A Wish and a Wedding (17 page)

The smile in her voice made him smile in return. “Even commoners have their ways.”

He tilted his head and checked her out. “I hadn't realised how much of a snob you are until today.” Ignoring the indignant flash of her eyes, he went on, “My life isn't a fairy tale, Mari. Much of the time it's like walking a tightrope of expectation. I'd have thought Charlie's new life would have shown you the reality of the life of the upper classes. Every member of the nobility still has to eat, sleep and use the bathroom. They still need to find love, get married and have children. And that's what I want with you.”

“It's only been six days,” she retorted with clear asperity, and he knew he'd upset her by calling her on her delusions. “We both know this isn't real.”

Sander wanted to smile again. She sounded hunted, which meant she was tempted. He struggled against calling her a liar. He was a diplomat—he knew when to call a spade a spade and
when to be tactful. A woman on the run did
not
want to hear she was being a coward. “I know it seems insane. It's too soon. I can't possibly love you—but the thing is, in these few days you've shown me a new way to look at the world,” he said softly, taking her hand in his, feeling happiness pierce him with almost knife-edged beauty. “You've made me see things differently, Mari. You've made me think, kept me laughing—and when you touched me, kissed me, you bowled me out. Completely. I spent last night imagining a lifetime of laughing with you, of learning from you—” he grinned “—and, of course, of kisses that make me melt. And I saw at least four little boys and girls who'd teach me not to take life too seriously. I saw my children with milk-chocolate eyes and gorgeous curls.”

“No, eyes like the sun sparkling on the Aegean and a smile that makes my insides flip,” she replied absently, her gaze focussed on his mouth. Then she inhaled sharply. “I didn't mean to say that.”

Sander was no fool. As a famous king once said, there was a time to speak and a time to be silent. She'd been dreaming of him, she loved his eyes and smile, saw her children with those attributes; it was enough. It was a weapon to fight with until she was so desperate for him she'd wave the white flag of surrender willingly and say the words he'd spent a lifetime running from. Words he was now desperate to hear from only one woman's mouth.

Oh, that sweet mouth…

It was time for the best kind of battle—a fight without words. He leaned into her and brushed his mouth over hers.

One, two, three butterfly kisses, waiting for her response—and then her hands were in his hair, she was falling back, bringing him with her as he took the kiss deeper, hotter, loving the rightness of lying on her, hearing her soft moans of joy, feeling her frantic hands touching him everywhere she could.

He kissed his way slowly down her throat and along her col
larbone, hearing her murmur, “Lysander,
Lysander
,” as if she couldn't get enough of him.

He'd never liked his full name before, but from the first time she'd said it he'd been hooked: a private whisper of her passion for him. When they were together, when they touched, it didn't matter that they'd only met days before, or that they were Duke and commoner. Right now they were just a man and a woman, so right for each other it seemed ridiculous to let a title, or even his people, get in the way.

Finally he understood why a king would abdicate for the sake of the woman he loved…

“Don't go, Mari
mou
,” he whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver. “At least stay long enough to know if this is real, if we can make it.”

She stilled beneath him. “I can't be a duchess.”

He lifted his head from where he'd been exploring her ear with his lips. “Yes, you can,” he said softly. “You
care,
Mari. All my people want is someone to care for them.”

She shook her head, her mouth set stubbornly.

“I realise there are more things to think about than you and me alone. If you come to Persolis and decide you can't be Duchess, maybe you can be my love, my wife, and let me do the work.” And then, no matter how she might promise to stay out of political life, within weeks she'd be questioning his every decision, giving him the human side of every problem. And when she did, he'd be the happiest duke in the world—because he needed her wisdom as much as he needed her smile, her laugh and her touch.

“I
can't
,” she said again, a mulish look to her chin even as she wriggled beneath him—not trying to make him get off her, judging by the languid look in her eyes.

Oh, she wanted him—how she wanted him—but he saw the battle being lost through a lack of knowledge of his life. He changed tactics. “Just come to Persolis with me. See what you're turning down before you go back to your exciting life.”

She pulled a face at his reference to the job she'd told him she hated on one of their island tours. “I'll lose my job.”

He moved against her as he curved a hand around her cheek, and saw her forget what she'd been talking about. “I can see how tempting it would be. Receptionist or duchess—continue living with your parents…” her expression was indescribable at that “…or living with me, sharing my bed, my kisses…” He punctuated each word with a lingering kiss, making her moan and move beneath him.

“Stop it, Lysander,” she whispered, even as she turned her face to take in another kiss. “You—you're trying to seduce me into it…”

“And totally without shame, too,” he whispered back, finger-drawing down the inside of her arm, feeling her body quiver in sweet, honest response.

Air was expelled from her lungs in a rush. “You don't know me. It's only been a few days.”

He was skilled in word analysis. He heard the fear and the longing, the wistful wishing and her terror that the love they both felt would go belly-up as fast as it had come to them. The dreamer fought the practical woman, sword to battleaxe, and not even Mari knew which was winning.

“We'll never know if you leave,” he murmured, kissing her ear, loving the sensual squirm she gave. “Stay with me—a few weeks, a few months—until we know. It's not merely about how we are together when we touch, as wonderful as that is. It's about your laughter and your sunshine, your principles and your honesty, your caring and your refusal to back down. You have so much courage, Mari. Don't lose it now.”

She buried her face in his neck. “Lysander…”

She was melting—but even while he felt the surge of masculine triumph, he knew this decision was too important for her to be seduced into it. “I can tell you I've never felt like this with any woman, but how can you believe it? You need time to know it won't change—and I need time to convince you.
Stay with me here in Hellenia, Mari—give us time to know this is real.”

“How can you not be angry? You lost your job because of me,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes at his stupidity. Of course she'd think he'd resent her for that. “Actually, I've been offered a better post—if I decide to take it. Even if I don't, all you and Mikhail have done is eased a decision that was too hard for me. I've been avoiding it since Konstantinos joined the monastery. I've been telling myself it was best to stay on a while longer, to foster good relationships in the European capitals to benefit Persolis—and it was the right decision. But you're right—it's time for me to take my place in Persolis and let my mother retire.” When she didn't answer, he said, “Why aren't
you
angry? I didn't tell you who I worked for, or why I took you away to separate you from Mikhail.”

She nodded, her eyes sincere. “There's no point in my being offended. Mikhail's insistence was causing an embarrassing situation for everyone. I'm grateful you helped me, and that you didn't judge me or think me a mercenary woman out for what I could get.”

She was so innocent and wise, his lovely Mari—and he wanted to smile, as he always did when he was in her company. He held her closer. “Nobody could have looked at you, heard you that first day, and thought the worst of you, Mari.”

Her eyes shimmered, and he saw yearning and caring there—then they closed over. “I need space, Lysander. I need time to think.”

A good diplomat knew when to push and when to retire. “Of course,” he murmured, and moved off her body—it felt as if he'd left something behind as he stood. Maybe his heart. “All I ask is that you give us a chance…and listen to your heart, Mari.”

He saw the doubt in her face—the self-doubt. She needed to convince herself—which she'd never be able to do if she were a runner.

Such a shame for his sweet love that she was fighting someone with the best diplomatic contacts in the Corps.

Sander grinned, anticipating each and every battle…

A month later

“I
S THIS
a joke? You've had my passport for a month now, and the problem isn't fixed?”

Mari glared at the plump, middle-aged woman behind the glass counter at the Australian Consulate, who smiled apologetically. “I am afraid not, madam. The irregularity with your passport is an unusual one, and it has to be sorted out at the London office. Until your passport returns here you can't travel.”

In other words,
you can't leave Hellenia until a certain diplomat removes the unusual irregularity he created especially to keep you here.
She knew the unspoken terms:
Come and see me. Come to Persolis.

Right then Mari wanted to see Lysander, all right—to throttle him. This woman was like Sergeant Schultz from
Hogan's Heroes
—she knew
nothing.
And those who could help her, the Ambassador and all his aides, were all far too busy to get her home.

Too busy to see the King's cousin, were they? When they'd been fawning over her until now? Did Lysander have the entire diplomatic staff on his side, as well as her family?

Everyone wanted her to stay in Hellenia. Her parents weren't going home, and neither was Stavros. Her dad, having toured Hellenia for three weeks as a resident expert in green solutions,
had gone to Persolis five days ago at Lysander's invitation, giving unorthodox solutions to the age-old problem of garbage storage.

“What? You think the entire country turned out their garbage in an effort to keep you here?” her father had asked indignantly, when she'd tried to blame Lysander for her dad's sudden elevation in status to First Assistant to the Minister for the Environment.

And Stavros was finishing his medical studies at the University of Orakidis.

“How can you call it nepotism?” he'd protested, when she'd questioned his sudden scholarship for his final years. “They
need
more doctors here, Mariela. There's been war here for decades. I can speak the language, I have family connections, and I came in the top ten percent in all my exams at Sydney Uni. For the first time I can study full-time, instead of working my way through.”

When she'd kept trying to make him see what was really going on, Stavros had mocked her. “Oh? So Sander arranged my good marks over the past five years to keep you here? When did you become so self-important, little sister?”

“Go to him, Mariela,” was her mother's unvarying advice. “Go to Persolis and judge for yourself whether or not you can make a difference.”

Her parents and Stavros had gone deaf without warning, refusing to interfere or even listen to her reasons for not marrying Lysander. Jazmine was full of stories about the Duke, making him appear a cross between a saint and the loneliest man in the world. And Charlie's schedule this past week had been too full for him to help on the matter of her passport issues.

“Is the Duke of Persolis here?” she asked the woman, wondering if he was listening in somewhere, waiting for her to ask for him.

“Yes, madam, he is here currently—attending an important meeting. Would you like to see him?” The woman's searching
look was answer enough: Lysander wasn't at any meeting. He was waiting for her to ask for him, even if all she wanted was to tear him limb from limb.

Steam almost pouring from her ears, she snapped, “Yes, please.”

Moments later she was ushered into a functional office. The door closed behind her—and Lysander stood up behind the desk he sat at and smiled at her. “I've missed you so much,” he said simply, his arms held out to her.

Oh, how unfair was it that he'd said that, making her melt when she was so furious? “Don't distract me, Lysander. Play fair!”

Yet, confused, filled with turbulent hunger, she took a step closer…

“I can't afford to.” He moved towards her, slow and cautious, with that fascinating smile. “You'd only run away if I did. You wouldn't give us a chance.”

Her cheeks heated in unspoken acknowledgement of his words. “I can't stay,” she cried, feeling wretched. “Don't you see it will never work?”

“All I can see is you. I'm dying to touch you,” he said huskily. Those eyes…that smile…

And she was in his arms. “Lysander.”

The kiss was everything she'd been dreaming of during the long, lonely month without him. She forgot all the good reasons to leave. She forgot she was mad with him—or maybe the negative passion fuelled the other, more primitive need.

“Tell me you've missed me,” he mumbled through hot kisses down her throat.

She didn't have to, because it was so pathetically obvious—but she gasped, “You know I have. Lysander…” She tossed his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, spread greedy hands across his chest.

He shuddered and groaned. “I have to be back at that meeting in ten minutes. I'm going to totally humiliate myself.”

She stilled. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come to see you, but
I was so angry.” Her hands still caressing his body, she forced her gaze to his. “I need my passport back.”

His eyes met hers, unflinching. “And I need you to give us a chance—at least see what it is you're turning down before you play the coward.”

Like the swinging of a pendulum, her ardour became anger again. “I lost my job. My parents are selling the house and staying here. My brother's studying here. You've made sure I have no life to return to. You're not giving me a chance to make a fair decision.”

“You can't make a fair decision without coming to Persolis!” he snarled.

“I can't
think
when I'm near you!” she cried. “How can I make a fair decision if all I feel for you is this?” She dropped her hands. “And anger that you've put me in a cage? It's dysfunctional, Lysander. Nothing can be right between us if I resent you!”

He stilled, and slowly nodded. “You're right—again. But I can't let you go, Mari. My life's been
grey
the past month. I can't stand thinking you're half a world away from me!”

Yearning and something dangerously tender filled her, body and heart. “Wouldn't you rather I went and came back to you of my own free will, knowing how I feel?”

He wheeled away, breathing hard. “I think you already know how you feel about me, Mari. What you need to know is how you feel about my life. You need to come to Persolis
before
you go to Sydney.” When she didn't answer, he added harshly, “I won't be there, if that makes it easier for you. Go and meet my mother and my people as Charlie's cousin—you've done that before, visiting Toby and Lia in their duchy, Malascos. We don't have to go public if I'm not there. Your passport will be waiting when you return.”

It wasn't a request, and Mari knew two things: he wasn't going to give way on this, and he was right—she was being a
coward. Slowly, she said, “All right.” She moved away when he turned back with a blazing smile. “I'll play fair if you will.”

That wasn't a request either.

Two weeks later

At the steps of the ducal residence, Mari stood waiting for the limousine, her hands in the Duchess's. “Thank you for making my time here so wonderful, Kat.”

The dragon of her nightmares had become a purring kitten, if an elegant one. The Duchess—
Call me Kat,
she'd said the first day—lovely and well-spoken, was as warm and open-hearted as Lysander, with the same dancing in her eyes. She'd encouraged Mari to look on her as another aunt from the start, and by now Mari had almost forgotten her title. It was just like being with Charlie, Lia or Toby. She was so…ordinary. So
real.

Kat squeezed the hands she held. “Thank you for giving me the chance to know you, darling girl. I've always wanted a daughter. Now I feel I have one…almost.”

The last word was added hastily, with a comical look of guilt. The silent agreement that neither of them would speak of Lysander, apart from about his childhood, hadn't been broken.

Mari giggled, and kissed the Duchess's cheek. “Now I know where he got his audacity from.”

Kat nodded, her dimples flashing. “The car's here.”

Mari hugged her, and turned to pick up her bag.

“Mari, if I might give you one piece of advice?” Kat said softly.

Feeling fatalistic, Mari turned back to face her.

“The title is just a word, you know. I think you've seen that with me, with your cousins, but you're blinding yourself against my son. Beneath the job, and the robes for state occasions, he's just a man in love.”

Mari pushed her lips together hard, to stop the foolish rush of tears. “I need space to see that, Kat—especially when he's been using his power against me. I have to go.”

Sadness and acceptance filled the older woman's eyes. “I'll talk to him.”

Another hug, fierce and loving, and she snatched up her bag and ran down the stairs.

Ten months later

From the middle of the long receiving line where the royal family greeted their guests, those especially invited to watch the new Earl of Haridis and his Countess receive their formal titles, Sander watched the new Lady Mari Mitsialos, daughter of the Earl, with subdued hunger. It had been so long since he'd even seen her—longer since they'd been alone.

She was dressed for the occasion in a deep claret silk ballgown, her hair pulled up in a smooth chignon; she wore rubies and diamonds about her ears and throat; an IWC watch worth ten thousand euros adorned her wrist. She looked perfect—but she didn't look like his Mari any more, and he wondered if he'd created a monster in his efforts to win her.

Taki, Maria and Stavros had taken to their new lives like ducks to water. And though Sander had been the one to first propose the title, Taki had become an earl based purely on his brilliance in science and his dedication to his new country. The Minister for the Environment, a bored viscount, had gratefully relinquished the position when Taki had invented a toxic waste blanket that increased decomposition, making a cleaner country and improving the health of the villagers and townspeople living near toxic rubbish dumps. Taki had won the admiration of the press and the people without any help from Sander.

Stavros led his year at the university, and had everyone's respect.

Mari was the only member of the family who didn't come regularly to Persolis, or accept her place in Hellenia without reservation.

Her passport “problem” had cleared the day she'd returned to Orakidis City, and she'd left immediately for Australia, staying there six agonising weeks. Charlie had sent him a terse e-mail the day she went.

 

Mari needs space. Give her time or she'll never come back.

 

Much as he'd hated the dictum, he'd known Charlie was right. He hadn't contacted her in all that time—apart from one red rose delivered to her friend's apartment every week, with a card simply saying:
I'm waiting.

He hadn't even known she'd returned to Hellenia until his mother had mentioned Mari's “latest call”. So Mari was calling his mother…so she'd returned…so she'd visited Malascos, met the people there, as well as in in Orakidis City… She'd visited Malascos, but she only visited Persolis when ambassadorial business took him from home. She wanted space, but he was suffocating without her.

He'd won his people's approval. He now performed all his duties, knowing Mari had been right—this was real life, and running from that basic truth hadn't made him a better man. So he'd turned down the post with the United Nations, taking the post of Second Assistant to the Ambassador on the condition that Persolis came first. Sometimes he felt stretched to his limits, barely finding time to sleep…if only she was here, sharing his load…

For the past six months she'd only left the palace in Jazmine or Charlie's company, or to make her visits to Lia and Toby in Malascos. Jazmine's and Lia's pregnancies had given Mari an opportunity to help Charlie with affairs of state, and she'd shone. From formal affairs to visiting villages and towns in need of royal help, anything Charlie asked her to do she did—and she was winning the admiration of his people on her own merits.

Her father had been elevated to Hereditary Lord without dissent. Stavros was hailed as the new Viscount, heir to the new
Earl, with enthusiasm, especially after a stint in Orakidis Hospital, when he'd saved a child's life. But Mari refused to see she deserved anything. “I'm only doing what anyone would do,” she'd said the last time they'd met, at an official function a month ago. A night when she'd refused to see him privately, had barely glanced at him.

As he reached the royal family now, he bowed deeply before Mari. “My lady.” He lingered a moment too long over her hand. He couldn't make his lips leave her gloved skin.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, and tugged her hand.

He couldn't let go—not yet. “Mari
mou
,” he whispered into her knuckles.

“Your Grace,” she murmured again, her voice filled with meaning. He glanced up. She looked composed, even with a light blush staining her lovely honey-cream skin. She tilted her head at the long line of people waiting to greet her.

“Your pardon, my lady,” he said softly, his fingers trailing over hers as he let go. “It's been too long since I saw you.”
Since I touched you.
“My hands won't obey my mind.”

“Stop it, Lysander,” she whispered, her eyes reflecting her longing and her exasperation. “I'm not
ready.
”

The next person in line was listening avidly to their conversation, under cover of meeting Stavros—but Sander no longer cared who knew how he felt for Mari. Right now he'd take any chance to talk to her he got. “When will you be,
eros mou
? It's been a year. I still love you and you still won't believe it.”