"Have you?" Finn asked yet again.
She gave him his answer, grudgingly. "Yes."
"Then you have some idea," Finn said, "of what it's like to grow up a fitz in this country. No man would willingly do that to his own child."
A shiver ran beneath her skin—this time one that hadn't a thing to do with sex. He looked so determined. She never would have imagined Finn Danelaw would be determined about anything.
The first time she saw him—it would be exactly a week ago tonight—he had been dancing. With a beautiful woman, Lady Something-Or-Other. Liv couldn't recall her name at the moment. The lady had looked up at him dreamily as she whirled in his arms. Liv could have sworn that the woman's feet had never once touched the ballroom floor.
An hour later, Liv was the one in his arms. They danced several dances. And they talked—flirtatious talk. As a rule, Liv Thorson didn't flirt. What was the point of it? If she liked a man, they had things that mattered to talk about: politics, corruption in big business, recent Supreme Court decisions and how they would impact the practice of law in courtrooms all over America.
Flirting, as far as she was concerned, was a little silly. Definitely lightweight. Fine for other women, if that was how they chose to spend their time.
But with Finn…
Well, somehow, he made flirting feel exciting and fun, not a waste of time at all. When Finn Danelaw flirted, it was the next thing to an art form.
She'd asked—flirtatiously—if a prince had to work for a living.
He'd chuckled. "Depends on the prince."
"Well, you, for example."
"If I did work, I would never admit it while dancing with you."
Brit had danced with him later. And much later, when the sisters were alone in their rooms, they'd agreed he was a total charmer, killer handsome, yum-yum and all of that. Eye candy. Ear candy. Easy on the senses all the way around.
But someone to be taken seriously? Someone who would ever be very determined about anything?
Uh-uh. No way.
Somehow, he had managed to take possession of her hand again. His thumb slid very gently back and forth, caressing the cove of her palm, creating lovely ripples of sensation, making her think of the other night when he had—
Liv cut off the dangerous thought before it could go where her thoughts had no right at all to be wandering. She reclaimed her hand. Where were they?
Oh, yes. On the subject of growing up a fitz, which was a terrible thing. In Gullandria. "But Finn, I don't live in Gullandria. I'm an American and in America there are lots of happy children raised in single-parent homes. Now, I'm not saying it's usually the best choice for a woman to bring up her baby on her own. But there are times when it can't be helped."
He was doing it again, leaning in close, listening as if her voice was the only thing that mattered in the world. More men should listen like that…
She drew herself up. "And you know, we're getting way ahead of ourselves here. As I keep trying to remind everyone, we can't be sure I'm pregnant. Yes, I've shown the family signs. But what is that? Superstitious nonsense, really. I will not start stewing over what to do about being pregnant until I've taken a nice, safe, dependable home test and know for a fact I've got something to stew about. And, well, I can't take a home test for a while yet."
He asked, a look of great interest on his wonderful, sensitive face, "How long is a 'while'?"
"Well, I'm not sure. I've never taken one—and I doubt I'll be taking one anytime soon."
One corner of his mouth quirked up—in amusement, or maybe in a sort of gentle impatience. "But if you find you do have to take one…"
"I would guess a couple of weeks, at least. Maybe more."
"A couple of weeks." He said the words so thoughtfully. Imagine that. Finn Danelaw, thoughtful. Too, too strange.
"Yes," she said, and wondered why it mattered.
A second later, she had her answer. His eyes lit up and his face became suddenly so handsome it almost hurt to look at him. "Then come with me. For two weeks. Until you know. Let me show you Balmarran, my family home. You'll love it there, I know you will. You'll meet my family—what there is of it, and we can—"
She couldn't let him continue. "No, Finn."
The music on the radio played on and the newscaster kept talking, but still, at that moment, the silence seemed deafening.
Finally he said very quietly, "No?"
"Well, you have to see, there's no point in my running off to your family castle with you. Oh, Finn. I have a life, important work that I need to get back to. Even if I am pregnant, I won't be marrying you." She expected him to cut in about then and argue with her. It didn't happen. Vaguely nonplussed by his sudden complete lack of resistance, she babbled on. "A marriage between us would never work. I mean, honestly, we hardly know each other. We come from truly, uh, diverse backgrounds. There's no … commonality. Is there, really?" He didn't answer, so she did it for him. "None at all. We had a lovely, um, summer fling. I truly did, er, enjoy it. But really, what happened between us on Midsummer's Eve is hardly a basis for marriage, now, is it?"
For several uncomfortable seconds, he didn't say anything. There was a lull—in the music on the radio, in the news on the TV. The ticking of the gilded French clock on the mantel seemed to rise up loud and gratingly insistent.
She was just about to ask him what kind of scheme he was hatching now, when the music swelled again and the newsmen began chatting and Finn inquired softly, "What will you do?"
She almost asked, You mean, if I am pregnant? But she stopped the words just in time, drawing back, thinking, I will not start making plans that probably won't even be necessary.
She told him in a tone that allowed no room for argument, "I'm going home, Finn. Today. And no matter what results I get, if it turns out I have to take that pregnancy test, I'm not going to marry you."
He rose—a portrait of purest male grace. "I see."
She looked up at him, narrow eyed. "What is that? 'I see.' What does that mean?"
In lieu of an answer, he offered his hand. Warily she laid hers in it. He gave a gentle tug and she was on her feet beside him.
He raised her hand and kissed the back of it, just the faintest, most incredibly seductive brush of his lips against her skin. "Necessity, Fate and Being," he whispered. "May the three Norns of destiny show you the way."
Lovely, she thought. Yet another of those archaic Gullandrian sayings. She'd heard a lot of them in the past week. What, exactly did he mean by this one? Damned if she was going to ask him.
And really, men didn't kiss women's hands anymore. Yet, when Finn did it, it seemed so perfectly natural, so right.
He was such an anomaly: kissing her hand, whispering baroque Norse axioms; determined to win her to his way one minute, bowing himself out the next. She simply could not figure him out.
And so what? It didn't matter. It was okay. Let Finn Danelaw remain a mystery to her, a tender, naughty memory to bring a secret smile now and then as the years went by.
"Come," he said, guiding her fingers over his arm. "Walk me to the door."
* * *
Finn was hardly in his rooms five minutes when the summons came from the king. He returned to the private audience room, where His Majesty and Prince Medwyn awaited him.
The king wasted no time on amenities. "Well? Will she marry you?"
"Your Majesty, she says not. She says she's returning to America today, as planned—and alone."
"You used all your skills of persuasion?"
Finn nodded. "I am ashamed, Your Majesty, to admit they were not enough, not at this point. She is too wary. I need time."
The king's usually kind eyes grew hard as agates. "She's leaving, you said. That means you have no time." Osrik began to pace back and forth between the leaded windows and the archway to the antechamber. Finn and Medwyn waited, deferentially silent, until he chose to speak again. Finally His Majesty stopped and turned. "Liv is too proud. Too opinionated. Her
tongue is as sharp as the beak of a raven. There is, in the end, no reasoning with a woman like that." Those dark eyes leveled on Finn. Finn met them, unblinking.
The king said, "You will have to take her. I regret the necessity for such a move, but I see no other way. My grandchild will not be born a fitz. Have her car waylaid en route to the airport and transport her to a tower room at Balmarran. Keep her there until she agrees to the marriage."
Finn felt a tightness in his chest. Regret. "She will hate me."
"It can't be helped."
"As soon as she gets the chance, she'll divorce me. Our own laws make it so." No Viking woman could be held to a marriage against her will.
"Keep her at Balmarran until the child is born. Then let her do as she pleases. Your child will be legitimate, and that's what matters above all."
"Your Majesty," Finn said respectfully.
The king looked at him, narrow eyed. "I don't like the sound of that."
"I would prefer, sire, to capture my wife in my own way."
"What way? With Liv, there is no other way than force."
"Sire. I assure you. There is a way."
Osrik waved a dismissing hand. "Come now. Listen to your king. Distance has not kept me from watching over my daughters as they grew to womanhood. I know their lives, the choices they've made, the men who swarm around them, like bees to hollyhocks in high summer. Liv's men? Every one of them, soft and giving. Tender as women themselves. They talk with her of changing the world—and they do as she tells them to do." The king's look turned crafty. "Did you know she's got one of those poor fools squirming on the hook of her considerable charms right now?"
"Yes," Finn said dryly. "Simon Graves is his name. She spoke of him once or twice in our time together."
Osrik strode to his desk and lowered himself into the velvet-padded, intricately carved chair behind it. He laid his hands flat upon the inlaid desktop. The bloodred ruby in the ring of state caught the light streaming in the beveled windows behind him and glittered like fire in a dragon's eye. "Finn, we all know that no woman can resist you. As a rule, they don't even try. But Liv is not a woman in the sense that any true man can understand."
"I know that, Your Majesty."
The king studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment. "She's not like Elli, who understands her womanliness in the deepest way. And not like Brit, who is wild and willful, yes, but still knows herself as a woman and glories in the fact. Liv's spent her life training herself to assume high office, shuffling her womanhood aside. And that means this may be one game of love you can't hope to win."
"My lord, that's altogether possible."
"You'll end up with the ashes of regret in your mouth, bitter that you played at all."
"Perhaps so."
But Finn didn't feel regret right then. Right then, his blood raced and his mind was clear and sharp as the edge of good sword. He knew his king, could see where this interview was going. He would have His Majesty's blessing to seduce Princess Liv. To go after her and run her to ground, armed only with his wits and his quick tongue. He would outtalk her—and yet he would hang on her every word. He would touch her, kiss her, caress her—only when she allowed it.
Until she begged for his kisses, pleaded for his touch, yearned only to have him, once again, inside her.
Until she moaned beneath him. And writhed on top of him. And crawled all over him. Whenever he wanted her. Until he said, Marry me.
And she cried out, Yes! tears of joy streaming from those blue, blue eyes.
It was what he did best.
And he did love a challenge.
Osrik was watching him. The king shook his proud gray head. "You would be wiser to take her and be done with it. In the end, you'll have to do it, anyway."
Finn said nothing. He'd already made his intention crystal clear.
Medwyn spoke then, from behind Finn. "Remember, my lord, how this situation came about. Two nights ago, Princess Liv did surrender. She can be seduced, and Prince Finn is the man to do it."
Osrik's expression turned thoughtful. He was nodding, but then he frowned. "We mustn't forget that was Midsummer's Eve. A night when all the rules are broken. Also, there were large quantities of ale involved—is that your plan, then, Finn? To get her drunk and keep her that way?"
"No, my lord. My plan is to marry her. By her choice. When she makes that choice, she'll have all her wits about her, else the game would not be fairly played."
"Hmm," said the king.
"I believe," said Medwyn, "that if any man has a chance at this impossible task, it would have to be Finn."
Osrik looked right at Finn again. "You're absolutely determined to try to win her—on her ground?"
"Sire. I am."
"You will allow me to aid you in one small way?"
"No force," Finn insisted.
The king smiled and crooked a finger. "Approach." Finn strode to his side and bent close. His liege whispered of the aid he offered.
Finn stood back.
The king said, "I can't guarantee it. But I shall make the call. Deaf ears sometimes hear again, when blind eyes begin to see there is no other way but to learn to be flexible. And the news of the baby will help. If I succeed, you will have not only an important ally in your quest, you'll also be positioned properly, in a place where Liv will find it difficult to ignore you. What do you say?"
Finn nodded, "Yes, my lord, if you would. Such aid would be greatly appreciated."
* * *
Brit came breezing into the suite at a little after four that afternoon, a flush on her cheeks and her arms full of packages. She dropped them all by the door when she saw that Liv was still there. "Okay, what's happened?"
Liv didn't bother with the TV or the radio. If her father was listening in while she told Brit what a rat he was, so be it.
Besides, she'd had several hours to ponder Finn Danelaw's cleverness in hinting that the suite might be bugged. It had given him a perfect reason to sit next to her, to whisper in her ear and capture her hand over and over again—to remind her with his closeness of the forbidden night they had shared, to put those incredible powers of seduction to work on her.
And then, she had no doubt at all, not long after he left her rooms her father would have summoned him and commanded him to repeat everything she'd said. So Osrik knew already where she stood and what she intended to do.
Bottom line: this was not espionage. And Liv was through speaking in whispers and sneaking around.
She pulled Brit down onto a long, padded bench near the door. "I couldn't leave until I talked to you." Quickly she told everything—of the meeting in her father's private audience chambers and the one right after it with Finn. When she'd finished, she commanded, "I want you to come home with me. Get packed and we're out of here."
But Brit wasn't moving. "I'm not ready to go yet."
"Are you out of your mind? He's probably got this room bugged and can hear everything we're saying. If he's capable of that, think what else he might be willing to—"
"Liv. Listen. I'm staying. Our father … is who he is. And I don't care if he has spies on me. He's not going to learn anything I'm not willing for him to know, especially not now that I'm aware he's doing it."
"But he might do anything. You don't know what might happen to you here."
"He's not going to hurt me. I'm his daughter, and so are you."
"Argh. Don't remind me."
"In his own overbearing way, he loves us both very much."
Liv had to admit she didn't really believe Osrik would hurt Brit. And Brit seemed so firm about staying.
"Oh, Brit…"
"I'll be fine."
"Are you certain?"
"I am."
Liv gave up and called for a car, half expecting to be told one wasn't available and that the royal jet would not be at her disposal, after all.
She was gearing up for another confrontation with her father when an attendant appeared to carry her bags down.
Liv hugged her sister good and hard. "You be careful. I will kill you if you get yourself hurt."
"I promise. I'm going to be fine. Have a safe trip."
The drive to the small airport was uneventful. And the royal jet—a Gulfstream capable of flying straight through to California without a stop—was waiting, ready to go as soon as Her Highness could board and the flight plans could be cleared.
Her driver opened her door for her and ushered her from the car, detouring next to the trunk, where he hauled out her bags and turned them over to the porter who would load them in the luggage compartment.
The air was clear and the wind was up. Liv could smell the ocean on it. Overhead, a few gulls dipped and soared. She smoothed her blowing hair off her face and ran for the steps that led up to the passenger door.
The pretty attendant—the same one who'd taken care of Liv and Brit on the flight over—greeted her at the top. "Welcome, Your Highness. So lovely to have you flying with us again."
Liv gave the woman a big smile and ducked into the cabin to find that there was one other passenger traveling with her: Finn Danelaw.
* * *
Chapter Six
« ^ »
Liv hovered in the galley area, the flight attendant at her back, glaring at the man waiting for her in the cabin.
"Liv. Welcome." Finn rose from the plush leather seat and held out a fine long-fingered hand as if inviting her to dance.
Liv swept through the narrow doorway into the cabin, then stopped short and turned back to the flight attendant. "Excuse us for a moment." She shut the door in the attendant's pretty, bewildered face and whirled on Finn. "I'll ask the obvious. What are you doing here?"
He gave her one of his oh-so-elegant shrugs. "You wouldn't come to my home. I thought I might visit you in yours."
"What we had to say to each other has been said. It's done, finished, through. I will never again have anything to do with you. Thus, it's impossible for you to 'visit' me."
"I hope to convince you to reconsider my suit."
"I absolutely will not. I meant what I said. I won't marry you. No matter what … happens."
"You won't marry me. I understand. You've said it repeatedly. There's no need to say it again."
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