Royal Affair (13 page)

“Forgive you for what? For falling in love
and continuing to love? For caring so deeply you never stop?
Where’s the sin in that?”

“For hurting you. For not telling you,” he
said. “Marta, you mean the world to me.”

“Of course, I do
now
. The other two
are dead.” She covered her mouth with her fingers. Had those words
actually passed her lips? How cruel. “I can’t have said that. I
would never utter anything so horrible.”

“You’re upset.”

“You don’t understand. I’d always be your
third choice, the one you settled for.”

“No,” he said.

“I wasn’t your first, great love. I wasn’t
your wife and the mother of your children. I’m just the one who
came later.”

“Don’t cry,” he said. “
Gott
, please
don’t cry.”

“Don’t you see? You were always first with
me. I always wanted you above everyone else.” A tear slid down her
cheek, but she did her best to hold the rest inside. “And still, I
married another man. What kind of woman does that make me?”

“None of that matters,” he said. “I love
you.”

He did now. He wouldn’t lie about that. But
did he really have the depth of feeling he’d had for the other
women? Could she ever be sure he did?

She rose. “I’m going to have to think about
all this.”

He also got up. “I’ll help you. We’ll
talk.”

“Not here. I need to go home.” Her staff had
left after the wedding. Everything would be ready for her in her
own house where she could live with her own thoughts.

“Don’t leave me, please.” He appeared
absolutely stricken, as if someone had squeezed all the air out of
him. “Not today, of all days.”

Yes, she could stay and help him grieve for
another lover who’d had the place in his life she’d craved since a
very young woman. Where would she find the strength within herself
to do that?

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t.”

“All right.” He straightened, assuming the
air of composure someone in his station had to summon even when his
heart was breaking. She’d watched him do it when Cecile died, and
she knew what turmoil it concealed. Misery she was creating. But
she couldn’t stay.

“You’ll call me?” he said.

She made a futile gesture. “I can’t talk
about this now.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. As she opened
the door, his voice stopped her. “I love you.”

She turned back to find him standing
stiffly, his eyes misted over. Before she started sobbing, she
straightened her spine and left.

*

Friedrich had an official car drive him to
Marta’s home. Let the entire country notice the family crest on the
limousine as it drove through the city streets. He’d made so many
damned mistakes with her, only one of which was hiding their
relationship away as if they should feel ashamed of it. No longer.
If she rejected him, as she had every reason to, he’d let the
populace watch him ride in misery back to the palace. He’d hold his
head high and get on with his life, even without the woman he
loved.

As the car turned off the road and headed up
the drive, his stomach tied itself into a knot. He’d had a case of
nerves before with her, but in the past, they’d involved excitement
at meeting her for a tryst. This rendezvous held far more
import.

Reaching inside the pocket of his jacket, he
touched the velvet box again. Since he’d bought the ring, he’d used
it as a talisman of sorts. The magic object that would restore his
love to him. Marta was far too wise to be impressed by baubles. She
could buy all the jewelry she wanted. But she’d have to see the
gesture for what it was—a declaration that his love for her took
second place to none. And then, there was the manila envelope on
the seat next to him.

By the time they’d reached the top of the
drive, the front door to the house had already opened, and the
butler was coming down. Someone had noticed the sovereign’s car
arriving, no doubt. He grabbed the envelope and got out and
ascended the stairs. “I’m here to see Frau Damrov.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Please, come this
way.” The man let him into the room where he’d encountered her on
Herr Schmidt’s visit—the first day he’d made love to her. After
taking Friedrich’s hat, the butler left and closed the door behind
him.

Gott
, this space brought back
memories. Ten years earlier, he’d kissed her here before running
like a scared rabbit. Then many years later, he’d come back,
disguised, to find her waiting for him to give him the ultimate
gift—her body. Let this ring and his vow to adore her win that gift
again for him. And her heart. She couldn’t have stopped loving him.
She simply couldn’t.

His gaze landed on the orchid he’d sent her.
Still in bloom. He dropped the envelope on a table, went to the
plant, and stared down at the petals. Imagine. If he failed today,
their relationship wouldn’t have lasted as long as the life of
these flowers. Eventually they’d fade, and she wouldn’t have to
think about him at all.

No, he wouldn’t fail. The leaden feeling
around his heart told him he had to succeed.

The door opened, and the sound of a soft
gasp told him she’d arrived.

He turned, and for a moment, he could only
stare at her. Every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Even in a
modest dress of gray silk, she reminded him of how she rested
against his chest when she asked for a kiss. How soft she felt
against him.

“They must have told you I was here,” he
said.

“They did. I just can’t get over the sight
of you.”

He held his arms out to his sides. “Do I
look all right?”

She gave him a tentative smile. “You’re a
handsome devil, and you know it.”

She could manage some humor. Good sign. “You
won’t shoo me away, then?”

She shook her head.

He took his first real breath since leaving
the palace. “I have a great deal to apologize for.”

She didn’t say anything but tilted her head
in puzzlement.

“I was a perfectly abysmal suitor, but then,
I’ve never had to ask a woman to marry me before.” She’d have to
see the truth of that statement. With Pamela, there had never been
any question of marriage, and Cecile’s and his parents had arranged
everything for them. “You’re the first.”

She brought her fingertips to her mouth. “I
hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“You might have if I’d mentioned it. There
were a lot of things I failed to tell you.”

“Pamela,” she said.

“Pamela and much more important things,
too.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the box, and handed it
to her. “I should have given you this when you agreed to marry
me.”

She opened it and gasped again, more loudly
this time. “It’s exquisite.”

“I know it’s customary to give a diamond,
but they seemed so ordinary,” he said. “Not worthy of you.”

She removed the ring, set the box aside, and
studied the sapphire. Not the largest stone in the world—although
he’d buy her that, if she wanted—but excellent quality and clarity,
and the complexity of the cut made it sparkle.

“It’s old,” he said. “According to legend, a
maharaja had it made for the woman he loved.”

“He must have loved her a great deal.”

“As I do you,” he said. “Instead of
proposing on a dance floor surrounded by other people, I should
have had you alone so I could tell you how precious you are to me.
I should have gone down on bended knee.”

She laughed again, such a sweet sound.
“Please, not that.”

“I shouldn’t have whispered that I love you
as we left the dance floor. I should have shouted it.”

The indulgent smile she gave him told him
she didn’t expect that, either, but at least he appeared to be
getting somewhere.

“I do love you, you know,” he said. “And
will for the rest of our lives.”

“I love you, too.” She said it so softly,
the words almost didn’t reach him, but his heart heard them well
enough.

He cleared his throat. Time for his ultimate
weapon. He retrieved the manila envelope from where he’d laid it
and held it out to her. After a questioning look, she took it with
her free hand.

“I don’t want you ever to think you have a
secondary place in my heart.” He pointed toward the envelope.
“Everything I have of Pamela is in there. The photographs and
letter from her husband. A few love notes from her I’ve saved over
the years plus more pictures.”

She stared up at him. “Why…”

“Do whatever you want with them. Toss them
in the garbage. Burn them.”

Her expression turned to utter shock. “I
could never do anything like that.”

“If she stands between us, she needs to
go.”

Shaking her head, she handed the envelope
back to him. “No, Friedrich that would be wrong.”

“Fine. Then, would you please put on that
ring?”

“Is that an order?” she said.

Gott im Himmel
, he’d made a mess of
it again. He dropped the envelope to the floor and went down on one
knee. Though Marta might forgive him for not making this moment
perfect, he wouldn’t forgive himself. She needed romance, and he
needed her. A simple equation.

He took the ring from her. “My dearest love,
please do me the honor of becoming my wife. Now that I’ve loved
you, I don’t think I can live without you.”

She gave him a full smile now, one that
reached her eyes and lit them up. And she slid the ring onto the
third finger of her left hand. Glory hallelujah.

That settled, he rose and opened his arms.
When she stepped into his embrace, he held her for the longest
time, simply enjoying the feel of her against him and the scent of
roses in her hair.

“I should have known I could trust you,” she
said. “I suppose I felt unsure of my place because you’d loved
Cecile so profoundly.”

“Love isn’t a limited commodity—as if you
only have so much, and when you’ve spent it all, it’s gone,” he
said. “The more you give, the more you have to give.”

“You’ve taught me that.”

“I don’t have many years left, but what I
have, I hope you’ll share.”

She gazed up at him. Her eyes might have
misted over a bit, but they were full of love. “I will.”

He almost sagged with relief, but joy held
him upright. “Now, we’ll return to the palace and make a formal
announcement.”

She laughed. “So quickly?”

“The sooner I make you my wife, the happier
I’ll be.”

One would have thought that a wedding for
two people who’d already been married could be a small affair.
Marta soon learned that the marriage of a sovereign and head of
state, like Friedrich, was always a large and complicated event. A
white gown for the ceremony would have been ridiculous, but she
nevertheless wore a beautiful creation of silk and lace with a
train that went on for yards. All three of Friedrich’s
daughters-in-law served as attendants, and as she’d knelt beside
her new husband, the bishop had placed crowns on both their heads.
Hers smaller, of course, but very old and studded with jewels.

It seemed every dignitary from Danislova and
every ambassador from other countries attended. The whole
experience was dizzying, and the only thing that kept her sane was
a visit from Friedrich before the ceremony with a kiss to calm her
down. And a drink of his favorite brandy.

Now dressed in yet another gown and with a
tiara even finer than her own, she only had a ball to face before
they could sneak off to their marriage bed. She was used to formal
events, even if she’d never been the center of attention
before.

This time, when she danced with Friedrich,
she did it as his wife. The idea still stopped her in her tracks
occasionally, leaving her breathless. Perhaps she’d become used to
it someday. Or perhaps every morning she’d awake to fresh knowledge
that her dearest dream had come true.

They moved and swirled in time with the
music, their bodies completely tuned to each other. Honestly, she
was running solely on nervous energy, and she’d likely collapse
into sleep the minute she got a chance. But for now, she’d savor
every minute of the day that wedded her to Friedrich
VonRamsberg.

Just as the song ended and the dancers came
to a stop, Casey appeared in the middle of the crowd, a bit out of
breath. “Hurry, or you’ll miss it.”

“Miss what, my dear?” Friedrich asked.

“Dixie’s about to give Vaclav a lesson in
how to treat women,” Casey said. “Come on.”

Friedrich winked at Marta. “I wouldn’t miss
that.”

“Not for all the world,” Marta agreed.

They followed Casey through the crowd as she
continued explaining. “The American ambassador had a young woman in
his party. Professional and very pretty. She tried to be diplomatic
with Vaclav, but you know how well that works.”

“Not at all,” Marta said.

“Dixie decided to come to the rescue. Here,
see for yourself.”

Dixie more or less had Vaclav cornered off
to the side of the ballroom. An attractive young woman, no doubt
his recent victim, stood nearby, and Felice had come to watch as
well. Dixie had a smile on her face, but not the kind that would
set her target at ease.

“You see, Vaclav, sugar,” Dixie said.
“You’re going about this all the wrong way.”

She placed a hand on Vaclav’s shoulder and
patted his chest. “If you want to make friends with a woman, you
need to attract her to you, not climb all over her.”

Vaclav sputtered like an aggrieved innocent.
“I would never do such a thing.”

“I’ve been watching you, and I’ve seen a lot
of climbin’ and precious little attractin’,” Dixie said. “As my
granny used to say, ‘the mule can tell whether you’re pushing or
pulling.’”

Vaclav spotted Friedrich and made a gesture
in his direction. Or tried to. Dixie had him pretty well tied
up.