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She shifted slightly, half turning her body towards him. ‘Why do you want my thoughts?’
‘Why would I not?’ He took a deep breath to quell his frustration.
‘I am coming to see that things are different here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The way you treat your women. Here, they are allowed opinions, yes?’
‘So are women in Monte Cleure,’ he countered. ‘There is complete equality, written in law.’
Through the darkness, he could feel her gaze searching his. ‘Not quite.’
‘There are no barriers to your women doing whatever they want.’
‘Not ordinary women, no,’ she agreed softly. ‘But royal women aren’t ordinary women. Dominic loosened many of the old laws when he took the throne and fully emancipated the women of Monte Cleure so that all discrimination was outlawed, and he was feted by the European press and governments for it, but he tightened the laws regarding the royal family itself. Any member of the royal family closer than a third cousin is not allowed to marry, leave the country or hold a bank account without his written permission. Fathers and husbands of the Fernandez family have effectively been granted ownership of their wives and daughters but Dominic has absolute power over us all, so you must forgive me when I say that the opinions I have of him can never be spoken. If he heard about them he would kill me.’
It was the longest speech she’d ever made to him and, as she’d spoken, an intelligent, eloquent woman had emerged, so intelligent and eloquent that the words themselves took a few moments to penetrate.
‘Are you being serious?’ He’d known Dominic was a tyrant but what Elsbeth described was medieval, there was no other word for it, a system of governance and power that hadn’t existed in his own country in that form for centuries.
Her eyes rang. ‘If he can kidnap a British citizen, what do you think he would do to one of his own subjects?’
‘But you’re no longer one of his subjects. You’re a Ceresian Princess now, and future Queen Consort.’
‘For now,’ she said wistfully.
‘For always. You’re my wife.’ For the first time, acknowledging Elsbeth as his wife didn’t make him shudder internally. Was it acceptance evoking this softening towards her?
‘Amadeo, I am not a fool. You don’t like me. If I don’t give you children then in a year, two years, three years at most, you will see that things have settled between your country and Monte Cleure, and that sending me back home will not result in the trade and diplomatic war you married me to avoid. You will have done your bit for your country and there will be no good reason for you to keep me.’
Astounded, Amadeo sat up and turned the bedside light on so he could look at her properly.
Elsbeth clasped the bedsheet covering her and tried to breathe naturally through the thudding of her heart. Speaking her thoughts out loud was a new thing for her. She could never have uttered such things at home, and while she knew there would be no punishment from Amadeo, she didn’t know what kind of reaction she was about to receive for speaking her mind.
Closing his eyes, he breathed deep and hard, his smooth olive chest rising, the defined pectoral muscles tightening. Quickly, she averted her gaze from his body, not wanting to be caught staring at him improperly. Safer not to look for her own sake too. It did strange things to her, made her feel liquid inside, much the same way his touch did. Made the wound in her heart throb with something that felt very much like a pang of yearning, and there was already too much yearning at this moment in her.
Amadeo would normally have left her bed by now. Nothing inside her felt right when he was naked beside her. Before the event, her body would thrill with anticipation. Afterwards, a cold desolation would form in her chest when he moved off her that ran counter to the tingles from her climax which would last for hours. Pleasure and pain in one Amadeo-sized dose. At least alone she could hold his pillow to her chest and curl into it, a sorry substitute for the warm hunk of man she craved to cuddle into in those hours after sex but better than nothing. Better than feeling the tingles and desolation with him still lying beside her without a single part of his body touching hers. One minute as intimate as a man and a woman could be, the next, the connection severed.
The longer their marriage went on, the more grateful she was that she slept alone. She didn’t know how she’d endure sleeping night after night beside a man who only touched her to make a baby. Better the way things were: get the job done then sleep apart. No false promises. No false affection. Less time for her heart and body to crave more. Less chance of further hurt.
She wished he would leave so she could cuddle into his pillow and self-soothe.
Instead, his clear green gaze locked back on hers. ‘I don’t know how things are done in the House of Fernandez, but in my family we take our wedding vows seriously. Till death us do part. That’s what we both promised.’
She took a long breath before summoning the courage to voice her deepest fear. ‘What if I don’t conceive?’
‘You are twenty-four. I’m thirty-two,’ he said dismissively. ‘We are both fit and healthy. There is nothing to suggest we will have trouble conceiving.’
‘But what if we do?’
‘Then we cross that bridge when we come to it.’
‘You might choose a path that doesn’t include me when we’ve crossed it. There is no affection or shared history to bind you to me.’
His eyes penetrating, he shook his head. ‘But that works both ways.’
‘How?’
