Royally Mine: 22 All-New Bad Boy Romance Novellas

by Susan Stoker

  “You shouldn’t be here with me in the middle of the night,” she said. “You ought to leave at once.”

  “At once?” He grinned at her breathless command, making a mockery of her uneasiness. “That sounds serious. I’m honored to meet you, Princess Cassandra.” He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss upon the back of her palm. “I’m Prince Gideon of Hastings, your future husband.”

  His steady gaze unsettled her. She imagined he meant it to do so, and tugged her hand away. “We’ve been introduced, Sir. Now you must go.”

  “I will. But a good fiancé would tuck you into bed first, and give you a good-night kiss.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t—” Her words transitioned to a shriek as he lifted her.

  “Put your arms about my neck, darling, and I’ll carry you over.”

  She was too busy trying to maintain her modesty as her nightshift drifted up her thighs. “I can walk, Your Highness. Please, let me down. I can put myself to bed.”

  “Perhaps, but I’d prefer to do it. And there’s the matter of that kiss.”

  “I don’t— We shouldn’t—”

  He set her down on the bed, against the pile of pillows, then sat beside her, hemming her in. When she scooted in the other direction, he braced an arm beside her, impeding her way.

  “We shouldn’t what?” he prompted, smiling down at her. “Bid each other good night? But we’re to be married. There’s no harm in it, I’m sure.”

  She placed an open hand against his chest as he moved closer. When she shrunk back, he slid forward. She could feel the long length of his thigh against hers. He wasn’t hurting her, not exactly, but she felt afraid. She’d heard whispers of his wildness, his bad behavior.

  “Please go,” she whispered. “If you stay, you may…debauch me.”

  “Debauch you?” His unsettling smile widened. “Pray, sweet angel, what does that word mean? Do you even know?”

  She stared at his collar, his pearl-pinned cravat. “It’s something bad.” She dared a look at his eyes, and saw a depth of haughty, worldly knowledge that seemed to confirm the rumors she’d heard. “You must go, please. You’re frightening me.”

  He tsked. “You’re the frightening one, Princess Cassandra, with your hair black as night...and what color are your eyes? It’s hard to see by firelight. May I light a candle? Will that ease your fears?”

  He lit the one beside her bed, then lifted it between their faces, holding it steady so no wax dripped upon her lap. She stared into his strange, pale eyes as he studied hers in turn. She wasn’t sure what shocked her more—his starkly masculine features, or the smattering of pale freckles on the bridge of his nose.

  “Your eyes are not as black as I supposed,” he commented after a moment. “I see a few flecks of dark green.”

  “Dark green?” No one had ever said that.

  “I definitely see green, although they’re mostly black. My eyes, on the other hand, are mostly blue.” His lids came up, revealing deep, changeable hues illuminated by the candle’s glow. “Some say they’re lilac-colored. I don’t know.”

  Lilac was an apt description of the shade. “I’ve never seen eyes that color,” she said. “Not where I’m from.”

  “They’re a common enough trait in the Hastings’ royal line. Perhaps our children will inherit them.” He put the candle back, so his face fell into shadow. “I would like to kiss you now, so you can get to sleep.”

  “Oh, I can go to sleep without a kiss.” She scooted sideways again, and again his arm impeded her.

  “We’re to be married, Cassandra.” He said her name like a caress. “What are you afraid of?”

  “I don’t… I don’t know.” She gave him a pleading look. “I’ve never been kissed before…in a bed…like this.”

  “Have you been kissed out of a bed?” His eyebrows lifted. “They promised me an innocent bride.”

  “I am,” she insisted, before she realized he was teasing her. She looked away, flushing hot. “I haven’t seen a man in a great while, much less been kissed by one. I’ve been living in a convent for years.”

  He was silent a moment, then asked, “Do you wish you’d been allowed to stay there?”

  “No.” The word came faster and more forcefully than any of her words before. “I wanted to leave Highcliffe. I wasn’t happy living with the sisters.”

  “Why weren’t you happy?”

  She considered how to explain it, how to describe the astringent quality of the sisters’ interactions, the rebukes and punishments, the suspicious looks, and, as the day of her nuptial journey neared, the heightened warnings and shame. She’d heard the stories of her own parents’ marriage, whispers of fatal unhappiness resulting in her mother’s early death.

  She pushed down panic and met Prince Gideon’s gaze. “I suppose none of it matters. We’re to be wed...” She swallowed hard. “In two days.”

  “Indeed we are.” He reached to touch her cheek, a whisper-soft caress. “So you must allow me to give you a kiss.”

  She had time to take one short, shuddery breath before his lips met hers. It was a most peculiar experience, feeling a stranger’s mouth warm against her mouth, his lips pressing against hers, somehow coaxing them to respond. His nose brushed against her cheek, and one of his hands traced down her neck, coming to rest on her shoulder. The contact lasted only a moment or two, but by the time he ended the short kiss, she found herself unable to think.

  “Have you survived your first ‘debauching’ at my hands?” he asked lightly.

  She touched her lips. Had she survived? A man had embraced her, moved his lips against hers and held her close in an amorous way. She didn’t know what to feel, or what to say. She pressed back against the pillows, afraid to look at him.

  “Have I behaved badly?” he said in the silence. “Forgive me. I couldn’t resist stealing the innocence of your lips. But you must have your sleep, Princess Cassandra, if you’re to make my official acquaintance tomorrow at breakfast.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I wish you the sweetest of dreams.”

  By the time she gathered the courage to look up, he’d left as quickly as he’d appeared, into the shadows, and then, presumably, through some hidden door.

  “Official acquaintance?” she whispered, her arms hugged tight about her waist. She thought she ought to take the candle and find his hidden door, and stack the heaviest furniture she could find in front of it so he couldn’t visit again.

  The innocence of her lips? What a rakehell, what a wicked poet.

  She bundled back under the sheets and blankets, furtively touching her now-less-innocent lips. He hadn’t even asked if she wanted to kiss him. The whispers she’d heard about Prince Gideon’s questionable behavior were proving to be true.

  Chapter Two

  Gideon woke feeling like hell, having tossed and turned most of the night. Bertram rapped on the dressing room door, then entered and stared dolefully in his direction with occasional, subtle throat-clearing that grew less subtle with each passing quarter hour.

  “Stop it,” he finally said to the servant. “I know I have to get up.”

  “The time, Your Highness. Your bride, and breakfast…”

  “Of course. I intend to show my face. You may stop coughing and grunting before you injure your throat.”

  “Very well, Your Highness,” he replied with a twist to his lips.

  Gideon climbed from bed, stretching, remembering last night’s strange, chaste kiss with his princess. She’d considered it a terrible trespass, even though he’d acted with restraint. He’d squelched the urge to shock her with rough possession, to frighten her in the darkness and secrecy of their first meeting and show her that he—and only he—would rule within their marriage. He was the prince, after all, the future king.

  So why hadn’t he been rough and possessive?

  He crossed to the washbasin as a footman poured hot, fresh water. “Bert, you must make me the picture of elegance,” he told his valet. “It’s not every day
a young man meets the woman he’s to marry in, oh, what is it, twenty-four hours or so?”

  “You are ever a paragon of elegance,” Bert replied with dry courtesy, and a speaking glance at his state of dissolution.

  Gideon peered into the looking glass, at sleep-swollen eyes, unkempt hair, and a full day’s beard-stubble. “Thank God you’re good at your job. I need extensive repair this morning.”

  “Up late, Your Highness?”

  He hadn’t been, at least not for the usual activities. Gideon had declined the laundry maid’s charms when she showed up for their weekly tryst, his thoughts preoccupied by Cassandra instead.

  “Have you seen the princess?” he asked Bert, to keep up the fiction that they hadn’t yet made one another’s acquaintance.

  The old retainer shook his head. “From a distance only. I’m sure she’s all that is to be desired in a royal consort.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Gideon fought a yawn since Bert was leaning over his jaw with a razor. Once the man completed a close and flawless shave, there was nothing to do but dress in a dark blue formal morning jacket and breeches, and present himself for breakfast.

  He hurried down the stairs and swept into the breakfast salon, nearly colliding with a servant. Gideon steadied the man’s plate of sweet buns before it crashed to the floor, then turned to greet his parents. His mother wore a beleaguered half-smile, and his father’s brow arched in that way that discouraged half-cocked excuses.

  Gideon drew himself up and turned to acknowledge the other two guests in the room: the frowning King of Carlisle, and his daughter, Princess Cassandra. As they stood to be formally introduced for the “first time,” he studied his betrothed in the daylight.

  She wore a pale pink gown with white flocked flowers, a strange color choice for breakfast, but it set off her dark eyes and hair to exotic effect. She was paler than he’d thought last night, especially standing next to her tanned, brutish father. Two dots of color stained her cheeks as she pretended not to know him. Her lips pursed and he thought, I have kissed those lips. The memory gave their awkward introduction a frisson of excitement, at least for him.

  She looked perturbed.

  He sat to her left at the table, in front of the remaining place setting. The King of Carlisle glared at him, unimpressed by his punctuality.

  “I pray your journey to Hastings was not too onerous, Your Majesty,” Gideon said politely.

  “It was onerous enough, but the weather was good.” He had a clipped accent that his daughter didn’t share, but from what Gideon could divine, they hadn’t spent much time together. They sat stiffly beside one another, like strangers. He felt a pang of sympathy. His own parents were warm and loving, both to him and one another.

  Having addressed her father first, he turned to the princess. She still wore a faint blush.

  “What do you think of Hastings so far?” he asked.

  “I haven’t seen much of it,” she answered quietly. “We arrived very late.”

  Their eyes met and held before hers skittered away. He cleared his throat and added extra cream to his tea. “Perhaps I can take you for a walk about the palace grounds this afternoon.”

  “Oh, dear,” his mother cut in. “What a gallant suggestion, but the princess has so much to do before tomorrow’s wedding. There are fittings, accessories and jewelry to choose, and trunks to unpack.”

  “So we’ll meet at the altar as strangers. Very well, if you wish.” He said it gently, teasing his mother, and she blushed and reached to pat Cassandra’s hand.

  “It’s a shame the two of you couldn’t know one another sooner,” his mother said. “I do think it’s better when there’s a courtship, but in this case—”

  “A courtship isn’t necessary when duty is involved,” interrupted Cassandra’s father. “I didn’t see my betrothed until they brought her to the chapel to recite her vows. If the bride’s an obedient and virtuous lass, that’s all that matters, and I can promise you my daughter will bring honor to your family. She was reared by the Sisters of Mercy in Highcliffe.”

  The princess didn’t so much listen to this speech as endure it. She bit her pretty lips, the lips he’d kissed, while wringing her hands in her lap. How sad, to be a parcel of statecraft, delivered to the altar of the most eligible prince on your wedding day.

  Gideon smiled at her to make the moment lighter, if not easier. “I regret we can’t spend time together on this busy day. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

  “Why, that’s what leisurely breakfasts are for,” his mother said, pushing back her chair. “We’re nearly finished. You two must stay and converse while we parents retire. No, you must stay and speak with Gideon, dear Cassandra,” she said when the princess stood as well. “You’ve a little time. Madame Benoit won’t be here to begin your fittings for another quarter hour.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said, sinking back into her chair.

  “An entire quarter hour!” Gideon said with a straight face. “We’ll find plenty to talk about.”

  Her father was the last to stand and quit the room with obvious reluctance. The doors remained open after his hard glance at the footmen. What, did he believe Gideon would ravish his daughter on the breakfast table mere hours before their wedding? It was so much easier to just sneak into her room.

  And he would, later. He’d kiss her again, perhaps even try to do more. He ate some toast with a slice of ham, thinking lascivious thoughts about the princess beside him, knowing the King of Carlisle wouldn’t approve.

  “Your father’s protective,” he said, breaking the strained silence between them.

  She looked up from her lap. “Aren’t all fathers protective?”

  “Yours seems especially so. But what do I know? You and I have only just met.”

  She stiffened with irritation. Ah, that fascinating dark green sparkle amidst her jet black eyes. She was polished and pretty in the light, like some exotic gem. She was hard like a stone as well.

  “We haven’t just met, Your Highness,” she said. “And it made me uncomfortable to lie to our parents about it.”

  “Are you too good to tell lies? Too perfect and chaste? You’ll learn that lies are necessary, especially when it comes to marriage.”

  “What a grim view of matrimony you have. Your parents seem settled enough.”

  “Oh, my parents adore one another, even though theirs was also an arranged marriage.” He slipped a finger over the sensitive skin at the inside of her wrist, under the table, where no one might see. “Perhaps we’ll come to adore one another, princess. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  When she moved her wrist away, he took her hand instead, bringing her fingers to his lips. She withdrew from his embrace as soon as she could, but not before he’d noticed that she bit her nails. In fact, they’d been gnawed nearly to the quick. Perhaps she’d bitten them in terror during her long journey to meet him and become his wife. The thought unsettled him.

  “What do you like to do?” he asked. “We must get to know one another. What sorts of things make you happy? Balls and dinners? The Opera? Card parties?”

  She almost bit her nails again, before she lowered her hand to her lap. “I’ve never played cards. The sisters wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Tedious, were they?”

  She gave him a look, but at the end, a small smile broke through. “Yes, they were tedious a great deal of the time.”

  “What brings you joy?” he pressed, searching for a way to brighten her mood.

  But she was back to her sober, demure self again. “I don’t know, Your Highness.”

  “Call me Gideon.”

  “I—I don’t know, Gideon. I like to walk outside, among nature. I like music.”

  “I love music,” he said. “We have that in common. The minstrels will play for hours at our wedding.”

  “Will they?” she asked, as if this were a surprise.

  “There’s always music at royal celebrations. Don’t you want to dan
ce with me once we’re wed?”

  “I’m not sure.” She looked away, blinking. “My gown will be so heavy and formal, I’ll barely be able to walk.”

  “Then I’ll lift you in my arms and carry you through the steps.”

  He said this with more lurid suggestion than gallantry. He was a lecherous person, which was probably why his parents were punishing him with this prudish choice of a wife. When Madame Benoit and her entourage of seamstresses, decorators, and haberdashers arrived at the palace, he excused himself from their company, leaving Cassandra to the tedious business of preparing to be a bride.

  ***

  Gideon didn’t glimpse his betrothed for the rest of the day. At noon, he’d ridden to a nearby village to avoid his own fitting, missing luncheon in the process, and the princess didn’t attend dinner because she was too tired.

  His parents carried on with preparations as if all was well, and he tried to do so too. As her father said, what did it matter if they knew one another? How much would his life really change? If Gideon had his way, he’d continue on as he always had, as a minimally depraved but generally responsible person. He’d be kind to his wife, even if she irritated him. If she grew too difficult, he’d invite her to live in a beautiful castle he built for her. A small castle, but her own castle. She’d appreciate that, and he’d be happy to do it once she provided a few heirs.

  So, Giddy old boy, you’re fantasizing how to get rid of her before you’re even wed?

  It wasn’t a great sign of his readiness for marriage, but either way, it was happening in the morning. At ten o’clock, they’d process to the chapel and recite their vows. After a day of busy celebration, they’d retire to their nuptial chamber and...

  And then he’d have to do something he’d never had the desire or opportunity to do thus far in his life: bed a virgin. A timorous one at that, convent-raised, possibly uncooperative.