by Penny Jordan
The great hall was ablaze with lights, a fire roaring in the large fireplace, although Max suspected that it was the radiators that in reality kept the double-height room so warm.
The room’s heat made Ionanthe frown and say accusingly to Ariadne, ‘You’ve got the heating on.’
‘Of course. You don’t think we’d allow our Prince to freeze to death, do you?’
Ionanthe’s lips compressed. She knew how much wood it took to warm the great hall, and what backbreaking labour it was to provide that wood.
‘I don’t want you using a whole winter’s supply of logs to keep the castle warm just because we’re here,’ she told Ariadne.
When they got back to the royal palace she must make arrangements, somehow, for extra supplies of wood to be delivered to the castle, to replace that which would be burned keeping the place warm for them, she decided.
‘You needn’t worry about that,’ Ariadne assured her. ‘Pieter has turned off all the radiators except those down here and in the drawing room—and in the state bedroom, of course. Made up the bed with that special linen your mother liked so much, Magda has.’
As the full meaning of Ariadne’s words sank into Ionanthe’s head, a trill of horror shot through her. ‘You’ve put us both in the state bedroom?’ she demanded.
‘Well, of course I have. Where else would you sleep?’ Ariadne demanded. ‘Decorated especially for His Highness’s great-grandfather, that room was.’
Ionanthe didn’t dare look at Max.
‘I suppose you’ll be wanting Pieter and the men to go out and bring you a Christmas tree in? Wouldn’t be a proper Christmas without one, after all. It’s time we had you here for Christmas. A place isn’t a proper home without family in it.’
Ionanthe listened to the older woman with growing dismay as she realised that Ariadne thought they were here for Christmas. Ariadne was attempting to sound disapproving, but Ionanthe could see how pleased she was. She hated having to disappoint her, but she would have to put her right and correct her misapprehension.
‘Ariadne, this is only a brief visit—’ she began. But to her astonishment Max put his hand on her arm and shook his head.
‘What the Princess means, Ariadne, is that we are unable to stay as long as we’d like.’
‘Well, as to that, it’s the mountains that says how long a person stays. You should know that,’ she reminded Ionanthe. ‘You’ve been snowed in here often enough, after all. I remember the year that sister of yours kicked up such a fuss because she couldn’t go to some party or other. Chasing after some boy, I expect, and in no mind to be stopped. Always spoiled, she was. The old Baron could never see her for what she really was. Always did favour shine over substance, he did. More fool him.’
Ionanthe shot a quick look at Max, wondering how he was reacting to Ariadne’s criticism of Eloise, but it was impossible to guess his thoughts from his expression.
Ariadne hadn’t finished. ‘You’ll find this one a different kettle of fish from the other,’ she informed Max bluntly. ‘You’ve got the better bargain with her.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Max agreed, keeping his face straight.
‘I am right. Watched them both growing up, I did. That Eloise always did think too well of herself and not well enough of others. Of course this one’s just the opposite—always putting others first. What you want, my girl, is a nursery full of little ones to keep you busy.’
Ariadne might be speaking to her, but she was looking at Max, Ionanthe recognised, with a roguish glint in her small currant-dark eyes. She’d even put her head on one side, as though inviting Max to agree with her.
CHAPTER TEN
‘BEFORE you complain, let me remind you that none of this is my fault. I didn’t ask you to come here with me,’ Ionanthe told Max sharply.
They were in the state bedroom, and the flush on Ionanthe’s cheeks was caused more by her emotions than by the heat or the fire—even if she was desperately trying not to look as though she cared about the fact that the room possessed only one double bed, and not a particularly wide double bed at that.
‘What exactly is it that you expect me to complain about?’ Max asked quizzically.
Ionanthe gave him a suspicious look. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean. We’re going to have to share this… this room, or risk Ariadne making a dreadful fuss.’
Max grinned at her. ‘Well, we certainly don’t want that, do we? She might send us to bed supperless.’
To her own disbelief Ionanthe discovered that she desperately wanted to giggle.
‘She can’t help it,’ she defended the elderly woman. ‘She’s always been the same. Grandfather used to get infuriated with her and threaten to sack her, but she’d just ignore him.’
‘Sensible woman.’ Max flicked back the heavy silk linen window hanging and informed her, ‘It’s still snowing.’
‘Then you’d better work some royal magic to make it stop,’ Ionanthe told him shortly, adding, ‘I don’t know why Ariadne assumed we’d be here for Christmas. I certainly never said that. When I telephoned I simply said that I’d be staying for a couple of nights.’
‘It won’t be the end of the world if we do have to stay, will it? Or do you have some special reason for wanting to leave?’
Ionanthe frowned. ‘No, of course not. I was thinking of you. It will be expected that you spend Christmas at the palace.’
Max crooked one eyebrow and asked wryly, ‘Why?’
For a reason Ionanthe didn’t want to dwell on, something about the way Max was looking at her made her feel stupidly flustered—hot and flustered, she acknowledged. Treacherously, the image of a fig, luscious and ripe and dusted in sugar, slipped tauntingly into view inside her head. Now she didn’t only feel flustered, she felt flushed as well—hot and flustered and—She licked uncomfortably dry lips. Surely this wasn’t what was going to happen to her every time she was alone in a bedroom with Max?
Ionanthe struggled to replace the teasing image inside her head with a blank screen, knowing that she still hadn’t answered Max’s question and that he was quite obviously expecting her to do so.
‘I wouldn’t have thought that state business comes to a halt just because it’s Christmas,’ she eventually replied, in a stuffy, righteous voice she hardly recognised as her own.
Max looked less than impressed by her argument, one dark eyebrow inclining even more steeply. ‘I can conduct what state business I have to attend to just as easily here as there. One of the benefits of modern technology,’ he informed her dryly, indicating the Blackberry he had just removed from his jacket pocket.
Ionanthe took a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself, and was then forced to exhale it faster than she’d wanted when she saw that Max had turned away from her to remove the jacket of his business suit. The fabric of his shirt stretched across the breadth of his shoulders as he did so. Beneath that shirt lay flesh so smooth and honed that just looking at it was an intensely sensual experience, never mind what happened when she actually touched it—and him.
What was the matter with her? Hadn’t she sat through innumerable business meetings during which men had removed their suit jackets without reacting like this?
But they hadn’t been Max.
Like the muffled sound of a warning bell rung so hard and deep that its echo shook the depths, Ionanthe felt a tremor of warning deep within her body.
No! It was inconceivable that this man should be the one to affect her like this. The adage that it was too late to lock the stable door after the horse had bolted had surely never been more appropriate.
Ionanthe knew that if Max were to turn to her now and take her in his arms she would not be able to resist him—or herself. But when he did turn back to her he merely said casually, ‘Didn’t Ariadne say something about having made you some of your favourite soup?’
‘You’re hungry?’ Ionanthe guessed.
She couldn’t look at him. She was too afraid that he might see her disappointment and guess its cause
. It was so unfair that, having taken flight here to protect herself from him, all she had done was leave herself more vulnerable. They would be thrown far more into one another’s company here than they would ever have been at court.
Max studied Ionanthe’s downbent head. The fall of her hair revealed a glimpse of the elegant length of her neck, her skin as luminous as a pearl. Desire flamed through him, hot and urgent. He wanted to go to her and draw her back against him, tasting the soft warmth of her skin as he did so, waiting for her to turn in his arms and press herself into him, silently saying that she shared his need, offering him her lips, herself, her love…
Her love? Was that really what the hunger gnawing at him was? A need not just for the sexual pleasure he had already shared with her, but for something richer and deeper, something stronger, more primitive and eternal?
Was he hungry? Ionanthe had asked, and the true answer was yes, he was. Hungry for Ionanthe. Hungry for exactly what he had told himself he must not want because of the danger attached to it.
How had it happened? Max had no idea.
‘Yes, I’m hungry,’ he agreed.
His voice was flat and hard, and for some reason it left Ionanthe with an ache in her throat and smarting eyes.
The large, comfortable kitchen was busy. A young woman whom Ionanthe vaguely recognised was whisking about, whilst two young children were seated at the table crayoning.
‘You’ll remember Marta, Gorge’s youngest,’ Ariadne informed Ionanthe, and the pretty young woman gave Ionanthe a shy smile. ‘Married to our Tomas, she is now, with two young ones of her own.’
Ionanthe returned the young woman’s smile.
‘I’m teaching my two their letters, Highness, just like you taught me mine. Ever so grateful to you and your mother we were, for telling our parents that we should have our schooling. I’ve told my Tomas that our girls are going to get their schooling no matter what.’
Ariadne, who was stirring a large pot on the stove, gave a derisory snort. ‘Soft as butter, Tomas is—not like fathers were in my day. Them parents of yours have a lot to answer for, filling folks’ heads with ideas above their station with all that talk of schooling and the like.’
‘Take no notice of Mam,’ Marta told Ionanthe cheerfully. ‘Proud as punch of our two girls, she is, and always telling them that they’ve got to pay attention to their lessons. Teachers is what I’d like them to be. But they’d have to go to the mainland for that, and that costs money.’
Watching Marta’s bright smile give way to uncertainty and anxiety, Ionanthe reached out towards her, telling her without thinking, ‘Don’t worry, Marta. The money will be there for them. I’m planning to set up a fund in my parents’ name, out of the money my grandfather left. It will provide scholarships for children like yours to get all the education they need.’
It was Ariadne who spoke first in the silence that followed Ionanthe’s impulsive declaration, saying triumphantly to her daughter-in-law, in whose eyes emotional tears were beginning to glisten, ‘There—you see. I told you our Princess would see to it that something was done. Not that you’ll have an easy time persuading some folk to send their children to school,’ Ariadne added darkly.
‘All the children of Fortenegro should have the right to a good education. It is my duty as Fortenegro’s ruler to ensure that they do.’
Max’s voice was firm and uncompromising, causing them all to look at him.
‘My wife is to be applauded for what she plans to do, but there must come a day when the children on this island receive their education as a right, not as a gift.’
Ionanthe couldn’t take her gaze from Max’s face. They might almost have been alone as her expression showed him how much his declaration meant to her.
‘Do you really mean that?’
‘Yes,’ he confirmed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘CONVINCING the barons and some of the community elders that no child should leave school before sixteen won’t be easy, never mind winning them round to the idea of Fortenegro having its own colleges and university,’ Ionanthe warned Max.
They were alone in the great hall, having just finished their dinner, and Ionanthe’s face was flushed with delight and the hope that Max really shared her belief that changes needed to be made, allowing the children of the island to receive the educational opportunities they were currently denied.
‘There will be opposition, I know,’ Max allowed.
‘A great deal of opposition,’ Ionanthe agreed.
She paused. The French diplomat’s comment about the licensing of coal mining was a spectre she desperately wanted to banish.
‘What you’re planning will be very expensive,’ she began hesitantly. ‘You will need to increase the island’s revenue to the Crown.’
‘I have several plans in mind for that,’ Max told her. Should he bring up the subject of the mineral reserves on her land? He wanted to do so. The realisation that she shared at least one of his plans, and the sense of being at one with her that had created over dinner, made him want to be open and honest with her. But now was perhaps not the time for a further potentially lengthy discussion.
The fire was burning low; Ionanthe was smothering a small yawn. There were more intimate ways in which he wanted to communicate with her right now; more personal bonds he wanted to forge with her.
‘You’re tired?’
Max’s words were a statement, not a question, and the smile which accompanied them made Ionanthe’s heart leap and flounder inside her chest.
‘Yes,’ she admitted.
‘We’ve travelled a long way today, sometimes over difficult and unfamiliar territory, but for my own part I have to say that the journey has been very worthwhile,’ Max told her, before emphasising softly, ‘Very worthwhile.’
Ionanthe looked at him and saw that she had been right to sense that he was not referring to their journey to the castle.
‘I agree,’ she responded, picking her words as carefully as she could.
From the smile Max was giving her, it had obviously been the response he wanted.
‘Time for bed?’ he suggested.
Ionanthe struggled to control the leap of delight in her body.
‘I’m sorry that Ariadne has put us both in the same room.’
Max stood up and came towards her, reaching down to take her hand and pull her gently out of her chair.
‘Are you? That’s disappointing. Perhaps I can persuade you to change your mind?’
Ionanthe’s breath caught in her throat, her thoughts a giddy whirl of mingled disbelief and excitement. Did Max really mean what he seemed to be saying? The evening and their shared conversation had brought them so close that for her there was only one way she wanted it to end.
It was because it was so cold on the stone stairs and walking down the long passage that led to their room in the tallest turret tower of the castle that they had to walk so close together, with Max’s arm around her, holding her close to his side. That was what Ionanthe told herself, but it was not a valid excuse for what happened outside their bedroom door, when Max pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
‘You taste of cold mountain air and magic,’ Max told her, tracing the shape of her lips with the pad of his thumb.
‘Magic hasn’t got a taste,’ Ionanthe objected huskily.
‘Yes, it has,’ Max corrected her. ‘It tastes of wonder and witchery and woman—the woman I want more than any other woman I have ever wanted before.’
Ionanthe couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She hardly dared breathe in case she broke what she knew must be some kind of spell.
Her eyes dark with emotion, she asked, ‘Do you want me more than you wanted Eloise?’
There was a small pause, during which she trembled and Max’s arms tightened around her, and then he answered her truthfully.
‘There is no comparison.’
He kissed her again, his mouth hot and hard on hers, before he withdrew from her to say gruffly
, ‘I can’t kiss you as I want to out here, and if I don’t stop now I won’t be able to.’
They were inside the room and Max was locking the door. The room’s warmth welcomed them, the soft glow of the fire casting softly caressing shadows.
Ionanthe went to the window and drew back the heavy curtain to perch on the small window seat and look out. Almost immediately Max joined her, coming to stand behind her, his body close to hers and his hand on her shoulder.
‘It’s still snowing,’ Ionanthe announced.
‘Yes,’ Max agreed, turning her to him.
There were no figs this time, but Max said softly that he didn’t care, that Ionanthe herself was all he needed and wanted.
Ionanthe couldn’t bring herself to voice her own feelings. She was half afraid that doing so might break the spell that was binding them together. It was enough that he was there and they were together.
The dying embers of the fire in the grate threw out enough light for her to see as well as feel the muscles and the strength of Max’s body as she caressed him with secretly avid hunger and delight. Now she could marvel at the ease with which he could arouse her to those heights she had never imagined existed, instead of fearing it as she had done that first time.
They touched and caressed and kissed in a sensual warmth of absorbed pleasure, accompanied by the music of their soft sounds of mutual arousal which grew less soft and more urgent as their passion took fire.
The touch of Max’s hand cupping the underside of her breast whilst his thumb-tip rubbed slowly against her nipple had Ionanthe crying out to him in sweet pleasure. When his lips took possession of her eager flesh in response to that cry Ionanthe held his head to her breast, arching her back in delight. Their bodies threw erotic shadows on the wall.
This time Ionanthe was bolder, determined to take her own pleasure from caressing and tasting Max as ardently as he had done her. Experimentally she drew her fingertips along the inside of his thigh—just the merest brushing of her nails in slow circles that at first held him rigid and then, when she persisted, drove him to groan and offer himself up to her with an intimate longing she couldn’t resist.