Contract Wedding, Expectant Bride

by Yvonne Lindsay

  Eight

  Rocco looked around the grand salon, his eyes searching for the one person he wanted to see, but Ottavia was nowhere to be found. Irritation made him frown as he moved toward the ballroom and peered through the throng of dancers who circled the floor. No, she wasn’t here, either.

  She had to be here somewhere, he thought, as he politely sidestepped his guests. It was past midnight and he’d had quite enough of playing host and jumping through the necessary hoops required of him tonight. He wanted nothing more than to withdraw to his chambers and escape the crowd of people who considered themselves a part of his inner circle but with whom he continued to feel like nothing more than a stranger.

  Even Andrej, it seemed, had deserted him tonight. Normally he could count upon his childhood friend to be at his side, but it seemed he had made an early withdrawal from the event.

  At least the princesses appeared to be enjoying themselves, Rocco thought as he glanced across the room, spying first one auburn-haired beauty and then the fairer head of the other. Both women were striking and certainly accomplished, but he’d felt no spark with either of them and all evening he’d been forced to ask himself if he could go through with marriage to a stranger, purely to provide an heir in the requisite time.

  He had to, he reminded himself, and tried to imagine a life, a future, with either one. But every time he did, the only woman he could see beside him had luxurious hair dark as night and secretive eyes of gray-green. So where the hell was she hiding?

  Rocco ducked out into a hallway before coming to a rapid halt by the servant’s staircase. He heard voices. Ottavia’s and one much, much younger. He peered carefully around the corner and saw two heads bent together. He recognized the elegant coiffure of his courtesan, but the twin braids of a little girl of about four or five years old beside her surprised him. He hadn’t seen the child before but she appeared to be on very good terms with Ottavia, in whose lap she currently nestled.

  “Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?” Rocco asked, making his presence known.

  The little girl looked up and an expression of awe mixed with an equal dose of panic crossed her face.

  “Your Majesty,” Ottavia said smoothly as she looked up. “Please join us rather than looming there like some evil dragon.”

  The little girl giggled and burrowed against Ottavia’s chest.

  “You think I’m a dragon?” Rocco asked, surprised but lowering himself onto a step just below where they were perched.

  “A big growly fire-breathing dragon,” Ottavia said dramatically.

  The little girl giggled again and peeped shyly at her king. Rocco winked.

  “I’m not really a dragon,” he said in a loud whisper. “But don’t tell everyone else that.”

  “I won’t,” the child replied.

  “This is Gina, she’s Marie’s daughter and she should be in bed asleep. But apparently she had a bad dream and came searching for her Mamma. She was crying when I found her but I told her she was a very brave girl.”

  “Was no one else looking after her? She wandered the castle on her own?” Rocco said. He realized immediately that his questions had sounded rather gruff when Gina hid her face in Ottavia’s chest again. “Well, that would make her very brave indeed,” Rocco said, toning his voice down again.

  “Apparently her grandma, who was minding her, wouldn’t wake up. I sent someone to check on the grandma. Thankfully, she is simply a deep sleeper. She will be down shortly to collect our intrepid adventurer,” Ottavia said smoothly. “Were you looking for me?”

  Rocco looked at her with the child in her lap. She looked so natural and comfortable. Apparently not caring that her expensive gown was tearstained on one side, or that the little girl was now playing with a tendril of hair that had slipped from Ottavia’s hairdo. His fingers itched to do the same.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Is there anything wrong?” Ottavia asked.

  “Oh, miss, I’m so sorry!” An older woman scurried down the stairs toward them, her footsteps faltering as she recognized the man seated at the bottom of the stairs. “Your Majesty! Please forgive us,” she exclaimed, dipping into a deep curtsy.

  “Gina, go to your grandmother,” Ottavia said, giving the little girl a kiss on her brow and setting her on her feet. “And, Juliet, there is nothing to forgive. Is there, Sire?”

  “No, of course not,” Rocco answered.

  The older woman took the little girl by the hand and after bobbing another curtsy started back up the stairs. Rocco gave Ottavia his hand and helped her to rise to her feet.

  “It seems you are a woman of many talents,” he said as she smoothed her gown over her lush curves before reaching to pin the tendril of hair back into its confines.

  “Because I didn’t run screaming from a frightened child?” she replied, her voice touching on sarcasm.

  “I doubt there are many here tonight who would have done the same.”

  “Your guests will be missing you,” she said, ignoring his comment. “You should return.”

  He took her hand and threaded it into the crook of his arm. “Yes, let’s.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said, attempting to tug free. “We are not a couple, Sire.”

  “Rocco, remember.”

  “Not when someone may overhear us and get the wrong impression.”

  “The wrong impression? Of what?”

  Ottavia appeared lost for words for a moment. “Well, you wouldn’t want to put off your prospective brides.”

  He began to lead her back to the ballroom. “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  “You don’t? Then you’ve decided on one of the ladies?”

  Was it his imagination or did she sound a little disappointed? He certainly hoped so. The idea that had being simmering in his mind now grew and took a firmer shape.

  “I was considering that perhaps it’s time we make another addendum to our contract.”

  “Another addendum?”

  “Yes, to specify those other duties you questioned.”

  A frown pulled between her brows. “If you’re suggesting we continue our arrangement, such as it is, after you are married, then I’m afraid you are destined for disappointment. I never work with married men.”

  “You do not support adultery?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “Rather than make further amendment to our contract, perhaps you should release me now. It wouldn’t be right for me to remain here once you are officially engaged to someone else.”

  They neared the ballroom doors and Rocco drew to a halt. “But, if you leave, then I won’t be able to do this—”

  He pulled Ottavia into his arms, her body neatly fitting against his. He bent to kiss her, nibbling softly at her full lower lip before sucking it gently into his mouth and stroking it with his tongue before deepening the kiss.

  It was foolish of him—reckless. Some of the most important people in his country had come to this event to meet the princess who would become his bride, and it would be a shocking scandal if he was caught kissing someone else. But he couldn’t resist. The thought of her walking away from him drove him nearly mad. He would not allow anyone to put distance between them—not even her.

  She stiffened in his arms for just a moment, but then she relaxed, became pliant. Her hands slid up to his chest, her fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket as she opened her mouth, her tongue dancing lightly with his. A surge of heat and need ran through him and he pulled her closer, letting her feel the effect of their embrace, making sure there was no question about who it was that he desired.

  The muffled sounds of the ballroom on the other side of the doors suddenly became louder and Rocco tore his mouth from hers, looking up and recognizing the man who had come through them.


  “Ah, Andrej,” he said smoothly, but without letting Ottavia go. “I thought you had retired for the evening.”

  “Retired already? No. I was—” He hesitated a moment, his gaze flicking to Ottavia and then back again. “Otherwise occupied.”

  If Rocco hadn’t known that Ottavia had been busy with young Gina, Andrej’s inference just now would have made him leap to the conclusion that she’d been with Andrej instead. His friend’s gaze swept across his courtesan again and Rocco saw a glint of something there. Was it amusement? Or maybe it was something else? Avarice perhaps? Rocco told himself not to be so fanciful. Andrej was known for maintaining his own bevy of beauties. Rocco was merely feeling territorial about the woman at his side, and the sooner he made that official, the better.

  “Your Majesty,” Andrej replied. “The Princess Bettina has been seeking you out. I told her I’d find you. Shall I tell her that you are otherwise occupied?”

  “No, I will go to her,” Rocco answered with a sigh of irritation. “Ottavia, would you excuse me?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “I’ll go and attend to some running repairs.”

  “Perhaps you should, also,” Andrej said, with a pointed look at Rocco’s mouth.

  Rocco used a handkerchief to swipe his lips, smiling ruefully as he wiped away the last traces of Ottavia’s lipstick. “Thank you. Now, perhaps you would escort me to the princess.”

  “Unless you’d prefer I keep an eye on the courtesan?” Andrej replied, again with that same slow smile as he turned and watched Ottavia head toward a ladies’ room.

  Rocco fought back a surge of irritation at Andrej’s leering attitude toward Ottavia. “No, Ottavia is quite capable of finding her own way back.”

  “I’m sure she can. She struck me as very...” He hesitated as if searching for the right word. “Resourceful,” he finished with another one of those smiles.

  “You’ve met with her?”

  “I have, she’s very beautiful. I can see why you’d allow yourself to be distracted.”

  Again that possessive rush clouded Rocco’s mind. He controlled the urge to tell Andrej to keep his thoughts to himself. True, the two men had always been competitive with one another, but there was absolutely nothing offensive about what Andrej had said. In fact, he hadn’t been the only man here tonight to pass comment on Ottavia’s beauty or her desirability. And yet, no one else’s remarks had brought out this swell of anger or suspicion. Rocco gave himself a mental shake. This was ridiculous. His reactions were purely a by-product of the pressure that was currently upon him to satisfy that absurd law.

  “Take me to Princess Bettina,” he commanded and allowed Andrej to precede him through the door.

  Five minutes later Andrej had excused himself. Princess Bettina was saying what a wonderful evening she was having, but Rocco listened with only half an ear while he continued to watch for Ottavia’s return. It was crazy, this urge that drove him to seek her out all the time. It seemed the more he saw of her, the more he wanted to be with her—and he begrudged every moment she spent circulating through the room once she finally came back.

  “I see your Ms. Romolo has returned,” Princess Bettina commented.

  Rocco turned his full attention back to the princess only to see her smile calmly in response.

  “She is who you have been watching out for, isn’t she?”

  He was discomforted to realize he’d been so obvious. But, he wondered, did it bother her at all?

  “Oh, don’t worry,” the princess continued. “I understand. A man like yourself has needs. At least you have good taste. She has done a wonderful job arranging this evening.”

  “Thank you, I shall pass on your compliment.”

  “You do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  He gave the princess a small bow and watched as she wended her way through the crowd and rejoined her lady-in-waiting near the bar. The exchange puzzled him. He’d had one similar with Princess Sara earlier this evening. Was neither woman at all fazed by the fact that a woman—one others assumed was his mistress—had been at their party tonight? He hadn’t consciously realized he was testing them and it had come as a surprise to discover their complete acceptance of Ottavia frustrated him.

  It was as if both princesses expected him to have a lover—not just now but even after his marriage. Did that mean they expected infidelity from their husbands as a matter of course? Or that they expected to take their own paramour, or paramours, as well?

  The very thought repulsed him. He was not the kind of man who shared. He’d seen firsthand how destructive things could become when a couple no longer loved one another and sought their pleasures elsewhere. When he married, it would be to one woman, forever. But the idea of forever with either Princess Bettina or Princess Sara seemed like an excruciatingly long time.

  After the end of his relationship with Elsa, he’d found it difficult to trust another woman with his heart. And as busy as he was with his duties to his country, it had been easy to bury himself in work. Sex had become something he had discreetly indulged in, in order to assuage his physical needs, but he’d kept his emotional needs sequestered in another part of his mind where they were rarely examined. Even so, he’d always imagined—hoped, even—that one day he would love again.

  Now, however, faced with a lifetime of marriage to either of these princesses, he felt his whole body revolt at the idea. It made him examine more closely what he expected in a marriage. If the truth was to be told, he wanted a love as profound as that which his sister and her husband now shared.

  Rocco already knew he was a good ruler—he would be a great one with the right woman at his side. But who was that woman? He very much doubted that either Bettina or Sara filled that bill.

  The crowd had begun to thin and he could see Ottavia easily as she mingled here and there. He remembered how she’d looked back on the stairs with little Gina in her arms. How right and natural it had been to see her like that, even in her finery. Would either candidate bride have given the same care and attention to an upset child as Ottavia had? Would they even expect to give it to one of their own?

  At the thought of his own children Rocco felt an indescribable swell of protectiveness rise through him. His children would know they were loved and cared for—by their parents and their people. But there was only one way to ensure that. The idea that had bloomed earlier grew in substance, becoming more appealing by the minute.

  His eyes fixed on Ottavia and she looked up from what she was doing and caught him staring. A flush of color stained her cheeks and her lips pulled into a small smile, just for him.

  Did he dare? Could he take his courtesan and make her his queen?

  Nine

  Sonja Novak entered Rocco’s office door and drew to a halt in front of his desk. He raised one brow in query.

  “Both the princesses are leaving and I understand you have made no effort to ask either of them to marry you.”

  “That’s true,” Rocco said, leaning back in his leather-covered office chair. “It is probably because I don’t wish to marry either of them.”

  Sonja’s finely plucked brows shot high on her forehead. “Your sense of humor is misplaced, Rocco.”

  “I am not making a joke. Marriage is a serious business. If I felt I could make a successful union with either of those women, don’t you think I would do it for my country?”

  “Then what are you going to do? Time is not your ally in this. Or perhaps you have given up?”

  “I have an alternative idea that I wish to discuss with you. Take a seat.”

  “I’m all ears,” Sonja said, smoothly settling her trim figure into a visitor chair.

  Rocco studied the woman. In the early days after his ascension to the throne, he had turned to her frequently, relying on her cool, calm advice and her extensive knowledge
of Erminia and the people within its borders. As he’d grown older he’d begun to trust his own judgment. So much so that in the past ten years or so, Sonja’s role had been more to provide information rather than advice. Still, it would be interesting to see what she thought of the scheme that had grown in strength in his mind since the reception a week ago.

  “Obviously I have to marry, but there is no dictate on exactly who I must marry.”

  Sonja nodded slowly in agreement but didn’t rush to comment.

  Rocco continued. “I had always hoped that I could choose a bride who was Erminian. One who understands our nation, our people. One who I can rely on to stand by my side without conflict. One to whom I feel a strong attraction both physically and mentally.”

  He could see Sonja’s mind was working flat out behind that apparently serene expression—noted the exact moment when it dawned on her where he might be heading with this conversation. She paled and he saw her hands grip the arms of her chair as if she had to physically hold herself there, or fall from it in shock.

  “You are not talking about marrying that Romolo woman,” she said with loathing in every syllable.

  “I am. It makes perfect sense. She’s here. I don’t have to waste time courting her. We can marry privately in the castle chapel.”

  “You can’t possibly marry her!” Sonja expostulated. “She’s a pros—”

  “She is a courtesan. There is a difference. I wouldn’t be the first monarch to marry his mistress,” Rocco reasoned. “Besides, weren’t you the one to tell me that all that was required was for me to marry and produce a legitimate issue?”

  “You can’t be serious. The woman makes her living selling herself to men. Even Andrej—” Sonja’s voice abruptly cut off.

  “Even Andrej, what?” Rocco asked, feeling an uncomfortable twist in his gut.

  “It’s nothing. Really. It doesn’t matter because you will not marry her.”

  She may have thought it nothing but Rocco was suddenly reminded of the look in Andrej’s eye when he had been with him and Ottavia at the reception. Sonja continued.