Captured and Crowned (13 page)

Her thoughts tumbled into a conflicting whirl of sensations. The incredible freedom she'd felt dancing with the people. Making love to Kristo deep into the night. And the simple pleasures like holding his hand.

She could easily delude herself into thinking he loved her. But he didn't.

He'd been honest about that from the start. He wasn't “victim” to that particular emotion.

She still didn't know why he shied away from love. Why he couldn't give her more than sex.

“Who soured you on love?” she asked, but her only answer was his breathing that had finally evened out in sleep.

But she was wide awake, her mind troubled. She'd tried hard to deny what she was feeling. But she couldn't any longer.

The depth of emotions rocketing through her were far beyond anything she'd experienced. More powerful than anything she'd ever dreamed of having.

This was more than sex. Much, much more. And that made it more horrible to bear, for what she felt would not be returned.

Love. She hadn't wanted this consuming need that left her fearing she'd die if she lost him. As if she only felt whole when she was with him. This feeling reduced her to a needy woman who tried to convince herself that she could be content with just his physical love.

It was a lie. She needed more than that from him. She needed his heart. His trust.

But she knew she'd get neither. Knew she was in for heartache because she loved him. Deeply. More deeply than any woman should love a man.

“Damn you, I didn't want this to happen,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes as she glided her hands down the muscles in his back that had finally lost their steel. “But it did.”

K
RISTO
pushed inside Demetria's suite promptly at a quarter till six, wondering if she'd be ready, as he'd asked. If all went as planned the church bells would begin ringing fifteen minutes from now. The last time they'd tolled was when Gregor had had to gather the people to announce that the King had died.

To his surprise, she stood by the open balcony door wearing a royal blue dress that hugged her curves and ended in a swirl just above her knees. It was fashionable, yet sophisticated.

Her glorious hair hung in loose curls, and he couldn't think of a more fitting crown for such beauty. If only she wasn't frowning.

He strode to her and wished that circumstances had been different. Being at crossed swords with his bride was not the way to start a marriage.

His hand grasped hers and she trembled as if shocked. He felt the electrical charge arc into him like a lightning bolt and set fire to the desire that never truly banked.

Touching her was dangerous, for it narrowed his thoughts to one thing—pleasuring her. But he couldn't stop himself. He, who always remained cool, had discovered his weakness. Her!

He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss on the silken skin.
She couldn't contain her whispered moan. He just managed to still his answering groan.

Amazing how a private moment with her could fast escalate out of control. How all he could think of was taking her back to bed.

He stared at the delicate hand resting in his and marveled at the nimble fingers that created such beauty with beads and lace and silk. Slender fingers that had played over his flesh in long lusty strokes to the point where he'd been nearly mad with wanting her.

With a muttered oath directed at himself, he shook off the carnal images that had his blood roaring in his veins and focused on the task at hand. Within the hour, the Royal House of Stanrakis would officially be in mourning again.

Their marriage would be postponed. His personal life put on hold. But before that happened there was one thing he'd neglected to do for her. And that was causing him more anxiety than he'd believed possible.

“You're scaring me, Kristo,” she said, her hands tightening on his when he stood before her, staring.

He was scaring himself, for he'd never traveled this road before. God willing, he would never have to do so again.

He managed a smile and looked into eyes that were wide with concern. “I am honored and pleased that you will be my bride. My Queen,” he said, and slid a ring on her finger.

The fit was perfect. She was perfect.

“It's beautiful,” she said.

It was priceless, but it paled in comparison to her beauty. “It was commissioned for your wedding.”

Her gaze jerked to his. “This is the ring Gregor was to give me?”

“Technically, yes, though he never ordered it made or saw it once it was completed.”

“I don't understand.”

“Gregor asked me to handle this very personal task for him, claiming he had no talent for such things.” So, without knowing the likes and dislikes of their future Queen, just remembering the passion she'd exuded, he'd had the ring designed for her.

That
had been a horrendous task, for at the time he'd thought the very worst of her. Still, guilt made a man do the impossible at times.

He'd chosen a three-carat blue diamond surrounded by smaller brilliants because it was spectacular. He'd commissioned the ring to be set in Rhoda gold and platinum as well, to symbolize two of the richest ores on earth. The combination was striking. Just as she was too beautiful for words.

But he'd not known until now that the fire in the blue diamond would match the glow of passion in her eyes before she climaxed. Or that the bands of gold and platinum would bring out the warmth in her light olive skin.

“Do you like it?” he asked, for if she hated it he'd have another one created.

Her lips trembled. Firmed. “It's more than lovely.”

She blinked away the sudden moisture that seemed intent on filling her eyes, but it was a useless battle.

“Why tears over something so small?” he asked, uneasy around her when she was like this.

She sniffled, and dabbed at her eyes with the tissue he handed her, looking small and miserable. “Don't you see? It's not the ring. It's all of it together that makes this so heartbreaking.”

“All of what? You're making no sense.”

“Of course you wouldn't understand. You have seen that I have the gown of my dreams. A garden wedding that is picture-book perfect. I have a devastatingly handsome King as my groom, and now this—a magnificent engagement ring.” Though her crying had stopped, two tears slipped from her big
sad eyes. “And it's all show. I've gone from being the chosen fiancé of your brother to yours. There's no love.”

He heaved a sigh. Love again.

“That's it, then? You would be happy if I professed my undying affection?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn't believe you, for you would only be telling me what I want to hear.”

He couldn't deny it, though he was tempted to.

“I wanted you since the first day I met you on the beach,” he said, and managed a tight smile when she blinked in surprise.

“Wanted me? As in desired me as a sexual partner? Lusted after me? Is that it?”

“Yes, and if you are honest with yourself you will admit that you are just as desirous of me.”

She jerked her gaze from his—as if the truth stung, as if the sight of him sickened her. “How can you be so cold?”

“It is honesty, Demetria. In my position I can't afford to be a victim of emotions.”

He didn't understand the sense of loss that settled over him. He sure as hell didn't
want
this weakness, so he shoved those troubling emotions to the back of his mind.

He was the King. He had to make tough decisions for the good of Angyra. He couldn't let one small woman disrupt his life and his kingdom.

Their plans had been made and they would abide by them.
Even if he hated what he was about to do.

His fingers closed around hers and he ground his teeth when she stiffened. “Come. It's time to make the announcement.”

She nodded and fell into step beside him, looking regal and composed, yet far too aloof. Still, that electric thrill shot through him just at having her beside him.

But this time he sensed a wall going up between them. A barrier that might not be as easy to breach.

The moment they reached the main hallway leading to the balcony she abruptly stopped, forcing him to do the same. Much of the staff stood along the walls in a show of support.

“Your Majesty,” Vasos said, and bent in a courtly bow.

Both lines of servants followed suit.

He nodded, momentarily regretting that when he'd taken the crown the familiarity he'd shared with these people all his life had changed. This was not the life he wanted, yet he was surprised that accepting the burden no longer angered him.

He guided her toward the door that glowed in the late-afternoon sun.

“Your father will arrive late tomorrow for the funeral,” he said, and swore under his breath when she stiffened.

“I don't look forward to that visit,” she said in an undertone.

“Nor do I, but protocol demands it.”

They'd reached the front balcony, and the cluster of guards and staff made further talk impossible. The doors were opened wide and a roar went up from the crowd that extended from the cobbled lane in front of the palace down to the harbor.

The bells were nearly deafening here, but he knew they'd stop soon. Knew that once he stepped out on that balcony and made the announcement his life would take another huge change.

Finally the tolling stopped, but its echo vibrated off the verdant hills for long minutes. Before the last reverberation died, he grasped Demetria's hand in his and walked out on the balcony.

A large crowd had gathered to throw up a shout of welcome. The enormity of the moment wasn't lost on Kristo.

He'd stood back all his life while his father had come out here to speak to the people first. Always after state and family deaths. Always for national celebrations.

Gregor had stood by their father's side, and Kristo had been content to be in their shadow. He'd had the life he ached to pursue, and being the second son had afforded him that luxury.

Now he was King. Duty came first.

“Marry for love,”
his mother had told him.

Yet here he stood with his chosen bride, poised to start their marriage with animosity instead of affection.

He glanced at her, and his heart lurched with an empathy that had never been strong in his gene pool. She stared unseeing at the sea of cheering people, their din so loud he could barely hear himself think.

This was just another burden his title carried. He hoped she realized now that they'd always be on display with the people. That the celebration the other day had been a fluke.

He bent close to her ear. “Smile, Demetria. You look like I have a gun in your back.”

“In a way you do,” she quipped, but the inviting bow of her lips curved into a smile, albeit a tense one.

He swore under his breath and knew there was no help for it. Even if he could find the words there was no time for them right now.

With a hand raised for silence, he stepped to the railing with Demetria by his side. “The Royal House of Stanrakis is grateful for your patience and respect these past few troubled weeks. I deeply appreciate that you joined us in celebrating my father's death.”

And now Gregor was gone. His chest tightened at the thought of his brother slipping into obscurity, as he'd wished.

He stared at the gathering. Their silence was palpable. Then, like the tide rolling to the shore, the low rumble of rapid conversation came from those gathered. A few clapped their hands, the applause slow but building.

“Hail to the future King and Queen of Angyra,” a man in the crowd shouted, and soon others joined in with well wishes.

If there were any detractors—and he was sure there were those who found this turn of events unsatisfactory—they wisely kept their opinions to themselves.

“Wave and smile as if you are thrilled beyond words, for it's clear they hold you in high regard,” said Kristo.

He felt a tremor go through Demetria as she lifted a hand and waved. Not the cursory movement he'd seen some royals make. But a genuine greeting. One that she'd give to a friend across the street.

“I'm the same person I was yesterday, when I was dancing with them,” she said.

But that wasn't true. Up here she was the future Queen.

“As you all are aware, the royal wedding was to take place in the formal garden next Saturday,” he said, pausing to let a ripple of agreement go through those gathered. “Unfortunately tragedy has struck the Royal House of Stanrakis again and the wedding must be postponed. Prince Gregor, my beloved brother, is dead.”

Behind him, Mikhael's low voice reached him as he comforted an elderly aunt. Women wept. Men moaned.

Demetria stood quietly at his side. His comfort.

Kristo stood tall and firm, his heart clenched with grief. He had done what duty decreed, even though it went against Gregor's wishes.

This was the right thing to do for Angyra. For him and Demetria as well? Only time would tell.

He wanted the people to accept her. To forget that she'd been Gregor's betrothed. To love her as much as he did.

That admission gave him pause. Was that why he thought
of her every second? Why he had to touch her if he was near her? Why she haunted his sleep with her beguiling smile?

Had he fallen in love with her?

T
HE
dinner was more elegant than she could have imagined, and far more somber than any meal should be. Demetria sat at the opposite end of a lacquered dining table from Kristo, wishing she knew the workings of his mind. But he'd said nothing to her, leaving her to feel like one of the pieces of art on display.

She wished she knew what was troubling him. Wished she could have had a moment alone to speak with Kristo. But since the announcement his family, friends and royal dignitaries had demanded his attention. She had been pushed aside, forgotten or ignored—she wasn't sure which.

Even now, at the long dining table, a dozen of his cousins and close family members carried on hushed conversations that she failed to grasp. His brother Mikhael sat at her left, far more reserved than she remembered him being.

An elegant young woman who was the daughter of a council member had taken the chair on Kristo's left and captured his attention with soulful looks, softly spoken words that forced him to bend close to her, and repeatedly touched his hand in a gesture of sympathy that lingered far too long.

The last troubled her, for it was blatantly clear that the woman had eyes only for Kristo. Thankfully none of the other guests had seemed to notice but her.

“I was convinced that you were a gold digger, but I have
been proved wrong,” Mikhael said, his voice a rich purr that was pleasing but lacked the sensual quality of Kristo's. “I was also certain you hated my brother, but I can see that isn't the case.”

Demetria glared at him, which gained her his rogue's smile, and chose to ignore the first remark. “I do hate him at times.”

Mikhael arched a dark brow, clearly not believing her.

He leaned so close she could smell the brandy on his breath. “I know a jealous woman when I see one, and you, Demetria, are jealous.”

“Rubbish,” she said, and took a sip of her wine in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner.

He gave a careless shrug. “Deny it all you wish, but it is the truth.”

He was right. She loved Kristo. She was jealous. Furiously jealous of him, and simply furious with the woman seated beside him for her blatant flirtation.

“Of course he is the same,” Mikhael said.

She glanced at him over her wineglass. “He's possessive. That is not the same thing.”

“I shall prove you wrong.” Mikhael pushed to his feet and instantly garnered everyone's attention. “It is too beautiful an evening to spend inside cloaked in grief. So I have invited my future sister-in-law to join me for a walk in the garden.”

He extended a hand to her, his smile utter charm. The guests were so quiet she was sure they could hear her heart race like the wind.

She was caught between insulting him by refusing his offer in front of his family, or leaving the woman and Kristo alone. Neither option appealed to her.

Truthfully, she wanted to get away, because the past two hours had been a dreadful strain to endure. She had never been so besieged by such a torrent of opposing emotions.

“What a splendid idea,” the woman at Kristo's right said, breaking the silence.

Demi's gaze fixed on the woman's smug smile. Like a volcano, anger boiled inside her again and threatened to spew.

Getting out of here was her only option. If she stayed, she'd surely make a scene.

She laid her linen aside and rose, hoping a walk in the fresh air would clear her head and cool her temper. “I agree.”

“As do I,” Kristo said, on his feet and striding toward Demi before she could place her hand on Mikhael's arm. “Come,
agapi mou
.”

Upon hearing him voice that endearment in public one of his elderly aunts bobbed her head and let out a pleased sigh.

If only the words held meaning for him. The fierce gleam in his dark eyes was deep and troubled. Yes, he was possessive, but there was some other emotion there that she'd not seen before—something primal and fathomless.

“Shall we?” Kristo asked.

She inclined her head, for truly she didn't trust herself to speak right now. Kristo pressed his hand to the small of her back and she burned with need.

Being alone with him would lead to the bedroom. It always did. For the life of her she couldn't think of a reason to refuse him. It was a shameful admission to make in the wake of Gregor's death, but she couldn't deny it.

“Thank you all for coming, and for your support,” he told the guests. “Now, if you'll excuse us?”

All of the guests smiled and demurred to their King and future Queen. All but the woman next to Kristo, whose eyes snapped with anger.

Demetria looked away, relieved when Kristo escorted her from the palace. The balmy night air carried the salty tang of the sea and the spicy scent of jasmine and bougainvillea.
But tension held her in its grip as the day's events played over and over in her mind, leaving her chilled in spirit.

Lights from the various shops along the cliff cast swaths of color over the dark water, making it appear as if a rainbow of ribbons had been unfurled. But the spectacular vista afforded her failed to capture her interest as Kristo slid his arms around her and pulled her close.

Her world narrowed to him and her. She splayed her palms over his warm broad chest and the taut planes of muscle that she'd explored at leisure last night. It would be so easy to cuddle against him.

“I never realized you had such a large family,” she said. “That will take getting used to.”

“Those are the close ones. There are three times that many with distant cousins.” He nudged her chin up with his fingers, his eyes near black in the diffused light. Deep. Mysterious. “What of your family? All you've mentioned is your father and sister.”

For good reason! She was loath to admit she came from a dysfunctional family. “That's about it. My father was an only child, and his parents are both dead,” she said. “My stepmother was adopted, and after she passed we never heard from her family again.”

“What of your mother's people?”

“They disowned her, and subsequently me.”

“Because of the scandal?”

She nodded, feeling oddly relieved that she'd finally told someone about her past. It was a very bitter pill to swallow, knowing that your family wanted no part of you, even though you'd done nothing wrong.

“They are fools,” he said, and she smiled at the heat in his tone.

“My grandfather was of noble Greek blood, and his daughter's actions were unforgivable. To know she'd given herself
to an Italian, especially a married man, when she was betrothed to another noble Greek brought great shame on their family.”

“Yet they married her off to your father,” he said, proving he remembered the scandal.

“Father said that only my mother's father attended the wedding,” she said. “After that day they never heard from her family again.”

“Even when your mother died?”

She shook her head. “Not a word. For to them she'd been dead for a year. As for me—Father suspected they believed I was the bastard child of her lover.”

But she wasn't, and it shamed her to admit that there had been times when she'd wished it were so—that she was anyone's daughter other than Sandros Andreou's.

“It is unfathomable that they've never been a presence in your life,” he said.

“Well, I was told that my grandfather left a trust fund for me. But I can't touch it until I marry and produce an heir.” She grimaced. “A Greek heir.”

“Yes, very traditional.”

She didn't bother to add that she didn't want her grandfather's money. He hadn't wanted her when she was a child in need of love. He was not welcome in her life now.

Kristo's beautiful mouth pulled into a tight, disagreeable line again. “Did you know that a wedding invitation has been sent to them?”

“No. But then I was never consulted about the guest list,” she said, wanting to be angry at him over this slight, but simply not finding the energy to fight it any longer. “I know. Protocol demands that you invite them.”

He made a gruff sound and nudged her chin up, eyes glittering with an emotion she'd not seen before. “Very true. But
remember one thing,
agapi mou
. After we are married, they will bow to you.”

“I don't care if they do,” she said.

“I do,” he said, pressing a fierce kiss on her mouth that stunned as well as warmed her. “You'll be my Queen, and as such you'll command respect.”

She managed a small smile, knowing he'd never understand that respect was the last thing she wanted.

Love.

That was what she wanted most from him.

“Do you know you've never told me about
your
childhood or your mother?” she said, hoping he would now.

He heaved a sigh and pulled her down beside him on a bench. “It wasn't a typical childhood, but it was all we knew. Mother was busy with her duties, and so was Father, so we were basically raised by nannies.”

“I can imagine you giving them a merry chase in this huge palace,” she said.

He laughed, the sound so rare she just stared at him. “We were boisterous when we were young, with all the energy boys can hold, but after Gregor turned eight he was pretty much segregated from us.”

“Why?”

“He was the Crown Prince,” he said, as if that explained it all. “Father made sure that his duties were pounded into him. So for the most part it was just Mikhael and me.”

How sad that Gregor had lost that closeness with his siblings, that he'd been denied a childhood because of the order of his birth. “So what was it like growing up here for you and your younger brother?”

“I wanted for nothing, and neither did Mikhael. We had a huge playroom to ourselves, and a nanny who fussed after us. When I turned eight I was sent away to boarding school in Greece,” he said.

And she thought she'd had a wretched childhood! “That's too young to be sent away! And, while I can understand the need for a nanny, what of your parents? What role did they play in your life?”

He shrugged, an abrupt movement that screamed of pent-up tension. This was not a subject he cared to discuss!

“My parents were the King and Queen,” he said. “We didn't have a close relationship with our parents. They were simply too busy for that.”

“People who are too busy with their own lives shouldn't have children.”

He was silent for a long moment. “You'd give up your career or duty for your family?”

“Yes! Children need to know that their parents love them, support them, in order to thrive,” she said.

“How can you say that after you've admitted that you were little more than your stepmother's helper? That your father was so greedy that he used you, his daughter, to further himself?”

She reeled back, stung by the venom in his tone. It would be easy to cave in. To leave him to his delusions. But pride refused to turn a blind eye to his assumptions.

“My father is many things—brutal, greedy and at times obnoxiously loud—but I never doubted he loved me, that he believed he was doing the best for me by securing my marriage to the Crown Prince,” she said.

He snorted, as if discounting her words as nothing. “And your sister's mother? Would you have me believe that she treated you the same as her own flesh and blood?”

“Believe what you will,” she said. “The truth is that she was the one who taught me to sew, who nurtured my feeble attempts to create something by myself. Because of her encouragement when I was young, and her praise when I succeeded, I rushed through my studies at university to begin my
career, well aware that time was short before I'd be forced to honor my duty to your crown.”

His fingers entwined with hers, and for the first time she didn't feel any jolt of passion. Instead of that sizzle of desire she'd come to dread and crave in turn, she felt incredibly sad that he'd never experienced the love she had.

“You put too much stock in love,” he said.

“And you put none in it.”

He didn't deny it, and that made her heart ache all the more for him. For a brief moment she glimpsed the little boy who'd craved affection. Then in a blink he reverted to the arrogant man who denied the need for love.

“It's been a very long day,” he said, and rose, dragging her up as well. “It's time we returned to the palace.”

And bed? She assumed so as he led her to the palace in silence. Each step closer made her dread the night more, for though she longed to make love with him she knew she'd never win his heart.

At the door to her suite, he nudged her chin up and pressed an achingly tender kiss on her lips that brought tears to her eyes. “Get some rest, Demetria. The next few days will be hectic.”

Then he turned and walked away. She stood there a moment, torn between letting him go and calling out to him, calling him back to her arms, to her bed.

She choked back a sob. Swiped trembling hands over her now wet cheeks, and stepped inside her lonely suite.

Love shouldn't hurt like this.

 

Demetria didn't see Kristo at all the next week. The following Saturday, the day that was to have been their wedding, was the funeral for Prince Gregor.

Like everything else Greek, the ceremony was laden with ritual and seemed endless. Demetria, wearing a black
cashmere Donna Karan sheath, sat beside Kristo, who was resplendent in a black suit, black shirt and tie, with the royal sash stretched across his broad chest.

He was regal and unapproachable.

By the time the service was over and Prince Gregor had been buried in the royal family plot, she was exhausted in body and spirit. Still, she was obliged to stay until the guests left. Until the palace grew quiet.

Kristo had disappeared again, likely dealing with more state business, more duty that required his immediate attention. Her father and her unusually sedate sister had also left, so she had nobody to talk to. No one to share her thoughts with.