The Disgraced Princess (9 page)

Uncertainly she said, ‘Gerd, exactly what is this all about?'

Still showing no emotion, he said, ‘I'm asking you to marry me.' His mouth twisted into something that could have been cynical amusement, but his gaze never left her face. ‘Unfortunately, I'm making a complete and total hash of it.'

S
TUNNED
,
Rosie stared at Gerd's angular face, now expressionless and uncompromising. His predatory stillness shocked and alarmed her. She sensed an inevitable fate closing around her, something she both longed for and dreaded.

When she answered her voice trembled with both fear and an undercurrent of shameful yearning. ‘Why?'

His eyes narrowed. ‘You can ask that after what's happened between us?'

She longed for some indication of how he felt, of why he was doing this. Instead, in his handsome features she could read only a ruthlessness that cut her more severely than any knife ever could.

So painful to have her every hope answered in this way—to see her most ardent desire within reach and know she didn't dare accept it.

‘Would it be so hard, Rosemary?' he asked, and came towards her.

‘Don't you dare,' she choked.

‘Don't dare what? Don't dare to touch you? When I know how much you like it?'

His voice was controlled, yet beneath the cool, almost ironic tone she heard another note—raw and elemental.
Nerves twanging, she stared at him, defying him without words.

Although a smile curved his beautiful mouth it didn't temper the unyielding intention Rosie sensed in him. Coldly deliberate, he was using the searing attraction that scorched the air between them to persuade her into surrender.

‘When we both know how much you like
this
,' he emphasised, not taking that final step between them. Instead he reached out and traced the outline of her lips with a sensuous forefinger, so gently she hardly felt his touch.

That was all. His hand dropped to his side and he said, ‘Rosemary.'

Just one word, but he didn't need to say anything more. That faint, in tensely evocative scent that was his alone—the essential essence of the man—teased her nostrils.

He was aroused—as aroused as she was. The hunger he summoned so easily throbbed through her, eroding her determination, her knowledge that what he was proposing—and how cynical that was!—could only lead to anguish and grief.

Although every instinct urged her to get the hell out of there, she stayed, head high and her lips held in such a firm line they no longer trembled. At all costs she had to appeal to his icily rational brain before he kissed her. Once he did that she'd be lost.

If only Gerd hadn't been so honest—the honesty she'd demanded of him, she reminded herself savagely.

If he'd not told her of his position—the need for a wife, for children—she'd probably have been weak enough to agree to marry him. She loved him so much…

Dry-mouthed, hoping he couldn't see the naked
longing behind the screen of her lashes, she said bitterly, ‘What we have is just sex—not a sensible basis for marriage.'

‘
Just
sex?' The mocking note in his voice made her flush furiously, but before she could answer he went on more grimly, ‘There is also the fact that by joining you here I have tarnished your reputation.'

‘Oh, that's so old-fashioned.' She shivered at the sound of her heart cracking. ‘Besides, being your lover should only enhance my reputation.'

‘Amongst a certain sort of person,' he agreed with distaste.

Desperately Rosie surged on. ‘Anyway, I don't have a reputation to tarnish—you were shocked when you discovered—' She jerked to a stop, disconcerted by the sudden glint in his eyes.

‘That you were a virgin?' he supplied smoothly. ‘Yes, startled, certainly—but delighted.'

‘Why? Because it made me more
suitable
?'

She realised the instant she spoke that she should have stayed silent. Marriage had been the last thing on his mind when they'd made love at the palace!

Before he could answer she blurted, ‘I'm not going to marry you because we've been lovers, or for reasons of state.' Beads of sweat gathered at her temples.

‘Then how about the fact that you might be carrying my child?' he told her brusquely.

Cornered, she stared at his implacable face. How could she love him so—so violently, yet be so angry with him?

Steadying her breathing and her voice with an effort that clenched her fists, she said, ‘You don't need to worry
about that. No woman nowadays has to have a child they don't want.'

He didn't move, but she sensed a reaction so intense she took an in voluntary step back wards.

‘Is that what you would do?' His voice was level and without emotion.

Rosie couldn't lie to him. ‘I—no,' she admitted wearily. ‘But—however great your need for an heir, you don't have to go to the extreme of marrying me.'

‘I will not turn my back on my child,' he said with icy precision. ‘Or you.'

Oh, that tempted her—and hurt. Rosie unclenched her hands long enough to spread them out in front of her. ‘Gerd, we don't know yet—'

‘I would also prefer not to have the world know if my child was conceived out of wedlock.'

‘Would it matter so much?' The words tumbled out before she realised what she'd said. She couldn't let him believe she was even considering any possibility of marriage, but before she had a chance to qualify her statement he spoke.

‘Not to me personally, but it would to quite a large number of Carathians. They are a religious, moral people, and rather proud of being so.'

‘Then they shouldn't try to force you to do things you don't want to.' Like marrying someone entirely unsuitable. Hurriedly, she added, ‘If I am pregnant I'll go back to New Zealand and no one will ever know who the father is.' Another thought struck her. ‘And…you wouldn't be turning your back on the—on any child because I'd agree to access whenever you wanted.'

‘Don't be an idiot,' he said stonily. ‘Rosemary, if there
is a child I want it to be an essential part of my life, not kept hidden away in New Zealand like a guilty secret. And you too—you deserve much more than that.'

She could have wept at that. He was being so intransigent—and for all the right reasons except the most important of all. ‘You should marry Princess Serina—or someone like her. That way you'd satisfy your people and have a wife who knows how to behave as a Grand Duchess should.'

‘I don't
want
to marry Serina.' The arrogant tone didn't abate at all when he added, ‘And I imagine she'd be appalled if I asked her.'

Perhaps Serina had realised he didn't love her.

Rosie sternly quenched a foolish, irresponsible hope. That didn't mean he loved anyone else. He'd been forced into this position, and, being a man of honour he was determined to do his best for her and his possible baby.

His expression relaxed. ‘I realise this has come as a shock to you,' he said more temperately. ‘However, it is something I have been thinking about ever since you came here.'

Was there the slightest hesitation before the second half of that sentence, as though he'd substituted ‘since you came here' for something else—something like ‘since we made love without protection'?

‘Why?' she asked baldly.

His smile was a masterful blend of irony and ruthless charm. ‘You know the reason,' he said, his tone sending tiny, sensuous shivers through her. ‘It has been there ever since we kissed three years ago.'

If only he would let her see his true emotions—but Rosie could read nothing in his face. She said tautly,
‘I'm not going to agree to marry you because you need a wife and an heir to ratify your position, or because your people would be shocked if the baby was conceived out of wedlock.'

‘Then how about because you want me?'

Her breath locked in her throat. ‘Wanting's easy.' She tried to speak scathingly—boldly—but it came out sounding sorrowful. ‘And commonplace,' she added, hoping the sting in her words would repel him.

‘I forget that you know very little about sex and desire,' he observed. ‘One of these days you must tell me why you were such an obstinate virgin. But trust me, Rosemary, that what we share is neither easy nor commonplace. Such communion is a rare treasure, one I've never experienced before, and one I'm reluctant to give up. Especially since there is no reason for such a vain sacrifice.'

White-faced, she watched him advance towards her, his intention plain.

How long could she hold out if he touched her—if he kissed her?

She stepped back, holding up her hands in a useless attempt to keep him away. He smiled, and bent his head and kissed her mouth.

One lonely night had sharpened her hunger into a craving that corroded her precarious self-control. Although Rosie fought the weakness, the promise of his kiss smashed down her fragile barricades in a surge of sensory overload of such intense sweetness she could no longer resist.

His arms came around her as she kissed him back, and he lifted his head to say against her lips, ‘There's
no need for such determined resistance, my sweet one. I will be a good husband to you.'

Rosie had no doubt of that. He'd be an ideal husband in every respect except one. On a half-sob she said, ‘I wonder if this is how my mother feels every time she takes a new lover?'

His eyes narrowed. ‘I don't think so,' he said, his voice cool. ‘I doubt if she ever put up such a determined resistance to any man. And what she seeks from her lovers—un conditional love—is not to be found any where amongst humankind.'

Even as she accepted the validity of his logic, Rosie closed her eyes against it. Perhaps she was more like her mother than she'd realised.

Numbly she said, ‘All right, if there's a baby I'll marry you.'

‘You will marry me whether or not there is a child,' he stated, and at last kissed her properly, his arms closing around her as he carried her across to the big sofa.

And it wasn't one-sided; Rosie felt his body harden against her and shivered, exultant because he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Their mouths met again with such passion she felt herself melt, unable to think—unable to do anything but feel and want.

Against her lips Gerd muttered something before saying starkly, ‘I need you. Here. Now.'

His raw tone shattered the last shards of her resistance. ‘Yes,' she breathed into his ear, and found the opening of his shirt.

She ran a finger down it, relishing the smooth grain of his skin, the soft abrasion of the hair there. She knew exactly the pattern of that hair, the way it scrolled from
one side of his chest to the other before arrowing down to disappear beneath his belt. She had followed that arrow…

Excitement pumped hot blood through her, a fierce sexual drive that trans formed her into another person, a woman wanton with love, with desire.

She said harshly, ‘I hope you have protection here.'

Eyes glittering, he rasped, ‘I now have protection in every damned room in this villa.'

The muscles in his lithe body flexed with fluid power when he lifted her for another kiss. It felt like a brand, she thought dazedly, a seal on a contract…

It felt like heaven.

He set her down on the vast sofa, smoothly removing her T-shirt so that she was left in only her bra and trousers.

Her breasts tightened, and his eyes narrowed even further. ‘I like that you can't hide your reaction to me,' he said. ‘It makes me feel just a little less obvious.'

She expected him to take off the bra, a silky slither of flesh-coloured fabric. Instead he dropped to his knees beside the sofa and kissed her throat, then bent and took an importunate nipple into the moist heat of his mouth.

Instant fire. Instant, mindless need.

Desire so untrammelled the first waves of response shuddered through her. The pressure of his hand at the junction of her legs jerked her hips from the sofa in a thrust of animal hunger.

Gerd surveyed her, sprawled in helpless, voluptuous abandon before him. His face was drawn, set in lines of hunger and need that resonated shockingly through her as he took off her remaining clothes, making the process
a drawn-out seduction that eventually had her almost sobbing in a potent mix of frustration and unfulfilled appetite.

But he stood and wrenched off his own clothes as though he couldn't bear to wait, and when they came together he fuelled that desperate pleasure, goading her further and further towards ecstasy until every muscle in her body screamed for release, for the ultimate passionate fulfilment that his big body and his consummate expertise would give her.

It came in an overwhelming wave of sensation that shook her heart, resounded in every cell, marked her for life. She was still buffeted by passion when Gerd reached his climax, head flung back as he poured himself into her. Locked in his arms, Rosie looked into the future and accepted a bitter truth she'd been afraid to face.

She'd learned to love Gerd when she was barely more than a child, and no other man would be able to take his place.

If she refused to marry him there would be no husband for her, no children…

Oh, she could make a good life, a worthwhile, even satisfying life, but there'd always be an emptiness at its core.

Tears gathered, an ache behind her eyes, and clogged her throat as she fought temptation. Why not stop yearning for the moon?

Why not marry him, take what joy she could from living with him and bearing his children?

Because it would kill something in her to know he didn't love her—would
never
love her the way she loved him. She only had to think of her mother, dedicating her
life to a rash, fruitless search for that unconditional love Gerd had been so scathing about.

But there would be compensations, the siren voice whispered. And didn't the alternative seem bleak and unsatisfying?

Oh, yes, her heart mourned. Standing firm sounded staunch and positive, as did walking gallantly into a future without him. But when she thought of watching from a distance while he married someone else and sired those children his people needed…