Prince of Hearts (Elders and Welders Chronicles)

by Margaret Foxe

  Stupid, stupid man.

  She took the opening when it presented itself. She had seduced him once before, and she was prepared to do so again. As he strained backwards, tugging on a sleeve, she suddenly released her hold. The jacket ripped, and he tumbled into the mint.

  She quickly scrambled forwards, straddling him. He stared up at her in shock as she pinned his shoulders and leaned forward, until they were nose to nose.

  "You owe me a hundred pounds," she whispered, winded from the struggle, her blood burning in her veins. He was so wonderfully warm and hard beneath her. She'd never thought to see him again, much less feel him, and she savored every moment of it. His breath was harsh against her lips, his Da Vinci heart scrambling in his chest.

  "You little demon," he rasped. "I should...”

  She kissed him before he could say another word, and his whole body went rigid beneath her, resisting. But she had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but change his stubborn mind as best she could. So she kissed him and kissed him until his rigid lips opened to her, and he kissed her back, capitulating. His hand snaked up through her tangled hair, pressing her closer, and the tension drained out of his body.

  After a gratifyingly long interval, he tore his mouth away from her and gazed up at her, looking muddled and mussed and nothing like the sophisticated intellectual she'd always known.

  "I don't want to leave you. I never wanted to," he murmured.

  "What do you want, Sasha?" she demanded.

  He shut his eyes, tried to shake his head. "I don't know," he cried. "But you are all that keeps me from drowning. You. And your love. I can't lose it, but it shouldn't belong to me. How abominably I have treated you. Yet I can't let you go. I try and I try." He pressed his hand against his racing heart. "My heart ... my heart aches. It is supposed to be invincible, yet I feel I can't breathe."

  Aline wanted to sob with relief. His words were heart wrenching, but they filled her with more hope than she'd ever had before. She reached down and covered his hand with her own. She could feel that magic device beating furiously against his ribs, as furiously as her own. But she wanted to banish his pain and confusion once and for all.

  "Well, that could be because I am sitting on you," she said wryly.

  He barked out a laugh. "Yes, that could explain it. You do like to have me at your mercy, don't you?"

  She wriggled on top of him, causing him to gasp with pleasure.

  "Yes, I rather think I do," she said, brushing his black curls back from his forehead. She gave him a victorious smile. She liked the fact she had the power to stir this ancient, beautiful man's desire with so very little effort.

  He did not return it. He stared at her, memorizing her face, it seemed, with an agony of expression that told her he was waging an internal struggle with himself. But at last, he seemed to reach a decision – and that decision was decidedly in her favor. Something shifted behind his eyes, as if a curtain was sliding away, revealing the full, blinding force of his emotion. She caught her breath at the sight of his love-struck expression. He'd never let himself reveal so much.

  At last.

  But it seemed that with his decision to love her came a more carnal imperative. His agonized expression grew heated as his hand trailed down her cheek, to the edge of her spectacles, which she still wore out of habit. He didn't remove them, however, just traced the golden rim with one elegant fingertip, his lips curving with a wicked smile.

  "You're wearing these still to drive me mad, aren’t you?" he murmured. " I dream of you in your spectacles. And nothing else."

  Dear God.

  His hand continued over her throat, to the edge of her bodice, his eyes following in a predatory manner that made her blush down to her toes. His fingers toyed with a bit of brown lace just above one breast.

  "Finch," he murmured. "This has to be the ugliest dress I've ever seen. Will your wardrobe never improve?"

  "Perhaps I should take it off," she replied, feeling her cheeks heat at her own daring. She bit her lip.

  His hand fell away. His gaze darkened. "No."

  She was supremely disappointed at his continual resistance. What did she have to do to defeat this man? "No?" she huffed. "In case you hadn't noticed, Professor, I am trying to seduce...”

  Suddenly, without warning, she was on her back in the mint, the words knocked out of her, and Sasha had rolled on top of her. He pinned her with a hungry, wild look as his hands went to the front of her dress, ripping buttons and lace as he tugged the material off her shoulders.

  "I shall take it off," he said firmly, his mouth following the progress of her gown down her body. She wanted to shout in triumph. It hadn't been so hard to break him after all. Not even an hour's work.

  He seemed to become distracted when he reached her breasts, his tongue gliding over the thin silk of her chemise, so that her suddenly taut, suddenly aching nipples clung to the wet fabric. They were twice as sensitive as before. Pleasure spiked through her with every stroke of his greedy mouth, and she threaded her hands through his thick hair, pulling him closer to her.

  She marveled how quickly she descended into madness at his touch, and how wonderful that madness was. He had taught her desire so well she would never need another teacher.

  As if she would ever want another.

  Magician that he was, he’d removed her dress and her muddy boots before she even realized they were gone, and divested himself of his waistcoat and shirt in a few lightning-quick movements. Then they were tangled together in the itchy weeds, half-clothed and desperate for each other.

  He rested his forehead against her, struggling for breath, as he ran his large hands over the swells of her breasts, cupping their weight. She could feel the wonderfully large, rigid length of him behind his trousers, pressing against her belly, but he remained where he was, stroking her breasts.

  "You make me want you too much," he whispered against her ear. "You make me lose all of my finesse. All I want to do is take you like an animal, as quick and as hard as I can."

  "That sounds fine with me," she said, thrilling at his words.

  He groaned, burying his head in the crook of her neck. "Your breasts are ... they're even lovelier than I recalled."

  "Well, they have gotten larger, if that's what you mean,” she said rather shyly, her face heating.

  He stilled, raising his head. "What?" he asked in a befuddled whisper, only half-hearing her through his haze of passion.

  She frowned. She'd not addressed this particular subject yet. She'd become sidetracked by her mission to seduce him. She sighed and covered his hands with her own over her breasts, determined to settle matters between them once and for all before they completely lost their heads. "Sasha, I love you. And I don't care that you think yourself a villain. I've always known you were."

  A slow, wolfish grin curved his mouth.

  "From the moment I met you, I could see you were a tyrant. An imperious, controlling, arrogant, selfish, insufferable...”

  His grin faded. "I think I get the point."

  "Well, you are. And you come with some extremely inconvenient baggage. Three centuries' worth, I might add. I'm marrying you anyway," she continued, feeling rather bold, all things considered. "If you'll say yes, of course. But I'm warning you, I'm not getting down on one knee to ask you." She paused. "I'm not that desperate."

  He snorted.

  She scowled at him and ran her hands down his naked back, feeling every delicious ridge and angle. She reached his trousers and continued her journey beneath them, until she was very boldly, very wickedly, squeezing his backside. She arched her hips and stroked his straining erection with her body, and he growled a curse against her throat.

  "Or don't marry me," she said with a devious smile. "I think the point is moot. But know this, Prince Ivan Alexander Romanovna Ivanovich, you are mine. And I am most definitely and forever yours."

  He kissed her ferociously, as if would make her surrender to him. But that was a futile battle, b
ecause she already had, long ago. When he realized this, he at long last surrendered to her, body and heart. "You shall marry me, Finch," he said between kisses. "Aline. Milaya. My sweet little bird. I'll not let you fly away from me. I'll bind you to me if I must. For a thousand years."

  "If you must," she said nonchalantly. Seemingly satisfied, he reached between them and began to unbutton his trousers, but she put her hands over his, stopping him, bring them back up to her breasts. "But I want one thing clear between us, Sasha."

  "What is that?" he demanded, his body now thrumming with impatience.

  "No more opera singers. Or dancers. Or audience members."

  He looked mortally wounded. "How can you even think I would be unfaithful?"

  She gave him her driest look.

  "Fine. I'll agree to your little stipulation. If you promise to give up bone-hunters," he growled.

  She scowled at him. "That was low, Sasha!"

  He silenced her with a kiss, then gazed down at her with such tenderness he took her breath away. "Just to make things perfectly clear to you, I could never be with another woman, Finch. How could I, when you're all I could ever need? For the rest of our long life together, I am yours. I love you," he tore out. "I love you."

  Her happiness was complete. Almost. She knew the centuries-long pain he'd suffered for his lost child, and the risk she ran now. But she had to trust his love was enough to overcome his fear. "Even when I'm fat?"

  "You, fat? Finch, you weigh less than a feather."

  "Not for long," she murmured. She moved one of his hands down to her gently-swelling stomach. "I'm already expanding after two months. I shall be the size of this cottage in a few more."

  It took him a few moments, but the truth finally dawned on him as he felt her stomach through the thin linen of her chemise. He sucked in his breath and pulled back from her with wide, incredulous eyes. He couldn't seem to speak.

  She propped herself on her elbows, watching him tentatively. She could not tell what he was feeling. "Apparently, it is something of a miracle, Sasha. The Duke of Brightlingsea himself said nothing like this has ever happened. As none of the Elders' ridiculous laws cover such an occurrence, the Duke has given us his blessing. I told him we didn't need it, and that we'd have as many children as we want. It's the least he can grant you after the way the Council has treated you for the past three centuries. I gave him quite an earful, you may rest assured."

  She paused, trying to gauge his mood. He was still staring at her in shock, holding her belly. "That is, if you want children..." she began again. "Besides this one. You're quite stuck with him, you know," she said, her voice rising a little as panic began to set in.

  He frowned, stroking her belly. At last he spoke. "The Duke of bloody Brightlingsea knew you were carrying my child before I did?" he bit out, furious.

  Well, this was an unexpected reaction. She had been prepared for an epic existential meltdown. Savoring his ridiculous anger, she said in her most reasonable tone, "You abandoned me, Sasha. You disappeared to this damned island to sulk. Of course he found out."

  "I wasn’t sulking, I was pining,” he insisted. Then, after a pause, “You gave the Duke an earful, did you?" he asked, his tone softening.

  "I don't know why everyone's so surprised by that," she muttered.

  He ran the backs of his fingers over the swell of her belly. "You think it's a boy, do you?" he asked in a strange, dumbfounded whisper.

  Her panic faded. She felt a warm glow spreading through her body, the warm glow of complete happiness. "I hope so," she whispered fiercely. "A boy with black hair and a devil's grin."

  He gave her his devil's grin. "I hope it's a tiny little girl with fawn-colored hair and chocolate eyes. I hope she wears spectacles she doesn't need, just like her mother."

  "Sasha," she whispered, "are you glad? Will it be all right?"

  He laughed wildly, kissing her soundly. "Well, let me see," he murmured. And then, as if unable to contain himself a moment more, he took her chemise and ripped it down the middle. She gasped as he gazed down at her naked body, the swollen shape of her breasts, the rise of her belly.

  At first she was mortified that he should see her in her current condition, but at the look on his face, her embarrassment quickly disappeared. He drank in the sight of her, running his hands over her skin, testing the new contours of her body as if he would never have enough of touching her.

  Then he turned them on their sides, pulling her near, holding her tight so there was no space left between them. He kissed her nose, her eyes, the smile on her lips. “I didn’t think I could ever be this happy. Or love you any more.”

  “Sasha,” she moaned, embracing him with arms and legs, wanting to melt into his flesh and never leave.

  “It must have started the first time you came to my office, five years ago,” he mused. “You stumbled over the pups, and your spectacles went flying. That’s when I knew…”

  “So long ago,” she murmured.

  “And when I knew for sure,” he said, nipping her bottom lip. “The day I spied on you, singing to Aida in my study. You sounded like a drowned cat. It was appalling.”

  She scowled at him. “I think that is quite enough,” she said, arching her hips to meet the gentle undulations of his body.

  He chuckled and reached between them to the fastenings of his trousers. “I knew, but I did not understand what it was. But now I do.”

  “So do I.”

  He hesitated. “I’ll not be easy to endure, Finch.”

  She snorted. Didn’t she know? “Neither will I, Professor. And you’ll learn that soon enough if you don’t get on with it.”

  He laughed and rolled over her once more. “I am yours, milaya. Forever.”

  THE END

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue