The Blacksheep Prince's Bride. Martha Shields
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his chest. Her right hand was still captured in his left. Her slight weight leaned into him, one leg braced between his.
He wanted to do far more than kiss her, and the feeling jarred him back to reality.
He couldn’t touch her. She was too much like Annette.
She stepped back a second before he let her go.
Without glancing up, she murmured, “Sorry. I’ll…I’ll…Oh yes. I’ll go prepare dinner.”
He watched as she fled the room.
Her discomfiture told him two things. She was attracted to him as well, and she was fighting it just as hard.
The only reason for that he could come up with was that he didn’t have a title.
“Daddy, play with me.”
Jake turned his attention to his son, convinced he’d done the right thing.
Rowena knocked softly, then pushed open the door between the dining room and the parlor with the intention of telling Jake and Sammy their dinner was ready.
Instead, she hesitated.
Father and son were sitting together in a burgundy damask wingback chair by a window open to let in a soft spring breeze and the sound of the surf below. The last rays of the sun caught the side of Jake’s face, making the strong lines seem even more angular.
Jake’s long legs were stretched out on an ottoman as he concentrated on a stack of papers in his lap. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves and tucked his son into the crook of his left arm.
Sammy’s little legs barely reached the end of the chair cushion. His attention was riveted on a book laid open across his own lap. He turned the pages slowly and carefully.
Rowena’s face relaxed into a smile. What a heartwarming picture they made. A loving father and an adoring son.
How could such a man have kidnapped the king? His very own uncle? Family seemed important to Jake. She’d never seen a father as attentive as he was to Sammy. And though his overtures were hesitant, he took every opportunity to spend time with his newfound cousins.
Was that all for show?
Rowena shook away the tender feelings.
Jake was a suspect in the king’s disappearance. That’s what she had to concentrate on—trying to find evidence that would incriminate him, which would exonerate Isabel’s brother, Nicholas.
Rowena had promised Isabel she’d search high and low for evidence…but now that she was here, she found it difficult to believe Jake capable of such a crime—which meant she had to concentrate doubly hard on her purpose in being here.
Even if she hadn’t already known, the incident earlier had proven she was strongly attracted to Jake. She’d almost pushed up on her toes and kissed the man…right there in front of Sammy.
Her stupid attraction was the reason she didn’t believe he was guilty. She didn’t want to believe it. That, and the unhappy realization that finding Jake guilty—a man who loved his son so much—would leave Sammy fatherless.
Concentrating wasn’t going to be easy. When she’d felt his obvious reaction to her lying on top of him, all she could think of was wiggling her way up his body and planting her lips on his. Thank God he’d held her in place. Though she’d enjoyed the intimacy of his hands on her derriere, the caress had distracted her long enough for her to pull her wits together and stop.
Who knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t?
He wanted her. That was plain enough. After he’d pulled her to her feet, he’d almost kissed her. She was as certain of that as she was of her name.
But he didn’t want to want her—and his sarcastic question had told her why.
You’re never forward, are you, Miss Wilde?
He didn’t trust her because of her reputation.
Rowena’s nails dug into her palms.
How long would Prince Heinrich’s duplicity haunt her?
She’d given her heart to the royal rake from Leuvendan five years ago. He’d visited often back then, wooing her passionately. But when she wouldn’t sleep with him, he became angry and told everyone that she had anyway, giving them ugly, nasty details from his sick imagination.
That incident, it seemed, had branded her for life. Edenbourg—especially the palace—was a small place. Everyone knew everyone else’s secrets…and never forgot.
Many men who came to Edenbourg wanted to date her—either despite her reputation or because of it. She went out with some of them, mostly to keep Isabel happy. But she never slept with a single one—partly to prove she was not the wanton everyone thought her, partly because she just didn’t want to.
However, her celibacy didn’t help. A few of the men were too honorable to talk about their relationship, but most were too egocentric to let everyone think the woman who slept with everyone else wouldn’t sleep with them.
She couldn’t win.
Although…
In this situation, perhaps her undeserved reputation would protect her. She was far too attracted to Jake. Though good fathers weren’t often rakes, he was still royal. At least, close enough to count.
She’d promised herself that she’d never fall in love again…but especially not with a royal, or any man with a title. They were too self-absorbed, too accustomed to getting their own way.
So, let him believe she was “forward.”
As for her, she had to focus on the task she had to perform for her country, for Isabel.
It didn’t matter that the task came with shoulders as wide as the horizon, sky-blue eyes capable of peering all the way into her soul, and chiseled lips that demanded, “Kiss me.”
Those lips might also be capable of saying, “Kill him,” to some thug as he looked a king straight in the eye.
Rowena shivered.
She hated this house. It was always cold.
Chapter Two
Later that evening, Jake held Sammy’s door open for Rowena.
She tiptoed out and waited for him to close it softly.
He turned and looked down at her in the dim light of the hallway. Though they hadn’t been in the same room since dinner, he’d felt her presence in the house all evening. A subtle awareness, a whiff of her lingering scent, a trill of laughter from another end of the house.
He was aware of her now, intensely, as he’d been while they’d put Sammy to bed.
“Goodnight, Mr. Stanbury,” she said with a nervous smile, then turned to leave.
“It’s only eight-thirty,” he said quickly, reluctant to let her go. “Surely you’re not turning in so early?”
She lifted a slender shoulder. “I have a book in my room.”
He waved a hand toward the stairs. “I’m going to work in the library. You’re welcome to read down there.”
She glanced toward the stairs, then back at him. Her eyes zeroed in on his lips, as if she were remembering the kiss they’d almost shared that afternoon.
He hadn’t been able to think about anything else all evening. And if she came with him to the library, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his work.
Why had he asked her?
Because he didn’t want to concentrate on his work. The zing in his blood, put there by the presence of this small woman, was infinitely more interesting than international trade briefs.
“No,