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‘If you choose to end our marriage there will be nothing I can do about it.’
The idea was so preposterous that she gave a short laugh. ‘And where would I go? What would I do? I own nothing but my name.’ Elsbeth had a team of domestic staff who catered to her every whim, a team of clerical staff to manage every minute of her working life, a personal designer and seamstresses to create bespoke clothing for her, an unlimited credit card for everything else, but she didn’t have a cent in her own name. Not one cent. The credit card could be turned off in an instant.
‘That would be up to you.’ He climbed off the bed and reached for his robe. ‘This is Ceres, not Monte Cleure. I have committed my life to you as your husband, not your ruler. We have obligations to each other and the monarchy, rules we must both abide by, but no rights over the other. I hope you will abide by those obligations but I cannot force you to do so. You are your own autonomous woman.’
Was it wishful thinking on her part that he sounded sincere?
Or was it the dim light turning Amadeo’s chiselled features into plains and shadows that made the gape in her heart yearn even harder for something she could never have?
Something she must train her heart into believing she no longer wanted.
A week later, dressed in an old pair of black shorts, Amadeo carried his coffee out onto his bedroom’s balcony. The early morning sun was rising in the warming sky, the castle sleeping. He’d woken to duskiness with a strange fluttering in his stomach. Unable to fall back asleep and unwilling to break this rare moment of solitude by calling in his staff, he’d made his own coffee...okay,madewas a loose term seeing as a pot with fresh beans was prepared for him each night so only a button needed to be pressed to get it working, but the intention was there.
The balcony overlooked his sprawling private garden. Standing at the stone balustrade, he gazed out at the immaculate lawn surrounded by orderly hedges and symmetrically arranged flower beds, and waited for this momentary peace to settle the fluttering.
When a figure appeared on the lawn his heart thumped as he blinked to clear the mirage. But the figure remained and the flutters became heavier. Denser.
It was Elsbeth.
Amadeo’s quarters being set over hers, the garden was the one space they shared. He’d debated before their wedding whether or not to partition it but dismissed it as unnecessary as he so rarely used it.
Cradling a mug between her hands, she stepped barefoot over thick grass damp with early morning dew, her dishevelled blonde hair hanging down to her shoulders. Unlike the variant of modest virginal white nightdress she always wore when he joined her in bed, that morning she was wearing a pair of short, red and white checked pyjamas, the bottoms loosely wrapped around supple golden thighs.
His own bare feet had descended the iron stairs from his balcony before he could stop them.
She must have sensed him for she whipped around, and any chance of turning back was gone. Even with the distance between them he could see the colour rise up her cheeks.
As he strode lazily towards her, the beats of his heart accelerating with every step, he soaked in every inch of the body usually hidden beneath modest clothing, the swell of unhindered breasts pushing against the simple cotton of the pyjama T-shirt in a way he’d never noticed beneath her virgin nightdresses.
The urge to greet her with a kiss was strong enough to make him grind to a halt two paces before her.
They never kissed outside of the bed, not even the polite air-kisses of acquaintances. By unspoken agreement, physical contact between them was strictly limited to their Saturday night sex window, and that in itself was limited too. Did Elsbeth ever wish for more...?
He breathed in deeply through his nose and summoned a half-smile. ‘You’re up early.’
She returned the smile shyly. ‘I’m an early riser.’
He’d be an early riser too, in more ways than one, if he woke up next to this ravishing, tousle-haired, sexy creature...
Sexy?Elsbeth?
Staring into those baby blue eyes with a tightening chest and thickening loins, it came to him with something akin to shock that the stirrings of arousal he suffered with increasing frequency around her were proof that, on some level, he already found her sexy.
In her own unique, quiet way, Elsbeth was truly ravishing and, as all these thoughts built in his head, the eyes he found himself unable to break the lock of his gaze from darkened and Elsbeth’s slender throat extended, and suddenly he knew, in that long, charged beat of silence, that his steadily growing attraction was reciprocated...right until she blinked her stare away from him and drank from her mug.
When she met his stare again a moment later, whatever he’d seen in the baby blue eyes had gone.
Amadeo searched hard but no, it had vanished with no trace of it ever having existed.
He swore loudly in his head. He was getting the hots for his wife, and she was standing there sipping her drink with her usual calm demeanour, waiting for him to speak—she still only rarely instigated conversations—and with no hint whatsoever of what was going on in her head.
Elsbeth was fast becoming the most infuriating, intriguing, exasperating woman he’d ever known. When he’d been busy being irritated by her fake smiles he’d failed to notice the sheer stillness with which she held herself. Having always prided himself on his self-control, he had to accept that Elsbeth was a master of composure who made him look and, more importantly, feel like an amateur.
Determined to take back control of himself, he nodded at the mug in her hand and idly said, ‘Coffee?’
Sheepish mischief flashed in her eyes. ‘Tea.’
Mio Dio, that hint of mischief was as unexpected as if she’d suddenly started doing cartwheels across the lawn and, damn it, as sexy as hell.
