The Prince's Captive Virgin

by Maisey Yates

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re my jailer. Because I find you uncivilized.”

  “And hideous,” he said, flashing her a slight smile, a brief glimpse of straight, white teeth, “I imagine.”

  There was no good way to answer that. He was...hideous wasn’t the right word. Damaged. Terrifying. Compelling. But certainly not hideous.

  “Show me anybody who wants to have dinner with the person keeping them captive,” she said, rather than responding to his previous statement.

  “That’s the thing about being a captive,” he said, his tone dry. “Choice is typically quite limited.”

  “What are you going to do if I refuse to go with you?” She planted her hands on her hips and took a step forward. She had to do this. She had to test him. Maybe he was a madman. Maybe he was going to go full Henry VIII on her. Off with her head, and all of that. Maybe he would do something even worse. But, until she tested the boundary, she wouldn’t know what manner of man she was dealing with.

  “I will pick you up, put you over my shoulder and carry you down to dinner whether you want to go or not.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Without missing a beat, he closed the distance between them, curved his arms around her waist and pulled her up off the ground, laying her over his shoulder. She was stunned. By his strength. By the ease at which he held her. By the heat of his body.

  He was just...so very hot. And it burned her all over, even in places where they didn’t touch. He moved, and she wobbled, grabbing hold of his shoulder to keep from falling. Then he turned and carried her from the room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHE WAS LIKE fire in his arms. That was all he could think as he strode out of her chamber, her lithe body wiggling over his shoulder as he carried her down the hall.

  He braced one hand on her lower back, gripping her calf with the other. It had been three years since he’d had his hands on a woman. And suddenly, he was conscious of every one of those years. He had been far too lost in the bleakness of it all to think of it in those terms until this moment.

  He had not thought of being with a woman. Hadn’t thought of touching one. He had only been conscious of his bed being empty as far as it being empty of his wife. Not being empty in a way that meant it might need to be filled by someone else.

  But now she was hot beneath his fingertips, smooth, and very much alive. So different from the last time he had touched a woman and found her cold, icy and lifeless.

  He gritted his teeth, clipping his jaw down tight as he continued to cart his protesting captive down the stairs and toward the dining room.

  “How dare you?” she shrieked, pounding one fist against his back.

  “How dare I feed you?” He laughed. “I truly am a monster.”

  “You could have sent me a crust of bread up to my room,” she continued to protest.

  “Yes, but alternatively you can sit and eat with me, and you can have lamb.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to eat a baby animal!”

  “Are you a vegetarian?”

  “No,” she said, sounding small, and slightly defeated in her response. “But still.”

  “If you have serious issues eating small, fuzzy things, you can always indulge in the vegetables and the couscous. Plus, there will be cake.”

  “I could have eaten that in my room,” she said, wiggling, that movement of her body against his sending a jolt of sensation through him. He ignored it.

  “No, agape, you could not have, because it is not on offer.”

  He stepped into the dining room, and set her down neatly in the chair next to his own. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. She truly was beautiful. Her dark hair was captured in a low ponytail, her blue eyes glittering in the dim light, distrustful, but nonetheless lovely. She had full lips, the kind he could vaguely remember enjoying back in the days when he had indulged in such pleasures.

  Then, there was her body, which was pleasingly round in all the right places, as he had observed while carrying her from her room.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I would like for you to eat. With the dramatics kept to a minimum.”

  She frowned, her expression stormy. “You did not allow me to trade places with my father so that you could feed me.”

  “No,” he said, “perhaps not. I allowed you to trade with your father because you asked me to allow it. And as I mentioned before, I thought, that just maybe you might be of more use to me than a dying man.”

  She recoiled. So completely that it was nearly comical. “What sort of use?”

  There was a time when a woman would have leaned in at such a suggestion, touched his hand, touched his arm, perhaps made things even more intimate by placing her hand on his thigh. But, those days had long since passed.

  He let his eyes wander back to those beautiful rosy lips. And just for a moment, he imagined crushing his ruined mouth right up against them. Yes, she would most certainly take offense at that.

  “Oh, anything I can think of. Propping up a wobbly desk, perhaps?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Be serious for a moment.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m always serious.” At least, he had been for the past few years. Until these past few moments.

  But, other than his friends, who he communicated with primarily over the phone, he only ever talked to his stripped-down staff. To Fos, the man who had been his father’s right hand for as long as Adam could remember. And to Athena, his cook. Otherwise, the staff tended to rotate, and they kept out of his way.

  Belle was one of the first new people he had spent any time with in longer than he could remember.

  “Seriously deranged.” She sniffed.

  A few moments later, Athena appeared, along with kitchen staff carrying trays. “Tonight,” she said, casting a swift glance over to Belle, “we have lamb with mint and yogurt, couscous and assorted vegetables. For dessert there is baklava.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Athena lingered.

  Adam sighed heavily. “Have you something to say, Athena?”

  “I don’t approve,” she said, her tone stiff.

  “And I don’t care,” he returned. “Leave us.”

  Athena cast him a sad glance, and then turned the same look onto Belle. Then she shook her head and walked out of the room.

  “Neither of your servants approve of you,” Belle said, looking the food over critically.

  “And my captive doesn’t seem to fear me,” he said. “I must be doing something wrong.”

  “I came all the way from California to face you down and get my father out of your dungeon. If I was going to freak out, I would have done it already.” She tilted her chin upward, her expression mutinous. And a little bit too committed to defiance.

  “We shall see. Eat.”

  He took his own command, digging into the food with relish. He picked up one of the lamb shanks, gnawing it close to the bone. He became aware a moment later of Belle’s watchful gaze on him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I assumed that... I assumed that royalty would have some sort of exemplary table manners. But, unless your customs are different here...”

  He set the meat down onto his plate. “Are you determined to insult me at every turn? I served you dinner. I installed you in a very nice room. All things considered, I find you ungrateful.”

  “I’m sorry—am I not expressing adequate gratitude for my imprisonment?”

  “You are a prisoner of your own design. You could have left your father here.”

  “Right. I could have left my father here to die.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Plenty of people would have. A great many people possess more self-interest than that.”

  “My father raised me,” she said, conviction in her tone. “He’s all I have. And it might be easy for you to dismiss him as nothing more than a paparazzo, but he’s everything to me. And you didn’t even let me say goodbye to him.”

&nb
sp; “I’m hardly going to keep you captive for the rest of your life,” he said. “Don’t be dramatic.”

  “He’s sick,” she insisted. “He might die while I’m away.”

  Adam felt an uncomfortable stab of conscience. He was not in the market for his conscience to make any kind of resurgence. Not now. “I truly hope that isn’t the case. However, he was well enough to sneak into my palace and collect photographs of me only a few weeks ago. Then he sold those photos and would do nothing to reclaim them. Tell me,” he said, “since you are so well versed in matters of popular culture, do you know exactly how I got my scars?”

  She looked down, shaking her head.

  “All it took was a relentless photographer harassing my driver on a night with poor driving conditions,” he said, his tone hard. “And in the end, damage was done that could not be undone.”

  He didn’t see the point in bringing up Ianthe. If she didn’t know, he wasn’t going to discuss it. Not something so intensely personal. Not pain that belonged to him, and him alone, so unquestionably.

  “I...” She looked away from him, and she had the decency to look ashamed. “I didn’t know. I didn’t. But, my father didn’t endanger you.”

  “No,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “He only broke into my home and invaded my privacy.”

  “He’s harmless,” she said. “I mean, I know that a lot of people don’t understand the paparazzi thing. And I guess it can be a little bit...intense.”

  “They are nothing but leeches. Bottom-feeders who leech off the fame of those who have either talent or power.”

  “Fine. But my father isn’t a leech. When my mother decided she didn’t want me he took care of me. He’s always taken care of me. And yes, he did it by taking pictures of celebrities. That’s what fed me, all of my life. But nobody else was going to feed me,” she said, her voice vibrating with conviction.

  “There are plenty of other lines of work to be in.”

  “Says the Prince who was born with his job. Other people have to work. And not only that, they have to work hard to get work in the first place.”

  “Are you lecturing me on how hard life can be?” He sat back in his chair. “Excuse me while I get a pen and paper so that I can take notes.”

  “I’m sorry about your accident. My father didn’t do that to you.”

  “But he was intending to use my personal tragedy for his gain.” He laughed. “In fact, he has succeeded.”

  “Yes,” she said, sputtering. “But it isn’t that simple. He isn’t doing it to hurt you. He needs help. He needed to be able to afford his treatments.”

  “Your justifications are hardly going to impress me. There is absolutely nothing I hate more than the press. Particularly the kind of fake press your father is a part of. But, it is of no matter to me. There is nothing I can do to prevent the publication of those photographs. Believe me—I have tried. But, I have figured out a way to take control of the situation.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, clearly skeptical.

  “I have not appeared in public since my accident. That’s why those photographs are so valuable, you know. Because everybody’s curious. How badly am I disfigured?”

  She blinked. “You haven’t been in public...at all.”

  “No. I think I mentioned when we first met—”

  “When you took me captive.”

  “If you prefer. I think I mentioned that I have someone ruling in my stead. However, the time frame on our agreement is running out, and if I do not regain control of the country, a general election will result. And so it will be the end of the monarchy as we know it.” He looked at the little woman sitting across from him and twisting her hands in her lap. “I would have thought you would have done a bit of cursory research on me before you tore off to my kingdom and offered to become my prisoner.”

  “There wasn’t time. Whatever you think about my father, I hope that you can understand that I love him.”

  “Love doesn’t matter except to the people it is between,” he said, thinking of his wife. The press certainly hadn’t cared that he’d loved her. They were always tormenting her, always working to dig up a scandal. “It is precious to no one else,” he finished, the words bitter.

  “Tell me. Tell me your plans. Since I clearly factor into them.”

  “I intend to keep you here with me, and then I intend to present you to the world as my mistress.”

  * * *

  Belle felt as though she had been slapped. “Your...what?”

  “My mistress. As I said, I have not been seen in the public eye since the accident. But, now those photographs are going to be published, and it is forcing me out of my seclusion. I suppose it had to happen eventually. I dislike greatly having my hand forced, but the timing coincides with an event that is politically expedient for me to attend.”

  He began to eat again, just as he had done earlier. There was something feral in the way that he handled his food. In his posture. He wasn’t at all the way she imagined a prince might be. Though, when he talked about how long he had been away from the public eye, it all made a bit more sense. He had been here, she assumed. Nearly alone in this castle, answering to no one but himself. Clearly, performing for no one at all.

  His manner was rough, his manners nonexistent.

  Of course, she could expect little else from someone who had taken her prisoner over some photographs. Well, as a trade for a prisoner who was imprisoned for photographs.

  And he had said he needed her for her beauty. So she supposed she shouldn’t be shocked that this was where it was leading.

  But a mistress. Such an old-fashioned word, and certainly not one that had ever been applied to her.

  She wasn’t sure anyone would believe it. She didn’t know how to act the part of a vixen. Or even someone mildly flirtatious.

  She’d met Tony at school, and if not for him coming into the university library every day around the time she was studying, asking her what she was reading, the two of them would never have started dating. She’d been oblivious, and only his persistence had brought about the first date.

  Oh. Tony. He would be...

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You don’t have a choice. You agreed to be my prisoner, and so, here you are.”

  “But...but... I can’t have the whole world thinking I’m with you!”

  He lifted his hand, drawing his fingertips across her cheekbone, leaving a trail of strange fire in his wake. “Yes,” he said, his tone dry. “I can see how that would be a grave humiliation for you.”

  He’d misunderstood, but she saw no point in correcting him. The why didn’t matter. Not to him.

  She looked down. “I don’t suppose you would have a hard time finding somebody else who wanted to go with you.”

  “Yes,” he said, “I’m very wealthy, and very powerful. But, a great many men are. And very few of them have my ill humor or destroyed features.”

  “So,” she said, “you just want me to be your date?” Spoken plainly like that, it scared her slightly less.

  “Oh, it is a bit more than that. I shall present you to the world as my lover, and with that there will be certain expectations. You will be required to keep up the farce or... I will continue to pursue action against your father.”

  She felt helpless. And she felt...well she felt like a prisoner. “I have a boyfriend.” As if bringing Tony into the mix would discourage him.

  “Not anymore.”

  Her heart twisted. “You can’t just do that. I mean, you can’t force me to break up with him.”

  “You don’t need to do anything half so dramatic as that. But you will not be allowed to speak with him. In fact, I think I like this scenario even better. I hope he comes forward and complains to the media about the woman who jilted him for this.” He gestured to himself.

  “Why do you want this?” she asked. “Just to hurt me? Because of my father?”

  “No,” he said, hard and firm. “I need to
return to the spotlight as I left.” He laughed then, dark and merciless. “Which is difficult enough. And I will be damned if I allowed myself to be an object of pity. Of scorn. When I walk into that ballroom, in front of the world, it will be as though I never left. Yes, I am scarred now, but I will have a woman on my arm, and there will be no doubt that as easily as I stepped into your bed, I will step back into the throne room.”

  “And when...and when the party is over?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “You will be free, of course. And we will concoct a story about our drifting apart. I could hardly settle down so quickly, after all. Someday, yes. But after a suitable succession of women such as yourself.”

  The arrogance, the confidence inherent in that statement should have enraged her. Instead she felt...hot.

  “I need my phone back,” she insisted, thinking again of Tony. Forcing her thoughts back to him.

  “No.”

  “But, I have agreed to your terms.”

  “And yet, you are not a guest. You are my captive. I cannot have you making contact with the outside world that I don’t approve of. You are the daughter of the lowest form of life that I can think of on this planet, and I have no guarantee that you are not also a photographer, or that you wouldn’t also act as one if the opportunity presented itself. In fact, it would be rather a clever ploy, don’t you think?”

  She supposed it would be, but she honestly hadn’t thought of it. “Well, I’m not. I’m getting my master’s in literature.”

  “What do you do with a degree like that?”

  “Teach mainly. But, my point is I don’t move in that world. I don’t condemn my father, but I’m not following in his footsteps either.”

  He spread his arms wide. “And yet, here you are. You followed in his footsteps close enough.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said, looking at her barely touched food.

  “I still am.”

  “I want to go to my room.”

  He waved a hand. “You will go when I’m finished. I suggest you eat, because there will be nothing served to you after.”

  “I’m done.”

  “It is not in my best interest to have you show up at our big debut looking half-starved. I should like your curves to be able to fill out a ball gown.”