The Royal Marriage. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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his thumb grazed her taut, aching nipples and her body arched with a new and pounding desire. She let out a tiny cry of delight as he played with her, slowly, expertly, drawing something from deep inside her that she couldn’t describe, it travelled so deep. Then his fingers coursed down, seeking between her thighs, and she drew back, breathless.
‘No,’ she murmured, swallowing, catching her breath and shaking her head as she broke out of his arms.
Their eyes met—his clouded with desire, hers sparkling with new sensations mixed with misgiving.
‘Gabriella, you wanted this,’ Ricardo murmured, reaching his hand out and drawing her back towards him, thinking in the back of his mind that her father obviously had false illusions about her if he believed she was a virgin.
‘I—I… No. We mustn’t.’ She shook her head again, let her fingers course down his chest and let out a sigh.
‘Why not? You were obviously enjoying yourself,’ he said, with a touch of arrogant masculine pride.
‘My father would kill us.’
He looked down into her eyes, drowning there. His hands returned to her breasts and he caught her short gasp. ‘You want this as much as I do. Don’t deny it,’ he muttered, slipping his fingers between her thighs and drawing her back into his arms.
She was delicious, the most delicious woman he had known for years. Only in his very early youth had he experienced the range of sensations that gripped him now. Lifting her legs around his waist, he felt her arms encircle his neck, saw her lips part and her wet skin shining as their shadows reflected in the still water. Her eyes were filled with longing and her breasts peaked with unrepentant longing. It was too much to resist. Guiding himself, he’d prepared to thrust inside her when she let out a sharp cry. Immediately he stopped and withdrew. But, catching her waist, he pulled her back to him.
‘I—I can’t,’ she cried, turning her head away. ‘I’ve never—I…’
‘Why didn’t you tell me that you were a virgin?’ Ricardo asked, his expression dark with anger.
‘I…’ She swallowed, looked away again, then tilted her chin, her proud profile stubborn. She shrugged.
‘I am not in the habit of deflowering virgins,’ he snapped. His hands dropped and he moved away to the wake’s edge. Leaping out, he dressed quickly and mounted his horse. ‘If this is the way you behave with men, I would counsel you to be more careful. One day you may come across someone who isn’t quite as controlled as I am.’ With that he wheeled his horse around, leaving Gabriella standing in the water.
She let out a ragged sigh. What had she been thinking of? She felt a rush of tears surface. It was all so difficult. Her father was determined that she should marry—that she shouldn’t go to model in London, as she wanted to. Her whole life was a mess. And now this man, whom she’d been so determined to reject, was turning out to be the most enticing, attractive being she’d ever met. It wasn’t fair.
Lifting herself out of the water, she sat for a moment on the edge of the pool, then reached shakily for her bikini on the grass. How could she have been so brazen as to take off her clothes in front of him and allow this to happen? She closed her eyes and felt a rush of heat suffuse her face. He must despise her—think that she was an easy lay. Or at the very least a tease, now that he knew she was a virgin.
Slowly Gabriella got up, whistled to Belleza, her horse, threw her clothes up over the saddle and mounted reluctantly. By now Ricardo would be almost back at the house. What would he do? Tell her father? No, probably not. But how would she face him at dinner? It was all so embarrassing. And, to make it worse, the whole thing was her own fault.
Letting out a deep huff, she rode slowly back to the beach and headed for home.
He could hardly leave tonight, Ricardo concluded, but tomorrow morning he would make a reasonable excuse and be on his way. The situation had got out of hand. He should have known she was a child playing with fire, and he blamed his own rush of passion for what had happened. She hadn’t known what she was doing. But it was hard to forget her natural instinctive reaction—the hot, charismatic longing that had vibrated between them. As he showered, Ricardo tried to clear his mind and think reasonably. It was just physical, nothing more, he reminded himself as he dressed for dinner.
Gabriella dressed carefully, choosing a pale blue designer shift that fitted perfectly, all chiffon and lace, bought on her last trip to Milan, and thin, high-heeled satin sandals to match. Instead of leaving her hair loose she brushed it back in a strict ponytail that left her elegant rather than sexy. Diamonds sparkled in her ears. Taking a deep breath, she took a last look in the mirror then headed downstairs to face what would inevitably be an embarrassing encounter.
Ricardo rose as she entered the living room. She glanced at him sideways, unsure of his reaction. But to her surprise he acted as if the afternoon’s interlude had never taken place. Gabriella experienced a rush of gratitude. She let out a tiny sigh of relief and sat next to her father, taking his hand in hers and giving him a hug. It felt secure to be next to him, to know he would always protect her, whatever happened in her life.
‘So, my love,’ Gonzalo said fondly, patting her cheek, ‘did you two have a nice afternoon?’
‘Very pleasant, thank you,’ she answered demurely.
Ricardo watched her, resisting the desire to smile. She was a piece of work, he realised, amused despite his anger at her foolish behaviour. She was very young, and perhaps she had over-estimated herself—had no idea of just how patently sexy she was. He found himself feeling indulgent towards her as she cuddled next to her father, looking much younger despite her sophisticated outfit and the ponytail.
Dinner was announced and they rose. Then suddenly Gonzalo stopped, lifted his hand to his chest.
‘Daddy?’ Gabriella held him, sending Ricardo a panicked look. ‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’ she cried.
Ricardo rushed to the other man’s side, saw his face turn white. ‘We must lie him down on the couch immediately,’ he said, taking Gonzalo’s weight and laying him among the cushions.
‘Daddy, what’s wrong?’ Gabriella cried, grabbing her father’s hand.
Gonazalo’s eyes closed and his breath came fast. Then his lips opened. ‘Promise me,’ he whispered in a weak voice. ‘Give me your hand,’ he said to Ricardo.
Ricardo frowned and took the old man’s hand, felt him place it over Gabriella’s. ‘I am leaving you, little one,’ he whispered. ‘I want you both to promise that you will marry within a month.’
Gabriella’s eyes flew in panic from her father to Ricardo.
‘But you can’t go—you can’t leave me, Papa,’ she cried, panic-stricken, tears pouring down her cheeks.
It was a split-second decision. But as Ricardo looked from father to daughter, saw the anguish in the dying man’s eyes, the lost distress in the girl’s, he knew there was no choice.
‘I promise,’ he said, loud and clear.
‘My Gabinha,’ the old man whispered, his voice weaker by the moment. ‘Answer me.’
‘I—Daddy, don’t leave me,’ Gabriella wept.
‘Promise me, my darling.’
‘I…I promise,’ she whispered, her head falling.
Ricardo watched as Gonzalo let out his last breath and Gabriella, her hair splayed over his chest, wept uncontrollably. A few minutes elapsed before slowly he lifted her and held her silently in his arms, aware that he had just made the biggest commitment—and perhaps the biggest mistake—of his life.
CHAPTER THREE
‘WE CAN’T get married,’ Gabriella insisted, not for the first time. ‘It’s absurd. We were under pressure. Daddy can’t have meant it. He was just—’ She cut herself