemed a touch suspicious about the true nature of Emma’s relationship with Darias.
“Okay. I guess. If you think he wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, Darias thinks all this socializing business is nonsense. He’d rather be up in a garret with a paintbrush.”
“Will he have time to paint, eventually, when things calm down?” It would be a terrible waste if such an interesting and committed artist got so busy with trade tariffs that he never painted again.
“Who knows?” Beatriz shrugged.
“Darias will do what Darias wants to do,” said his mom. “He’s been that way since the day he was born. We’re just lucky that his loyalty to his family and country are at the top of the list. His father was so surprised that he made such a success of his art. Did you know that one of his paintings sold for seven hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “I worked at his gallery. I’m sure his gallery owner is hoping he’ll find the time to keep painting.”
“I thought you were a teacher?” Emma felt Beatriz steely gaze turn to her like a laser beam.
“I was. The gallery was a side job. I’ve always loved art.” She tried to smile. No need to mention her desperate need for extra cash.
“I think it’s wonderful, dear, that you have a passion for education and for art,” said Darias’s mom. “We’ll have to makes sure those aren’t wasted here in Altaleone. We have excellent schools in our country. We’ll have to go on a tour of them soon.”
“Great.” More people she could leave in the lurch when she hit the tarmac a year from now. “I’d love to see how things here are different from the U.S.”
She’d finished sorting the letters and spaced the piles out on the table for each person to grab. Quite a few were addressed to her and Darias, which felt totally weird even though it shouldn’t. They were all standard notes congratulating them on their wedding, and she wrote the names on a list so she could send a note in return.
At last she was down to the letters for Darias. She felt uneasy ripping into an envelope addressed to someone else, but they did all have the slim appearance of routine thank you cards.
The first one, however, made her breath catch in her throat.
The queen is gone, her secrets kept
Her son so close behind her
The brave new heir does hope to rule
But battle brings the sound of thunder
She glanced up at Beatriz—busy with the seating plan—and her mother—looking at pictures of flower arrangements—and knew Darias would want her to go straight to him.
This was a threat of some sort but too vague to be useful. Maybe Gibran could find some clues in the card itself.
Damn, she got her fingerprints on it already. She tucked it back in the envelope and feigned a yawn. “I’m just going to take these upstairs. I’ll be back in a bit.”
She hurried for the bedroom. The two staff members she passed on the way suddenly seemed like suspects. Everyone did. What if Beatriz was jealous of her twin brother inheriting and wanted him out of the way?
Her heart pounded as she closed the door behind her and locked it, then reached for her phone. Darias picked up right away, surprise in his voice. She knew better than to disturb him for no good reason. “Darias, something strange came in the mail. You need to see it, and Gibran.”
“Where are you?”
“Our bedroom.”
“Lock the door. Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”
He’d hung up before she could protest that it wasn’t actually a ticking time bomb. She should have said it was just a printed note.
Less than five minutes had passed when she heard a knock on the door. “It’s me, Darias.”
She opened it and he thrust in, expression grim, and placed his hands on her arms. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, it’s just a letter.” She nodded to where it lay on the bed. “But I didn’t want to say anything to your mom. It’s some kind of threat.”
“I’ve called Gibran. He’s on his way to meet us at the old castle. No one will overhear us there.” He picked up the letter and scanned it, then tucked it into a pocket inside his jacket. “Let’s go.”
Her skin burned where his palms had left her upper arms. If he had any idea of her feelings for him, he’d think she was mad. How could her body even react like this when he might be in real danger?
Darias held the door for her, and she hurried along the corridor and down the stairs. “We’re just heading out for a stroll,” he called, as they passed the dining room, where his mom and Beatriz sat. “Do you want anything from town?”
Emma wanted to laugh. There were at least ten different staffers on hand to fetch anything they could dream of.
His mom smiled warmly at them, as if enchanted by young love’s glow. “Enjoy your walk!”
They headed out into the blinding sunshine.
“You didn’t even ask me what I found.”
“Did it matter? Any kind of clue needs to be acted on immediately. I don’t want to miss an opportunity to catch whoever did this.”
They walked briskly down the long palace drive, out the wrought iron gates and onto one of the town’s tree-lined, cobbled streets. Passersby smiled politely, clearly used to seeing the royals out and about. They rounded a corner and ascended a flight of steps up to the highest part of the town, where the old stone cas
tle was clearly visible for miles around.
A guard in a blue uniform with gold brocade opened a door in the big iron gates and let them into the castle courtyard. For the first time she noticed there was a moat around the castle, with two swans gliding on its green surface. The tall wood doors opened before they got there, and another uniformed guard let them in.
Gibran waited in the dimly lit hallway, a grim expression on his chiseled features. Darias pulled the envelope from his jacket’s inside pocket and handed it to Gibran without a word.
Gibran pulled out the paper gingerly, holding it between two fingertips. He read it, then frowned. “I think I know where this is from.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You know who wrote it?” Darias’s voice was gruff with urgency.
“Someone who knows medieval French literature. It’s from an epic poem written by a little-known monk called LeBrec.”
“And this is the exact wording?”
“More or less. A little is lost in translation to English. I suppose they wanted to make sure the message didn’t get lost on someone without a command of medieval French.”
“How do you recognize it?” Darias looked suspicious.
“I was educated at a very ancient French boarding school. This kind of thing was standard reading for us.”
“I thought you were from the Middle East?”
Gibran shrugged. “It’s a long story. I am the illegitimate son of a king who wished to be rid of me. I was also in the French foreign legion. But this note tells us a few things. It’s written by someone educated, versed in history.”
“Is it connected to the secret society, the Cross of Blood? I believe it has its roots in France.”
“As does your family. The Leone line is descended from Charlemagne, king of the Franks.”
“Yes, illegitimate descendants, like yourself. But he granted my ancestors the territory that became Altaleone.”
“Your family has had many rivals over the centuries.”
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