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‘You don’t look well.’
‘It’s nothing.’ Heartsick wasn’t an illness, was it? ‘The waltz has never been my favourite dance with all the spinning. I’m dizzy. It’s been a long day.’
Up before dawn to dress, have her hair and make-up done. Trying to numb the pressure threatening to cleave her in two.
‘The formalities are over so we can leave soon. No one will ask questions.’ His eyes were molten. All liquid chocolate, luscious and addictive. Rafe reached out and slid another unruly strand from her chignon, tucked it behind her ear. The gentle touch of his fingers sent goosebumps sparkling over her skin. ‘Then bed for you.’
‘It’s only afternoon.’
‘Indulge yourself.’
Rafe’s voice was low and soothing. She imagined her bed now, the plush coverlet of eiderdown. How she wished she could indulge like a normal woman. Sink into it with him. She took a step back as a tempting heat grew between her legs. She couldn’t let this overcome her. That wouldn’t be honouring her family. She was vulnerable now. Her head throbbing.
She’d master this.
Shehadto.
‘I’d like to leave now.’
Rafe stared down at her. He wouldn’t miss the looming tears because he missed nothing. He slipped his arm around her waist in a proprietorial way that made something inside her curl with a treacherous pleasure. Motioned to his best man. The pair shook hands. Lance offered final congratulations. Announcements were made. Everyone in the room stood. The men bowed as Rafe led her out, the women curtsied.
The throbbing in her temple increased to a vicious pounding. She massaged the side of her head.
‘Anything wrong?’
Everything, and nothing she had any power over.
‘Headache. You’re right, I—I need rest,’ she said as they walked from the ballroom to their private chambers, acknowledging staff as they passed. Together, yet separate. With each footstep the gulf between them widening. It almost felt like relief, yet at the same time she mourned the loss of him. The emotion a confusing mass inside, congealing in her stomach, making her ill.
They stopped outside the door to her room. She looked up at him. So tall, so imposing it was hard not to swoon. Her heart beat a thready, panicked rhythm.
‘You need help with your dress,’ he said.
Of course, the buttons. Hundreds of them down the back of the gown. She cursed every single one.
‘I’ll call for my lady-in-waiting.’
Rafe cocked his head to the side. ‘There are certain expectations of what will be happening today between husband and wife. One of those is that I’ll help you undress.’
What would it be like to let him? The feel of his fingers slipping each tiny button through the loop, exposing her spine to the air. Would the act be perfunctory, or would he torture her slowly? His eyes became dark and heavy lidded, a look that told her everything. Sensual torture was what he had on his mind, she was sure. And she couldn’t allow it because she was weak. She needed hours of sleep to shore up her defences against him.
‘I find I’m tired of people’s expectations. I’ve performed as was expected of me. Now I’m done.’
Rafe’s perfect mouth kicked into a knowing smile. As if heknewshe was avoiding him.
‘Then I’ll leave you to your afternoon.’ He took her right hand, weighed down with her coronation ring, lifted it to his mouth and kissed. His lips warm and gentle on the back of her hand.
She nodded as he stepped back. So stiff, so formal that something about it made her want to scream and scream till her throat was bloody. Then he turned and walked down the marbled hall to his own door, without looking back.
Rafe strode into his rooms. Dismissed the valet imposed upon him by palace protocol. Tore off his tie, cast it onto the bed. Followed with his jacket and waistcoat.
His wedding night, and they were engaging in this ridiculous charade. Lise still intent on shutting him out, even though she wanted him. He could tell by the high colour of her cheeks, her quick breaths. Dilated pupils and languid blinks of her eyes when he stood too close. It was enough to make him rush her, but patience had been his virtue in business, and he needed it here. He always fought to win, and with Lise it would be a siege. Long and slow.
Something about the thought licked at him deep and low. He’d started today when he hadn’t kissed her as he knew she’d expected from the disappointment on her face. Their first kiss was never going to be a chaste peck on the lips. He had bigger plans for that, a seduction that would seal her to him body and soul, unlike their emotionless signatures on an official slip of paper. Children, so his legacy would last. He’d go down in history as the first commoner to sit on the throne.
She’d be desperate enough for him in the end. He’d ensure it. He knew Lise’s secrets, what she’d craved—freedom, acceptance—and they were even more important to her now, as Queen, than as the lonely Princess in her gilded tower. He could still give her those things.
He’d been working towards that moment ever since he’d glimpsed her at her coming out ball. When he’d been announced and walked down the sweeping marble staircase. She’d stood at the bottom, gazing up at him, a glowing smile on her face. He’d been struck as a visceral craving dug its claws into him when their eyes met. They’d been introduced, he’d bowed. She’d smiled even wider, still the glorious, natural young woman who had all but disappeared now, worn down in the name of duty. She didn’t know him then, but she hadn’t judged the entry of a man without a title,a commoner.
