"It's tradition."
"But—"
"One you should not dispense with."
"But the horses—"
"Were exercised before we left. Smile."
Chloe resumed smiling and waving.
"It's the people's way of taking part of your wedding home with them. Many of these rugs were begun the day you were born. Others were crossed thirty years ago by your mother's wedding carriage. So you see, if they didn't want you, they wouldn't have gone to the trouble."
Stunned by the immense depth of such feelings, such love of their past and trust in their future, it was several moments before Chloe remembered to move her hand.
Every fifteen feet, a different child dipped into a basket and tossed confetti into the air. Small, bright bits of paper landed on the horses' backs and beneath their silent hooves. Others fluttered into the carriage and decorated Chloe's lap, like a king's ransom in jewels scattered over a white sheet.
At the border, twelve trumpeters heralded her arrival into Baesland. Mounted men-at-arms, with polished black boots up to their knees and smiles from ear to ear, greeted her carriage and preceded it the rest of the way. Here, in Baesland, rose petals were tossed. Flagpoles displayed white silk banners, bearing Moira's and William's entwined initials, that fluttered in the breeze. Baskets of flowers cascaded from every lamp post.
"You look like you're enjoying this," Emma pointed out.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Uh...tradition?"
Chloe shrugged. "I never said all tradition was bad."
"Do the words royal brouhaha ring a bell?"
"Sometimes it has its place."
"Uh-huh."
Chloe couldn't imagine giving this up, especially not William. Moira was welcome to broken appliances, the wrong checkout line, and vehicles that broke down. She could have an overdrawn checking account, past-due notices, and auto insurance companies that threatened to cancel. Let her deal with mucking out stalls and bartering time on horseback.
The carriage turned onto a side road for a mile, then came to rest in front of a large, impressive church. Rose petals covered the carpet leading along the walk and up the steps to the door. No sooner had the toe of Chloe's shoe touched the ground than a fanfare of trumpets announced her arrival with such magnitude that she was sure all of Europe had just jumped out of their skins.
Louis crooked his elbow for her and smiled. He even looked as though he hadn't gone to talk to William that very morning about his suspicions.
"Shame on you, Louis," she said.
"What?"
"Telling William I'm not your sister."
"Apparently he didn't believe me."
"I could have you punished, you know."
"For making an honest mistake? Now, Moira, you wouldn't be so cruel." He patted her hand, which was resting lightly on his arm, with his scarred one.
"Don't test my patience."
Cameras flashed repeatedly. Foreign news cameras recorded every detail of her appearance and every blink of her eyes. The pipe organ belted out a full, rich tune. Chloe tried to identify it as Bach or Handel, but she'd been miserably poor in music appreciation.
"That's our cue," Louis said. He escorted her up the steps, through the door, to the beginning of the long white runner.
They paused, giving the French ladies time to straighten her gown and long train. The media was all left behind. A footman handed her a cascade of roses, stephanotis, and lilies of the valley.
Sunlight behind the tall stained-glass windows cast brilliant colors on the people waiting inside and the white runner, giving her the impression of walking into a giant jewel box. And she was the center of attention.
William, standing tall and proud and regal, waited for her at the other end. Anna, sans puppy, began the procession, followed by attendants Chloe had never met. Her maid of honor was supposedly a cousin, when she would rather have had Moira. But of course, that was out of the question.
All that really mattered waited for her—William. Her groom. Her husband-to-be.
She could think of nothing else as she drew nearer to him, as she took his strong arm, stood beside him with confidence and repeated her vows. She hesitated over the "obey" part, and glanced up to see his eyes dancing over her predicament.
"Do not worry," he whispered to her. "We both know you will not."
If she hadn't already fallen in love with him, that would have done it She repeated the vows, word for word.
The ceremony passed in a blur, even as Chloe struggled to commit it all to memory. The scent of roses and lilies of the valley should have overpowered William's herbal shampoo, but Chloe knew it so well, she could detect it.
He stood tall and proud beside her, yet she was aware of the thoughtfulness behind his every gaze in her direction. When he took her hand in his, she felt warmth, strength, tenderness. When they turned together to face the people, she knew, as William's queen, what was expected of her.
And she remembered, belatedly, that in a moment of foolishness, she'd also sworn that she would not sleep with him.
Chapter Thirteen
Guests filled the state dining hall at Baesland Castle. Chloe met more people in the span of an hour than she had in her whole life, and she was expected to smile, say something personal to each one, and forget about ever having a moment to herself again.
She didn't mind strolling through a hall the size of Texas on William's arm, or meeting enough aunts, uncles, and cousins to populate the state. She didn't mind sitting next to him at a table so long she couldn't see the people at the other end, because he bumped knees with her repeatedly. Nor did she mind kissing him whenever the crowd, which grew increasing rowdy on champagne, demanded it.
On the contrary, she enjoyed it all immensely. Someday her daughters would celebrate similarly f she could figure out how to sleep with her husband without looking as if she were backing down from all her principles.
The ball began two hours later. Thankfully, Emma had sneaked a few ballroom dancing lessons in with Chloe when she'd finally faced the fact that the wedding was a certainty.
When the music began, William led her onto the dance floor.
"I'm a bit rusty," she whispered. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd majored in dance. Once her hand was in his, his other on her waist, she couldn't be expected to keep her mind on him and where her feet were going at the same time.
"Just follow me," he murmured.
Anywhere. If only he'd ask.
"Relax, Moira. Let the music take you."
Easier said than done. But he was superbly graceful, and he swept her away in a waltz as other couples joined them.
"Did I tell you that you are the most beautiful woman here tonight?" he asked.
She felt her cheeks grow hot, and it had nothing to do with the amount of energy she expended trying not to step on his feet.
"It is true," he added. "I have never seen a bride so radiant"
"You've never seen one so embarrassed."
He leaned closer. "I have never seen one so right for me. I want to tell all these people to go home so we may begin the honeymoon."
She glanced around to see if he had been overheard. While his soft tone couldn't have been picked up, his closeness to her ear hadn't escaped notice. Nearby women smiled knowingly. Wistfully.
"You will not turn me down tonight, will you, Moira?"
She stepped on her own foot and staggered.
William simply pulled her closer to him and steadied her, as if he did it every day. "How clumsy of me," he said, loud enough for those around them to hear.
"Forgive me, my darling. If I do it again, you may trade me in next dance." Then, softer: "You did not answer me. Will you turn me down tonight?"
She'd put him off so long, she felt like a virgin.
He cocked his head and studied her. "Why do you look at me that way?"
"I've never met a truer gentleman than you."
"That is not how it looks to me."
"Oh? How does it look?"
He licked his lips. "Like I am an ice cream cone and you want to taste me with your tongue."
She grinned. "Careful. If you make me trip again, I'm honorbound to trade you in. I have witnesses."
"If you continue gazing at me that way, your witnesses will begin leaving without my asking."
Her grin broadened, and she hoped she didn't look like a sappy fool. "Couldn't be soon enough for me."
"Oh? What do you want to do?"
"Well, if you were an ice cream cone, you'd be melting in my hot little hands, and I'd have to lick you all over."
He stumbled.
At two o'clock in the morning, Chloe still hadn't grown tired of playing cat-and-mouse games with William on the dance floor. Their banter was no more than a prelude to what was to come after. She knew that. From the heated look in his eyes, he knew it, too. And at 2:00 a.m., he was done playing.
"It is growing late," he said.
"I could dance all night."
"We already have."
Knowing she was safely in the midst of hundreds of people, she'd grown bold. "You're tired?"
He laughed. "I have never been less tired, my love. Come. We shall bid our guests good-night."
When they actually began to thread their way, arm in arm, across the ballroom and toward the door, Chloe kept up a brave front, though her courage was failing. What if he'd been teasing her? Acting as a bridegroom should act in public, but remembering what she'd said about not sleeping with him? What if he abandoned her at the door of her own apartment?
Truthfully, she didn't remember ever feeling quite like this—not even before her first sexual experience. And, pretty sure that Moira had saved herself all these years out of some sense of royal obligation, Chloe wondered just what William thought he was getting.
One thing they didn't have to discuss—it was a safe bet they weren't going to be practicing birth control. What king didn't want heirs?
He paused, and she stopped reflecting on the night ahead long enough to realize they had reached the door to his apartment. The night ahead was here. He pushed open the door, gathered her up in his arms, carried her in and kicked the door shut behind them.
"Ah, we are alone."
She tried to think of witty banter, but didn't have time before his lips closed over hers in an all-too-brief but powerful kiss.
"I am so hungry for you, Moira." He set her on her feet and turned her away from him. "How do I get you out of this dress?"
"It has buttons and hooks."
"Good God, there must be a million of them." His fingers traced the buttons over her spine, from nape to waist. "And they are so tiny."
She stepped away from him and offered, "I'll call Angela."
He dragged her back against his chest. His wine-scented breath teased her hair. His voice rumbled in her ear. "You would not deny me the pleasure of undressing my wife, would you?"
Relieved that he hadn't been playing with her all evening just to dump her at her doorstep, she reached behind her and lifted her hair off her neck. "Start here."
Instead, his hands slid over the front of her gown, along her ribs, up, until his palms covered her breasts. "Here?"
The power he willingly gave over to her made her giddy. "Well, that's pretty good, but it won't do the job, I think."
His hands dipped down, past her waist, over her abdomen, cupping her intimately. "Here, then?" His voice had grown deeper, unsteady.
"If you do that, we'll never get this dress off."
"Do you want me, Moira?"
She turned in his arms, aching where his hand had been. "Do you love me, William?"
He rained kisses from one cheek to the other, lingering at the corners of her mouth, her eyes. "You did not understand that this morning?"
She barely heard him.
"When I explained to you that joining our kingdoms means nothing to me without you by my side?"
Coherent thought was fleeting. "I..."
"You thought perhaps that I was still trying to convince you to marry me?"
"Well..." She wished he'd kiss the corner of her eye again. It made her knees weak, and she was tired of standing up with him.
"We are married now, Moira. You are my wife."
"Oh, yes," she agreed on a sigh. She tipped her head to the side just a little, until his lips landed where she wanted them.
"I want to make love to you until the sun rises."
It wasn't the answer to her question, but she was rapidly losing interest in talking. It would have to be enough, for now, that she loved him. "If you don't start on those buttons soon, we won't get to bed until the sun rises."
He chuckled and said, "Pay attention, my love," then slipped her open gown off her shoulders.
"Oh." She was warm from dancing, hot from his hands, and the air felt cool on her skin. She let him push her dress down over her hips, let it crumple on the floor. The French ladies would die, and she couldn't care less.
He stripped off her slip, slid a finger beneath one garter and snapped it playfully, then sucked in his breath. "Your turn."
"You're wearing something I should snap?"
"I am wearing something you should remove."
"A sword, for one."
"You do not like my sword?"
His eyes were pools of blue fire, and she held no illusion that they were discussing a piece of steel. Her fingers grew clumsy with buttons and buckles and hooks, and the zipper of his fly. While she struggled with each one of them, William nuzzled her neck, nibbled her ear and nudged her through his apartment, room by room, inch by inch, until she felt the high mattress against the back of her thighs.
There was little left between them, and he elected to shed his last covering. When she reached behind her to unhook her strapless bra, he pulled her hands forward and kissed her knuckles.
"Not yet." He dimmed the lights, then lifted her to straddle his body. He was hard against her, yet he took his time stretching them out on the silky sheets.
His hands caressed every inch of her flaming skin, and she was beyond caring when he discarded her bra or anything else. It seemed the more impatient she became, the more she wanted him now, the more he practiced patience. She thought he was trying to drive her mad before he finally claimed what she offered. So, in one brief moment of rational thought, she forgot about herself and focused on giving him everything she could. Her hands grew bold on his body. She whispered hot nothings in his ear. She tightened every important muscle in her body.
Her reward was his. Whether the sun came up, that day or any other, was immaterial. If it were up to her, they'd never get out of bed again.
The sun did come up. Chloe had no idea when, because it was quite high in the sky before she opened her eyes. William was curled around her, shielding her with his body even in sleep. She planted a soft kiss on his cheek, slid out of bed, slipped into the new silk robe she found in the closet and ordered breakfast. Her hoarded supply of pop-ups was at Castle Ennsway, which was just as well, because she didn't think William would appreciate them.
She roamed the apartment while she waited for coffee and juice. She hadn't gotten much of a look at it the other day, trying as she was to stay out of his bed at the time.
On William's desk, she found a spreadsheet dealing with his plans for unification. If it had been scientific, she would have had a good chance at understanding it. If it had been artistic, she might have grasped it. But it was accounting, pure and simple, and she hadn't a clue.
Humphrey appeared at her shoulder. "May I have a word, Your Majesty?"
"Yes. What is it?"
"Your friend would like to see you."
Chloe was sure she gave him a blank look.
"Miss Chloe Marshall."
"She's here? Now?" She couldn't believe it. A few hours sooner, and Moira could have been at Chloe's wedding after all.
"Yes, Your Majesty. She has requested to see you immediately. She's waiting in the tower."
> "What's she doing there?"
"She says secrecy is of the utmost importance."
Something must have gone wrong. "Is she all right?"
"She seems...distracted."
"Let me get some clothes on."
"Remember, Your Majesty," Humphrey warned as she headed for the bedroom, "she doesn't want anyone to know she's here."
Moira's insistence on secrecy obviously stemmed from her not knowing that William knew the truth. Had something gone wrong with her new job at the dude ranch? Had she blown her identity? Were paparazzi following her, vying for an opportunity to expose them both?
William snored softly as Chloe pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers. She wouldn't disturb him with this until she knew what was going on.
William yawned and stretched. Now would be a good time to tell Moira he loved her. No stress. No pressure. No adrenaline to blame. No thought that he was telling her only to get her into bed, because that was now moot.
He rolled over and opened his eyes to find Moira's side of the bed empty, then listened to hear what had wakened him. The footman made no effort to tiptoe around the apartment as he set up breakfast.
William listened for the shower and heard nothing. He slid out of bed, put on his robe and went to hunt up his new bride and tempt her back to bed.
"Good morning, Your Majesty," the footman said. "This is what Her Majesty ordered. I hope it's to her liking."
William peered around, but saw no one else. "Where is she?"
"Her Majesty? I don't know."
William searched the entire apartment and couldn't find her. He sent for Emma. "Where is she?" he asked immediately upon her arrival, some fifteen minutes later.
Emma took a step back at his abruptness.
"Has she gone riding alone? I forbid that."
Emma laughed. "Oh, Your Majesty, forgive me, but that would be a big mistake."
He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "Have my horse saddled at once."
"She didn't go for a ride."
"Then why did you say—"
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