The Disgraced Princess (12 page)

Whatever, anything he'd given his lovers had been chosen because he'd wanted them, and not for reasons of state. Hot jealousy—and a bitter spurt of envy—tightened her nerves.

‘Something special,' Gerd said. He indicated one in particular. ‘Do you like this?'

How had he known that of them all, this was the one she'd have chosen for herself? The stone wasn't huge, but it shone like the heart of summer, an intense honeyed glow that made the others pale.

‘It's beautiful,' Rosie said. But a ring as exquisite as that should be a token of love.

He plucked it from the velvet and held it out. ‘Try it on,' he invited.

Rosie hesitated, then held out her hand and watched numbly as he slid it onto her ring finger.

Gerd thought that it looked as though it had been made for her, the colour of the stone echoing the sunlit
vibrancy of her skin and curls, the glints of gold that usually danced in her eyes.

He watched her face as the ring slid home, saw her mouth tighten and then relax, and wondered again just what was going on in her brain.

She was, he thought grimly, driving him mad. Previously he'd enjoyed civilised affairs; he'd liked his lovers and made sure they understood the limits he set on relationships. They'd been passionate enough to keep him interested, but not so intense that hunger took over his mind and got between him and his work.

Rosemary was different. From the start she'd defied all his rules, starting with that long holiday three years previously when he'd really got to know her. Slowly, insidiously his affection for the girl-child he'd known all her life had metamorphosed into a for bid den desire, one he was determined not to act on.

He'd restrained himself until the night before he'd left for Carathia, but something snapped then, and he'd taken an irrevocable step. It had been meant to be one kiss, and a very light one, but her sensuous response had knocked him sideways. The dangerous surge of desire it summoned had eaten away at his self-control; it had taken every particle of will power he possessed to lift his head and lower his arms and step away from her, and afterwards he'd spent a sleepless night trying to deal with his reaction.

When he'd seen her kissing Kelt just as ardently it had been like a savage betrayal, one he'd vowed never to forget.

Discovering that she'd stayed a virgin had surprised him. More dangerously, the knowledge had satisfied
something unregenerate and primal in him, stripping away his defences so that all he could think of was his craving for her.

In his arms she was wildfire and wine and erotic fulfilment, and he couldn't get enough of her.

Rosie looked up and caught the hunger in Gerd's gaze, a lick of fire that flared at her instant response. The hairs lifted on the back of her neck while adrenalin surged through her, and her eyes darkened.

He smiled, a tight, fierce movement of his lips, and said softly, ‘Perfect.'

And raised her hand and kissed the ring, and then her palm. Exciting little shivers scudded the length of her spine.

More than anything Rosie wanted him to kiss her properly, but he resisted the vibration that sizzled between them and released her hand. Her pleasure evaporating, she looked down at the ring weighing her finger down like a badge of office.

Exactly what it was, she thought.

He said, ‘So that's the betrothal ring. What sort of wedding band do you think would go with that?'

‘I—don't know.' She looked down at the small sun glittering on her finger. ‘I've barely had time to appreciate this gorgeous thing, and now you want me to choose a wedding ring?'

‘It's traditional.'

‘I thought that in Europe they didn't have the same traditions we do.'

‘There has always been a wedding ring, and when my grandfather gave my grand mother an engagement ring,
the first one in Carathia, every woman in the country wanted one as well,' he said drily.

Rosie thought a moment, her eyes fixed on the golden diamond. ‘How about a ring with an inlaid silver pattern?' she suggested.

‘Perhaps you could discuss it with the designer. He is waiting for us. You will need other jewels, of course.' His voice altered fractionally. ‘Will you object to wearing some of the royal collection?'

‘No.' Her voice whispered into the room. Burdened as she was by the reality of marrying Gerd, the royal collection of jewels somehow seemed a symbol of all that would be different in her life from now on.

Well, she'd agreed. So she swallowed and said more audibly, ‘No, of course I won't.'

‘There is an abundance to choose from,' he told her negligently. ‘I'll make a selection of pieces you might like, and you can decide which ones you really like. Some are distinctly old-fashioned, so possibly they'll need resetting.'

The designer, a solid middle-aged man, bowed when he was introduced and wished them every happiness. He approved her choice of ring, and when asked about a wedding band whipped out a pencil and a pad and sketched something for her.

‘I'm not sure about the roses,' she said, examining it. ‘My name is Rosemary, not Rose.'

The designer looked chagrined. ‘I'm sorry—'

Gerd intervened. ‘Myrtle.' He smiled down at Rosie, his acting so good she could almost believe for a moment that he loved her. ‘You liked it, didn't you, and because it
and New Zealand's pohutukawa are very distant cousins, it will provide a link with your homeland?'

Of course, roses stood for love, whereas myrtle was sacred to Aphrodite, the goddess of passion and desire…

Rosie's answering smile was restrained. ‘Oh, yes, how suitable.'

Gerd gave her a sharp glance, but the designer nodded. ‘A charming idea.' Rapidly he sketched another design, then regarded it with a smile before handing it over to Gerd. ‘Yes—the simpler the design the more effective.'

After he'd left Rosie said, ‘That was an inspired suggestion.'

‘You appeared to enjoy the scent of the sprigs of myrtle you picked,' Gerd said dismissively. Then he smiled down at her. ‘Besides, we made some very pleasant memories there the day you first saw it.'

Her heart expanding, Rosie smiled back. ‘So we did,' she said.

Surely, he couldn't look at her like that if he didn't feel something for her!

Buoyed by that idea, she almost enjoyed posing for the set of official photographs, even though it took almost half a day before the photographer was satisfied.

‘I don't do dignity well,' Rosie sighed to Gerd when it was over. She glanced down at her clothes—a dress from a local designer that managed to be both formal and summery. ‘But I love this and the other clothes that have come. Only…who is paying for them?'

‘I am,' he told her calmly. ‘And I think you do dignity very well. Dignity—but with warmth and interest.'

Right then she couldn't appreciate the compliment. ‘I don't think you should be paying for my clothes,' she objected.

He looked at her, his expression uncompromising. ‘I've already had this conversation with your brother,' he said in flexibly. ‘I don't intend to go through it again with you.'

‘I don't want either of you—'

‘Rosemary, just leave it, will you?' His eyes were as crystalline and cold as the diamond she wore. ‘You are in this position because I asked you to be, and so it is up to me to see that you have everything you need.'

‘Gerd, we are not going to get along at all well if you tell me to leave things instead of discussing them sensibly,' she said through her teeth. ‘If I'm old enough to marry you, damn it, I'm old enough to be consulted about things that might seem trifles to you but are important to me. It's disrespectful and unfair and patronising if we can only discuss things that are important to you!'

He looked down at her as though he'd been bitten by a kitten, then unexpectedly gave a wry smile. ‘You are, of course, correct. Very well, then, explain to me how it will make you feel better if neither Alex nor I pay for the clothes you need for formal occasions.'

He had a point. But so did she. Rosie drew in a breath and said, ‘I'm not in the same league financially as you or Alex, but I do have a little money in the bank. I can at least use that.'

‘I would like you to keep it so that you don't feel entirely dependent on me.'

Neither yielding, they measured glances. Rosie was
torn by in decision. In the end she said, ‘I realise it seems quixotic, but—'

‘It's a statement of independence?'

Actually, it probably was—a symbolic answer to the ring on her finger and all it represented. ‘It's more that you just made the assumption that you'd pay without even talking it over with me.'

He nodded. ‘I won't make that mistake again. But there is something we need to discuss right now. You will need an allowance.'

Rosie opened her mouth but before she could speak he said lazily, ‘I shall feel compelled to kiss any further objections away, and you know where that will lead.'

Heat coloured her skin, but her eyes stayed steady. ‘That is sexist. And two can play at that game.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘Feel free, any time,' he invited silkily.

R
OSIE
glared at him, then closed her eyes in surrender. ‘You don't play fair.'

‘Neither do you.' Gerd's voice was low and amused and very, very sexy.

Her eyes opened and she warded him off with up-raised hands. ‘As it happens, I wasn't going to object to an allowance,' she said forth rightly. ‘But I'll use my own money until it's gone.'

Gerd shrugged. ‘You're not going to budge on this, are you?'

‘No.'

‘And you don't want me to try and persuade you…?' He let the suggestion hang in the air.

‘I do not,' she told him as crisply as she could.

Which was not very effective. Her voice had softened, and the lazy, languorous note in it constituted a far from subtle invitation.

He knew, of course, that if he touched her, kissed her, she'd melt, and then she'd be lost. But he had to accept that he couldn't just make decisions for her and expect her to obey them without question.

So she repeated coolly, ‘I can see the point of an al
lowance, so I'll accept that. But until my money runs out I'll buy my own clothes.'

‘Your personal clothes,' he conceded. ‘Anything you need to buy for official occasions will come from your household expenses.'

‘Very well,' she said reluctantly.

He frowned. ‘Are you always going to be like this?'

‘I suspect I am.' A little acidly she went on, ‘Feel like changing your mind?'

His face hardened. ‘No.'

The evening before the betrothal ceremony he gave a dinner at the palace, where he introduced Rosie to his personal friends. It was a relaxed occasion, without formal speeches or toasts, but Rosie realised she was being assessed.

Afterwards Gerd dropped a light kiss on her forehead at her bedroom door. ‘Sleep well,' he said.

‘I'm scared,' she blurted, regretting the words as soon as they escaped. ‘What if nobody likes me?'

He gave her a hug, but immediately freed her and stepped back. ‘Has anyone ever disliked you?' he asked rhetorically.

Her mother, for one. ‘Jo Green in Year Three hated me,' Rosie told him. ‘She used to pinch me and call me Ginge.'

He laughed. ‘Nobody will do that here.'

More seriously she said, ‘I suppose what's really concerning me is that I simply might not be able to do the job with the sort of—well, gravitas that it needs. I don't want to fail you or your people.'

‘I didn't realise that beneath that self-assured manner you're lacking in confidence.'

She shrugged. ‘It is an unusual situation, and one I haven't been trained for.' Unlike Princess Serina, who probably wouldn't dream of dumping her insecurities on her chosen spouse, no matter who he was.

Gerd said calmly, ‘I have complete faith in your ability to deal with anything.'

Rosie looked up, her heart thumping erratically.
So why don't you kiss me?
But he wasn't going to use that simplest of ways to comfort her. He seemed to have pulled up some emotional drawbridge, leaving her alone and forlorn on the other side.

Gerd said, ‘Tomorrow morning after the ceremony a crowd might gather in front of the palace.'

‘Why?' she asked blankly.

‘To wish us joy. We will come out as a family and wave from the balcony off the grand drawing room.' He smiled at her startled look. ‘So perhaps you will need even higher heels than usual so they can see you over the balustrade.'

‘I'm not that short,' she said indignantly.

‘Just as high as my heart,' he quoted.

Rosie smiled and closed the door on him, but her smile faded quickly into wistfulness. She wished—oh, how she wished—he wouldn't say things like that.

Not when he didn't really mean them…

Her dress for the official betrothal was already hanging in her dressing room, a silk in a champagne colour that just skimmed her body and made her feel elegant and tall. And fortunately her sandals had very high heels. The hat was cut so that everyone could see her face.

A knock on the door brought heat to her cheeks and
an aching hunger to her heart—a feverish anticipation that was dashed when her mother came in.

‘Is anything wrong?' she asked.

‘No.' Her mother noted the dress hanging ready to be worn, and said, ‘Very appropriate. You get your taste from me. Your father didn't care about clothes.'

Rosie told her what Gerd had said about a crowd collecting, and her mother nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I've been forewarned about it.'

‘I doubt if it's going to happen. Why would they?'

‘Curiosity,' her mother said dismissively. She paused, then said deliberately, ‘I wouldn't take it personally. You could have two heads and they'd be delighted. What they want is children from you—preferably boys.'

Rosie lifted her brows. ‘I suppose they do,' she said quietly, determined not to let her mother see how much that hurt. ‘The succession has to be important.'

‘It's hugely important in any monarchy, but for Gerd it's vital.'

‘I know.' And because she didn't want to go into the reasons Gerd needed heirs, she said, ‘Mother, Gerd and I discussed the situation before I agreed to marry him. And even if we hadn't, as you said a couple of days ago, it's too late to back out now.'

Eva said in dismay, ‘Don't tell me he's convinced you that he's in love with you!'

At Rosie's steady gaze her mother looked slightly shame faced, but she kept on with a bitter twist to her lips. ‘And even knowing that he's going to use you as a baby machine, you still decided to marry him? Are you pregnant?'

Rosie kept her head high. ‘No.'

‘And there I always thought you were a runaway romantic,' her mother said with heavy irony.

Rosie's smile was twisted. ‘No, you're the run away romantic.'

‘Forget about me. Don't try to persuade me that you're marrying him for the prestige and the money. I know you've been infatuated with him since you were eighteen.'

Please go right now.
But Rosie couldn't say the words.

Her mother looked at her with an expression she'd never seen before.

‘I've made a mess of my life,' she said abruptly. ‘I married your father too young—I thought he loved me, but all he wanted was to go off on his various expeditions without having to bother about organising child care for Alex. He never got over losing his first wife. Oh, he was quite pleased when I had you, although he'd have preferred another boy, but we weren't important to him—his research was. Even Alex came a pretty poor second to that.'

‘I'm sorry,' Rosie said quietly. ‘But it's not like that with Gerd and me.'

‘Gerd is…well, everything a woman could want, but he's going to be married to Carathia.'

‘I know.'

‘I hope you do,' her mother said bleakly. ‘Otherwise you'll eat your heart out wanting something that's never going to happen.'

But that was exactly what she was going to do, Rosie realised in the sleepless hours that followed her mother's awkward departure. Thoughts raced through her head,
jumbled and anguished, filled with emotions so painful she couldn't bear them.

Eventually she got up and walked across to the window. It would be simpler—and easier—if she didn't love Gerd.

She looked down on the darkened, silent city, the street lamps lonely beacons, star shine glimmering on a jumble of tiled roofs and the slick of wet concrete.

Why had her mother's words unsettled her so much? Easy—they'd struck home only because Rosie was more accustomed to exasperation than concern from her mother.

And away from Gerd's compelling presence, without the gloss of sexual passion clouding her brain, Gerd's proposal and her response seemed a cold, bleakly practical reaction to the situation they'd found them selves in.

Her hand drifted across to touch her waist. What if she couldn't have children?

Too late to worry about that now…

The words echoed in her head as she got back into bed and drifted off to a restless sleep.

 

Church bells woke her—a joyous cacophony that soared up from the city's churches. She sat straight up in bed, head aching slightly, then got up and inched the heavy curtains open a fraction. Although it was barely past dawn—in fact, over the mountains she saw the last star wink out—already people were moving in the streets below.

Heading towards the palace.

‘Oh, lord,' she muttered, yanking the drapes closed in case anyone saw her peeking.

A knock on her door whirled her around. The maid who looked after her clothes came in, beaming when Rosie greeted her. With a little bob she said carefully, ‘A beautiful day for us all in Carathia. I wish you great happiness, my lady.'

Rosie's nerves tightened painfully, her sense of doom increasing as the morning wound on. Although a betrothal ceremony was usually restricted to family and closest friends, because of Gerd's position there would be politicians and important people there too. All dressed to the nines, she realised when she was escorted into the front pew with Eva, who was slim and soignée in one of the vibrant colours she wore so well.

At least Kelt and Hani and their little Rafi sat with them, with Alex, saturnine as usual. And the service was short; it involved a blessing, the ceremonial bestowal of the ring by Gerd, dark and unsmiling as he slid it onto her finger, and the exchange of a kiss before the altar—both the kiss and Gerd's attitude being studiously impersonal. A brief homily from the priest, delivered in Carathian, was clearly an exposition of what was expected of them. Unable to understand, aware of Gerd's withdrawal beside her, Rosie had never felt so alone.

But walking back down the aisle with him beside her, part of a procession featuring candles and crosses, and choirboys who sang like angels, it warmed her to meet the smiles of those who'd been at last night's dinner.

And at the reception that followed, Gerd's approving nod and murmured words of appreciation, his hand in the small of her back, restored her confidence. It helped that
most of the people used their store of English to converse with her. As a child Gerd and Kelt had taught her the conventional greetings and farewells in Carathian, but beyond those she understood nothing of the language as yet.

Language lessons, and soon, she decided sturdily.

Eventually the family was marshalled into order in the drawing room. Stomach flipping, she shivered at the murmur of the crowd in the huge square below.

‘It sounds as though everyone in the city is out there,' she said to Gerd.

‘Just about,' he said. ‘Come on, it's time to go.' He looked down and his serious expression lightened. ‘How do you manage to walk in those heels?'

‘It's a technique small girls study from the first time they try on their mother's shoes,' she said, repressing another, quite different shiver at the glint in his gaze. ‘By the time they reach adolescence it's completely automatic.'

And then it was time to move out onto the balcony. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted at the sight of the people packed into the square and the wild roar that greeted them as they moved across to the balustrade. Everyone in that huge, seething mass of people seemed to be waving something—brightly coloured streamers, flowers and handkerchiefs.

And the noise was indescribable—breath taking and almost terrifying, except that everyone seemed to be smiling.

Gerd looked down at her. ‘Smile, Rosemary. This is for you.'

But it wasn't. His people loved and respected him;
they trusted him to marry a person who would fit into their world, and they believed she was that person.

Then and there, Rosie decided that such trust deserved to be honoured. She would become the person the Carathians believed her to be.

‘Nonsense—they don't know me at all. This is all for you,' she said, and pinned a smile to her lips as she waved back.

Gerd said coolly, ‘The Chief Minister has suggested that we travel into the mountains next week. The people there have a tendency to feel neglected.'

And that, of course, was where the last rebellion had been fomented. Rosie's stomach clenched, but she nodded and smiled brightly up at him, only dimly hearing the renewed burst of cheering that provoked.

Gerd said, ‘We'll visit the largest town there, and it would be politic to go down to the coast.'

‘That sounds great,' she said, waving again at the excited, happy mass of people who seemed determined to let their ruler know they shared his happiness.

His
supposed
happiness, Rosie corrected herself.

The crowd cheered anew and began throwing their flowers and ribbons in a shower of colour into the sparkling, sunlit air until eventually Gerd said, ‘Time to go.'

With a final wave the family turned and filed back inside, adjourning to Gerd's private apartments, where they were served lunch.

Kelt gave Rosie a hug, saying, ‘Thank you.'

‘For what?'

He grinned. ‘For taking Gerd on. I didn't realise it, but he needs someone like you—he's far too autocratic,
and you'll keep him on his toes. And the Carathians will love you.'

Rosie laughed, but his words made her feel oddly disconnected, as though by marrying Gerd she'd turn into a different person.

She glanced across the room and saw Gerd watching them, his face impassive. Something tight and hard contracted inside her. He looked bleak and almost angry.

But only for a second. When he caught her eye he lifted his brows and came towards them and, as always, her breath shortened and she felt that secret heat stirring in her body.

Kelt gave him a brotherly cuff on the shoulder. ‘About time,' he said obscurely.

Gerd's brows climbed again. ‘I think Hani wants you,' he said.

Both Rosie and Gerd watched Kelt set off purposefully across the huge, gilt-deco rated drawing room to his wife, who was perched on the edge of an ornate sofa. Hani's face lit up when her husband approached.