Arranged Marriage, Bedroom Secrets

by Yvonne Lindsay

  There was a thread of protectiveness in Rocco’s tone that was unmistakable. Rocco could rest assured that Thierry had no intention of harming his new bride. In fact he was taking steps to ensure that she was well-satisfied in their union, both in bed and out of it. But that wasn’t the kind of thing one shared with the brother of your fiancée, Thierry thought as he schooled himself to make a suitable response to Rocco’s comment.

  Before long they turned their discussion to broader topics relating to their two nations, and how they hoped to mend the rifts between them. By the time Rocco withdrew from their talks three hours later, they’d reached an accord—one underpinned by an implicit understanding that while Rocco’s sister’s happiness was of the utmost importance, of equal magnitude was the well-being of both of their countries, starting with reconciliation and moving on toward growth and prosperity. In fact, if pushed, Thierry wasn’t certain if Rocco did not give the latter even more weight and consequence than his sister. Perhaps the two went hand in hand, he reasoned as he saw his guest from the room. One thing had been made adamantly clear, however. If relations between him and his new bride failed, the uneasy peace between their nations would shatter, causing a return to the economic instability that currently gripped his country and possibly even early stages of war. It was a sobering thought.

  As the door closed behind his visitor, Thierry reached for the brandy decanter and poured himself a measure. Taking it over to one of the deep-set windows, he looked out toward Erminia. What was his bride doing now? Brushing up on Sylvano protocol, perhaps?

  He hoped she was well prepared for the life she would soon face. There was only so much sheltering he could do for his new wife. She had duties already diarized for when they returned from their honeymoon and he wouldn’t be able to continue to protect her from the glaring lens of the media as she had been to date. Still, he considered, as he took a sip of the brandy and allowed it to roll on his tongue, he had excellent staff who would assist her in her transformation from princess to queen consort if that was necessary. Perhaps he needed to focus less upon Princess Mila and what she needed to do and more upon himself and what he needed to do to keep her happy.

  His upbringing had made one thing absolutely clear to him—if the royal couple were not united in everything, the entire country suffered. And so he had taken steps to ensure his education in the delights of the marital bed. Before his wedding day, he would learn how to keep his wife satisfied—and those lessons would be undertaken well away from any media spotlight. He looked forward to it. Of course, his personal vows meant that the instruction would be strictly hands off, with no actual physical intimacy between himself and his instructor. But even without direct demonstration, he knew there was still so much he could learn that would help him start his marriage on the right foot. He wanted to know exactly what it was that a woman needed to be seduced—not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well—into remaining committed to her union with him.

  Neither the example his parents had left him, nor several generations of grandparents before them, was conducive to the kind of future he sought to achieve with his wife. He wanted to be happy and stable in his marriage, and he wanted his children to know the same happiness and stability. Was that too much to ask? He didn’t believe so. It wouldn’t necessarily be easy to achieve, since he and his bride would be entering marriage as strangers, but that was where his lessons would help.

  Thus, his employment of the services of a discreet courtesan. Who else could educate him on the subtleties of what gave a woman the ultimate in pleasure? Being prepared had always been vital to him. He hated surprises. He would go into this marriage educated and ready, and he would take any steps necessary to make his wife love him enough to offer him the same commitment and fidelity that he was prepared to offer her.

  He would do what he had to do.

  Six

  “This is beyond preposterous! I’m traveling on diplomatic papers. Why have I been brought in here?”

  From the room where she was hiding, Mila could hear the woman arguing with the Erminian border official in a back office. She looked up as Gregor hastened through a side door.

  “You have her documents?” Mila asked, rising to her feet.

  “I do.” He started to hand her the papers but then hesitated. “Are you certain you wish to go through with this, ma’am? The risks—”

  “Are outweighed by necessity,” Mila said firmly.

  She held out her hand for the papers and took a moment to check the woman’s passport. Long dark hair like her own, similar shape to her face. As long as no one looked too closely at eye color or height she would get away with this. An advance scouting party had already informed her of the clothing the woman had been wearing and Mila was dressed identically, right down to the large-lensed sunglasses she held in her hand and the Hermès scarf already tied over her hair. It was a relief to know that the documentation that had been confiscated from Ottavia Romolo ensured direct passage through the border crossing into Sylvain. Mila supposed that it was unlikely the prince would want his newly procured mistress to be delayed.

  Nerves knotted in her stomach and she slipped on her sunglasses. Hopefully the Sylvano driver was more focused on the officials examining the contents of the trunk of his car than on the exact identity of the passenger who was about to enter the rear compartment of the limousine.

  “Wish me luck, Gregor.”

  “Good luck, ma’am,” he responded automatically, but the expression on his face was woeful.

  Mila shot him a smile. “Don’t worry so much, Gregor. I’m not going into enemy territory under live fire.”

  “You may not be under fire, ma’am, but rest assured I most certainly will be if your brother discovers what you’ve done and my part in it.”

  “Then we must make sure that doesn’t happen. You have the hotel suite and security team organized for Ms. Romolo?”

  “We do. She will be quite comfortable while you’re away.”

  “Right,” Mila said and straightened her shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

  “As we discussed, I will stand on your left as we go through the outer office. Hopefully everyone will be too busy outside to pay us much attention.”

  “You are certain the border official is fully compliant with this?” Mila checked.

  “He is, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Mila nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Their passage through the outer office went smoothly until they reached the main door. Someone coming through from outside bumped into Mila hard enough to knock the sunglasses from her face. She caught them in her hand before they fell far and immediately slid them back into place, briefly acknowledging the apology of the elderly gentleman who had just entered. She was so busy concentrating on getting out the door without further mishap that she didn’t notice when the man did a double take before bowing deeply in her direction—his movement attracting the attention of the woman still arguing at the counter.

  Outside the air was cool and redolent with the crisp scent of pine. Mila inhaled deeply and walked with confidence toward the waiting limousine. Beside her, Gregor gave a nod to the official overseeing the examination of the vehicle and he barked an order in Erminian to the border guards who promptly stepped away from the car and instructed the driver to resume his journey. Mila sank onto the wide leather seat and fastened her seat belt, surprised to find her fingers were quite steady. A minor miracle considering how fast her heart was beating, she thought. She looked up to Gregor with a smile and removed her sunglasses for a moment.

  “Thank you, Gregor. I won’t forget this,” she said softly.

  He gave her a brief nod of acknowledgment and then closed the door.

  “I apologize for the waste of time, Ms. Romolo,” the driver said through the intercom. “You can never trust these Erminians. Rest assured that heads
will roll over this.”

  Mila stifled her reflexive desire to defend her people and merely murmured, “Oh, I hope not.”

  “I will attempt to make up the time lost through the rest of our journey. We should reach our final destination by seven-thirty this evening.”

  “Thank you. I think I will try to rest now.”

  “Certainly, Ms. Romolo. I will let you know when we are nearer the lodge.”

  In the last few days Mila had done her best to discover where Thierry’s lodge was, but its location remained a well-kept secret. Which only served her purpose even better, of course, since it was highly unlikely they would be interrupted. But it was just a little worrying that no one who was in on this escapade with her would know exactly where she was. Her personal staff had been sworn to secrecy about her mission and her brother was still away from the palace and not expected back for another week, at least. Still, what did it matter that nobody would be able to find her? As she’d said to Gregor, it wasn’t as if she was going into enemy territory.

  Although, the chauffeur’s comment did raise a question. He’d been very clear about how he felt about the people of her country. Was that indicative of how most Sylvanos felt? If that was the case, it would make her role as Thierry’s wife that much more demanding. Not only did she have to win over her husband and his people, she would have to do so on behalf of all of the people of the land she would be leaving behind. There was a weight of responsibility on her shoulders. Maybe she should not have stayed so long in America. Not only had she distanced herself somewhat from her own people, but she’d missed the opportunity to build a rapport with Thierry’s.

  Mila bit pensively on her lower lip and stared out the window at the passing countryside. She’d been so determined to better herself—to become the person she thought she should be for her future husband—that she’d lost sight of other, equally important, matters. While she’d thought she was being so mindful of her duty, she’d also been terribly remiss. But it was too late to change any of that now. All she could do was try to make wise decisions going forward. But was this current plan truly wise?

  She wanted to build a strong marriage with Thierry, and surely that would have to start by making herself the only woman her husband would want in his bed. Still, she’d taken a massive risk doing this. If she’d made a mistake, there was no going back now. She simply had to make this work. She had to be the courtesan Thierry was expecting and she had to make him fall in love with her so that he would never look outside of their relationship again. She was unwavering in her determination not to become a casualty of the past.

  But did that mean she’d become a casualty of the future?

  * * *

  They’d been driving beside a massive stone wall for some time now, the road narrow and winding as it crept higher and higher into the mountains. Mila had napped on and off, but for the last half hour she’d been wide awake—too nervous to close her eyes even though weariness and anxiety pulled at her every nerve. Her mouth was dry and her head had begun to throb. Tension, that’s all it was. Once she saw Thierry again she knew she’d be all right. Wouldn’t she?

  Of course she would, she told herself firmly. She was there to do his bidding. What man would turn that away? Her body warmed as she thought about the intensive cramming she’d done since making her decision to kidnap the courtesan and take her place. Things like, what on earth did a courtesan do?

  A surge of longing swept through her body at the thought of some of the duties, making her clench her legs on the unexpected spear of need. Inside her French lace bra her breasts swelled, exerting a gentle pressure against the delicate cobwebs of fabric that barely restrained her and which teased her hardened nipples to sensitive points. She ached to feel pressure against them—the pressure of large, strong fingers or a hard, naked male chest perhaps?

  Heat flooded her cheeks. Clearly her research had been quite thorough if she could react like this only based on thinking about what she’d learned. Books—both fiction and not—romantic films and even those less romantic and more blatantly erotic, had filled her days—and her nights. She’d tried to approach the information as she would any research project she’d been assigned, but she hadn’t factored in her own response, or the sheer physical frustration the research engendered. While she was no stranger to her body, to say that imagining herself and Thierry engaged in the acts she’d seen had left her painfully unfulfilled would be an understatement. Right now she felt like a crate of nitroglycerin used to blow tunnels through mountains—fragile, unstable and ready to blow at the least provocation.

  The car began to slow down while at the same time her pulse rate increased. Before them stood iron gates that were at least twelve feet high. Twin guard boxes stood at each side. One guard, in a Sylvano army uniform, came to the car. Mila shrank back in her seat. The driver opened his car window, said but a few words and the gates began to slowly open. They were through within seconds and, as they began to ascend the steep, winding driveway, she looked back. The gates clanged shut and a tremor passed through her body. Fear, she wondered, or anticipation of what was to come? Slowly, she turned around and faced forward. Hopefully facing her future and not failure.

  * * *

  Thierry stirred from the deep leather button-back chair in his study as Pasquale materialized beside him and cleared his throat.

  “Sire, the guard at the gate has alerted us that Ms. Romolo’s car is about twenty minutes away.”

  “Thank you, Pasquale, that will be all.”

  Thierry stared into the flames set in the ancient stone fireplace a moment longer, then rose to his feet.

  “Pasquale, one more thing,” he called to his departing assistant. “Please see to it that we are not disturbed this evening. In fact, please dismiss the staff until further notice.”

  “All the staff, sire?”

  “All of them—yourself included.”

  “But your meals?”

  “I think I can survive seeing to my own needs for a week or two,” Thierry replied, with a hint of a smile on his lips. “We are well provisioned, are we not?”

  “Whatever you say, sire,” Pasquale said. “But I must insist that the security staff remain on the perimeter and throughout the grounds.”

  Thierry nodded. “Of course. And, Pasquale?”

  “Yes, sire?”

  His assistant gave him a look that almost begged Thierry not to make any additional scandalous requests. Thierry summoned a smile and chose his words carefully, knowing that Pasquale would not be pleased with what he had to say next.

  “Please see to it that all forms of communication within the lodge are disabled. There is to be no internet, no radio, no television. In short, no distractions.”

  Pasquale visibly paled. “And the telephones, sire?”

  “And the telephones. Obviously, for security, the radios can continue to be used.”

  “I must advise you against this, sire. It is foolish to leave yourself so vulnerable.”

  “Vulnerable? No, I don’t believe so. As we just discussed, the royal guards will still be on duty. But the fewer eyes and ears that are party to this, the better. As for myself, I wish to be completely off the grid, as they say. I want no communications coming in here, or going out. Privacy, through the next week, is paramount. If necessary, you can make a statement on my behalf that I have sequestered myself in mourning for my father.”

  Pasquale’s shoulders dropped. “Whatever you say, sire.”

  “Thank you, that is all. Enjoy your time off.”

  His assistant looked as if the man would rather suffer a root canal without pain relief than take time away from his king, but he merely gave Thierry a short bow and left the room.

  Thierry walked to the mullioned windows at the end of the study and looked out over the drive. It was already busy below. Even though he
’d had just a skeleton staff here since his arrival, their leaving caused a momentary upheaval as they exited the property. He watched as the last car pulled away, Pasquale’s censorious expression still visible even from this, the second floor, as he was driven away.

  Silence reigned. Thierry took in a deep breath and absorbed the reality of being alone. It was such a rare commodity in his life and felt strange, at odds with the norm. It excited him, along with the knowledge that shortly his guest would be here. His education would begin, in absolute privacy—only the two of them and nothing and no one else to observe.

  He turned from the window, strode to the door and headed downstairs so he could wait near the front entrance for her arrival. The driver had already been instructed to leave his passenger and her luggage at the door. Thierry would welcome her and see to her things himself. He fought back a grin. This was becoming quite the adventure.

  Downstairs, he waited in the great hall. In the massive fireplace, logs crackled and burned bright and warm. Even though it was spring, the air still held a bite to it up here in the mountains, and he was warmly dressed in a cream merino wool sweater and jeans. He held his hands to the heat of the flickering flames and was startled to find his fingers shook a little. Anticipation, or trepidation, he wondered. Probably a little of both.

  Expectancy rolled through him like a wave. These next days would make all the difference to the rest of his life. No wonder he was a bit nervous.

  He heard the faint sound of tires on the graveled turning bay in front of the lodge. Thierry listened to the slam of a car door and the crunch of footsteps on the gravel before another door slammed closed. There was a shuffle of movement up the wide stone stairs that led to the front porch, then the sound of footsteps moving away, followed by a car door again and then the sound of the vehicle being driven away.