The Virgin and His Majesty. Robyn Donald
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world.’
Cynicism tinged his deep voice. ‘Or did you just decide to shock your parents?’
She shook her head, stopping abruptly when her curls bobbed about in a childish fashion. ‘I wanted to come away from university with something concrete, skills I could use.’
Something that made people see past her outward physical attributes. Most people took one look at her and wrote her off as a flirtatious little piece of fluff.
On a cool note she finished, ‘And I don’t regret it at all.’
Gerd looked sceptical. The music swelled, and he caught her closer to steer her around a slight traffic jam of dancers ahead. Resisting the quick, fierce temptation to let herself relax against him, Rosie followed his steps.
Above her head he said, ‘You asked what changes I plan; in parts of Carathia change is treated with suspicion, so I’ll be treading carefully, but I intend to extend the scope and the range of education, especially in the mountain districts.’
‘Why education? What about health?’
Broad shoulders lifted in another swift shrug. ‘My grandmother concentrated on health services. They’re well-established, but not as fully used as they could be, especially in the mountains where superstition is still rampant and many people prefer to use the local wise women. When patients do finally present at hospitals, they often die there.’
Rosie nodded. ‘So I suppose they try even harder not to go near them.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And you think education will help? How?’
‘By giving children an understanding of science and some knowledge of the outerworld. Life in the mountains is still very insular, very remote. Children in the alpine villages have to travel to the bigger towns for secondary education, so most miss out. I want to take higher education—good higher education—to each market town.’
‘It seems logical,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘What’s the school leaving age?’
‘Thirteen. Far too young, but parents say they need them at home to help with farming, so any alteration will have to be managed with tact.’
Gerd felt her curls tickle his throat when she nodded.
Thoughtfully she said, ‘To change attitudes you need to corral them at school while they’re still open and receptive. How are you going to set up this system of a high school in every valley?’ She glanced up at him, wide blue eyes intent and serious for once. ‘I assume that’s what you’re planning?’
Gerd told her, sarfonically amused because he was discussing his plans for Carathia with the precocious, light-hearted girl-child who’d jolted him with the passion in her kisses—and his own violent and unconsidered response to them.
That summer three years ago had revealed that behind her sexy, laughing face lurked a keen, quick brain. He’d enjoyed their discussions, but her ardent kisses on the final night when he’d yielded to the forbidden temptation of her sultry mouth had reminded him she was far too young and innocent to do what he’d wanted to do—carry her off to the nearest bed and make reckless, sensuous love to her.
Thank God he’d rejected her open invitation. Etched into his brain was the sight of her kissing Kelt the very morning after she’d turned to flames in his arms. He’d realised then that she’d been using him as a substitute for the man she really wanted.
Did she still long for his brother? If her expression when she watched Kelt dancing with Hani was anything to go by, it seemed more than likely.
Kelt had always been there for her when her father was away searching for ancient civilisations, when her mother was off with the latest boyfriend. A beautiful woman with everything going for her, Eva Matthews wasted her life chasing some sort of rainbow fantasy of the perfect love. Judging by the stream of men through her university years, her daughter was doing the same.
Searching for a security she’d never known? Possibly. Trouble in a delicious little package?
Undoubtedly. But she was no longer naïve and inexperienced.
Above her froth of amber curls he sketched a humourless smile. He was acutely aware of her small, elegantly curved form in that sinuous dress, its colour reminding him of the beaches on his brother’s estate in New Zealand. Subtly glittering, the fabric made the most of her curves and narrow waist without clinging. In a room full of women clothed to impress, she stood out because she wore no jewellery at all, not even a ring on a slender finger.
A strand of hair snagged itself on his lapel, glittering in the light of the chandeliers. She jerked free and said, ‘Sorry about that. I did try for dignity, but my curls are uncontrollable.’
‘It would seem so.’ His voice sounded odd in his ears, and he frowned, fighting back a swift, elemental appetite, a headstrong physical goad that knotted his gut and dried his mouth.
Half smiling, she gazed up at him, dark lashes wide around the intense, gold-flecked blue of her eyes. ‘I straightened my hair once and it just hated it and went all lank and limp, so now I let the curls do their own thing.’
Gerd closed his mind against a swift, erotic image of her, sleek and golden and laughing against crisp white sheets, but the maddening questions refused to go away. Would she be as passionate as the promise of her soft, laughing mouth?
Hard on the heels of that came another question, even more insubordinate. Was she like this—provocative, tempting—with her lovers?
Of course she was. And now she was twenty-one and experienced, there was no need for restraint…
Chapter Two
GERD dampened down a compelling surge of desire to say remotely, ‘Although you affect to despise your hair, it’s very pretty. As I’m sure you know.’
Rosie should have been gratified; apart from that final crack about her hair—delivered with aloof kindness, as though she were ten—he had at least treated her like an adult.
Unfortunately, since they’d moved onto the floor she’d reacquired a taste for the danger and zest of crossing swords with Gerd. Like fencing with a tiger, she’d decided dreamily three years ago.
Her pulse rate skyrocketed when her glance skimmed the strong, boldly chiselled features, intimidating yet profoundly sexy. Now she understood why she’d always been attracted to men with a slight cleft in their chin and hawkish profiles.
Rapidly discarding her first impetuous response, she told him briskly, ‘I could say, just you try living with a head covered with red curls and see if anyone takes you seriously, but instead I’ll ignore your remark. I’ll bet you were born looking like a king.’
His smile was lazy, almost teasing. ‘I’m not a king, and it was meant to be a compliment.’
‘Then I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder.’
His eyes narrowed, and for a second—perhaps less?—something flashed between them, a brittle tension that robbed her of words and breath.
To her relief the music died away, and he released her and offered his arm. She rested her hand on it, feeling insignificant as he escorted her to where Kelt, Hani and Alex waited for her.
They were almost there when he said formally, ‘Thank you for coming, Rosemary.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ she returned, smiling pleasantly at a dowager wearing a serious dress in satin and more pearls than was decent. Taking refuge in flippancy from the aching emptiness that threatened her, Rosie decided the only thing missing was a lorgnette.
She went on, ‘It’s been a truly amazing week. And the coronation ceremony was…’ She searched for the right words, finally settling on, ‘Truly awe-inspiring. Hugely impressive.’ And profoundly moving.
‘I’m