Kitabı oku: «The Greek's Duty-Bound Royal Bride», sayfa 3
She desires me even as I desire her.
And added to that desire, which curled even now, seductive and sensual through his bloodstream, all the worldly advantages that would accrue with their marriage, for both of them—how could there be any argument against it?
It was the perfect match.
And, best of all, both of us will know the reasons we are marrying—and that the meaningless charade of ‘love’ has nothing to do with it!
And never would.
He lifted his cognac glass, toasting the one and only royal bride he wanted—the beautiful, the breathtaking Princess Elizsaveta.
The week that followed was the most tormented of Ellie’s life. Her head ached with it. Had Leon Dukaris really meant what he’d so outrageously declared at the opera? Or had it been only a flippant remark in riposte to her warning him off Marika? If he’d actually needed warning off?
But if he wasn’t entertaining such ambitions, then why was he forking out a fortune on keeping her family in horrendously expensive luxury?
His intentions remained impossible to determine.
When he invited the royal family to luncheon, two days after the evening at Covent Garden, to be taken in a salon privé at the hotel, she could detect nothing in his manner beyond formal civility. For herself, though she called on her training in royal etiquette to remain outwardly composed, it was a quite different matter.
The visceral impact Leon Dukaris made on her the moment he entered the room had strengthened, not lessened—she was even more hopelessly aware of him than ever—and it was the same yet again when, the day after, he took herself and Marika to afternoon tea at Meredon, her stepmother having graciously approved the outing for her confined daughter.
As they sat on the terrace of the ultra-prestigious country house hotel just outside London, overlooking the green sward stretching down to the River Thames, Ellie was burningly conscious of their host. Doggedly, she pursued safe conversational topics—from the history of the politically powerful Georgian family who had once owned Meredon to the flood protection measures needed for the River Thames in a warming world.
Marika was little help, merely picking at the delicious teatime fancies while staring off forlornly into the distance.
For his part Leon Dukaris, sporting a pair of ultra-fashionable designer shades that made him look even more devastatingly attractive than ever, kept the conversation going by asking lazily pertinent questions and giving the impression that his heavy-lidded gaze, screened by his dark glasses, was resting steadily on her...
As if, she thought wildly, he were assessing her...
For what? For my role as his royal bride?
A bead of hysteria formed in her throat, but she suppressed it. Suppressed all her emotions until finally, after a stroll through the manicured grounds, and a short excursion along the river in the hotel’s private launch, she and Marika were finally returned to the Viscari St James.
She thanked Leon with what semblance of composure she could muster, only to have him glance a slanting smile at her, his long lashes dipping in a way that brought a flush of colour to her cheek.
‘The pleasure was all mine, Princess,’ he murmured.
He helped himself to her hand, bowing over it, and Ellie was sure he was doing so to remind her of how he had kissed her hand that night at the opera. There was something about the glint in his eyes that told her so...
Colour ran into her cheeks again and she turned away, glad that her stepmother was making some remark to him. Whatever it was, Ellie caught only his reply.
‘Alas, Highness, I am scheduled to be out of the country for several days on business, but when I return I would be delighted if you would permit me to invite you to dine with me—and the princesses, too, of course.’
He swept a benign smile over Ellie and Marika—who was busying herself with her phone, frantically texting in a way that sank Ellie’s heart. The distant beloved, no doubt. Distant and utterly ineligible...
She dragged her mind away from her sister’s hopeless predicament, her eyes going to her father and his wife. With their visitor gone, she could see that they were allowing the front they’d put on for him to collapse. Her father looked old and tired—her stepmother tense and strained. They might not say anything to her or Marika, but it was evident that the stress of their precarious situation was eating into them. They knew, even if they did not say it, how grave their predicament was.
If Leon Dukaris pulls the plug on them what will happen to them?
Impossible to imagine—just impossible! A penurious exile? But where? Where would they go? What would they live on?
Fear bit at her, and she could feel it resonating in the room. Could hear, leaping into life yet again, that other question circling in her head.
A princess bride—is that what Leon Dukaris expects for the money he’s spending on us? Can he truly be thinking that?
And what if he were? She felt emotion clutch at her. What answer could she possibly give?
What on earth do I tell him if he really, truly wants to marry me?
The only sane answer was no—no, no and no! How could she possibly contemplate even entertaining such an idea? To marry a stranger...a man she barely knew...
Everything in her revolted. All her life she had vowed to marry only for love. Hadn’t her own parents’ sad example shown how vital that was? Her mother was very open about how she’d felt so pressured by her father—flattered that his daughter was being wooed by a prince, he’d pressed her into a marriage that her royal husband had wanted only to please his own father and beget an heir to the throne.
It was a marriage that had never worked for either of them, and they’d parted from each other with relief, each of them glad to find love and happiness in their second marriages.
‘Never do what I did, darling,’ Ellie’s mother had warned her all her life. ‘Only marry for love—nothing else!’
She felt her emotions twist inside her, tearing her to pieces, making sleep impossible as she lay tensely staring up at the ceiling in Malcolm’s flat that night. For herself, it would be easy to reject Leon Dukaris’s ambitions for a royal bride. As Ellie Peters her own situation was perfectly secure—a home in Somerset with her mother, a modest salary working for her stepfather’s production company. The freedom to marry for love and only for love...
But she was more than just her mother’s daughter—more than just Ellie Peters.
I am also Princess Elizsaveta, daughter of the Grand Duke of the House of Karpardy, and I have duties and obligations and responsibilities that are not mine to evade.
And the difference was everything.
She took a deep, decisive breath. Resolution filled her. No more endless circling, no more questioning, no more confusion. She must embrace the responsibilities of her royal heritage. Her face tautened. And if that meant setting aside her own personal desires and marrying a man she barely knew—well, so be it.
Decision made, she felt a kind of peace—a feeling of resignation and resolve—come over her. Sleep, long delayed, made her eyelids flutter shut. And as it did, it brought dreams with it—dreams of a strong-featured face, of heavy-lidded, night-dark eyes resting on her. Desiring her... Impatient to make her his bride. His princess bride.
CHAPTER FOUR
LEON WATCHED THE PRINCESS being ushered to his table across the restaurant and felt the familiar kick go through his system at the sight of her. The days he’d spent away from London had only increased his desire to see her again—and now here she was, walking towards him in all her breathtaking beauty.
She was wearing, he discerned, an outfit by a designer much favoured by the young British royals—a tailored suit in pale green, adorned with very correct pearls, yet again. But there was something about the air with which she carried herself that marked her out as different from just another wealthy young woman.
His expression altered slightly. Except, of course, the Princess Elizsaveta was not a wealthy young woman at all... She was, in fact, penniless. As penniless as the rest of her family.
Unless she marries me.
And she would—he was sure of it. After all, why else inform his PA that she wished to meet him for lunch today?
He got to his feet, murmuring a greeting, and she took her place opposite him. She had an air of calm composure about her, but Leon could sense that she was very far from being either calm or composed. Her every sense was on alert.
As the attentive waiter poured iced mineral water for her, then retreated, Leon sat back, his gaze openly appreciative of her blonde beauty, the soft grey-blue of her eyes, the curve of her mouth, the sculpted line of her high cheekbones, the glorious pale gold of her hair, caught now into a chignon with low-set combs.
He was enjoying the elegance of her poise, the sweet swell of her breasts... She really was so very, very beautiful... He felt his senses stir, warming in his veins. Confirming everything he’d made his decision on. She was, without a shadow of a doubt, the ideal royal bride for him.
She is everything I want—everything!
She was speaking, and he made himself pay attention. She had leant forward slightly, her pose straight-backed, her manner very different from the subdued restraint she adopted when she was with her father and stepmother, or her determinedly polite, impersonal demeanour that afternoon at Meredon. Now her tone of voice was brisk.
‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Mr Dukaris,’ she opened. ‘I have, as you may suppose, a particular reason for wanting you to do so.’
Leon veiled his gaze. He said nothing, merely gave a faint smile, waiting for her to continue.
For a moment she seemed unnerved, then she rallied, her tone still brisk. ‘I need to be clear,’ she went on, her voice deliberately cool, ‘about a very important matter.’
Ellie paused, resting her eyes on his. It was taking her considerable resolve to do so. From the moment she’d set eyes on him across the restaurant, his relaxed but powerful frame had drawn her gaze immediately, and the familiar rush to her blood had sent heat flushing through her. She had had to fight hard to subdue it as she took her place. This was no time for any such reaction to him. She was here for one reason, and one reason only.
‘Mr Dukaris, why are you paying for my father’s suite at the Viscari St James?’
Leon stilled. He had not anticipated quite so blunt a question. But then, after all, he recollected, she had been just as blunt that night at Turandot, when she had, out of nowhere, warned him off her sister.
He heard her continue.
‘Since my father now has neither power nor influence in Karylya, you have no obvious need for his favour. So...’ she took a breath ‘...there must be some other reason.’
He saw her lips press together, as if she were steeling herself to go on.
‘Tell me,’ she said, and her voice was cool, yet Leon could sense the tension in it all the same, ‘were you serious, at the opera, in your remark to me? Or was it some clumsy attempt at humour?’
There—she had said it—had finally put into words what had been preying on her mind all week and more. She had finally nerved herself to say what had to be said.
A faint smile flickered at his mouth, curving his sensuous lips, but Ellie refused to be distracted by it. She could not afford to be—not now. Far too much depended on his answer.
‘It would be humour in a very poor taste, would you not agree?’ A slight lift of one dark arched eyebrow accompanied his laconic reply.
‘Indeed,’ she said tightly. She took a breath, forced herself on. ‘And I have to allow that my sister may be quite mistaken in her...her interpretation of just why you are being so generous to my father at this difficult time for him.’
She watched him reach for his glass again, take another leisurely mouthful. He appeared to be infuriatingly relaxed, that long-lashed gaze from his night-dark eyes still veiled, his expression unreadable, yet she could sense there was a sudden tension in him. She held her breath, waiting for his reply on which so much would depend.
Enough to change my life for ever—
The enormity of the moment pressed upon her, and she could hear the slug of her own heartbeat in her chest.
After an age, his answer came. His eyes held hers, still veiled, but it was impossible not to be held by them.
‘No, she was not mistaken,’ he said. He started to lower his glass to the table. ‘Only,’ he went on, ‘mistaken as to my preference. As I told you, it is not your sister I have an interest in marrying...’
She heard him say it as clear as a bell, and not in any sardonic manner, or with any possible humorous twist, but with a sudden unveiling of his gaze upon her that stilled the breath in her lungs.
‘Why?’
The word burst from Ellie—she could not stop it. She realised she had leant forward, giving vehement emphasis to her blunt question.
He paused in the act of lowering his glass. His expression changed minutely.
‘Why...?’ he echoed.
Then his expression changed again. Ellie could see it—could see his eyes veiling again, a slight smile deliberately forming around that well-shaped mouth of his.
‘Why would any man not wish to marry a princess?’
The riposte was light, designed to deflect her, she knew. But this was no game, no joke, no humorous light-hearted situation. This was real—brutally, starkly real. Nothing to do with any fairy story...
‘Why do you want to marry a princess?’ Her question was like a scalpel. She wanted an answer and she would have one—a good one, a real one!—or she would walk away from the table right now.
She saw his expression change yet again. She gave a start as she realised that she recognised what she was now seeing in those incredible, long-lashed, gold-glinting night-dark eyes, whose gaze resting on her seemed able to turn her to liquid mush. But they were not doing so now—they were resting on her with something quite different in them. Something she had not seen before but was seeing now.
Honesty.
‘I have no idea how much you know about me, Princess,’ he said now, his voice as clear-sounding as hers had been, ‘but you will have been told, I am sure, that I am nothing more than a jumped-up, nouveau riche billionaire who has made a fortune speculating in the global markets. That is quite true, and a moment’s search on the Internet will confirm that. There is no secret about that. And nor, by the same token, do I make any secret of the fact that I have more money than I know what to do with.’
He gave the slightest shrug of his shoulder—as if, Ellie thought, all those billions were just toy money.
‘I want something else now,’ he said.
He set his glass back on the damask tablecloth with a click. Levelled his eyes straight at her.
‘I can buy anything I want—anything. But there are some things that are harder to buy. Without help.’ He gave a smile now—a tight, knowing smile. ‘The help of a princess. A princess as a glittering prize to crown my achievements in life.’
He sat back, his long, strong fingers still curved around his glass, eyes still resting on her with that same startling revelation that what he was doing now was telling her, bluntly and openly, just how it was.
Ellie kept her face still. ‘A princess?’ she echoed flatly. ‘Any princess?’ It was a taunt, a challenge.
That negligent shrug came again. ‘More or less,’ he admitted. ‘Of course the number of available princesses of marriageable age is highly limited, and even those who might be willing to marry someone like me would want to get something for themselves out of it.’
For my family, Ellie told herself. Only for them.
Yet even as she thought it she felt a flush go through her. And a thought that was utterly and totally irrelevant to the moment. Any woman who married Leon Dukaris would be getting him—all six-foot-plus of devastating male...
She dragged her thoughts away. They weren’t relevant to the brutal discussion she was having...had to have...with this man keeping her father from ignominious penury... Who was only doing so in the expectation of a royal bride.
That much was obvious now.
She sat back. She felt as if she was doing a workout with weights too heavy for her. Yet she had to continue. This had to play out to the end.
I have to know exactly what it is I’m letting myself in for. Marrying a man who only wants to marry me for my royal blood—no other reason.
She felt something twist inside her and suppressed it. There was no point in feeling it. No point lamenting that her life-long dream of marrying only for love had become impossible. No point in anything except doggedly continuing.
She took a breath, saying the thing she had to say. ‘Do you accept, Mr Dukaris, that my sister Marika is not “available”, as you so charmingly express it?’ Ellie could not stop a waspish note stinging her voice. ‘Because she is in love with someone else?’
A faintly bored look crossed his face. ‘I made that clear the other night, I believe,’ he answered. One arched eyebrow lifted. ‘With that established, shall we move on?’ he invited.
This time the taunt was his, not hers. He was taking control of the agenda, and making it clear to her that he was doing so.
‘So, having disposed of the subject of your sister,’ his tone of voice was bland now, ‘I assume you are about to set out the terms and conditions of our marriage.’
Leon saw her eyes flash, impartially observing how it lent a dramatic aspect to her pale beauty.
‘You take it for granted that I will accept your offer?’ she asked.
He gave a shake of his head. ‘No, I take it for granted that you do not wish to see your father destitute. And that as a loyal daughter you will do whatever is necessary to prevent that. And, of course...’ there was a sardonic note to his voice now ‘...to enable your sister to remain free to pine after another man.’ He frowned for a moment. ‘Who is she pining for, by the way?’
Ellie’s expression changed. ‘Someone she’ll never be allowed to marry. Antal Horvath.’
Leon’s frown deepened. ‘Antal Horvath? But isn’t that—?’
Ellie’s lips pressed together tightly. ‘Yes, precisely. Antal is the son of Matyas Horvath—the man who led the coup deposing my father and who aims to be voted President of Karylya in his place!’
Leon’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, that unpalatable fact will certainly test her youthful ardour!’ he commented sardonically. ‘However...’ his voice changed ‘...the woes of your sister are irrelevant to ourselves,’ he said dismissively, reaching for the leather-bound menu.
He looked across at the princess he infinitely preferred to her hopelessly lovelorn sister. Satisfaction was rising through him—he was achieving exactly what he wanted, and that always felt good. Very good.
‘Shall we get on with ordering lunch?’ he invited. He was hungry and he wanted to eat.
He made to flick open the menu, but the princess’s voice stayed him.
‘Not yet.’
Her tone was commanding, as befitting a princess, and Leon paused, setting down the menu with an air of patience. He lifted an enquiring eyebrow.
Ellie felt her jaw tighten, felt turbid emotions, clashing and turbulent, sloshing inside her. If she really, truly were to do the unthinkable—agree to marry a man she barely knew—she had to be rock-solid sure she would get the protection for her family they needed.
‘There are, as you say, terms and conditions.’
She had got her brisk, businesslike tone back, and was relieved she could still adopt it. She took a breath, marshalling her strength to make things crystal-clear to him.
‘The first of which is that I want a time limit on this marriage. Two years—no more. That gives you ample time to take all the social advantages you want out of marrying a princess.’
His face was closed. For a second—just a second—Ellie felt a thrill of apprehension go through her. Then, abruptly, his expression changed and he gave a slight assenting shrug of his shoulder, as if the stipulation meant nothing to him.
That stipulation means nothing to me! Of course it doesn’t. Why should two years not give me everything I want from her? Why would I care if she leaves me then?
He felt his mind shift away, as if from a place it refused to go. Where it would always refuse to go.
‘Good,’ Ellie said decisively, relief filling her.
I have to know that I can eventually be free of this marriage—free to find the love I seek.
She forged on, knowing she had to put everything down on the table in one go.
A hefty capital sum settled on her father, yielding an income sufficient to maintain his dignity in exile, and a suitable property for him and his wife to live in gratis for their lifetime.
‘Oh, and you must guarantee the university fees for my brother Niki—and a dowry for my sister. So that she, at least, will have freedom of choice when it comes to her marriage. Sufficient, if necessary, to defy her parents—’ She broke off.
Was there a trace of bitterness in her voice? She hoped not—what was the point of bitterness in the face of brute reality?
Disbelief was possessing her—an air of absolute unreality that she was actually doing what she was doing...marrying a stranger in order to protect her father and his family. To ensure a future for them all.
At the price of mine.
She felt her stomach hollow. That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? Everyone got what they wanted except her. She was going to have to hand herself over to a complete stranger, have her own life hijacked by making a marriage to this man she barely knew.
A cry came from deep inside her.
This isn’t the marriage I wanted to make! I wanted to marry for love—only for love! Even princesses can marry for love.
But not this one. Like so many of her ancestors, she was going to marry for royal duty—because she was the only one in the family who could protect her father now, protect her stepmother, her siblings.
She felt a wash of misery flush through her and her eyes dropped away, her throat tightening.
She heard Leon Dukaris—the vastly rich billionaire who was going to ensure her family’s future at the price she had agreed to pay for it—agreeing to all she demanded. And for a second—just a second—panic flared in her eyes. This marriage was going to happen...it really was going to happen! She was going to marry this man—this complete stranger—whose disturbing gaze on her could quicken her pulse and confuse her utterly...
The rush of panic beat up inside her again. And then suddenly she felt her hand being taken. His strong fingers closed around hers. His eyes held her troubled gaze.
Something seemed to run between them. As if, she thought, for the very first time she was seeing the man and not the billionaire. Not the devastatingly masculine male that her feminine senses were continually so perpetually aware of but the person—the individual, with a character and personality of his own.
A quiver seemed to go through her she could make no sense of.
‘It will be all right, this marriage of ours,’ he said quietly, his eyes still holding hers. ‘I will make sure of it.’
Then, before she could realise his intent, he was lifting her hand to his lips. It was the briefest of hand-kisses, but as he lowered her hand back to the table and released it Ellie felt, for the very first time since her mother had given her the dreadful news about her father, the agitation inside her and the tumult of her emotions start to subside.
The man she had just agreed to marry smiled. An open, reassuring smile. And somehow—she did not know why or how—all her panic was gone...quite gone.
‘Good girl,’ she heard Leon Dukaris say approvingly, and he patted the back of her hand.
He looked about, summoning the maître d’.
‘Now, let’s toast our engagement in champagne! It deserves no less!’
Ücretsiz ön izlemeyi tamamladınız.
