Princess In Denim (20 page)

She swatted his hands away.

"I do not want any glass to scratch you." It would be a shame to mar such beautiful skin. He reached for the front of her mink to find and release the hooks.

She slapped at his hands.

"Moira, give me your coat. I will shake it out."

She placed her hand square on his chest and fully extended her arm between them. It was difficult to gauge the look in her eyes in the fleeting moonlight, but he did not think it was warm and grateful.

"It is all right now, Moira," he crooned. "The rock slide is over. We are safe."

"Safe?" It sounded like an accusation. "You think someone's trying to kill me, and I should feel
safe?"

"Yes, it is all ri—"

"No, it's not all right!" She whirled away from him and stumbled over a small rock, but righted herself against the fender and shook him off again as he tried to pull her into the safety of his embrace. "No one ever tried to kill me before I got contracted to marry you."

"That may not be entirely true."

"Do you have a jealous girlfriend or something?"

"No, it is not that."

"Now—" she pulled herself up until her backbone was so rigid he thought it would crack under the press- sure. "—I demand you void
^:
the contract before
I do
get killed."

"Ah, Moira."

"Immediately, William: I mean it."

"I cannot."

"You will!"

"Even if I wanted to, I could not. It is too late."

"Not if I'm not married, it's not."

"You do not understand."

"You got that right."

Such passion! He was grateful for the small bit of moonlight as she folded her arms across her chest and tossed her hair.

"The people of Baesland and Enrisway would not let me void the contract even if I wanted to. Which I do not." He took a chance and stepped closer to her. "Moira, I love you." Then another step.

"No!"

Her arm shot out again, landing smack in the middle of his chest, though he thought it was less rigid this time. He was relieved that his declaration had registered with her.

"You do not believe me?"

''It's just...the adrenaline talking," she said. "Like when people blurt it out during sex and don't really mean it." When he cast a doubtful look upon her, she added, "I learned about these things, you know. Biology 101."

He knew she was rambling, afraid to face his love. Doubtful of it. How could he not understand? Her mother had died when Moira was ten. Her father had sent her away to live in a foreign country, under the care of servants, when she was only twelve. Love was not something she would accept easily.

"Oh, I mean it, Moira." She clapped her hands over her ears. Gently but firmly, he dragged them away. "And we will not have sex."

"Oh?"

He shook his head. "No, we will make love."

Her lips formed an "Oh," but no sound escaped them.

"All night long," he promised.

"You just—" Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat and started over. "You just want my country."

"That is not all I want." He looked around them, gauging the darkness. "But, in the morning, let me show you why your country is important."

Chloe relived the evening over and over. Before she fell asleep that night. In her dreams. And between dreams, when she couldn't sleep.

Her total, overwhelming reaction to him when he'd spread himself on top of her. She knew he'd been playing at the beginning, that he hadn't believed his driver when he first told him he'd swerved to miss a rock. Though what he'd thought his driver was up to was beyond her.

Her sense of protectedness when he'd spread his coat over her. That had been quick thinking on his part. And it had all been for her, when he could just as easily have thrown himself on the floor, pulled the coat over his own head and left her to fend for herself.

Her fear when he'd said he loved her. Fear that he meant it, or that he didn't? She wasn't sure. She tossed and turned on it all night and still didn't have the answer. As long as he wanted her country, she would never know whether she was just part of the package.

He'd said she would understand better when he explained it all. By dawn, she was ready to hear whatever he had to say, see whatever he had to show her. She knew her country was in ruin compared to his, so what could he want with it? Mining rights? What had Hilda said? Ennsway men would get jobs, children would go to school, and Baesland would get farmland.

If William didn't love her for herself, Baesland could lease their damned farmland!

She got up, got dressed, threw open her door and stormed out. One step, then she tripped over a man-at-arms sleeping on the floor.

He jumped to his feet, blinked his eyes and stood quite rigid. "Your Majesty!"

The toe of her sneaker tapped the floor in short little jabs. "Did you forget where your bed is?"

"Uh, no, Your Majesty. His Majesty ordered me to stay the night here."

"You're from Baesland, aren't you?" Even if his uniform hadn't identified him, she could have told by his speech that he had more education than any man-at-arms she'd met in her own castle.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And what were your orders?"

'"To keep you safe, Your Majesty.''

Like she believed that. "Uh-huh.'' More like he was put there to keep tabs on her. "Go find His Majesty and tell him I'm ready."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Since he ran off to do her bidding, she had to concede that he might have been stationed there by William for her protection. Good thing she hadn't needed it.

An hour later, she met William at his limousine. After his make-love-all-night-long promise, she was tempted to tell him they'd take separate cars, but that was silly. She scooted in next to him. Not too close; not too far. If she'd been pressed up against her own door, and he his, she'd still have felt the currents sparking between them.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Was the guard to protect me or keep me in?"

He scooted halfway across the seat toward her, extended his arm along the back until she felt his fingers playing with the ends of her hair. "If I wanted to keep you in, I would do it myself."

She jerked her head to free her hair, but she could feel his touch all the way up to her roots. His thigh inched closer, and she shot out her hand to stop him. But with her hand on his thigh, she could no more form a logical refusal than she could sleep last night.

For two hours, he showed her the rich farmlands and idle people Ennsway had to offer. Then he showed her the natural resources and social programs Baesland offered in return, if the border between their countries was dissolved.

It was quite clear that he would marry whoever happened to be in a position to bring him what he wanted—more land. And that happened to be her.

"I see," she said when he concluded their tour. When she glanced at him, saw the warmth in his eyes, she had a moment of doubt about what she had just deduced. Was she wrong?

"It was your father's wish that we be married within three months of the contract date."

"Yes, I read it."

His laugh was low and self-amused. "Yes, I thought you might have. I know how you like to read and study things."

"I don't want to get married, William.''

"But tradition dictates you follow your father's wish."

A sharp laugh escaped her. "Well, you know what I think about tradition, don't you?"

"Ah, yes. Royal brouhaha."

"Exactly."

"Think about this, Moira. Your people want and need revenue. My people want and need expansion. They are all committed to the marriage contract one hundred per cent. If you refuse to marry me, tradition dictates there will be sanctions on both sides. And war."

She couldn't believe it. "War? Surely you exaggerate."

"And if that does not get your attention, there is always my dungeon."

Her lips moved, but she found herself speechless—a rare thing for her.

"You may choose whichever cell you think is less . . . damp, I believe you said?"

"You can't be serious!" She searched for a solution, reaching for her old standby of what a princess of old might have done in just this situation. Well, actually, that was all too clear. She would have let them war it out over her. Not a bright prospect.

"Or
I suppose I could lock you in the tower instead."

"Okay, fine."

"This means yes?"

"It means I'll marry you, but I won't sleep with you."

Chapter Eleven

Chloe pretended that she'd gotten used to William being around in her castle all the time, but that was hardly the case. She was civil when they ate together, which was every meal. If she didn't show up in the atrium for breakfast, her favorite place, he came to her sitting room. If she missed a different meal, he tracked her down.

The truth was, she enjoyed it as much as any game she'd ever played. Hide-and-seek, only she didn't mind getting caught. She was resigned to the fact that she
had
to marry him, and his plans to improve the countries sounded like no less than she would want to do herself, but honestly, couldn't the man swallow his pride and
ask?

She saddled her mare and went riding alone, for all of ten minutes. She knew that if she'd asked anyone else to tack up for her, William would have been there before she departed. As it was, he loped up behind her before she'd gotten two miles.

"Moira, I am hurt you did not invite me."

She believed that about as much as she believed he was going to marry her and
not
entice her to share his bed. "Yeah, right I wanted to be alone."

"I will keep silent."

She noticed half a dozen men riding up behind them, at a discreet distance. William kept his mount beside hers and, true to his word, said nothing. Not that she noticed, she was so lost in memories of how it had felt to ride double with him. She didn't even know she'd turned for home until her mare perked up. Which was a good thing, because on foot, Chloe never could have found her way back.

Only when the stable was in sight did William speak again. "Have you seen the ballroom?"

"You've done something with my ballroom?"

"Not I, Moira. Meet me there in an hour."

She didn't wait an hour, as he'd undoubtedly known she wouldn't, because he was already there after she rushed through her shower. His hair was damp, his clothes were fresh, his grin was as lopsided as ever as he threw the doors open.

Inside, the ballroom was full of tables. And on every table was an arrangement of the most exquisite possessions anyone could want. Perfume in crystal bottles with gold caps. A sapphire-and-diamond necklace, among others, with matching earrings and bracelet. Rich silks that shimmered beneath the chandeliers. To one side stood a life-size marble sculpture that she was certain must have come from a Greek museum.

She wandered through the room, drinking it all in. Inlaid jewelry boxes, monogrammed gold flatware. Pearls, rubies. A Faberge egg, just sitting there on the table as if it didn't belong under glass on a high shelf in a locked room.

A tiara!
She paused by it and surveyed the entire room. "My God, where did all this come from?"

"All over the world."

She looked closer and saw, beside each gift, a small card that extended best wishes and announced the giver.

"We must memorize these," William told her.

Her eyebrows lifted. "And this is because...?"

"So we are able to thank our guests personally at the wedding ball. It would be rude not to be well-informed and grateful."

"It's not that I'm not grateful. I just can't possibly remember all this." She didn't want to admit she didn't even know what many of the items were. She'd never seen such wealth.

He followed her from table to table, a teasing little bounce in his step. "What? The student in you has not learned tricks to memorize details?"

She spread her arms to take everything in. "Have you looked at how much is here?" She picked up a name card. "And I couldn't pronounce this in a million years."

"Mmm, the shah. Yes, he will be here, I am certain."

"Old buddy of yours?"

William shrugged. "And this is only part of what we have received. There are many more at Baesland Castle."

"Good Lord. I could sell all this and build a hundred schools."

"Do not even think it."

She was drawn back to the tiara.

"Do you like it?"

She ran the tip of her finger over the sparkling diamonds. "It's beautiful. It's the only thing I've seen here without a name beside it."

"It was my mother's. She was married in it, and it was her wish that someday my bride would wear it."

She pursed her lips in thought. His mother probably would turn over in her grave to have an impostor wear her wedding tiara.

"My mother was quite fond of you, you know. Please consider it"

She didn't have to. It would serve no purpose to refuse. "I'll be happy to." When she saw his chest puff out proudly, she was glad she'd agreed.