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Had she imagined that he’d made an effort to include her more that day in the conversations that flowed with their private secretaries? That he’d slowed his speech so she could keep up more easily? It was hard to be certain, it could have just been a necessity for him because of the sheer size of their workload. It didn’t help that she was soawareof him, of his languid movements, the bronzed flesh of his throat above his starched white collar and tie, the surprising elegance of his huge hands... And now she was having to contend with all that awareness of him while he was wrapped in a tuxedo. Was it any wonder she was in danger of her brain scrambling?
What was it about the wearing of a tuxedo that magnified a man’s masculinity? On the drive to the event she’d had to fight harder than normal not to stare at him.
Their first course was cleared away. Having come to a natural pause in her chat with the organiser, Elsbeth had a sip of her wine, then found herself holding her breath as Amadeo leaned his body a little closer to hers—not close enough that he brushed against her but close enough for her awareness to rocket—and said in an undertone for her ears only, ‘How are you feeling now? Have your pains gone?’
The barest whisper of his breath caught in her hair. A frisson raced up her spine...and down too, into the apex of her thighs. Stunned at such an instantaneous reaction, Elsbeth had to force her body into stillness. Arranging a smile on her face, she met his stare. ‘Much better, thank you.’
‘I thought you looked better.’ A fleeting wry smile played on his lips. ‘But I am aware of the tricks women can use with make-up to make themselves appear healthier than they are. Alessia is an expert at it.’
It was the sensuality in the firm lips as he spoke that finally scrambled Elsbeth’s brain. For too long a moment, all she could do was keep her smile fixed in place while she strove desperately for a response. ‘Thank you again for calling the doctor to me.’
He inclined his head. ‘I’m glad he was able to help you. You stored his number in your phone so you can call him directly if you need him?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
His green eyes continued to bore into hers as if he was searching for something or waiting for something, but then the evening’s servers swarmed to their table with their second course and whatever Amadeo was searching for or waiting for was forgotten.
Elsbeth arranged herself on the bed and tried to breathe through the tightness in her lungs, her ears straining for the sound of Amadeo’s arrival in her quarters.
The effort she’d sensed him making on Monday had continued throughout the week. There had been a definite shift in his attitude towards her. He included her more, especially during conversations when they were being ferried backwards and forwards to engagements. She tried hard to reciprocate, working harder than ever to maintain her agreeable persona and be the most perfect adornment a future king could wish for.
But he still made sure to never touch her, still wished her a goodnight from the reception room that connected their individual quarters and then disappeared up his private stairs without so much as the suggestion of a drink together. She still hadn’t been invited into his quarters. She had no idea what he got up to in the privacy of his own domain, but the shift in his attitude made her hopeful that one day soon she would be invited into it. Maybe one night she would be invited to sharehisbed.
A pulse burned between her legs and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to tamp down the thrills of anticipation spreading along her veins.
And then she heard movement and her heart set off into a canter.
Amadeo assumed that going without sex for two weeks was the reason he didn’t dread joining Elsbeth that night, and the reason he descended the stairs to her quarters with his heart and loins thrumming.
But they’d thrummed since he’d woken.
Anticipation was understandable, he reasoned. The three weeks of his marriage had resulted in the least amount of sex that he’d had since his teenage years... Not quite true, he reminded himself. He’d called off the casual relationship he’d been in as soon as his marriage to Elsbeth had been agreed. The six weeks of celibacy from then until the wedding had been perfectly manageable. Amadeo had a high sex drive but his position meant it was something he’d always had to manage. In his adult life a series of discreet affairs with like-minded rich women—rich women had no need to sell stories about him—had sated his appetites as much as they could. There had been occasions when he’d wondered if he’d be fortunate enough to find a suitable wife with a matching drive for sex but, with all the other attributes that had to come above it, had not held his breath. Self-denial was nothing new to him, had been an underlying factor of his whole life. He’d known since he could form thoughts that he was heir to the throne of a great and noble country and that his behaviour and the choices he made must always reflect that. Personal desires were an unwanted inconvenience, something his siblings would have done well to remember.
Elsbeth’s head of housekeeping let him in. The other domestic staff had already been dismissed for the night.
His veins thickening, he walked along the corridor to her bedroom.
As expected, she was waiting in bed for him, propped upright against the velvet headboard wearing another variation of sacrificial virgin nightdress. The vacuous smile that turned his stomach was firmly in place.
He’d left her quarters a week ago thinking they’d reached anentente cordiale. He would make more of an effort with her, he’d vowed, butdio, it was hard, especially as Elsbeth had slipped back into her wind-up doll ways. He’d noticed though, that when they were on engagements she’d become more engaged with the people they met, more willing to share a few words and show her interest. She’d positively charmed the event organiser on Monday evening, had him eating out of her hand. It was just when it came to Amadeo alone that she reverted to being vacuously smiley. Elsbeth still answered his questions in few words and never volunteered anything about herself. If he didn’t make the effort of conversation there would be no conversation at all. He supposed the constant smiles stopped her talking much. Getting cheek muscles and lips to multitask was a difficult ask. Or maybe he was being too generous and his initial impression had been right—there wasn’t enough going on in her head for her to hold a conversation.
‘How has your day been?’ he asked as he removed his robe.
A blush stained her cheeks and she averted her eyes from his body without losing the brightness of her expression. ‘Fine, thank you.’
‘What have you done with yourself?’
‘I went for a walk with Clara and her dogs.’
At least that had saved his almost monosyllabic wife from having to talk. Clara could talk for the whole of Europe.
He slid under the covers. ‘Do you like her company?’
‘Very much.’
Effusive praise indeed, coming from his wife.
‘And you?’ she asked after a small hesitation. ‘Have you had a good day?’
