The Prince’s Bride (14 page)

“A solicitor might argue that point,” she said. “Since you have inherited all his
assets, you have also inherited his debts.”

“Hm, quite right, but I would also argue that since your contract with him involved
criminal activity, it is not a
legal
contract, therefore not binding at all. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and take
your grievances to the authorities. See what they have to say about it.”

She slouched back in the chair. “I thought we were going to be friends.”

“We can be.”

A long silence ensued while she sipped her wine and he sipped his.

“What do you want, then?” she asked.

He sat forward. “How about we start with a kiss?”

When she did not reply, he added, “Does it surprise you … that I would ask for such
a thing?”

“Not at all. In fact, I am surprised to be getting off so lightly.”

He grinned. “I said let us
start
with a kiss. I didn’t say that would close the deal.”

She shook her head at him. “You are very wicked, sir. But I suppose you know that
already.”

“Yes, I do.” He smiled dazzlingly and her heart turned over in her chest as he inched
forward even closer, set his glass down, and held her face in his hands. A captivating
heat exploded in her belly as he pressed his lips to hers with an unexpected gentleness.

His mouth was soft and warm. As his tongue met hers, she slid her hands up to rest
on his broad shoulders.

Véronique was ashamed to admit it, but she was no longer thinking of the negotiation.
Kissing Prince Nicholas had nothing to do with practicalities, and everything to do
with her own wanton pleasures.

Ah, and he knew just how to make it last.… He kissed with slow lingering patience,
and warm, teasing sensuality.

A heavy ache throbbed from within, and she feared she might surrender to him completely,
right here and now. Her thoughts were floating in a haze. Surely it was not just the
wine. It was him—
all him.
He aroused her masterfully with his lips and tongue, and the sublime touch of his
hands.

“You taste heavenly,” he whispered as his lips feathered across her cheek and he breathed
hotly in her ear.

Tingling gooseflesh erupted all over her body, and all she wanted was more of this
bliss.

“Is that enough of a payment?” she asked, the more sensible part of her brain hoping
that he would say yes, and she would be removed from any further temptations.

Another part of her, however, wanted him to demand more and insist that she comply,
for she was quickly melting into a soft ball of clay in his hands. She wanted to be
stroked and kneaded.

“I hardly think so,” he said, rising from his chair and holding out his hand. “I’ll
need at least an hour with you, Véronique. On the bed.”

Her courage evaporated at once, and she blinked up at him.

His brow furrowed as he recognized the change in her mood. “Do not fret, darling.
I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. Trust that I will stop at any time if
you wish it. I just want to lie with you. One hour,” he said again, as if to punctuate
their agreement with a firm deadline. “Then the property is yours.”

Her heart leapt. “The property will be mine? I have your word?”

“Yes, you have it,” he replied, and she rose to her feet with elation.

She had taken great risks for this one purpose. Now it appeared she had succeeded.
Her family would not lose everything. Her parents would keep their home and Gabrielle
might still have a chance to become Robert’s wife, if she could win the approval of
his father.

Véronique was overcome with gratitude. Could it be this simple? Could she spend the
next hour enjoying the pleasures of Prince Nicholas’s attentions, then be rewarded
at the end of it? It seemed too good to be true.

If he could be trusted, that is …

She wanted to believe he could be. All her instincts insisted that he would not break
his promise. One hour of kissing, and that would be enough to pay the price.

Consequently, she took his hand and followed him to the bed. He paused beside it and
looked down at her feet. “May I remove your shoes again?” he asked, “so that you will
be more comfortable?”

“Just my shoes, nothing more?” she asked.

“Nothing more.” He knelt down on one knee before her.

Resting a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance, she lifted one foot and allowed
him to slide his fingers up under her skirts and cup her calf while he slowly, gently
removed her silk shoe and set it aside.

He looked up at her with a teasing smile as he took hold of her other ankle and she
shifted her weight to the other leg. He removed the second shoe, then stroked the
arch of her foot briefly before rising to his full height and pressing his lips to
hers again in a light, intoxicating kiss that set her world on fire.

It all happened as if in a dream. He eased her onto the soft bed and covered her body
with his own, while leaving a trail of romantic, openmouthed kisses down the side
of her neck.

Throwing her head back on the pillow, she hugged him against her and wrapped her legs
around his firm, muscular hips.

He began to thrust in a gentle but steady rhythm. If it were not for the barrier of
their clothing, she was not sure what would be happening. All she knew was that it
felt natural and irresistible to move her body beneath him and cling to him, as if
he held her whole life in his hands.

He was going to give her back her home. He was nothing like d’Entremont.
Nothing.
And she did trust him to keep his promise tonight.

But no matter how tightly she held him, she could not seem to get close enough. He,
too, embraced her with an almost suffocating fervor until he drew back and gazed down
at her in the warm, golden firelight.

“I cannot believe how badly I want you,” he said, frowning with confusion. “You’re
different from other women.”

“Different? How?”

Was it her innocence? Her virginity? Or was it the fact that she had been his captor
and his enemy?

“I’m not sure,” he whispered. “You feel out of reach.”

“I am right here,” she replied, laying a hand on his cheek.

“But what I want from you, I cannot have.”

Véronique lay very still. “Because of the promise you just made?”

“Partly.”

It was sexual, then. He wanted to slake his lust, but she was not one of his easy
lovers.

“Well, there is nothing to be done about that,” she said, “for I do not wish to change
my mind.”

“I didn’t think you would,” he said, “which perhaps is what makes me so ravenous.”

“You want what you cannot have.”

He nodded.

Véronique lifted her head off the pillow and kissed him again, slow and deep. “Are
you sure it’s not because Pierre interrupted your supper?”

He stared at her, then began to laugh and rolled to his side.

She, too, rolled over, straddled him, and braced his wrists together over his head.
“Now I have
you
pinned to the bed, Your Highness.” There was a hint of bitterness in her tone, for
she had not forgotten what occurred in this room when she first unlocked his door.

“You’re still angry about our tussle,” he said. “How, pray tell, do you intend to
punish me?”

Véronique was breathing heavily. “Is that what this is about? An hour of revenge for
both of us? Then you will pay me what you owe me, and we will never think of each
other again?”

His eyes raked over her face and breasts. “I doubt I will ever forget you.”

Still gripping his wrists, she tilted her head to the side. “I cannot imagine I will
ever forget you either, Nicholas, or what has happened between us over the past few
days.”

Suddenly overwhelmed by a fierce desire that astonished her with its intensity, she
leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth, her body ablaze with a shocking,
tumultuous lust.

Véronique released his wrists and let out a gasp when his arms circled her waist and
he flipped her over onto her back.

Chapter Fourteen

Nicholas stared down at Véronique and cursed himself for making that promise to her—for
he wanted to do whatever it took to force her into a complete sexual surrender.

The desire was out of control, and he was bewildered by the ferocity of it, for he
did not normally crave innocent young virgins. In fact, he avoided them like the plague …
but there was something very unique about this luscious, golden-haired lady. He could
not explain it. All he could do was press his mouth to hers again, and again, in the
thick heat of the night.

He made love to her for at least an hour, maybe more—but it wasn’t really lovemaking
by definition, for he never raised her skirts or unfastened his breeches. Nevertheless,
it was as passionate and sweaty as any full-blown fornication. Their bodies were locked
together, intimately entwined in an amorous fever, thrusting violently. He stroked
and kissed her breasts through the light fabric of her gown and ran his hands up and
down her legs. It was enough to drive him mad with a lust that threatened to scar
him forever.

At the end of the hour, he could no longer endure the torment, and it appeared that
neither could she, for she began to recklessly hoist up her skirts until they were
tangled about her waist. Then she began to tug at the fastenings of his trousers.

At last …

He braced himself above her on both arms, refusing to contribute to this forbidden
turn of events, but not putting a stop to it either, as he looked down at her frantic,
fumbling fingers.

When she tugged his breeches down over his hips and released his erection, he let
out a breath of relief and dropped down onto one arm.

Her open mouth roughly collided with his and he could have swallowed her whole.

He tugged her skirts out of the way until their centers connected. He had promised
he would not take it this far, but he was already thrusting his hips and pushing against
her fragile maidenhead, while his body pulsated with painful, staggering need.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t find any more strength to resist, until he realized Véronique’s
eyes were open and her hands were pressing against his chest. It was a sobering moment,
like a splash of cold water in the face, and he drew back instantly from the enticing
wet heat of her virginity.

“You want to stop,” he said shakily.

“I’m so sorry,” she replied. “I don’t know what came over me, but I cannot do this.”

He paused to gain control over the abrupt routing of his desires. “Do not apologize.”

Then he reached down and quickly pulled his breeches up as he rolled off her. Lying
on his back, he fought to catch his breath.

She tugged her skirts down over her knees and covered her face with both hands, as
if ashamed.

“You did nothing wrong,” he said.

“I could have. I came very close, but I cannot be that sort of woman. My family has
lost everything, and now that we are so close to regaining our dignity, I cannot disgrace
them in this way. What if you and I conceived a child?”

He was always very careful about those things, but tonight had been unbridled and
risky in every way.

Véronique looked apologetically into his eyes. “There are still things you do not
know, Nicholas, things about my sister. I cannot repeat her mistakes.”

He sat up and contemplated her words. “What are you saying? That Gabrielle has borne
a man’s child?”

Véronique’s eyes were wet as she looked away to stare distantly toward the window.
“She has not borne the child yet … but she will.”

Nicholas laid a hand on hers, forcing her to look at him again. “Why did you not tell
me this before?”

“I only just learned of it myself.”

“Who is the man?” he asked. “Tell me his name. If it is Pierre, I swear, there will
be hell to pay.”

“No,” she replied, sliding off the bed and rising to her feet. “It is not Pierre.”
She went to pour herself another glass of wine and raised it to her lips. Then she
turned to face Nicholas as he, too, rose from the bed and began to retie his cravat.

“Do you remember when we were in the coach together,” she said, “and I told you that
I had a sister who was in love with a young man, but he could not marry her, because
his father did not approve of the match?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “His name is Robert. They have been sweethearts since she was fifteen,
and they have been waiting a long time to marry. I believe he genuinely loves her,
but since our father’s disgrace—and with the loss of our property—Robert’s father
has threatened to disinherit him if he does not break their engagement.”

Nicholas finished buttoning his waistcoat. “He cannot do that, not if there was a
previous agreement between them, and certainly not if he had already claimed his husbandly
rights.”

“His father can do whatever he pleases,” she said. “He is a wealthy viscount and Robert
is his only male heir, and we have no power. It was an unlikely match to begin with,
for we are not aristocrats and the viscount is ambitious. Robert is not like that,”
she added. “He is kindhearted and fair-minded. I do not believe he intended to put
Gabrielle at such risk, but they are young and very much in love. I am quite sure
he has not yet given up the possibility of marrying her, somehow.”

“Does he know of the child she carries?”

“Not yet, and I cannot predict what Robert or Gabrielle will do. There is a great
deal of money and property at stake. She does not want to be the cause of his downfall.
I am sure he will take care of her, but it may not be a respectable situation.” Véronique
drained the rest of the wine from her glass and set it down. “So you see, I cannot
allow the same thing to happen to me. I must be strong for my sister. She may need
my help in the coming months. And years.”

Nicholas felt rather flustered suddenly. It was a thorny situation to be sure, and
now he understood her reservations about giving in to their passions just now, for
she had the wisdom and experience to understand that sex—no matter how pleasurable—could
be an extremely dangerous undertaking for an unmarried woman.