The King's Bride By Arrangement (Sovereigns and Scandals, Book 2)

by Annie West

  Eva blinked. It looked like some fanciful, snow-white sugar decoration. There were huge, rounded windows surrounded by whimsical plaster-work decorations, an enormous double front door, what looked like a free-form glass conservatory at one end, and at the other a tower, complete with a blue tulip-shaped dome that belonged in an illustration of some fantasy kingdom.

  Her breath caught as she made out peacocks, butterflies and...was that a pair of lobsters in the intricate work beneath one window? Surely not.

  ‘What is this place?’

  Paul was already opening his door but paused. ‘Welcome to the royal hunting lodge. Built by an ancestor who loved Art Nouveau.’

  Eva shook her head. ‘Those aren’t...lobsters, are they?’ She pointed to the elaborate decoration below one window.

  ‘They are. If you’re interested, you’ll also find crabs, swordfish and tortoises, along with dozens of bird species. My ancestor fancied himself as a naturalist. When he wasn’t shooting the local fauna, that is.’

  Amusement tinged Paul’s voice and, as they sat taking in the sheer exuberance of the building before them, Eva felt a moment’s bond. As if they were still friends, or at least had a common purpose.

  Then, abruptly he got out, slamming the door behind him, leaving her to the sound of the engine ticking in the thickening silence.

  Reluctantly Eva opened her door just before Paul got to it and swung her legs out. For a second she had the impression he was about to say something as he stood looking down at her. But his mouth turned into a thin line and he merely waited till she was out to lock the door and lead the way to the building.

  ‘We won’t be disturbed here,’ he murmured as he turned on more lights and ushered her inside.

  She should have known this wouldn’t be like the old hunting lodges in Tarentia—closed-in spaces full of dark wood and mounted hunting trophies. The walls of the two-storey entrance foyer gleamed a soft shell-pink and a staircase, embellished with decorative iron-work that looked like butterflies in flight, curved up to the next floor.

  ‘It’s charming.’

  ‘And costly to maintain. Unfortunately, there’s a heritage listing on the building so it can’t be bulldozed.’

  Her head swung round at the bitterness in Paul’s voice. It wasn’t something she’d heard from him before, though he carried a massive burden of responsibility, rebuilding his nation’s wealth after his father’s excesses.

  First anger, now bitterness. What other surprises did he have for her?

  He shrugged and his expression turned rueful. ‘Don’t worry, I’d never do it. I’m actually quite fond of the place. It’s where I used to escape when...’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. Come this way.’

  He moved past the stairs, towards the back of the building, leaving Eva to wonder who or what he’d had to escape.

  It didn’t take a genius to work out it was most likely his father. But this was the first time Paul had come close to revealing any of the difficulties he’d faced as King Hugo’s son. Everything Eva knew of the old King, she’d heard in confidence from her parents or from Princess Caro on a previous visit. Paul had said once he preferred not to dwell on the past but look to the future.

  Because the past was so awful or because, as far as she could tell, he spent most of his time working to secure the future of his country?

  ‘Coming, Eva?’

  He stood in the shadows of the corridor, looking back over his shoulder. It struck her once more that tonight, in these casual clothes, he seemed like a stranger. Someone she barely knew.

  Trepidation licked through her like a cold flame. She shrugged off the sensation and followed him.

  They ended up in the kitchen. White and blue tiles and acres of scrubbed wood. It was cavernous but surprisingly cosy.

  Eva had had a wrap when she’d gone to the night club but had lost it somewhere along the way. She looked down at the bare legs revealed by her higher than usual hemline and her mouth twisted. No wonder she’d felt chilled. Partly it was reaction to tonight’s events and partly that she never went out wearing so little.

  Maybe Paul thought the same. She looked up to find him staring at her legs from the far end of the bench where he was making hot drinks.

  His stare made her want to tug her hemline down but she resisted it. There was nothing particularly skimpy about what she wore, especially compared with what she’d seen at the night club. When she stood the hem went halfway down her thighs. It was just when she sat...

  ‘Are you warm enough?’ His voice hit a gravel note.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  His gaze skated her shoulders, bare but for thin straps of satin.

  Heat churned in her middle, embarrassment rising. There was no way Paul could know this wasn’t actually a dress but a custom-made slip. It had been designed to be worn under a sheer chiffon dress that floated all the way to her knees like most of her other outfits. Worn separately, it looked like a plain but well-cut dress, perfect for dancing. She’d convinced herself the dark anthracite grey was sophisticated enough for a night out.

  Because it had been her only choice.

  When she’d looked for something to wear dancing, she’d found nothing suitable. Everything was too formal or conservative. Not frumpy, for she’d been taught to dress with elegance and care, but she had nothing young or fun in her wardrobe.

  It was a sad statement about her life that at twenty-four she had nothing to wear for a night on the town.

  Some night it had been.

  Her fingers clenched and she pressed her knees together as she relived the heavy touch of grasping hands on her body, that hot breath on her face, the smell of wine and the slightly sour aftershave that had vied with the taste of panic on her tongue.

  ‘Here.’ It was Paul, holding out a steaming mug.

  Eva blinked up, read his brooding expression and quickly focused on taking the drink without touching him.

  That frown made her feel about six years old, caught in some misdemeanour.

  Whereas she’d done nothing wrong.

  She took a seat at the table, watched him take the seat opposite and raised her drink to her lips.

  ‘Hot chocolate?’ She’d thought he was making her coffee.

  ‘Sugar’s good for shock.’ He paused. ‘I’m assuming what happened was a shock?’

  Eva slammed the mug down on the table as she swallowed the wrong way and began to choke. When the coughing finished, she glared at him.

  ‘It was a complete surprise. He offered to take me to a taxi rank. I didn’t expect or want...’ She shook her head, her throat constricting.

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have headed into a deserted, dark alley with a stranger.’ Paul’s voice was brutally hard.

  He was right. She’d been naïve, but the pounding music, and sense of melancholy that had surrounded her since Paul had dropped his bombshell, had made her regret her decision to go to the club almost as soon as she’d arrived. Eva had been desperate to leave. She’d forced herself to stay for a couple of dances, as if needing to prove something to herself, though she didn’t know what. When her dance partner had commiserated over her burgeoning headache and said he knew where there’d be a taxi waiting, it had seemed a good idea.

  ‘It wasn’t deserted. There were other people going out that way.’

  ‘And that makes it okay?’

  Once more Eva discovered the back of her eyes prickling with hot tears. She hated that Paul could make her feel so...so...

  She shoved her chair back and shot to her feet.

  Angry.

  That was how he made her feel.

  Angry at herself for being duped and for not taking better precautions. But angry with Paul, too, for continually needling her.

  Eva refused to let him make her feel small. She’d already felt that way tonight. Small, weak,
vulnerable and incredibly scared as she’d realised, in a moment’s abrupt horror, how much she was at a stranger’s mercy. How vast was the difference in physical power between them.

  Despite the self-defence classes she’d so proudly taken, she’d felt at a loss. As if she couldn’t believe this was happening to her.

  A lifetime’s training in good manners had had her asking more than once that he let her go, instead of taking action instantly. Her brain had taken for ever to catch up with the fact she was being groped against her will and needed to do something. Even when she’d kneed him it had only stopped him temporarily and she’d been too frozen to the spot to escape back into the club, watching in horror as he regrouped.

  All this shot through her mind in a flash, while her anger bubbled from simmering to boiling point.

  ‘I don’t appreciate your attitude, Paul.’

  There was no need for him to grind her down into the dirt with his disapproval. She already felt as if she’d been dragged through it tonight.

  ‘My attitude?’ He rocketed to his feet, palms planted on the table. ‘I’m the one who saved you, remember?’

  His words cut through her indignation. What would have happened if he hadn’t been there?

  Eva stared down at the red marks on one of his hands, a graze, a reminder that he’d put himself between her and her attacker. Her stomach churned.

  ‘Thank you.’ The words came out stiffly, her vocal cords constricted and her chest tight as a drum, making it hard to catch her breath. ‘I don’t remember if I thanked you before. I appreciate what you did.’

  She surveyed him for signs of injury but saw none. He’d wiped off the mark she’d seen on his face before she could determine what it was.

  Paul shrugged then lowered those wide shoulders a fraction. ‘You’re welcome.’

  Yet the silence that followed bristled.

  Eva swallowed again but it was no good. The words on her tongue insisted on spilling out.

  ‘What, exactly, is your problem? You’re not...’ She waved one hand in a vague gesture. ‘You’re different.’

  ‘I’m different? What about you? Haring off like that and—’

  Her hackles rose again. ‘I wasn’t aware I had to get your permission before leaving the palace.’

  Tonight her world had shattered. Her hopes and plans as well as her heart. Was it surprising she hadn’t meekly toddled off to bed?

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous. You know it wasn’t a matter of permission.’ He shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets, the movement emphasising the breadth of his chest and the solidity of his thighs. His clenched jaw was the epitome of angry masculinity.

  Her body responded eagerly to all that raw virility. The quickening in her blood and a clenching between her thighs felt like the ultimate betrayal.

  Ridiculous, was she?

  Her nostrils flared and she gathered herself up to her full height. ‘If it’s not about permission then what?’

  ‘You’re my fiancée, Eva. Don’t you think I care for your well being?’

  She blinked, stunned by his blind disregard for the truth.

  Heat thrummed through her, indignation rising at his selective memory. For seconds she grappled with the dictates that had become second nature after a lifetime of royal obedience. To behave graciously. To smooth over ruffled feelings and restore harmony.

  But she couldn’t do it. Not tonight. Not after what had happened. She couldn’t obediently agree and pretend she’d done something wrong. She’d spent four years holding back, pretending and hiding her feelings. That stopped now.

  Eva took a step towards him, hands fisted at her sides, her shoulders back and her spine straight. Coolly, with all the hauteur seven centuries of royal breeding could conjure, she lifted her chin.

  ‘First, I’m not your fiancée, Paul. You’re dumping me, remember?’

  Scowling, he opened his mouth to reply, but she was too quick, speaking as she closed the distance between them. ‘Second, even if I were your fiancée, I have a right to go out to a public venue if I want.’

  ‘I’m not disputing that, Eva—’

  ‘In fact, if I’d chosen to visit every night club and bar in the city, that would still have been my choice, not yours.’

  She swallowed, her throat scratchy. ‘I admit I made a mistake. Following Fabrice outside wasn’t a wise decision, though I thought, given the fact there were others around, it would be safe.’

  ‘That’s just where—’

  ‘But,’ she forged on, unwilling to allow argument, ‘what I really can’t stand is the fact that you blame me for being attacked. As if I should have known what he intended. As if I didn’t have a right to feel safe in your capital. As if...’ she paused and dragged air into lungs that had stopped working ‘...finding fault with the victim is easier than blaming a man who thinks he has a right to assault a woman just because he fancies her.’

  Paul’s scowl had vanished and his piercing blue eyes were wide with what looked like shock.

  ‘I’ve got news for you, Paul.’ Her finger jabbed his sternum, his chest just as immoveable as it looked. ‘It’s attitudes like yours that make this world unsafe for innocent women and girls. As if men can’t be responsible for their actions around them. I’d thought better of you. I never thought you’d resort to victim-shaming.’

  Her vocal cords closed around her last words but Eva stood firm, her eyes locked on his.

  Hell and damnation!

  Paul raked his hand back through his hair as he met Eva’s fierce stare. Her eyes blazed with seething, silvery fire that made her look like a disdainful goddess.

  He went to speak then shook his head. She was right. Her scorn burned him all over.

  His mouth dried as he went back through their conversations. No wonder she’d thought he was blaming her, when all the time the real target of his ferocity was the man in the alley. And himself.

  Paul should have done a better job of protecting her. He knew their earlier, abortive conversation had some part to play in her decision to go off alone tonight. But he’d taken his anger and frustration out on her.

  Dragging his hands from his pockets, he spread them wide. ‘I’m sorry, Eva. You’re right. I made it sound like this is all your fault. I apologise.

  That militant sparkle still flashed in her gaze but she drew a deep breath, as if relaxing a little.

  A tiny part of him wondered what had happened to the woman whose thoughts and emotions he couldn’t read. That Eva had disappeared completely.

  But mainly he was consumed with shame. The last thing she needed was someone berating her after what had happened.

  ‘I got a fright and lashed out. It’s no excuse, I know.’

  ‘You got a fright?’ She sounded disbelieving.

  Her jabbing finger dropped from his chest and, weirdly, he missed the connection. The feel of her touching him. Because the contact had been reassuring. He still couldn’t banish the thought of what might have happened to her if he hadn’t arrived when he had.

  Nausea twisted his gut and the skin across his neck and shoulders prickled as it drew tight. He’d heard what her attacker had promised in retribution for her defensive knee to the groin. He only hoped that, since he’d spoken Ancillan, and coarse slang at that, Eva hadn’t understood.

  Paul’s blood had run cold at the threat to her.

  He couldn’t recall ever feeling as furious as he had tonight. Even facing the full extent of his father’s appalling legacy. Then he’d been angry, but it had been nothing like the red mist that had filled his vision as that loser had pawed Eva.

  Something had snapped. He’d wanted to break her attacker’s hands.

  ‘I was petrified,’ he admitted. ‘At what might have happened if I hadn’t reached you in time.’

  Her eyes widened and the martial light
left her gaze.

  ‘It would have been nasty,’ she admitted slowly. ‘But I’d have screamed, and there were others nearby. Someone would have helped.’

  Paul said nothing. He couldn’t be so sanguine about her chances. But saying so might amplify any fear she felt after tonight’s events.

  ‘What?’ Her brow puckered, as if she read his churning thoughts.

  He shook his head. ‘I still feel guilty. I should have protected you better.’

  Logic decreed that was impossible, since she’d abandoned his protection to go clubbing alone, yet it was true. Eva and he were connected.

  Her chin jerked up. ‘I’m not your responsibility any more, remember?’

  It amazed him that she’d ever fooled the world, and him in particular, that she was cool to the point of remoteness. He could almost hear the crack and sizzle of her temper.

  It was...invigorating.

  ‘I can’t help it, Eva. Like it or not, there’s a link between us.’

  He waited for her to berate him but instead her mouth crimped in a way he’d never seen before. Her chin crumpled and when she lifted her hand to brush her long hair back off her shoulder he saw it shake.

  ‘Eva?’ He stepped nearer, so they stood toe to toe. A faint waft of scent teased him, something light and floral. Inviting.

  He captured her wrist. Her pulse raced and fine tremors vibrated under his touch. His concern notched up. Maybe her attacker had hurt her worse than Paul had thought. Or perhaps she was coming down from the adrenaline overload as shock set in.

  ‘What can I do?’ He bent his head, trying to catch her eye, but she’d dropped her gaze to somewhere near his chin.

  She dragged in a shuddery breath. ‘Don’t be nice to me.’

  He frowned, trying to fathom what was going on. ‘You’d rather I was angry with you?’

  This time her lips curved in a wobbly approximation of a smile that made pain pierce his chest. She was hurting, and he discovered he hated that.