Jag frowned at his harsh tone. ‘That’s hardly what’s happening here.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Rafe felt unreasonably livid. ‘You were betrothed to her.’
‘When King Ronan approached me early last year I said I’d consider the idea,’ Jag said evenly. ‘It was never a done deal, and it should not have been made public.’
‘So now Richton gets a go at her?’ Rafe swore under his breath. ‘What if he pulls out? Do you and Ronan have someone else up your sleeve for her?’
Jag’s gaze sharpened. ‘Someone else...?’ His tone turned thoughtful. ‘That’s the kind of question a jealous lover might ask.’
‘Hardly.’ Unable to remain still under his brother’s perceptive gaze, Rafe paced the floor.
‘Richton won’t pull out,’ Jag said. ‘Apparently he’s been in talks with King Ronan for some months about a union, but regardless, the Princess is an incredibly lovely and intelligent woman. Most men would jump at the chance to marry her.’
Rafe knew how lovely she was, and having his brother notice only made his aggravation deepen. ‘But what about what she wants?’
Jag sighed. ‘I really don’t understand what’s got you so het-up about this but she does want it. We all want to end the hostilities between Berenia and Santara so we can move forward. If Alexa’s marriage is able to promote peace in the minds of the Berenians, then I’m all for it.’ He frowned as Rafe continued to pace. ‘Come on, Rafa. You know that arranged marriages have been happening here for centuries. They’ve worked out in the past, and they’ll work for a while to come yet.’
Too agitated to argue with his brother any further, Rafe headed for the door. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, slamming it closed behind him.
* * *
He found Alexa in the breakfast room, speaking to another of the guests who had stayed overnight at the palace.
The smell of coffee made his saliva glands go into overdrive but he bypassed the silver pot on the sideboard and headed straight for Alexa.
As he neared he realised she was speaking to Lord Graham, the son of an English earl. Had he been another one of her candidates?
Not that it mattered any more.
‘Princess Alexa?’ He stopped beside her, completely ignoring Lord Graham. ‘We need to talk.’
Clearly startled by his abrupt tone, her green eyes widened. ‘Your Highness?’
‘I told you last night, it’s Rafe. I rarely use my title.’
‘Prince Rafaele...’ Lord Graham frowned at him. ‘Princess Alexa and I are in the middle of—’
‘Nothing.’ Rafe turned his most cutting gaze on Graham. He knew he could be intimidating; he owned nightclubs and had been called upon to throw more than one drunken patron out onto the pavement, so he wasn’t surprised when the other man’s eyes flickered warily. ‘The Princess and I have...unfinished business to settle.’
Not at all as intimidated by him as Graham, Alexa frowned. ‘What unfinished business?’
Unprepared to stand around explaining himself in the middle of a room full of people, Rafe raised a brow. ‘Have you forgotten the proposal you made last night? Perhaps you were drunk after all.’
‘I was not!’
‘Then you haven’t forgotten.’ He cut his gaze back to Graham, who had foolishly remained rooted to the spot. ‘And unless you want Lord Graham here to be privy to our chat I suggest we take this somewhere private.’
Clearly unimpressed with his high-handed tactics, Alexa’s mouth tightened. ‘Fine. Please accept my apologies, Lord Graham. Prince Rafaele obviously has a bee in his bonnet about something.’
A bee in his bonnet?
Rafe shook his head and reached for her elbow. ‘You don’t have to be nice to everyone, you know. Graham will survive without your company for a while.’
Rafe directed Alexa through a nearby door to a small private terrace, which was thankfully empty.
‘You need to stop doing that,’ she complained, glaring up at him. ‘I am not a horse to be led around at will.’
She brushed past him as she moved out of the direct line of the sun and the subtle scent of her perfume drew his muscles tight.
Irritated that he was affected by a woman who wasn’t even trying to win his favour, Rafe met her icy stare with one of his own. ‘All evidence to the contrary.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I’ve just spoken with my brother, who informed me about your impending nuptials with Lord Richton.’
‘He had no right to do that.’
‘Why not? He didn’t reveal anything I wouldn’t know in a week or two anyway.’
‘Then you also know why we reached the decision.’
‘Because a group of hot-headed Berenians went about a hundred steps too far? Yes, I heard. Did you ever think of just calling in the army for protection?’
‘Oh, that would really work,’ she scoffed. ‘Make a show of aggression and give the BLF even more of an excuse to start a war. Maybe you could lend us a few of the bouncers who work the doors at your nightclubs for extra muscle.’
‘It seems a damn sight better than marrying someone to reach an outcome it might not even achieve.’
Her eyes narrowed at his disparaging comment. ‘Diplomacy is always better than might.’
Not in his view. ‘I take it this marriage isn’t of the fake variety,’ he said, an edge in his voice he was struggling to control.
‘No.’ She paused, as if what she was about to say was distasteful, staring out over the expanse of green lawn surrounded by potted roses and gardenia bushes. ‘It won’t be fake.’
Silent fury made his voice gruff. ‘Is that what you want? To marry Richton?’
She gave him a fulminating look. ‘You know it isn’t.’
‘But you’ll do it anyway.’
‘If my country needs me to do it.’ Her chin lifted, as if daring him to contradict her. ‘Then yes, I’ll do it.’
‘The dutiful little mouse.’
Jade fire flashed from her eyes at his mocking tone but what did she expect, that he’d ignore the obvious?
‘I am no more a mouse than a doormat,’ she said icily.
‘You’re doing something you don’t want to do. I’d say that makes you one or the other.’
‘Sometimes sacrifices have to be made,’ she said with regal fortitude. ‘Why do you care?’
‘I don’t like injustice. And I know how it feels to be trapped by circumstance.’ He knew how it felt to be bullied into doing something you didn’t want to do. His father had made an art form out of it, and it seemed her father was doing the same to her. ‘It’s why I left Santara.’
‘So you’re trying to help me? Very chivalrous, Prince Rafaele,’ she mocked softly. ‘But I don’t have the luxury of choice. I have to marry at some point.’ She swallowed heavily and turned her gaze out over the elaborate garden once more. ‘It might as well be Lord Richton.’
Watching how controlled and closed-up she was only made Rafe’s temper hit a new high. ‘Richton might seem like an upstanding citizen, but word is that he has a dark side. One you don’t want to meet.’
‘How would you know that?’
‘Because he’s been blacklisted from at least seven clubs that I’m aware of, including mine.’
A grimace crossed her face as she shook her head. ‘I’d prefer not to know that.’
‘Dammit, Alexa. That’s not even the point here.’ He stepped closer, deliberately crowding her. ‘Stop being a martyr.’
‘My, you have a lot of names for me, don’t you?’ she mocked, her eyes cool enough to freeze lava.
Yes, he did have a lot of names for her, utterly beautiful being one of them.
‘My brother died three years ago,’ she said, a note of sadness replacing the iciness of moments ago, ‘leaving all of us utterly devastated and me the only heir t
o the throne. When you add in the problems with Santara, combined with the corruption my father has just weeded out of our government, that has set back our modernisation plans and given the BLF even more to gripe about, you can see that something has to be done. And quickly.’
‘I’m sorry you lost your brother, and I’m sorry you’re facing political challenges, but that doesn’t mean you just give up.’
‘I’m not a quitter!’ she denied hotly. ‘I’m not giving up. I’m giving in. There’s a difference.’
‘I don’t see that.’
‘You don’t have to. And I’m sorry if asking you to marry me last night made you think that you have the right to question me. In hindsight, the whole fake engagement idea was a mistake. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. I was desperate for an alternative but now I don’t need one. If by marrying Lord Richton I can ease the political tension between our two countries, and prevent more violence, then I’ll consider that a win.’
He saw the line of her throat move as she swallowed. She was putting on a brave face but he’d bet that she wanted to marry Richton about as much as a person wanted a root canal. She was just too nice to say it. Too nice to demand her due. And that bothered him. Almost as much as it bothered him to imagine Alec Richton putting his hands on her. His mouth.
‘Have you even met Richton?’ he grated.
‘Of course.’
‘Have you kissed him?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
It wasn’t difficult to read that she was furious with his question. As she had a right to be. He was behaving entirely out of character, getting involved with a woman beyond the bedroom, especially with a woman he had already made off-limits. He didn’t bed women who were looking for marriage—either temporary or permanent. Especially not princesses from politically hostile neighbouring countries.
And yet thinking of her married to some other man when she’d kissed him as she had the night before left a nasty taste in his mouth. And that was strange in itself. He’d kissed—hell, he’d made love to—plenty of women and never given a thought to who they might end up with. The notion had never entered his head before.
But then he’d never been as attracted to a woman as he was to this one. It was something he wasn’t sure how to handle. Because he still wanted her. In fact right now he wanted to take her into his arms, press her back against the wall and challenge her to ignore the sexual chemistry that pulsed between them.
‘I’m making it my business,’ he said, noting how her eyes widened at his tone.
‘You can’t.’ She made to move past him and her body brushed his. Raw, unparalleled desire arced between them, making a mockery of her words. Frowning in consternation, he knew she would have put more space between them if she hadn’t found herself neatly trapped between him and an outdoor table. ‘Marriages in our part of the world have been arranged for centuries,’ she continued, raising irritated eyes to his. ‘It’s a tradition.’
‘That’s what my brother said. But I’m a bit of an anti-traditionalist unless both parties are in agreement.’
‘Not all of us have the freedom that you do. And I have a duty to uphold.’
‘A duty that will lead you into a worse situation than you’re already in.’
‘That’s your opinion, not mine. An opinion you have no right to offer since you very clearly turned down my proposal last night.’
‘And the chemistry between us?’ He hadn’t realised he’d moved closer to her until she made to move away from him again. Irritated, he reached out and clasped her wrist in his hand. It was fine-boned, delicate, so small. His body hardened as memories of how she had felt in his arms coursed through his veins. Of how her nails had dug into his shoulders through his clothing. He wanted that again, but directly on his skin this time. ‘You’re just going to walk away from it? You’re going to pretend that you didn’t dream about me last night?’
Her breath left her in a soft rush. ‘I did not dream about you last night.’
‘I dreamt about you.’
Her eyes widened at the admission, her sharp inhalation setting every one of his nerve-endings on fire.
‘What would you have me do?’ She shot him a wary look, as well she might, given the nature of the questions and the answering thoughts currently running through his head.
What a pity that he couldn’t give into any of them.
‘I’d have you stand up for what you want,’ he bit out. Which was true enough. Being dutiful was one thing, being foolish another thing entirely.
She shook her head as if that wasn’t even a possibility. ‘Sometimes the only way to win is to retreat. It’s called strategy.’
‘It’s called insanity.’
‘To you,’ she said curtly. ‘To me it’s my duty. But I still don’t understand why you’re so interested in all this. Apart from wanting to play the white knight, that is.’
‘I don’t play the white knight,’ Rafe growled. He’d done that as a boy, stepping in between his parents during their more vitriolic arguments to protect his mother from his father’s rages. Neither parent had appreciated the conciliatory gesture—his father thinking him insubordinate, and therefore worthless, and his mother too caught up in her own pain to notice his.
The memory was a timely reminder as to why he steered clear of emotional entanglements. Entanglements like this.
‘And you’re right. This isn’t my business. If you want to marry Richton and commit to a life of unhappiness then have it.’
‘I didn’t say I wanted that.’
‘Then what do you want?’
Already charged with emotions he was unused to feeling, Rafe’s jaw clenched. She must have read his tension accurately because her gaze dropped to his mouth, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. The air between them went from volatile to explosive. The pulse in her neck throbbed and her eyes widened as if she sensed danger. But she didn’t move away.
Instead she went still, her whole body taut as if she was waiting for something. As if she was wanting something...
Rafe told himself not to do it. Not to reach for her. Not to touch her. But he might as well have told himself to cut off his own foot while he was at it.
‘Ah, to hell with it.’ Without giving either of them a chance to think, and completely disregarding any consequences, Rafe lowered his mouth to hers.
If she’d shown any form or resistance or hesitation he might have stopped, he might have pulled back and reminded himself that she was not only ‘off-limits’, but that he didn’t go around kissing women just to prove a point. But she didn’t resist. Instead she gave a low moan of assent, wound her arms around his neck and pulled him in closer.
This. This was what he’d woken up craving today. The soft velvet feel of her mouth under his again, the sweet taste of her on his tongue and the long length of her warm curves moulded to the hard planes of his body.
Shock waves of pleasure shot through him as her fingers gripped his hair, her tongue caressing along his, filling his mouth as she shyly tasted him in return. Rafe groaned, curving his fingers around the slender nape of her neck, his thumbs firm against her cheeks as he deepened the kiss. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Her taste, her touch. He wanted more, he needed—
‘What the devil is the meaning of this?’
Rafe knew instantly that the deep voice that thundered behind Alexa was her father, and from the way her body instantly stiffened so did she.
He could have kicked himself. Never before had he become so lost in a woman, so lost in his own senses, that he’d forgotten his surroundings the way he just had. The way he nearly had the night before.
Cursing softly, he raised his head to see the shocked fury on her father’s face, followed by the shocked disbelief on his brother’s.
Alexa’s stricken gaze rose to his. ‘Please tell me it’s not
as bad as I think,’ she whispered unevenly.
‘Worse,’ he murmured, his gaze firmly fixed on her father.
‘Well? Are you just going to stand there and ignore me?’ the King thundered. ‘I want to know the meaning of this! Alexa? Explain yourself.’
Straightening her shoulders, Alexa moistened her kiss-swollen lips and turned to face her father’s wrath, smoothing her hands down over her hips. ‘Father... Your Majesty...’ Her face flamed anew as her gaze landed on his brother, a fresh wave of mortification turning her cheeks rosy. ‘I was... That is to say we were...’
‘Celebrating,’ Rafe said, knowing that there was only one way out of this mess and taking it.
‘Celebrating?’ King Ronan’s face became almost mottled.
‘Rafe—’ Alexa’s worried gaze met his as if she had already guessed what he was about to say, but Rafe ignored the look.
Taking her hand in his, he raised it to his lips. ‘That’s right,’ he confirmed, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Alexa and I were celebrating our betrothal.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘BETROTHAL?’
Her father’s voice was imbued with such a note of incredulity that Alexa knew immediately what he was thinking—that this man would never do as her future consort. It was only Rafe’s rank as second in line to the throne of Santara that kept complete scorn from his voice.
‘That’s right,’ the Prince drawled lazily.
Alexa nearly groaned out loud at the Prince’s antagonistic tone.
‘Is this true, Alexa?’ Her father’s voice sliced like a filleting knife. ‘Did you accept Prince Rafaele’s hand in marriage?’
No, she had asked him. And he’d said no. But, that aside, how was she to answer his question diplomatically when she had no idea how to answer it at all? Rafe had thrown her in at the deep end with his charged announcement and she wasn’t at all sure why he had done it. An outright denial seemed implausible given that she’d been caught with her arms wrapped around the Prince like a vine, but agreeing seemed just as problematic.
Fortunately her father was too incensed to notice that she was struggling to come up with an answer and didn’t have the patience for her to formulate one. ‘After we had already agreed that you would marry Lord Richton this morning?’
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