Mark rolled over, placing Jane beneath him. He looked down into her huge, worried eyes and smiled. Then he started kissing her face, slowly working his way to her lips. He didn’t stay there long, though, but continued his journey of gentling her, raining small, warm attention over her neck and shoulders. He had to pull the gown she was wearing to the side, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her hands were hovering over his shoulders until they finally landed. And then they squeezed him tightly as Mark found a sweet little sensitive spot on her collarbone.
“I’m going to do it properly this time,” he crooned in promise between kisses. “I’m going to go slow, and I’m going to drive you mad with want for me. And Jane?”
“Yes?” she breathed on a whisper.
“Don’t be afraid to shout.”
His words came back to haunt him more than once that night. Their wedding bed became their own private world of exploration and fascination and, ultimately, satisfaction. As promised, Mark went slow, educating Jane to his body and also her own; teaching her to glory in their senses. And after a long, intimate, gentle assault, he was able to get her to shout with fulfillment, not once, but twice, before his own shout overtook her echoes.
Wondrous, dazed eyes looked back at him. “Wow.”
It was an arrogant grin he gave her.
“I understand now,” she whispered breathlessly. “About that night on the Katrina. You did like it.”
His grin broadened at her blush. He nodded, still not able to find his voice.
“That didn’t hurt our baby, did it?” she asked, suddenly all worried again.
“No,” Mark said with loving tenderness. “Each time we make love while you’re carrying, it will let our child know how much its parents love each other. Each time, it will make our baby more secure in its new life.”
“Her new life.”
Mark groaned and rolled off. “Let’s not start that again. We’ll wait eight months and see what we get.”
“Yes, we’ll see,” Jane agreed, a mischievous, utterly feminine smile breaking free. She cuddled up to him, trying to stifle a very unfeminine yawn.
Mark hugged her tightly. “Sleep, Jane. You’ve had a very hard day,” he ordered, pulling the blankets up over them.
Mark settled down to also sleep, laying one of his legs over hers to pull her more firmly against him. That was when he felt his foot touch not skin, but wool.
The woman was wearing socks. On her wedding night. He almost burst into laughter, despite the fact that he probably had no energy left.
Damn, but he hadn’t known angels wore socks to bed.
Chapter Twenty
What do you mean you don’t have a job for me? I thought I was supposed to be the queen. I thought that meant I’d go to work every day, just like you.”
Mark stood up and walked from behind his desk, then leaned against the front of it. He crossed his ankles and then crossed his arms over his chest while he studied his disgruntled wife. Despite her frown, she still looked enough like an angel to make him smile.
She was dressed very . . . queenly this morning. She was wearing her new slacks and a silk blouse. The colors were earthy; brown and a deep forest green that made her eyes look dark and deeply seductive. Her contrary hair was acting very un-queenly, though. It refused to be tamed, trying to escape the confines she’d given it, rebellious against the constraining knot she’d tried to fashion at the nape of her neck.
She’d marched into his office this morning looking for work—queen work.
“You don’t have a specific job. You’re more of a . . . a figurehead. An example.”
Her frown turned to a scowl. “Then what am I supposed to do all day?”
“You are supposed to simply be my wife,” he said, scowling back, deciding to tease her a little. After all, wasn’t it a husband’s privilege to make consuming, passionate love to his wife by night and tease her by day? “You’re supposed to grow my son healthy and strong, run my house, and be at my beck and call.”
That did it. She took a step toward him. “Beck and call?” she whispered, her eyes darkening to nearly black.
He nodded.
She exploded. She threw herself at him, a tiny growl coming from her throat.
Mark straightened and caught her. He wrapped his arms around her, still mindful of her injury, and soundly kissed her before she could start hurling nun-curses at him.
Within thirty seconds she stilled. Within sixty she was kissing him back. And within two minutes the growl had turned to tiny mewls.
Lord, Lord, he was a contented man today.
But he reluctantly pulled back, having to steady her. “I’m just teasing, Jane. I know you want to be useful, but it’s going to take time. There really isn’t an actual, everyday job for you, other than running the household. Not yet.”
“But that’s Irina’s job,” she reminded him, looking disappointed and thoroughly kissed.
“She only did it because there was no real mistress here. Now that we’re married, this is your home. You make the rules concerning it. You’ll work out the menus with Cook, take charge of the staff, and entertain guests. Things like that.”
“But then what will Irina do?”
Mark shrugged, still holding her within his arms. “She could help. Teach you.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not going to take that away from her. She needs to still be important here.”
Ah. Yes. Jane would see things from that point of view. She would see Irina’s need. And he could only love his wife all the more for her insight. “Well, then, I don’t know what to tell you. Things will eventually arise that will need your attention as queen.” He kissed her quickly on the nose. “I’m sure our people will be coming to you with petitions soon enough. Now that they know there is a woman’s influence in a seat of power, I’m sure you’ll be swamped with causes before you know it.”
* * *
More prophetic words were never spoken.
Only his impatient, impetuous, impossible wife hadn’t exactly waited for the petitions to come, but had gone looking for them. Mark could only shake his head at his father. They were both in Mark’s office, and both quite ready to throttle the new queen of Shelkova. It hadn’t been three months since the wedding, and Jane had been able to manufacture enough trouble to try the patience of a saint—and five Lakeland men.
She was . . . settling in.
And the people of Shelkova loved her.
“She had them paint all the cells a bright color and buy new mattresses for the cots at the city jail,” Reynard told Mark, sounding more awed than disgruntled. “And the police commissioner is scrambling to recruit more women officers. And Markov, there are known prostitutes coming to the palace for afternoon tea,” Reynard whispered, his silly grin saying he was more proud than appalled.
“That’s nothing,” Mark countered. “Everywhere I walk, if I’m not tripping over those two damn puppies, I’m tripping over children. She’s bringing the kids here from the orphanage several days a week.”
Reynard’s grin widened. “She’s rewarding them, she says, for doing well in school.”
“She’s spoiling them rotten, you mean. I swear, if I have to sit down to another meal of idolized gawking from those urchins, I’m going to . . .”
Reynard laughed. “You love them as much as we all do.”
“Yes, as does my wife. I’m worried she’ll try to adopt them all.”
“No. She’s found good homes for six of them already.”
Mark closed his eyes. “Yes. And thank God Sister Roberta has finally gone home.”
“I liked the old nun.”
“I did, too. But she was rather straight-talking at times.”
“But that’s not our problem right now, is it; the children or Sister Roberta or afternoon teas?
Our problem is Jane’s latest bee in her bonnet.”
Mark leaned back in his chair. “It’s an old bee. She wants me to decree it illegal for the men of Shelkova to publicly denounce their wives.”
“It’s time.”
“But it’s also a very dictatorial move. I don’t want to blatantly tell our people they can no longer do something they’ve been doing for centuries. That will make me a dictator. Our people deserve better.”
“Have you explained this to Jane?”
Mark gave his father a crooked smile. “She told me the women are also our people. She wants to give them a stronger voice in parliament while we’re at it.”
“It’s time for that, too.”
“By decree.”
“There will be riots in the streets.”
“And my wife will be leading them kicking and screaming all the way to parliament,” Mark said on a sigh. “The women of Shelkova are no more prepared for change than the men.”
“They’re going to have to mature to the modern age, Mark, if we are to compete in this modern world.”
“And Jane thinks a good kick in the butt will mature them just fine,” Mark agreed, nodding his head.
“Maybe she’s right.”
“And she has the nerve to call me pompous. In less than three months, I’ve created a monster.”
“No. You’ve created a queen. You’ve given Jane an importance that she now believes in. And she’s trying desperately to use that importance for the good of everyone.”
“And I’m going to have to give her bodyguard a raise. Petri is being dragged from one end of this city to the other. He hasn’t complained, but have you seen him lately? He’s losing weight.”
“And your wife is gaining it.”
Mark suddenly frowned. “Yes.” And then he grinned. “Her pregnancy is showing.”
“I’m glad you two decided to tell us that last night,” Reynard snapped. “Including the fact that she’s four months along.”
Mark’s grinned broadened. “We wanted to enjoy the anticipation for a while. Don’t be upset. Jane has promised to give you a granddaughter.”
The old man’s eyes lit up. “Wouldn’t that be something; the first girl-child in this family in generations.” He suddenly stood up. “So let’s see to it that my granddaughter is born healthy. Curb your wife, Markov. Slow her down. And make her happy. Give the people your decree that women will now be first-class citizens. Give them the vote.”
Mark stood up with a groan and walked his father to the door. But Reynard stopped and turned before he opened it, love, tenderness, and fatherly pride shining in his eyes as Mark was caught in a firm, back-slapping embrace. “I’m glad for you,” Reynard softly told his son. “And for Jane. I hope this child is the first of many.”
“It will be,” Mark quietly promised, hugging him back. “And don’t worry. Both Jane and I will pull our people forward, by their teeth if need be. In two days I’ll make my speech outlining their future.” He pulled back, giving his father a wry grin. “It will be an interesting future, will it not?”
“Most interesting,” Reynard agreed, walking out the door. “Most interesting.”
* * *
Mark was dressed in formal attire, his hair newly barbered and his boots polished to brilliance. His speech was tucked in his jacket pocket, despite the fact that all the words were dancing around in his head like fairy dust.
And he was late.
And again—and as usual—he couldn’t find his wife.
“Petri. What are you doing standing out here?” Mark asked, relieved to find the man outside the kitchen, since wherever Petri was, Jane was bound to be near.
“I’m waiting, Your Majesty.”
“Where’s your mistress?”
“In with Cook.”
Mark had to smile as Petri darted worried looks at the kitchen door. “You should probably go in and get her. She’s going to be late.”
“I know, Your Majesty. But she said she wouldn’t be long.”
“Chicken,” Mark whispered just before he threw open the kitchen door and walked past the very smart bodyguard. Petri may be ready to step in front of a bullet for his mistress, but the man wasn’t quite ready to face Cook for her.
Mark found his wife—dressed in a very beautiful, very elegant gown, her hair wisped away from her face in graceful curls—sitting on a stool at the counter, her back to him and her fingers dipped into a bowl of what looked like frosting.
He stopped and enjoyed the sight. Jane Lakeland had become a sugar hound in her pregnancy. More than one night he’d accompanied her down to the kitchens to steal sweets from the pantry. And Cook, Mark suspected, always had a stash waiting for just that reason. His wife was going to rival the whales at sea before she finally gave birth in five months.
“We’re late, wife,” he whispered just as he leaned down to nuzzle her shoulder. “And since this is all your idea, the least you could do is show up.”
Jane spun around on her stool with a gasp, the hand she’d been eating with grabbing at his shoulder to steady herself. She glared up at him, but it wasn’t much of an intimidating glare, what with the frosting covering her lips and chin and nose. Mark decided he was growing rather fond of sugar himself, so he kissed her sweet lips.
She dropped the bowl on the floor and grabbed both of his shoulders.
He kept kissing her.
She started to kiss him back.
Cook started screaming again, and Mark decided it was time to retreat—with his wife.
“Come on, angel. You’re going to get me killed,” he said with a chuckle, pulling her after him to the safety of the hall. They nearly ran into Petri, who was standing in awe and listening to the tirade still echoing out after them.
“You made me make a mess in the kitchen,” Jane scolded, busily brushing her hands together, then licking at her fingers, trying to clean them. “You deserve to be yelled at.”
Mark decided to ignore her scolding as he walked to the second car of the small motorcade parked at the front of the palace. His father and brothers and aunt Irina were already in their cars, patiently waiting. Jane waved to them just before Mark helped her into theirs. Once they were finally on their way to parliament for him to give his speech, he turned to his wife.
“Are you sure you don’t want to say something today, Jane? The people should hear your endorsement of this plan. It would maybe help them . . . swallow it a little easier.”
“They wouldn’t understand me. I don’t speak the language, remember?”
“But you’re learning,” Mark reminded her with no little pride at how Jane had thrown herself into Shelkovan language lessons. And despite the fact that she all but slaughtered his native tongue, and despite the fact that she constantly complained the alphabet was weird, Mark was proud of her. Everyone else was just surprisingly patient.
“Then couldn’t you at least stand beside me and nod and smile? Even that would help.”
“I couldn’t stand up there in front of everyone and the television camera,” she whispered, her sticky hand self-consciously going to her hair. She took her other hand and patted his sleeve. “You’ll do just fine. And even if every man in parliament is glowering, just remember that every woman at home, watching television, will be smiling.”
Mark had to grin at her sincere, confident, encouraging look. Jane Doe Abbot from the woods of Maine not only had the gift to make him feel important but ten feet tall and possessing shoulders of steel—which he would need to push his people forward in the coming years.
His speech today was about his vision for Shelkova; for its people and lands and its place in this world. It was also a lecture on humanity. And definitely a decree.
It had been coauthored by his wife.
And it was going to hit their people like a size twelve boot right in the butt
.
But for all of his planning, and all of Jane’s reluctance to be a visual part of things, Mark should have realized that if his wife was involved, things usually went from organized chaos to disasters in the blink of an eye. They walked into parliament arm and arm to the standing cheers of all the members—likely because none of them knew what he was going to say today.
He pulled his wife up to the podium with him despite her tugging, then stood before the still-standing, still-cheering crowd and the cameras that were going to broadcast his speech live to all of Shelkova. The light on the camera was on, and Mark knew his countrymen—and women—were watching. Those without televisions in their homes were probably gathered in community centers and pubs and churches. Nearly the entire population of the city of Previa was standing outside, in the streets, listening to loudspeakers.
“Smile,” Mark whispered to his nervous, stricken wife.
She glared up at him. “I’m going to get you for this,” she whispered through smiling, gritted teeth.
“You have my permission to try,” he whispered back, his smile sincere.
Hers disappeared.
Mark wrapped an arm around her and waved for parliament to quiet down. And then he spoke into the microphone and told his country they were going to be getting a new prince or princess in five months. Parliament rose with a roar this time, which was all but drowned out by the roar of excitement coming from the streets.
“What did you tell them?” Jane shouted, pressing herself against him in near horror.
“I told them that in five months Shelkova will have a new baby to fawn over.”
She relaxed and smiled again, only to suddenly stiffen. “Five months?” she squeaked. “You didn’t say five months!”
He nodded.
“But we’ve only been married three! Mark! Your people can count!”
She was back to looking horrified. He kissed her, on the cheek this time, and hugged her closer. “I’m fairly certain they would have been counting five months from now anyway, Jane. Let them get used to the idea.”
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