Royally Bedded, Regally Wedded

by Julia James

  Cold iced along her veins. It had so very nearly been different.

  I could have been on my way back to England—deported. Ben imprisoned in that palace, never to see me again.

  The horror of what had so nearly been consumed her.

  Prince Rico had saved them.

  Guilt stabbed at her again. He had saved them—and she had repaid him by chaining him to her.

  ‘Mummy?’

  Ben was sitting up.

  ‘Is it getting-up time?’ he asked brightly. ‘Is Tio Rico here?’ He looked around expectantly, then, in a puzzled voice, ‘Where are we, Mummy? Have we gone back to the palace again?’

  She shook her head. A steely hardness filled her.

  ‘No, darling. We’re not going back there.’ She threw back the bedclothes. ‘Come on, let’s find out where breakfast is. I’m starving.’

  She looked around her. The room was large and airy, and filled with sunlight diffused through bleached wood Venetian blinds. The furniture was simple, but elegant, the walls white, the floor tiled. She found her spirits lifting.

  Capo d’Angeli. She had heard of it vaguely, but nothing more. A place where rich people went, but not flash or sophisticated. Discreet and classy. An exclusive, luxury resort on the Italian coast where there were no hotels, only villas, with large private grounds, each nestled into its own place on the rocky promontory overlooking the sea.

  Someone had brought up her suitcase. There was not a great deal in it—even less than she’d taken from Cornwall—but there was enough to serve. Ben fell with a cry of pleasure upon his teddy bear, as well as a clutch of his favourite engines.

  It did not take long to dress, and when they were both ready Lizzy drew up the Venetian blinds. French windows were behind them, and a wide terrace, and beyond the terrace—

  ‘Mummy—the sea! It’s bluer than my paintbox. Much bluer than home.’

  Lizzy opened the French windows and warm air flooded in like an embrace. Ben rushed out, clutching the stone balustrade and staring eagerly out over the tops of the pine trees set below, out to the cerulean sea beyond, sparkling in the morning light.

  ‘Do you think there’s a beach?’ he asked, his voice pitched with excitement.

  ‘Definitely a beach, Ben.’

  The voice that answered him was not hers. It came from further down the terrace, where an ironwork table was set out under a large blue-striped parasol. The table was set with breakfast things, but Lizzy had no eyes for them. All she had eyes for was the man sitting in the pool of shade.

  She felt her stomach clench. Oh, God, he just looked so fantastic. He was wearing a bathrobe, and its whiteness contrasted dramatically with the warm tan of his skin tones, the deep vee of the crossover revealing a smooth, hard surface that she flicked her eyes away from jerkily. Not that it did any good to look at any other part of him. His forearms were bare, too, the sleeves of the robe rolled up, and his damp hair was feathering in the warmth. As for his face—

  She felt her stomach clench again. He was a ludicrously attractive male, and up to now she’d only seen him in formal attire. Seeing him like this, fresh from his shower, was…

  Different.

  Completely, utterly different.

  And he seemed different too. The tension that had been in him throughout their time together at the safe house, culminating in the extreme emotion of their flight from the palace had gone. Disappeared.

  Now he seemed…relaxed.

  Carefree.

  Ben was running forward. ‘Tio Rico, can we go down to the beach?’ he asked eagerly.

  His uncle laughed. Lizzy’s stomach churned yet again. The laughter lit his face, indenting lines around his mouth, lifting his eyes, showing the white of his teeth. Making him look a hundred times more gorgeous. A hundred times sexier—

  Oh, God, how am I going to cope with this?

  Misery filled her, and with horrible self-conscious awkwardness she walked forward. As she approached, he got to his feet.

  ‘Buon giorno,’ he said. There was still a smile in his eyes. Left over from Ben, obviously.

  Lizzy swallowed, and gave a sort of half nod. She couldn’t look at him—not look him in the eye and know that last night, in some unreal, disorientating, panicked ceremony, she had become this man’s wife.

  She pulled out a chair and sat down.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ There seemed to be genuine enquiry in his voice.

  She swallowed, and nodded again. Jerkily she reached for a jug of orange juice and began to pour herself a glass. Ben was chattering away to his uncle.

  His stepfather? A stepfather who could take him away from her—

  The breath tightened in Lizzy’s throat as the realisation hit her. It was followed by panic. Blind, gut-wrenching panic. Was this another trick? A trap like the one that had brought her to San Lucenzo, with one object only, to take Ben from her?

  ‘Don’t look like that.’ His voice was low, but it penetrated her panic. Her eyes snapped up. Locked with his. ‘It will be all right. It will be all right. There is no need for you to fear anything now.’

  She felt her throat tighten unbearably.

  ‘Trust me,’ he said.

  His dark eyes were looking into hers. ‘I promised you,’ he said slowly, clearly, as if to a frightened child, ‘that I will keep you and Ben safe, together, for as long as is necessary. I will never allow you to be separated from him. You have my word.’

  And slowly, very slowly, Lizzy felt the panic still, the fear drain from her. He held her eyes for one moment longer, and then, with a slight, humorously resigned twist to his lips, he turned to Ben, who was tugging at his sleeve to get his attention back and find out whether he could get down to the beach right away.

  ‘Breakfast first, young man,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll go exploring. When I’ve got some clothes.’ He looked across at Lizzy, who was sipping her orange juice. ‘I am having some new clothes sent up to the villa. They should be here soon. The palace may send my own on; they may not. In the meantime, the on-site boutiques by the marina here can supply whatever we want.’ His eyes flicked to her and Ben. ‘They’ll get you two sorted out as well.’

  ‘Oh, no—please. I’m sure I can cope with what I’ve brought,’ Lizzy said hurriedly.

  ‘That will not be necessary.’ His expression stilled a moment. ‘I know this is hard for you, but everything is different. However…’ his voice changed again ‘…today we shall spend very quietly, giving us time to get used to what has happened. I think we deserve some calm after the storm, no? So, tell me, what do you think of the villa?’

  ‘It’s unbelievably beautiful,’ Lizzy said.

  Rico nodded. ‘I agree. Jean-Paul chose well. It’s also one of the most remote villas on the Capo D’Angeli estate. Not that we need to worry. Security on the whole estate is draconian. Everyone who stays here wants privacy above all—even from each other. And by the same token,’ he said reassuringly, ‘you do not need to worry about the staff. They are used to all guests wanting absolute discretion. We can relax completely here—I have even sent Gianni off to take a well-deserved holiday.’

  He smiled encouragingly.

  On cue a manservant appeared, bearing a tray of fresh coffee and breakfast rolls. Ben needed no encouragement, and was swiftly tucking in.

  ‘He seems to have taken it all in his stride,’ said Rico contemplatively. ‘I think he will like it here.’ He glanced across at Lizzy. ‘I think we will like it here.’

  She met his eyes. It was getting easier. Not easy, but easier.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, in a low, intense voice. ‘Thank you for what you have done.’

  ‘We did what we had to do. There was no other way. No other choice. And now—’ his expression changed ‘—I want to hear no more on it. We have been through a great deal—we deserve a holiday. And this is a good place for one.’

  He grinned suddenly, and yet again Lizzy felt that hopelessly inappropriate reaction. She crushed it as muc
h as she could, but dread went through her. How was she going to cope? It was impossible—just impossible.

  She steeled herself. Prince Rico was going to have to cope, and so was she. If he could use his upbringing to handle any situation, then she would too. She would force herself.

  ‘What…what will happen today?’ she ventured.

  ‘Today? Today we take things easy. Ben must go down to the beach—we’ll have a revolution on our hands if we don’t take him. The cove at the base of the villa gardens is private to us, so we will not be disturbed. There is a swimming pool here too, of course, on the level below this one. As for toys—well, the villa comes with a fully stocked children’s playroom, and for anything else the internet is a great provider. So, you see, we shall have everything we need for the perfect holiday.’

  He smiled at her again, then turned his attention to Ben.

  ‘How are you at building sandcastles?’ he asked him.

  ‘Really good,’ said Ben enthusiastically. ‘At home we build them when the tide comes in, and then we make big walls to stop the waves. But the waves always win in the end.’

  Rico made a face. ‘Alas, there is no tide here—the Mediterranean sea is too small for tides. And the waves are very small too. But the water is lovely and warm. You won’t get cold. We can go on a boat, too.’

  ‘Today?’ demanded Ben.

  ‘Not today. Perhaps tomorrow. We’ll see.’

  Ben’s expression darkened. ‘“We’ll see” means no,’ he said gloomily.

  ‘It means I don’t know yet. This is a holiday, Ben. We’re going to take it one day at a time. Isn’t that right?’

  Rico’s eyes suddenly flicked to hers.

  ‘One day at a time,’ he repeated. ‘For us too.’

  For a long moment he held her eyes, then Ben reclaimed his attention with yet another question.

  She needed time, Rico knew. So much had happened to her since he’d showed up at her ramshackle cottage in Cornwall. And for her, he had to appreciate, it had all been bad. The life she’d known had been ripped away from her. For her, there was no going back.

  A surge of determination went through him.

  I’ll make that life better now. All the fear and trauma is over now.

  His eyes flickered over her fleetingly, without her knowledge, as she poured herself more coffee.

  I don’t believe she has to look this bad. I just don’t.

  Covertly he studied her. It was hard to see much of her figure, as even in this warmth she was wearing a long-sleeved baggy top that seemed to flow shapelessly into long baggy cotton trousers. Both garments were cheap and worn. She dressed for comfort, not style, that much had always been apparent, but the perpetual bagginess of her clothing made it hard to judge just what her figure really was. She was no stickthin model, that was for sure, but how overweight was she really? And even so, well-cut clothes could conceal a multitude of evils, surely…?

  He moved on to try and evaluate her features. That was hard to do too. The unsightly frizz of her hair which, even when tied back as it was now, still seemed to straggle round her face, drew all the attention. He tried to imagine her face without it. It was difficult, he realised, to judge it accurately. The heavy eyebrows didn’t help, of course, and nor did the pallid skin. But there wasn’t anything actively disastrous—her nose was straight, her jaw defined, her eyes grey, her teeth not protruding or uneven. It was just that her features seemed so completely—nondescript.

  Would she look better with make-up? Surely she must? Women always did, didn’t they? Not that he was used to seeing women without make-up—make-up and hundreds of euros’ worth of grooming, and thousands of euros’ worth of clothes and accessories.

  Well, now she could have that kind of money spent on her. Money was not going to be a problem for her from now on. He would lavish it on her.

  His mouth tightened abruptly. In his head he heard Luca’s sneering at the sight of her. Anger bit him. Who the hell was Luca to sneer at a woman who had taken her dead sister’s child and dedicated her life to raising him? Being a single mother on little money was no ride in the park—certainly not a limo-ride. And so what if she weren’t beautiful? What did Ben care?

  And I don’t care either. I’ll get her looking the best she can—because she deserves it. She needs all the reassurance she can get. She’ll feel a lot more confident, a lot more comfortable about what we’ve just gone and done, if she can wipe that vile word out of her mental vocabulary.

  He heard it again, cruel and ugly.

  Grotesque.

  Well, that word was going in the trash can. And staying there. He would never let her say it again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘WINE for you?’ Rico held the bottle of chilled white wine over Lizzy’s glass.

  ‘Um—er—thank you,’ she replied awkwardly, and he proceeded to fill it up.

  They were back at the table on the terrace again, but over the sea the sun was sinking in a glory of red and gold.

  ‘Mummy, I’m really hungry,’ Ben said plaintively.

  ‘Food is coming very soon,’ said Rico, pouring himself a glass of wine as well.

  ‘What are we having for tea, Mummy?’

  Rico smiled. ‘Pasta, Ben. All good children in Italy eat pasta. Do you like pasta?’

  ‘I love pasta,’ Ben exclaimed.

  ‘In Italy you can eat pasta every day,’ said Rico.

  He lifted his wine glass.

  ‘To our first day here,’ he said, looking at Ben and his mother. Ben lifted his glass of orange juice. ‘Have we had a good day, everyone?’ he asked around.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben.

  ‘Yes,’ said his mother. ‘It’s been lovely.’

  It had too, and Lizzy was grateful. It was strange. She hadn’t expected it to be easy. And yet it had been. They’d done nothing except spend most of the day on the beach, coming back up to the terrace for lunch, and then, after much protesting from Ben, having a brief siesta. When Ben had surfaced they’d gone down to the beach again, returning only in late afternoon for Ben to have a quick swim in the pool, before showering and getting ready for supper.

  The only awkward moment had been when Ben, splashing around in the warm shallow sea with his uncle, had called out ‘Mummy, aren’t you going to swim?’

  Lizzy had shaken her head, the thought of stripping off to a bathing costume making her cringe. It was bad enough being on a beach with a man whose honed, lean-muscled body, clad only in swimming trunks, made it impossible to let her eyes go anywhere near him.

  ‘I’ll swim another time,’ she’d evaded, and gone doggedly back to her book.

  Other than that it had been an extraordinarily easy day. Now, sitting watching the sun set while they shared in a nursery tea, she realised she was feeling far more relaxed than she’d thought possible. She took a sip of her chilled wine.

  ‘Is the wine to your liking?’ Ben’s uncle asked.

  ‘Um—yes, it’s lovely. I—er—I don’t really know anything about wine,’ she answered.

  ‘You will learn with practice.’ He smiled at her. ‘And another thing you will learn with practice,’ he went on, taking his own mouthful of wine, ‘is to call me by name.’

  Lizzy stared. She couldn’t do that. The whole thing about addressing him had been so awkward that she simply hadn’t done it. She couldn’t address him as ‘Highness’, and she couldn’t address him as ‘Prince Enrico’, or even ‘Prince Rico’. And she certainly couldn’t address him as simply Rico.

  ‘And I must do the same,’ he continued. ‘So—’ He took a breath. ‘Lizzy. There, I’ve said it. Now it’s your turn.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Lizzy. Embarrassment flushed through her.

  ‘Have some more wine—then try,’ he advised.

  She took another mouthful, and swallowed hard.

  ‘Rico,’ she mumbled. She couldn’t quite look at him.

  ‘Bene,’ he said softly. ‘You see—all things are possible.’ For a
moment he held her eyes approvingly, then, with a change of tone, he spoke again. ‘Ah, supper arrives.’

  ‘Hurrah,’ said Ben.

  The following days were spent very largely as the first one had been. Rico made it so quite deliberately. He was giving her the time she needed—a breathing space.

  He needed one too, he knew. They all did. He’d said as much to her the next day.

  ‘We’ll take this a day at a time, like I said,’ he’d told her. ‘We won’t think about the outside world, we won’t think about anything. We’ll just accept the present and relax. Get used to things—get to know each other.’

  It was ironic, he realised—all his life there had been a distance between himself and the world. There had had to be. And that meant, he acknowledged, that there were very few people that he ever truly let down his guard with. Jean-Paul was one, and there were a few others. Sportsmen, mostly, to whom his birth was a complete irrelevance, and all that counted was skill and dedication.

  But never women—even in the superficial intimacies of the bed.

  He’d bedded a lot in his time. Taken his pick, enjoying them physically. Making sure they enjoyed him, too.

  But nothing more. Safety in numbers, he’d told Luca, and it had been true.

  His mouth twisted. Had he proposed marriage, any of the women he’d bedded would have, in his brother’s cruel words, bitten his hand off to accept. The prospect of becoming the glittering Principessa Enrico Ceraldi would have been irresistible to them.

  Yet the woman he’d actually married had been horrified at the prospect.

  He knew it was because of the outward disparities between them, which she was so hung up about. Yet her attitude towards him had, he realised slowly, had another effect on him as well.

  It had made him feel safe with her.

  Because it made her like no other woman he knew.

  It was a strange realisation, seeping through him.

  All she wants from me is protection for Ben—that’s all. She wants nothing else—nothing from me.