The Prince's Bride (13 page)

At last he released her and propped his head on his hand. His shirt hung off his shoulders in tatters and he gazed at her with a dazed expression and a bemused smile. “This wasn’t exactly how I’d envisioned our first time together.”

“No?” She smiled slowly, caught in the most wonderful, lazy, satisfied feeling. She wanted nothing more at the moment than to lie right here. Or perhaps she did. “What did you have in mind?”

“I had imagined, oh, I don’t know.” He grinned. “A bed perhaps? I had hoped to make this, well—”

“Memorable?” She reached out and caught the hanging shreds of his shirt in her hand. “I know I shall never forget it.”

“It was quite remarkable.”

“Yes, it was. Quite remarkable.” She pulled him closer. “Well played, my lord.”
Her lips met his. “Well played indeed.”

by Lady Jocelyn Shelton, age 10  

A princess should never have sweets more than once a day, no matter how much she likes them, or she will get fat which is not at all attractive. And she should never have a mustache.

A princess should not be vain even if she is very, very pretty.

A princess should be kind and good hearted and hardly ever want someone’s head cut off unless they are truly, truly bad. Even then she should probably send them off to live on an island somewhere in the middle of an ocean where they can be bad all they want and no one will be bothered.

A princess should have grand jewels that sparkle all the time but should never be smug about it to ordinary girls who are not princesses even if they have been mean to her.

A princess should have lots of ladies in waiting and other servants but should always be nice to them and give them her old clothes.

And she should be willing to give up every thing for her prince.

“My lord, husband.” Jocelyn nuzzled the ear of her sleeping husband. It had been three glorious days and equally glorious nights since their game of billiards, and it wasn’t enough. She wanted to be with him every moment of every day. And in his arms every night.

She eased herself up on her elbow. She did rather like watching him sleep, but then she rather liked watching him do anything. Liked the sleek way he moved or the wholehearted way he laughed or the way he looked at peace with the world when he slept. And the way he made her happy.

She’d never been so happy, never dreamed she could feel like this, and had wondered, in the past few days, what she had done in her life to merit it. Certainly she’d never been quite as shallow and spoiled as Rand had thought her to be at first, but she’d definitely never been good enough to deserve such bliss. Of course she hadn’t achieved the title and fortune she’d always wanted, but oddly enough it no longer mattered.

Surely
this
was love. She couldn’t be certain, of course, but what else could it be? Oh, the wonders of lovemaking were enough to change a woman’s outlook on the world, but even the excitement to be found in their bed or the billiard table or the stables or that lovely, secluded spot by the lake did not fully account for the tumultuous emotion that held her in its grip. A feeling that was at once sweet and tense, gentle and fierce. She wanted to laugh aloud at the sheer joy of it.

No, this was undoubtedly love and undoubtedly he felt the same. How could it possibly be otherwise? And couldn’t she see how he felt right there in his dark, wonderful eyes?

“Rand.” She nipped at his earlobe. His eyes remained closed but his lips quirked upward. “You’re awake. I knew it.”

She threw her leg over his and shifted to settle on top of him, grateful that neither of them had felt the need to retrieve scattered nightclothes last night.

“And you’re insatiable.” His eyes opened and gazed into hers.

“I know.” She feathered kisses along the line of his jaw. “It’s a natural gift.”

“Thank God.”

She loved lying on him like this, as if she were completely in charge and he at her mercy. As if she could do whatever she wanted with him. It gave her a wonderful sense of power. It was false, of course; he could extricate himself whenever he wished. Still, it was a delightful game.

“What shall we do today?” She straddled him and sat up.

“Well...” He frowned as if he were actually considering her question but his fingertips drifted idly along her legs. “I can think of one thing.”

“After that.” She leaned forward, her hair falling around them like a curtain, and brushed her lips provocatively across his in a manner she knew he could not resist, then stretched out on top of him, her legs entwined with his. His manhood nestled between her legs.

“Rand,” she said idly, very aware of his growing arousal. She folded her arms on his chest and stared into his eyes. She nodded at the wicked-looking scar that ran from his collarbone diagonally to end just below the pit of his arm. “How did you get this scar?”

He shrugged as best he could, given his position. “It was a mishap. Nothing more.”

She raised a brow. “A mishap?”

“A mishap, a mistake. It’s of no real consequence.”

“Did you get it when you were a spy?” she teased.

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “It’s at times like this that
mercenary
has a certain amount of appeal.” He grabbed her wrists and quickly rolled over to place her beneath him. He anchored her wrists with one hand above her head and pinned her legs with his. “And past time to teach you a lesson about the price of curiosity and the sanctity of a man’s rest.”

“I scarcely think your sleep is sacred.” She looked up at him with feigned innocence. “And the last time you attempted to teach me anything it was billiards and look what that led to.”

“I know,” he growled with a wicked look in his eye, and anticipation shivered through her. He threw aside any covers that remained on the bed and ran his free hand slowly up the length of her. “Now it’s time to learn what happens to women who awaken men prematurely.”

“Is it?” She practically purred the words. With her hands over her head and her body fully exposed, she felt at once delightfully helpless and completely aroused.

He ran his hand over her, his touch no more than a teasing whisper, trailing his fingers over the flat of her stomach and tracing a lazy pattern up and over her breasts. He kneaded one nipple lightly until she moaned and arched upward.

“No, no, none of that.” He lowered his head and took her breast in his mouth and suckled slowly, then turned his attention to the next, until she thought—no, she knew—she would faint from the sheer pleasure of his touch.

“You do that”—she panted for breath—“rather well.”

He raised his head and his dark eyes smoldered. “You yourself said the manner in which I kissed your hand was well practiced.” His hand slid down her stomach and slipped between her legs. “Do you want to know what else I am well practiced at?”

“No.” She gasped. “Yes.”

She was already wet with wanting and his fingers slipped over her, toying and teasing in an ever increasing rhythm. She wanted to thrash and buck beneath his touch but he held her firmly, her immobility heightening her excitement. Until finally that bubble of tension inside her she likened to fine crystal burst.

He rolled over and pulled her on top of him, guiding her hips and sliding into her as if they were made for each other. She wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t delight in the remarkable feel of him hot and hard within her. And marveled that one man and one woman could fit together so perfectly. So naturally. Halves of the same whole.

They moved together in unison, their senses attuned to each other. Their bodies in harmony. He thrust faster and harder and she matched his movements with her own. The bed creaked beneath them. The room itself throbbed around them. The world stilled and held its breath.

He groaned beneath her, and she could feel him surge within her. And her fists clenched and she gasped with the mindless joy of release and waves of erotic pleasure.

She collapsed on top of him, satisfied and happy, with no desire ever to move again.

At last he chuckled, and she grinned with the movement of his body beneath hers, lifting her head to gaze into his eyes.

“Well,” he said firmly but his eyes twinkled.
“That should teach you.”

Errant tendrils of blond hair glowed golden in the midday sun. Standing in the meadow north of the castle, Jocelyn looked like a forest sprite or an unfettered goddess of nature.

“Archery?” Jocelyn studied the bow in his hand with obvious distaste, and the illusion of a spirit of the earth vanished. “You’re not serious about this, are you?”

Rand laughed. “Of course I am. We have been spending far too much time indoors of late.”

“Oh?” She raised a brow. “I believe the stables are out of doors as is that charming area by the lake.”

“Nonetheless.” He tried and failed to hold back a satisfied smile. “There is no finer time of year in this particular corner of the world than late spring, and I for one should like to enjoy it. A brisk ride with my wife by my side would be acceptable, but I could not fail to notice the skill with which you sit a horse. However”—he shrugged—“if you would prefer to ride—”

She reached for the bow. “Charming sport, archery. Always meant to take it up.”

“Excellent.” He shaded his eyes with one hand and pointed with the other. “I’ve set up a target on that stump. Do you see it?”

“You mean that stump?” She waved at the target.

He laughed. “I mean the only stump out there.”

“I know what you meant,” she said loftily. “Now what exactly do I do?”

“First you need to hold the bow properly.” He pulled an arrow from the quiver on the ground, stepped behind her, and put his arms around her to position the bow.

“I see.” She twisted her head and grinned at him. “A great deal like the instruction for billiards, isn’t it?”

“No.” He kissed her firmly. “Now pay attention.” She grimaced and turned her head back. “Notch the arrow—”

“Do what?”

“Place the groove here in the feathered end of the arrow, along the gut of the bow.” He showed her as he explained and she grudgingly followed his directions. He positioned her properly, guided her in pulling back the arrow, and helped her shoot. The arrow missed the target, but not by much.

“Not bad for your first attempt.” He stepped back and handed her another arrow. “Your turn.”

“I can scarce contain my excitement,” she muttered and accepted the arrow.

She stood as he had shown her and proceeded to take an inordinate amount of time notching the arrow. But then they had all the time in the world and he was a patient man.

Patient? He chuckled to himself at the thought. Apparently not when it came to Jocelyn. His scheme to resist her charms until she wanted him hadn’t lasted very long. Or rather hadn’t taken very long. And the days since then had been, well, glorious.

At last Jocelyn sighted the arrow, took careful aim, and let it fly. It missed the target by a good thirty feet.

“How was that?” she asked.

“Excellent if you were aiming for France.” He pulled his brows together and shook his head. “Remember what I told you about aiming. Look along the length of the arrow and line it up with the target.”

She looked as if she were about to protest, then gritted her teeth and grabbed another arrow from him. He bit back a grin. She was too stubborn to admit defeat. He quite liked that about her.

Once again she took her time. Just as he was beginning to question his own capacity for patience, she shot the arrow. He would not have thought it possible, but this attempt went even farther afield than the first.

“There.” She nodded with satisfaction. “How was that?”

“Interesting. Most people tend to do better with practice though,” he said mildly and handed her another arrow.

She took it with reluctance, gazed at it ruefully, then looked up at him. “Rand, do you really think intelligence is more important in a wife than beauty?”

“I do,” he said without hesitation and grinned. “However, I count myself fortunate to have a wife with both.”

“But, given a choice, you would rather have a woman with a mind than one that is merely pretty?”

“Of course.”

“And honesty between a husband and wife is truly important?”

“Always.”
For the most part.

She nodded thoughtfully. “Do you recall what your uncle said about secrets?”

“As you have reminded me more than once, how could I possibly forget?” He studied her curiously. Something was obviously bothering her.

“Then you agree that secrets should not be kept from one another?”

He hesitated.

“Unless it has to do with the sanctity of the British crown, government, or the country’s honor.” She huffed with annoyance. “I fully understand why you insist that exceptions be made when it comes to national interests, and furthermore I accept it, annoying as it may be.”

“In that case”—he grinned—“I do indeed agree.”

“Good.” Her expression was worried and a twinge of fear stabbed him. Good God, how serious was this? He moved toward her. “Jocelyn?”

“Wait.” She stepped away and fumbled with the wide ribbon sash of her dress, then turned her back to him for a moment. A cold hand squeezed his heart. At last she turned and faced him.

A pair of spectacles was perched upon her pert nose.

He stared in stunned disbelief. “Spectacles?”

“I knew it. I knew you didn’t mean a word you said.” She snatched the glasses from her face. “I never believed you for a moment. All that nonsense about intelligence over beauty.”

“All this was about eyeglasses?” Relief rushed through him. “All your talk about secrets and honesty?”

“Yes.” She met his gaze directly. “And you may make as much fun of me as you want over the matter. I don’t care.”

The absurdity of it all struck him and he burst into laughter.

“It’s not that funny.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “I know you think I’m quite vain and perhaps I am but I explained it to you once. I was always—”

“Yes, I know. You were the pretty one.” He struggled to hold back another laugh.

“It sounds so ridiculous when you say it,” she muttered. “But it’s who I am. It makes me as much
me
as your being a mere viscount or a spy—”

“I am not—”

“—makes you who you are.”

“Nonsense. It’s not the least bit important. Not to me anyway.” It was ridiculous but she was extremely overset. He forced a semblance of composure and held out his hand. “Let me see those.”

Reluctantly she passed him the spectacles. He held them up to his eyes. The far distance jumped out at him. “Good Lord, these are strong.” He looked at her. “Is your vision this bad?”

“I can see you,” she snapped.

He stepped away. “Can you still see me?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

He took a few more steps. “Now?”

“Yes.”

He moved again to stand about ten feet from her. “What about now?”

“You’re starting to get a bit fuzzy around the edges.”

He started off. “Stop me when—”

“Stop.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s it. You’re nothing more than an indistinct blob now.”

He was barely fifteen feet away. “No wonder you couldn’t hit the target, you couldn’t see the blasted thing.” He returned to her side and handed her the spectacles. She hesitated, then took them and slipped them on. He cupped her chin in his hand and gazed into her eyes through the glass. “They’re not all that unbecoming, you know. You’re just as pretty as ever.”

She looked a bit appeased but pulled away from him nonetheless. “Oh, certainly you have to say that now. But if I’d been wearing these when we first met, you’d scarcely have given me a second glance.”

“That’s absurd.” He studied her with a critical gaze. “They don’t detract at all. If anything they give you an air of intelligence that quite complements your appearance.”

“Do you really think so?” A hopeful note sounded in her voice.

He tried not to grin. As silly as he thought her attitude was, he could well understand how a woman who’d never been valued for more than her looks would fear anything that might affect them. Even an intelligent woman.

“I really do.” He smiled down at her.

“Thank you,” she said with a reluctant smile of her own.

“And should I have met you wearing those spectacles I would have been even more intrigued than ...” The truth slammed into him and pulled him up short. His eyes widened with realization and he stared. “You didn’t see those men at all, did you?”

“What men?” She glanced around.
“Is there someone here?”

“No, not here.” Impatience sharpened his tone. “In the music room at the prince’s reception. The ones who tried to kill you. You didn’t see them.”

“No, how could I?” Her brows pulled together in irritation. “I told you at the time I didn’t see them.”

“I thought you were just saying that. I thought you were just scared.”

“Of course I was scared. Some vicious fiend had thrown a knife at my head. Only a complete fool wouldn’t be scared.”

“But you didn’t see them.”

“We’ve established that. You can stop repeating it.”

“I’m repeating it because I’m trying to understand.” He turned on his heel and paced. Pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t realized existed fell into place. She wasn’t scared of the truth. Hadn’t wiped her mind of the faces of the brigands because of fear. She really hadn’t seen them. But they didn’t know that. Nor, apparently, did anyone else. “How long have you worn those spectacles?”

“I haven’t,” she said cautiously. “I found them in my bag when we arrived at the castle. Marianne had had them made for me. She’s been badgering me for years to get me to try them. Apparently she assumed, now that I was married, I needn’t worry about my appearance.”

“Does anyone outside your family know about your vision?”

“You!” she snapped.

“But if you hadn’t been so vain—”

“And shallow and selfish too, no doubt.” She ground out the words.

“—and had consented to wear spectacles years ago, the world would have known. And known as well you couldn’t possibly recognize anyone from across a room.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, my dear wife, if your need for eyeglasses was public knowledge, then your life would never have been in danger because no one would have feared your identification of them.”

“And you would not have had to marry me.” Her voice was level.

“That goes without saying.” He started to pace again. In a part of his mind not grappling with the implications of this new information he noted Jocelyn’s unusually quiet manner but disregarded it for the moment. He thought back to that infamous night. “Now I understand what your aunt meant about the irony of the situation.”

“Aunt Louella always did appreciate irony.” Her tone was cool.

He laughed wryly. “What a colossal joke. On both of us. Forced to wed because of—”

“My vanity?” The hard note in her voice caught his attention. Her face was composed but her eyes gleamed. “I believe we’ve established that as well as the state of my sight.”

He stared at her. “Surely you can see the absurdity of all this.”

“In point of fact, I can’t. I don’t find anything here the least bit humorous.”

“Come now, Jocelyn.” Rand drew his brows together. “Your life is threatened. You, we, are forced into a marriage neither of us wants simply because you refused to wear spectacles.” He shook his head. “Add to that the now vanished hope that you would recall the faces of the men—”

“You thought I might still be able to identify those men?” Jocelyn’s eyes widened.

He shrugged. “There was always a possibility—”

“Did you bring me here hoping they would follow?”

“Of course not. I brought you here to keep you safe.”

“Really? You used me as bait once before. How do I know you didn’t do it again? How do I know all that nonsense about your responsibility and protecting me wasn’t just a convenient lie?” Anger flared in her eyes. “After all, dishonesty is more than acceptable when issues of government affairs are at stake.” She whirled around and started back toward the castle.

“Wait just one moment.” He grabbed her arm and jerked her beck to face him. “I never lied to you about my reasons for bringing you here. Your life was in danger and it was your own fault. More so than I originally thought. You’re the one who hasn’t been entirely truthful.”

“Me?” She gasped with disbelief. “When have I lied to you?”

“You didn’t tell me you couldn’t see!”

“You didn’t ask!”

“It was a lie of omission and equally as bad. You should have told me.”

“How could I possibly know you didn’t know? That Thomas or someone else in the family hadn’t told you? Besides, I never actually hid it from you.” Her chin lifted in defiance. “I told you nothing but the truth. I didn’t see them. I couldn’t identify them.”

“But if you had told me
why
you didn’t see them—”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Blast it all, yes. Of course it would have.”