Thierry turned his attention to the platter left on the table and decided to finish off the remnants. Not that there was much left. It seemed his courtesan had quite the appetite. Did that appetite for food extend to everything else she did? He groaned out loud. Damn, there he went again. Letting his mind travel along pathways that were forbidden to him.
He’d always believed himself to be a patient man. One who’d made restraint an art form. Now, it seemed, he was to test that restraint to the very edge of its limits. Somehow he had to get through the next seven days without breaking.
Ten
Mila sprang from her bed before 6 a.m. and raced through her shower. She hadn’t expected to sleep well after the turmoil of last night, but the moment her head had hit the pillow she’d been lost in a deep sleep. Now, however, she was fully revitalized and ready to go.
The discussions with Thierry last night had been a complete eye-opener for her. Even now she could scarcely believe his intentions toward the courtesan—toward her. A cheery grin wreathed her face as she played his words over in her mind yet again. He was doing this all for her—the princess. It was as astounding as it was unbelievable...and it had raised one big question in her mind. Why was he so committed to doing this for her?
Maybe today she’d get to discover his reasons for his decision.
After dressing and tying her hair back in a tight ponytail, Mila riffled through the drawers, wishing she remembered better exactly where she had put everything. She knew she’d seen a pair of riding pants amongst Ottavia Romolo’s things—ah yes, here they were. She eased into them and drew on a snug T-shirt and a sweater, then grabbed the riding boots that had been packed. Ms. Romolo had been exceedingly well prepared, Mila conceded. She had something for every possible eventuality, which made Mila wonder whether the woman might have been equally as surprised as she was upon discovering that Thierry was more concerned with learning about how to seduce his future wife’s mind than her body.
She shoved all thoughts of the other woman from her head. She didn’t want to think, or to worry about her right now. It was enough to know her staff would be taking very good care of her. Surely it would make little difference to Ms. Romolo to be paid to have a luxurious holiday rather than to be with a client?
Mila headed downstairs in bare feet, gasping as her soles hit the flagstone floor at the foot of the stairs. She plonked her butt down on the bottom step and quickly pulled on a pair of woolen socks, then the boots, huffing a little as she did so. Man, she was out of condition if pulling on a pair of fitted boots made her breathless. Or maybe it was just the idea of seeing Thierry again so soon that made her heart skip and her lungs constrict.
She went through to the kitchen, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the tabletop and crunched into its juicy sweetness as she found a corridor that led to a door at the rear of the lodge. Outside, the morning air was crisp and cool, but the sun had begun its ascent in the clear blue sky and the day promised to be warm.
She crossed a wide courtyard and walked toward a large stone barn. Inside she could hear the nicker of horses and the sound of hooves shifting on the barn floor. It was warm in the building and the scents of horses, hay and leather all combined to make one of her favorite aromas. She paused a moment in the doorway and simply inhaled, a wide smile spreading on her face. She loved this environment. It was one of the things she’d missed most while in America. Of course there had been plenty of riding stables available, but it wasn’t the same as being in her own place with her own animals. Neither was this, she reminded herself. But it would be, once she and Thierry were married. And then, she’d have her own horses here, too.
“Good morning. You weren’t kidding about being an early riser,” Thierry said, coming out of a room at the side of the stables carrying a saddle.
He wore riding pants and boots with a fitted polo shirt. His skin was tanned and his bare arms strong and beautifully muscled. Not too much, and definitely not too little. He hefted the saddle onto a waiting tall bay gelding as if it weighed no more than the saddle blanket that already lay on the horse’s back.
“Why waste a beautiful day like this in bed?” she answered.
She hadn’t meant a double entendre, but it hung in the air between them as thick and as potent as a promise. Oh, she could spend a day in bed with him and not consider it wasted in the slightest, she realized. Hot color suffused her cheeks and her throat and she turned away from his direct gaze, searching for something to do or say that would distract him from her discomfort.
“Can I help you get the horses ready?” she squeaked through a constricted throat.
“I’m almost done,” he replied, turning away from her and focusing his attention on cinching the girth strap and checking the stirrups. “I thought you might like to take a ride on Henri, here. He’s big, but he’s gentle with women.”
Like you? she almost asked, but instead she stepped forward and reached out to stroke the blaze on the gelding’s forehead.
“That’s good,” she answered, offering Henri the remains of her apple. “As I said last night, it’s been a few years since I’ve ridden.”
“He’ll take good care of you, don’t worry,” Thierry said, dropping his hand to the horse’s rump and giving him a gentle slap.
Was it Thierry’s turn for double entendre now, she wondered? Would he take good care of her also? Before she could ask, Thierry unhooked the reins from the hitching post and began to lead Henri outside through the other end of the barn. There, another horse—this one a majestic gray stallion—waited, already saddled up.
“Oh, he’s beautiful,” Mila exclaimed.
“Don’t tell him that, he’ll get too big for his shoes,” Thierry said with a laugh.
But even so, he patted the horse’s neck and leaned in to whisper something to the animal that only it could hear. The horse whickered softly in response. The sight warmed her and Mila felt Thierry ease just that little bit deeper under her skin and into her heart as she observed the relationship between man and beast. Oh, he was so easy to love, especially when he was sweet and relaxed like this. He straightened and turned to face her.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Sleipnir, it’s—”
“Norse, I know. What a noble name for a noble steed. Have you had him long?”
Thierry looked taken aback at the fact she knew the origin of his horse’s name. “About five years. I raised him from a colt.”
“He suits you,” she said, saying exactly what was on her mind.
She had no doubt the two of them would make a formidable sight paired together.
“Shall we get on our way? Perhaps I can help you mount?”
“Thank you. I wouldn’t normally ask, but it’s been a while.”
“No problem,” Thierry answered without further preamble. “Let me give you a hand.”
He came around to the side of her horse and bent down, cupping his hands for her to step one foot into. His shirt stretched tight across the breadth of his shoulders and the bow of his back. Her fingers itched to reach and touch him, to stroke those long muscles along his back, to trace the line of his spine down to its base. Thierry turned his head.
“Are you ready?”
She flushed again at being caught staring at him—woolgathering and wasting time while he patiently waited for her.
“Yes, thank you,” she said and hastily placed her foot in his cupped hands.
He gave her a boost and she flung her leg over the saddle to seat herself comfortably, her feet finding the stirrups and her hands gathering the reins up so she was ready to go.
“That length okay for you?” Thierry asked, one hand on her thigh as he once more checked the girth strap and the stirrups.
“Y-yes,” she answered, barely able to concentrate on his question with the warmth of his
hand resting so casually on her leg.
Just a few more inches inward and upward, she thought—no! She slammed the door on the wayward idea before it could bloom in her mind and get her into even more trouble.
“Yes,” she said more firmly and urged Henri forward. “This is perfect, thank you.”
Thierry made a grunt of assent, then swung up onto his own mount and drew up alongside her. “I thought we could take a path through the woods at first and then let the horses have their heads through the meadows on the other side. Are you up for that?”
“It sounds great. I’m up for whatever you want to do.”
He gave her another of those penetrating looks and Mila wondered if she was going to have to filter every word from her mouth from now on. She hadn’t meant that to come out quite the way it had...or had she? She didn’t even seem to know her own mind right now. Instead, she dropped her head and stared at Henri’s ears and then urged him to follow as Thierry and Sleipnir led the way out of the courtyard and toward the woods.
Birdcalls filtered around them as they entered on the bridle path. It looked well used and Mila wondered how often Thierry had the time to come up here to this private hideaway. The tranquility that surrounded them seemed worlds away from the life of a ruler she knew Thierry now lived. She’d seen firsthand what her brother’s life was like—how his time was not his own. How it had changed him when he’d ascended to the throne. Would that be Thierry’s fate also now that he was King of Sylvain? She hoped not. Thierry would, at least, have her by his side. Someone to share the weight of his crown when he was out of the public glare.
They rode through the woods in silence, the horses happy to simply amble along, and Mila relaxed in her saddle. No doubt she’d be a little stiff from the ride tomorrow, but for now she was loving every creak of the leathers, every scent of the woods and every sound of the awakening forest.
After about twenty minutes, the trees began to thin.
“You can give Henri his head now if you want,” Thierry called from a few meters ahead of her and then did just that with his horse.
Mila and Henri were hard on their heels as they burst from the woods and into an idyllic hillside meadow, the grass interspersed with dots of color from wildflowers beginning to bloom. Mila laughed out loud as she and her mount began to gain on Thierry and Sleipnir, but it was soon apparent they were outclassed. When she eventually caught up with him, he’d dismounted beside a brook—the scene so picture-perfect it was almost cliché.
She said as much as she dismounted from Henri. Thierry came swiftly up behind her, his hands at her waist before her feet could even touch the ground.
“You think I’m cliché?” he asked with one eyebrow cocked.
She shook her head. “No, not you, just...this!” Mila spread her arms wide. “It’s all so impossibly beautiful. How on earth do you stand going back to the city?”
Thierry was silent for a moment. “It’s my favorite place on earth and knowing it’s still here waiting for me is what makes me able to stand it.”
She put a hand on his chest and stared him straight in the eyes. “Is it so hard, being royal?”
“It’s my life. I don’t know any different.”
The words were simplistic, but there was a wealth of unspoken emotion behind them. Mila let her hand drop again and opted to attempt to lighten the mood a little.
“So it’s not all tea parties and banquets?”
The corner of Thierry’s mouth kicked up and she ached to kiss him, just there.
“No, it is not. Which is for the best. If it were, I would be the size of a house.”
“True,” she said with a considering glance his way. She poked him in the belly, her finger finding no give against his rock-hard abdomen. “You’re getting a little soft there, Your Majesty.”
He grabbed her hand. “Hawk. Here I am Hawk and nobody else.”
She nodded, all mirth leaving her as she studied the serious expression on his face.
“Do you ever wish all of Sylvain could just be like this spot here?” she asked as they walked over to the brook to allow the horses a drink.
“Yes and no. Obviously industry is required for our country to continue to move forward and for our economy to support our people. But I am encouraging our government to always consider sustainable practices when they discuss lawmaking and our constitution. Regrettably, my direction often falls on deaf ears. It isn’t always easy to persuade people to change, especially when additional cost is involved.”
“I think we stand a better chance to effect change if we start at school level, so all children grow up with the idea that sustainable development is the right way—the only way—to move forward. With education and understanding, things will become easier.”
“But will it happen soon enough?” Thierry mused, his gaze locked on a distant mountain peak. “Up here everything is so simple, so clean and pure. And yet, past those mountains, you can already begin to see the haze of civilization as it hangs in the air.”
“I’m not convinced you’ll ever see great change in our lifetime, but essentially you’re not effecting change simply for change’s sake, are you? You’re doing it for the future, for your grandchildren and their grandchildren.”
“Grandchildren,” he repeated. “Now there’s a daunting thought when I’m not yet married.”
“They are a natural progression, are they not?” she probed.
Mila knew that she wanted children, three or four at least. She had grown up as one of a pigeon pair with an age gap that had meant she and her brother had never had as close a relationship as she would have liked. Thierry had been an only child.
“Yes, they are. To be honest, I hadn’t considered children as being a part of my marriage just yet. I know I have a responsibility to my position to ensure the continuation of the line, but I want to know my wife—truly know her—before we take that step.”
“Those are honorable words.”
“I mean every one of them. I look at the world my forebears have created and sometimes I ask myself if I should even marry—if I should have children—or whether I should simply let the monarchy die with me.”
“No! Don’t say that!” Mila protested.
“Let’s be honest. Monarchy is an outdated concept in this day and age.”
“But you still have a role to play. You remain a figurehead for your people. A guiding light. Look at your work so far on the Sylvano waterways, how you’ve spearheaded campaigns to ensure clean, safe water throughout your country,” she argued passionately.
“It’s a step in the right direction,” Thierry conceded.
“It’s more than a step. You are seen to be doing the things that matter to you. You don’t just pay lip service to them. You lead from the front. You give your people someone to look up to and aspire to emulate. You can’t throw that away.”
“And I will not. I will continue the royal line, as is my duty. I am promised to Princess Mila and I honor my promises. We will marry.”
There was a note in his voice that dragged a question from deep inside her. “And if you were not already promised to her? Would you still marry the princess?”
Thierry remained silent for several seconds before answering. “I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s honest at least,” Mila muttered.
“Ah, Angel, you sound so disappointed. Have I shown to you I have feet of clay?”
“No, you’ve shown me you’re a man. Like any man. With the same weaknesses and worries, but with strengths, too.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I am glad you are an honorable man and that you will marry the princess, whether you think you want to or not.”
And she was. Because the more she got to know the complex man who was soon to be her husband, the more she knew she would spend the rest of her life
loving him.
If only she could help him to love her, too.
Eleven
“Whether I think I want to, or not?” Thierry repeated.
It was an odd way for her to phrase such a sentence, he thought as he studied her.
“Yes, although I think you probably do your princess a disservice.”
“How so?”
“Perhaps her feelings are not so distant from your own. Perhaps she, too, is mindful of her duty to her king and her country—and your country, as well—and, perhaps, all she wants to do is find a common ground between you so that you can have a full and happy life together.”
He felt his lips pull into a smile. Angel’s speech on behalf of an unknown woman was supportive and compassionate. He really liked that about her. In his experience, the women in his circles were never invested in each other’s well-being in the way that Angel apparently was for Princess Mila. It showed another side to her that pulled strongly at him. If only he had the luxury of marrying a wife of his own choosing, he would definitely have chosen a woman such as Angel. But then again, he rationalized, if he wasn’t who he was with an arranged marriage ahead of him, he would never have had cause to meet his courtesan beyond their stolen evening in New York, would he?
He looked at her, really looked this time. In the early morning light she appeared fresh and invigorated. Eager to seize the day they had ahead of them and all that it offered. Her long dark hair was drawn tightly off her face in a ponytail, exposing delicate cheekbones and a jaw that was made for a line of sensual kisses that would lead a man directly to those invitingly full lips. If he wasn’t mistaken, she didn’t wear so much as a slick of lipgloss this morning. Her naked face was even more beautiful than the visage of the seductress who’d joined him for antipasto yesterday evening.
The simmering sense of awareness that sizzled through his veins whenever he was near her burned a little brighter and his body stirred with longing.
Arranged Marriage, Bedroom Secrets Page 10