Scandals Of The Royals: Princess From the Shadows

“Even though you hate it?”

She sighed. “At least there’s a reason. There’s something more firm than … love. Whatever that’s supposed to be.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever met a woman as cynical on the subject of love as I am.”

“Well, now you have. We got distracted in the hall earlier,” she said, averting her gaze, “but the real reason I’m doing this isn’t about penance. It’s about doing something that matters. I can’t matter while I’m hiding in exile in Italy. I certainly didn’t contribute to the greater good when I started a relationship with him. There’s more to life than passion. Duty, that’s real. Marrying to better my country? Your country? There are benefits to that that no one can take away. It’s all so much more permanent than some ephemeral notion of love.”

“And lust? What are your feelings on lust?” The teasing light in his eyes was gone again, replaced by something dangerous, that intense darkness she’d sensed in him earlier.

“Lust is unnecessary, certainly nothing to overturn one’s life for.”

“Lust keeps things interesting,” he said.

“And what’s the point of lusting after a husband who intends on taking other women to his bed?” she asked, her words clipped.

“That’s only sex. Sex is cheap, Carlotta.”

She laughed. “Sex has always been very expensive for me. But then, I suppose that’s how it is for women.”

“I suppose so. Are your brothers virgins?”

“What? I would never, not for any amount of money, ask them, but I can give you a very confident no.”

“Your other sisters?”

“I don’t … I don’t think so … well, Sophia’s married now and Natalia … the press wrote about one of her affairs, but it all blew over quickly enough.” Carlotta’s twin had always been the audacious one. The one who did what she pleased. She laughed off her indiscretions, and the world laughed them off with her. Her parents simply ignored her antics.

And Carlotta had been the good one. The one who’d never done anything without the express permission of her parents. She’d envied Natalia. So much it burned sometimes. She felt like she was on the outside of this glowing sphere her twin lived in. One where she could do whatever she wanted and nothing could touch her, while Carlotta ached to break the chains that held her in place, and couldn’t.

Then she’d met Gabriel. And she’d followed her lust, purposefully decided not to care what her parents might think. To embrace the rush for the first time instead of just turning away from it.

And the fallout of that decision made Natalia’s behavior pale in comparison. The Sole Santina Bastard. That was her claim to fame.

“So no one in your family is a saint. Why is it you’re the bad one? Because you got knocked up?”

His words were stark. But honest. She swallowed. “Wow. Charming.”

“Honestly, why are you worse than they are? Is it just that no one has physical evidence of their sexual history? The public has plenty of evidence of mine—they think I’m suave, if a bit feckless, but they like me. No one calls me names or degrades me. And I’d bet none of them do it to your brothers.”

“You don’t understand …”

“It’s hypocrisy. Plain and simple. That’s why, in our marriage, if I’m not going to be faithful I certainly don’t plan on holding you to our vows.”

He was missing the real issue. Sure, some of her being “worse” had to do with her carrying visible consequences of something other people did behind closed doors without anyone else being any the wiser. But the biggest part had to do with the fact that Gabriel had been a married man, with a wife. Children. But admitting that was too … it was too hard. To look Rodriguez in the eye and confess that she’d been seduced by a married man? That she’d been so stupid she’d missed the signs? She’d already had to admit it to her father. He was the only one she’d had to explain anything to. And that was enough.

“So you think women have just as many rights as men when it comes to sex?” she asked.

“I think it’s a ridiculous double standard. Men want to have sex with whoever they want while they limit women. Then who are the men going to sleep with?”

“A philosopher,” she said dryly.

“Just all for equal rights.”

“Wow. Well.” She stood from the couch, her insides feeling oddly jittery. “I’m going to go and see if I can find something suitable for tonight.”

“It’s been taken care of. Come on, I’ll show you.”

She wished he wouldn’t, because she kind of needed a Rodriguez reprieve, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him.

“All right, lead on.”

She followed him back to her room, her mind going over the conversation they’d had in the study. He didn’t look at her any differently for having a child out of wedlock. Her family was so traditional, that she was the only Santina to ever give birth to a bastard had been major news. It had made her mother hardly able to meet her eyes. Had made her father look at her as though she were dirty, something almost beneath contempt at times.

To have someone simply not see that dark mark on her record … that was something she hadn’t thought possible.

It had altered her own parents’ perception of her so profoundly she’d assumed everyone must look at her and see a big scarlet A branded across her chest, even without knowing the full story.

He pushed open the door to her room and stood there, allowing her to enter first. Rodriguez had that smooth, surface chivalry down to a science. It probably made women melt at his feet. If his dark good looks, hot body and wicked grin hadn’t already done the job.

“I went out today and I was driving through downtown when I saw this.” He took a garment bag out of her closet. “And it made me think of you.”

“Did you go through my things?”

“No, I asked one of the household staff to put it in the closet.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t like it when people go through your belongings?”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know. I live alone so I don’t have that problem.” His eyes locked with hers. “I did live alone anyway.”

“Now you have us.”

“And servants. You can never be truly alone in a castle. Even if all of the staff left there would still be ghosts wandering the old dungeon.”

“You have a dungeon here?”

He smiled. “You interested?”

A reluctant laugh pulled up from her stomach. “Not really my thing.” She took the garment bag from his hand. “You should be used to staff. You lived here when you were a boy.”

“Until I was old enough to go to school. When I was eight I went to boarding school.”

“That’s so young! I could never send Luca away. Not in three years’ time. I don’t think I ever could.”

He looked at her, his eyes blank, that darkness that lay beneath the surface a palpable force. “I liked school.”

“Good.” She unzipped the back and her mouth dropped when she saw the black lace dress that was nestled inside. “This is … there’s not much to it.”

“It will look perfect on you.”

“I don’t flaunt. I’m a mother.”

“You are a woman,” he said, his voice firm, insistent. “Don’t forget that. Whether you’re Luca’s mother, my wife or the Queen of Santa Christobel, you are a woman and there’s no crime in remembering that.”

“I … I know that. I remember. How could I forget?” Of course, for her, being a woman was basically a crime. She didn’t know what to do with that part of herself. The part that wanted occasions to dress for. The part that wanted a man in her bed. It was easier to simply be Luca’s mother and ignore everything else.

“You dress nicely,” Rodriguez said. “But not sexy.”

She frowned. “I thought my press conference dress was sexy.”

“No, you were sexy in it. It would only be considered sexy at a tea party.”

She looked him over, at his black pants and shirt, so lovingly fitted to his body, making him look dangerous and attractive. “Well, you dress like you’re on the prowl.”

“I generally am,” he said, offering her a crooked smile. “Now go try the dress on.”

She shot him a deadly glare and folded the bag over her arm, heading for the dressing room that was just off the main portion of the bedroom. She got out of her beach clothes and tugged the flimsy dress up over her curves.

She contorted her arm and tugged the zipper midway up her back, unable to finesse it all the way up. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. So, she’d ask him for help. He was going to see her naked after the wedding anyway. And this wasn’t even naked, this was just a partially exposed back. A bathing suit, even a modest one, would show much more than the dress put on display.

But it wasn’t so much about the amount of skin as it was about what Rodriguez made her feel.

Well, she wasn’t giving him that power. She owned her body, and she wasn’t a slave to errant desires.

She opened the door and poked her head out. “Can you zip me?”

The teasing light in his eyes vanished again, like a candle thrust into the wind. He frightened her when he looked like that. Because he lost that easy manner completely and he became someone—something—else entirely. Dangerous. A predator. And she had the feeling she was the prey.

“Sure,” he said, walking to the dressing room door. Her heart pounded in rhythm with his steps and she did her best to ignore it. To ignore the languid heat that seemed to be inside her bones, spreading through her, making her feel weak and shaky.

She turned and braced her hand on the door, anything to disguise the slight trembling in her fingers.

He didn’t bother to pretend, even for a moment, that the brush of his skin on hers was accidental, didn’t pretend he was simply helping with the last bit of the zipper. His finger trailed up the line of her back, hot and exciting.

She tensed, drawing her shoulders up.

“Relax, querida,” he said softly, his knuckle brushing against her shoulder.

“Then you’re going to have to stop touching me.”

She felt his fingers toying with the zip tab, his other hand moving to her waist, his touch light but so … present. She felt it all the way down to her toes and every interesting point in between.

“Not possible if you want me to help you with your dress.”

“You’re taking liberties,” she said, her voice stiff.

“Don’t you sound like the maiden in a Regency drama? I quite like it.”

“Next you’re going to tie me to the railroad tracks …”

“You’re mixing your time periods.”

She rolled her eyes, then realized he couldn’t see her face. “That’s beside the point.”

“Sorry, but I find it counterintuitive, covering up a woman’s skin, I mean.”

“You are shameless, Rodriguez.”

He put his hands on her arms and turned her, and she sucked in a sharp breath when she stopped, her face inches from his. “I can be,” he said.

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t. Be … so shameless.”

She looked into his eyes, past the glimmer of humor, to the predator. Her body responded. And it wasn’t the flight response she should be having. Maybe she wasn’t the prey. Maybe she was a predator too. Maybe her body was on the prowl too. Looking for a mate. She looked down, breaking the visual hold he had on her.

“If you really wish, Carlotta.” He moved his hands, reaching behind her and tugging her zipper into place. “I think the dress looks perfect.” He took a step back, as though they hadn’t just been caught in the most sexually tense moment in the history of sexual tension.

She swallowed hard and turned to face into the dressing room so that she could see herself in the full-length mirror. The dress wasn’t really as indecent as she’d imagined—the black lace gave hints of skin, but, thanks to the lining beneath, covered anything that really mattered. It was long, a mermaid-style skirt that flared out past her knees, swishing as she walked.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, hating to admit he was right. Not enough to give up the dress, but enough.

“I knew it would be.”

“A man with much confidence,” she said.

“No. How could it be anything but stunning on you?”

She looked at his reflection in the mirror, her eyes meeting his indirectly that way. “Rodriguez, I … I don’t need the whole playboy act, okay? I’m marrying you. It’s done. You don’t need to do this.”

She knew, the moment she said the words, that she’d said the wrong thing. His eyes flattened, his mouth thinning into a line.

“If that’s what you want,” he said, his voice sharp.

“I just … Thank you for the dress.”

He nodded and turned, walking out of the dressing room and, judging by the click of the door, her room.

This was why she didn’t date. Too messy. And good job, Carlotta, she’d insulted her date right before they were meant to go out. And after he’d given her a beautiful gown.

She wanted to growl in frustration. Instead, she picked up a tube of red lipstick and leaned in closer to the mirror. She was going to chase the sexy look tonight. And maybe, just maybe, she and Rodriguez would manage not to have another fight.

CHAPTER SIX

SEXY didn’t begin to describe Carlotta in that black lace gown. It should be illegal. Or they should be alone in one of the expansive bedrooms of the palace, with nothing but free time and an enormous bed at their disposal.

Instead, they were in a crowded ballroom, people everywhere. Normally he enjoyed parties. They were fun, shallow diversions that allowed him to block everything out and focus on nothing but easy, happy things.

Now it was grating his nerves. Because too many people meant he had to behave himself. He wasn’t just the rebel prince anymore, he was the future king. He always had been, he knew, but it had all been distant and murky, and he’d been in no hurry to move back into the palace. Back to the source of his darkest moments.

Well, the reprieve was over. Which was how he found himself here, at a party for an octogenarian he’d never met, keeping his hands off of his ultra-desirable fiancée.

“I used to hate these things.” Carlotta leaned in, ruby lips brushing his earlobe as she whispered to him. “What’s the deal with putting all the food on toothpicks? And honestly, room-temperature shrimp sitting on a tray for five hours?”

He choked a laugh out through his tightened throat. “I can’t argue with that.”

“I used to hate them,” she said. “But now it’s been so long since I’ve been out, I’m finding it really enjoyable.”

“What about your brother’s engagement party?”

She blinked. “That was … interesting. And stressful. I can kind of see why it made Sophia run off, no offense.”

Oh, yes, Sophia. His original intended bride. She never even crossed his mind. It didn’t seem right, the thought of another woman standing at his side now.

“None taken,” he said, shaking his head when a passing server offered him a shrimp cocktail.

“It was sort of fun watching the Jacksons. They don’t care what anyone thinks. It’s kind of … refreshing.”

“You think?”

She looked at him, green eyes glittering. “I care too much. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be who I thought I should be. So yes, it’s easy to envy people who clearly haven’t got a care in the world about their image.”

“Unlike the people here.” He surveyed the room, filled with stuffed shirts and black, conservative gowns. “I wonder if any of them have secret lives?”

“Don’t we all?” she asked.

“Well, we don’t. Hard to keep secrets when the press follows you all the time.”

“True. Anyway, I like the dress. I’m sorry I fought with you earlier.”

“I like the dress too.” He’d like it better pooled into a puddle of black lace on his floor, but he would take what he could get.

What was it about her that captivated him? Had he really thought her plain only a few days ago? He hadn’t been paying attention, clearly. With her dark hair pulled back into sleek bun, her curves emphasized by the fitted dress, olive skin visible in teasing amounts through the lace and the perfect amount of makeup to highlight her features, she was nothing short of stunning.

“You look beautiful,” he said, because that was the kind of thing he said to women. But … he meant it. He always meant it, but usually he was performing a seduction. Words, then touch, then bed. But at the moment, he simply felt it was important for Carlotta to know.

Carlotta didn’t want to feel anything when he said that. She knew how men worked. She’d fallen prey to easy lines like that in the past. So she really shouldn’t be feeling a rush of heat spreading through her. No flush of pleasure, no rapid heartbeat.

She did though. Because Rodriguez was charming. There was a reason women swooned straight into his bed when he smiled at them. He was hot. And she was celibate.

But she wasn’t stupid.

“Thank you,” she said tightly.

“You don’t like compliments?” he asked.

“I don’t like insincere compliments.”

“I was sincere.”

“I … That’s not really what I meant.”

A smiling woman whose face looked like it had been frozen into a permanently surprised expression approached them with her shorter, older husband on her arm. She spoke in rapid Spanish to Rodriguez, and Carlotta could only catch half of it.

“Your new fiancée?” she asked, flashing a smile that showed unnaturally white teeth.

“Sì,” Carlotta said, accepting the other woman’s double-cheek kiss.

“Muy bonita!” she said.

Rodriguez shot her a look. “I did tell you. Though perhaps you will take Señora Ramirez’s word for it?”

Carlotta returned his look with a deadly one of her own before turning her attention back to Señora Ramirez. “Gracias.”

The señora kept talking and Rodriguez translated when Carlotta didn’t understand.

“She wants to know when the wedding is,” he said, a question in his tone, as if he were wondering the same thing.

“Tell her we’re in no hurry.” Carlotta looked beyond Rodriguez and felt her heart sink into her stomach.

“I’m in a hurry,” he said, his voice hushed, his hand snaking around her waist, palm resting on her hip.

She cleared her throat. “Well, after my brother Alex gets married maybe …”

That set Señora Ramirez off into a flurry of excited chatter, about invitations and gowns and two royal weddings, how exciting! Her husband just stood next to her, his expression blank.

If Carlotta weren’t so overwhelmed, she would probably be fighting back laughter over the poor man’s plight. Her own parents were so suitably matched. Both so stoic and regal … well, stoic in public at least. She knew what it looked like when her father was angry. Angry beyond words.

Now she was wishing she’d taken the last passing server up on his offer of room-temperature champagne….

“Ah, bailar.” Señor Ramirez spoke for the first time as strains of classical music filled the ballroom.

“I think I am needed now,” Señora Ramirez said. “You should dance too.” She turned to her husband and the look of pure, undisguised love that passed between them made Carlotta feel like she’d been hit in the chest with a rock.

The way they looked at each other … it told her what she didn’t want to believe. That not everyone was cold in their marriage, like her parents. That not everyone lied, like Gabriel. That there was love and happiness.

It would just never belong to her.

You have Luca. That’s real love. Permanent love.

“Care to dance, princesa?” Rodriguez turned a devastating grin her direction.

No. She really, really didn’t. Because it brought back memories of another dance, on another night, and all of her weakness.

“Of course,” she said, offering the Ramirezes a smile for good measure.

Rodriguez kept his arm around her waist and they followed the older couple out onto the area in front of the stage that had been kept clear for dancing.

When they were out in the center of it, he pulled her in, clasping her hand in his. “Try not to look so much like you want to chew me out,” he said dryly, resting his cheek against hers.

She closed her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath, and just for one moment reveled in the feel of his hard body so close to hers. The light brush of stubble from his face. He was a man. So different from her. His body promised the kind of satisfaction that eluded her when she was by herself, more than a simple climax, but real, hot human touch. His scent would surround her, his heat.

She shivered as he moved in time to the music. Nothing sexy, nothing that should send tremors of arousal through her. It was just a dry, classical piece. But Rodriguez’s touch made it seem like more. It made the strains of the cello warm, made the music wind through her body, wrapping around her, as though she were a part of it. One of the instruments. And he was playing her.

She couldn’t even bring herself to care, she wanted to embrace it.

This wasn’t safe. This wasn’t controlled. And she didn’t care.

Because tonight she felt like a woman. And he was right, she had forgotten what that was like. She hadn’t seen the point in remembering. It was so much safer to get lost in the world of dinners at home and imaginary games with cuddle toys.

There was nothing safe about being in Rodriguez’s embrace. She’d discovered that earlier in the corridor when they’d kissed. When she’d all but attacked him, truth be told.

No, his embrace was danger. Delicious, dark, decadent, probably bad for her, but all the better for it. Part of her wondered what was wrong with her. The other part didn’t care. Not now. He was stealing control out of her hands. And she was letting him.

“Feeling warm?” he asked, his voice a whisper, his lips pressed against her earlobe.

“How did you know?”

“Because I am.”

“We might … step outside for a moment.” Bad idea, Carlotta. Very bad.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” A dark, glittering fire lit his eyes and she knew that it was the kind of bad idea that she’d had before, and yet, it felt different. She felt different. Not all glowy and wide-eyed, hoping for some kind of emotional revelation.

She just wanted him to touch her. Her only fear was that he wouldn’t.

He kept his arm locked around her waist and she led the way through the crowd, to the back of the ballroom and out onto the vast terrace. It was warm outside, ocean mist hanging thick in the heated air.

“The beaches in Santa Christobel are famous. And I don’t believe you’ve been yet,” he said, sliding his hand over her waist and to her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

“It’s dark,” she said dryly.

“This is where I say something pithy about the moon reflecting off the water. Or where I would say something to that effect if I were toying with you.” He tightened his hold on her hand and halted his steps. Carlotta stopped and turned to him, studied his face, his dark eyes glittering in the dim light. “But I’m not. The simple truth is, I have wanted to have you to myself from the moment I saw you in that dress. I’m luring you away from the crowd so I can get you alone.”

She sucked in a breath. “Are you planning on having your wicked way with me?” She’d meant to tease, but unfortunately her question sounded completely sincere and a little bit breathless.

“Is that what you want?”

“Why don’t we go down to the beach and … see the moon.”

“Sounds like a line. I should know.”

She shot him her deadliest glare, one that would have sent a lesser man running for cover. But there was nothing lesser about Rodriguez. And it was dark, so her look was probably completely wasted. “Rodriguez, this isn’t easy for me, can we just walk?”

“And not talk?”

“That would probably be best.” She didn’t want to think. She wanted … she didn’t want to think about what it was she wanted either, because there was nothing smart or good or self-controlled about what she wanted. It didn’t really matter if Rodriguez was the man she was supposed to marry. She didn’t have any of the feelings she should have for a future husband for him, she just … needed him.