Arranged Marriage, Bedroom Secrets

by Yvonne Lindsay

  “Even if I do?”

  “I guess there’s a time and a place for that. I just know that for many women, myself included, I can’t simply turn my libido on and off with a switch. We generally don’t compartmentalize like that. Our thoughts and responsibilities are a nest of interconnected strands. I would respond best to my senses being wooed throughout the day, with repeated reminders that I am valued and desired. To small indications that someone is thinking of me and, if I’m not with them, that they wish I was.”

  “So, first I need to seduce my bride’s mind?”

  “Basically. It is a shame that the two of you have not had any contact since your betrothal.”

  Thierry got up and stretched before settling on the deep leather chair opposite hers. “What would be the point? Our marriage has been preordained. It’s not as if I need to convince her to accept my proposal.”

  “But you say you want a happy marriage. Don’t you think your bride deserves to get to know you—to understand you?”

  “She doesn’t seem to think so. I have had nothing but a series of stilted correspondences from her. No photos, no calls. Getting better acquainted is a two-way street, is it not?”

  Mila felt the color drain from her cheeks. Of course he was right. It was unfair of her to expect him to do all the work, to make all the effort. It seemed that in matters of the heart she was as immature as she was in matters of the body. If she’d ever doubted her decision to undertake this crazy mission, she could cast such thoughts aside. This was an education, all right. For them both.

  “It most definitely is, which brings me to another question. How can your bride court you? What things can you do so she knows you welcome her into your life and your daily affairs?”

  Thierry chuckled. It was a warm sound that made Mila feel happy inside and it coaxed a smile from her.

  “Are you planning to spend some time educating my fiancée as well?” he asked, then laughed again at the ridiculousness of the idea.

  “Would that I could,” Mila murmured and avoided making eye contact. “Do you think it would work in terms of couples counseling?”

  “Oh, yes, definitely.” His smile died and his face grew serious again. “But the princess and I are no ordinary couple, are we? We are two strangers who will be making a life together under the strain of uniting two countries at the same time.”

  Mila played with the stem of her wineglass. That fact had not escaped her. So much hinged on the successful outcome of their marriage. The reopening of trade between the countries, the relaxation of military positions along the border, the widening of educational opportunities, not to mention what they could achieve in matters of ecological significance through the pooling of resources. It was true that not every couple faced the same hurdles and some would say that their hurdles were taller than most. But they could be overcome. They could be tackled if they were unified as husband and wife in more than just ceremony. Which was why it was so important that she get this right.

  “Your fiancée, she is well educated, isn’t she?” she asked, going through the motions of pretending to not fully understand who his fiancée was.

  “Indeed. Her brother very proudly informed me of her achievements at our recent meeting, before warning me not to hurt her feelings.”

  Mila fought back a grin of sheer delight. Her brother had done that? She would never have believed it of him. Not the stern man she’d met with when she’d arrived home.

  “And do you think you two will be compatible, mentally?”

  “Of course, why wouldn’t we be?”

  “So what is it that worries you most? Why do you fear you will not be able to truly bond as man and wife? Is she not attractive enough?”

  “Looks are not the key issue here.”

  “Is it the physical side of your relationship that concerns you?” Mila pressed curiously.

  “Only in that I wish to learn how to please her. She will be my consort, the mother of my children. My partner, I hope, for a lifetime. I want to be able to hold her interest. To share respect for one another. To share dreams for our future. Nothing too outstanding, I suppose, but these things, they are important to me.”

  As they were to her also. “Then why are you so worried? Don’t you think she’ll want the same from your marriage?”

  “I don’t know. I barely know her. In fact, I barely know anything of her. I need to know how to seduce my wife—not just physically, but emotionally, too. I never want to see loathing in her eyes when she looks at me, as my mother did so often when looking at my father. And I never wish to treat her with the disdain my father showed to my mother. They could barely tolerate one another toward the end. I will not have a marriage like that.”

  A vein pulsed at the side of Thierry’s brow, and while his voice had remained level, Mila could see the strain in his eyes as he turned to face her again.

  “These are the reasons why I have employed you. I want you to teach me how to make my wife fall in love with me so deeply she will never look to another man for her fulfillment. Can you do this?”

  Nine

  Thierry stared into the glowing amber of Angel’s eyes and willed her to give him the answer he craved.

  “Let me get this clear,” she said softly. “You want me to teach you to seduce your fiancée’s mind and her senses, and then her body?”

  “I do.”

  She looked surprised for a moment, but then her face cleared and her eyes shone bright as she smiled.

  “Your demand is not quite what I expected but I will do what you ask.”

  “How do we begin this?” he asked.

  “Well, when seeking to win someone over, it is customary to ask a person about the kinds of things they like, and to look for common ground amongst those things. For example, what do you like to do in your spare time?”

  “Spare time? Perhaps it would be better if I understood more fully what spare time was.”

  Angel laughed and the sound made him feel lighter inside for the first time in days.

  “Perfect!”

  Thierry tried to hide his confusion. “Perfect?”

  “Yes, humor is a wonderful icebreaker when you’re trying to get to know someone.”

  Except he wasn’t trying to be funny. His time was always filled with something—other than when he was here, up in the mountains. This was where he recharged for the year ahead, where he learned to calm his mind and prepared it for the demands that would be made upon him the next time he surfaced. Thierry inclined his head.

  “I see. So, shall we try this? Pretend we’ve never met before? What if I get it wrong?”

  Angel shifted on the cushions, angling herself to face him fully, and rested one elbow up on the seat of the sofa behind her. “Hawk, this is no different from when we met in New York. You did not seem to suffer from any fear of failure then.”

  “I was not speaking to my betrothed then,” he said bluntly and was surprised to see her expression change to one of shock.

  Or maybe he imagined it. Her eyelids fluttered down and when she looked up again her expression was composed once more.

  “I see. Let’s pretend, then, that I am your fiancée. What is it that you want to know about me?”

  For a few seconds Thierry was flustered, wondering where to begin. Angel let go of that enticing laugh again and leaned forward to give him a gentle shove with one hand.

  “Oh, come on! It’s not that hard. What’s wrong? Are you scared of her? Is she such a dragon?”

  “No, of course not.” Dammit, but he sounded like just the kind of stuffed prig he hated talking to. How could he expect his courtesan, let alone his bride, to enjoy talking with him and learning about him when he could barely stand the sound of his own voice right now?

  “Then relax, Hawk. She probably won’t bite
you.”

  Thierry stared back at Angel, at the smile currently on her exquisitely beautiful face. At her straight white teeth. And he wondered what it would be like to feel those teeth upon his skin. Desire clawed at him, shocking him after his years of carefully honed restraint.

  This had been a crazy and foolish idea. He wanted to learn how to know and understand Princess Mila, not feel hopelessly drawn to another woman. This wasn’t the first time he’d experienced desire, but this was the first time he’d truly been tempted to act on it. He pushed himself upright and took a few steps closer to the fireplace. He reached for the mantel and gripped the rough-hewn wood as if his life depended on its stability, as if he could anchor himself somehow to the fact it had remained here for several hundred years. Battered and scarred but still whole and strong. The way he needed to be.

  “I find it impossible to relax tonight,” he announced. “Perhaps it would be best if we started anew in the morning. When we’re both fresh.”

  He heard a rustle of movement behind him, then felt her move up close. Her scent was sultry, but subtle, and stole its way past the barriers he was trying so hard to maintain.

  “I’m sorry, Hawk. I didn’t mean to—” Her voice trailed off before she finished her sentence.

  “No, it’s not you. I expected too much from tonight. I have so little time and—”

  She interrupted, “And I can see how important this is to you. It’s okay, I understand. I will see you in the morning.”

  She moved away and he fought the urge to try and stop her, reminding himself he needed some time and space to shore up his strength against the enticement she presented.

  “Yes, the morning. Do you ride?” he asked abruptly and spun around to face her.

  “It has been a while but, yes, I am capable of riding.”

  “We’ll ride before breakfast, then. Meet me in the stables out back when you wake.”

  “I’m an early riser,” she said, cocking her head to one side. “Are you?”

  He couldn’t help it. He sensed innuendo in every word that fell from those lush and inviting lips, and God help him but he wanted to act on it. Only half a dozen steps would take him from where he was now to where she stood. Six strides and he could have her in his arms. Could press his mouth to hers and taste again the nectar that he’d tasted all too briefly when they had kissed in New York. He felt his body begin to move, took one step, then stopped himself from going any further.

  “Yes,” he bit out. “I am awake with the birds most mornings.”

  She inclined her head gracefully, her hair falling forward to expose the gentle curve of her neck. His fingers itched to caress that fall of hair. His lips tingled in anticipation of placing a kiss, just there on that exposed section of skin. Thierry shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans to stop himself from reaching for her.

  He watched as she ascended the stairs, her sandals dangling from her fingers. The fabric of her tunic drifted over her body in places he should not be looking. But he looked. And he craved.

  With a muttered epithet Thierry spun on his heel and made for the front door and, flinging it wide open, he strode outside into the evening. He made a sharp left and headed for the woods. He would work this out of his system somehow.

  * * *

  The moon’s silvered light filtered across the edges of the mountains as he made his way back to the lodge. Even the birds had ceased their chatter and had settled down for the night. There were few lights on at the lodge as he approached, a stark reminder that he had dismissed his staff and that inside only one person remained. A person he had summoned here without realizing how alluring she would be.

  How stupid could a man be? Calling upon the services of a courtesan without realizing that he would be lured into her web of temptation.

  It was simple, he’d decided on his tramp through the woods. He would send her on her way in the morning. Forget the horse riding. Forget the education. Forget everything. He had made up his mind.

  Right up until he stepped inside the lodge. Thirsty after his walk, he made his way into the expansive kitchen at the rear of the building. There, perched on a chair at the kitchen table was the woman who had unwittingly become his Achilles’ heel. Dressed in a diaphanous robe which barely concealed the slip of satin and lace beneath it, she was biting into a chunk of bread, layered with what looked like cheese and cold meat, as if she hadn’t seen a meal in a week.

  She looked up, startled, as he burst into the kitchen, and fought to swallow the bite of food in her mouth. He looked at her in surprise, but then understanding dawned.

  “Forgive me. I knew you were hungry and I didn’t see to your needs. I am a terrible host.”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m a big girl. I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

  “Do you have enough there?”

  He gestured to the antipasto platter which she’d obviously brought through from the hall.

  “Yes, do you want some? You must be hungry, too.”

  He had an appetite all right. But not for food. He shook his head in reply to her question and grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with icy cold water from the kitchen faucet.

  “The water here is from a mountain spring,” he said, trying his best not to watch her mouth as she took another bite of her open sandwich. “Would you like a glass?”

  Angel shook her head again and gestured to the glass of milk she had before her. He found a smile tugging at his lips. She was such a study in contrasts, dressed in gossamer-fine silk and eating a meal with the vigor of a farm hand after a hard morning in the fields. Earlier, she’d sipped her champagne with elegant nonchalance, but now she drank down her milk with the enthusiasm of a child. Her face was clean of makeup and she looked younger than she had before. He liked this side of her better, he decided, although he’d prefer her to be in less of a state of undress even if only for his own barely constrained sensibilities.

  “Did you enjoy your walk?” she asked when her mouth was once again empty.

  Enjoy it? He’d been too angry at himself to enjoy anything. The time had been utilized to rid himself of the overwhelming need to touch the woman who now sat so innocently in his kitchen. And while he had been successful in repressing his feelings for that moment in time, it seemed he only needed to be within a meter or two of her to be reduced to the same state of neediness once again.

  “The woods are always lovely this time of year.”

  She tipped her head and studied him carefully. “You’re avoiding the question. Do you do that a lot in conversation?”

  “Perhaps. It is often easier than giving a straight and honest response,” he admitted grudgingly.

  “And do you plan to be evasive with your new wife also?”

  “No,” he said emphatically. “I wish to be able to be honest with her in all things. Deception is a seed of discontent. I won’t have that between us.”

  Angel nodded slowly and selected an olive from the platter, then studied it carefully as if it was the most important thing in the room right now. She popped it in her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully before answering him.

  “I’m pleased to hear it,” she said simply. “So I’ll ask you again. Did you enjoy your walk in the woods?”

  He sighed a huff of frustration. “No. I barely noticed the woods. I went out angry and I didn’t stop to enjoy the beauty that should’ve calmed me and now I’m angry at myself for that, too.”

  Angel laughed gently. “Well done. I applaud your honesty. There, now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “It was hell,” he admitted, then unexpectedly found himself laughing with her.

  “Clearly we need to work on that, hmm?” she said, slipping from her chair and picking up her plate.

  He watched as she took it across to the dishwas
her and put it inside before going to clear the rest of the table. Every movement silhouetted the lines of her body—the fullness of her breasts as they swayed gently with her actions, the curve of her hips and buttocks, the length of her thighs. Honesty wasn’t the only thing he needed to work on. He turned and poured himself another glass of cold water. Self-control was definitely very high on that list, too, he acknowledged as his jeans became more uncomfortable by the second.

  “Leave the mess. I’ll clean up. It’s the least I can do as your host,” he said gruffly after downing the cool clear liquid in his glass. If only it was as quenching to the fire deep within him as it was to his thirst.

  “Okay, I will,” she said with a cheeky grin. “I’m always better at making a mess than clearing it.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

  Her smile widened. “Well, I think I’m quite safe in saying that I doubt you have to clean up after yourself on most occasions, hmm? After all, why would you when you normally have a bevy of staff at your beck and call.”

  “It’s not always everything it’s cracked up to be. I have little privacy.”

  “I can quite believe it,” Angel said, solemnity replacing the fun on her face. “Well, I’ll leave you to it and see you in the morning.”

  “Sleep well, Angel.”

  “Thank you. You, too, Hawk. Sweet dreams.”

  She turned and left the kitchen and once again, for the third time since he’d met her, he realized, he watched her walk away from him. His gut twisted and something deep in his chest pulled tight. He didn’t want her to leave. It was ridiculous. He barely knew the woman. One night in New York, a brief time together tonight, and he was smitten.

  Perhaps his personal vow of chastity hadn’t been the right thing to do for all these years. Perhaps, if he’d been a little more free with his wants and needs, this desperate hunger would be less consuming.

  She was a courtesan, he reminded himself. Her job was to entice, to be alluring. To make a man feel important and wanted and needed and desired. Clearly, she was very good at her job. The reminder should have been sobering—should, at the very least, have dampened the fire that simmered and glowered beneath his facade of normality. It wasn’t and didn’t.