The King's Bride. Lucy Gordon
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mouth caressed hers with urgency. In repose his lips were firm almost to the point of hardness, but now their movements were teasing, driving her as though he was being harried by his own desire. She tried to master her own rising excitement, determined to stay in control, but he was equally determined to strip control away from her. And he was winning.
He kissed the soft skin beneath one ear and she gave a small gasp. She was so sensitive there that normally she tried never to let a man approach it, but he’d known her weakness by instinct and gone for it without mercy. He continued the subtle assault down her long neck while she trembled and clung to him.
When he raised his head she longed to pull it down to her again and tell him to continue what he’d begun. Instead she became hypnotised by his eyes, which were brooding over her as though he too was trying to comprehend her, and failing.
‘You came here tonight for a purpose,’ he murmured. ‘Was this it?’
‘I—don’t know,’ she said wildly. ‘Perhaps—’
‘Ah, yes, the letters. Words on paper between people who are dead and gone. But we are alive. No woman ever felt so alive in my arms as you.’
And no man had ever made her feel so vibrant with life. Her head was swimming.
A noise from nearby made him release her reluctantly.
‘We must talk more—in Voltavia,’ he said. ‘I leave tomorrow. You will follow me next week.’
It was more than she’d hoped for but she couldn’t help rebelling against this diktat. She wasn’t one of his subjects.
‘Will I indeed?’ she asked.
‘If you’re serious about what you’re after, yes. Be there on Wednesday. If not—’
‘I’ll be there,’ she said quickly, fearful of seeing the prize snatched away. ‘I promise.’
‘Of course,’ he said, amused. ‘There was never any question of your refusing. No, don’t be angry with me. I hold all the cards, and you know it.’
It would have been wonderful to take him down a peg, but she was too close to her dream to risk it. She took the arm he proffered and they walked sedately back along the terrace to the little table. Frederick was waiting for them, with the reminder of an ambassador’s wife who must be honoured. Daniel inclined his head graciously to Lizzie.
‘I shall be waiting,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t disappoint me.’
He walked away, leaving her to return to the ballroom on Frederick’s arm. She felt as though she was walking on air. The glittering professional prize had been held out to her. That, she told herself, was the reason for the swift beating of her heart. That, and no other reason.
But she was deceiving herself, and she knew it.
* * *
When the last guest had departed the King relaxed with a brandy and soda, indicating for Frederick, his most trusted aide, to join him.
‘Did she say anything of importance to you?’ Daniel asked.
‘Not a thing, sir. She replied to all my questions but revealed nothing at all.’
‘That’s no more than I expected. This is an extremely clever lady, but I have her measure.’ A wry smile broke over Daniel’s face. ‘She’s going to be a pleasure to do battle with. You know the plan?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Frederick took a deep breath before venturing to say, ‘You don’t think that this way of doing things is a little—a little…?’ His voice ran down as his nerve ran out.
Daniel took pity on him. ‘Devious, unprincipled, cold-blooded?’
Frederick ran a finger around his collar. ‘Those are Your Majesty’s words.’
‘Coward,’ Daniel said without rancour. ‘Yes, Frederick, I’m being all those things. But then, so is she. This is no ordinary lady. She’s sharp, shrewd, and utterly unscrupulous. So the only way I can fight her is to be the same.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘A WOMAN is never too old to be glamorous,’ the Dame had been fond of declaring to her awe-struck young relative, and she had lived up to her philosophy to the end. Life with the great lady had been fun because she’d never been less than exotic.
But it was Bess who’d mothered the teenage Lizzie. Bess had been Dame Elizabeth’s dresser when she trod the boards, and in old age she’d still been her all-purpose maid and companion. When Lizzie had returned from boarding school it had been Bess who’d made sure she was comfortable, checked what she liked to eat, put flowers in her room. When Lizzie had gone out on a date it had been Elizabeth who’d lectured her about ‘man management’, which had been fun, even though the advice was often out of date. But it was Bess who’d waited up to make sure she was home safely, and Bess in whom she’d confided.
One time the Dame’s advice had been spot-on when she’d tried to warn Lizzie off Toby Wrenworth, a dare-devil motorbike rider.
‘That young man was made to be a lover, not a husband,’ she’d declared in her booming voice. ‘Don’t confuse the two.’
‘Auntie!’ Lizzie had exclaimed, not sure whether to be amused or aghast. ‘You’re not actually advising me to—?’
‘I’m advising you not to confuse the two,’ the Dame had repeated firmly.
But the eighteen-year-old Lizzie had ignored the advice, and in due course she’d wished she’d heeded it. The Dame had glared all through their wedding, but when the inevitable divorce happened, two years later, she’d been a rock. If she hadn’t overflowed with sympathy neither had she uttered reproaches.
‘Stop crying and get yourself off to college,’ she’d commanded. ‘It’s what you should have done before, instead of wasting time on a man who was all teeth and trousers.’
The robust approach had done Lizzie a world of good. For sympathy she’d turned to Bess, and they’d cried together.
Even as a teenager she’d been sensitive enough to feel sad for the maid who lived in her employer’s shadow and had no life of her own, although she’d always seemed contented enough with her lot. Since the great lady’s death Bess had lived in a retirement home. It was a comfortable, even luxurious place, with large gardens filled with flowers, and Bess seemed happy there.
Lizzie visited whenever she could, and made a point of going to see her friend before she left for Voltavia. Bess was old and frail, but her mind was clear, and her first words were eager. ‘Tell me all about your lovers.’
‘Lovers? Plural? You think I’m living a really exotic life, don’t you?’
‘I think you’re a pretty girl, and a pretty girl should have lovers.’
‘Well, I have a boyfriend or two.’
‘Do they break your heart?’
‘Do you want them to?’ Lizzie asked with a chuckle.
‘No, of course not. But I worry that it isn’t possible. You’ve been rather armoured since Toby.’
‘Good thing too.’
‘No, my dear. A woman should stay open to love, no matter how much it hurts.’
‘But I am. You should have seen me at the embassy ball. Flirting. And more.’
‘That’s different, and you know it. Throwing out lures, as we used to say, because you’re hoping to catch a prize.’
‘Yes, and I caught him too. Oh, Bess, he’s eating out of my hand. I’m that close to those archives.’
‘Yes, dear, but you’re hiding—as always. Work is such a convenient excuse, isn’t it?’
Bess’s