Modern Romance March 2020 Books 5-8

He was enjoying the elegance of her poise, the sweet swell of her breasts… She really was so very, very beautiful… He felt his senses stir, warming in his veins. Confirming everything he’d made his decision on. She was, without a shadow of a doubt, the ideal royal bride for him.

She is everything I want—everything!

She was speaking, and he made himself pay attention. She had leant forward slightly, her pose straight-backed, her manner very different from the subdued restraint she adopted when she was with her father and stepmother, or her determinedly polite, impersonal demeanour that afternoon at Meredon. Now her tone of voice was brisk.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Mr Dukaris,’ she opened. ‘I have, as you may suppose, a particular reason for wanting you to do so.’

Leon veiled his gaze. He said nothing, merely gave a faint smile, waiting for her to continue.

For a moment she seemed unnerved, then she rallied, her tone still brisk. ‘I need to be clear,’ she went on, her voice deliberately cool, ‘about a very important matter.’

Ellie paused, resting her eyes on his. It was taking her considerable resolve to do so. From the moment she’d set eyes on him across the restaurant, his relaxed but powerful frame had drawn her gaze immediately, and the familiar rush to her blood had sent heat flushing through her. She had had to fight hard to subdue it as she took her place. This was no time for any such reaction to him. She was here for one reason, and one reason only.

‘Mr Dukaris, why are you paying for my father’s suite at the Viscari St James?’

Leon stilled. He had not anticipated quite so blunt a question. But then, after all, he recollected, she had been just as blunt that night at Turandot, when she had, out of nowhere, warned him off her sister.

He heard her continue.

‘Since my father now has neither power nor influence in Karylya, you have no obvious need for his favour. So…’ she took a breath ‘…there must be some other reason.’

He saw her lips press together, as if she were steeling herself to go on.

‘Tell me,’ she said, and her voice was cool, yet Leon could sense the tension in it all the same, ‘were you serious, at the opera, in your remark to me? Or was it some clumsy attempt at humour?’

There—she had said it—had finally put into words what had been preying on her mind all week and more. She had finally nerved herself to say what had to be said.

A faint smile flickered at his mouth, curving his sensuous lips, but Ellie refused to be distracted by it. She could not afford to be—not now. Far too much depended on his answer.

‘It would be humour in a very poor taste, would you not agree?’ A slight lift of one dark arched eyebrow accompanied his laconic reply.

‘Indeed,’ she said tightly. She took a breath, forced herself on. ‘And I have to allow that my sister may be quite mistaken in her…her interpretation of just why you are being so generous to my father at this difficult time for him.’

She watched him reach for his glass again, take another leisurely mouthful. He appeared to be infuriatingly relaxed, that long-lashed gaze from his night-dark eyes still veiled, his expression unreadable, yet she could sense there was a sudden tension in him. She held her breath, waiting for his reply on which so much would depend.

Enough to change my life for ever—

The enormity of the moment pressed upon her, and she could hear the slug of her own heartbeat in her chest.

After an age, his answer came. His eyes held hers, still veiled, but it was impossible not to be held by them.

‘No, she was not mistaken,’ he said. He started to lower his glass to the table. ‘Only,’ he went on, ‘mistaken as to my preference. As I told you, it is not your sister I have an interest in marrying…’

She heard him say it as clear as a bell, and not in any sardonic manner, or with any possible humorous twist, but with a sudden unveiling of his gaze upon her that stilled the breath in her lungs.

‘Why?’

The word burst from Ellie—she could not stop it. She realised she had leant forward, giving vehement emphasis to her blunt question.

He paused in the act of lowering his glass. His expression changed minutely.

‘Why…?’ he echoed.

Then his expression changed again. Ellie could see it—could see his eyes veiling again, a slight smile deliberately forming around that well-shaped mouth of his.

‘Why would any man not wish to marry a princess?’

The riposte was light, designed to deflect her, she knew. But this was no game, no joke, no humorous light-hearted situation. This was real—brutally, starkly real. Nothing to do with any fairy story…

‘Why do you want to marry a princess?’ Her question was like a scalpel. She wanted an answer and she would have one—a good one, a real one!—or she would walk away from the table right now.

She saw his expression change yet again. She gave a start as she realised that she recognised what she was now seeing in those incredible, long-lashed, gold-glinting night-dark eyes, whose gaze resting on her seemed able to turn her to liquid mush. But they were not doing so now—they were resting on her with something quite different in them. Something she had not seen before but was seeing now.

Honesty.

‘I have no idea how much you know about me, Princess,’ he said now, his voice as clear-sounding as hers had been, ‘but you will have been told, I am sure, that I am nothing more than a jumped-up, nouveau riche billionaire who has made a fortune speculating in the global markets. That is quite true, and a moment’s search on the Internet will confirm that. There is no secret about that. And nor, by the same token, do I make any secret of the fact that I have more money than I know what to do with.’

He gave the slightest shrug of his shoulder—as if, Ellie thought, all those billions were just toy money.

‘I want something else now,’ he said.

He set his glass back on the damask tablecloth with a click. Levelled his eyes straight at her.

‘I can buy anything I want—anything. But there are some things that are harder to buy. Without help.’ He gave a smile now—a tight, knowing smile. ‘The help of a princess. A princess as a glittering prize to crown my achievements in life.’

He sat back, his long, strong fingers still curved around his glass, eyes still resting on her with that same startling revelation that what he was doing now was telling her, bluntly and openly, just how it was.

Ellie kept her face still. ‘A princess?’ she echoed flatly. ‘Any princess?’ It was a taunt, a challenge.

That negligent shrug came again. ‘More or less,’ he admitted. ‘Of course the number of available princesses of marriageable age is highly limited, and even those who might be willing to marry someone like me would want to get something for themselves out of it.’

For my family, Ellie told herself. Only for them.

Yet even as she thought it she felt a flush go through her. And a thought that was utterly and totally irrelevant to the moment. Any woman who married Leon Dukaris would be getting him—all six-foot-plus of devastating male…

She dragged her thoughts away. They weren’t relevant to the brutal discussion she was having…had to have…with this man keeping her father from ignominious penury… Who was only doing so in the expectation of a royal bride.

That much was obvious now.

She sat back. She felt as if she was doing a workout with weights too heavy for her. Yet she had to continue. This had to play out to the end.

I have to know exactly what it is I’m letting myself in for. Marrying a man who only wants to marry me for my royal blood—no other reason.

She felt something twist inside her and suppressed it. There was no point in feeling it. No point lamenting that her life-long dream of marrying only for love had become impossible. No point in anything except doggedly continuing.

She took a breath, saying the thing she had to say. ‘Do you accept, Mr Dukaris, that my sister Marika is not “available”, as you so charmingly express it?’ Ellie could not stop a waspish note stinging her voice. ‘Because she is in love with someone else?’

A faintly bored look crossed his face. ‘I made that clear the other night, I believe,’ he answered. One arched eyebrow lifted. ‘With that established, shall we move on?’ he invited.

This time the taunt was his, not hers. He was taking control of the agenda, and making it clear to her that he was doing so.

‘So, having disposed of the subject of your sister,’ his tone of voice was bland now, ‘I assume you are about to set out the terms and conditions of our marriage.’

Leon saw her eyes flash, impartially observing how it lent a dramatic aspect to her pale beauty.

‘You take it for granted that I will accept your offer?’ she asked.

He gave a shake of his head. ‘No, I take it for granted that you do not wish to see your father destitute. And that as a loyal daughter you will do whatever is necessary to prevent that. And, of course…’ there was a sardonic note to his voice now ‘…to enable your sister to remain free to pine after another man.’ He frowned for a moment. ‘Who is she pining for, by the way?’

Ellie’s expression changed. ‘Someone she’ll never be allowed to marry. Antal Horvath.’

Leon’s frown deepened. ‘Antal Horvath? But isn’t that—?’

Ellie’s lips pressed together tightly. ‘Yes, precisely. Antal is the son of Matyas Horvath—the man who led the coup deposing my father and who aims to be voted President of Karylya in his place!’

Leon’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, that unpalatable fact will certainly test her youthful ardour!’ he commented sardonically. ‘However…’ his voice changed ‘…the woes of your sister are irrelevant to ourselves,’ he said dismissively, reaching for the leather-bound menu.

He looked across at the princess he infinitely preferred to her hopelessly lovelorn sister. Satisfaction was rising through him—he was achieving exactly what he wanted, and that always felt good. Very good.

‘Shall we get on with ordering lunch?’ he invited. He was hungry and he wanted to eat.

He made to flick open the menu, but the princess’s voice stayed him.

‘Not yet.’

Her tone was commanding, as befitting a princess, and Leon paused, setting down the menu with an air of patience. He lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

Ellie felt her jaw tighten, felt turbid emotions, clashing and turbulent, sloshing inside her. If she really, truly were to do the unthinkable—agree to marry a man she barely knew—she had to be rock-solid sure she would get the protection for her family they needed.

‘There are, as you say, terms and conditions.’

She had got her brisk, businesslike tone back, and was relieved she could still adopt it. She took a breath, marshalling her strength to make things crystal-clear to him.

‘The first of which is that I want a time limit on this marriage. Two years—no more. That gives you ample time to take all the social advantages you want out of marrying a princess.’

His face was closed. For a second—just a second—Ellie felt a thrill of apprehension go through her. Then, abruptly, his expression changed and he gave a slight assenting shrug of his shoulder, as if the stipulation meant nothing to him.

That stipulation means nothing to me! Of course it doesn’t. Why should two years not give me everything I want from her? Why would I care if she leaves me then?

He felt his mind shift away, as if from a place it refused to go. Where it would always refuse to go.

‘Good,’ Ellie said decisively, relief filling her.

I have to know that I can eventually be free of this marriage—free to find the love I seek.

She forged on, knowing she had to put everything down on the table in one go.

A hefty capital sum settled on her father, yielding an income sufficient to maintain his dignity in exile, and a suitable property for him and his wife to live in gratis for their lifetime.

‘Oh, and you must guarantee the university fees for my brother Niki—and a dowry for my sister. So that she, at least, will have freedom of choice when it comes to her marriage. Sufficient, if necessary, to defy her parents—’ She broke off.

Was there a trace of bitterness in her voice? She hoped not—what was the point of bitterness in the face of brute reality?

Disbelief was possessing her—an air of absolute unreality that she was actually doing what she was doing…marrying a stranger in order to protect her father and his family. To ensure a future for them all.

At the price of mine.

She felt her stomach hollow. That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? Everyone got what they wanted except her. She was going to have to hand herself over to a complete stranger, have her own life hijacked by making a marriage to this man she barely knew.

A cry came from deep inside her.

This isn’t the marriage I wanted to make! I wanted to marry for love—only for love! Even princesses can marry for love.

But not this one. Like so many of her ancestors, she was going to marry for royal duty—because she was the only one in the family who could protect her father now, protect her stepmother, her siblings.

She felt a wash of misery flush through her and her eyes dropped away, her throat tightening.

She heard Leon Dukaris—the vastly rich billionaire who was going to ensure her family’s future at the price she had agreed to pay for it—agreeing to all she demanded. And for a second—just a second—panic flared in her eyes. This marriage was going to happen…it really was going to happen! She was going to marry this man—this complete stranger—whose disturbing gaze on her could quicken her pulse and confuse her utterly…

The rush of panic beat up inside her again. And then suddenly she felt her hand being taken. His strong fingers closed around hers. His eyes held her troubled gaze.

Something seemed to run between them. As if, she thought, for the very first time she was seeing the man and not the billionaire. Not the devastatingly masculine male that her feminine senses were continually so perpetually aware of but the person—the individual, with a character and personality of his own.

A quiver seemed to go through her she could make no sense of.

‘It will be all right, this marriage of ours,’ he said quietly, his eyes still holding hers. ‘I will make sure of it.’

Then, before she could realise his intent, he was lifting her hand to his lips. It was the briefest of hand-kisses, but as he lowered her hand back to the table and released it Ellie felt, for the very first time since her mother had given her the dreadful news about her father, the agitation inside her and the tumult of her emotions start to subside.

The man she had just agreed to marry smiled. An open, reassuring smile. And somehow—she did not know why or how—all her panic was gone…quite gone.

‘Good girl,’ she heard Leon Dukaris say approvingly, and he patted the back of her hand.

He looked about, summoning the maître d’.

‘Now, let’s toast our engagement in champagne! It deserves no less!’

CHAPTER FIVE

ELLIE WAS BUSY. Very busy. Not only was she assembling an extensive couture wardrobe suitable for her role as Leon Dukaris’s fiancée and thereafter as his bride, but the wedding itself was to be lavish in the extreme, staggeringly expensive, and, it seemed, with a vast amount for her to do—even with the help of the wedding team at the Viscari.

They were to be married at the hotel, where her family would continue to live until her father and her stepmother and sister moved into a château in the Loire that Leon had purchased for that purpose.

The tabloids and the glossy magazines were in raptures. Ellie might be grimly aware of the real reason for her marriage, but to the world it was a fairy-tale romance.

The Princess and the Greek Tycoon!

Love in Exile!

Royal Bride for Billionaire!

Any number of permutations blazed in the headlines, accompanied by pictures from the carefully staged photo shoots set up by the PR machine activated by Leon Dukaris to show the world he was marrying a princess.

She’d let her father believe the same as the press, for the look of relief in his eyes when she’d told him her news had been painful to behold. If he wanted to keep the comforting illusion that his financial benefactor had taken one look at Elizsaveta and experienced a coup de foudre Ellie would not disabuse him.

It was not something she had tried with her mother, however. She and Malcolm were back from Canada, and Ellie had gone down to Somerset to tell her.

It had not been an easy conversation so far. Her mother was protesting strongly, but Ellie defended her decision.

‘I can’t abandon my father after what’s happened to him—’

‘Darling—he has no right to demand this of you!’ her mother began.

But Ellie cut across her. ‘He isn’t demanding it!’ she’d said. ‘I’m doing this because I love him—and I want to protect him.’

She took a step back from her mother’s anxious embrace, and felt something change in her face. She was no longer Ellie Peters, but Princess Elizsaveta of the Royal House of Karpardy.

‘I am my father’s daughter,’ she said, ‘and I have obligations to my birth. It’s as simple as that.’

Her mother looked at her, her gaze troubled. ‘And what of love?’ she said.

Ellie’s expression was wry. ‘I must hope that I will be like you and Papa—each of you finding love in a second marriage.’

It was the thought she clung to as the wedding preparations swept her up. Of her fiancé himself she saw not a great deal, and mostly in public or in company. He seemed to be flying about the world a lot, and had told her that he was putting his business affairs in order so that they would not make demands on him after their wedding.

She knew that in a cowardly way she was relieved at his absence. It just seemed easier for her to cope with.

She was relieved, too—though she did not want to spell it out to herself—that when they were together he did not take advantage of their engagement to get up close and personal…

Her mind sheered away, blocking such thoughts—she would deal with them later, but not now, she thought hectically. Instead, whenever she was with him, she would take refuge in adopting the same brisk attitude she had at that fateful lunch, when she had committed herself to a man she barely knew.

This time, though, it was endless wedding details that needed agreement—anything and everything, from the music during the ceremony to who the huge guest list should include.

‘Both my mother and stepmother are summoning all the relatives they can round up,’ she told Leon frankly over dinner, during one of his intermittent stop-overs in London. ‘And they’re pressing for as many royals—British and European—as we can muster in the time available.’

She ran through a number of the names of people who had RSVP’d already.

‘Very impressive,’ acknowledged Leon dryly.

Had that been a sardonic note in his voice? Ellie lifted her chin.

‘Well, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?’ she riposted, in the same openly frank manner. ‘Making as big a social splash with our wedding and our marriage as we can?’

Leon sat back in his chair—they were at the same restaurant they had been for lunch all those weeks ago, when she had sealed her fate. Perhaps that was why she was speaking so frankly now, making herself face the reason she was marrying Leon Dukaris. To give him a princess bride to crown his achievements and give her beleaguered father the financial security he so desperately needed.

And it’s for no other reason—none.

Leon had made that clear—he had spoken no soft, seductive words to the contrary, cast no lingering glances at her, made no pretence that he felt anything for her. So, however much she might find her heart rate starting to quicken when she was with him, however heavy-lidded that dark, gold-flecked gaze of his could be, resting on her with that veiled expression she could not make out, she had to set all that aside.

His expression now, though, was not veiled at all. His eyes had narrowed as she’d spoken.

‘Tell me,’ he said, and there was a silky note to his voice that she had not heard before, for usually he gave quick, good-humoured answers to her questions, ‘do you intend always to be this blunt about our marriage?’

Ellie felt colour flush her cheeks, but fought it back. Lifted her chin again. Met that narrowed gaze full-on. Th world might be cooing over them, lavishing them with a romantic gloss that sold magazines by the truckload, but she would not collude with it. She would not pretend there was anything between them but what there was.

There was a spark in her eyes as she answered him. ‘Leon, you’re marrying me because I’m a princess, and I’m marrying you because you’re rich enough to bankroll my father and his family. My title for your wealth. It’s a pretty blunt situation,’ she said unrepentantly.

She held his gaze, which all of a sudden was like coruscating black diamonds. She reeled from the impact of it—but she would not flinch. Then, abruptly, that coruscating gaze was gone—veiled by the long dark lashes sweeping down over those gold-flecked eyes. She saw him lift his wineglass and tilt it lazily towards her. The sudden tension in him relaxed. He smiled his familiar half-sardonic, half-open smile.

‘Well, then, let us drink to our marriage all the same,’ said Leon equably. ‘An honest marriage…’

As most marriages are not—with the couple deluding each other with the belief that eternal love will bind them, when the first misfortune to befall them will make a mockery of all their vows!

So why should he care if his beautiful royal bride was being so blunt about why they were marrying? It was only the truth.

Except that it is not the only truth… It is not simply because I want a princess bride to show off on my arm and she wants a dignified exile for her father.

There was another truth to their marriage. As potent a truth as those.

He veiled his expression as she touched her glass to his with a faint answering smile, concealing his thoughts, knowing that she was not yet ready for anything more from him.

But perhaps it’s time…

Perhaps it was time that Princess Elizsaveta realised that he was marrying her for a great deal more than her title…

As he took another ruminative sip of his wine, watching with pleasure the way her delicate features caught the soft light pooling over their table as she skimmed her gaze over the next item on the wedding list, he knew exactly the occasion for her to do so.