The Virgin and His Majesty Read online

  ‘You won’t.’ He held her against him, his voice so positive she allowed herself to relax and believe him. ‘My grandfather was a New Zealander; he had no idea how to be the husband of the Grand Duchess, but the Carathians adored him. They’re more than ready to adore another Kiwi. And you’ll have my complete and utter support.’

  Rosie said goodbye to the last of her fears. ‘So when did you actually decide to marry me?’ she asked, wriggling into a more comfortable position against him.

  ‘You’re not going to like this,’ he said drily.

  ‘Tell me just the same.’

  ‘When I realised you’d been a virgin. It was obviously something you had believed important enough to preserve. Yet you had given it to me.’

  Brows wrinkled, Rosie thought about that. ‘So your proposal was a—some sort of recompense?’

  ‘I’m getting myself further and further into quicksand,’ he said half-humorously. ‘No. I hoped the gift of your virginity meant you felt more for me than casual lust.’

  ‘Casual?’ she asked on a choked laugh. ‘If you thought that was casual…’

  He smiled. ‘And I suppose I should confess I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else making love to you. The thought of anyone else taking what had been mine filled me with a very uncomfortable possessiveness.’ He cupped her chin, tilting her head so that he could see her face. ‘You don’t seem shocked.’

  No, because he was Gerd, Grand Duke of Carathia, and although he lived in the twenty-first century he hadn’t entirely shaken off the high-handed attitudes of his ancestors. ‘Only a little bit,’ she teased.

  ‘And now it’s my turn to ask a question. Why were you so convinced I didn’t—would never—love you?’

  Rosie had rarely revealed her feelings, not even to her friends. She hesitated then looked up at him. This was Gerd, and he loved her.

  She said, ‘I think it must be that I grew up believing I wasn’t lovable. My mother left me, and my father was away so often it sometimes felt as though he’d just abandoned me to the housekeeper. Not that I suffered—Mrs Jameson was always good to me. Alex was away at school for most of the time and the age gap was too big for us to be friends. When I got older, I lived for those holidays at Kiwinui. Kelt became a sort of surrogate brother or father; I felt valued by him.’

  Gerd said in a voice that made her cold, ‘Apart from Kelt, we were selfish bastards, all of us.’

  ‘No, you weren’t,’ she objected. ‘I was much younger, and a girl—why would any of you want me tagging along? You were all kind; Kelt taught me to swim, you taught me to ride and Alex showed me how to play chess. And your grandmother was lovely. Even my father loved me in his own way, I think.’ Her smile was tinged with sadness. ‘He just loved other things more.’

  Gerd said, ‘I should have understood your basic insecurity.’

  Heart overflowing, Rosie looked at him. ‘How could you? I didn’t even understand it myself. My mother’s history of affairs gone wrong taught me that passion didn’t mean love. But without realising it I must have decided that love was too hard, probably impossible—that I had no right to expect it. So I didn’t.’

  Gerd lay back on the pillows, his expression sombre. ‘I kept thinking—she must know I love her. It has to be so obvious. Kelt knew, Alex knew, Hani knew—how could you not realise it? Yet there was always a barrier, a wall I couldn’t breach however often and passionately we made love. And I knew damned well you only wanted an affair.’

  She flushed. ‘I thought I was being sensible,’ she admitted, adding swiftly, ‘At least I accepted that it would hurt when it was over!’

  Gerd showed his teeth in a smile without humour. ‘I suppose it was my damned pride that kept me silent. Two complete idiots,’ he said. ‘We deserve each other. I knew I was in deep trouble when the prospect of a child gave me an excuse for bulldozing you into agreeing to marry me.’

  Rosie’s snort was followed by a reluctant admission. ‘So while I was angsting over whether or not to marry you and suffering because you didn’t love me, you were gloating.’

  ‘Hell, no. I was delighted when you agreed—until I realised exactly what I was doing to you. Because even before we went back to the capital, you started to retreat.’

  ‘I retreated?’ she exclaimed, startling them both by thumping him in the solar plexus. ‘You never came near me—after I said I’d marry you, every night you kissed me on the forehead and left me at my bedroom door. What was I supposed to think?’

  He jackknifed up, his face aggressive. Reaching for her, he said grimly, ‘I was giving you time to get used to everything—to me as your future husband and Carathia as the place you were going to live—without passion clogging your brain.’

  She held herself stiffly away. ‘Did it clog yours?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said savagely, and kissed her. Then he let her go and got up off the bed, his shoulders set.

  Rosie sat up and stared at him. ‘I’m glad,’ she said abruptly.

  Without turning he said, ‘It worried the hell out of me because it had never happened before. I told myself I was doing the right thing for Carathia, but I hated it that whenever I looked at you, touched you—hell, even thought of you—it drove any thoughts of duty to my country clear out of my mind.’

  ‘Good.’ His words satisfied her last shred of reservation.

  He turned to look at her, sleekly golden-ivory in his bed, embedded in his heart. ‘It no longer matters,’ he said starkly. ‘I know now that all I want, all I need, is you. Carathia will always be important to me, but you—you are at my heart’s core, the one, infinitely loved constant in my life.’

  Tall and tanned and leanly lithe, he filled her vision. Tears flooded her eyes, and she said in a shaken voice, ‘And you are mine. Forever.’

  ‘Forever,’ he said like a vow. ‘So now, would you like some more of that champagne?’

  ‘No, I’d like something from a much better vintage,’ she said sweetly, and laughed, holding out her arms as he tumbled her back onto the bed.

  In his eyes she could see love and trust and passion, and she knew that for them this was the first day of their marriage, even though their vows had been informal and for their ears only.

  They would have their big wedding to satisfy the good people of Carathia, but from now on they were joined in life and love.

  After the wild carnival of bells that had rung her ears for days, Rosie greeted the silence of the villa with relief. Maria had met them at the door, beamed on them both and wished them every happiness, informed them at length of the food she’d left for them, and then departed, leaving them alone.

  ‘Tired?’ Gerd asked, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘A bit,’ she acknowledged, then gave a gasping little laugh when he picked her up. ‘You won’t be able to do this for much longer,’ she murmured, gazing up into his face.

  ‘Oh, I think I’ll be able to manage three of you for some months yet,’ he said, carefully negotiating the way to the bedroom.

  ‘Twins,’ she murmured, still dazed at the news the gynaecologist had given them only three days previously. She looked up at him, her gaze direct. ‘We’ll be careful of them, won’t we? We’ll make sure they have the kind of childhood neither of us had—a loving, happy, secure childhood, so they grow up confident and certain of themselves.’

  Gerd’s arms tightened around her as though she was infinitely precious. ‘We will,’ he said like a vow. ‘I’m seriously thinking of banning all information about the birth so that no one will ever know—apart from you, me and the doctor who delivers them—which one arrives first. That should fool anyone who tries to resurrect that old legend.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘It should give Carathia breathing time, anyway,’ she said. ‘But I think your plans for education will do the trick better. By the time any question of the succession comes up—in fifty years from now, say—no one will remember the legend.’

  He set her carefully down on the bed and looked
at her, slim and glowing, her gold-flecked eyes warm with the love he no longer doubted.

  That morning she’d walked towards him in a wedding gown, happiness radiating from her. This time they’d made their vows in public, and Carathia had celebrated the joy and commitment of their Grand Duke and his Duchess with festivities that would outlast the night, but here, in this house, in this room, they were man and woman, two lovers.

  Husband and wife.

  Gripped by emotion so intense he almost buckled under it, he sat down on the edge of the bed and bent to kiss her throat. Her perfume—soft, all woman—enveloped him, and her arms came around him and hugged him hard.

  ‘How tired are you?’ he asked, fighting down a fierce hunger.

  Her laugh was slow and sensuous. ‘Not too tired,’ she whispered into his ear.

  Rosie felt his body harden against her and, as they began the slow, deliciously sensual journey towards that passionate place reserved solely for them, she knew that, whatever the future brought, they would face it together. She and Gerd held each other’s hearts in safekeeping.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

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  First published in Great Britain 2009

  Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

  © Robyn Donald 2009

  ISBN: 978-1-4089-1849-4