He cast his mind back and tried to assimilate how he felt now with the young woman he remembered. Try as he might, the ideas of love and intimacy did not spring immediately to mind. And yet, when he turned his attention back to Angel, he had no difficulty at all.
“So you’re not going to send me away?” Angel asked, lifting that softly rounded chin of hers in a challenge.
“How did you—?”
“It was only natural you would consider it. You are a king. I opposed your thinking, contested what you said. You could do with me whatever you wanted.”
Thierry felt a flush of shame color his cheeks. “It crossed my mind,” he admitted ruefully. “I would like to think that I am man enough to withstand a bit of criticism, but it seems that I am a little different from everyone else when it comes to that.”
“Your wife may not always agree with you, but she will still be your wife. How do you plan to cope with that? You can’t exactly throw her down an oubliette these days, or banish her to a convent.”
There was a thread of humor in Angel’s voice, but beneath it he detected a genuine concern for the woman he was intending to marry.
“I hadn’t considered my marriage in those terms. But you can rest assured that I will neither imprison nor banish my queen consort.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” she commented with a touch of acerbity. “She has much to look forward to then, doesn’t she?”
“I will do my best,” Thierry said firmly. “And you will help me to deliver that, won’t you?”
Again there was that hesitation, as if she was turning over his request in her mind before reaching her conclusion.
“Yes. I will,” she promised.
Angel crossed the kitchen to the massive double refrigerator that hummed energetically.
“Eggs and bacon?” she asked over her shoulder after giving the contents a cursory glance.
“Sure. What can I do to help?” he offered.
“Nothing. Just leave it to me.”
“Leave the cleanup to me, then. If you don’t mind I’ll go and shower.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s fine.”
Thierry started to leave the kitchen and hesitated a second in the doorway. He was burning to ask her why their earlier encounter had made her cry. The memory of seeing her tears sent another shock of pain through him, reminding him that he was allowing himself to become too emotionally attached to this woman.
He resolutely continued on his way upstairs, determined not to think about Angel and how she had so easily inveigled her way beneath his barriers. Somehow he had to find a way to keep her in her place—to keep things simple and straightforward between them. Teacher—to—pupil—and that was all.
* * *
It had been several days since that first ride in the woods, and she and Thierry had settled into a pattern, of sorts. They spent their early mornings riding or walking in the woods. Together they had covered a wide variety of conversational topics and Mila took every opportunity to encourage him to do so—hoping that he would continue to seek her opinion once they were married. It began to weigh upon her that he would probably not be too thrilled when he discovered her deception, but she rationalized that with his own desire to know how to please her. Who better to instruct him than herself?
Their evenings, on the other hand, were a lesson in torture. After that first day, Thierry had begun to ask her advice about the physical side of a man and a woman’s relationship. About the gentle touches that a couple might enjoy together in a nonsexual way to reinforce their togetherness. It had seemed only natural for Mila to steer their conversation toward more intimate and sensual matters and last night, by the time she ascended the stairs to her rooms, every nerve in her body had been screaming for release. Satisfying her frustration in the deep spa bath in her en suite bathroom had left her feeling physically gratified but emotionally empty and strung out. Judging by Thierry’s bear-headedness this morning, he had been left feeling much the same way.
When she’d told him she would not be riding with him this morning, but planned instead to take advantage of the beautiful library, with its floor-to-ceiling shelves, on the ground floor of the lodge, he’d been short with her to the point of rudeness. She’d let him go without comment, even though his words and manner had left her feeling as if she’d done ten rounds with an angry wasp’s nest. The skies had opened shortly after he’d left on Sleipnir and he hadn’t returned for several hours.
It was hard to concentrate on the book she’d selected from the shelves as she waited for him to return. She’d lit the fire set in the grate and the library was warm and cozy, a wonderful retreat on what had rapidly turned into an unpleasant day. Mila had totally given up on reading by the time she heard the clatter of hooves on the courtyard outside. She looked out the window and saw Thierry dismount and lead Sleipnir into the barn. It was half an hour before he came inside the lodge and went straight upstairs.
She put the book she’d taken back on its shelf and composed herself in a chair in front of the fire—keeping her focus on the dancing flames and wondering what type of mood Thierry would be in for the balance of the day. She would need to be able to recognize and handle them all, she reminded herself, even though she had shrunk from attempting to appease him this morning. And why should she appease him, she asked herself. A man was entitled to his moods as much as she was. And she’d certainly been in a terrible mood this morning. Had he tried to appease her? Not at all, in fact he’d done his level best to exacerbate her frustration. It seemed they both had a lot to learn about living with one another, she reflected with the benefit of hindsight.
The door to the library flung open and, even though she had expected Thierry, she started in surprise.
“Oh, you’re back,” she said, forcing nonchalance into her voice as if she hadn’t been counting every tick on the centuries-old clock that hung on the library wall. “Did you have a nice ride?”
“I did not,” he answered in clipped tones.
She quieted the sense of unease that built in her stomach. If he was going to be in a mood all day then it might be best if they didn’t spend any more time together just yet. She watched him as he stalked to the fireplace and spread his hands in front of him, absorbing the heat as if he was chilled to the bone.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” she said as lightly as she could, and rose from her seat. “Would you like me to leave you alone?”
Thierry whirled around and grabbed her hand, jerking her around to face him as she began to walk away. “No, I would not.”
She wasn’t certain exactly what happened next, but within seconds she was pulled up against the hardness of his body and his lips had descended upon hers. This kiss was vastly different from the one they’d shared in New York, and equally so from the one after their first morning ride. This embrace was about him dominating her, using the kiss to express his anger and frustration. She knew it would be impossible to pull away when he held her so tightly, so she did the opposite. She became unresponsive in his arms—her hands still by her side, her mouth unmoving as he attempted to plunder her lips.
She wanted nothing more than to wrench herself from his embrace and to leave this room, leave him to his wrath, but within seconds she felt a change begin to come over him. In an instant his arms loosened around her, allowing her the freedom to pull free, and his mouth lifted from hers. Instead of stepping away, however, she held her ground.
“Do you feel better now?” she asked in as level a voice as she could muster.
Somehow it seemed more important to her to face up to him than to walk away. They needed to do this, to face the demons that had raised his ire and to deal with them.
Shame filled his face and Mila felt a wave of compassion sweep over her. He was a man in so very many ways and yet, when it came to his emotions, he wa
s as untutored as a child.
“I should not have done that. Angel, I’m sorry. If you wish to leave I won’t stand in your way. I’ll arrange for a car immediately.”
“That won’t be necessary. You contracted me to do a job, and I won’t leave until I have finished my contract. However—” she allowed a small smile to pull at her lips “—it seems I have been remiss in my duties if that is the best you can do.”
She watched his eyes as disgrace at his behavior warred with the pride of a sovereign born. Eventually both were replaced with something else, humility.
“Again, I apologize. Perhaps you would afford me another opportunity to show you how much I have learned.”
She didn’t have time to speak before he drew her more gently against him. One hand lifted to her chin and tilted her face upward so her eyes met his and nothing else existed between them.
“Angel? May I kiss you?” he asked.
She nodded ever so slightly, but it was all the encouragement he needed. This time, as his lips claimed hers he did so with infinite care, coaxing a response from her that made her blood sing along her veins while her body unfurled with desire and heat. He traced the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue, making her open her mouth on a sigh of longing that went soul deep.
This was what she wanted from him. A sharing of connection that opened them both up to one another—that stripped everything bare and left them each vulnerable and exposed and yet safe in the knowledge that they each had only the other’s best interests at heart.
Mila cupped his face with her hands and deepened their kiss, her tongue sweeping into his mouth and stroking the inside of his lips, his tongue, until her senses were filled with the texture and taste of him. Thierry groaned into her mouth, the sound giving her a sense of power and yet making her recognize his susceptibility toward her was a gift beyond measure.
Thierry’s hands swept beneath the sweater she’d pulled on this morning, his fingertips touching her bare skin and leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he stroked the line of her spine then splayed his fingers across her rib cage as if he couldn’t get enough of her. His mouth left hers and he peppered the edge of her jaw with tiny kisses that tracked toward the curve of her throat. Mila shivered as he kissed the hollow at her earlobe then followed the line of her throat to the curve of her shoulder and down the deep V of her sweater.
Her breasts ached for his touch, for the tug of his lips at the taut, sensitive peaks. And then his hands were cupping her, the clasp of her bra undone without her even realizing it and the coarse strength of his fingers gently kneaded at her fullness. The pads of his thumbs brushed across her nipples so sweetly and gently she couldn’t hold back the moan of longing that had built from deep within her core.
Mila’s legs shook and she felt a combination of heat and moisture at the juncture of her thighs, intermingled with an ache that she knew only Thierry could assuage. She flexed her hips against him, felt the hard evidence of his arousal pressing back in return.
She drifted her hands down his strong neck, over those broad shoulders and down, down, down until she could pull at the hem of his shirt and tug it from his jeans—could finally feel the satin smoothness of his skin as she stroked him, her fingertips tingling as she encountered the smattering of hair on his belly, just above the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers were clumsy as she reached for his belt, guided by instinct and desire over expertise.
And then his hands were at her wrists, tugging them away from their task, lifting them upward to his mouth where he kissed first one wrist then another before letting her go. She was speechless and shaking with need, unable to speak to voice any objection when he reached under her sweater and refastened the clasp at her back. When it was refastened, he drew her back into his arms in a hold that, in its innocence, defied all logic of the passion they’d just shared.
Beneath her ear she could hear his heart beat in rapid staccato and his breath came in short, sharp bursts—much the same as her own. She felt the pressure of his lips on the top of her head and then his arms loosed her again and he stepped away.
For endless seconds they could only stare at one another. She had no idea what he expected of her now. What he thought she might say. She only knew that their embrace had ended all too swiftly and that the physical hunger that clawed at her was nothing compared to the way he’d beguiled his way into her heart. That kiss had been an exhibition of what their relationship could have been, had it been given the chance to be nurtured and grow in a normal manner. Instead, they faced one another with untruths between them—her untruths, her manipulation, her lies.
How could she ever come back from this and expect him to trust her? She’d believed that the end justified the means, but how wrong had she been? He’d said that fidelity was everything to him. Wasn’t honesty a part of that? Hadn’t he kissed her just now with his soul laid bare? A sob rose in her throat but she forced it back down. Reminded herself she was not Princess Mila right here and right now. She was a courtesan—a woman experienced in joys of the heart and pleasures of the body.
Her mind scrambled for the right words, the right level of insouciance that might lessen some of the awful tension that gripped her. She settled for a shaky smile and drew in a long breath.
“If you plan to kiss your wife like that, I’m sure you will find no complaint coming from her quarter. That was—”
“That was dangerous,” Thierry interrupted, releasing her and shoving a shaking hand through his short cropped hair. “When I am near you I am incapable of restraint. I didn’t expect this. I can’t want this and yet I do.”
“You are a man of great passions. I saw that already in New York when we spoke together that night. It only makes sense that your physical passions should be equally as strong as your intellectual ones.” She rested a hand on his chest and let the radiant heat of his body soak up through her palm. “Hawk, do not worry. Everything will be all right.”
But even as she said the words she wondered, would it? Could it, when what lay between them was a thick web of lies?
Thirteen
Thierry had prowled the lodge like a restless tiger for the balance of the day, unable to settle into anything. Following their encounter in the library he could hardly blame Angel for steering out of his way. Something had to give, but what?
Angel had kept herself scarce, although he’d smelled the scent of baking coming from the kitchen at one stage during the afternoon. He’d been tempted to see what it was that she was making, but the thought of seeing her in such an environment would just make him want more of what he couldn’t have.
He’d learned from a young age not to want the things that were out of his reach. A cynical smile twisted his lips at the thought of how people would react if he ever said such a thing. As if anyone would ever believe that anything was truly out of reach for a young prince. But there were many things that money and influence couldn’t buy. Things that, despite so many years of schooling himself to quell the yearning, he still craved, though he kept his desires buried beneath the surface.
So, no, he had refused the urge to go to the kitchen, to sit at the table and to watch Angel move about in a cloud of domesticity. It was hardly likely that Princess Mila would be the kind of woman who would do such a thing, and Thierry had no wish to deepen his desire for something he could never have. He was not a normal man living a normal life, even though he craved such an indulgence.
Now it was evening and he was seated here in the great hall, staring at the fireplace and trying to rein in his temper, which felt even more out of sorts than it had been this morning. He rolled his shoulders and groaned as the tightness in his muscles made a protest. He heard Angel walk from the kitchen toward the hall.
“Hawk, are you ready for dinner? I reheated a casserole that I found in the freezer and warmed some bread.”
“Quite
the domestic princess, aren’t you,” Thierry responded, then instantly wished the words unsaid as he saw hurt flicker briefly in Angel’s tawny eyes. She had not deserved that and he was quick to apologize. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I am grateful for your expertise in the kitchen. We may have starved if you were not so capable.”
Angel laughed but it was a small and empty sound. “I had some experience while attending university in America. It gave me the opportunity to do many things I had never tried before.”
He could well imagine. Was that where she had gained her experience in matters of the flesh? Had she worked her way through her degree by conducting the oldest known profession? A bitter taste invaded his mouth at the thought and he discovered he had come to hate the idea of Angel with another man. He wanted her to himself, for himself—but even that idea was impossible. He would not be his father. He would not promise himself in marriage to his princess while he sought fulfillment in another woman’s arms.
Thierry shook the thoughts from his mind and followed Angel to the kitchen, where they’d been taking their evening meals—both agreeing that the formal dining room with its table large enough to seat twenty-four was less intimate than either of them liked. Even though they ate a simple meal, he noticed she continued to make the small arrangements of fresh spring flowers from the woods and the garden, and set the table with fine linen placemats and napkins and placed fresh candles in a three-branch silver candelabra.
Yet despite the pleasant atmosphere she’d worked hard to create, conversation was strained between them throughout the meal, the tension of the morning still hanging between them like a palpable barrier. After they’d finished eating, Angel began to clear the table.
“Leave that,” Thierry commanded.
Angel stopped stacking their plates and looked at him with a question in her eyes. “And who will tidy up after us?” she asked, with one eyebrow cocked.
Arranged Marriage, Bedroom Secrets Page 12