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A wise woman would have run, Natalie was certain. But her knees were in collusion with her galloping pulse. She sank down on the chaise and watched instead, her heart pounding, as Rodolfo stalked toward her.
“Valentina arrived in the middle of the night,” she told him as he came toward her, all that easy masculine grace on display in the morning coat he wore entirely too well, every inch of him a prince. And something far more dangerous than merely charming. “I never had a sister growing up, but I think I quite like the idea.”
“If she appears in the dead of night in my bedchamber, princess, it will not end well.” Rodolfo’s hard mouth curved. “It will involve the royal guard.”
He stopped when he was at the chaise and squatted down before her, running his hands up her thighs to find and gently cup her belly through the wedding gown she wore. He didn’t say a word, he just held his palm there, the warmth of him penetrating the layers she wore and sinking deep into her skin. Heating her up the way he always did.
“Would you have told me?” he asked, and though he wasn’t looking at her as he said it, she didn’t confuse it for an idle question.
“Of course,” she whispered.
“Yet you told me to go off and be free, like some dreadfully self-indulgent Kerouac novel.”
“There was a secret, nine-month limit on your freedom,” Natalie said, and her voice wavered a bit when he raised his head. “I was trying to be noble.”
His gaze was dark and direct and filled with light.
“Marry me,” he said.
She whispered his name like a prayer. “There are considerations.”
“Name them.”
Rodolfo inclined his head in that way she found almost too royal to be believed, and yet deeply alluring. It was easy to imagine him sitting on an actual throne somewhere, a crown on his head and a scepter in his hand. A little shiver raced down her spine at the image.
“I didn’t mean to get pregnant,” she told him, very seriously. “I’m not trying to trap you.”
“The hormones must be affecting your brain.” He shook his head, too much gold in his gaze. “You are already trapped. This is an arranged marriage.”
“I wasn’t even sick. Everyone knows the first sign of pregnancy is getting sick, but I didn’t. I had headaches. I was tired. It was Valentina who suggested I might be pregnant. So I counted up the days and she got a test somewhere, and...”
She blew out a breath.
“And,” he agreed. He smiled. “Does that truly require consideration? Because to me it sounds like something of a bonus, to marry the father of your child. But I am alarmingly traditional in some ways, it turns out.”
Natalie scoffed at the famous daredevil prince who had so openly made a mockery of the very institutions he came from, saying such things. “What are you traditional about?”
His dark eyes gleamed. “You.”
Her heart stuttered at that, but she pushed on. “And we’ve only had sex the one time. It could be a fluke. Do you want to base your whole life on a fluke?”
His gaze was intent on hers, with that hint of gold threaded through it, and his hands were warm even through layers and layers of fabric.
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
It felt like a kiss, like fire and need, but Natalie kept going.
“You barely know me. And the little while you have known me, you thought I was someone else. Then when I told you I wasn’t who you thought I was, you were sure I was either trying to con you, or crazy.”
“All true.” His mouth curved. “We can have a nice, long marriage and spend the rest of our days sorting it out.”
“Why are you in such a rush to get married?” she demanded, sounding cross even to her own ears, and he laughed.
It was that rich, marvelous sound. Far better than Valentina’s gold-plated chocolate. Far sweeter, far more complex and infinitely more satisfying.
Rodolfo stood then, rising with an unconscious display of that athletic grace of his that never failed to make her head spin.
“We are dressed for it, after all,” he said. “It seems a pity to waste that dress.”
