A Throne for the Taking (12 page)

And now this. Now with that one short word she had forced him
to face what he had been pushing to the back of his mind, focussing his
attention on the duties of being a king—the public duties—while ignoring the one
private element that would always be there, needing to be considered for the
future.

Ria had put her finger unerringly on it, dragged it out of the
darkened corner to which he’d confined it, brought it kicking and screaming into
the light—and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

He’d slept badly. Dark dreams had plagued his night. And it was
with Ria’s words that he had understood why. Yesterday had been a triumph. He
knew there was no other word for it. But then there had been the small boy who
had wanted his attention.

His heart kicked hard as he remembered the tug on his trousers,
barely at calf level. He’d looked down into a pair of wide blue eyes, seen the
curly fair hair, the gap-toothed grin. The impulse to pick the child up had been
instant and spontaneous. The feel of that strong, compact little body in his
arms had been nothing at all like the tiny, fragile speck of life that Belle had
been but in a way that had been so much worse. It had hit home so hard with all
the might-have-beens that he’d struggled with, forced him to look down into the
dark chasm that he’d thought he’d put a lid on once and for all. The chasm he
knew he was going to have to open up again someday or fail in his duty to
Mecjoria.

Because how could he be a true king if he left the country
without an heir for the future? That would mean that all this—that Ria’s
sacrifice—would be for nothing. The country needed an heir. Poor child with him
as its father. But with Ria as its mother...

But how could he ever hope to follow through his resolution to
let Ria go if he had made her pregnant?

‘This will be a real marriage. In all possible ways. Of
course.’ It was flat and unemotional, the dangerous truth hidden behind
blanked-off eyes. ‘What else had you expected? That was what would have happened
with Ivan. Wasn’t it?’

Ria swallowed hard in an attempt to ease her painfully dry
throat. Yes, it had been one of the conditions of the arranged marriage, how
could it not have been? Which had been exactly why she had been so desperate to
get out of that arrangement. To get away from the horror of being tied to a man
she didn’t love; to keep her freedom. Only, it seemed, to lose it all over again
with the terms that Alexei was tossing out to her.

‘And we do at least have huge chemistry between us. Come on
Ria, admit it...’ he added when he saw her eyes widen, heard the swift intake of
breath she was unable to hold back. His eyes went to the other side of the bed
in which she still lay, drawing attention to the crumpled pillows, the wildly
disordered sheets. ‘There is a real flame between us. You know, you’ve felt
it.’

It was more than a flame. It was a raging inferno. She didn’t
need the state of the bed to remind her of how it was. Remembering last night
and the way she had gone up in flames in his arms, the wildfire that his kisses
had sent raging through her, she had to admit that there was no way she could
deny this. Her whole body still throbbed with the aftermath of their shared
passion and the heat he had stirred in her blood through the night had burned so
hard that she almost imagined that the sheets would scorch where she touched
them.

His implication was that this would make it easier to have that
‘real marriage’. To create that much-needed heir. It could have done just that.
It should have; it really should.

She wanted Alexei so very much. Being with Alexei, making love
with him, was her dream come true. The fantasy she had let herself indulge in in
her teens, as she fell in love with him with all the strength of her young,
foolish, naïve heart.

But that was also what made the thought of this so terrible. To
have been tied into an arranged marriage with Ivan would have been bad enough.
But then only her body and her mind would have been involved. Not like with
Alexei. With Alexei there was the risk to her heart—her soul.

Because she also knew, when she faced the truth, that there was
no way she was making love with Alex every night. He was simply having sex,
giving in to that flame he had said burned between them. Throw a child—his
child—into the mix and she was done for. It would be lethal emotionally, totally
destructive.

‘It will be a real marriage—with everything that entails. As
king, it will be my duty to have an heir, so naturally...’

‘Naturally...’ Ria choked, earning herself a cold, flashing
sideways look from those deep, dark eyes.

Any child they created together would be so much more than
that—at least to her. But that thought caught and twisted her nerves at the
prospect of exposing a child to the toxic mix of hunger and distrust that their
marriage would be. The temporary marriage that he had insisted was all it was
going to be. It made her stomach clench in nausea, pushing bitter words from her
uncontrolled mouth.

‘Another child for you to neglect?’

She flung it at him, hard and sharp, her own bitterly divided
feelings tightening her voice and putting into it more venom than she actually
felt. The truth was that she didn’t even know if she really felt that bitterness
or not. She didn’t even know what she should be feeling.

‘Another child that might...’

She couldn’t say the word. It might only have three letters in
it, but ‘die’ had to be one of the most terrible words in the world.

‘I would not neglect her.’

Alexei’s eyes had turned translucent, like molten steel, and
yet cold as frost in the same dark moment. Ria felt a terrible sense of wrong
twist deep inside. There was something here that she didn’t understand.
Something she couldn’t put her finger on and the danger in his expression, in
his tone, warned her that she was somehow treading on very thin ice.

‘This child would not be neglected,’ he continued, each word
snapped out, cold and brittle. ‘It would be too important, too—’

He choked off the word, leaving her wondering just what he had
been about to say. Too significant? Too essential to his plans for the future?
His role as king?

‘He or she would be cared for, treasured, watched over every
moment of its days.’

‘Because they would be the heir that you need so much.’

‘Because I would have you to be its mother—to take care of
it.’

How could something so quietly stated have the force of a
deadly assault?

‘So that is my future role as you see it? As a brood mare
first, and then a nursemaid to your
heir.
’

Something new blazed in those molten eyes, colder and harder
than she would have believed possible. She couldn’t imagine what she had said to
put it there. After all she had simply agreed with what he had declared he
wanted from her, making it plain that they both knew where they stood.

‘You don’t value that role?’ he demanded, low and harsh. ‘You
think Ivan would have offered you anything else?’

‘I think that you and Ivan are two of a kind. That you would
both use me—use anyone without a second thought—to get what you wanted. Well,
don’t worry—I’ll do my duty.’ She laced the word with venom and actually saw him
wince away from her attack, his eyes hooded and hidden. ‘After all, you’ve
probably achieved all you ever wanted already.’

‘Achieved what?’ His dark brows snapped together in a hard
line. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Well, we’ve made lo—had sex—what, a dozen times now? And you
have been scrupulous about using contraceptives—each time but one! I could well
be pregnant already with the heir you need. Another nine months and the baby
will be born—you’ll be crowned king, settled on the throne, and have everything
you want. And I’ll be free to leave.’

She tried to make it sound airy, careless, but the misery she
felt only succeeded in making it seem cold and hard, ruinously so. Alexei
obviously took her at her word.

‘And you could do that, could you? You could leave your child?
Hand it over to be brought up as a prince or princess, the heir to the
throne?

He sounded harsh, brutally critical. How dared he? How dared
he
imply that she would abandon her child when
he had neglected his baby in that heartless way?

‘No, I could never do that—but then you knew that already! You
can guarantee that I will never leave, as long as I have a child to care for.
That’s how you know that you have me trapped so completely.’

She had never seen him look so, white, so totally bloodless,
his skin drawn so tight across his cheekbones that she almost felt they might
slice it wide open, leaving a gaping wound. His jaw clenched too, a muscle
jerking hard against the control he was forcing over it, and for a moment she
flinched inside, wondering just what he was going to come back at her with.

But no such retort ever came. Instead, after a moment seeming
frozen into ice, Alexei was suddenly jerked into movement, as his phone on the
side table buzzed in timed warning of an upcoming event.

‘Duty calls,’ he said curtly, and that was all.

A moment later he was gone, snatching up his phone on his way
out the door. And when that slammed behind him she was left, stark naked and
with only a sheet to cover her, unable to run after him for fear of encountering
the ever-watchful Henri or someone else who had taken over today’s particular
shift.

Not that she had the emotional strength to even try. The war of
words might have been physical blows for the effect they had had on her. She
could only lie back and stare at the ceiling as the words replayed over in her
head, burning tears rolling down her cheeks to soak into the pillow behind her
head.

CHAPTER TWELVE

F
INDING
THAT
SHE
was still staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror, not having moved for who knew how long, Ria blinked hard, trying to clear her thoughts and failing completely. The truth was that she was emotionally involved in this relationship and so she would be emotionally committed to the marriage. And that was why it would hurt so badly to be confined to the sidelines of Alexei’s life. She could be his temporary queen of convenience, his bed mate, the mother of his child, but in his heart she would be nothing.

Ria’s hand went to the sparkling diamond necklace that encircled her throat, fingering the brilliant gems as she recalled the way that the ornate jewels and the matching earrings had been delivered to her room earlier that evening.

Wear these for me tonight,
the note that accompanied them had said in Alexei’s firm, slashing handwriting.

Ria’s fingers tightened on the necklace so convulsively that the delicate design was in danger of snapping under her grip. Alexei certainly no longer needed help with his position as king. He was issuing orders left, right and centre. She was strongly tempted to take the damn thing off and...

You don’t like presents?
Alexei’s words came back to her, stilling the impulsive gesture. Remembering them from this distance, she couldn’t be sure whether she had really heard the trace of—of what? Defensiveness? Uncertainty?—she had thought she had caught behind the mockery the first time.
I thought women liked flowers—and jewellery.

Well, not this woman! Ria told him in the privacy of her thoughts. Not when she wanted so much more.

But going down that path was a weakness she couldn’t afford. It came too close to dreams she could never have. It even, damn it, brought tears to burn at the back of her eyes. Fiercely she blinked them away, knowing she didn’t have time to do any repair job on the make-up that a beautician had applied not an hour before. She would have to hope that the ornate silk mask, edged with sparkling crystals and pearls, would conceal the truth of the way she was feeling.

Swinging away from the mirror, Ria paced restlessly about the room, struggling to control her raw and unsettled breathing. She stumbled for a moment awkwardly when her toe caught on something on the floor, almost tripping her up. Glancing down, she saw that what she had trodden on. A man’s wallet. Elderly, its worn brown leather partly hidden under a chair, it looked out of place in the elegant cream and gold room.

It must be Alexei’s, she realised, recalling how he had visited her here the day before, his tie tugged loose, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his jacket off and slung over his shoulder as soon as he had escaped from his formal duties of the day. He had tossed the jacket on to the chair as he had gathered her to him and kissed her hard and, as always happened, his touch had ignited the flames between them so that in the space of a couple of heartbeats they had fallen on to the bed, oblivious to everything else. The wallet must have slipped from his pocket then.

Picking it up, she couldn’t resist the impulse to flick it open, examine the contents. There was nothing unexpected in there—some credit cards, a few banknotes—but then one thing caught her attention, the corner of a photograph tucked into the back section. Curiosity stinging at her, she pulled it out carefully and felt the room swing wildly round her as she took in what it was.

A small print of a photograph. A tiny baby, barely a few weeks old, with dark, dark eyes and a wild fuzz of black hair on her small head. There was only one person it could be. Sweet little Isabelle, Alexei’s baby daughter. The child who had been born as a result of such scandal and disgrace and who had only lived for a few short weeks, dying alone and neglected by her drunken father.

But that was where something caught on a raw exposed corner of Ria’s nerves, making her heart jerk hard and sharp in reaction, and she had to close her eyes against the sensation. But when she opened them again, the photo in her hand was still there. Still clutched between her fingers.

Still telling the same story.

She had seen enough of Alexei’s photographs in the magazines or the press, in his offices and again in his home. She knew the stylised, stark style he favoured, the careful framing, the deliberate focus. And this photograph had none of those. It was a quick, candid snap, snatched in a moment of spontaneity to capture the first flicker of a smile on the tiny girl’s face. He had grabbed for his camera, and as a result he had captured something so truly special.

Not just an image of his little girl’s first smile. But also a picture of his daughter snapped, with love, by her doting daddy.

Memory rushed over her like a thick black wave. The memory of a small boy held in strong male arms, totally secure, totally confident, a wilting bunch of flowers in one rather grubby hand, the fingers of the other tangling and twisting in Alexei’s hair. The image of Alexei’s face that morning when she had accused him of neglecting his baby. Even worse, there was the echo of those terrible, harsh words on that day in London.

Why should I deny the facts when the world and his wife know what happened? And no one would believe a word that’s different.

How differently she heard those words now, catching the burn of bitterness, something close to despair that, focussed only on her own needs and plans, she had failed to notice that first time. And, knowing that, her stomach quailed and tied itself into knots at the thought of having to face Alexei again tonight.

‘Ria...’

As if called up by her thoughts, there was a knock at the door. Alexei? What was he doing here?

He was standing on the landing so tall and elegant in the beautifully tailored evening clothes, the immaculate white shirt, the plain black silk mask across the upper part of his face, polished jet eyes gleaming through the slits in the fine material. This was Alexei the king, no longer her childhood friend but a man grown to full adulthood and ready to accept his destiny. He was the ruler Mecjoria needed, strong, powerful and in control. And he was her lover. Heat pooled low in her body at just the thought. Ria actually felt her legs weaken, her hand going out to his for support.

‘You look wonderful.’

Alexei’s dark gaze slid over her body, taking in every inch of the dress that the designer had created for her. The white silk clung to the curves of her breasts and hips in a way that dried his throat in sexual need, leaving him hot and hard in the space between one heartbeat and the next. He could never get enough of this woman, and the carnal thoughts she inspired had turned his brain molten, had tormented him through the day so that he barely had the strength to focus on what he was doing. The white mask gave her an other-worldly appearance, like a character at a Venetian carnival, with its ornate design, the eye pieces edged with pearls and sparkling crystals, drawing attention to the mossy green of her eyes fringed by impossibly thick and long dark lashes.

‘You don’t scrub up so badly yourself. Madame Herone would be proud of you.’

Was that a trace of uncertain laughter in her voice? The eyes that met his looked unusually, almost suspiciously bright. Her hand, impossibly delicate where it was enclosed in his, held on rather too tight.

The strapless design of her dress exposed the long, beautiful line of her throat, the creamy curve of her shoulders. Only hours ago, in the growing light of dawn, he had kissed his way down that smooth skin, lingering at the point where her pulse now beat at the base of her neck, before moving lower, to the delicious temptation of her breasts. He could almost still taste her rose-tinted nipples against his tongue and his lower body was so hard and tight that it was painful.

This was the way he had felt all week. He had resented the official duties, the diplomatic meetings and governmental debates that had taken so much time away from what he really wanted, from this woman who possessed his body, obsessed his mind. When he was with her he could think of nothing else. And when he was away from her all he could think about was getting back to her and being alone with her, of burying himself in the glorious temptation of her body. He knew she felt that way too—the long hot nights they had spent together had made it plain that she wanted him every bit as much as he lusted after her. She had been as hungry as he had been, taking every kiss, every caress he offered, opening herself to him and welcoming him into her body as often as he could wish—reaching for him in the middle of the night to encourage him into even more sensual possession when he had thought that she was exhausted and could take no more.

But he couldn’t think that way any more. He couldn’t let himself think at all or he would back out of this right now. He had done all the thinking he needed to do and, with the memory of the scene in his bedroom that morning, had come to his decision. The only decision he believed was possible. He couldn’t live with himself if he went any other way.

And now he had to tell Ria what was going to happen.

‘We need to talk.’

Could there be any more ominous line in the whole of the English language? Ria questioned as she made herself step backwards to let him into the room.

‘But we said we would meet downstairs, in one of the anterooms, ready to go into the ballroom together.’

‘I know we did—but this has to be sorted out before we go down. Before anything else.’

Which was guaranteed to make her throat clench tighter, her lungs constrict, making it hard to breathe. Unthinkingly she lifted her hand to wave some air into her face, remembering only what she held when she saw Alexei’s eyes focus sharply on the photograph.

‘Belle...’

If she had any doubts left then they evaporated in the burn of his expression, the shadows of pain that darkened his voice. Ria took a slow deep breath. She owed him this.

‘The stories they told about that—you didn’t do it. You couldn’t have done it.’

He’d dropped her hand, reached out and took the small snapshot, holding it carefully as if afraid it might disintegrate.

‘Cot death, they called it. But if someone had been there...’

‘But wasn’t Mariette?’

‘Oh, she was there but she wasn’t any help to anyone. Mariette had problems. Depression—drink—drugs.’ His voice was low and flat, all emotion ironed out. ‘We’d had a savage row. She told me to get out. I planned on getting drunk but I couldn’t get rid of the fear that there was something wrong. I had to go back—but Mariette’s door was locked against me and she wouldn’t answer no matter how much I knocked and shouted. Eventually I had to break the door down—and found a scene of horror inside. Mariette was in a drug-fuelled stupor and Belle had died in her cradle.’ His breath caught hard in his throat and he had to force the words out.

Ria hadn’t been aware of moving forward, coming closer, but now she realised that she was so very close to him and, reaching out, she took his hand again, but the other way round this time, feeling his fingers curl around hers, hold her tightly.

‘But everyone thought— You took the blame.’ Incredulity made her voice shake.

Alexei’s shrug was weary, dismissive.

‘Because you loved her?’

‘No, not Mariette.’ He was shaking his head before her words were out. ‘We’d run our course long before, but we stayed together for the baby’s sake.’

Reaching up, he pulled the mask away from his face and let it drop, the lines around his nose and eyes seeming to be more dramatically etched as they were exposed to the light.

‘My shoulders are broad enough. And Mariette had demons of her own to fight. She never wanted to be pregnant, and when she found she was she wanted to have an abortion. I persuaded her not to. She hated every minute of it, and I think she suffered from post-natal depression after Belle arrived. She ended up having a complete breakdown and had to be hospitalised. The last thing she needed was a horde of paparazzi hounding her, accusing her...’

For a moment he paused, his head going back, dark eyes looking deep into hers.

‘She’d already cracked completely and lashed out when I tried to see her.’

His twisted smile tore at her heart. Could it get any worse? In her mind’s eye, Ria was seeing the notorious photo of Alexei, bruised and bloodied. She had assumed—everyone had assumed—that he had been in a fight. But now she could see that those scratches had been scored into his skin by long, feminine nails.

‘And I had plenty of my own scandals to live down. But...’ His eyes went to the photo in his hand. ‘I adored that little girl.’

‘I know you did.’

‘You believe me?’

Ria nodded mutely, tears clogging her throat. ‘You’re not capable of anything like they accused you of.’

Just for a moment Alexei rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

‘Thank you.’

I can’t love you. I loved once—adored her... Lost her.

And it was little Belle, the baby daughter, who had stolen his heart. If she hadn’t seen that photograph she would know it now from the rawness in his voice, the darkness of his eyes. Oh dear heaven, if only she could ever hope to see that look when he thought of her. But he had confided the truth to her. Would she be totally blind, totally foolish to allow herself to hope that that meant he felt more for her than just his convenient, dynastic bride-to-be? Ria couldn’t suppress the wild, skittering jump of her heart at the thought.

Downstairs, in the main hall of the castle, the huge golden gong sounded to announce the fact that it was almost time for the ball to start. Another few minutes and they would be expected to go down, ready to make their ceremonial entry. As always, the demands of state were intruding into their private moments. Obviously Alexei thought so too because he lifted his head, raked both his hands through the crisp darkness of his hair.

‘You said we needed to talk.’ She didn’t know if she wanted to push him into saying whatever he had come to tell her. Only that right now she couldn’t bear to leave it hanging unsaid for a moment longer.

‘We do.’