Cordina's Royal Family Collection

by Nora Roberts

  She moaned not from pain, but from the knowledge that his control had snapped. She’d wanted it, dreamed of what she would find behind that firmly locked door. It was on her now, like a beast breaking chains. Violent, desperate, with a primitive kind of relish. He drove her beyond the reasonable into a desire so dark, so thick, she was blind from it.

  Shuddering, she crested, and while she was still breathless he pushed her up and over the peak again.

  “Alexander.” She thought she’d shouted his name, but it was only a gasp. “I want you.” Her hands traveled down, grasping, and found him. “I want you inside me.”

  He knew what madness was, true madness, the moment he felt her close around him. Her hips arched, setting the rhythm. He wanted to watch her face, to know when she had reached as high as it was possible to reach. But his vision was clouded.

  The power took them both. When it did, he called out in French. It was the language of his heart.

  Chapter 11

  It was the first time she’d awoken in his arms. The predawn light was smoky gray with a mist that would clear as soon as the sun rose. The sound of the sea was just a whisper through the windows. Candles had gutted themselves out long since, but their scent still hung lightly in the room. He brushed a kiss at her temple and she awoke.

  “Alexander.” She murmured his name and cuddled closer.

  “Go back to sleep. It’s early.”

  She felt him shift away. “You’re going.”

  “Yes, I must.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and held on to the warmth. “Why? It’s early.”

  He gave a low chuckle, finding her slurred words and sleepy movements endearing. After lifting the arm that held him down, he kissed her hand. “I have early appointments.”

  “Not this early.” She struggled to wake fully. Opening her eyes, she looked at him. His hair was mussed, from the pillow, from her hands, from a night of loving. But in the indistinct light his eyes were alert. “Couldn’t you stay an hour more with me?”

  He wanted to, wanted to tell her he would spend all the hours of that day and the next with her. But he couldn’t. “It wouldn’t be wise.”

  “Wise.” She understood, and some of the pleasure faded from her sleep-drugged eyes. “You don’t want to be in my room when the servants wake up.”

  “It’s best.”

  “For whom?”

  His brow lifted, part amusement, part arrogance. It was rare for anyone to question him or his motives. “What’s between us is between us. I wouldn’t care to have you gossiped about or to see your name splashed in the papers.”

  “As it was with Bennett.” There was a touch of anger in her voice as she pushed herself up, leaned back against the headboard and crossed her arms. “I prefer to worry about my reputation myself.”

  “And you’re free to do so.” He ran a finger over her bare shoulder. “But I shall worry about it, as well.”

  “About mine or yours?”

  He wasn’t a patient man by nature. It was something he’d had to work on step by frustrating step over the years. Now he put as much as he could into practice. “Eve, there’s already talk since that picture of the two of us was in the paper.”

  “I’m glad.” She tossed back her hair and watched him steadily. There was hurt. She wasn’t sure where it had come from or why it was so acute, but it was there. Hurt could so easily lead to being unreasonable. “I’m not ashamed of being your lover.”

  “Is that what you think? That I’m ashamed?”

  “You come to me late and leave early, before the sun’s up, as if you were ashamed of where you spent the night and with whom.”

  His hand went to her throat, holding there firmly enough for her to feel the strength and the fury behind it. She kept her eyes level, though emotion burned hot and dark in his. “Don’t ever say that. How can you even think it?”

  “What do I have to make me think differently?”

  His fingers tightened on her throat, making her eyes widen in shock before his mouth came down, hard and furious, on hers. She struggled, wanting words, whatever words he would give her, but his hands were quick and desperate. Ruthless, he took them over her, exploiting every weakness he had discovered in more gentle ways.

  Her body was a mass of throbbing, pulsing nerves. Any and all coherent thought had fled, to be replaced by sensation after rioting sensation. Her arms locked tight around him, she accepted what he would give. Her body answered his with the same fire and fury.

  The edge of temper met the edge of passion. They scraped, grated, then with a merger that was anything but placid, became one.

  * * *

  He lay looking up at the ceiling. She was curled beside him, but they no longer touched. The sun was burning off the mist.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She let out a shaky breath, but her voice was strong and clear when she spoke. “I’m not easily hurt, Alexander.”

  “Aren’t you?” He wanted to reach out, to take her hand in his, but wasn’t sure she would accept it. “We need to find a time, a place to talk. It isn’t now.”

  “No, it isn’t now.”

  When he got out of bed, she stayed where she was. She heard him dress, and waited for the sound of the door opening and closing again. Instead she felt a hand light on her shoulder.

  “I feel many things for you, but not shame. Will you wait for me at the theater? I’ll find a way to be there by six.”

  She didn’t look at him, knowing that if she did she’d beg him to stay, and perhaps beg for a great deal more than he could give. “Yes, I’ll wait.”

  “Sleep awhile longer.”

  She said nothing. The door opened and closed.

  Eve squeezed her eyes tight, fighting a sense of despair and loss. He’d given her passion, but no answers. Once she’d promised herself his passion would be enough. It was a hard blow to learn now that it couldn’t be. She wanted his heart, without the restrictions he placed on it. She wanted to be loved, cherished, accepted. What she wanted was more than she could have, and she couldn’t live with less.

  Understanding this, Eve rose. It was time to begin her life again. There would be no regrets for the dream that had flickered briefly into life.

  * * *

  Alexander walked into his father’s library and acknowledged the men already present. His father sat in a wing chair, just crushing out a cigarette. Reeve, with papers on his lap and spread on the table before him, sat on the sofa with Bennett. Malori, the chief of intelligence, sat on the edge of a chair, lighting his pipe.

  The men had met the evening before, and would meet again for however long it took to crush the threat Deboque held over them. They began on familiar ground, starting with the security Reeve had implemented at the palace, at the theater, at the Aid to Handicapped Children center and at his own home. There was additional information regarding the airport and the docks.

  “You’ve assigned an extra detective to each of us,” Bennett put in.

  “For as long as it’s necessary.”

  He shifted restlessly against the restraint, but accepted it. “Do you really think they’ll go through Eve again? They have to know we’d tap the phones and keep her watched.”

  Malori puffed on his pipe. “Deboque’s greatest flaw, Your Highness, is arrogance. I believe his next move will come through Mademoiselle Hamilton, and soon.”

  “I repeat what I said last evening,” Alexander began. “Eve should be sent back to America.”

  Malori tapped the bowl of his pipe. “That would not stop Deboque, Your Highness.”

  “It would ensure her safety.”

  “Alexander.” Reeve watched the prince light a cigarette. “If what the investigation has turned up is fact, we need Eve. If she would go,” he continued before Alexander could speak, “I’d put her on a plane myself. Since she insists on staying, the solution is to guard her and wait.”

  “Wait.” Alexander blew out a stream of smoke. “Wait for her
to be put in jeopardy again. If, as you believe, someone inside the theater placed the calls, planted the bomb, she’s in danger even now from one of her own people.”

  “Deboque isn’t concerned with her,” Malori said quietly. “She’s only a pawn.”

  “And pawns are expendable.”

  “Alexander.” Armand spoke for the first time. His voice was as quiet as Malori’s but held the unmistakable ring of authority. It was a cool voice, often bordering on the cold, but it was rarely harsh. His arms rested on the chair as he paused and looked over his steepled fingers. “We must deal with this calmly, as calmly as Deboque. You understand that I care for Eve as I care for my own children. Everything that can be done to protect her will be done.”

  “She is not Cordinian.” Alexander struggled with emotion, intellect. “She is a guest in our country. We are responsible for her.”

  “We don’t forget our responsibilities.” The authority was there. Mixed with it was a compassion that couldn’t be given full sway. “If one of Eve’s people is an agent of Deboque’s, we will learn the identity. Logically Deboque will not order her harmed, or his agent will no longer have a reason to remain in Cordina.”

  “And if Deboque is not logical?”

  “Such men are always logical. There is no passion in them.”

  “Mistakes can be made.”

  “Yes.” Armand thought of Seward. The grief remained inside. “Mistakes can be made. We must see we don’t make any.” His gaze shifted to Reeve. “I leave this to you.”

  “Everything that can be done on the short term is being done. As to the long term, Malori and I have agreed on an operative who will infiltrate Deboque’s organization.”

  “I agreed with reservations,” Malori mumbled.

  “No need for them.” Reeve’s lips curved, then he handed Armand a folder. “Malori and I do agree that the identity of this operative should be known only to the three of us.”

  “It concerns us all,” Bennett interrupted.

  “Yes.” Reeve nodded. “And the life of this operative depends on secrecy. The fewer people who know who is working for us, the better chance we have of succeeding. It may take months, more likely years. You have to understand we’re only planting a seed here. It needs time to grow.”

  “I wish only to see an end to Deboque in my lifetime.” Armand kept the file closed. He would look at it later, then lock it in his personal safe. “I want regular reports on the operative’s progress.”

  “Of course.” Reeve gathered the rest of his papers. “If we can capture Deboque’s agent and interrogate him, perhaps the rest won’t be necessary.”

  As the group of men rose, Alexander addressed his father. “If you have a few minutes, I need to speak with you.”

  Understanding his brother’s need for privacy, Bennett dropped a hand on his arm. “I’m going to go to the theater this morning. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  Alexander placed a hand over his brother’s. There was no need for gratitude to be spoken. “Don’t let her know that’s what you’re doing. She’ll kick you out.”

  “I’ll make a nuisance of myself and she’ll tolerate me.” Then he walked over and kissed his father’s cheek. “We are together in this, Papa.”

  Armand sat where he was, watching until the door closed at his son’s back. None of the reports, the files, the plots that had been discussed, had eased his mind. But the simple words, the simple kiss, had done much more than that.

  “Of all my children, Bennett is the only one I cannot predict.”

  “He’d be flattered to hear it.”

  “As a boy he found every broken bird, every injured kitten, always believing he could make them well again. Sometimes he did. At times I worry that he feels too deeply. He’s so like your mother.” Armand shook his head and rose. “Should I order coffee, Alexander?”

  “No, not for me. I have to go to Le Havre. Welcome a ship.”

  “Such enthusiasm.”

  “I’ll show it when the time comes.”

  “I don’t doubt it. This concerns Eve.”

  “Yes.”

  With a nod Armand walked to the window to throw it open. Maybe the breeze from the sea would air out some of the tension still in the room. “Alex, I have eyes. I think I understand what you’re feeling.”

  “Perhaps you do. But I’ve just begun to understand what I’m feeling myself.”

  “When I was a young man, younger than you, I found myself ruling a country. I had been prepared for it, of course, from the moment of birth. But no one, especially not I, had expected it to come so soon. Your grandfather became ill and died in less than three days. It was a difficult time. I was twenty-four. Many members of the council worried about my age and my temperament.” He turned then, smiling a little. “I wasn’t always as discreet as you have been.”

  “Bennett was bound to inherit something from your side.”

  For the first time in days Armand laughed. “I was not quite that indiscreet. In any case, I’d ruled less than a year, when I took an official trip to England. I saw Elizabeth, and all the stray pieces of my life came together. To love like that, Alex, is painful, and more beautiful than anything you can see or touch.”

  “I know.”

  Armand turned fully. His breath came out on a long sigh. “I thought perhaps you did. Have you considered what you would be asking of her?”

  “Again and again. And again and again I’ve told myself I can’t do it. She’ll make all the sacrifices, all the adjustments. I don’t even know if I can make her understand just how much her life would change if she accepted me.”

  “Does she love you?”

  “Yes.” Then he paused and pressed his fingers to his eyes. “God, I hope she does. It’s difficult for me to be certain of her feelings when I’ve been fighting my own for so long.”

  This, too, he understood. When he had fallen in love, he had had no father to speak to. “Do you want my approval or my advice?”

  Alexander dropped his hand. “Both.”

  “Your choice pleases me.” Armand smiled and walked toward his son. “She will make a princess Cordina can be proud of.”

  “Thank you.” They clasped hands. “But I think being a princess is something that won’t please Eve nearly as much as Cordina.”

  “Americans.” Now Armand grinned. “Like your beaufrère, she would prefer to avoid such things as titles and positions of state.”

  “But unlike Reeve, she’d have no choice.”

  “If she loves you, the crown she’ll wear won’t be so heavy. Nor will yours, when your day comes.”

  “If.” Alexander let the word hang. “I appreciate your approval, Father. Now your advice.”

  “There are few people you can open your heart to, open it fully. When you find a woman to share your life, hold nothing back from her. A woman’s shoulders are strong. Use them.”

  “I want to protect her.”

  “Of course. Doing one doesn’t mean not doing the other. I have something for you.” He left the library through the connecting door to his office. Moments later he was back with a small black velvet box. He held it tightly in his hand as he went to his son.

  “I wondered what I would feel when I gave this to you.” He stared down at the box in his hand. “There’s regret that it’s mine to give again, pride that I have a son to give it to.” His emotions, always so well controlled, swirled to the surface and were battled down. “There’s pleasure that my son is a man I can respect, not only a boy I love.”

  He passed it over, hesitating a moment before his fingers broke contact with the box. “Time passes,” he murmured. “This is the ring I gave your mother on the night I asked her to marry me. It would please me, when you ask Eve, if you would give her this.”

  “There’s nothing I would be prouder to give her.” He couldn’t open the box, but his hand gripped it as tightly as his father’s had. “Thank you, Papa.”

  Armand looked at his son, as tall as he. He remembered
the boy and all the years in between. He smiled and embraced the man. “Bring her to me when she wears it.”

  * * *

  Eve watched two stagehands, armed with spray cans, painting pipe. She stifled a yawn and made a notation. She was definitely going to have to invest in some new equipment once they were back in the States, which was in less than five weeks. In two days the first production would open; four weeks later the last production would close. They’d take a couple of days to break down the last set, then that would be that.

  The company was already booked on a road tour through the fall. She was negotiating a three-week run in L.A. for January. And if she didn’t miss her guess, her desk would be piled with offers and inquiries after her return from Cordina.

  Her return.

  Eve walked to the stage manager’s desk at stage right and tried to concentrate on the rehearsal. The actors were in full costume and makeup. She couldn’t see a flaw. The big red urn she’d commissioned Pete to buy stood out like the beacon she’d imagined. The upholstery on the sofa was faded. The doilies were bright and stiffly starched.

  It was perfect. She had organized it, and it was perfect. She wished she could find the pleasure in it that she’d always felt before.

  “It looks great.”

  The whisper at her ear had her jolting. “Ben.” She pressed her clipboard against her heart. “What are you doing here? This is supposed to be a closed rehearsal.”

  “Of course that didn’t include me. I explained that to the doorman. Tell me, do you call him ‘Pops’ like in the American movies?”

  “I wouldn’t dare.” She glanced behind him and saw his guards hovering at a safe and discreet distance. “Shouldn’t you be out doing something official?”

  “Don’t lecture. I’ve been slaving away for weeks. I stole a couple of hours.” The two precious hours he would have spent with his horses. “I just thought I’d stop by and see how things were going.”

  “If you’re looking for Doreen,” Eve began dryly, “she’s upstairs in Rehearsal Hall B. We do have three other plays to deal with, you know.”