King's Ransom (20 page)

* * *

Later that night Juliana lay cradled in Andre's arms in her bedroom. Her little house in the gated community in the Los Angeles foothills—not far from the DeWinters' home—had been her solitary haven for years, and she'd made this bedroom and the large attached master bathroom with its whirlpool tub a place of refuge from the world. No man had ever been here with her...until Andre.

As they lay together in the aftermath of loving, they both realized they'd suffered for nothing. Nothing except the determination of a dead king and a covetous prince to keep them apart. Now they both knew they had remained faithful, not just to each other, but to their love. Forever and a day.

Andre's arms tightened around her. “It occurs to me I have never asked you, Juliana.”

She nuzzled his shoulder dreamily. “Asked me what?”

“To marry me.” She caught her breath, and he heard it. “Why did you not tell me I was still too arrogant, little one? Why did you not tell me I should not assume your consent when I placed that ring on your finger?” He laughed softly. “You should not let me be too sure of you, Juliana. Did no one ever tell you that?”

She chuckled and snuggled closer. “I didn't dare say no to you,” she teased. “Not after you threatened I would have no other lover than you from that moment on. I was terrified.” She kissed him as she said it, so he'd know she didn't really mean it.

He was silent for a moment. “I did not mean to make that threat. I swore to myself I would wait for you to come to me, and then I would know you loved me enough to take on the arduous job of being my wife. Being my queen.” He sighed. “It will not be easy, little one. But then, I think you know something about the life I lead because in many ways you have led the same life. Very little privacy, and what little I have I guard fiercely. Beyond that, there will be times I must put duty to Zakhar above my love for you, as I have done before. Zakhar...but no other woman.”

“I know.” Her voice was little more than a whisper in the darkness.

“Most of the sacrifices will be yours. Your country. Your freedom. Your friends. Not that you will never see them again, but your royal duties will have to take precedence. Zakhar will have to become your first priority.”

“No,” she told him firmly. “Not my first priority.
You
will be that. Always. Then our children. Zakhar will have to take third place.”

He lay very still beneath her. “You cannot know how I have longed to see you with our child,” he said, obviously deeply moved by her assumption they would have children together. He shifted her so he could place a large hand on her stomach and caress her there. Tenderly. “That day on the set...seeing you as Eleonora about to give birth, I wanted that to be our child in your womb. And that night I realized I had been lying to myself thinking I could ever let you leave. I cannot.”

His voice was harsh in the darkness. “I am no gentleman, little one. Know that. Believe it. I would have killed Niko in an instant merely for threatening you. Merely for putting the look of terror in your eyes I saw when I entered your bedroom.”

“But you didn't kill him,” she reminded him softly.

“Only at your request.” He breathed sharply. “There is a savage side of me you have not seen until now. The civilized man the world sees is merely a veneer. Can you still love me knowing the truth? Knowing I am no gentleman?” He didn't give her a chance to respond before adding in a pain-racked voice it hurt her to hear, “The other day I told you I can deny you nothing, but that was a lie. There is one thing I
can
deny you—only one. Your freedom. Can you live with me knowing that now you are mine again I will never let you go?”

“Don't let me go,” she whispered to him, soothing him with a gentle caress. “I know you're not a gentleman, but I don't care. Just love me, and don't ever let me go.”

 

Epilogue

W
ith all the pomp and circumstance for which the fairy-tale kingdom was justly famous, Zakhar celebrated the royal wedding on the first day of December. The bride's distinguished father—the former US Ambassador—was there to lead her down the aisle. The groom's best man was his cousin Zax. And Princess Mara was the matron of honor—the word
matron
taking nearly everyone in Zakhar by surprise, since almost no one knew she had married the previous January. But her plebeian husband—a tall, handsome man who squired her everywhere with an unmistakably protective air—soon became a crowd favorite because of his obvious devotion to her.

While there had been some grumbling from certain older factions within the country that the king was marrying an actress and not a scion of European nobility, not to mention the short engagement period, the younger generation was almost universally thrilled. The fact that Juliana had spent her teen years in Zakhar and spoke Zakharan went a long way toward dissipating any criticism. And when the announcement was made that the new queen was retiring from acting to devote her time to her future subjects and her royal duties there was national jubilation.

* * *

National jubilation reached epic proportions ten months later when the official announcement went out on thick cream-colored stationery, hand-inscribed, and embossed in gold leaf with the royal seal of Zakhar. “Their Majesties, the King and Queen of Zakhar, are pleased to announce the birth of Crown Prince Raoul Theodore Alexei Stepan of the House of Marianescu.”

The news bulletin stated, “Her Royal Majesty Queen Juliana was safely delivered of a son at 8:27 a.m. today. Her Royal Majesty and her son, the Crown Prince, are both doing well.”

* * *

Juliana lay in her hospital bed gazing at the downy-haired baby boy in her arms, then at the man sprawled in the chair by the window, fast asleep. Maternal tenderness for both father and son made her smile. Andre had been terrified in the delivery room—determined not to betray it in front of her, but terrified all the same. Worried something would go wrong. Afraid deep down he'd lose her in childbirth the way his father had lost his mother giving birth to Mara. Not that he would say that to her. Oh no! He'd tried so hard to hide his fear, not wanting to alarm her in any way, but she knew him too well.

Her smile deepened. She'd wanted Andre with her, but it almost seemed as if she were giving
him
support rather than the other way around. And then, when their son was born relatively quickly and everything had gone so well, Andre had quietly fallen apart. His tears had been hot against her breast as he'd buried his head there, swearing he'd never put her through that ordeal again, his fingers desperately clutching her hands.
But he will,
Juliana told herself with another smile, a secret one this time. She was ecstatic over the birth of their first child—the son he needed to carry on the unbroken line of Marianescus ruling Zakhar—but she was also looking toward the future and the other children she would give him someday. Daughters as well as sons. Daughters he would love and cherish—unlike his own father—as much as his sons.
Someday soon.

Andre had been ready with a list of names. He'd adamantly refused to let the doctors tell them if Juliana was carrying a boy or a girl ahead of time, but he had names for both already picked out. Raoul Theodore Alexei Stepan. Juliana had groggily listened to the string of names, understanding each choice and approving it until she came to the last one. Raoul—that was easy. Raoul was the firstborn son of the first Andre Alexei, and one of the greatest kings Zakhar had known. A good omen. Theodore—that was the masculine version of part of his beloved sister's name, Mara Theodora, and meant
divine gift
, another good omen. Alexei—that was easy, too, named after himself and the first Andre Alexei.

But Stepan?

Juliana had been puzzled until Andre had explained, and then her tears had come. “When he died in the landslide I held him in my arms and closed his eyes so he would appear to merely be sleeping,” he'd confessed in a low voice. “But I could think of no words to comfort his mother other than to say Stepan was a good name for a son.” With that she had loved him anew.

“I am blessed,” she told her son quietly now. “I have you and your father. Nothing can top that, not even the success of
King's Ransom
.” Her final movie had opened that summer—to a blockbuster box office and unbelievably glowing reviews—and was still going strong in the fall despite the fact that neither she nor Dirk had done any promotion for the movie at all. Of course, all the fairy-tale publicity surrounding her wedding to Andre—which had been broadcast to nearly five hundred million viewers around the world—and her subsequent pregnancy hadn't hurt ticket sales. There was already insider buzz of Academy Award nominations.

She'd finally convinced Andre to screen
King's Ransom
with her...but not until after the movie opened to the public. Not until she was about to deliver his child. As if the on-screen intimacy between Juliana and Dirk made him uncomfortable...until he could believe without a shadow of a doubt that nothing would ever separate them again.

Thoughts of Dirk and
King's Ransom
reminded Juliana of her friend Sabrina and the baby daughters she'd given her husband before she died. Against all odds Linden and Laurel had not only survived, but thrived—God had answered her prayers with a resounding “Yes!” where the babies were concerned. But not with Dirk, and Juliana's heart still ached for him.

The sacrifices she'd had to make in her life had not been as bad as Andre had feared when he'd asked her to marry him. Juliana had thrown herself into her new role as Zakhar's queen with the same wholehearted enthusiasm she'd always shown with any role, although this was real and not make-believe.

She hadn't been content with merely the figurehead position taken by previous queens in their charitable endeavors, either. No, she'd been an active participant, especially with those things near and dear to her heart—such as anything to do with children. Pregnancy hadn't slowed her down in the slightest, except at the very end.

And through it all she'd had Mara's friendship to sustain her. Mara's example as a royal princess to guide her. Not to mention Mara's advice on her pregnancy. Mara's twins—a healthy boy and a girl—had been born only three months ahead of Raoul.

Juliana glanced over at Andre again and saw he was finally awake. Awake and staring at her and their son, love for them both lending a radiance to his tired face. She held her hand out to him, and he came to sit on the edge of the bed. “Meet your son,” she told him with a soft smile, turning the baby to face him. She took their son's tiny fist and placed it in her husband's hand, amused at how tentatively he stared at it, as if afraid something so small would break if he breathed. “Look, Andre,” she said tenderly, inserting a finger to open the tiny fist. “Raoul has your fingers.”

His eyes met hers, a shadow in their green depths. “Did you think I needed that proof?”

She shook her head slowly. “No more than the first Andre Alexei needed proof when he acknowledged Eleonora's son was his before it was confirmed.” Her smile faded and she gazed at him with a solemn expression. “When I was eighteen I wondered if my children would inherit that endearing genetic defect from their father. Then later I knew they wouldn't...because I would never have children.”

He glanced down at the baby in her arms. “But you did.”

“Only with you.” Her sudden radiant smile coaxed a smile from him in return. “Only because you paid a king's ransom to bring me back to you.” She cupped his cheek with one hand, love welling up in her as she quoted softly, “‘Two hearts as one...'”

He turned his face to kiss her palm, his warm, firm lips sending a thrill coursing through her body the way they always had. The way they always would. “‘...Forever and a day,'” he finished for her in the deep voice she loved. “‘Forever and a day.'”

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from COLTON COWBOY PROTECTOR by Beth Cornelison

Prologue

T
he man reminded her of a wolf. His pale eyes held a feral quality, his heavily graying black hair was shaggy and thick, and his thin, sloped nose brought to mind a canine muzzle. She shivered as he slid into the front seat next to her, but his wild appearance boded well. She needed him to be the deadly predator he resembled. The two-faced mouse that had ruined her life and stolen her child from her needed to pay.

They'd parked in the farthest corner of the parking lot outside the range of the security cameras. She knew the spot was safe, because she'd checked the surveillance tapes herself. As it was after hours, few cars were left in the lot, and darkness added another layer of cover.

She slid the wolf man a file and gave him a hard stare. “I hired you because I was told you're the best. Naturally, discretion is of utmost importance. This can't be traced back to me or my husband.”

“Naturally,” he deadpanned. He reached into his front shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Tapping one out, he flicked a silver lighter and lit his smoke. The tip glowed red like an evil eye in the dark.

She balled her hands in her lap, watching him uneasily as he flipped through the file. “I'll want proof when the job is complete.”

Blowing smoke after her, he sent her a snide look, as if her request was beneath him. “I'll finish the job.”

“Be sure you do. You don't get the last of your fee until I know that she's paid for what she did to my son.”

He slapped the file shut and curled his lip in a sneer that revealed a lupine-like incisor. “Oh, she'll pay. Your son was my friend, my partner in a deal that went south when he died. I lost a small fortune. This job is personal. I won't rest until his death is avenged and that backstabbing bitch is dead.”

Copyright © 2015 by Harlequin Books S.A.