The Prince's Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  He ran his hand over her, his touch no more than a teasing whisper, trailing his fingers over the flat of her stomach and tracing a lazy pattern up and over her breasts. He kneaded one nipple lightly until she moaned and arched upward.

  “No, no, none of that.” He lowered his head and took her breast in his mouth and suckled slowly, then turned his attention to the next, until she thought—no, she knew—she would faint from the sheer pleasure of his touch.

  “You do that”—she panted for breath—“rather well.”

  He raised his head and his dark eyes smoldered. “You yourself said the manner in which I kissed your hand was well practiced.” His hand slid down her stomach and slipped between her legs. “Do you want to know what else I am well practiced at?”

  “No.” She gasped. “Yes.”

  She was already wet with wanting and his fingers slipped over her, toying and teasing in an ever increasing rhythm. She wanted to thrash and buck beneath his touch but he held her firmly, her immobility heightening her excitement. Until finally that bubble of tension inside her she likened to fine crystal burst.

  He rolled over and pulled her on top of him, guiding her hips and sliding into her as if they were made for each other. She wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t delight in the remarkable feel of him hot and hard within her. And marveled that one man and one woman could fit together so perfectly. So naturally. Halves of the same whole.

  They moved together in unison, their senses attuned to each other. Their bodies in harmony. He thrust faster and harder and she matched his movements with her own. The bed creaked beneath them. The room itself throbbed around them. The world stilled and held its breath.

  He groaned beneath her, and she could feel him surge within her. And her fists clenched and she gasped with the mindless joy of release and waves of erotic pleasure.

  She collapsed on top of him, satisfied and happy, with no desire ever to move again.

  At last he chuckled, and she grinned with the movement of his body beneath hers, lifting her head to gaze into his eyes.

  “Well,” he said firmly but his eyes twinkled. “That should teach you.”

  ———

  Errant tendrils of blond hair glowed golden in the midday sun. Standing in the meadow north of the castle, Jocelyn looked like a forest sprite or an unfettered goddess of nature.

  “Archery?” Jocelyn studied the bow in his hand with obvious distaste, and the illusion of a spirit of the earth vanished. “You’re not serious about this, are you?”

  Rand laughed. “Of course I am. We have been spending far too much time indoors of late.”

  “Oh?” She raised a brow. “I believe the stables are out of doors as is that charming area by the lake.”

  “Nonetheless.” He tried and failed to hold back a satisfied smile. “There is no finer time of year in this particular corner of the world than late spring, and I for one should like to enjoy it. A brisk ride with my wife by my side would be acceptable, but I could not fail to notice the skill with which you sit a horse. However”—he shrugged—“if you would prefer to ride—”

  She reached for the bow. “Charming sport, archery. Always meant to take it up.”

  “Excellent.” He shaded his eyes with one hand and pointed with the other. “I’ve set up a target on that stump. Do you see it?”

  “You mean that stump?” She waved at the target.

  He laughed. “I mean the only stump out there.”

  “I know what you meant,” she said loftily. “Now what exactly do I do?”

  “First you need to hold the bow properly.” He pulled an arrow from the quiver on the ground, stepped behind her, and put his arms around her to position the bow.

  “I see.” She twisted her head and grinned at him. “A great deal like the instruction for billiards, isn’t it?”

  “No.” He kissed her firmly. “Now pay attention.” She grimaced and turned her head back. “Notch the arrow—”

  “Do what?”

  “Place the groove here in the feathered end of the arrow, along the gut of the bow.” He showed her as he explained and she grudgingly followed his directions. He positioned her properly, guided her in pulling back the arrow, and helped her shoot. The arrow missed the target, but not by much.

  “Not bad for your first attempt.” He stepped back and handed her another arrow. “Your turn.”

  “I can scarce contain my excitement,” she muttered and accepted the arrow.

  She stood as he had shown her and proceeded to take an inordinate amount of time notching the arrow. But then they had all the time in the world and he was a patient man.

  Patient? He chuckled to himself at the thought. Apparently not when it came to Jocelyn. His scheme to resist her charms until she wanted him hadn’t lasted very long. Or rather hadn’t taken very long. And the days since then had been, well, glorious.

  At last Jocelyn sighted the arrow, took careful aim, and let it fly. It missed the target by a good thirty feet.

  “How was that?” she asked.

  “Excellent if you were aiming for France.” He pulled his brows together and shook his head. “Remember what I told you about aiming. Look along the length of the arrow and line it up with the target.”

  She looked as if she were about to protest, then gritted her teeth and grabbed another arrow from him. He bit back a grin. She was too stubborn to admit defeat. He quite liked that about her.

  Once again she took her time. Just as he was beginning to question his own capacity for patience, she shot the arrow. He would not have thought it possible, but this attempt went even farther afield than the first.

  “There.” She nodded with satisfaction. “How was that?”

  “Interesting. Most people tend to do better with practice though,” he said mildly and handed her another arrow.

  She took it with reluctance, gazed at it ruefully, then looked up at him. “Rand, do you really think intelligence is more important in a wife than beauty?”

  “I do,” he said without hesitation and grinned. “However, I count myself fortunate to have a wife with both.”

  “But, given a choice, you would rather have a woman with a mind than one that is merely pretty?”

  “Of course.”

  “And honesty between a husband and wife is truly important?”

  “Always.” For the most part.

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Do you recall what your uncle said about secrets?”

  “As you have reminded me more than once, how could I possibly forget?” He studied her curiously. Something was obviously bothering her.

  “Then you agree that secrets should not be kept from one another?”

  He hesitated.

  “Unless it has to do with the sanctity of the British crown, government, or the country’s honor.” She huffed with annoyance. “I fully understand why you insist that exceptions be made when it comes to national interests, and furthermore I accept it, annoying as it may be.”

  “In that case”—he grinned—“I do indeed agree.”

  “Good.” Her expression was worried and a twinge of fear stabbed him. Good God, how serious was this? He moved toward her. “Jocelyn?”

  “Wait.” She stepped away and fumbled with the wide ribbon sash of her dress, then turned her back to him for a moment. A cold hand squeezed his heart. At last she turned and faced him.

  A pair of spectacles was perched upon her pert nose.

  He stared in stunned disbelief. “Spectacles?”

  “I knew it. I knew you didn’t mean a word you said.” She snatched the glasses from her face. “I never believed you for a moment. All that nonsense about intelligence over beauty.”

  “All this was about eyeglasses?” Relief rushed through him. “All your talk about secrets and honesty?”

  “Yes.” She met his gaze directly. “And you may make as much fun of me as you want over the matter. I don’t care.”

  The absurdity of it all struck him and he b
urst into laughter.

  “It’s not that funny.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “I know you think I’m quite vain and perhaps I am but I explained it to you once. I was always—”

  “Yes, I know. You were the pretty one.” He struggled to hold back another laugh.

  “It sounds so ridiculous when you say it,” she muttered. “But it’s who I am. It makes me as much me as your being a mere viscount or a spy—”

  “I am not—”

  “—makes you who you are.”

  “Nonsense. It’s not the least bit important. Not to me anyway.” It was ridiculous but she was extremely overset. He forced a semblance of composure and held out his hand. “Let me see those.”

  Reluctantly she passed him the spectacles. He held them up to his eyes. The far distance jumped out at him. “Good Lord, these are strong.” He looked at her. “Is your vision this bad?”

  “I can see you,” she snapped.

  He stepped away. “Can you still see me?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  He took a few more steps. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  He moved again to stand about ten feet from her. “What about now?”

  “You’re starting to get a bit fuzzy around the edges.”

  He started off. “Stop me when—”

  “Stop.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s it. You’re nothing more than an indistinct blob now.”

  He was barely fifteen feet away. “No wonder you couldn’t hit the target, you couldn’t see the blasted thing.” He returned to her side and handed her the spectacles. She hesitated, then took them and slipped them on. He cupped her chin in his hand and gazed into her eyes through the glass. “They’re not all that unbecoming, you know. You’re just as pretty as ever.”

  She looked a bit appeased but pulled away from him nonetheless. “Oh, certainly you have to say that now. But if I’d been wearing these when we first met, you’d scarcely have given me a second glance.”

  “That’s absurd.” He studied her with a critical gaze. “They don’t detract at all. If anything they give you an air of intelligence that quite complements your appearance.”

  “Do you really think so?” A hopeful note sounded in her voice.

  He tried not to grin. As silly as he thought her attitude was, he could well understand how a woman who’d never been valued for more than her looks would fear anything that might affect them. Even an intelligent woman.

  “I really do.” He smiled down at her.

  “Thank you,” she said with a reluctant smile of her own.

  “And should I have met you wearing those spectacles I would have been even more intrigued than ...” The truth slammed into him and pulled him up short. His eyes widened with realization and he stared. “You didn’t see those men at all, did you?”

  “What men?” She glanced around. “Is there someone here?”

  “No, not here.” Impatience sharpened his tone. “In the music room at the prince’s reception. The ones who tried to kill you. You didn’t see them.”

  “No, how could I?” Her brows pulled together in irritation. “I told you at the time I didn’t see them.”

  “I thought you were just saying that. I thought you were just scared.”

  “Of course I was scared. Some vicious fiend had thrown a knife at my head. Only a complete fool wouldn’t be scared.”

  “But you didn’t see them.”

  “We’ve established that. You can stop repeating it.”

  “I’m repeating it because I’m trying to understand.” He turned on his heel and paced. Pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t realized existed fell into place. She wasn’t scared of the truth. Hadn’t wiped her mind of the faces of the brigands because of fear. She really hadn’t seen them. But they didn’t know that. Nor, apparently, did anyone else. “How long have you worn those spectacles?”

  “I haven’t,” she said cautiously. “I found them in my bag when we arrived at the castle. Marianne had had them made for me. She’s been badgering me for years to get me to try them. Apparently she assumed, now that I was married, I needn’t worry about my appearance.”

  “Does anyone outside your family know about your vision?”

  “You!” she snapped.

  “But if you hadn’t been so vain—”

  “And shallow and selfish too, no doubt.” She ground out the words.

  “—and had consented to wear spectacles years ago, the world would have known. And known as well you couldn’t possibly recognize anyone from across a room.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, my dear wife, if your need for eyeglasses was public knowledge, then your life would never have been in danger because no one would have feared your identification of them.”

  “And you would not have had to marry me.” Her voice was level.

  “That goes without saying.” He started to pace again. In a part of his mind not grappling with the implications of this new information he noted Jocelyn’s unusually quiet manner but disregarded it for the moment. He thought back to that infamous night. “Now I understand what your aunt meant about the irony of the situation.”

  “Aunt Louella always did appreciate irony.” Her tone was cool.

  He laughed wryly. “What a colossal joke. On both of us. Forced to wed because of—”

  “My vanity?” The hard note in her voice caught his attention. Her face was composed but her eyes gleamed. “I believe we’ve established that as well as the state of my sight.”

  He stared at her. “Surely you can see the absurdity of all this.”

  “In point of fact, I can’t. I don’t find anything here the least bit humorous.”

  “Come now, Jocelyn.” Rand drew his brows together. “Your life is threatened. You, we, are forced into a marriage neither of us wants simply because you refused to wear spectacles.” He shook his head. “Add to that the now vanished hope that you would recall the faces of the men—”

  “You thought I might still be able to identify those men?” Jocelyn’s eyes widened.

  He shrugged. “There was always a possibility—”

  “Did you bring me here hoping they would follow?”

  “Of course not. I brought you here to keep you safe.”

  “Really? You used me as bait once before. How do I know you didn’t do it again? How do I know all that nonsense about your responsibility and protecting me wasn’t just a convenient lie?” Anger flared in her eyes. “After all, dishonesty is more than acceptable when issues of government affairs are at stake.” She whirled around and started back toward the castle.

  “Wait just one moment.” He grabbed her arm and jerked her beck to face him. “I never lied to you about my reasons for bringing you here. Your life was in danger and it was your own fault. More so than I originally thought. You’re the one who hasn’t been entirely truthful.”

  “Me?” She gasped with disbelief. “When have I lied to you?”

  “You didn’t tell me you couldn’t see!”

  “You didn’t ask!”

  “It was a lie of omission and equally as bad. You should have told me.”

  “How could I possibly know you didn’t know? That Thomas or someone else in the family hadn’t told you? Besides, I never actually hid it from you.” Her chin lifted in defiance. “I told you nothing but the truth. I didn’t see them. I couldn’t identify them.”

  “But if you had told me why you didn’t see them—”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  “Blast it all, yes. Of course it would have.”

  “How?”

  “I would have found a way.” His voice rang with determination. “Somehow I would have made certain that word of your problem reached the right ears. The threat would have vanished. Your life would have gone on just as you’d wanted. As would mine. We never would have had to marry. All of this could have been avoided.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yes!” Hurt f
lashed in her eyes, and at once he realized what he’d said and his heart dropped. “No! I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Didn’t you?” She tried to pull out of his grasp but he refused to release her.

  “No! Not in the least! Damn it all, Jocelyn!” His gaze searched hers; his voice was intense. “You’re my wife!”

  “Am I?” The question hung in the air between them. The moment stretched taut with accusation and denial. “Or am I just the woman you married?”

  He stared at her, stunned. He didn’t know how to answer. What to say. What she wanted, needed to hear.

  She wrenched free, turned on her heel, and stalked toward the castle. Her back was stiff with fury, the lines of her body rigid with anger.

  “Jocelyn, wait!” He started after her. What had he done to her? He hadn’t meant anything the way it had sounded, and on reflection it didn’t sound good. Without warning she stopped and whirled toward him.

  “May I go home now?” Her voice was cool and remote and didn’t fool him for a second. He’d seen her angry before but he’d never seen her like this.

  “Of course.” Was she going to forgive him? “I’ll escort you back to the castle.”

  “No, I want to go home. Back to London.” She brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and for a moment her composed façade cracked, and his heart twisted at the pain he saw. And the knowledge that it was entirely his fault. “Or Shelbrooke Manor.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t allow that.”

  “Why not?” Her eyes narrowed. “Because I’m your wife?”

  “Not entirely, but that enters into it.”

  She snorted with disdain.

  “The circumstances that brought all this about remain the same,” he said carefully. “There is still a threat. Nothing has changed.”

  “Nothing has changed?” Her voice rose. “How can you say that? Everything has changed. I thought...” She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed off into the distance. Even with the spectacles he knew she was staring at nothing that could be seen. “I thought or maybe I just hoped ...” She shook her head and met his gaze. “Perhaps I am not the least bit intelligent after all.”

  “I can’t let you leave,” he said softly and knew he’d never said anything so true in his life.