One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (9 page)

‘Carrie, no…'He tried to stop her as she left the table, but she was too quick for him. She even managed to fit in a curtsy to the king and to his mother before picking up her skirts and fleeing the dais.

And now she left him no alternative but to go after her.

He caught up with her outside where she had stopped to slip off her shoes. ‘What on earth do you think you're doing, running off like that?'

She ignored him and started tugging up the awful dress around her thighs. ‘Stop that!' he insisted, glancing round to see if anyone else could see.

‘I have to walk somehow,' she said, sniffing loudly.

She was crying, he realised, but her legs were the most shapely legs he'd ever seen and he didn't feel like sharing the sight of them with any of the other guests. ‘If you take my arm you won't need to do that,' he offered gruffly.

Take his arm? To wrap it round his throat, perhaps! ‘Thank you…' Carrie could see the sense in Nico's suggestion, even if she didn't like to admit it. She was having enough trouble coping with the dress when she was walking on a level surface, let alone trying to keep her balance on the steps. Loath though she was to accept Nico's assistance, she knew she couldn't risk a fall.

But once she took his arm Carrie realised she had made a tactical error, because all she was aware of now was Nico's warmth and his strength and the intoxicating tang of his cologne.

‘Where would you like me to take you, Carrie?' he murmured, no doubt expecting her to say, straight to bed.

‘To my room, if you please…' She was quite proud of herself. She sounded like a heroine in a period novel. But anything less and the game was over.

‘Very well,' Nico said, playing along.

Her mind was full of the touch of his mouth and the warm possession of his tongue, she could feel his hands moulding her limbs, directing her pleasure, increasing and prolonging it…And then as he plundered her mouth she would open for him like a flower, and—

Here they were. What a relief. ‘Thank you,' she said politely, disentangling her arm from his at the door. ‘I'm going to see the evening through,' she informed him. ‘I gave my promise to your mother, and I won't let her down. I'm going to shower now and see if I can find something more suitable to wear. I'd like you to apologise to the king for me and to your mother, of course, and say that if they will allow me to I should like to join them for coffee.'

‘And do you expect me to escort you back to the banqueting hall, too?' His voice was mocking, but he admired her spirit, even if he knew he shouldn't fall for it.

‘Thank you. That's very kind of you,' she told him politely.

He turned his back without giving her chance to respond. His feelings were colliding: mistrust with admiration. She had suffered terribly from the frosty reception she had received in the banqueting hall and most people would have had enough. He could have told her that the royal family had appreciated the interlude, and that he had, too, but did she need any more encouragement? He doubted it. She was determined to face them all again. He had to admit he would have done the same thing, and could only applaud her decision to return.

Carrie couldn't have been more thrilled for the young maid. Not only had she managed to track down the elusive gown, she had uncovered the culprits. The gown had been discovered in Princess Anastasia's dressing room.

‘I can't think how it got there,' the maid said, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘An honest mistake, I'm sure…' Carrie didn't want any more trouble, she wanted an end to the matter. She had far more important things on her mind, and the first of these was winning Nico's trust. A catfight with Princess Anastasia would do nothing to further her cause. If she acted with dignity now it gave her a platform from which to go forward.

After a quick shower, with her hair pinned up, Carrie stepped into the dream gown. Slithering the cool silk over her warm, naked skin was a wonderful sensation. The dress had been cut to display her smooth, pale shoulders to best advantage, and hint at the full swell of her breasts without putting them crudely on display. The maid had found her a pair of soft kidskin mules in the same delicate shade, which she slipped on smiling with relief, because they felt like slippers. Daintily beaded, they had a low heel that made it easy to walk gracefully, and as a finishing touch the maid handed her a gossamer shawl.

‘In case the evening turns chilly,' she said, adding a neat evening bag with a silk strap that Carrie could hang from her wrist.

Having made sure everything was as it should be, the young girl invited Carrie to sit in front of the dressing table so she could arrange her hair. She pinned it loosely in an artful knot, allowing some tendrils to fall free and frame Carrie's face. Then, plucking two fragrant blooms from a display of blush-pink roses, she secured them in place.

Carrie stared at her reflection in disbelief. ‘I can't believe it. I feel beautiful….'

‘You sound surprised,
signorina,
' the young girl said happily, ‘but you are beautiful.'

Carrie was sure the maid was only being kind, but kindness went a long way with her. ‘I appreciate the trouble you've taken on my behalf,' she said sincerely, levelling her gaze on the young girl's face.

‘I am Princess Laura's personal maid,
signorina
, and the princess asked me most particularly to look after you.'

As the young girl hurried away Carrie couldn't help feel more optimistic than she had since arriving in Niroli, but then she remembered Nico, and his suggestion to escort her back to the dinner. She wasn't sure she was ready for that. And why should she wait for him? Why give him the impression that she was incapable of acting independently of him? It was essential to behave as she meant to go on if she was to win the best chance of a happy future for her baby.

But the thought of facing that gathering a second time had drained the colour from her face. Opening the powder rouge she had bought on a whim at the airport, she brushed a little onto the apple of each cheek. She wasn't going to let a few butterflies stop her. Next she applied some lip-gloss and mascara, and lastly, a fluff of powder, and now she couldn't think of a single reason for delay.

He glanced at his watch again. He'd had no contact from Carrie.

He couldn't wait any longer. She would be in a panic if he kept her waiting. He had no intention of risking another and possibly far more eventful scene in the banqueting hall.

He had half risen, and was about to murmur something to his mother, when he caught sight of movement by the grand doors. Pausing, he refocused and then sank down again slowly in his seat.

Carrie had just entered the room unescorted. With some satisfaction he noted that just as he had taught her she paused by the door. Her appearance stunned everyone. Perhaps he gasped like the rest, he wasn't sure. She looked…exquisite. Her bearing was regal, her manner gracious…and she was beautiful, truly beautiful. He couldn't believe the transformation; he couldn't tear his gaze away from her. When he did, it was to see the footmen bowing as if she were the most exquisite creature they had ever seen, they were enchanted by Carrie.

He tried to analyse the changes in her in order to understand them. Her pale skin was flawless, and her blue eyes backlit with warmth and intelligence. But it was more than that, she was radiant, and had instantly won the heart of every man in the room. She had acquired dignity in the space of an hour, and perhaps even more appealing than that was the glow of her indomitable spirit, which shone brighter than any light.

He had become as still as everyone else, Nico realised. It was as if the whole room was holding a collective breath, waiting to see what she would do next. He didn't even want to go to her in case he broke the spell, he just wanted to sit where he was and feast his eyes on her, but then her steady gaze met his…

They held the heady stare as Carrie slowly began to walk forwards, until she stood just in front of Nico. ‘You look beautiful…' It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but he couldn't find the words. He only knew that the woman standing in front of him was complex and elusive, and he wanted her.

‘Thank you.'

It seemed incredible now that it was Carrie who was self-possessed and he who was struggling for composure. He was so proud of her. He would never have guessed she possessed such confidence, or such elegance. The simplicity of the couture dress suited her. The designer had wisely concluded there was no need to flaunt her assets, knowing that to the connoisseur they were more than apparent beneath the cunningly cut silk. He found himself standing back to give her space, to show her respect, and then he found himself bowing low from the waist to her as he might to a queen.

T
HE
speeches seemed endless, and with Nico seated next to her Carrie found it hard to concentrate. It had become like musical chairs at the royal table, with Anastasia having persuaded someone to move so she could sit next to Nico. He was a charming and practised dinner companion, and appeared content to share his time between Anastasia and herself.

Princess Laura did her best to distract Carrie with amusing anecdotes from Nico's childhood, which Carrie guessed not many had been invited to share. She had to admit they made him seem almost human, but then she reminded herself that this was his mother talking, and Princess Laura clearly adored her children. Anastasia's laughter proved a constant distraction, reminding her that whatever compliments Nico had heaped on her initially she could never compete with an international beauty like the princess. As if to rub it in, Nico glanced at her from time to time, perhaps to check that she was behaving properly and not disgracing him.

It was after a particularly lengthy clash of stares that Carrie sat back with her heart thundering. She should have known better than to try and boldly stare him down. There had been an edge to his expression she had recognised at once. It hadn't been the look of an employer, or a prince; it had been the look of a man who wanted a woman in his bed.

That was how Nico would always see her, Carrie reflected, staring down at her hands. However he'd behaved towards her when she'd walked into the hall she remained a convenience upon whom he expended his excess energy. Princess Anastasia, on the other hand, was playing for far higher stakes.

‘You seem preoccupied…'

Carrie started with alarm. She hadn't even realised it was her turn to receive Nico's attention. As always the quick-witted remark escaped her, and he had already turned back to Anastasia who had found some reason to distract him by the time she had composed herself.

The next speaker received Carrie's full attention. The elderly king made a point of welcoming Princess Anastasia to Niroli, and then went on to extol her many virtues. Nico murmured agreement, Carrie noticed, feeling her confidence slowly leaching away. King Giorgio went on to hint that one day his grandson Nico might find himself on the throne. This came as a huge and unwelcome surprise to Carrie. She had never imagined Nico aspired to the throne. A king would have no place in his life for a child born out of wedlock, and a woman careless enough to become pregnant by him could only bring shame on the house of Niroli. Nico hated gossip, and he had always avoided the possibility of becoming tainted by it. How much more determined would he be to do that if he were King?

She didn't even know she was wringing her hands until Nico's warm touch stopped her. Before she had chance to consider what he'd done and why, the waiters, who must have received a signal to refill their glasses, came between them.

Did Nico care about her feelings? Had he changed towards her? Did he believe her now? Carrie so wanted to believe it was true that when the orchestra struck up and Nico rose to his feet she half rose with him. But instead of turning to her he offered his arm to Anastasia.

She felt humiliated as she watched them bow to the king, and then Nico escorted Anastasia onto the dance floor. It was the first dance, Carrie told herself firmly, determined not to let her feelings show. Princess Anastasia was the guest of honour, and Nico was expected to dance with her; it was his duty….

But nothing helped to soothe the hurt inside her and every minute seemed like an hour as the dance went on and on…Anastasia was so proud and regal in Nico's arms, appearing to everyone, Carrie was sure, as if that were her rightful place…How could she stand it?

The answer came straight away. For the sake of her child she could stand anything.

‘Well done,' Princess Laura whispered so discreetly Carrie couldn't be sure she had spoken at all.

He returned to the table after executing his duty with as much good grace as he could muster. Carrie had gone very pale, he noticed, and would barely look at him. His grandfather seemed pale and unwell, too.

In the short time he had been in Niroli he had noticed his grandfather's deterioration and could understand his urgent wish to find an heir. He could step in and put an end to the old man's suffering right away. Accepting the crown was the only thing his grandfather had ever asked of him, and King Giorgio's increasing weakness brought out the protective elements in his nature. He could think of endless reasons why he shouldn't accept the crown, but now he tried to find reasons why he must. He would see more of his family, and maybe in time he could bring his head office to Niroli and learn to live happily within the confines of a small island….

Work and rule? Nico frowned as he flicked the edge of his jacket out of reach of Princess Anastasia's spiny fingers. He had always been an all-or-nothing man. Ruling Niroli would mean relinquishing his business completely. But as the princess reached for him again a smile curved his lips…If he were King he could have Anastasia banned from the kingdom for ever.

Easing himself away from her, he wondered how much more he was expected to take of Anastasia's suffocating perfume and desperate manner. And now he was forced to jerk his leg away as her bare foot tried to find his calf. The woman revolted him. He had done his duty by her as custom demanded, but the thought of bedding her….

Swallowing back disgust, Nico turned his mind to solving the problem of an heir should he take the throne. He had no doubt he would make a good king. He was an effective leader, and so far there hadn't been a problem he couldn't solve. And, he reminded himself, he had two brothers who could provide an heir….

But as Anastasia released a theatrical sigh he glanced at Carrie. She still had her face turned away from him, showing her strong profile, but there was something vulnerable beneath the surface that touched him. The contrast between the two women couldn't have been more marked. He decided to test his thoughts on his mother. Leaning across, he drew her attention. ‘I could settle at court pretty quickly with Anastasia at my side, don't you think, Mother? She seems to have every bit of etiquette at her fingertips…'

His mother appeared not to hear him.

‘As a princess born and bred,' he pressed mischievously, ‘don't you think Anastasia would slip easily into her role as my wife?'

‘Your wife?' His mother turned abruptly. ‘Why, Nico,' she exclaimed, bringing her face very close so they couldn't be overheard, ‘I thought you could tell a real jewel from a fake, but it seems I was mistaken.'

He sat back, feeling more pleased by that comment than he had expected. Thrusting his jacket aside, he stuck his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat to continue his contemplation of Carrie. She so quiet, so modest and discreet…It pleased him to think that only he knew the other side of her. And now he ached to be alone with her. He ached to be inside her.

He felt a rush of pleasure when she turned to look at him. She had sensed his interest. Meeting her gaze, he indicated with the faintest quirk of his brow his intention to leave the banquet. She hesitated, and then, just as he had expected, she quietly stood and curtsied low to his grandfather. The king was too busy talking to notice her, and his mother was back on the gossip trail. Below them on the dance floor couples swirled in a kaleidoscopic whirl of colour. Any remaining guests were chatting easily at their tables now the wheels of conversation had been oiled with good food and wine. No one would miss them if they left, and he didn't care if they did; some things wouldn't wait.

Pushing up from his seat, he inclined his head politely as Carrie drew alongside him, and then, offering her his arm, he escorted her from the room.

‘Nico?' Carrie said faintly, when Nico, having opened the door to her apartment, showed no sign of leaving.

‘Aren't you going to ask me in?' he said.

Ask him in and face the consequences? Ask him in and fulfil her role as his convenient woman? She couldn't even call herself his mistress, Carrie reflected. She was nothing more than Nico's bedmate, the woman who eased his frustration when he was bored or restless, or had a few minutes to spare before his next engagement. ‘Won't Anastasia miss you?'

His lips tugged up at that, while his eyes burned with some inner heat. He had no intention of answering her, she knew that, but she still wanted him with all her heart, her soul and every inch of her body. She wanted to lay claim to him, to put her brand on him, to push Anastasia out of the picture once and for all.

She saw the humour growing in his eyes as if he knew every thought passing through her head. And his humour was so much more potent than lust, because it suggested the intimacy between them she craved. That was why it always managed to slip beneath her guard….

And was she supposed to resist the confident curve of Nico's lips, or pretend she couldn't hear the beating of her own heart? Heat was rushing through her before he even touched her. She was blind to reason the moment she felt him looking at her and wanting her. The thought of instilling common sense into their relationship no longer mattered to her. All she wanted was to feel Nico's arms around her and his lips claiming her mouth. She was his, she would always be his, and she couldn't, she wouldn't fight it….

Taking him by the hand, she drew him inside the room and closed the door. She could feel the tension draining out of him right away. This healing process, this coming together and finding release, was as crucial to him as it was to her; it was as vital to their existence as air. When he ran his fingertips down her naked arms she didn't sigh, she vocalised a sound of love, of need and urgent hunger. And Nico understood that. Of course he understood. They spoke the same language when it came to this….

‘Kiss me,' Carrie murmured, throwing back her head to expose the tender hollow at the base of her neck. She was already vibrating with anticipation. She was ready for Nico in every way. And when he kissed her, when his tongue plundered her mouth, it was all she could do to remain on her feet. Desperate for further contact, she pressed herself up against him, moulding her body to his, and rejoicing in the surge of passion between them, exulting in the strength of his embrace. The insistent pressure of his erection between her thighs wasn't enough. She wanted to possess him, and for him to possess her. She wanted him, on any terms…

On any terms?

‘No!' Turning her head away, she made the exclamation softly on a sigh, and then she pushed him away, directing what little will she had left into the movement. ‘You can't have everything you want at your command, Nico.'

Carrie heard the words and couldn't believe that she had spoken them.

Nico didn't reply, and in the space when she should have been more tongue-tied than she had ever been it was she who found the words: ‘I can't do this anymore, Nico. Not anymore…' It is destroying me. She didn't say that, she only thought it, and somehow she held herself together when he turned and walked away.

She had a cruel dream that night. In her dream Nico had stayed with her and they had made love. They had made love as she had always wanted to, with tenderness and with emotion. Staring deep into her eyes, Nico had told her that he loved her, and she had believed him….

But then, of course, this new Carrie had been a princess who wore a beautiful gown and lived in a palace. This new Carrie had had the confidence of knowing she was adored, and that Nico was only one in a long line of adoring suitors. This new Carrie hadn't made it so shamefully obvious that she loved Nico Fierezza to the extent she wasn't aware any other man existed. And this new Carrie had been subtle and clever and quick-witted and beautiful, and had lured Nico deep into the room merely by crooking her finger at him and smiling her ravishing smile.

Equally matched, they had made it to the bed, which had made them laugh. This time it hadn't been on a table, or up against the wall, or anywhere Nico found convenient, but a bed…a big, comfy bed where lovers who trusted each other could spend more than a few fiery minutes in each other's arms. They could spend the night together and share their secrets. And then they had started laughing as they had rolled together, tight in each other's embrace, and then they had begun to fall, and fall…And then she had woken up to find it was only a dream; a dream that had left her emptier than she had ever felt in her life.

Clutching her knees, Carrie buried her face and faced the truth. Far from loving her, Nico had left her last night the moment he had realised she wasn't his to use and discard as he pleased. She almost wished she could turn the clock back and behave differently. But if she did that she would only be walking the same lonely road leading nowhere. She had exerted her will, and she had proved that she could do it, and now she must continue down that same, equally lonely road. But better to be strong than weak, for what kind of role model would she be to her child if she were weak?

Perhaps if she could leave Niroli and all the hurt behind…But she knew now that her dream of hiding away in the countryside was a foolish fantasy that took no account of a cruel world where a child of privilege was a potential target. She couldn't take the risk that the truth about her baby might leak out; she couldn't do anything that might endanger her child. And now she had a ten o'clock meeting with Princess Laura. It had been arranged between them before everything had gone so badly wrong. ‘A girl's induction to palace life,' the princess had described it, knowing nothing of the undercurrents and deception behind Carrie's presence at the palace. Having insisted she stay on, Princess Laura had said it wouldn't hurt Carrie to be prepared. For anything, Princess Laura had added with her customary twinkle.