The Stolen Princess (27 page)

She made an impatient gesture. “I don't know. Someone who won't care what I do, who won't try to order my life, who will let me go my own road. It doesn't really matter, does it? Not with a marriage of convenience. Your brother might even consider it. Marriage to a princess with connections to half the royal families of Europe could be quite an asset to a rising diplomat's career.”

“You are
not
marrying my brother!” Gabe exploded.

“Well, no, he was just a case in point,” she explained.

“You don't need any case in point—you've got me!”

She frowned. “But you said yourself, you have the habit of command.”

He stared wildly at her. How could she even think of marrying someone else? “I'll change,” he said.

“No, you won't.”

He swallowed. “Probably not enough for your liking, but I promise you I'll try.”

She frowned, puzzled and disturbed by his apparent determination to marry her. “It actually sounds like you want to marry me. Why?”

He gave her a blank stare. “Why?” he said in a strangled voice.

“Yes, why? You've known me less than ten days. Why would you want to make a convenient marriage with a woman you hardly know, who doesn't want to be married, and who won't promise to love you or obey you?

It was a good question. He ran a finger around his collar. He cleared his throat. His mind was completely blank. “Er—”

The dinner bell rang. “Dinner,” he exclaimed gratefully and gestured toward the door. “Aunt Gosforth hates to be kept waiting.”

She didn't move. “When you've answered my question.”

Gabe searched for an answer that would satisfy her. The truth would frighten her off, make her run a mile. He knew because it had frightened him half to death.

Outside he could hear people coming down the stairs, gathering in response to the dinner bell.

“Gallantry,” he said at last. “Pure, disinterested gallantry. I can't bear to see a woman and child in distress. And I have no plans to marry anyone else. If a convenient marriage is the price of your safety, it's a small price to pay.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “And you don't mind that I will not promise to love or obey you? That for me it will just be a—a chess tactic?”

“No, I don't mind that at all,” he lied with conviction.

She hesitated, then held out her hand. “Then let us shake on this agreement; we shall make a convenient marriage, a paper marriage, and we shall be completely honest with each other from the start.”

“Absolutely, honesty from the start,” Gabe agreed, uttering the lie with aplomb.

He had no intention of letting it remain as a paper marriage. He felt a slight pang of guilt at lying to her, but repressed it. It was almost the truth.

For some reason she was fearful of putting herself into the hands of a man. Obviously the fault of that clod Prince Rupert.

She needed to learn that with Gabe, she was safe.

Gabe's position was clear also; just not wholly and completely stated. He would try to change his autocratic ways—or at least to listen to her views. He would protect her and her child with his life. And he would marry her.

He could hardly repress the surge of fierce emotion at the thought: his wife.

He grasped her outstretched hand and shook it. “But that's not the way to settle a bargain such as this,” he said. “I'm a traditionalist.” And he drew her into his arms.

She stiffened warily and stretched her head back away from him. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I'm doing? What's the expression: seal the bargain with a kiss.”

“But we shook on it.”

“Yes, and now we'll kiss.” He could just take the kiss, he knew, but until now, all their previous kisses had been surprised out of her: stolen. Now, suddenly he wanted a simple, honest kiss from her, a kiss to make a bargain on, a kiss that bore a promise.

“We don't need to kiss,” she insisted, her spine braced in resistance against the arm he'd slipped around her back.

He still held her right hand in his right hand, the handshake caught between them. His knuckles grazed her breast. He didn't think she'd noticed.

He noticed. A good part of his attention was on that faint teasing graze of skin against cotton, with warm, soft breast beneath.

He shifted his stance slightly and felt the back of his hand slide against one aroused, hardened nipple.

A shiver went through her at the touch and she glanced down at their linked hands. She'd finally noticed. Her eyes darkened and flickered back up to him. She moistened her lips.

His body instantly reacted. So did she.

She moved, trying to tug her hand free, but he didn't let go and all her movement did was drag his knuckle back across the thrusting nipple. She gasped.

“You're determined on this kiss, aren't you?” Her breathing made her bosom rise and fall.

“Yes.” The slight, teasing movement of each breath against the back of his hand drove him wild. He fought to control his body.

“Why? You agreed this would be just a paper marriage.”

“To the world, this has to look genuine,” he reminded her. “If we want people to rally around to support us against Count Anton's legal petition, we'll need to gain their sympathy.”

Her brow puckered as she considered his words.

“There's bound to be a lot of comment on the hurried nature of this wedding. Opinion will fall into two camps; either I have impregnated you and am making an honest woman of you, or we are so madly in love we cannot wait. Either way it will be regarded as a love match, and the world adores lovers.”

Her body had softened unconsciously against him as she accepted the truth of his interpretation. He continued, “However once the news of Count Anton's petition to have your son returned is out—and it will get out—the sharper minds among the
ton
will wonder about this sudden and convenient marriage. So we must convince them—all of them—I am talking about Aunt Maude, and my friends, and everyone—that this is real and that we are in love. Lovers under threat are even more romantic. Count Anton won't stand a chance.”

“Your brother knows it's false.”

“Nash is a diplomat. He can keep his mouth shut,” Gabe said, hoping it was true. He barely knew his brother but he was generally a good judge of character. Despite their bitter history, Nash as an adult had surprised him.

She bit her lip and he tried not to groan. She said, “So we need to pretend to be in love?”

“I think it's a good idea,” Gabe said in a dispassionate voice. His body was racked and aching with desire.

“And we start from this moment? With a kiss? To seal the bargain?”

“Yes, and to help us to get into the spirit of things,” Gabe said, amazed at how disinterested his voice sounded. Now! his body was roaring silently. Take her now!

She swallowed. “Very well.” She licked her lips and raised herself on tiptoe. Gabe lowered his head to meet her, but though it cost him every shred of control at his command, he didn't take her mouth; he wanted her to come to him.

She hesitated, her mouth a bare inch from his. He could feel her soft breath on his skin; she was panting gently. She gazed into his eyes, searching, wondering, uncertain. She was aroused, he could sense it, smell it, but she showed no awareness of it.

She pressed her lips lightly against his and pulled back, watching for his reaction. He didn't move, didn't release her, just waited. And tried to remember to breathe.

She touched her lips to his again, and this time she didn't pull away. He felt the light touch of her tongue and he opened for her. She wasn't ready for anything more yet and didn't take up his silent invitation but she kissed him hard, pressing her lips openmouthed against his, mouth to mouth and breath to breath. And body to body.

It was enough. It was more than enough considering he couldn't take her here and now.

His knuckles were trapped between them, pressed against her breast. He kissed her back, forcing himself not to take control. His knuckle moved lightly back and forth against her rock-hard nipple and she shuddered and recoiled and pulled back.

He released her instantly. She staggered and he caught her by the waist and steadied her.

She stared at him wide-eyed. Looking shocked and on the verge of panic.

“So that's it,” he said in his driest, dullest voice. “The bargain is settled. We will make a convenient marriage and do our best to fool the
ton
into believing we are lovers.”

At his mundane response she calmed visibly. Yes, that's what frightened her, he thought. Passion. Prince Rupert must have been a clumsy oaf indeed to treat this treasure of a woman carelessly.

Gabe was not such a fool. He knew a priceless gift when he fished it off a cliff top. He would lavish care on her.

Once she was his, he would seduce her with every shred of power in him. He would do his damnedest to burn this paper marriage in the flames of passion and forge it into something precious and enduring.

He had to teach her to love him.

Because, God help him, he loved her.

“C
ome along, time to break the news to everyone.” Gabriel offered his arm to lead her into the drawing room where everyone had gathered before dinner.

Callie felt as though the pit of her stomach had opened into a great hollow void. She should never have sealed the deal with a kiss. It was a mistake. A huge mistake.

She didn't want to break the news to anyone, didn't want to do anything to take this idea from the realms of fantastical nonsense into grim reality.

Betrothed! To be married. To Gabriel Renfrew.

Pretending to the world that they were in love. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

But she had to, she reminded herself. For Nicky.

And the first thing she had to do was to regain her normal calm mien. Forget the sensations that rocketed through her body when she'd kissed him. It shouldn't have been like that. It was supposed to be a businesslike kiss.

She couldn't face anyone like this, all shivery and hot and unsettled.

She needed a long, relaxing bath. A cold one.

But everyone was waiting to go into dinner. She delayed the moment, hovering in front of the mirror, checking that her hair had not slipped from its knot. For a one-minute arrangement, Lady Gosforth's maid had done an excellent job. It still seemed to be secure. And Lady Gosforth had given her an exquisite shawl of fine crimson cashmere, embroidered with gold thread, saying, “I adore crimson, my dear, but crimson, alas, does not adore me.”

It was true, the color was too high for the middle-aged lady but it suited Callie perfectly. It looked so rich and elegant; the drab gray dress was a perfect foil for it.

Last-minute excuses whirled around in her brain. She squashed them.

The marriage would make Nicky safe. It was all that mattered.

She could do this. It was all just for show, an act. The problem last time was that she hadn't listened to all of Papa's talk about what a convenient marriage meant. She'd fallen for Rupert's handsome face and had allowed his attentiveness and gallant compliments to fool her into believing he returned her feelings. She'd convinced herself it was a love match.

She wouldn't do that again.

Forewarned was forearmed.

If she didn't fall in love, she couldn't be hurt. All she had to do was not to fall in love with Gabriel. She could do that.

Once bitten, twice shy.

It was amazing how many excellent mottoes there were to remind her. She'd stitched hundreds of the beastly things. Why hadn't she ever taken notice of them before now?

“What are you thinking?” her husband-to-be murmured.

“A stitch in t—” she began, then amended it hastily. “Just checking my hair.”

“You look very beautiful.”

Hah! Gallant compliment number one, she told herself. She peered in the mirror again and saw a round face, undistinguished nose, tidy plain brown hair, and a flushed countenance. So much for very beautiful. She frowned at her rosy cheeks, thinking that perhaps the crimson shawl was the wrong choice after all.

“Come on, you can't spend the rest of your life hiding in here and hoping it will all go away. Dinner will be getting cold and I'm getting very hungry standing here watching you.” His voice deepened as he added, “You look like a delicious bonbon wrapped in that red thingummy, so unless you want me to start nibbling on you—”

She whisked herself to the door. He tucked her hand into his arm and led her toward the drawing room. His arm felt warm and strong under her hand. He looked magnificent in his evening clothes.

Not that she cared what he looked like.

He smiled down at her, his eyes warm. She gave him a cool and gracious smile. Calm. Polite. Distant. That was the way to do it.

She wished she could have worn her mother's tiara, for courage and for luck, but it would be quite inappropriate for an informal family dinner. Callie held her head high as they entered the room, all eyes on them.

Mr. Harry Morant, Mr. Rafe Ramsey, Mr. Luke Ripton, and Mr. Nash Renfrew rose from their seats in unison. She blinked, not having seen them dressed formally before. Ethan Delaney would be upstairs, eating with the boys, she recalled. Gabriel had arranged for there always to be someone with Nicky.

“There you are, my dears.” Lady Gosforth, who was wearing olive-green silk and diamonds, swept forward. “Take your breath away, don't they, dressed formally and en masse. You should have seen them in their regimentals. My dear, the palpitations! Every female from nineteen to ninety. Now come along, dinner awaits.” Commandeering Nash as her escort, she led the way into the dining room.

“I know I should have imported a few females to make up the numbers,” Lady Gosforth said as footmen came around the table, serving turtle soup from a silver tureen. She looked around the table with satisfaction. “But why dilute 'em, I say? Whets one's appetite with all this masculine beauty at table, don't you agree, Miss Tibthorpe?”

Tibby, who would never have thought of such a thing, but who, judging by her bright cheeks, was now considering the question, was spared an answer by Gabriel, who calmly changed the subject.

“It might interest you all to know that Princess Caroline and I will be getting married next Friday. Of course, you are all invited.”

Callie who had just forced herself to take a mouthful of turtle soup, choked. Under cover of patting her back and offering her a sip of his wine, he murmured, “Did I not warn you about that? It must be soon. Time is of the essence.”

Callie took a large gulp of wine and tried to recover her composure. “Yes, Friday,” she said as brightly as she could manage. She was aware of Tibby staring at her with dropped jaw and flashed her a bright smile. Tibby jumped up and kissed her, but the faint pucker between her brows told Callie she was still concerned. Alone of all of them, Tibby knew her true feelings about marriage.

There was a chorus of congratulations. Each of the men rose from their seat and came to kiss her hand. Lady Gosforth was torn between excitement and horror: excitement at her nephew's approaching nuptials and horror at the timing.

She ordered the best champagne to be opened and in the same breath berated Gabriel soundly for “rushing the poor girl so that she has no time even to buy her bride clothes, let alone arrange any decent reception.”

He smiled at Callie and lifted her hand to his lips, the picture of lover-like impatience. His lips were firm and warm. “It will be just a small, private wedding,” he told his aunt.

Lady Gosforth's eyes bulged. “Small and private?” She looked at Callie and stated, “You cannot want a small and private wedding.”

“Oh, but I do,” Callie assured her, “for I know so few people in London and a small, private wedding would suit me perfectly.” The smaller the better. She tried to ignore the way her hand tingled where he'd kissed her. She rubbed it surreptitiously on her napkin, as if she could remove it and somehow regain herself.

She was being stupid, she told herself. It was just a kiss.

“And a reception?” Lady Gosforth demanded.

Gabriel pursed his lips thoughtfully, then conceded, “Well, perhaps a
very
small reception.”

Nash added, “With only one's intimate friends and nearest relations invited.”

Lady Gosforth nodded. “Very well then, a small party on the following Tuesday, but with no notice at all, it will be positively meager, Gabriel, I'm warning you. It will, of course, be here.”

“Meager will do nicely, Aunt, thank you,” he said. Callie wondered why his eyes were dancing. As were Nash's. Even Harry who had said very little, looked faintly amused.

Some family joke, no doubt.

“And you are truly happy with a hole-in-the-corner affair?” Lady Gosforth asked Callie.

“Oh yes. Thank you.” Callie smiled brightly. “Quite hap—very happy.” She could see the pucker between Tibby's brow so she widened her smile, determined to convince her friend there was nothing at all to worry about. “I had a very big wedding once, when I married the prince of Zindaria,” she reminded them. “I would like this one to be different.”

Lady Gosforth sniffed. “It will certainly be different.”

They drank several toasts to the bride and groom in champagne and then, thankfully, the next course was brought in. Callie ate nearly everything that was offered to her and tasted almost nothing. Gabriel was very attentive, passing her dishes and offering her tidbits.

Acting, she reminded herself. It's all acting.

Luckily no one seemed to expect her to make conversation. They all made plans. Plans for her wedding.

Lady Gosforth announced that she would take Callie and Tibby shopping in the morning. And “the boys” would entertain Callie's son and Jim.

And Callie remembered there was something she had to do, before she could go shopping. “Can I see you privately after dinner?” she whispered to Gabriel.

His eyes warmed. “Of course. You can see me wherever you want.” He said it deep and low, as if arranging a lovers' tryst.

“Shall we say in the library after the gentlemen have finished their port and joined the ladies?” she suggested in a low but businesslike voice. There was no need to pretend when nobody else could hear.

He lifted her hand and kissed it again. “I shall look forward to it.” His eyes caressed her. The place where his lips touched her skin seemed to throb. A shiver passed through her.

Gallant gesture number four, Callie reminded herself. Or was it five? Or six.

After the ladies withdrew to leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars or whatever it was gentlemen did after dinner, Callie found time for a quiet word with Tibby.

Lady Gosforth had swept off in a frenzy of happy planning, consulting with her butler, chef, housekeeper, and secretary. Callie had felt a little uncomfortable letting a relative stranger take on the burden of organizing her wedding and had suggested that she could arrange something suitable herself, but Lady Gosforth told her instantly she was not to think of such a thing.

It was soon borne home to her, most forcibly, that the planning of social events was the breath of life to Lady Gosforth, and that the lady's only regret was that there was so little scope for her talents.

“Leave it to me, my dears. I know just what to do. All you have to do is be the radiant bride.” And she'd swept out, leaving Callie and Tibby alone.

Be the radiant bride indeed, Callie thought and caught Tibby observing her. She gave Tibby a rueful smile. “I expect you're wondering what brought this on.”

“I can't say I'm totally surprised,” Tibby admitted. “I have noticed a certain intimacy developing between you and Mr. Renfrew.”

“Intimacy?”

“Perhaps I should have said a closeness—I wasn't implying anything improper,” Tibby corrected hastily.

“There is no intimacy. It is not a love match,” Callie explained quickly, unable to bear any misunderstanding between her and Tibby. Bad enough that she had to play the radiant bride for Gabriel's friends and relations, she needed at least one person who knew the truth.

Two people, she amended. Three if you counted Mr. Nash Renfrew. The others might suspect that this hasty wedding had something to do with protecting her son from Count Anton, but Gabriel was pretending to be happy about it, so the least she could do was feign happiness as well. But not to Tibby.

“I do not want it widely known, for obvious reasons, but you are my oldest and dearest friend, so I want you to know. Count Anton has instituted a legal move with the English government to have Nicky returned to Zindaria under his authority as the regent.”

“Oh, my dear!” Tibby clasped her hands in horror.

“Yes, so Mr. Nash Renfrew, he is some sort of diplomat in government, he says marrying Gabriel—Mr. Renfrew—will help me keep Nicky here with me. That is why it's to be so soon.”

Tibby looked thoughtful. “I can see the logic behind it all, and of course I understand you must do whatever it takes to protect Nicky…but have you thought about how this will affect you in the longer term?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…what we were talking about the other day, how things were between you and Prince Rupert.”

“No. It's not the same at all.” She was not going to let it be the same. “Tibby, dear, this wedding is nothing but a stratagem, a—a chess maneuver. It's all been very clear from the start.”

Tibby's eyes were troubled. “You have a tender heart, my dear, and Mr. Renfrew is very handsome and can be enormously charming and persuasive.”

“I know. And knowing how charming and persuasive he can be is what will prevent the same thing happening again. He is charming and persuasive to everyone—when he is not riding roughshod over their opinions, that is.”

Tibby looked unconvinced.

Callie continued, “I am not the foolish girl I once was. I was married for nine years. Now I am a mature woman of five-and-twenty and I have put all that nonsense behind me.”