A Queen For The Taking?

She turned away from the fire, crossing to the window to gaze out at the bare gardens still caught in the chill of late winter. Strange to think this view would become familiar when she was wed. This palace, this life, would all become part of her normal existence.

As would the king. Sandro.

She suppressed a shiver. What would marriage to King Alessandro look like? She had a feeling it wouldn’t look or feel like she’d assumed. Convenient. Safe.

She’d never even had a proper boyfriend, never been kissed except for a few quick, sloppy attempts on a couple dates she’d gone on over the years, pressured by her parents to meet a boy, fall in love, even though she hadn’t been interested in either.

But Alessandro would want more than a kiss, and with him she felt it would be neither sloppy nor quick.

She let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking her head at herself. How on earth would she know how Alessandro would kiss?

But you’ll find out soon enough.

She swallowed hard, the thought alone enough to make her palms go icy again. She didn’t want to think about that, not yet.

She gazed around the bedroom, the afternoon stretching emptily in front of her. She couldn’t bear to simply sit and wait in her room; she preferred being busy and active. She’d take a walk through the palace gardens, she decided. The fresh air would be welcome.

She dressed casually but carefully in wool trousers of pale grey and a twin set in mauve cashmere, the kind of bland, conservative clothes she’d chosen for ever.

She styled her hair, leaving it down, and did her discreet make-up and jewellery—pearls, as she always wore. It took her nearly an hour before she was ready, and then as soon as she left her room one of the staff standing to attention in the endless corridor hurried towards her.

‘My lady?’

‘I’d like to go outside, please. To have a stroll around the gardens if I may.’

‘Very good, my lady.’

She followed the man in his blue-and-gold-tasselled uniform down the corridor and then down several others and finally to a pair of French windows that led to a wide terrace with shallow steps leading to the gardens.

‘Would you like an escort—?’ he began, but Liana shook her head.

‘No, thank you. I’ll just walk around by myself.’

She breathed in the fresh, pine-scented mountain air as she took the first twisting path through the carefully clipped box hedges. Even though the palace was in the centre of Maldinia’s capital city of Averne, it was very quiet in the gardens, the only sound the rustle of the wind through the still-bare branches of the trees and shrubs.

Liana dug her hands into the pockets of her coat, the chilly wind stinging her cheeks, glad for an afternoon’s respite from the tension of meeting with the king. As she walked she examined the flowerbeds, trying to identify certain species although it was difficult with everything barely in blossom.

The sun was starting to sink behind the snow-capped peaks on the horizon when Liana finally turned back to the palace. She needed to get ready for her dinner with the king, and already she felt her brief enjoyment of the gardens replaced by a wary concern over the coming evening.

She could not afford to make a single misstep, and yet as she walked back towards the French windows glinting in the late afternoon sun she realised how little information King Alessandro had given her. Was this dinner a formal occasion with members of state, or something smaller and more casual? Would the queen be dining with them, or other members of the royal family? Liana knew that Alessandro’s brother, Leo, and his wife, Alyse, lived in Averne, as did his sister, the princess Alexa.

Her steps slowed as she came up to the terrace; she found herself approaching the evening with both dread and a tiny, treacherous flicker of anticipation. Sandro’s raw, restless energy might disturb her, but it also fascinated her. It was, she knew, a dangerous fascination, and one she needed to get under control if she was going to go ahead with this marriage.

Which she was.

Anything else, at this point, was impossible, involved too much disappointment for too many people.

She forced her worries back along with that fascination as she opened the French windows. As she came inside she stopped short, her breath coming out in a rush, for Alessandro had just emerged from a gilt-panelled door, a frown settled between his dark, straight brows. He glanced up, stilling when he saw her, just as Liana was still.

‘Good evening. You’ve been out for a walk in the gardens?’

She nodded, her mind seeming to have snagged on the sight of him, his rumpled hair, his silvery eyes, his impossibly hard jaw. ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

‘You’re cold.’ To her complete shock Alessandro touched her cheek with his fingertips. The touch was so very slight and yet so much more than she’d expected or ever known. Instinctively she jerked back, and she watched as his mouth, which had been curving into a faint smile, thinned into a hard line.

‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ he said flatly. He turned away and strode down the hall.

Drawing a deep breath, she threw back her shoulders, forced herself to turn towards her own suite of rooms and walk with a firm step even as inside she wondered just what would happen tonight—and how she would handle it.

CHAPTER TWO

ALESSANDRO GAZED DISPASSIONATELY at his reflection as he twitched his black tie into place. This afternoon’s meeting with Lady Liana had gone about as well as he could have expected, and yet it still left him dissatisfied. Restless, as everything about his royal life did.

This palace held too many painful memories, too many hard lessons. Don’t trust. Don’t love. Don’t believe that anyone loves you back.

Every one drilled into him over years of neglect, indifference, and anger.

Sighing, he thrust the thought aside. He might hate returning to the palace, but he’d done it of his own free will. Returned to face his father and take up his kingship because he’d known it was the right thing to do. It was his duty.

And because you, ever naive, thought your father might actually forgive you. Finally love you.

What a blind fool he was.

He wouldn’t, Sandro thought as he fastened his cufflinks, be blind about his wife. He knew exactly what he was getting into, just what he was getting from the lovely Lady Liana.

Yet for a moment, when he’d seen Liana coming through the French windows, her hair streaming over her shoulders like pale satin, the fading sunlight touching it with gold, he’d felt his heart lighten rather ridiculously.

She’d looked so different from the coldly composed woman he’d encountered in the formal receiving room. She’d looked alive and vibrant and beautiful, her lavender eyes sparkling, her cheeks pink from the wind.

He’d felt a leap of hope then that she might not be the cold, ambitious queen-in-waiting she’d seemed just hours ago, but then he’d seen that icy self-possession enter her eyes, she’d jerked back when he had, unthinkingly, touched her, and disappointment had settled in him once more, a leaden weight.

It was too late to wish for something else for his marriage, Sandro knew. For his life. When he’d received the phone call from his father—after fifteen years of stony silence on both sides—he’d given up his right to strive or even wish for anything different. He’d been living for himself, freely, selfishly, for too long already. He’d always known, even if he’d acted as if he hadn’t, that it couldn’t last. Shouldn’t.

And so he’d returned and taken up his kingship and all it required...such as a wife. An ambitious, appropriate, perfect wife.

His expression hardening, he turned from his reflection and went in search of the woman who fitted all those soulless requirements.

He found her already waiting in the private dining room he’d requested be prepared for their meal. She stood by the window, straight and proud, dressed in an evening gown of champagne-coloured silk.

Her face went blank as she caught sight of him, and after a second’s pause she nodded regally as he closed the door behind him.

Sandro let his gaze sweep over her; the dress was by no means immodest and yet it still clung to her slight curves. It had a vaguely Grecian style, with pearl-and-diamond clips at each shoulder and a matching pearl-and-diamond pendant nestled in the V between her breasts.

The dress clung to those small yet shapely breasts, nipping in at her waist before swirling out around her legs and ending in a silken puddle at her feet. She looked both innocent and made of ivory, everything about her so cold and perfect, making Sandro want to add a streak of colour to her cheeks or her lips—would her cheeks turn pink as they’d been before if he touched her again?

What if he kissed her?

Was she aware of his thoughts? Did she feel that sudden tension inside her as well? He couldn’t tell anything from her blank face, her veiled eyes.

She’d pulled her hair back in a tight coil, emphasising her high cheekbones and delicate bone structure, and he had a mad impulse to jerk the diamond-tipped pins from her hair and see it spill over her shoulders in all of its moon-coloured glory. What would she do, he wondered, if he acted on that urge? How would this ice princess in all her white, silken haughtiness respond if he pulled her into his arms and kissed her quite senseless?

Almost as if she could sense the nature of his thoughts she lifted her chin, her eyes sparking violet challenge. Good. Sandro wanted to see emotion crack that icy demeanour; he wanted to sense something real from her, whether it was uncertainty or nervousness, humour or passion.

Passion.

It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, a lot longer since he’d been in a relationship. He felt a kick of lust and was glad for it. Perhaps he would act on it tonight. Perhaps that would melt the ice, and he would find the real woman underneath all that haughtiness...if she existed at all. He hoped, for both of their sakes, that she did.

‘Did you have a pleasant afternoon?’ he asked politely. He moved to the table that was set for two in front of the huge fireplace and took the bottle of wine that had been left open to breathe on the side.

‘Yes, thank you.’ She remained by the window, utterly still, watching him.

Sandro lifted the bottle. ‘May I pour you a glass?’

A hesitation, and then she nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’

Yes, thank you. He wondered if he could get her to say it a third time. The woman had perfect manners, perfect everything, but he didn’t want perfection. He wanted something real and raw and passionate—something he’d never had with any woman, any person, even though he’d long been looking for it. Searching and striving for it. He suspected Lady Liana was the last person who could satisfy him in that regard.

He poured them both glasses of red wine, the ruby liquid glinting in the dancing light thrown from the flames of the fire. He crossed the room to where she still stood by the window and handed her the glass, letting his fingers brush hers.

He felt her awareness of that little act, her eyes widening slightly before she took the glass with a murmured thanks. So far they’d been alone for five minutes and she’d said thank you three times, and nothing else.

He walked back to the fire, taking a long swallow of his wine, enjoying the way the velvety liquid coated his throat and fired his belly. Needing that warmth. ‘What did you think of the gardens? Were they to your liking?’ he asked, turning around to face her. She held the wine glass in front of her, both hands clasped around it, although she had yet to take a sip.

‘Yes, thank you—’

‘Yes, thank you,’ he mimicked, a sneering, almost cruel tone to his voice. He was reacting out of a deep-seated revulsion to this kind of shallow conversation, this fakery. It reminded him of too much disappointment, too much pain. Too many lies. ‘Do you say anything else?’

She blinked, but otherwise showed no discomfiture. ‘Are you irritated by my manners, Your Highness?’

‘You are meant to call me Sandro, but you have yet to do so.’

‘I apologise. Your first name does not come easily to me.’

He arched an eyebrow, curious yet also still filled with that edgy restlessness that he knew would lead him to say—or do—things they both might regret.

‘And why is that?’ he asked, and she lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug.

‘You are the king of Maldinia.’

‘It’s nothing more than a title.’

Her mouth tightened, eyes flashing before she carefully ironed out her expression, her face smoothing like a blank piece of paper. ‘Is that what you truly think?’

No, it wasn’t. The crown upon his head—the title before his name—was a leaden weight inside him, dragging him down. It always had been, rife with expectations and disappointment. He’d seen how his father had treated that title, and he had no desire to emulate him. No desire to spiral down that destructive path, and yet he did not know if he possessed the strength to do otherwise. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘I think it is an honour and a privilege.’

‘And one you are eager to share.’ He heard the sardonic edge to his words and he knew she did too, even though her expression didn’t change, didn’t even flicker. Funny, how he knew. How he’d somehow become attuned to this ice princess without even trying.

Or maybe he just knew her type, the kind of woman who would do anything to be queen, who didn’t care about love or friendship or any softer emotion. Hadn’t he encountered such women before, starting with his own mother? And Teresa had been the same, interested only in his wealth and status. He’d yet to find a woman who didn’t care about such things, and he no longer had the freedom to search.

‘Of course,’ she answered calmly.

‘Even though you don’t know me.’

She hesitated, and he took another sip of wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. He wondered how far he would have to push her to evoke some response—any response. Further than that, clearly, for she didn’t answer, merely sipped her own wine, her expression coolly serene.

‘It doesn’t bother you,’ he pressed, ‘that we barely know each other? That you are going to pledge your life to a stranger? Your body?’

Awareness flared in her eyes at his provocative remark, and he took a step towards her. He wanted her to admit it did, longed for her to say something real, something about how strange or uncertain or fearful this arrangement was. Something. Anything.

She regarded him for a moment, her expression thoughtful and yet still so shuttered. ‘So you asked me earlier,’ she remarked. ‘And yet I thought that was the point of this evening. To get to know one another.’

‘Yet you came to Maldinia prepared to marry me without such a luxury.’

‘A fact which seems to provoke you, yet I assume you have been prepared to marry me under the same circumstances?’ She was as coolly challenging as he had been, and he felt a flicker of respect, a frisson of interest. At least she’d stopped with her milky thank yous. At least she was being honest, even if he despised such truth.

‘I was and still am,’ he answered. ‘I have a duty to provide an heir.’

The faintest blush touched her cheeks at the mention of heirs and she glanced away. ‘So you are acting out of duty, and I am not?’

‘What duty insists you marry a king?’

‘One it appears you wouldn’t understand.’

‘Oh, I understand,’ he answered, and she pressed her lips together, lifted her chin.

‘Do you? Why don’t you tell me, then, what you understand?’

He stared at her for a moment, and then decided to answer her with honesty. He doubted he’d get even a flicker of response from her. ‘You want a title,’ he stated flatly. ‘A crown. Wealth and power—’

‘And in exchange I will give you my allegiance and service,’ she answered back, as unruffled as he’d suspected. ‘Children and heirs, God willing. Is it not a fair trade?’

He paused, amazed at her plain speaking, even a little admiring of it. At least she wasn’t pretending to him, the way so many others would. He could be thankful for that, at least. ‘I suppose it is,’ he answered slowly. ‘But I would prefer my marriage not to be a trade.’

‘And yet it must be, because you are king. That is not my fault.’

‘No,’ he agreed quietly. ‘But even so—’

‘You think my reasons for this marriage are less than yours,’ Liana finished flatly. ‘Less worthy.’

Her astuteness unnerved him. ‘I suppose I do. You’ve admitted what you want, Lady Liana. Money. Power. Fame. Such things seem shallow to me.’

‘If I wanted them for my own gratification, I suppose they would be.’

He frowned. ‘What else could you possibly want them for?’

She just shook her head. ‘What has made you so cynical?’

‘Life, Lady Liana. Life.’ He glanced away, not wanting to think about what had made him this suspicious, this sure that everyone was just out for something, that people were simply to be manipulated and used. Even your own children.

‘In any case, you clearly don’t relish the prospect of marriage to me,’ she said quietly.

‘No, I don’t,’ he answered after a pause. He turned to meet her clear gaze directly. ‘I’m sorry if that offends you.’

‘It doesn’t offend me,’ she answered. ‘Surprises me, perhaps.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because I had assumed we were in agreement about the nature of this marriage.’

‘Which is?’ he asked, wanting to hear more despite hating her answers, the reality of their situation.

She blinked, a hint of discomfiture, even uncertainty, in the way she shifted her weight, clutched her wine glass a little more tightly. ‘Convenience.’

‘Ah, yes. Convenience.’ And he supposed it was convenient for her to have a crown. A title. And all the trappings that came with them. ‘At least you’re honest about it.’

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Most women who have wanted my title or my money have been a bit more coy about what they really want,’ he answered. ‘More conniving.’

‘You’ll find I am neither.’

‘How refreshing.’

She simply raised her eyebrows at his caustic tone and Sandro suppressed a sigh. He certainly couldn’t fault her honesty. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he finally said, and she lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug.

‘What is it you wish to know?’

‘Anything. Everything. Where have you been living?’

‘In Milan.’

‘Ah, yes. Your charity work.’

Ire flashed in her eyes. ‘Yes, my charity work.’

‘What charity do you support again?’

‘Hands To Help.’

‘Which is?’

‘A foundation that offers support to families with disabled children.’

‘What kind of support?’

‘Counselling, grants to families in need, practical assistance with the day-to-day.’ She spoke confidently, clearly on familiar ground. He saw how her eyes lit up and everything in her suddenly seemed full of energy and determination.

‘This charity,’ he observed. ‘It means a lot to you.’

She nodded, her lips pressed together in a firm line. ‘Everything.’

Everything? Her zeal was admirable, yet also surprising, even strange. ‘Why is that, Lady Liana?’

She jerked back slightly, as if the question offended her. ‘Why shouldn’t it?’

‘As admirable as it is, I am intrigued. Most people don’t live for their philanthropic causes. I would have thought you simply helped out with various charities as a way to bide your time.’

‘Bide my time?’

‘Until you married.’

She let out an abrupt laugh, the sound hard and humourless. ‘You are as traditional as my parents.’

‘Yet you are here.’

‘Meaning?’

He spread his hands. ‘Not many women, not even the daughters of dukes, would enter a loveless marriage, having barely met the man in question, in this day and age.’

She regarded him coolly. ‘Unless, of course, there was something in it for them. Money. Status. A title.’

‘Exactly.’

She shook her head. ‘And what do you see as being in it for you, Your Highness? I’m curious, considering how reluctant you are to marry.’

His lips curved in a humourless smile. ‘Why, all the things you told me, of course. You’ve detailed your own attributes admirably, Lady Liana. I get a wife who will be the perfect queen. Who will stand by my side and serve my country. And of course, God willing, give me an heir. Preferably two.’

A faint blush touched those porcelain cheeks again, intriguing him. She was twenty-eight years old and yet she blushed like an untouched virgin. Surely she’d had relationships before. Lovers.

And yet in their conversation this afternoon, she’d intimated that she hadn’t.

‘That still doesn’t answer my question,’ she said after a moment. ‘I understand your need to marry. But why me in particular?’

Sandro shrugged. ‘You’re a duke’s daughter, you have shown yourself to be philanthropic, your father is an important member of the European Union. You’re fertile, I assume?’

The pink in her cheeks deepened. ‘There is no reason to think otherwise.’

‘I suppose that aspect of unions such as these is always a bit of a risk.’

‘And if I couldn’t have children?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Would we divorce?’

Would they? Everything in him railed against that as much as the actual marriage. It was all so expedient, so cold. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

‘How comforting.’

‘I can’t pretend to like any of this, Lady Liana. I’d rather have a normal relationship, with a woman who—’ He stopped suddenly, realising he was revealing too much. A woman who chose me. Who loved me for myself, and not because of my money or my crown. No, he wasn’t about to tell this cold-blooded woman any of that.

‘A woman who?’ she prompted.

‘A woman who wasn’t interested in my title.’

‘Why don’t you find one, then?’ she asked, and she didn’t sound hurt or even peeved, just curious. ‘There must be a woman out there who would marry you for your own sake, Your Highness.’

And she clearly wasn’t one of them, a fact that he’d known and accepted yet still, when so baldly stated, made him inwardly flinch. ‘I have yet to find one,’ he answered shortly. ‘And you are meant to call me Sandro.’

‘Then you must call me Liana.’

‘Very well, Liana. It’s rather difficult to find a woman who isn’t interested in my title. The very fact that I have it attracts the kind of woman who is interested in it.’

‘Yet you renounced your inheritance for fifteen years,’ Liana observed. ‘Couldn’t you have found a woman in California?’

He felt a flash of something close to rage, or perhaps just humiliation. She made it sound as if he was pathetic, unable to find a woman to love him for himself.

And maybe he was—but he didn’t like this ice princess knowing about it. Remarking on it.

‘The women I met in California were interested in my wealth and status,’ he said shortly. He thought of Teresa, then pushed the thought away. He’d tumbled into love with her like a foolish puppy; he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He wouldn’t have the choice, he acknowledged. His attempt at relationships ended in this room, with this woman, and love had no place in what was between them.

‘I’m not interested in your wealth,’ Liana said after a moment. ‘I have no desire to drape myself with jewels or prance about in designer dresses—or whatever it is these grasping women do.’

There was a surprising hint of humour in her voice, and his interested snagged on it. ‘These grasping women?’

‘You seem to have met so many, Your— Sandro. I had no idea there were so many cold, ambitious women about, circling like hawks.’

His lips twitched at the image even as a cynical scepticism took its familiar hold. ‘So you do not count yourself among the hawks, Liana?’

‘I do not, but you might. I am interested in being your queen, Sandro. Not for the wealth or the fame, but for the opportunity it avails me.’