Royal Weddings: The Reluctant Princess / Princess Dottie / The Royal MacAllister. Lucy Gordon
Читать онлайн книгу.
already deduced. There was no fighting through this mess. They no longer had the fuel to make it all the way to Gullandria. They would have to land, refuel and then wait for the storm to blow itself out.
It was, to say the least, a rocky next few hours. Elli was never so grateful as when Hauk told her they’d gotten the go-ahead to land at a private airstrip just outside of Boston.
The landing was one of those lurching, scary, hope-I-never-do-this-again kind of experiences. But they made it and they made it safely. As soon as the plane taxied to a stop, Hauk went forward a second time to speak with the pilot.
He came out looking bleak. ‘‘The storm shows no signs of abating. This will be an overnight stop.’’
‘‘Will we just stay here, on the plane?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘I’ll arrange for suitable lodging.’’
Lodging. A triumphant little thrill shot through her. Hauk wouldn’t be rid of her quite as soon as he’d hoped.
And so very much might happen, in one more night alone together….
Half an hour later, Elli looked out the window and saw a long, black limousine rolling across the tarmac toward the jet.
‘‘Will you have need of both your suitcases?’’ Hauk asked, his tone carefully formal.
Elli had flown enough to be prepared for situations like this. ‘‘Just the smaller one.’’
‘‘Your Highness.’’ The flight attendant presented her with a big black umbrella at the cabin door.
‘‘Thanks.’’ The rain was coming down in sheets, the wind gusting hard.
Halfway down the steps, the umbrella turned inside out. Hauk, right behind her, took it from her hand. He shouted against the gale, his voice hearty with sudden good humor, ‘‘Speed will serve you better than this.’’ He held the ruined umbrella high. Already, that golden hair was plastered to his head. Water ran off his bladelike nose. His eyes gleamed. Apparently, he liked wild weather—enough that he’d even forgotten for a moment to treat her like the princess he didn’t dare to touch. ‘‘Run!’’
She took off down the final steps and sprinted across the streaming pavement to the open door of the limousine. Hauk ducked in right after her, pulling the door shut, tossing the useless umbrella to the floor. They waited a moment or two, while the necessary bags were stowed in the trunk. And then they were off.
Their hotel suite was on the thirty-fifth floor, with a view of the harbor where the storm was tossing all the boats around. There were two big bedrooms, each with its own bath, a living and dining area between. Elli suppressed a knowing smile when she saw there was a second bedroom. Wishful thinking on Hauk’s part. The poor man. Duty bound to sleep wherever she did.
Oh, yes. It could turn out to be a very interesting night.
They ate dinner in the room. Elli hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the bellhop wheeled it in. She’d ordered the pheasant. It was absolutely wonderful.
For dessert, she had amaretto crème brûlée. It was practically sexual, how delicious it tasted. She ate every last creamy bit.
Hauk, on the other hand, seemed to have little appetite. He mostly sat and watched her. He was looking broody again.
She could almost feel sorry for him.
A whole night of temptation ahead. How would he get through it?
Ah, well. She’d do her very best to help him with that.
She sent him a bright smile. ‘‘Does my father know we’re going to be a day late?’’
He nodded. ‘‘The message has been sent.’’
Via the mysterious black beeper thingy, no doubt. ‘‘Well, good. I wouldn’t want him to worry.’’
Hauk narrowed his eyes at her. ‘‘You are much too cheerful.’’
She toasted him with the last of her wine—he, of course, wasn’t having any. ‘‘You’d rather I scowled and brooded like you?’’
‘‘You have some scheme you’re hatching.’’
‘‘You are just so suspicious.’’
‘‘Not without good cause.’’
‘‘What can I tell you? I was born in Gullandria and Osrik Thorson is my father. Scheming comes as naturally to me as… tying people up does to you.’’ She drank and set the empty glass down.
He said, thoughtfully, ‘‘It takes study and practice to master the secrets in a strong length of rope.’’
She looked at him sideways. ‘‘Now, why did that sound like some kind of veiled threat?’’
He drank from his water glass. ‘‘I am your servant. Never would I threaten you.’’ He set the glass down and pushed back his chair. ‘‘I bid you good night.’’
It took her a moment to absorb what he’d just told her. He’d already grabbed that black duffel of his from where he’d left it in the corner and strode to the door of one of the bedrooms before she stopped him.
‘‘Hauk.’’
He turned, put his fist to his chest and dipped his head. ‘‘At your service.’’
‘‘What are you doing?’’
‘‘Going to bed.’’
‘‘But I’m… not ready for bed yet. I want a long bath first.’’
‘‘By all means, have your bath. Watch the television from your bed as you enjoy doing. This is America. There’s a television in every room.’’
She didn’t like what she thought might be happening here. ‘‘Then we are, uh, sleeping in separate rooms tonight?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
She had an awful, sinking feeling. All her glorious and naughty plans to seduce him were destined to come to nothing, after all. Disappointment had her dishing out a mean-spirited taunt. ‘‘You do serve me. I could command you to sleep at the foot of my bed.’’
‘‘Yes. But that would be needlessly cruel and you are not that kind of woman.’’
Her throat felt tight. She swallowed. ‘‘Hauk?’’
‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘You would rather take a chance that I might run away than sleep in the same room with me tonight?’’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
She felt ashamed. ‘‘I won’t run away—wherever you sleep.’’
There was a long moment where neither of them spoke. Rain beat against the wide window that looked out on the lights of Boston and the harbor beyond. Lightning jumped and flashed across the black sky. Elli felt that something very precious, a onetime chance that would never come again, was slipping away.
‘‘All right,’’ she said at last. ‘‘Good night, then.’’
He turned and went through the door to the bedroom, closing it quietly behind him.
Hauk tossed his duffel on the bed and strode to the bathroom, pulling off his clothes as he went. He turned on the shower and stepped into the stall with the water running cold.
It wasn’t cold enough. It could never be cold enough. The ice-crusted Sherynborn—the river that ran through the Vildelund at home—in dead of winter wouldn’t be cold enough.
He stayed in there for a long time. It didn’t help, not in any measurable way. It didn’t cure him of the yearning that was eating him alive. But the beating of the cool water on his skin provided something of a distraction,